Jackie:
Spade
Writing
Sex
Rainbow
Ventilator
House
Joy
The ventilator wacked the air around the small space of her studio apartment. It sounded like the engine of a ocean liner, creating a warmish breeze and shifting stifling air in this very compressed apartement on the 6th floor townhouse from one end to the other.
Squashed between two joyless buildings from the 60’s the tiny house on Albany street in Manhattan had survived many a turmoil When the twin towers collapsed in September 11th 2001 the dust created by the collapse of these buildings lay thick on carpeted floors, furniture and even among kitchen utensils and continued to fall over the weeks and months following the attack. You almost needed a spade to clear away the debris. On that fateful day she had cowered for hours under her kitchen table listening to the screams and sirens outside hearing people run breathless and panicking in front of her house that was situated just a block from the disaster.
Apart from the dust there were millions of papers floating around in the air. Papers from the offices on the 33 floors of the two buildings – most of them were torn into tiny shreds by the explosion, crumpled and burnt. The cinders fell incessantly onto the pavement and reminded her of popping popcorn in her microwave. Incredible as it seemed she picked up a sheaf of correspondence protected by a leather attaché case that had miraculously survived that had been blown inside her doorway. Inside were several letters hadn’t been posted. One of them was addressed to a certain Susan. “ Sex has never been so good as when we were together – I beg of you Susan darling to reconsider my offer of 1000$ of spending money a month, our own studio apartment in Manhattan, a chauffeur driven car at your disposal and a permanent account at Tiffany’s and Bergman Goodman to spend as you wish. I am writing this in my office on the 33rd floor of these towers it is 8 o’clock in the morning and life has become unbearable at home. Since my wife turned 50 she has become frumpy and dull. As she is in her menopause sex is tabou; You will become my rainbow in a darkened marriage. I shall tell my wife tomorrow that I’m going to leave her and we shall live happily ever after. The letter heading was of a well known accountancy firm Jim Carey and Associates 33rd floor, twin towers. The letter was signed “your Jim”.
After a little research she found out that Jim had died in the disaster but his widow lived within train distance and so she paid her a visit.
Mrs Carey lived in a non descript house in NY suburb – rubbed her flour clad hands on her apron as she opened the door. A delicious smell of freshly baked bread wafted her way – a motherly lady sweetly reminded her of her grandmother.
It remained a mystery as to why Jim who could afford 1000$ to his mistress in Manhattan lived in this shabby area of New York and was about to leave his wife.
She accepted the offer of coffee and sat down to get to know her better –my late husband was a clerk in Manhattan she said I don’t remember the name of his firm where he worked but he was killed in her name she told her was Maureen and yours?
“Susan” she replied crumpling up the letter that was hidden in her pocket. “Its nice to meet you”.
Annemarie's contribution:
“Well good morning Prime Minister Johansson. I am so honoured to be back in this little old country. The last time i came I rode in the state carriage alongside her majesty, a wonderful, a truly wonderful little woman. We just have the limousine this time.“ “ Yes.. well..er ...erm that was a state visit. And er ...erm...today it's a ...a private visit between the two of us... And er-, erm.. why don't you call me Boris. After all we will be doing business together. I had thought of writing but I know it's not your forte.“No, golf is more my sport; I don't do the pianoforte. Out on the course whenever there's a problem - the bigger the crisis the more on the course. Now, when you said 'discuss the crown disease I thought you meant Prince Andrew.””“No, Mr President, I merely translated from the Latin - coronavirus - the crown disease - to avoid it being leaked and turned into your fake news. I often speak to the people in Latin. Very few understand and those who don't, well they vote for me. We will go to London to discuss political matters, chickens etc. how we can advise the rest of the world how to deal with this er...., erm... sniffle of an illness. This is a very private visit which is why we are in disguise. The black mask suits you - you look like the Lone Ranger.”