Saturday, 29 December 2012
Giant Friends... (The Wedding) Rating = PG
Chapter 3
Komodo and his bride were blessed with a beautiful clear day for the wedding, and they were supremely happy.
But not so Shoebill. Komodo had woken him at 5 AM to say, “Emergency, Shoebill. Please, please help me out. Will you marry us? The priest is ill. I believe you are a JP--please, say you can do it! I’m desperate! Komini is in floods of tears! I can’t cope, Shoebill.”
He’d been holding Shoebill’s wing in a grip of iron and was shaking it so hard Shoebill was beginning to get a shoulder ache.
"I'll do it! I'll do it! But please stop shaking my wing; and I warn you, Komodo: I have not done a wedding before. I want you to know I won't even know what to say."
Komodo was unfazed. "Oh, don't worry, Shoebill, how hard can it be to marry someone? Just ask the question!"
--0--
At 10 AM Shoebill was in a terrible tizz. "Oh, I hope I've got everything ready! I hope the food will be all right! I hope I don't mess up the wedding ceremony. Oh! Oh, Zenix, what if everything goes wrong!?
"Settle down, Shoebill. Remember I'll be there with you. Drink this bean brew."
"Oh, no! Oh, no! Well, perhaps just a sip."
"Anyway Shoebill, how many guests are coming?"
"Thirteen, I think. Oh Oh--but thirteen is an unlucky number! What'll I do, Zenix? What'll I do?"
"Too late, Shoebill! Here come the guests and the wedding party," cried Zenix.
--0--
When all the guests were seated under the huge spreading chestnut tree in front of the giant's mansion, the number included various relatives, as well as five juvenile dragons.
After five minutes it was clear to everyone present that three of the juveniles, Komini's sister's children, were going to be a problem.
Shoebill did his best to conduct a serious ceremony, interrupted by shouts, giggles, and smart remarks from the offspring. When he declared the two dragons married, the oldest of the young, a male, called out loudly, "Yeah, yeah!!"
Then they all got down to the enjoyable task of eating. Shoebill had gained in confidence, and was serving food with flair and aplomb.
Once again the young ones stood out by their bad behaviour. Talking gave way to loud slurping noises as legs slithered down throats. The second eldest of the juveniles stuffed in too many legs all at once and had a severe coughing attack.
The guests had finished the main course when food started flying from table to table between the small dragons. Zenix could take no more.
He stood up, "Who is coming out with me to play? Come on children. There'll be lots of games and rewards. Just follow me to Cosy Dell."
Cosy Dell was the name of a small depression about the size of the usual house and covered in short soft grass. It was deep and out of sight of the wedding.
Zenix organised the children into a circle in the bottom of the dell. He had noticed that the three were cousins to two small girls who were well mannered and clever, but feeling very overwhelmed by the three outspoken bullies. Zenix pulled and pushed large boulders into a maze. He started all the small dragons at one end, and told them food was waiting at the other. He knew the smartest would find their way out.
"This is one time when bullies are on the same footing as everyone else," he thought. It wasn't long before the two small girls returned to the wedding breakfast
"Oh, where are my children?" Komini's sister asked Zenix.
"Playing happily," Zenix replied.
And they stayed playing happily for the rest of the occasion.
Zenix bent down and lifted the three children out of the maze and presented them back to their parents just as the guests were leaving for home.
Thursday, 27 December 2012
Giant Friends (menu for a wedding)
GIANT FRIENDS... Menu For a Wedding
Chapter 2
“You know, Shoebill, for a bird you are a good egg. I know I haven’t always been fair to you, but I want you to know I’m grateful for your devotion.
“Oh, Zenix, Sir, I’m moved... You bring a tear to my eye, Sir.”
“And you make the best coffee. I feel quite refreshed now, ready to cut down half a forest.
Just then they heard a voice at the door, “Yoohoo, are you there, Shoebill?” They exchanged glances.
“Coming,” replied Shoebill.
To their surprise Komodo stood there smiling. “Oh, I’m so pleased you are both here. I have a big favour to ask, and some exciting news,” he said.
“Sit down,” Zenix invited him, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.
Without further ado, Komodo announced, “I’m getting married in four weeks; I want you two to be my best man and groomsman. Oh, please say yes. And another favour… Shoebill, will you cater, please? You are a superb cook, and we’re only having a small number to celebrate.“
“ Oh, slow down--slow down, Komodo!” Shoebill was so flabbergasted that he knocked over his cup of coffee with his huge outsized beak.
“I would have to discuss a menu, first.” Shoebill stuttered, as he mopped up coffee with his dish cloth. “And I can’t be best man because I’m no good at making speeches. I won’t make a speech... no… definitely not!”
“Settle down, Shoebill,,. I’ll be best man, and make the speech. You just concentrate on the cooking and enjoy yourself, if that’s all right with Komodo.”
“Absolutely!! Thank you! Thank you! Oh, you two are wonderful!”
“Well, just sayin’ Komodo – no speeches. I just can’t do that. I’m too shy. Now, let’s discuss this menu.”
“Right now?” Komodo and Zenix chorused, “right now?”
“Yes, right now. Otherwise I won’t sleep tonight!”
Komodo licked his lips. “ Well now, let’s see. Perhaps the most delectable collection of insects that you can find, Shoebill, for hors d’oeuvres.” Shoebill began scribbling with his pencil.
“Mmm, moving on to the entree now... Frogs legs, and toads, and any other amphibians you can find--just the legs of course.”
Shoebill wrote, ‘ Mixed raw legs’, then muttered to himself, “Marinated, of course.”
The pair continued for two hours, until the sun was hot overhead and Zenix had long since gone to cut trees in the forest.
Shoebill was just putting the finishing touches to his menu when a voice called from the back door, “Youhoo, excuse me, are you there, Komodo?”
Shoebill almost jumped out of his skin.
It was Komini, Komodo’s soon-to-be wife.
After introductions, Komodo seemed flustered. “Oh, my dear, we were just discussing the menu for our wedding. Would you like to hear what we’ve decided?"
Komini screamed with laughter. “Oooohh! Nooo... oh, no no no.” she said between hiccoughs of laughter, “What ever you decide, my love... whatever you decide. But I must have some strings of beads to wear on the day...mesmerising ones, mind.” And she laughed again,.
Shoebill thought she was going to have a spasm.
When Zenix arrived home that evening, Shoebill exclaimed, “Oh, Zenix what a day I’ve had!”
By the time he had explained the difficulties with the menu, Zenix felt exhausted himself. “You’d better show me this menu,” he said, “there may be nothing that I can eat. Perhaps I’d better take a sandwich, ha ha”
“Well, here it is.” Shoebill hannded a piece of paper to Komodo.
Starters: A delectable selection of live freshly-caught insects
from the organic woodlands.
Entree: Mixed choice amphibian legs marinated in
prime swamp slime.
Mains: Freshly caught stream trout garnished with tree-frog
livers and papyrus seeds.
Desert: Chilled and peeled sugarcane chunks garnished
with Birds Eye chilies and garlic sauce.
“Yuck! There’s nothing here for me!”
“Well, perhaps you’d better bring that sandwich you spoke about. Actually, it seemed delicious to me."
Chapter 2
“You know, Shoebill, for a bird you are a good egg. I know I haven’t always been fair to you, but I want you to know I’m grateful for your devotion.
“Oh, Zenix, Sir, I’m moved... You bring a tear to my eye, Sir.”
“And you make the best coffee. I feel quite refreshed now, ready to cut down half a forest.
Just then they heard a voice at the door, “Yoohoo, are you there, Shoebill?” They exchanged glances.
“Coming,” replied Shoebill.
To their surprise Komodo stood there smiling. “Oh, I’m so pleased you are both here. I have a big favour to ask, and some exciting news,” he said.
“Sit down,” Zenix invited him, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.
Without further ado, Komodo announced, “I’m getting married in four weeks; I want you two to be my best man and groomsman. Oh, please say yes. And another favour… Shoebill, will you cater, please? You are a superb cook, and we’re only having a small number to celebrate.“
“ Oh, slow down--slow down, Komodo!” Shoebill was so flabbergasted that he knocked over his cup of coffee with his huge outsized beak.
“I would have to discuss a menu, first.” Shoebill stuttered, as he mopped up coffee with his dish cloth. “And I can’t be best man because I’m no good at making speeches. I won’t make a speech... no… definitely not!”
“Settle down, Shoebill,,. I’ll be best man, and make the speech. You just concentrate on the cooking and enjoy yourself, if that’s all right with Komodo.”
“Absolutely!! Thank you! Thank you! Oh, you two are wonderful!”
“Well, just sayin’ Komodo – no speeches. I just can’t do that. I’m too shy. Now, let’s discuss this menu.”
“Right now?” Komodo and Zenix chorused, “right now?”
“Yes, right now. Otherwise I won’t sleep tonight!”
Komodo licked his lips. “ Well now, let’s see. Perhaps the most delectable collection of insects that you can find, Shoebill, for hors d’oeuvres.” Shoebill began scribbling with his pencil.
“Mmm, moving on to the entree now... Frogs legs, and toads, and any other amphibians you can find--just the legs of course.”
Shoebill wrote, ‘ Mixed raw legs’, then muttered to himself, “Marinated, of course.”
The pair continued for two hours, until the sun was hot overhead and Zenix had long since gone to cut trees in the forest.
Shoebill was just putting the finishing touches to his menu when a voice called from the back door, “Youhoo, excuse me, are you there, Komodo?”
Shoebill almost jumped out of his skin.
It was Komini, Komodo’s soon-to-be wife.
After introductions, Komodo seemed flustered. “Oh, my dear, we were just discussing the menu for our wedding. Would you like to hear what we’ve decided?"
Komini screamed with laughter. “Oooohh! Nooo... oh, no no no.” she said between hiccoughs of laughter, “What ever you decide, my love... whatever you decide. But I must have some strings of beads to wear on the day...mesmerising ones, mind.” And she laughed again,.
Shoebill thought she was going to have a spasm.
When Zenix arrived home that evening, Shoebill exclaimed, “Oh, Zenix what a day I’ve had!”
By the time he had explained the difficulties with the menu, Zenix felt exhausted himself. “You’d better show me this menu,” he said, “there may be nothing that I can eat. Perhaps I’d better take a sandwich, ha ha”
“Well, here it is.” Shoebill hannded a piece of paper to Komodo.
Starters: A delectable selection of live freshly-caught insects
from the organic woodlands.
Entree: Mixed choice amphibian legs marinated in
prime swamp slime.
Mains: Freshly caught stream trout garnished with tree-frog
livers and papyrus seeds.
Desert: Chilled and peeled sugarcane chunks garnished
with Birds Eye chilies and garlic sauce.
“Yuck! There’s nothing here for me!”
“Well, perhaps you’d better bring that sandwich you spoke about. Actually, it seemed delicious to me."
