Sarah's story
Gold/batter/lugubrious/sex/vanquish/bandage 3 – Quaityle
(14.08.2023)
“And what again is the name of this place?” asked the newcomer. There were many newcomers to this island, for it was advertised as a paradise; what they did not know in advance was that it was in fact a very lugubrious place, in that all of the islanders were at least 50% dissatisfied, without knowing why.
“”Quaityle” said the islander.
“”Plaît-il?” asked the newcomer, because he was French.
But the islander did not reply because he did not speak French. Foreign language study and even the use of foreign languages were forbidden on the island, on the grounds that some people did not understand them and that made them feel inferior. Only English was therefore allowed, but nobody who came to the island ever left there to go anywhere else, so English was sufficient. The country had been recently founded by a small and very progressive group of thinkers.
The constitution of this new republic consisted in a single sentence: “No-one shall be or have any more than anyone else.”
The place was indeed a natural paradise. Though of course the sea water could not be used for drinking, it rained every night and recipients were left out so that fresh water was never lacking. The sea was stocked with savory fish, luscious fruits grew on the trees in all seasons, a sort of tuberose grew in the soil and when dug up could be pounded into a meal that, when mixed with water, made a sort of batter that could be fried into a delicious pancake.
Gold and silver were not needed, because nothing was bought and sold: everything was there for the taking.
There were problems, however. The fruits on the trees grew on very high branches, so only the tall islanders could reach them, and the short islanders had to go without. A short-lived proposal was to cut the legs of the tall islanders, but that would have deprived everyone of fruit, so the idea was abandoned and the short islanders were therefore supplied with wooden stilts. But not all of them were able to manage these, and very few of them were able to walk on the stilts and pick the fruit at the same time. As for the fishing, many of the islanders could not swim, and therefore it was the swimmers that had all the fish. It was therefore decreed that fish could be eaten only on Mondays and Fridays, lessening the number of days on which the non-swimmers would feel deprived..
Other problems were solved in the same way. In the schools only a certain amount of knowledge was allowed to be acquired every day. When the brighter pupils had mastered this, which was very quickly, they were banished from the classroom and sent out to play. The slower pupils were kept in and the masters tried vainly to drum this knowledge into their recalcitrant heads. For they too would have liked to go out and play, and they resented being kept in to do something they were not really very good at. And the brighter pupils were frustrated, for they would have liked to go on learning.
As for health and medicine, it was decided that drugs and operations were against nature, and therefore they were no longer given or practised. Besides, those things cost money, and money was no longer in fashion. In these ways the republic hoped to vanquish inequality.
There was more of a problem with sex, however. Naturally, the more beautiful women were the most in demand, and got the most handsome men. The heads of the beautiful women were therefore shaved and they were forbidden to wear makeup and made to wear shapeless brown sack dresses. That did not really deter the men from preferring them, however. So the less beautiful women were advised to become lesbians, and the less handsome men were told to be gays among themselves. Most of these women, however, did not want to be lesbians, and the men in question, if they did not object to becoming gay, wanted the more handsome men.
One day an islander cut a gash in his leg. According to the rules of medicine of the place, a nurse put a bandage on it. But the blood soaked through and was running all over the ground. The man in question suddenly cried out, “This is not the way! I am going to bleed to death, and that is not necessary. I need stitches and disinfectant!” For he remembered a few things from his life before, and he had seen too many people on the island die unnecessarily.
A woman in the crowd, to whom this remark seemed brilliant, cried out in turn, “Hear, hear!” And soon a former doctor came up, made a needle out of a thorn and some thread from some vine tendrils, bathed the wound with sea-water and sewed it up. The man got better in no time, and everyone, awed by this miracle, elected him president. Not that there had been a president before, but they now decided it was a good idea to have one.
He told them, “We could have different rules. We could say that those who collect the fruits and those who catch the fish must put them in common and we all share them. We could furnish beauty aids and sex counsellors to the less favoured to increase their chances in the pursuit of love. We could say that everyone can and should learn all that he can and wants to but no more, and help him to find an activity that suits his abilities and taste.”