“Yes I do look good, good enough to win another election. But then I always said we should wear a mask when I do. And you in the blue because you are conservative? With all this fake news about the Russians helping my last election I will need you support me?”“Well, the masks er...erm... these are the disposable masks (bought from Turkey) and we did have to dispose of all of them and the rest of the medical protection stuff as they were faulty. Which is why I told the country there was really no need to wear them; and the black bin bags didn't show the dirt so saved money there! Now look to your left and you will see Windsor Castle, one of our Queen's residences,” said Boris.“Well it certainly looks good and old but why build it so near the airport?”Boris, apparently, does not hear the question.“ Now, Doris, we are going to do a lot of good stuff, a lot of good, good stuff - tell your good people if bleach is good enough for the chickens we will be sending to your little England - a good, very good little place, -it must be good enough for us. An injection for each of us will stop us getting Kung-flu and keep our countries working. And if we buy your National Health we can supply you with all the masks we did not wear.”“ Mr President...”“Doris, call me Donald. I can see we are going to be very good, very good friends. ““Donald,I keep telling my voters we have trade agreements with America, that we are oven-ready to go...“ “So you will need our chickens.. “ says Donald“Our Brexit negotiations with Europe are getting along fine - just a few problems with borders..” mumbled Boris.“ Just build a wall...I’m telling you...that's what I’m doing - the biggest, strongest wall, a wall tested by mountaineers, a wall to rival the wall of Kungfluland. Of course I would have had pools with crocodiles along the length and spikes on the tops of the wall. These people are bringing drugs. They're bringing crime. They're rapists. And some I assume are good people. I call a spade a spade and they call me a rapist- I mean a racist; so you, Doris what do you think?”“Pica-ninnies with watermelon mouths, Muslim women in burkas looking like letterboxes,” thinks Boris but thinks it to himself. After all America is his only chance and he still owes a lifetime of taxes there. “Well, er-, erm, er- in South Africa...” he stutters only to have Donald ask:“Do we want a rainbow nation? Why is the home of the President of this great nation called 'the White House' if it's not meant for white folks to rule? Build a wall, a great big wall! Now what about this trade deal - what is wrong with geren -, geneol-, generally modicum crops? Bigger, better crops just like our women - generally, genetically modic...,modified women. Boris wishes he were conversing in Latin. He looks at the orange man with the carefully coiffured cockatoo hair who wants a white America and wonders ‘ quam in terris’ this posturing man ever became leader of the western world.“Talking of women you have had a good, good time. How many children now ?” asks Donald.“Er, erm... they say at least 6 but er, erm it may be 16. Jolly good, hey? You had your golf course and I was laid low in the bedroom during the peak of the coronavirus. The joy of sex!”
The President looks at the red-faced man in the scruffy suit , shirt hanging out, tie a-squiff and a tousled thatch of white blonde hair newly ruffled as though he has just gotten out of bed and he wonders how in God's world half of Britainland voted for him.“Tell me, Doris, when you phoned me for ventilators was that for crownflu disease or to recover from exertions... I mean exercises in the bedroom?” asked the President.Boris turned a little redder, Donald was still orange except where a gust of air lifted his carefully coiffured fringe to reveal skin as white as chlorine bleached chicken skin.
Geraldine's contribution:
SPADE – WRITING – SEX – RAINBOW – VENTILATOR – HOUSE – JOY
Sarah and James used to love spending a month or so, in the middle of the summer high up in the Alps. There was this spot situated almost at the limit between the larches and the grazing spot for the mountain cows.
They used to leave the city with the boot packed with fresh food, hot clothes, mountain sticks, hats, sunscreen and glasses, hicking shoes and what have you, all shoved in bagpacks (except for the shoes that they would change into ) because once they would reach the pass, they would have to leave the car there, and with their bags on their backs, walk for an hour or so, down to the little house – well it’s more like a chalet- where they longed, year after year, for the peace, joy and regeneration that would help them get through to the next one!