Sunday, 23 December 2012
IN LOVE, INSTANTLY (Short romance fiction)
IN LOVE INSTANTLY
“Look, Vic, I’m flying!” Vanessa’s voice came shrilly back as she leaned out over the front deck railing, her black silky hair flying in the wind high above the ocean and her slender arms outstretched, as she laughed at her own amateur dramatics.
‘Vic’ was nowhere in sight. but the bronzed young figure of Arkey Thompson slouched against the port railing. Arkey, 26, was on his first holiday alone and enjoying the newfound freedom that the finances from working as a partner in a large busy doctors’ practice allowed. His part-Islander heritage ensured a natural attractive tanned skin, and the compliments it drew always surprised him.
“Well, I’m not ‘Vic’, but you look spectacular like that, especially when the wind lifts your skirt like an umbrella.”
Vanessa jumped off the railing, screeching and embarrassed. “Oh, I didn’t know you were there. I--I’m sorry; actually, I was aware someone was there but I thought it was Vicky,” she stammered.
“Don’t apologise,” Arkey answered quickly. “I think you’d make a great actress, but who’s Vicky?”
“Just a girl I met yesterday.”
Vanessa giggled.
An hour later the two were still alone at the railing. When her wristwatch glinted in the afternoon sun, she checked the time and caught her breath.
“My God! I should have been back ages ago! I’m running late! I only get an hour off, now I’m 10 minutes late!”
“You’re working? You’re on a holiday and you’re working?”
“I’m not on a holiday. I’m a companion to a lady, a 42-year-old lady. Actually, you’d have something in common with her. She used to be a doctor too. Oh, please come and help me convince her that you kept me late.”
“Sure I will. But will she be angry? Really?”
“No, not really. Matilda’s lovely. She had to give up doctoring because of a terrible accident. Now she’s paralysed and in a wheelchair.”
As they walked up the stairs to the promenade deck, Vanessa told him, “She likes to be called Mathilde…you know, the French version of Matilda, so that’s how I’ll introduce her.”
“Oo la la”
Matilda saw them approaching and her eyes lit up. She held out her arms from the wheelchair. “Vanessa! I was worried… But here you were all the time bringing me a friend to talk to. Hello, young man.”
He bent to greet her and she flung out her arms again holding him and drawing him in to kiss him on both cheeks.
Arkey smiled and muttered, “Charmed, Mathilde,”
As they sat with pre-dinner drinks they discussed chess, the medical world and Arkey’s genetic history. Matilda frequently brushed aside the blonde curls that the fresh sea breeze blew in her pale face. As she sipped her drink she only had eyes for Arkey.
He did his best to include Vanessa, who finally spoke up, “Come on, Arkey, bring the tray and we’ll get fresh drinks for Mathilde.” Rising from her chair she walked behind Matilda and beckoned Arkey to follow .
Before they walked away his lips brushed her neck and he whispered, “What do you think of my amateur dramatics? Can we meet later?”
When Vanessa finally left Matilda at seven that evening for her two hour break, she gratefully fell into Arkey’s arms in his cabin.
“Oh, Arkey. What a relief.”
“Why do you do it, Vanessa? She’s a lovely lady, but such a demanding job for you... and you’re studying philosophy.”
“I’m doing the job as a favour to my mother. They were medical students together and remained close friends. I’ve taken a year off studies. and anyway, I’m not doing philosophy-- it’s just one of my subject options – I’m doing psychology and have two years to go.”
“Well, my beautiful colleague, from my psychology knowledge, I believe at this moment I need desperately to be kissed.”
As her admiring clear blue eyes gazed into his intense dark brown ones, the two melted into the ambience of arduous warmth.
“Is it possible to love someone instantly?” he asked, as his lips caressed that soft ebony silk that was her hair.
“I think we’ve proved that, my darling,” she whispered back, tracing his high cheekbones with her fingertips .
--0--
Vanessa slipped out gently from between the smooth folds of Arkey’s arms, dressed, and covered his sleeping body with the snowy sheet. She arrived breathlessley at the cabin she shared with Matilda in order to assist her to bed and out again in the morning.
“Mmm, late again...”
“‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mathilde. The moon was so beautiful...”
“Never mind, my dear. Did you see Arkey?
“Mmm...I believe I did at some stage.”
“Charming man... beguiling.”
The intense snatched romance between Arkey and Vanessa continued, and for the next two days Vanessa divided her time between her lover and Matilda.
Finally the idyllic voyage ended and the ship berthed. They were home. Arkey escorted the ladies through the disembarking crowds. Then Mathilda saw her great friends, Vanessa’s parents.
“My angels!” She held out her arms and embraced them both.”I’ve met this wonderful Adonis on the cruise, haven’t I, Vanessa?” She leaned over to take Arkey’s hand.
“I think I’m in love.”
Vanessa exchanged a knowing glance with her mother, and was relieved when Arkey stepped forward and quickly shook her father’s hand.
Please allow me to visit your beautiful dåughter at your home, Sir,” he said. “I also am in love,” leaving no doubts in anyones mind.
“Look, Vic, I’m flying!” Vanessa’s voice came shrilly back as she leaned out over the front deck railing, her black silky hair flying in the wind high above the ocean and her slender arms outstretched, as she laughed at her own amateur dramatics.
‘Vic’ was nowhere in sight. but the bronzed young figure of Arkey Thompson slouched against the port railing. Arkey, 26, was on his first holiday alone and enjoying the newfound freedom that the finances from working as a partner in a large busy doctors’ practice allowed. His part-Islander heritage ensured a natural attractive tanned skin, and the compliments it drew always surprised him.
“Well, I’m not ‘Vic’, but you look spectacular like that, especially when the wind lifts your skirt like an umbrella.”
Vanessa jumped off the railing, screeching and embarrassed. “Oh, I didn’t know you were there. I--I’m sorry; actually, I was aware someone was there but I thought it was Vicky,” she stammered.
“Don’t apologise,” Arkey answered quickly. “I think you’d make a great actress, but who’s Vicky?”
“Just a girl I met yesterday.”
Vanessa giggled.
An hour later the two were still alone at the railing. When her wristwatch glinted in the afternoon sun, she checked the time and caught her breath.
“My God! I should have been back ages ago! I’m running late! I only get an hour off, now I’m 10 minutes late!”
“You’re working? You’re on a holiday and you’re working?”
“I’m not on a holiday. I’m a companion to a lady, a 42-year-old lady. Actually, you’d have something in common with her. She used to be a doctor too. Oh, please come and help me convince her that you kept me late.”
“Sure I will. But will she be angry? Really?”
“No, not really. Matilda’s lovely. She had to give up doctoring because of a terrible accident. Now she’s paralysed and in a wheelchair.”
As they walked up the stairs to the promenade deck, Vanessa told him, “She likes to be called Mathilde…you know, the French version of Matilda, so that’s how I’ll introduce her.”
“Oo la la”
Matilda saw them approaching and her eyes lit up. She held out her arms from the wheelchair. “Vanessa! I was worried… But here you were all the time bringing me a friend to talk to. Hello, young man.”
He bent to greet her and she flung out her arms again holding him and drawing him in to kiss him on both cheeks.
Arkey smiled and muttered, “Charmed, Mathilde,”
As they sat with pre-dinner drinks they discussed chess, the medical world and Arkey’s genetic history. Matilda frequently brushed aside the blonde curls that the fresh sea breeze blew in her pale face. As she sipped her drink she only had eyes for Arkey.
He did his best to include Vanessa, who finally spoke up, “Come on, Arkey, bring the tray and we’ll get fresh drinks for Mathilde.” Rising from her chair she walked behind Matilda and beckoned Arkey to follow .
Before they walked away his lips brushed her neck and he whispered, “What do you think of my amateur dramatics? Can we meet later?”
When Vanessa finally left Matilda at seven that evening for her two hour break, she gratefully fell into Arkey’s arms in his cabin.
“Oh, Arkey. What a relief.”
“Why do you do it, Vanessa? She’s a lovely lady, but such a demanding job for you... and you’re studying philosophy.”
“I’m doing the job as a favour to my mother. They were medical students together and remained close friends. I’ve taken a year off studies. and anyway, I’m not doing philosophy-- it’s just one of my subject options – I’m doing psychology and have two years to go.”
“Well, my beautiful colleague, from my psychology knowledge, I believe at this moment I need desperately to be kissed.”
As her admiring clear blue eyes gazed into his intense dark brown ones, the two melted into the ambience of arduous warmth.
“Is it possible to love someone instantly?” he asked, as his lips caressed that soft ebony silk that was her hair.
“I think we’ve proved that, my darling,” she whispered back, tracing his high cheekbones with her fingertips .
--0--
Vanessa slipped out gently from between the smooth folds of Arkey’s arms, dressed, and covered his sleeping body with the snowy sheet. She arrived breathlessley at the cabin she shared with Matilda in order to assist her to bed and out again in the morning.
“Mmm, late again...”
“‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Mathilde. The moon was so beautiful...”
“Never mind, my dear. Did you see Arkey?
“Mmm...I believe I did at some stage.”
“Charming man... beguiling.”
The intense snatched romance between Arkey and Vanessa continued, and for the next two days Vanessa divided her time between her lover and Matilda.
Finally the idyllic voyage ended and the ship berthed. They were home. Arkey escorted the ladies through the disembarking crowds. Then Mathilda saw her great friends, Vanessa’s parents.
“My angels!” She held out her arms and embraced them both.”I’ve met this wonderful Adonis on the cruise, haven’t I, Vanessa?” She leaned over to take Arkey’s hand.
“I think I’m in love.”
Vanessa exchanged a knowing glance with her mother, and was relieved when Arkey stepped forward and quickly shook her father’s hand.
Please allow me to visit your beautiful dåughter at your home, Sir,” he said. “I also am in love,” leaving no doubts in anyones mind.
Friday, 21 December 2012
GIANT FRIENDS (At Home) Chapter 1 A story with a moral for children
GIANT FRIENDS At Home (Chapter 1)
Down on Earth one day, a curious boy climbed a magic beanstalk. When he got higher than he intended to go he looked down and got so frightened he could not move for a long time. When his courage returned he could climb up but not back down and he had to go all the way to the top. It took him three days and he slept in the crook of a bean leaf.
In this land beyond the clouds, life was sweet and clean. All living creature alike grew to giant size.
Trapped in this new land, the boy called Zenix grew to be a giant, as tall as two men, and built himself a beautiful mansion. One day when a terrible storm blew up, he found another creature, half drowned, at his front door. It was a shoebill bird, who became a close friend and man-servant to his rescuer.
--0--
Chapter 1
“Good morning, Zenix,” a voice woke the sleeping giant.
“Morning. It’s morning? It's morning!? Why have you let me sleep so late, you dang dodo bird!”
“Oh, how insulting you can be, Sir. I’m injured. I devote my life--”
“Aah! Enough with the sob story, Shoebill. Don’t you know I’ve got a hangover?”
“Yes I do, of course I do, Sir. Of course I do. I was just sayin’ you'd think...
Anyway, I’ve brought you a sure remedy for that headache I just knew you’d have.”