Everyone agreed, but then someone suggested, “And the constitution?”
“Yes,” said the new president, “we shall change that too. From now on it will say, everyone shall have, as far as possible, as much as he needs or wants, without depriving other people.”
And after that, the island really began to deserve its name, which was an anagram of “Equality.”
Geraldine's story
GOLD –BATTER – LUGUBRIOUS – SEX – BANDAGE – VANQUISH
I think I must vanquish the heat-wave and accept my grandaughter’s invitation to see the play she has worked on and is performing in Rocamadour. But oh ! it’s so hot ! so terribly weakening! And just to think of the six hour drive to get there with a sun like gold in the face and over 35°C heat !
My last niece and her family were leaving that day, so we decided Michel would stay cool in the house, tidying up, watering the garden and looking after Naïka, the dog.
As for me, I would set off at 5 a.m. long before day-time, even if the driving through the Morvan would sound a bit lugubrious at the end of the night. This could let me reach Malinalli’s home around 11 in the morning , before the heat crushes hard on you.
My alarm went off at half past four, and I made myself a coffee and started putting my suitcase and a basket of veggies from the garden in the boot. Plus an extra pair of walking shoes and sandals. I shut the boot very slowly : everyone was still fast alseep at home or, who knows, maybe very discretely having sex…. But not to be revealed !
And, as programmed, off I started driving towards the West, looking forward to the evening where the show was to take place. The play was called « Watson meets Sherlock » and with Arsène Lupin’s help, they elucidate how MonaLisa was robbed from the Louvre.
After a few emptying and filling stops during the trip, I finally arrived at Reilhaguet around 11 o’clock as planned. My son had texted me nobody was there before noon, but I got a lovely greating by Néou, the big white dog with almost green eyes.
« Hello Néou » I patted him while he was waggling his tail and pushing his head against me. How are you doing ? Sorry, I’ve not brought your friend Naïka this time. I walked into the house, got myself a large glass of fresh water, put my bag down and back to the car for the veggies and my suitcase. I opened the boot, started taking my suitcase out, turned back to watch Néou, and believe who he was playing with now : NAIKA !!!
- What ! How did you get here ! I screamed surprised !
So, I realized she had jumped into the the car boot like a clandestine passenger… « Oh dear ! I didn’t want you with me as I know Mariana doesn’t really appreciate dogs in the house. And of course, I didn’t bring your basked, your food, your leash and your eating and drinking bowls…Naughty girl ! »
After a good cool long siesta, we set off to Rocamadour. As we reached the place outdoors where the Show was due to take place, in the ruins of an old castle, we saw a big group of priests and young people singing psalms in front of the church just opposite.
- « Oh ! are these the people involved in the Play ? I asked »
- No, there is a religious procession starting from here, so they’ve postponed the play for half an hour….
- One of the participants doesn’t look that bright. He’s got a big bandage on his left ankle…. Hope he’ll be able to walk the whole procession I thought.
The night was setting. We were all sitting on the benches waiting for the show. The church clock chimed 9 times – twice – and it began.
Malinalli was the first one on the stage and was introducing the Art pieces that had got stolen – Milo’s Venus, The Raft of the Medusa, Touthankamon and Mona Lisa. And then, the Theater Troup gathered in front of us and started singing an introduction on the « Threepenny Opera » aria.
The performance was really very good, with sequences of dancing, circus arts, text, pantomime etc… Loads of well-deserved applauses at the end with an encore for a scene.
The young ones were very happy with such a numerous public and such strong encouragements. Then came the time for the theatre troup to dislocate, every member going back home to their parents after that exciting and fulfiling 9 day experience. A few tears were shed, addresses were exchanged, shadows moved away one by one or two by two into the night.
We found the car, started driving home through the winding roads and talking about the play, the characters, the songs, the way they chose their parts, what seamed easy, what had been difficult and Malinalli making arrangements already to go back next year.