After reaching the spot, what fun to hear the helicopter and assist it in receptioning the goods they had ordered : loads of canned food, potatoes, lentils, rice, pasta, sardines, tuna fish , gas bottles, wine, beer, sugar,, flour, tools for the garden such as a chain-saw, a water can, a few spades, a rake etc… They would be delivered in a special net and Sarah and James would carefully unload them in the storm made by the helicoper blades and then move back to let it go and deliver elswhere in the pastures.
That’s when the holidays began ! Getting up early in the morning hoping to see, either a few marmots whisteling to each other, or a little herd of chamois runing fast and sometimes, if you were lucky, looking high enough up in the deep blue sky, a royal eagle soaring.
The flowers were deep bright blues, reds or yellows small but strong on their stems. There was a little lake surrounded by wild azalea and full of little frogs and other batrachian.
And then, all along the summer holidays, friends with children and/or dogs would comme visiting them, bringing fresh food from the valley that would be kept in tupperware boxes, in the torrents to keep fresh, covered with big heavy stones to keep them away from the sun : the perfect fridge !
One day, Sarah decided to go for a walk with Chloe and Helen, both teenagers that had joined them.
The weather was strange, heavy, uncertain and storms had been announced, but in the mountains, you never know if they will burst in the morning, in the afternoon or during the night, or not at all. They had been probing the sky for a while after lunch, and then, after a lot of hesitation, had decided to set off around 4 p.m. : they were to climb behind the chalet to a refuge that was about one hour from there. They started at the slow pace that you take when you are winding up the small paths trying to keep in rythm. The 2 girls were chatting and giggling and happy.
About half way up, the clouds started darkening and taking over the blue sky. Then, far away rumblings were heard and the wind started blowing. Within minutes the whole landscape had changed from brightness to darkness and Chloe and Helen stopped joking and hasted their steps to the top, as quickly as they could walk… Anxiety had taken over and Sarah could feel that they were afraid. The rambling amplified, the sky darkened even more… By this time, the refuge wasn’t very far and could be seen in the distance, which helped hasting and quickening their pace. And finally, the little group reached the refuge where a lot of other people had taken shelter. But it still wasn’t raining yet : far in the distance you could guess there was a faint rainbow.
It was terribly hot, although the ventilators were on at high speed trying to cool the stormy atmosphere. The bar was open, so the 3 friends had a drink and everybody was discussing wether to continue their hike or wait a bit longer… A few hikers were writing postcards with the view from the refuge clearly showing what an achievement it was to have climbed right up there.
The storm was still around, but seemed to vanish slowly. « Shall we stay or shall we leave : we’ll be back to the chalet within around 40 minutes… It should be OK now. We’ll try and walk briskly and we should make it » said Sarah.
So off they left and started hiking down, but after just a few minutes, a huge gust of wind came at such a terrific speed that they started running, running, running and then, the rain just burst and it seemed they had just had a pail of water thrown at their heads ! Fortunately, just a little further, they came accross a few ruins of what had probably been lamb sheds and they sheltered from the rain and gales : the lightenings and thunderstorms were terrifying and by this time, the 2 adolescents were shaking and trembling so hard that Sarah started feeling quite guilty : had she taken the right decision ? In any case, it was too late now…The adventure was more than half way through and had to come to an end !
After some time that felt like hours, but probably didn’t exceed ½ an hour, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, the sun shon brightly and the sky seemed even a darker blue than ever.
There were loads of snails all over, mainly 2 by 2 climbing upon each other ! Were they having sex ? wondered Helen who knew something about them being hermaphrodite, but had never seen such a site…
They left the shelter and started running down hill as quickly as they could in the slippery wet grass, trying not to fall but hoping they would get back home before the next storm would hit them.
But there was no more storm to come. They just learned, from this experience, that when you turn your head around when in the mountains, the landscape can change in seconds, the sun, clouds and shades can move with an incredible intensity, the wind can turn wild, the clouds can burst , you can feel lost, frozen and petrified but that you are so close to the sky, that spirituality is never far.
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