“Oh no! Not another one of your remedies.”
“Don’t worry a bit, Sir. Komodo gave me this one and he swears by it.”
“Oh no! Komodo’s remedies are even worse! Why am I plagued by these second-hand remedies of yours??”
“But Komo –”
“Aah Komodo!! Komodo, Komodo, Komodo! If I hear the name of that gallumping great Dragon one more time...”
“But he’s so gentle, Sir. As gentle as a lamb. And he swears…”
“He’s not a giant, though, Shoebill. Over-sized lizards don’t eat what giants eat, do they?”
“It’s just the remedy for a headache…“
‘I haven’t got a headache!“
“Oh...my mistake, Sir. However, I’ll just leave it here on this bean leaf, in case you change your mind, Sir. I think, however, you should stop drinking your own bean leaf home-brew, Sir. That stuff is 50% alcohol, Sir...just sayin’...”
“Aagh!, Don't be ridiculous, Shoebill. It's nothing like 50%. I'd be dead if it was and I'm a giant."
"Well, how strong is it then?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake! I'm not a chemist, Shoebill! I’m going for a walk.”
The door slammed and Zenix the giant stomped away downstairs to his own personal forest to get some peace.
After 10 minutes he realised...that headache he didn’t really have was just too much to stand, so he headed back to the house, stomped upstairs and retired to bed.
Shoebill followed and asked innocently, “Did you get all your wood chopped for today, Sir?”
“No! I couldn’t stand the sound of the axe. This headache is chopping my head open as it is. I’m going to sleep. No disturbances, thank you, Shoebill.”
“As you wish, Sir”
However, poor Zenix couldn’t sleep for the banging in his head. In desperation, he reached over, took.the glass of ‘remedy’ and glugged it down. Within 10 minutes the headache had gone and Zenix uttered, “Typical! That dragon just has to be right, again.”
Downstairs, Shoebill worked in the kitchen preparing meals, until he heard tapping at the door. and a lyrical voice called, “Anyone at home; is it safe?”
It was his friend, his dear friend, Komodo.
“Did the remedy work, Shoebbill?”
Shoebill shrugged “Who knows? He refuses to drink it.”
Just then they heard a loud rumbling, like thunder, and the walls vibrated and echoes issued from the ceiling above. Snoring!
Shoebill smiled. “Aah...maybe he did. I’ll make coffee for us.”
It was two hours before even louder rumbling, this time from the stairs, indicated that Zenix was awake and on his way down.
Komodo rose hurriedly from the table. “Back tomorrow.” And he was gone
--0--
Zenix was happy. He chopped all his wood and no sign of a headache. He ate everything that Shoebill had cooked for his dinner and woke up feeling refreshed. Not even waiting for breakfast, he went off to the woods to cut more wood.
Then through the trees he saw Komodo emerging from his cosy cave.
In a few quick strides he was there. “Oh, Komodo, you are a wonderful friend. Thank you! Thank you, Thank you for curing my headache with your outstanding remedy. Please accept my grateful appreciation, and please come home with me for lunch.”
Shoebill was quite taken aback when the two arrived arm in arm.
“Look, Shoebill, I’ve brought my new best friend to lunch. This calls for a celebratory drink. Please bring two glasses of bean brew.”
Shoebill started to object. “But Zenix, your Health…”
Komodo spoke up, “Don’t worry, Shoebill. We have the remedy if anything unfortunate occurs.”
“Certainly Komodo. Whatever!”
At breakfast the next morning Komodo was on the doorstep again, and then again at lunch. Shoebill was insulted. Zenix the giant had stolen his best friend.
Shoebill became quiet and depressed. Zenix became louder and drunker. Komodo hardly went home to bed.
In all, two weeks passed when, one morning, without a word of explanation, Komodo did not come for breakfast. Zenix was nonplussed. His new found friend came late for lunch, but left early, saying, “Can’t stay, be back for breakfast, Zenix,“ and out the door he went full steam crawling.
Zenix dragged himself off to the woods each day without any joy. With sluggish arms he chopped only half a load. Firewood ran out in the kitchen and Shoebill threatened a tantrum. One day Zenix sat down with his back against a tree, and giant tears of disappointment overflowed down his trembling face. That’s when he saw... Komodo had a new friend! And It was a girlfriend. The two dragons strolled together towards the stream. They only had eyes for each other.
Zenix rushed home, bursting in the front door and yelling for Shoebill.
“Goodness me, Zenix, what ever has happened?” Shoebill looked shocked. “One instant you’re not talking to me; then all of a sudden...”
“Shh! Shh!!” Zenix couldn’t wait to share his news. “Guess What, Shoebill? Komodo Is in love! Komodo is in love!”
Shoebill was shocked now. “No!! He told me he was a confirmed bachelor!”
Later the two old friends sat over coffee. “You are the best, Shoebill,” Zenix said warmly.
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Little Girl Lost (based on true happening)
LITTLE GIRL LOST
I wasn't used to hustle and bustle, or crowds of people, or crowds of shops.
I was used to long hours of boredom, quietness, and slow-moving farm days.
When I was six my parents drove the long dusty journey to the city to visit my grandparents. On the second day my mother took me to a big city shop, McDonnell and East, where there were lots of ladies dressed up in best hats, best shoes and best dresses. They all carried handbags; Mum did too. I had on my black patent-leather shoes and white socks.
I was fascinated by all the things you could buy--bright jugs and plates, pretty glass vases in startling shiny colours, and pretty little ornaments! But most of all I wanted to ride on the escalators. It looked simple enough. All you had to do was go up....... and come down. And what fun!
I pleaded with Mum, "Please Mum, please.... I can do it by myself. I'll just go up there, and then I'll come back down. I'll be all right--please!"
She relented.
I went up. I looked around. I saw more escalators. I thought, 'I can do that. I'll go up again.' I had great fun.
Then I ran out of escalators!
'Maybe I'm back where I started.' But Mum wasn't there. I felt fear. I was alone, and I couldn't see Mum anywhere. I went up again; I came down again. But everything looked different. I couldn't find that escalator -- the one I originally came upon. It had looked so easy.
I searched again. Mum was nowhere! I tried to look appealingly at the ladies as they hurried by. They didn't give me a second glance. They were all intent on their shopping. They all knew where they were going. No one else looked lost, or couldn't find the escalators.
I was bewildered but I was too shy to speak to anyone because they might think I was terribly rude, and silly for getting lost.
I felt sick in the stomach, and was starting to panic. I wanted so desperately to find my mum.
Obviously I needed help from somebody, but I wondered who was going to feel sorry for a silly country girl who got lost.
I hung my head and I cried.
A lady stopped. "Oh goodness -- what's wrong dear?"
I cried, "I've lost my mother."
Another lady came, "Can't you find your mother, dear?"
"She's on the floor under here," I sobbed, pointing to the floor.
"No dear, there is no floor under this one," the first lady informed me.
"You're in the basement, here," the second one agreed.
I was shocked. How on earth did I get into the basement?!
Then suddenly, there she was -- Mum was at the top of the escalator.The first lady insisted on taking me right to the top, back to my mother.
"I knew you'd get lost." said my mother.
‘Oh, no! Why did she have to say that?’
I wasn't used to hustle and bustle, or crowds of people, or crowds of shops.
I was used to long hours of boredom, quietness, and slow-moving farm days.
When I was six my parents drove the long dusty journey to the city to visit my grandparents. On the second day my mother took me to a big city shop, McDonnell and East, where there were lots of ladies dressed up in best hats, best shoes and best dresses. They all carried handbags; Mum did too. I had on my black patent-leather shoes and white socks.
I was fascinated by all the things you could buy--bright jugs and plates, pretty glass vases in startling shiny colours, and pretty little ornaments! But most of all I wanted to ride on the escalators. It looked simple enough. All you had to do was go up....... and come down. And what fun!
I pleaded with Mum, "Please Mum, please.... I can do it by myself. I'll just go up there, and then I'll come back down. I'll be all right--please!"
She relented.
I went up. I looked around. I saw more escalators. I thought, 'I can do that. I'll go up again.' I had great fun.
Then I ran out of escalators!
'Maybe I'm back where I started.' But Mum wasn't there. I felt fear. I was alone, and I couldn't see Mum anywhere. I went up again; I came down again. But everything looked different. I couldn't find that escalator -- the one I originally came upon. It had looked so easy.
I searched again. Mum was nowhere! I tried to look appealingly at the ladies as they hurried by. They didn't give me a second glance. They were all intent on their shopping. They all knew where they were going. No one else looked lost, or couldn't find the escalators.
I was bewildered but I was too shy to speak to anyone because they might think I was terribly rude, and silly for getting lost.
I felt sick in the stomach, and was starting to panic. I wanted so desperately to find my mum.
Obviously I needed help from somebody, but I wondered who was going to feel sorry for a silly country girl who got lost.
I hung my head and I cried.
A lady stopped. "Oh goodness -- what's wrong dear?"
I cried, "I've lost my mother."
Another lady came, "Can't you find your mother, dear?"
"She's on the floor under here," I sobbed, pointing to the floor.
"No dear, there is no floor under this one," the first lady informed me.
"You're in the basement, here," the second one agreed.
I was shocked. How on earth did I get into the basement?!
Then suddenly, there she was -- Mum was at the top of the escalator.The first lady insisted on taking me right to the top, back to my mother.
"I knew you'd get lost." said my mother.
‘Oh, no! Why did she have to say that?’
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
Companionship ( microfiction)
"As usual I'm sitting here all by myself -- there's two of us and I'm still all alone -- talking to a husband yet talking to myself -- Jack? Jack? Are you awake? Of course you're not -- I should know better."
"How many times do I sit here in this chair, my old worn out chair -- worn out! Worn out -- with the packing coming loose at the seams; talking to myself because you're too asleep to answer!"
"Oh good God -- the man could be dead! Jack? For heaven's sake -- Jack? Jack!! Are you awake now? Oh, are you awake dear? Were you having a little nap Honey?
Well...... sweetheart...... could you get me a cuppa while you're up?"
Saturday, 15 December 2012
Contented Confusion non-fiction, names changed.
Contented Confusion
The bed was empty. John and I looked at each other, "I'll go look for a nurse," he offered
.
"All right honey, I'll wait here for you."
Within ten minutes he and the nurse returned together, both looking worried. "I'm just going to help look for her," John told me. "You wait here in case she comes back; they thought she was sitting out on the solarium, but her chair is empty."
The nurse added, "if she's not in the bathroom or anywhere around here, I'll go over and check the hospital wards. She was definitely on the solarium only half an hour ago."
John's mother was in the nursing home annex of St Bartholomew's Hospital, which was joined to the main hospital complex by a long corridor. When we first brought her here from her previous nursing home she was almost bedridden, and confused and dribbling constantly from overmedication. Such a distraught state did her mind get into at times, that often she had to be restrained in her chair or her bed.
