Why did nobody like Pablo

 

Sarah's story 

Why does nobody like Pablo?  2
(24.06.2023)
Why does nobody like Pablo?  He's such a lovable dog.  As soon as anyone comes to the house he jumps all over them trying to hug and kiss them.  He kisses by licking them all over, it's so adorable.  His hugs tend to scratch people's clothes, it's true, but what are clothes, compared to expressions of love?
My sister Milly doesn't see it this way.  Her boyfriend, she says, doesn't like Pablo at all.  He hates being slobbered over, she says.  What a way to talk about one's family's dog!
And so clever!  I doubt if anyone else's dog can open a door the way he does.  I know my friend Elsa's cat can open their fridge but then cats are known to be sly.  I've never seen a dog who could nuzzle his way into a fridge like that.  Except for Pablo.
We have a childproof latch on our fridge, of course, because he loves red meat, as we all do.  But you have no idea how funny it was when we were all at Aunt Gertrude's, sitting around on her stiff old chairs having what she calls drinks before dinner.  Aunt Gertrude is a terrible cook.  Do you know a single person who can ruin a good steak?  I do: Aunt Gertrude.  She can take a perfectly good sirloin and dish it up as if it were an old boot.  And she doesn't even have the proper knives to cut the thing up with.  We were eating those fennel sticks and peanuts and drinking our lemonade (booze-less, of course, with Aunt Gertrude, though generally Milly and I don't get alcohol anyway, but the boys do—they're over 18), wondering at what time we were going to be able to get out of there, when all of a sudden there was quite a ruckus.
In came Aunt Gertrude's two cats, snarling and scratching, pursuing poor Pablo.  Those two cats are really mean, greedy, self-seeking creatures.  They were after him, it soon transpired, because of what he had in between his teeth and was trying to enjoy peacefully on his own.
"The steak!" shrieked Aunt Gertrude.
My two brothers, who have no sense of loyalty to the family pet, ran after him to try and get the meat away from him.  "Stop!" I cried.  "Why should the cats have it?"
"Why should the cats have it, indeed?" cried Aunt Gertrude in turn.  "It's your dinner!"
By this time the boys had got the piece out of Pablo's iron jaws, but it was in a sorry state.  Not too big to begin with it was now reduced to half its size and quite mangled.
"I'm afraid it's done for," said Douglas, apologetically, looking at Aunt Gertrude, who looked daggers at all of us.  Mother, who has like me a soft spot for the dog, tried to smooth things over.
"At least he only got one," she said, smiling at Aunt Gertrude in a pacifying way.
But Aunt Gertrude was not to be pacified.  "There was only one!" she said stonily.
After our first gasp of surprise, my sister and I began to laugh.  
"Stop that," said our father sternly, but then he turned to Aunt Gertrude and began to apologize.
"The only thing we can do, Gertrude," he said, "after ruining your dinner like this is to take you out to a good restaurant."  My sister nudged me in the ribs and winked.
We gathered up our things while Pablo finished off his meal in a corner of the front hall.  Luckily Aunt Agatha has a housekeeper who started to clean it all up, but she too looked as if she didn't care much for our pet.
And as we were going out, (to a great steakhouse, I can say, after the fact), Father said, "And I think we are going to have to do something about that dog."
Why does nobody like Pablo?  We should never have had such a good dinner without him!

+ 665 wds

 

 

Geraldine's story

Why does nobody like Pablo?

Or, the unlikely dialogue between two ghosts named Pablo…

PE : Hi Pablo ! We could have met before, but it would have been very strange, this encounter between a young gangster like me and an old painter like you !

PP : Oh yes, very difficult to imagine. But it’s not too late to try and find out why, although popular, nobody really liked us when we were alive !  Let’s try and answer this one…

PE : Well, you know, when I was a little boy, I lived in a poor peasant’s family and we were 7 children to be brought up which gave my mother loads of work, as she also was a schoolteacher.

PP : For my account, we were three children, and I was the oldest, but my father had planned my life to be what it became, so I had to move on to feel a bit of freedom.

PE : I managed to get into University after  my schooling, but I didn’t stay there for long and never got a degree.