As we reached home, I had a feeling I had forgotten something….I had this weird sensation of something missing, but yet what could it be ? Alzheimer, Alzheimer, I do so hate you !
And oh yes ! I knew now what it was !
I had forgotten to make the batter for the doughnuts I had promised to cook for us all when returning home. !
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Annemarie's story
What? Six Words!
The summer has been exceedingly hot. We have had many visitors. And like the garden my brain is drying out. Could I remember the words for our next writing club story… at the moment, which is more important, I cannot even recall the way to Paula's, let alone Jackie's six writing words. What better opportunity to use ‘What3words’ the new app on my phone, that finds every 3metres square in the world with three words. I’m sitting on my sofa (involves.widely.flapper.) - that must be me! I punch the three words I think I remember for Paula’s address into my phone. For some reason only the sound is working - no visuals.
Gold.bandage.butter. and off I go. It’s a long way. I’m surprised nobody mentioned that Paula was hosting whilst on one of her jaunts. 536 kilometres later and I hear “You have arrived at your destination”. As I said it’s a very long drive to a very flat and can I say, a rather boring location in the middle of a country road. I exit the car, really needing a wee…and some lunch and, of course, a glass of wine but I haven’t a clue where I am until an old man appears out of nowhere.
“Kan ik u helpen, mevrouw? je ziet er verloren en verlaten uit.”
Fortunately I understand he is asking, in a polite manner, ' can he help me and that I’m looking lost and frazzled, perhaps a little mad'. It turns out the three words have sent me to the mouse-sounding town of Eeklo in Flanders and the only thing I know about Eeklo is about emperor Charles V who was known for his sexual appetite. The story goes that when he travelled through the region people hid their daughters and their attractive young women, making emperor Charles think this region was full of old women. Perhaps that’s why I can’t find Paula here - James has hidden her!
I must have put in the wrong words. Gold.bandage.hatter. Yes, of course it was hatter not butter. It appears I will need a plane for this trip - ttzt, ttzt, ttzt…Paula and her holidays. Leaving my car at the airport I manage, incredibly, to grab a seat at the last moment on a flight to Maquehue airport in Chile. Scrunched up in a short-legged seat with nothing to see but oceans of blue ocean I settle down to a good long rest. I awake to dense, verdant views over jungles, glimpses of the muddy, winding Amazon river, followed by the savannah grasslands and flooded swamps of Bolivia, before finally lofting over the soaring Andes to arrive in Chile. Once I have hired a rather ramshackle car I’m back back on the road with my three words and at last I hear “ You have arrived at your destination”. So a mere 12,214 kilometres. Distance is obviously nothing to the O'Byrnes!
I'm in the middle of a forest clearing near Temuco, where a group of indigenous people are dressing what looks like a dead person in brightly woven clothes and adorning them with silver jewellery.
“Mary mary wenul” , spoken in a friendly manner to me by one of the women and I understand it to be a welcome. Fortunately one of the men speaks a little English. He explains that I have arrived during the preparations for the traditional Mapuche burial ceremony of their people, people who resisted three and half centuries of conquest, and never quite vanquished by Spanish invaders and Chilean colonisation. It’s highly unlikely and, I think in rather poor taste, that Paula would have arranged this; why would a Chilean tribe want to hear some nonsense stories in English during their burial funeral? I cannot see any of the others. I am bewildered … and frazzled, perhaps a little mad. The tribe invite me to stay, to participate with the loan of a colourful woven poncho. I'm really quite sad to refuse such an invitation but I am already extremely late for Paula’s lunch so with lugubrious face I give my thanks, wave goodbye and retrace my wandering voyage.
My memory has obviously been obliterated by the summer sun. Now what were the words for Paula’s address? I batter my brain - think! think! She oozes charm, her glass must never be void of champagne and there’s no tobacco in her home. Of course, now I remember- oozes.void.tobacco. Yes! They take me right to the door …but I can’t park.