A wonderful doctor who thought outside the square supervised the running of St Barts Nursing Home and consequently, with more responsible management, my mother-in-law was now, though confused, happy in herself and mobile around the home. Unfortunately, her confused state due to senile dementia often led to her getting lost. Once, asking help from another patient’s visiting relative who completely fell for her guile, she escaped the complex altogether and roamed the streets for several hours. On that occasion John and I had driven up hill and down dale, looking into all the nooks and crannies of darkened streets, until at last we found her. She was blocks away, clothed but barefooted, tired and worn out from tramping endlessly around.
She rounded on John when we approached, "Oh come on John -- hurry up -- I'm so tired and fed up!" Smiling, we returned her in one piece to the nursing home, where she was soon tucked up and sound asleep.
We loved this nursing home. Although it hadn't been built to cater for clients with dementia, the staff were outstanding in their quality of care and their love and devotion. Many times as we sat there with her a staff member approached with bright sparkly conversation, hugging her affectionately.
Within six months she got to the stage where this place was the only home she knew. If we took her out to our home for a visit she became anxious, hyperventilating and asking confused questions that we could not answer. Soon we realised this was the end of the line for her. There would be no more home visits because she only became more upset and disoriented.
--00--
Now she was lost again. The nurse returned looking more worried than ever.
"I can't find her anywhere -- I've looked in all the wards and searched all the bathrooms -- I even went up to the operating theatre in case she went up there -- but nothing." Then she added, "We put an alarm on her wrist -- but she worked at it till she got it off."
The nursing home supervisor joined us, also looking worried. I guess she was concerned that we might sue them. But it wasn't their fault. We knew when we took our mother there that they weren't equipped to cater for people who wandered away. They were doing their utmost to keep her indoors while still concerned about her freedom of movement. That was important to us. Really their quality of care made up for any shortfalls.
But something had to be done immediately to find her. We agreed to go out in the car and search t he streets.
We started with Koplick Terrace on the top side of the nursing home. This was a long street which wound around and down the side of a hill and had to be at least a kilometre long. At the end of the street was a large fairground and as the annual Big Exhibition was about to be staged, the wide gates were open and an army of workers were busy setting up merry-go-rounds, a ferris wheel, stalls of all descriptions and cattle and poultry showing stalls.
I didn't think she could possibly have gone this far. Neither did John. He turned the car right at the next side street and we slowly toured the block. Street by street we surveyed the area, craning our necks out the car windows. It was 4 PM and we didn't want to be much later before we found her. The weather was still cool and it would be getting a bit chilly after 5 PM, especially for an old lady.
We decided to check in with St Barts. John returned to the car feeling despondent, "No sign of her."
He settled himself behind the steering wheel and switched on the motor again. We didn't know where to go next, but just then his mobile phone rang. "Ye-es...I do," I heard him say. Then, "We’ll be down straight away."
"She’s down at the Cas at the Royal," he said, "Somebody found her down in the Showgrounds. She's had a fall and the ambulance took her to Casualty.
Sure enough, when we arrived she was sitting up as large as life on one of the couches chatting to the staff. The doctor had inserted three stitches into a cut on her forehead. We found out she'd had a fall inside the Showgrounds away across the opposite side from Koplick Terrace. She'd managed to get all the way to the cattle pavilions, where she'd had a fall and someone had called the ambulance. The hospital had tracked us down by the name tag sewn into the back of her dress.
The nursing home welcomed her back with lots of hugs and kisses and laughing and exclaiming over her adventure. She was happy to be the centre of attention, but after a bowl of soup decided she was too tired to eat anything else and was soon curled up like an innocent little child sound asleep.
John and I hugged each other tight. "Thank God she is all right," I whispered.
John’s only comment was, "Poor mum."
The bed was empty. John and I looked at each other, "I'll go look for a nurse," he offered
.
"All right honey, I'll wait here for you."
Within ten minutes he and the nurse returned together, both looking worried. "I'm just going to help look for her," John told me. "You wait here in case she comes back; they thought she was sitting out on the solarium, but her chair is empty."
The nurse added, "if she's not in the bathroom or anywhere around here, I'll go over and check the hospital wards. She was definitely on the solarium only half an hour ago."
John's mother was in the nursing home annex of St Bartholomew's Hospital, which was joined to the main hospital complex by a long corridor. When we first brought her here from her previous nursing home she was almost bedridden, and confused and dribbling constantly from overmedication. Such a distraught state did her mind get into at times, that often she had to be restrained in her chair or her bed.
A wonderful doctor who thought outside the square supervised the running of St Barts Nursing Home and consequently, with more responsible management, my mother-in-law was now, though confused, happy in herself and mobile around the home. Unfortunately, her confused state due to senile dementia often led to her getting lost. Once, asking help from another patient’s visiting relative who completely fell for her guile, she escaped the complex altogether and roamed the streets for several hours. On that occasion John and I had driven up hill and down dale, looking into all the nooks and crannies of darkened streets, until at last we found her. She was blocks away, clothed but barefooted, tired and worn out from tramping endlessly around.
She rounded on John when we approached, "Oh come on John -- hurry up -- I'm so tired and fed up!" Smiling, we returned her in one piece to the nursing home, where she was soon tucked up and sound asleep.
We loved this nursing home. Although it hadn't been built to cater for clients with dementia, the staff were outstanding in their quality of care and their love and devotion. Many times as we sat there with her a staff member approached with bright sparkly conversation, hugging her affectionately.
Within six months she got to the stage where this place was the only home she knew. If we took her out to our home for a visit she became anxious, hyperventilating and asking confused questions that we could not answer. Soon we realised this was the end of the line for her. There would be no more home visits because she only became more upset and disoriented.
--00--
Now she was lost again. The nurse returned looking more worried than ever.
"I can't find her anywhere -- I've looked in all the wards and searched all the bathrooms -- I even went up to the operating theatre in case she went up there -- but nothing." Then she added, "We put an alarm on her wrist -- but she worked at it till she got it off."
The nursing home supervisor joined us, also looking worried. I guess she was concerned that we might sue them. But it wasn't their fault. We knew when we took our mother there that they weren't equipped to cater for people who wandered away. They were doing their utmost to keep her indoors while still concerned about her freedom of movement. That was important to us. Really their quality of care made up for any shortfalls.
But something had to be done immediately to find her. We agreed to go out in the car and search t he streets.
We started with Koplick Terrace on the top side of the nursing home. This was a long street which wound around and down the side of a hill and had to be at least a kilometre long. At the end of the street was a large fairground and as the annual Big Exhibition was about to be staged, the wide gates were open and an army of workers were busy setting up merry-go-rounds, a ferris wheel, stalls of all descriptions and cattle and poultry showing stalls.
I didn't think she could possibly have gone this far. Neither did John. He turned the car right at the next side street and we slowly toured the block. Street by street we surveyed the area, craning our necks out the car windows. It was 4 PM and we didn't want to be much later before we found her. The weather was still cool and it would be getting a bit chilly after 5 PM, especially for an old lady.
We decided to check in with St Barts. John returned to the car feeling despondent, "No sign of her."
He settled himself behind the steering wheel and switched on the motor again. We didn't know where to go next, but just then his mobile phone rang. "Ye-es...I do," I heard him say. Then, "We’ll be down straight away."
"She’s down at the Cas at the Royal," he said, "Somebody found her down in the Showgrounds. She's had a fall and the ambulance took her to Casualty.
Sure enough, when we arrived she was sitting up as large as life on one of the couches chatting to the staff. The doctor had inserted three stitches into a cut on her forehead. We found out she'd had a fall inside the Showgrounds away across the opposite side from Koplick Terrace. She'd managed to get all the way to the cattle pavilions, where she'd had a fall and someone had called the ambulance. The hospital had tracked us down by the name tag sewn into the back of her dress.
The nursing home welcomed her back with lots of hugs and kisses and laughing and exclaiming over her adventure. She was happy to be the centre of attention, but after a bowl of soup decided she was too tired to eat anything else and was soon curled up like an innocent little child sound asleep.
John and I hugged each other tight. "Thank God she is all right," I whispered.
John’s only comment was, "Poor mum."
Friday, 14 December 2012
Felicity's Advnture with Mr Wooly (kids' comedy)
FELICITY'S ADVENTURE WITH MR WOOLY
Felicity silk decided early one morning to go out to find an adventure. With her best hat on, she set off walking down the street until she came to Mr Wooly's place.
"Perhaps I'll call on my friend Mr Wooly," she said to herself, knocking on his door.
Mr Wooly had been asleep and he came to the door rubbing his eyes. Still, he was very polite, and invited her in for a cup of tea.
Just when they got started on tea and coconut cookies, a loud banging was heard on Mr Wooly's front door, and a voice called out, "Wooly! Wooly! Come quickly!"
They both hurried out to find Bluebell, Mr Wooly's sheep friend, at the door in great distress.
After a short conference between the two sheep, Mr Wooly appealed to Felicity for help. "Hurry Felicity, jump on my back!"
Felicity couldn't believe her ears, but she could see that the situation was urgent. Walking back a few paces, she braced herself for a spring, and in no time was digging her front paws into Mr Wooly's thick wool to hold on.
He took off running so fast that poor Felicity's back legs flew up in the air and she had to hold on tight with her front paws to stop herself from being flung off.
"Aaghh!" she screeched as Mr Wooly came to a sudden halt in front of a house, stopping so suddenly that Felicity's nose was buried deep in the wool and she almost somersaulted over his head!
She was just gathering herself and preparing to leap off when Mr Wooly took off trotting down a long lane-way. Apparently they were not there yet. She bounced up and down on the thick wool and was in danger of falling off if she hadn't dug in her claws even deeper. Her nose was twitching ominously and she knew that any minute she would sneeze. Sure enough an enormous sneeze followed and once again she was hanging on for dear life.
They arrived in front of a pen of seven sheep, all looking at the gate and stamping their feet with anger. But that didn't worry their enemy, Mr Red dog, at all, who had his nose poked through the gate.
"Ha ha," he sneered as he showed his big sharp teeth, "I can see you all and if I come in their I will eat you all, one by one."
Of course he couldn't get through the gate, but the sheep were still scared. Mr Wooly and Felicity were very angry with Mr Red dog for being such a bully.
Felicity leaned down and whispered in Mr Wooly's ear, "Mr Wooly, can you stand sideways in front of Mr Red dog, quickly?" she asked.
"Of course," replied Wooly.
Felicity leaned over as far as she could. She had her shiny sharp claws stretched out and when she got close enough she swiped Mr red dog across the nose!
"Ooooow!!" howled Mr Red Dog at the top of his voice, "Ooooow!" And he ran off holding his nose.
The sheep all laughed and laughed. "Hurray for Felicity!" they cheered.
Felicity had found her adventure; but she was so shaken up that she had to be taken home by Mr Wooly and given a cup of tea.
Copyright December 2012
Thursday, 13 December 2012
THE GOOD WIFE short flash fiction
THE GOOD WIFE
"As usual I'm sitting here all by myself – there's two of us and I'm still all alone – talking to a husband yet talking to myself – Jack? Jack? Are you awake? Of course you're not – I should know better."