PP : We do have some similar paths in our lifes : I got into a Royal Academy of Arts in 1900, but I also abandonned the training very quickly.  Didn’t like the lack of freedom and the formatting.  Wanted to espress myself and became one of the founding members of the cubism movement with my friend Braque.  And as you know, anything new is rejected at first.

PE : Well, as for me, I wanted to make money, lots and lots of money and the easiest way was to work in traffick and started a criminal carreer selling contraband cigarettes, false lotery tickets and managing a stolen vehicle network. Then I went in on export, but not ordinary export : my product happened to be cocaine, very appreciated in the United-States in the 1980’s.  I founded a Cartel in Medellin and 4 years later, had enough money to buy the « Hacienda Napoles » and add to it a zoo, a lake and an Attraction Park.  I was only 30 years old and very proud of my ascencion.

PP : I must admit I also wanted to make money, but with my skill.  By 1901, I started a series of paintings that became called the Blue Period.  It was shortly after the suicide of one of my friends and is known for the melancholy it raised.  I was only 20 years old and had decided to go and live in Paris.

PE : Maybe our quick success made people jealous and envious and that’s when they started not liking us ?  What do you think ?

PP : Well, I rapidly became famous and opened the Pink period, pink because I had just met my first feminine companion, Fernande Olivier and got established in Paris at the Bateau-lavoir , an artist’s residence where I stayed until 1912. I was very prolific during this period with drawings, paintings, sculptures, ceramics etc… I liked it.

PE : I also had a very prolific period, between 30 and 40 years old, developping the cocaïne traffic at a terrific speed.  I developped  a huge  trafficking network and became very unpopular, because I had ennemies and that’s when I became a gangster, having to blackmail, take hostages and kill people.  The money from the intermediates had to get back to me at whatever cost.  But, I was also becoming, at the same time, a « Robin Hood » in Columbia and mainly in Medellin, above all in the poorest quarters, giving money for sportive equipments for the young, helping on schools, rehabilitation of poor housing etc…

PP : At one point, when I was around 56 years old,…

PE : I never reached that age, I died at 44 years old, but I’ll tell you later…

PP : Yes, in 1937, I was aked to commit a painting called »Guernica », the famous battle during the Spanish Civil War, because I was a pacifist, still living in France.  Then, during the 1940-1945 World War, I remained a pacifist and didn’t take part either side, which didn’t make me popular.  But I was against the Nazis’ and so in 1944 I joined the French Communist Party where I was never strongly liked either….  Too independant, too rich, not involved enough.  And I also had four children from 3 different mothers, which wasn’t current in those days.  There was a lot of talking over my relation with women….Did you have children ?

PE : Yes, I had 2 children, Sebastian and Manuela from my wife whom I met early. But I made sure she didn’t interfere with my business and had loads of mistresses at the same time.  After about 10 years of the fabulous life, I had to surrender in 1991, to avoid a formal extradition procedure to the United States who didn’t want my Cartel to continue it’s business. So, I was put in jail.  They called my place « The Cathedral » because I had a football field, a giant doll’s house, a bar, a jaccuzi, a cascade…. Very good conditions.  And the place also became the clan’s  General Headquartes.  So I escaped and a year later with 30 accomplices, we kidnapped a group of Managers against a 300.000$ ransom.  And this initiated a massive manhunt.

PP : In 1949 I got and award for painting « La Colombe de la Paix ». It was just after I settled in Vallauris with Françoise Gilot and my baby son Claude, born the previous year.  I did kind of live a much calmer life as from then, as an artist.  Was alrready very famous and needed the climate and the beautiful environment to carry on my carreer !  No prison for me…

PE : And then came downfall time for me : The National Police finally rounded me and killed me as public ennemi nr.1.  I never knew if my popularity was greater than the hate towards me.  I died at 44 years old, having been, to my eyes, a hero, a criminal, a father, a lover and even an elected member for the Colombian Liberal Party at 33 years old.

PP : Whereas I lived quite old, and died of a pulmonary embolism at the age of 91.  And according to the trouble my children went through after my death and there inheritance problems, I doubt they really liked Pablo !