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Jackie
I have to tell you about a very bad dream I had. It felt like it had lasted a week – a long hot breathless week. In my dream it was 34.5 degrees outside. All was calm but a certain heavy oppressiveness reigned and gave the impression of being on a different planet.
It was impossible to go outside during the day so I was taking out the dogs earlier than usual to avoid the excessive warmth. But where were the animals I usually met? The sly fox over the hill, cows , usually alert and searching the best grass, now in the corner of the field already sheltering under trees – the quiet of the woods was eerie as there was no bird song. Had they flown away to cooler weather – they might have to go far now or perhaps just over the channel to England where it was raining all week and chilly. Or perhaps nestling down into cool leaves and branches saving their energy. Nothing stirred –dizzy waves of heat washed over me as I emerged from the woods.
IN my dream my sunglasses were slipping off my nose as sweat poured off my forehead (I never sweat) and upon returning home which became as hot as outside
the ventilator started its interminable sound of swishing, wishing the air to respite. The colony of bees who have lived under my roof for decades were buzzing listlessly and few ventured out into the sunshine.
The sky had a golden hue and gave the impression that it was wrapped in a white bandage.
Hugging my sofa, fan blasting unable to do anything else, I watched a film
The couple on screen were having sex, probably in an air conditioned film set. battering each other into submission determined to vanquish one another.
Too hot for that I thought and fell into a languorous sleep waking to the sound of rain pattering on my windowpanes – going outside I drenched myself in the relief of cool fresh air. This past heat wave felt like a bad dream but it had been real and was definitely one I hope never to have again.
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Paula's story
“I guess no life can ever be perfect,” Patricia sighed, as she gazed out of the window of the tiny bistro where she had met her old friends Lisbeth and Valerie for lunch on a blustery Saturday.
“If you have your health, you have everything!” Lisbeth chirped, then ducked her head as her two friends scowled at her. “Well, you know what I mean,” she said defensively.
“I have my health, but my sex life sucks,” the lugubrious Valerie muttered glumly.
The three women lifted their wine glasses, but none could think of one good thing to toast to.
“Well,” Lisbeth said. “I guess the weather has affected all of our moods…”
“No,” Patricia murmured. “It’s not the gloomy weather, although it certainly doesn’t help. I just can’t stop thinking about how our lives are defined by our relationships, and how you never can really know a person. Someone does good deeds, but isn’t really a good person. Someone acts like he cares deeply, but deep down, he’s shallow. I just don’t know who to trust, anymore.”
“Oh, Patsy,“ Lisbeth turned to her friend. “What’s happened? You’re usually such an optimist! What has happened to vanquish your normally sunny outlook?”
Patricia smoothed the tablecloth in front of her, then lifted her wine glass to take another sip. “It’s just that, well, not all that glitters is gold,” she said.
Valerie and Lisbeth exchanged a glance. “Sounds like someone needs to tear off the bandage and expose the wound,” Valerie said, placing her hand softly on Patricia’s. “Talk to us. We’re your oldest and dearest friends, and we just want you to be happy.”
Patricia sighed again. How could she begin to explain?
‘I’ll try,” she murmured, with a slight smile. “Say you’re making a batter for a cake. You have all the ingredients you need for yummy deliciousness: the butter, the milk, the flour, the salt, the vanilla … but something is missing. And you just can’t put your finger on it.”
“The baking powder?” Lisbeth piped up, as Valerie kicked her under the table.
“Maybe,” Valerie said softly, “it’s not a matter of ingredients. Maybe, it’s a matter of baking time.”
Patricia, startled, stared at her old friend, and said, “My god, I think that’s it, Val. He just doesn’t have the staying power!”
“Well, good riddance, I say,” Valerie laughed, as the three friends finally toasted to friendship and the uncanny ability to finish each other’s thoughts. “But, Patsy,” she whispered with a grin as she leaned forward toward her friend. “Could you send him my way? I’m not so picky.”
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