"How many times to I sit here in this chair, my old worn out chair – worn out! Worn out, with the packing coming loose at the seams –talking to myself because you're too deaf to answer!"
"Oh, good God – are you dead? Jack? For heaven's sake – Jack? Jack!! Are you awake? Oh, you're awake! Dear? Where you having a nice little nap, Honey? Oh, you're getting up? Well… Sweetheart… Could you get me a cuppa while you're up?"
"As usual I'm sitting here all by myself – there's two of us and I'm still all alone – talking to a husband yet talking to myself – Jack? Jack? Are you awake? Of course you're not – I should know better."
"How many times to I sit here in this chair, my old worn out chair – worn out! Worn out, with the packing coming loose at the seams –talking to myself because you're too deaf to answer!"
"Oh, good God – are you dead? Jack? For heaven's sake – Jack? Jack!! Are you awake? Oh, you're awake! Dear? Where you having a nice little nap, Honey? Oh, you're getting up? Well… Sweetheart… Could you get me a cuppa while you're up?"
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Farmer Blue micro-fiction
FARMER BLUE
I saw my neighbouring farmer striding towards his haystacks. He was calling out, "Blue! Blue!"
I felt anxious for his son, and hoped he wasn't in trouble again.
Within 10 min I heard the horn.
Little Boy Blue was herding cows out of a cornfield.
LITTLE MISS MicroFiction
LITTLE MISS
She was fed up with him harassing her
while she ate her lunch.
She sat down to eat,
he sidled up...
Miss Muffet ran away.
She was fed up with him harassing her
while she ate her lunch.
She sat down to eat,
he sidled up...
Miss Muffet ran away.
An Amorous Stranger flash fiction
The Amorous StrangerThe girls at the disco were beautiful seventeens.
"I didn't want to come!" Libby was angry. "I hate dances. No boys talk to me. They don't look at me!
Janet tried to calm her. "You look beautiful –wait…" A handsome stranger approached. Libby was ecstatic. They danced into the shadows.
Janet went home alone at 2:00 am. She chewed her fingernails until she could stand in the longer. Where have they gone? She dialled police at 4 AM.
9:00 am a policewoman arrived. "We found her name bracelet –she's still missing–sorry."
Janet's hand flew to her mouth. I knew I shouldn't have let her go with an amorous stranger.
Friday, 7 December 2012
UPDATE dec 2012
Last June Mum had a bad fall. She was untangling washing which came apart suddenly causing her to sit heavily and to bang her head on the floor. At this time she had a small brain bleed which wasn’t detected until months later. The pain in her spine never really went away.
In August, my sister-in-law found her on the floor after a second fall and she was hospitalised for two weeks.
Her pain increased and in November she went to hospital again. While there, her lungs began to fill with fluid. Tests showed cancer cells and despite treatment she deteriorated quickly.
Her grandchildren, great grandchildren, and her three great great grandchildren all flocked to her bedside.
Owen, Larry and I stayed with her throughout. Our son lifted me onto the bed to give her a last hug. We hugged for a long time.
She left us finally on 20th Nov., 6 weeks from turning 100.
I'm sorry there has been this big gap in my writing. I hope to resume now.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Mum påssed away Nov 20
Rest in peace
Know that I love you and I always will
Though you have gone and forever rest still
Glow as you did at your wedding day thrill
No one can hurt you while God has his will.
Sleep there in heaven, dear mother of mine
Keep a watch over us, let your light shine,
Weep not while above with God so divine.
Meet me when I come to join you some time
Giddy
Know that I love you and I always will
Though you have gone and forever rest still
Glow as you did at your wedding day thrill
No one can hurt you while God has his will.
Sleep there in heaven, dear mother of mine
Keep a watch over us, let your light shine,
Weep not while above with God so divine.
Meet me when I come to join you some time
Giddy
Friday, 16 November 2012
Why Didn't Someone Stop Me? (flash fiction)
Why didn’t someone stop me?
I made up my mind. I would not be deterred. At some vague level I knew I was drunk, and they let me go.
I was being unreasonable; they knew I was drunk. They let me go.
How I wish someone had stopped me. They didn't.
I was determined to hitchhike.
I stood on the road's edge, swaying. I raised my hand to every oncoming vehicle. The swish of the wind from their passing bulk almost knocked me backwards onto my bum. Though I must have reeked of grog, the drivers wouldn't have known that. Not then. Nobody stopped. No one yelled, "Hop aboard young lady," while drawing into the curb.
My stomach began rolling like an ocean wave. My arm dropped – my head drooped. I turned, and was sick on the gravelly roadside.
I had paid a lot for my hairstyle before the party. Now it hung in my face. I was angry as I thought of them – those other girls back there – those gigglers back there. I didn't know why they wouldn't come with me, but I'd show them! So what if I was wearing high heels and my red satin miniskirt – so what? I'd show them! I could hitchhike if I wanted to! They said I wasn't dressed right.
Then I heard it. The crunching of tyres on gravel as a vehicle pulled off the bitumen. I swung around. It was a dual-cabin truck with three men inside. I ignored the hair prickling the back of my neck, and got into the open back door.
They didn't ask me where I was going. They were laughing a lot, but I didn't hear the joke. They didn't talk to me – they talked to each other.
I felt tired. I wished I was home in bed; home at the apartment.
Then one said, snickering, "Does your mummy know you're out, little girl? You got nice legs for your age."
"I'm 18!" I snapped. They all laughed.
I closed my eyes. I just wanted to sleep. I felt the truck pulling up again. It was bouncing – we were off the bitumen.
"Where are you going?" No one answered.
Then I was on the ground. I felt my head hit a rock. The tearing pain between my thighs went on and on. God help me!
I'm sober now. A young male officer asks me, "Did they say anything before they left?"
"Yes, tell your mummy you had a great night out!"
Why didn't someone stop me?
I made up my mind. I would not be deterred. At some vague level I knew I was drunk, and they let me go.
I was being unreasonable; they knew I was drunk. They let me go.
How I wish someone had stopped me. They didn't.
I was determined to hitchhike.
I stood on the road's edge, swaying. I raised my hand to every oncoming vehicle. The swish of the wind from their passing bulk almost knocked me backwards onto my bum. Though I must have reeked of grog, the drivers wouldn't have known that. Not then. Nobody stopped. No one yelled, "Hop aboard young lady," while drawing into the curb.
My stomach began rolling like an ocean wave. My arm dropped – my head drooped. I turned, and was sick on the gravelly roadside.
I had paid a lot for my hairstyle before the party. Now it hung in my face. I was angry as I thought of them – those other girls back there – those gigglers back there. I didn't know why they wouldn't come with me, but I'd show them! So what if I was wearing high heels and my red satin miniskirt – so what? I'd show them! I could hitchhike if I wanted to! They said I wasn't dressed right.
Then I heard it. The crunching of tyres on gravel as a vehicle pulled off the bitumen. I swung around. It was a dual-cabin truck with three men inside. I ignored the hair prickling the back of my neck, and got into the open back door.
They didn't ask me where I was going. They were laughing a lot, but I didn't hear the joke. They didn't talk to me – they talked to each other.
I felt tired. I wished I was home in bed; home at the apartment.
Then one said, snickering, "Does your mummy know you're out, little girl? You got nice legs for your age."
"I'm 18!" I snapped. They all laughed.
I closed my eyes. I just wanted to sleep. I felt the truck pulling up again. It was bouncing – we were off the bitumen.
"Where are you going?" No one answered.
Then I was on the ground. I felt my head hit a rock. The tearing pain between my thighs went on and on. God help me!
I'm sober now. A young male officer asks me, "Did they say anything before they left?"
"Yes, tell your mummy you had a great night out!"
Why didn't someone stop me?
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
Another Update
I have been away from Friday to Monday to a town four hours north to visit my mother in hospital.
It is a sad irony that during the 60s and early 70s I learnt to take care of sick people in hospital. I, or my fellow nurses, didn’t judge them by age, or by any other criteria other than that they were ill and required care.
We learned how to wash and feed the frail elderly, sick adults and little children. Strangely it seems, at a glance we could tell if they were uncomfortable--(when their heads were not supported by a pillow, for instance--when their sheets were wet and needed changing, and when their pain had reached a level that needed treatment.
The irony is that now I am elderly, and my mother is even more elderly, (99 to be exact,) and nursing standards are abysmal.
It breaks my heart to see her so wasted and in pain, surrounded by able-bodied people who seem helpless to give her comfort. I watched a nurse get her out of the shower. I watched her totter to her bed, and sit on the edge in an ill fitting gown, (because she was being made ready for a procedure and she has lost so much weight.) Unable to shuffle into position, she was left at a precarious angle on the bed with the sheet only pulled up on one side.
Thank God we were there. I am now in a wheelchair and unable to offer any assistance. I couldn’t even take her in my arms and hug her. My husband lifted her into a comfortable position and adjusted the pillows, only to discover one side of the sheet was wet from the IV drip.
When I visit my families I am compelled to choose a motel with disabled unit because of my condition and none of my relatives has adequate facilities, although they agonise about it and insist they can help. It’s hard to explain to people about total dependency and what is required. The motel becomes expensive, so a long stay is out of the question. Also, while we’re away we don’t have the equipment such as the hoist I need.
We all got a very strong feeling from the nurses that, Oh, she’s an old lady and going to die anyway, so why bother.
I am broken-hearted and cannot write more.
It is a sad irony that during the 60s and early 70s I learnt to take care of sick people in hospital. I, or my fellow nurses, didn’t judge them by age, or by any other criteria other than that they were ill and required care.
We learned how to wash and feed the frail elderly, sick adults and little children. Strangely it seems, at a glance we could tell if they were uncomfortable--(when their heads were not supported by a pillow, for instance--when their sheets were wet and needed changing, and when their pain had reached a level that needed treatment.
The irony is that now I am elderly, and my mother is even more elderly, (99 to be exact,) and nursing standards are abysmal.
It breaks my heart to see her so wasted and in pain, surrounded by able-bodied people who seem helpless to give her comfort. I watched a nurse get her out of the shower. I watched her totter to her bed, and sit on the edge in an ill fitting gown, (because she was being made ready for a procedure and she has lost so much weight.) Unable to shuffle into position, she was left at a precarious angle on the bed with the sheet only pulled up on one side.
Thank God we were there. I am now in a wheelchair and unable to offer any assistance. I couldn’t even take her in my arms and hug her. My husband lifted her into a comfortable position and adjusted the pillows, only to discover one side of the sheet was wet from the IV drip.
When I visit my families I am compelled to choose a motel with disabled unit because of my condition and none of my relatives has adequate facilities, although they agonise about it and insist they can help. It’s hard to explain to people about total dependency and what is required. The motel becomes expensive, so a long stay is out of the question. Also, while we’re away we don’t have the equipment such as the hoist I need.
We all got a very strong feeling from the nurses that, Oh, she’s an old lady and going to die anyway, so why bother.
I am broken-hearted and cannot write more.