 

 

 

 

Jackie's story

He was stuck, upside down like a fly in a freshly baked custard tart.  Helpless, struggling to get upright , waggling his legs in a very undignified manner.    She almost put her foot on him and squashed him to oblivion, but her sandal strap got stuck on an earth clump and stopped her foot just in time .    She bent down to pick up what she thought was her mothers metallic jewel necklace lost months before.

   The shining carapace glinted and shimmered brilliantly in the sun like a upside down oyster shell at the seaside and as she stooped saw that it was a beautiful beetle.    She bent down to rescue him from an almost fateful plight

 Her 6 year old self spent summer vacations in the family garden.  Her mum grew vegetables and flowers and there were lots of trees to climb.  But her favorite thing to do was lie in the grass and daydream.  This is where she came across the flailing beetle and decided to name him Pablo as he was small and dainty.     She lifted him up carefully put him in a matchbox with a few dead ants, grass and other green things to eat.

After a few days she opened the box and to let him fly away …he did so tentatively at first and but always stayed around his new home coming back for some dried  leaves, fresh seeds and fruit.

One day she was lying on her stomach on the uncut lawn.    Pulling up some weeds, scraping off the tops and organising little piles of grains, flowers and searching for dead ants to give Pablo.      A fluffy black and yellow bee with stripes on his back was hovering over her, a honey bee only interested in the lavender flowers which grew in her garden that produced a delectable honey that she devoured every morning for breakfast.  Her school studied how vital bees are for our planet and she studied his wings which were like cathedral windows – fine lines defined into delicate sections and he buzzed and droned, she was mesmerized by the sound.

Pablo the rescued beetle spied the little person who had saved him lying on the ground and the busy bee who was suspended near by;   he swooped down to take a closer look.   

Protecting this little being who had been so kind to him.    He landed on the back of the what he thought was a threatening bee and bit him so hard that the bee was cut in half and dropped dead instantly.

Immediately other bees in the area collected together – swarmed around Pablo the beetle and shouted out in bee language their hate for Pablo and he became the most hated beetle in the garden.  This is why nobody likes Pablo. 

 -----------------------------------------

Paula's story

‘Tante Amelie,” Susanna asked. ‘Why does no one like Pablo?”

 

The old woman hesitated. She settled herself deeper into her armchair near the fire, and gathered her young niece to her. Susanna sat at her aunt’s knee, sinking into the deep-pile rug with a satisfied sigh. 

 

The story of Pablo Lorenzo Carlos Santiago was as troubling as it was interesting. Amelie looked down at the 14-year-old at her feet and struggled with exactly how much to tell her. But it was in her nature to answer honestly any question her young relatives asked her, because she was a staunch believer in truth in all things.

 

‘It’s a long story,” she began. ‘Once, there was a very popular television show called ‘Everyone Loves Pablo.” It ran for 10 seasons on American television, and it made Pablo a very rich and a very famous man. In the show, he played a lovable but bumbling fool of a man who made friends wherever he went. His character might not have been the most intelligent man, but he was kind, and he was happy, and everyone he came in contact with loved him.

 

“But in reality, off camera, Pablo was a horrid man. In those 10 seasons of the television show, behind the scenes he ruled by terror and intimidation. When he deigned to speak to the women who worked with him, he spoke to their breasts, not to their faces, and he extracted sexual favors from them on the insinuation that only if they submitted to him, would they keep their jobs in a very cutthroat industry. The men who worked for him feared him and hated him for his arrogance and his superiority and the way he stabbed anyone in the back who would not do his bidding. The network executives felt powerless to reign him in because his show brought in millions of advertising dollars, and they were not about to rock the boat.” 

 

Amelie looked at Susanna’s puzzled face, and sighed. She decided to continue, to tell her young niece the truth as she knew it.

 

“Pablo was abused as a child, by his mother,” she said gently. “He was physically battered, emotionally harmed — his mother was a disturbed woman, and she was not happy to be bringing up a son by herself after her husband deserted the family. None of us knew what was going on until one night, when Pablo left home, and left a note behind that detailed everything he had suffered at the hands of his mother.

 

“We were all horrified,’ Susanna’s aunt continued. “We really had no idea what horrors he had been subjected to. His mother hid her demons from the rest of the family very well. And so we reached out to him, with offers of help. But it was too late.”

 

Amelie shook her head sadly. ‘Pablo had decided the whole family was against him, and who could blame him? No one had come to his aid, because we just didn’t know. And so he became a truly embittered man, and he took that bitterness and anger out on everyone he came into contact with, especially women. Eventually, he channeled all that energy into a soaring career as a stand-up comedian, which led to a successful acting career.

 

‘Yet, in the end, his television show was canceled. Two women who worked for the network filed charges of rape against him, and once that became public, accusations from more women followed. As a family, it was so hard for us, but all we could do was watch from the sidelines as he was finally sentenced to prison. He is there, still.”

 

Amelie sighed, bent down and whispered to her young niece that sometimes you learn that there are some family members you just cannot save. There are some people you are related to by birth, but not by affinity, not by friendship, not by love, not by choice.

 

Susanna was still, her wide eyes fixed on her aunt’s face. Tante Amelie hugged her, and said, “This was all so long ago. Dear, dear child, how did you hear about Pablo?”

 

“Oh,” Susanna said. ‘I heard cook calling from the back door for Pablo to come get the scraps from lunch. But no one likes him! And I don’t understand why. He’s such a lovely ginger cat.”

 

Paula O'Byrne

 

RED

 Geraldine's story

RED

 

It just came like that, out of the blue

-       Do you like red ?

-       What do you mean « Do I like red ? »  What a question ! Why this question ?

Julia and her Mum were taking a walk  along a little path leading to the swamp where Julia used to loveto go to and count the frogs : 2 eyes to a frog !  Last year, she had counted 44 eyes and it had taking her a few minutes, with her mother’s help to make out there were at least 22 frogs living in the pond.

A very joyfull little girl, rather tall for her 8 years, her head with a halo of dark brown curly hair, halmond-shaped green eyes  illuminating her pale complexion round  face.  She loved life, playing, jumping, running, learning new things and …chocolate cakes.

Veronica, her Mum was more reserved, only giving out her soul and thoughts to people she really appreciated and felt confident with. She was descreet, spoke in a rather low tone, always very classicly dressed in dark slacks with a variation of coloured tops.  Her hair was fair, her eyes blue and she carried her head high with a very elegant appearance.

-       Well it’s one of my favourite colours, and I was just wondering…

-        

-       Now that you make me think about it, answered Veronica,  it’s a lovely colour, but it has to be used with care and parsimony.  Look at the meadows around us : all that green with just a few red spots made by the poppies : try and imagine the opposite : red meadows all around with a few green spots… You would have to close your eyes from time to time to get away from it all….It would just be too much !

 

-       I think I really love yellow…

 

-       Ah yes !  And do you know why ?

 

-       I think it’s because it’s the colour of the sun and we are all really happier on a sunny day than a rainy one.  And also, look, the first flowers to blossom after winter are mainly yellow : crocusses, daffodils, dandelions, buttercups… They are all out there much earlier than the poppies or the red roses.

 

-       I’d never noticed said her Mum, you’ve really got a great deal of insight and you sure know how to look at nature…

 

-       Yes, when we’re out walking, I always look around and, you see, the next flowers to blossom are usually blue or mauve : the forget-me-nots, the irises, the cornflowers, the blue-bells…

 

-       OK !  what’s the next colour then ?

 

-       Well, we’ve had red, green, yellow and blue.  Maybe orange ?  But I don’t really like orange, except for eating one. Mmm…And oh yes, I do like nasturtiums and marigolds, but not as much as sunflowers…. Back to yellow again !

 

They’d got to the swamp and heard loads of jumping : the frogs were sure there and very difficult to count as they were stirring the water as they hopped around. 

-       Here are my friends said Julia. They’re so cute when sitting on their back legs and springing from one leaf to another !  I wish I could jump like that !