Monday, 12 November 2012
Amateur Marriage Counsellor (short fiction.)
Amateur Marriage Counsellor
The phone rang, and a creepy sixth sense warned me this would be a difficult call. I should have run away right then, but who'd have thought I'd regret answering the phone?
It was my friend Ellie. She was distraught and crying.
"It can't be that bad, Ellie." She was swearing divorce.
I couldn’t believe she was serious! They rarely have a row!
I've got to do something."Come over straight away. I'll put the coffee pot on." I'll try to calm her down.
"We never go anywhere anymore. And he just talks over me–shouting! And he won't listen!" Ellie's fist hit the table, "Oh Jeannie, I can't bear it. I want a divorce!"
Dear sweet Ellie, nearly 45, cried and cried, dabbing her swollen red eyes that looked puffy in her milky complexion, as she brushed impatiently at the short black hair, now tangled and unkempt.
We got together a couple of times a week in one another's kitchens for morning coffee. At 9.30 am on a Monday it was a little earlier than usual, and the men had gone to work.
Ellie's husband is a wood craftsman, making furniture and household crafts. He enhances his work with unique carving. My husband, Laurence, is a carpenter. The men have been good friends ever since Ellie and I brought them together after our respective marriages.
She and I have been close friends since we were young and started work as trainee nurses together. We just seemed to hit it off. People joked about us being 'the long and the short of it', because I was tall and thin, and she was short and plump.
I was shocked when Ellie mentioned divorce, and I started thinking fast. I needed time.
A phone call from my daughter's school interrupted us. 12-year-old Liddy was sick and I'd have to collect her in the car.
"Tomorrow," I ordered Ellie. "Your place at 10 am sharp for another coffee."I have to sort this out.
On Tuesday morning, I left Liddy in bed with cold medication and hurried to Ellie's.
Before sitting down for coffee, I fingered Ellie's beautiful hand-built table. "I've always envied you," I reminded her. "Can we move to the pergola?" I asked.
Ellie seemed thoughtful.
The Middle Eastern style pergola was beautiful. I admired the carving before taking my seat."So gifted," I murmured, pretending to think out loud, "I always thought John had such rich talents; and I love his smile...his whole personality."
Ellie smiled. "That's what I fell in love with," she whispered, tears in her eyes.
After 10 min, I rose, and, cup in hand, wandered around her flowerbeds. We talked gardening.
"I need to take Liddy to the doctor tomorrow," I explained before returning home. "Come back Monday to my plain-Jane kitchen, " I invited as I closed her front gate, another piece of John's great handwork. "Goodbye till then." I tried to sound cheerful.
When Wednesday came, Elie had experienced an epiphany.
She dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose on a soggy tissue. "I've been a fool Jeannie. I want to make it up to John. I've booked into a motel for the weekend; you know--second honeymoon...sort of." A sheepish smile twitched at the side of her mouth as she hung her head, her face reddening.
"He'll appreciate that." I tried to be reassuring, and patted her on the arm.
Thank God! What a relief!
She wasn't finished. "You made me realise... I'm a boring wife. It's time I did something about it."
On Friday night Laurence walked in from work with a mischievous smile. "Whatever is wrong with you?" I burst out.
"John came to see me at work today. Guess what?"
"They're reaffirming their vows?"
He laughed. "You could say that! They're joining a nudist colony!" I gaped.
"John's worried though," Laurence continued, "I feel rather sorry for the guy, because he's so modest."
"Poor John, I didn't think Ellie would go that far."
"No, I told him we'd join with them."
The phone rang, and a creepy sixth sense warned me this would be a difficult call. I should have run away right then, but who'd have thought I'd regret answering the phone?
It was my friend Ellie. She was distraught and crying.
"It can't be that bad, Ellie." She was swearing divorce.
I couldn’t believe she was serious! They rarely have a row!
I've got to do something."Come over straight away. I'll put the coffee pot on." I'll try to calm her down.
"We never go anywhere anymore. And he just talks over me–shouting! And he won't listen!" Ellie's fist hit the table, "Oh Jeannie, I can't bear it. I want a divorce!"
Dear sweet Ellie, nearly 45, cried and cried, dabbing her swollen red eyes that looked puffy in her milky complexion, as she brushed impatiently at the short black hair, now tangled and unkempt.
We got together a couple of times a week in one another's kitchens for morning coffee. At 9.30 am on a Monday it was a little earlier than usual, and the men had gone to work.
Ellie's husband is a wood craftsman, making furniture and household crafts. He enhances his work with unique carving. My husband, Laurence, is a carpenter. The men have been good friends ever since Ellie and I brought them together after our respective marriages.
She and I have been close friends since we were young and started work as trainee nurses together. We just seemed to hit it off. People joked about us being 'the long and the short of it', because I was tall and thin, and she was short and plump.
I was shocked when Ellie mentioned divorce, and I started thinking fast. I needed time.
A phone call from my daughter's school interrupted us. 12-year-old Liddy was sick and I'd have to collect her in the car.
"Tomorrow," I ordered Ellie. "Your place at 10 am sharp for another coffee."I have to sort this out.
On Tuesday morning, I left Liddy in bed with cold medication and hurried to Ellie's.
Before sitting down for coffee, I fingered Ellie's beautiful hand-built table. "I've always envied you," I reminded her. "Can we move to the pergola?" I asked.
Ellie seemed thoughtful.
The Middle Eastern style pergola was beautiful. I admired the carving before taking my seat."So gifted," I murmured, pretending to think out loud, "I always thought John had such rich talents; and I love his smile...his whole personality."
Ellie smiled. "That's what I fell in love with," she whispered, tears in her eyes.
After 10 min, I rose, and, cup in hand, wandered around her flowerbeds. We talked gardening.
"I need to take Liddy to the doctor tomorrow," I explained before returning home. "Come back Monday to my plain-Jane kitchen, " I invited as I closed her front gate, another piece of John's great handwork. "Goodbye till then." I tried to sound cheerful.
When Wednesday came, Elie had experienced an epiphany.
She dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose on a soggy tissue. "I've been a fool Jeannie. I want to make it up to John. I've booked into a motel for the weekend; you know--second honeymoon...sort of." A sheepish smile twitched at the side of her mouth as she hung her head, her face reddening.
"He'll appreciate that." I tried to be reassuring, and patted her on the arm.
Thank God! What a relief!
She wasn't finished. "You made me realise... I'm a boring wife. It's time I did something about it."
On Friday night Laurence walked in from work with a mischievous smile. "Whatever is wrong with you?" I burst out.
"John came to see me at work today. Guess what?"
"They're reaffirming their vows?"
He laughed. "You could say that! They're joining a nudist colony!" I gaped.
"John's worried though," Laurence continued, "I feel rather sorry for the guy, because he's so modest."
"Poor John, I didn't think Ellie would go that far."
"No, I told him we'd join with them."
Sunday, 11 November 2012
The White Picket Fence flash fiction
The White Picket Fence
I sat in the dark, my back hard against our white picket fence. Sheila, my wife, was not happy about my forthcoming trip. She was frightened, uncertain if she could live with the risk of whether I'd come home or not.
I was feeling stupid. I'd been insensitive. My conscience told me to get back inside the house and embrace the woman I loved.
I did embrace her. I tried to make up for my stupidity, and we both shared some passion trying to make up for our impetuous argument.
Wrapped in her arms I whispered, "This will be the last time sweetheart." But I'd made that empty promise before. She didn't believe me this time either.
Six weeks later; Mediterranean Sea:
I played for time on the rocking, motor-launch deck, verbally parrying to gain a few more minutes for our diver to set his charges. I'd befriended Jaleel, the foul-breathed, black-bearded Turk. He was a scoundrel, a mercenary and smuggler, sure, but smart! I could see distrust mounting in his close-set, piggy eyes. I saw his quick glances right and left, beckoning his greasy henchmen. They were baying for blood. I could take one, two at a pinch; but not five.
I was ready. When Jaleel's patience snapped I hit the water and dived deep, trying to stay vertical, and less of a target as I went down. As expected, bullets were hitting the water around me soon enough, and almost before the thought, I felt the sting in my leg.
Soon enough I leveled out, and made desperate sweeping strokes underwater with my arms, trying to get as far away from the boat as possible. I sent a silent plea to God that the diver had succeeded.
I couldn't resist turning to look back as I surfaced, and sure enough the diver had done his work. The boat was in flames. I love divers!
Figuring they'd be too busy saving themselves to worry about me, I set off stroking in the direction of land. In the far distance there were pinpricks of light. The distance was possible. The long-distance swimming ability had been one of the factors that clinched the job for me ten years earlier. Now all I had to worry about was sharks, and I prayed I wasn't leaving a trail of blood from my leg.
At that moment I made up my mind. They're not paying me enough for this secret agent crap. I owe it to Sheila and Candy to get a life and spend some time with them.
Candy was our only child.
Oh God...I can see the faces of those two precious females now. What the hell am I thinking? Sheila went through hell to bring her safely into the world, and a five-year-old doesn't deserve to lose her father this early. Dear God...let me make it to shore.
I had to get my mind off myself. With each stroke I reaffirmed the vow, I will never leave them again.
I settled into my long-distance pattern: deliberate even strokes; breathing steadily, and trying to stay relaxed. I couldn't feel the wound in my leg for at least half an hour.
Then the pain started. Jesus, will I make it?
I was thinking of Sheila and Candy again. Just last night, I'd read my daughter a bedtime story. "I love you, Daddy," she'd said in that beguiling way that daughters have.
Then I thought of Sheila. I was back there, after I'd finally left the fence where I'd been sulking. I was back in bed caressing her beautiful folds. Smelling her delicious freshly showered body and feeling her respond to my mounting ardour.
Later, wrapped in our bathrobes, we shared confidences whilst sipping coffee. In that moment in the water I agonised, 'God I love that woman!'
I'd always known it, but had I really known it? God, just let me live through this... I just want to be back inside that fence. What I'd give to be back there, feeling its hardness on my spine. That's what I'd always wanted; the white picket fence around the suburban cottage; the epitome of normal. I suddenly longed for normal, not this struggling for life caper.
About an hour later I collapsed onto the beach, not caring if it was sand, mud or gravel.
--0--
"You're crazy," my boss told me, "what's this crap about a white picket fence, for God's sake!?"
"That's it! The white picket fence... Don't you see? It's normal, it's what I want."
He went off shaking his head and muttering disgustedly, "Picket fence! Picket bloody fence...
I sat in the dark, my back hard against our white picket fence. Sheila, my wife, was not happy about my forthcoming trip. She was frightened, uncertain if she could live with the risk of whether I'd come home or not.
I was feeling stupid. I'd been insensitive. My conscience told me to get back inside the house and embrace the woman I loved.
I did embrace her. I tried to make up for my stupidity, and we both shared some passion trying to make up for our impetuous argument.
Wrapped in her arms I whispered, "This will be the last time sweetheart." But I'd made that empty promise before. She didn't believe me this time either.