-        

-       Well, sweetheart, you are very good at jumping, but it is much easier when you are given springy hind legs like these frogs.  Oh ! By the way, they are green too !

 

Mother and daughter turned back and started strolling quietly home.  They both loved these shared moments when they could just talk together, watching around, with light heads and good legs.

But Julia was still intrigued by the meaning RED could have.  Very often, there was red in a flag ! she’d have to ask her Mum later why !

And also, the blood flowing in people’s and animal’s bodies was very red.

And she’d heard about passion and RED, but without understanding or remembering what it meant.

As they were reaching home, she risked a last question :

-       Mum, why don’t you ever wear red clothes, not even a blouse or a pair of gloves ?

 

-       Well, when we got married with your Dad, he wore a red carnation on his lapel.  And I had one in my hair.

 

Then, when he left and ever since, I’ve changed to pink !

 

 

 

 

Sarah's story

Red 3 – the tribulations of an inexperienced spy

(02.05.2023)

 

Last year, shortly before my fiftieth birthday, when I had just lost my job, been divorced by my husband and buried my dog, I ran into a friend who said she had a great job possibility for me.  I looked at her hopefully.

"It will involve a few risks," she said, as her handsome Irish setter tugged at the leash, "and you'll have to keep your eyes and ears open.  But it could be exciting."

I didn't even ask her if it paid well.  I was ready for anything.

"Your task will be to contact other spies."

Other spies?  What was I getting into?  "How will I know them?"

"They'll ask you, in some context or other, what colour you prefer.  You answer 'red'.  And if they reply, 'But wouldn't green or blue be better?' then that's your man.  Or woman."

As I was pondering this, the dog gave a sharp pull to the leash and off she went flying down the street.  I wasn't sure if I had any unanswered questions or not, but it seemed I was on my own.

For the next few days I was on the alert for adventure, but nobody ever asked me, in any context whatsoever, which colour I preferred.  Maybe I've got it wrong, I thought; maybe I'm supposed to listen for the word 'red' and then I suggest blue or green.

Almost as if this were an answer to my question, that very afternoon I went on a house tour, for lack of anything better to do, and stopped in the study of one of the houses to exclaim on the incredible quantity of books they had in there.

"Most of them are read," said the house's owner, smiling graciously.  Which was patently untrue—they were of all colours, and to my eye the predominant one was brown.  But I had my cue! 

"Wouldn't it be better if they were blue or green?" I asked archly.

Her smile faded, and she looked at me suspiciously.  "I mean," she said, somewhat tersely, as if she didn't appreciate my humour, "that in this house we do a lot of reading."

"Yes, of course," I mumbled, turning the colour I was supposed to prefer, and hurried into the next room.

The next day, still looking for activities to fill up my time, I went to an amateur sports event.  The runners were all lined up, down on one knee, at the starting line, not far from the man who seemed to be in charge.  "Are you red--" he cried out.

"Blue or green!" I shouted.

The man turned and glared at me, as did all of the competitors and most of the spectators as well.  The man began again, shouting stentoriously, "Are you ready?  Go!"  And off they went.  I slunk away from the sports field, not caring to find out who was going to come in first.

I began to feel I wasn't cut out to be a spy.  And besides, we had never discussed the terms of this engagement.  Maybe I didn't have a job after all.  When at that point I realized we were the fifteenth of July, which is my birthday, my morale plummeted about as far as it could go.  But I have something of a fighting spirit, and I decided to buy myself a present, to pull that morale back up again, by hook or by crook.

I went into a beckoning clothing store, where there were some cashmere sweaters on sale.  Perfect I thought, because they seemed to be just inside my budget bracket.  I was fingering them softly, admiring the striking colours, when the shop assistant came up.

"They're very comfortable," she said, "and they wear well.  Have you made your choice?"

There was one that caught my eye before all the rest, a stunning royal blue.  "That one," I said.

"Not the red one?" she asked.  Shocked, I remembered my mission.  And, indeed, the red one was a marvelous rich scarlet.

"Right!" I said.  "The red one!"

She looked at me curiously.  "Are you sure? Not the blue or the green?"

"No!"  I almost shouted her down.  "The red one, the red one!"

She backed away, eyeing me with distaste and went to the cash-desk to wrap up the garment.  "Cash or credit?" she asked as I followed her.  "No need to shout."

I paid with my credit card, she gave me the parcel and then turned away.  I coughed.  She turned back.  "Yes?"  I looked at her meaningfully; I'm not sure that I didn't wink.  "Well?" she said, impatiently.

I swallowed and smiled apologetically.  "Nothing, nothing." 

As I bowed and retreated she raised her eyebrows slightly and said something that sounded like "potty".

Totally nonplussed, I made my way to the door of the shop.  At least I had my birthday present, however, and in fact it was a very nice colour; which was a consolation.  I walked towards the town park, thinking a stroll around the lake would do me good as well.  Just inside the gates there was a gaily painted tent I had never seen before. 

Always open for new distractions, I went up to it.  The woman standing before the tent flap headed me off. 

"Have you got an invitation?" she asked.

"Ah, no."  Too bad, it might have been fun.

"What colour is it?"

It was my turn to look at her as if she were daft.  "I haven't got one," I repeated.

"Yes, but what colour is it?" she insisted.

"Red?" I replied, as by automatism.

"Wouldn't green or blue be better?" she asked. 

As I was standing there dumb-founded, wondering what the next move was supposed to be, she shoved me through the flap into a dim vestibule and through there into the brightly lit interior of the tent.  A dozen voices shouted "Happy birthday!" and a few firecrackers went off.  As soon as I came to my senses, I saw a crowd of my old friends, a table decorated with flowers and set with a huge cake and diverse other eatables and drinkables.

I won't go into how I broke down and cried.  Suffice it to say that we had a splendid party and that afterwards, that same friend said that she did in fact have a proper job opening to propose to me.  That is where I am working now, and there is a very congenial man who is my colleague.  What's more, Nancy has given me one of her bitch's pups.  I've named him Red.

Oh my God...it happened so fast

 

 Sarah's story

O God, it happened so fast! – 5   fall

(04.03.2023, rev. 01.03))

 

Oh, God, look at my face!  Red, yellow, green, orange, purple, blue.  From the eye sockets to the jawbone, and now seeping even down the neck.  Not to mention the stitches.  How can I face the world like this?  People will think I have a violent paramour.  If I don't frighten them away first, zombie-lady.  Embarassing.  But I will just front it.  Too complicated to explain anyway, it happened so fast.  So fast I don't even know what happened.

It was  a quarter past five on Sunday afternoon, and I had a plan to go to the cinema.  I was crossing the street, not along the zebra stripes of course, just taking the most direct way, as usual, and then I found myself on the pavement across the way, face crushed onto the concrete, and a man was trying to help me up.  Had I tripped at the curb and the blow knocked me out for a few seconds before and after the fall?  Or did I have a mini-blackout and then fall?  I still don't know.

The man, white-bearded and solicitious, helped me to my feet and guided me back across the street (still jaywalking, of course—we all do it) so that I could sit on the bench outside the bakery.  I said I would be all right, and after about a minute I pulled myself together enough to walk the ten yards or so to my front door, pull out my key, open the door and go up the five steps to my landing and let myself in.  That was about as much as I could do.  I didn't look in a mirror but knew I must be a sight, there was clearly blood running down the side of my face.  Above all, I didn't feel well at all, so I phoned 15 and they sent an ambulance with two men who examined me and carted me off to the hospital.  The kindly white-bearded man was outside in the street, still solicitous.

In the Emergency service they put me on a trolley and took me to various services for every possible examination: physical, neurological, electrocardiogram, blood test, two scans and who knows what else, and finally, at about one thirty in the morning they said I would be staying there all night.  On the trolley in the hall among a dozen or more other patients, separated by folding screens.  The doctor-in-chief, seen for the first time, said it was to keep me under observation.  I practically snorted.  I already knew that nobody ever came by to look at us.  I could have passed away, or had convulsions, and they would never have known.  There was a woman a few beds down who moaned and called, but nobody ever came.  The night crew was too busy laughing and talking, not only in daytime voices but practically shouting, breaking open crates (to the sound of it) and taking out heavy things that they dropped on the floor.  That was until they started their birthday party.  Finally at half past four I fell asleep and slept a good sound three hours.