Six weeks later; Mediterranean Sea:
I played for time on the rocking, motor-launch deck, verbally parrying to gain a few more minutes for our diver to set his charges. I'd befriended Jaleel, the foul-breathed, black-bearded Turk. He was a scoundrel, a mercenary and smuggler, sure, but smart! I could see distrust mounting in his close-set, piggy eyes. I saw his quick glances right and left, beckoning his greasy henchmen. They were baying for blood. I could take one, two at a pinch; but not five.
I was ready. When Jaleel's patience snapped I hit the water and dived deep, trying to stay vertical, and less of a target as I went down. As expected, bullets were hitting the water around me soon enough, and almost before the thought, I felt the sting in my leg.
Soon enough I leveled out, and made desperate sweeping strokes underwater with my arms, trying to get as far away from the boat as possible. I sent a silent plea to God that the diver had succeeded.
I couldn't resist turning to look back as I surfaced, and sure enough the diver had done his work. The boat was in flames. I love divers!
Figuring they'd be too busy saving themselves to worry about me, I set off stroking in the direction of land. In the far distance there were pinpricks of light. The distance was possible. The long-distance swimming ability had been one of the factors that clinched the job for me ten years earlier. Now all I had to worry about was sharks, and I prayed I wasn't leaving a trail of blood from my leg.
At that moment I made up my mind. They're not paying me enough for this secret agent crap. I owe it to Sheila and Candy to get a life and spend some time with them.
Candy was our only child.
Oh God...I can see the faces of those two precious females now. What the hell am I thinking? Sheila went through hell to bring her safely into the world, and a five-year-old doesn't deserve to lose her father this early. Dear God...let me make it to shore.
I had to get my mind off myself. With each stroke I reaffirmed the vow, I will never leave them again.
I settled into my long-distance pattern: deliberate even strokes; breathing steadily, and trying to stay relaxed. I couldn't feel the wound in my leg for at least half an hour.
Then the pain started. Jesus, will I make it?
I was thinking of Sheila and Candy again. Just last night, I'd read my daughter a bedtime story. "I love you, Daddy," she'd said in that beguiling way that daughters have.
Then I thought of Sheila. I was back there, after I'd finally left the fence where I'd been sulking. I was back in bed caressing her beautiful folds. Smelling her delicious freshly showered body and feeling her respond to my mounting ardour.
Later, wrapped in our bathrobes, we shared confidences whilst sipping coffee. In that moment in the water I agonised, 'God I love that woman!'
I'd always known it, but had I really known it? God, just let me live through this... I just want to be back inside that fence. What I'd give to be back there, feeling its hardness on my spine. That's what I'd always wanted; the white picket fence around the suburban cottage; the epitome of normal. I suddenly longed for normal, not this struggling for life caper.
About an hour later I collapsed onto the beach, not caring if it was sand, mud or gravel.
--0--
"You're crazy," my boss told me, "what's this crap about a white picket fence, for God's sake!?"
"That's it! The white picket fence... Don't you see? It's normal, it's what I want."
He went off shaking his head and muttering disgustedly, "Picket fence! Picket bloody fence...
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Update to Wood Heap and West Wind
This is an update to let you know what's happening in the family.
Mum, turning 100 on 4th January, has had a few falls lately and is in hospital. Due to constant pain she is very miserable. The thing that upsets her most is that she has lost her independence. It is only this year that she has finally sought help in the home for household chores. We have been blessed to have her for so long, but I fear she will not want to go on in this way too much longer. She refuses to be put into a wheelchair.
My writing will have to take a backseat for a while.
Giddy
Mum, turning 100 on 4th January, has had a few falls lately and is in hospital. Due to constant pain she is very miserable. The thing that upsets her most is that she has lost her independence. It is only this year that she has finally sought help in the home for household chores. We have been blessed to have her for so long, but I fear she will not want to go on in this way too much longer. She refuses to be put into a wheelchair.
My writing will have to take a backseat for a while.
Giddy
Monday, 5 November 2012
Short drama fiction Part 2 The Mexican Affair
The Mexican Affair-- Part 2
Sabine scrambled to her feet and ran for the back door. She flung it open, and was momentarily blinded in dazzling sunlight, except for a flash of red. Once more her arm was grabbed and she was pushed through the side door of a twenty-foot annex. The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a dull crunch behind her and she came face-to-face with a strikingly beautiful young woman.
"Quickly, ma cherie!" The willowy, raven-haired vision with full pouting lips and dramatic eyes, Ifdragged her into a toilet block.
There the two women stood trembling together behind a nearly-closed door. The woman put her finger to her lips and held her arm protectively across Sabine's body. She left the door slightly ajar.
Shouting and footsteps entered the room and Sabine's hand sought her companion's arm. They made no sound, but her frightened eyes took in the other woman's appearance. Despite fear in her face, the stranger stood defiant, curvy, tall, with shapely bronze-skinned shoulders brazenly exposed from the cutaway bodice of her clinging, red satin dress. Framed by black hair coiled into a sophisticated chignon, her beautiful face was the most striking. Long curling eyelashes were heavily mascara-coated, and the shimmering blackeyes were enlarged with jet black eyeliner which curved upwards at the corners.
Forty-five minutes later, retreating footsteps told the two young females their visitors had left. They had endured shouting, cursing, and random shooting, not knowing in which direction it was aimed.
Cautiously, they ventured out into the smoky interior. Ice coated Sabine's back, despite the intense clammy heat.
"I am Sabine."
"Yes, Cherie, I know who you are. My name is Gabriella. I am your sister."
Sabine drew in her breath sharply. "Your…sister? My God, you are so…beautiful, so…young and beautiful…Juanito?? He's your father?"
"Yes of course…you are my sister, my half sister."
Then Gabriella smiled, "And sister, I am not so young you know. I am fifteen years old now."
Sabine gasped for the second time, "Oh, fifteen! But you look so much more… More… worldly. You look… older."
"Oh, I know. It is the truth." Gabriella pouted her full, dazzling red lips. "My father says it too."
They had not heard his approach, but swiftly Juanito entered by the side door. He closed it behind him, breathing heavily, "Dios Mio! You are safe!" Sabine watched as he fell upon Gabriella, hugging her and kissing her hair.
Gabriella threaded her arm through his. "Papá, you see we are safe. We are not bebés. We are just as tough as you. Did not your Nina do the job well? We are very brave, my padre."
Juanito held Sabine's arms tightly, "You were strong Sabine, good!"
"But why, why?? What does it mean, Juanito?? Is it Lobos Frios?"
"Never mind, don't worry... It goes back to the past, a long way, Sabine. Our problems...maybe just starting."
"But the police...?"
Once again she heard the derisive laugh, "They know the police, Cherie, and they have deep pockets."
Before Sabine could speak again, Gabriella broke in, "Papá, we beat them! They have gone! You see I have met your French daughter from America. Such a strange thing… Why do you have a French daughter Papá? You told me she was coming, and I believe you now. We are going to be friends Papá. Did you know we are sisters? Yes, we are half sisters. Mamá told me."
JuanIto appeared to ignore her. "Come quickly." He said holding out his arms and ushering them towards the far end of the building.
With questions hammering in her head, Sabine struggled to keep up, dodging boxes and a muddle of hardware in the narrow, dusty warehouse. After leaving the building by an obscure tiny door in the far back of the building, the trio hurried through narrow dirt alleyways. Sabine was surprised when they doubled back, winding between buildings to a non-descript unpainted shack, huddled close to others in a narrow street of dwellings that looked like a row of bedraggled children hustling to get to the front of the line.
But inside was warm with the smell of bubbling chilli. A striking thirty-something female bustled towards them drying her hands on her apron. Juanito ignored the girls and took the ravishing woman in his arms, kissing her hungrily and lavishly.
The woman pushed him away. Sabine took her outstretched hand and smiled back at her greeting, "I am Carla, welcome to our home."
She followed her new-found relatives silently to a wash house, where they all doused their hands and faces before sitting at the table. When she was seated, Sabine realised hunger was indeed one of the feelings gnawing at her stomach. The chilli was delicious, but sating her appetite had to be the least of her concerns.
Juanito shook his head to her question, but she went on hurriedly before he could speak again."Please Juanito. I am frightened for my mother; she is ill; I am desperate."
She had tried to explain the mysterious threat to her mother in California.
She added, "There was a note; It said, 'Your past is here today. You must get the money, or your daughter is dead,' It was signed, Raf."
Hearing the name on the note, Juanito jumped to his feet.
He swore. "Dios mio!" Then he thumped the table repeatedly, mumbling to himself, and cursing in Spanish.
He looked up at Sabine, "He is trying to get at me through you. I have been a fool." And he swore again.
Briefly he glanced around and announced, "I'll be back soon," and he left the house.
The women sank back into their chairs, hardly breathing. They sat thus for a full 5 min.
Sabine's mind was racing but she felt compelled to ask, "Do you think he will help me, Carla?"
"We must pray, Sabine," Carla said.
Then Sabine asked, "Why does he call me Cherie? It is French."
The other women looked up quickly and spoke together, "You have a French name!"
But it was Carla who continued, "He is like that, my husband, he calls all his women, 'Cherie.' He says it is because of his French lover, many years ago.
And my Juanito," she smiled and cast her eyes down as she added, "He says your mother is French."
At that Sabine's face lit up. "Aah, my mother is French-Canadian. She spoke French and English when she was growing up. But after her trip to Mexico..." Embarrassed, she looked away from the watching faces, "She returned to California, and married. I was born there."
"You didn't know what we were saying?" Gabriella asked.
"Oh, yes, of course… I do speak some French, but my language is English."
After that, the women conversed more freely, and by the time Juanito returned, they had almost finished the domestic chores of cleaning the dishes.
"Sabine," Junito confided privately an hour later, "I'm sorry... Things I have done... In the past... Maybe they are not clever things. But you must believe me, I have never murdered anyone. This Raf... The one in the note you said... He is a murderer... Bad man! Some of my deeds have been…" He waved his outstretched fingers from side to side. "Mmm… Questionable. But Sabine, you are my blood; It is my duty, and like my Carla, you must trust me. This thing, this evil man… It is not your fault. It is mine. And I must fix... everything. You must stay here for... maybe two weeks... When I come back...poof!" His two hands opened in the air, "Our little problem...gone."
Sabine whispered, "Your club? All that killing? Was it...?
"Yes, yes. He is warning me, letting me know... But it is money he wants, I am sure"
"Oh, Juanito, I'm so sorry all this has happened. Will you be safe?"
"Ah, ma Cherie, I know this man. I know his head." Juanito replied, tapping the side of his head with his fingers.
Within the hour he was gone, but not before Sabine observed his passionate farewell to Carla and their daughter.
"I hope we can be friends," Sabine commented to Gabriella soon after Juanito's departure. Gabriella waved her hand, dismissing the subject."Tomorrow, I'll show you the city, my sister."
But the look on Carla's face made Sabine wonder.