I was awakened by Ella (like Fitzgerald, she said) the very friendly and kind student doctor who had examined me the night before, an interne, and her assistant an externe named Sydney.  She had sewn up my cut the night before while Sydney watched, and now Sydney gave me a tetanous shot while Ella supervised.  After breakfast they sent me home.

***

I thought that was it.  I was supposed to move back home to Burgundy next Sunday.  But now they want to operate, to put some bit of bone back into place.  Open a slit under my eye and another in the roof of my mouth.  Luckily I won't see, hear or feel any of it.  But I am already wondering how much that will hurt when it's over.  Oh well, there will be pain-killers, I suppose.  Thank you, modern medecine.  And thank you, nature.  I won't go so far as to say thank you, God, who made us, because I'm not really sure about all that.  But the human body is fantastic.  It fixes itself, knits itself back together, asking for only a little help sometimes.  And patience

In the taxi on Monday, coming back from the first hospital stay, there was another patient.  Her voice was aged and quavery but she said she still drove and hoped they would not pass a law that prohibited people over 80 from driving.  I said I had already given up my car, because I didn't feel safe on the roads, mostly on account of my bad eyes, and that I mostly walked.  I had been feeling rather aged lately myself, but when she got out of the taxi and the driver helped her to hobble slowly up to her door, I realized I was still in far better shape than she was.  Count your blessings.    + 825 wds

---------------------------------

Katherine's story

The mist was damp and clammy, the sort of damp that makes you wet without you really noticing it. Not that she was really paying attention, she just wanted to get out and walk. It was a pitch black sky, no stars, no satelites, no moon and as of a few months ago now, no street lights. Just a silent black space. So she pulled out her favorite Beanie and put the head torch on to the brightest setting and headed out into the woods with her 3 dogs who would much rather have stayed in their warm beds by the fire but with the chance of getting a biscuit treat they decided to take a chance of more rewards and headed out into the darkness.

She often thought about her life before the parties, the dresses, the men, the cocktail bars and the dance floor! Now far from the glamour she was just happy being outside, doing her thing, mainly alone. She enjoyed her own company, just like her Grandmother. Never lonely, always busy, enjoying the solitude selfishly. No-one to answer to, the bed to herself apart from the geriatric cat!! She couldn’t help thinking how much longer would it keep going !!! Then instantly felt guilty.

 

Pretty self assured and confident she was not used to feeling uncertain and confused . The sickness in her stomach and the wave of emotions that kept creeping up, subsiding then returning, swirling through her mind but not being able to control it. Seeped into her mind like the damp mist around her right now, silently. 

Unable to pinpoint exactly when and why she was having these thoughts was deeply disturbing to her.

She knew that it was clearly linked to the death of her Father. Her brother got the call  from their Stepmother a few days ago, she wondered why she didn’t get the call as she was the eldest child. She was sensitive that way. He was clearly very distressed “Oh, God, Oh God it happened so fast! He went to bed and then he just sighed and was gone.! “

The extinction of life.

She was an orphan!

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Paula's story

The detective sat across the table from her. “Just tell us, in your own words, exactly what happened that night.”

 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “It happened so fast.”

 

“I understand,” the detective said. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

 

“Well,” the young woman began, then faltered and began to whimper. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that I’m so very upset, you see. So very upset.”

 

The detective turned to his colleague. “Go get a cup of tea for Miss Telly, please.” The police officer slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

 

“Let’s begin again,” the detective said. “Take your time.”

 

“It’s just so upsetting. So very upsetting,” she repeated. “But I shall be brave.”

 

The officer returned, and placed a cup of tea in front of her on the desk, alongside a small pitcher of milk.

 

“Go ahead,” the detective urged. “It’s important that you tell us everything that happened, exactly as you remember it.”

 

“Well,” the young woman began again. “You see, I was snuggled into my favorite chair, in the study.”

 

“That room looks out onto the street, is that right?” the detective asked.