She slept little in the tiny cot, haunted by the turmoil of her visit to the club. A cock crowed, before she closed her eyes in sound sleep, only to be woken harshly by crashing plates and loud voices. Sabine jumped out of bed, snatching a colourful blanket and holding it in front of her as she cowered in the corner of the little bedroom.
Then it became obvious the voices were those of her female hosts. Carla seemed to be making an effort to calm and quieten her daughter, and the contrast between outraged shouting and whispered pleading was magnified. Again the unintelligible shouts were punctuated by crashing plates.
Sabine ventured a look around the door, but retreated hastily to her bed when Gabriella flounced in her direction. She entered the room, muttering in Spanish, and threw herself onto the makeshift bed on the floor. She was dressed in a skin-tight, bright yellow singlet top with a plunging neckline, and her skirt, though full at the bottom, dipped below her navel and clung to her hips.
--0--
As days passed, Sabine found herself playing peacemaker. She enjoyed discussions with Carla, but soon realised it had to be tempered with quiet conversational indulgences with Gabriella.They fell into a comfortable routine, and slowly, a fond closeness developed amongst all three.
Towards the end of the second week though, Carla sounded impatient to Sabine when she answered, "As I said before Sabine, we all must wait for God to answer our prayers."
And tears threatened after one too many brittle responses from Gabriella. Then, quite suddenly, their waiting was over.
A cacophony of Spanish filled the little house as the Costanzos family reunited.
Later Juanito came to Sabine. "For a young woman, you are looking very sad, Sabine."
As he held her at arm's length, she observed his face. The black eyes no longer glittered with derision and mirth. His face was drawn and tired. "Oh Juanito," she started, "I'm so sorry..."
But he cut her off."You were right after all, to come to me," he assured her. "All of us, in this house, and your mother in California... We are safe now. You won't be troubled again."
At the mention of California, tears cascaded and she found her face buried against Juanito's shoulder. The thought of going home to her mother and stepfather was particularly inviting
.
"Tomorrow, I must make preparation to return home," she told him."My place is at home, at home in California with my mother and father.You were right. Juanito, I do not belong here."
Sabine scrambled to her feet and ran for the back door. She flung it open, and was momentarily blinded in dazzling sunlight, except for a flash of red. Once more her arm was grabbed and she was pushed through the side door of a twenty-foot annex. The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a dull crunch behind her and she came face-to-face with a strikingly beautiful young woman.
"Quickly, ma cherie!" The willowy, raven-haired vision with full pouting lips and dramatic eyes, Ifdragged her into a toilet block.
There the two women stood trembling together behind a nearly-closed door. The woman put her finger to her lips and held her arm protectively across Sabine's body. She left the door slightly ajar.
Shouting and footsteps entered the room and Sabine's hand sought her companion's arm. They made no sound, but her frightened eyes took in the other woman's appearance. Despite fear in her face, the stranger stood defiant, curvy, tall, with shapely bronze-skinned shoulders brazenly exposed from the cutaway bodice of her clinging, red satin dress. Framed by black hair coiled into a sophisticated chignon, her beautiful face was the most striking. Long curling eyelashes were heavily mascara-coated, and the shimmering blackeyes were enlarged with jet black eyeliner which curved upwards at the corners.
Forty-five minutes later, retreating footsteps told the two young females their visitors had left. They had endured shouting, cursing, and random shooting, not knowing in which direction it was aimed.
Cautiously, they ventured out into the smoky interior. Ice coated Sabine's back, despite the intense clammy heat.
"I am Sabine."
"Yes, Cherie, I know who you are. My name is Gabriella. I am your sister."
Sabine drew in her breath sharply. "Your…sister? My God, you are so…beautiful, so…young and beautiful…Juanito?? He's your father?"
"Yes of course…you are my sister, my half sister."
Then Gabriella smiled, "And sister, I am not so young you know. I am fifteen years old now."
Sabine gasped for the second time, "Oh, fifteen! But you look so much more… More… worldly. You look… older."
"Oh, I know. It is the truth." Gabriella pouted her full, dazzling red lips. "My father says it too."
They had not heard his approach, but swiftly Juanito entered by the side door. He closed it behind him, breathing heavily, "Dios Mio! You are safe!" Sabine watched as he fell upon Gabriella, hugging her and kissing her hair.
Gabriella threaded her arm through his. "Papá, you see we are safe. We are not bebés. We are just as tough as you. Did not your Nina do the job well? We are very brave, my padre."
Juanito held Sabine's arms tightly, "You were strong Sabine, good!"
"But why, why?? What does it mean, Juanito?? Is it Lobos Frios?"
"Never mind, don't worry... It goes back to the past, a long way, Sabine. Our problems...maybe just starting."
"But the police...?"
Once again she heard the derisive laugh, "They know the police, Cherie, and they have deep pockets."
Before Sabine could speak again, Gabriella broke in, "Papá, we beat them! They have gone! You see I have met your French daughter from America. Such a strange thing… Why do you have a French daughter Papá? You told me she was coming, and I believe you now. We are going to be friends Papá. Did you know we are sisters? Yes, we are half sisters. Mamá told me."
JuanIto appeared to ignore her. "Come quickly." He said holding out his arms and ushering them towards the far end of the building.
With questions hammering in her head, Sabine struggled to keep up, dodging boxes and a muddle of hardware in the narrow, dusty warehouse. After leaving the building by an obscure tiny door in the far back of the building, the trio hurried through narrow dirt alleyways. Sabine was surprised when they doubled back, winding between buildings to a non-descript unpainted shack, huddled close to others in a narrow street of dwellings that looked like a row of bedraggled children hustling to get to the front of the line.
But inside was warm with the smell of bubbling chilli. A striking thirty-something female bustled towards them drying her hands on her apron. Juanito ignored the girls and took the ravishing woman in his arms, kissing her hungrily and lavishly.
The woman pushed him away. Sabine took her outstretched hand and smiled back at her greeting, "I am Carla, welcome to our home."
She followed her new-found relatives silently to a wash house, where they all doused their hands and faces before sitting at the table. When she was seated, Sabine realised hunger was indeed one of the feelings gnawing at her stomach. The chilli was delicious, but sating her appetite had to be the least of her concerns.
Juanito shook his head to her question, but she went on hurriedly before he could speak again."Please Juanito. I am frightened for my mother; she is ill; I am desperate."
She had tried to explain the mysterious threat to her mother in California.
She added, "There was a note; It said, 'Your past is here today. You must get the money, or your daughter is dead,' It was signed, Raf."
Hearing the name on the note, Juanito jumped to his feet.
He swore. "Dios mio!" Then he thumped the table repeatedly, mumbling to himself, and cursing in Spanish.
He looked up at Sabine, "He is trying to get at me through you. I have been a fool." And he swore again.
Briefly he glanced around and announced, "I'll be back soon," and he left the house.
The women sank back into their chairs, hardly breathing. They sat thus for a full 5 min.
Sabine's mind was racing but she felt compelled to ask, "Do you think he will help me, Carla?"
"We must pray, Sabine," Carla said.
Then Sabine asked, "Why does he call me Cherie? It is French."
The other women looked up quickly and spoke together, "You have a French name!"
But it was Carla who continued, "He is like that, my husband, he calls all his women, 'Cherie.' He says it is because of his French lover, many years ago.
And my Juanito," she smiled and cast her eyes down as she added, "He says your mother is French."
At that Sabine's face lit up. "Aah, my mother is French-Canadian. She spoke French and English when she was growing up. But after her trip to Mexico..." Embarrassed, she looked away from the watching faces, "She returned to California, and married. I was born there."
"You didn't know what we were saying?" Gabriella asked.
"Oh, yes, of course… I do speak some French, but my language is English."
After that, the women conversed more freely, and by the time Juanito returned, they had almost finished the domestic chores of cleaning the dishes.
"Sabine," Junito confided privately an hour later, "I'm sorry... Things I have done... In the past... Maybe they are not clever things. But you must believe me, I have never murdered anyone. This Raf... The one in the note you said... He is a murderer... Bad man! Some of my deeds have been…" He waved his outstretched fingers from side to side. "Mmm… Questionable. But Sabine, you are my blood; It is my duty, and like my Carla, you must trust me. This thing, this evil man… It is not your fault. It is mine. And I must fix... everything. You must stay here for... maybe two weeks... When I come back...poof!" His two hands opened in the air, "Our little problem...gone."
Sabine whispered, "Your club? All that killing? Was it...?
"Yes, yes. He is warning me, letting me know... But it is money he wants, I am sure"
"Oh, Juanito, I'm so sorry all this has happened. Will you be safe?"
"Ah, ma Cherie, I know this man. I know his head." Juanito replied, tapping the side of his head with his fingers.
Within the hour he was gone, but not before Sabine observed his passionate farewell to Carla and their daughter.
"I hope we can be friends," Sabine commented to Gabriella soon after Juanito's departure. Gabriella waved her hand, dismissing the subject."Tomorrow, I'll show you the city, my sister."
But the look on Carla's face made Sabine wonder.
She slept little in the tiny cot, haunted by the turmoil of her visit to the club. A cock crowed, before she closed her eyes in sound sleep, only to be woken harshly by crashing plates and loud voices. Sabine jumped out of bed, snatching a colourful blanket and holding it in front of her as she cowered in the corner of the little bedroom.
Then it became obvious the voices were those of her female hosts. Carla seemed to be making an effort to calm and quieten her daughter, and the contrast between outraged shouting and whispered pleading was magnified. Again the unintelligible shouts were punctuated by crashing plates.
Sabine ventured a look around the door, but retreated hastily to her bed when Gabriella flounced in her direction. She entered the room, muttering in Spanish, and threw herself onto the makeshift bed on the floor. She was dressed in a skin-tight, bright yellow singlet top with a plunging neckline, and her skirt, though full at the bottom, dipped below her navel and clung to her hips.
--0--
As days passed, Sabine found herself playing peacemaker. She enjoyed discussions with Carla, but soon realised it had to be tempered with quiet conversational indulgences with Gabriella.They fell into a comfortable routine, and slowly, a fond closeness developed amongst all three.
Towards the end of the second week though, Carla sounded impatient to Sabine when she answered, "As I said before Sabine, we all must wait for God to answer our prayers."
And tears threatened after one too many brittle responses from Gabriella. Then, quite suddenly, their waiting was over.
A cacophony of Spanish filled the little house as the Costanzos family reunited.
Later Juanito came to Sabine. "For a young woman, you are looking very sad, Sabine."
As he held her at arm's length, she observed his face. The black eyes no longer glittered with derision and mirth. His face was drawn and tired. "Oh Juanito," she started, "I'm so sorry..."
But he cut her off."You were right after all, to come to me," he assured her. "All of us, in this house, and your mother in California... We are safe now. You won't be troubled again."
At the mention of California, tears cascaded and she found her face buried against Juanito's shoulder. The thought of going home to her mother and stepfather was particularly inviting
.
"Tomorrow, I must make preparation to return home," she told him."My place is at home, at home in California with my mother and father.You were right. Juanito, I do not belong here."
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