 

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a lovely room, has the most comfortable chair clothed in the most beautiful floral chintz,  chosen by my grandmother, you know. And the walls are lined with cozy bookshelves, and the rug is the most beautiful shade of blue, and it’s just steps from the kitchen, so it’s so easy to fetch a snack or a cuppa, and …”

 

The detective interrupted her gently. “And what happened next” he asked.

 

“Well,” she said. “I was watching my favorite program on the television. ‘Peaky Blinders,’ do you know it?

 

“Yes,” the detective smiled. “I know it well.”

 

“See, it was at a crucial point in the show. Tommy’s been captured! And he’s on his knees in a lonely field, staring into his own grave! I could barely watch, I was so frightened for him. But at the same time, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. Do you know that feeling, Detective?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded gravely. “I do, indeed.”

 

She stirred a bit of milk into her tea, and took a sip. “It was just then, just then! A terrific noise, so loud you could hardly believe it, and the window behind me and the television screen in front of me shattered at the same moment. I was so upset, so upset! Who could do such a thing? Why would anyone do such a thing?”

 

Just then, a third officer entered the room, bent down, and whispered something to the detective. “Thank you,” the detective told him, then turned back to Miss Telly.

 

“It’s all right,” the detective assured her. “We have arrested the perpetrators, two boys who found their father’s gun and decided to have a little ‘fun.’ I understand how upset you must be, but I can tell you that you were not targeted; you are completely safe, there’s no need to worry. They decided to shoot up a few trash bins, and one shot went wild and into your house. But if it would make you more comfortable, we can have a copper stationed outside your house for a night or two, if that will lessen your fear.”

 

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” the young woman said. “I’m not in the least afraid. That’s not what’s so upsetting.”

 

“Then, what is it?” the detective asked.

 

“The telly! They wrecked my telly!” she wailed. “However will I found out what happens next on Peaky Blinders??”

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Geraldine's story

Jack and Jill were on their way back to the Pacific coast after having visited Chucicamata, the largest open air copper mine in the world and setting off through the « Valle della Luna » towards San Pedro de Atacama.

The coloured mountains against the deepest blue sky they’d ever come accross were still printed in their eyes. The depth of the mine, where the caterpillars working down there just looked like little dinky toys and the men  like tiny tiny ants were still flabagasting !

And the trip through the « Valle de la Luna » ! What a good name for this region where it only rained once or twice in a century : the most infertile desert ever ! Its deep craters were due to the salpeter formations with white edges and deep grey and rusty stones. And from what we know about the moon, it’s very similar to the pictures the astronauts and cameras have taken from the satellite.

Not an insect, not a bird, not the slightest sprig or blade of grass : all mineral and nothing but mineral.  Then after a couple of hours in the jeep, landing in San Pedro de Atacama, little oasis with trees, grass, chicken, a few donkeys well…. Life ! How restful, soothing and peaceful.  Water flowing alongside the dirt tracks, that water that brings life to all and everything…

Let’s get back to Jack and Jill.  They were hitch-hicking and this jeep had given them a lift towards the coast, driving down the steep curves from the mountains to the ocean.  He dropped them in the outskirts of a small town built on the sand and surrounded by sand.

 - Now, where are we going to find a bit of food and where are we going to sleep ? This question was the one they had had to face everyday since they had started this great trip through South America !  They had left Europe with a very small budget : 5$ a day, meant to include everything.  They mainly eat on the markets where food was so cheap and slept either outdoors away from towns or accepting people’s invitations.  And they moved along hitch-hiking, never knowing where they would be dropped.  So, that was the adventure !

- They settled their bags on their shoulders and started walking towards the town. They found public loos and managed to fill their flasks and spare bottles with water.  Also found a few tomatoes, avocados and a bit of bread : that would do for tonight.  And off they went, leaving the town behind them to find a place for the evening and night.

- As they were walking along the beach, they came accross a few small log cabins that looked like fishermen’s shelters.  The one huge wave from the Pacific was regularly  crushing on the sand, going forth and back with the same and unique music to it. Sleeping on the beach would be fine, rocked by the sea…

A man showed up and came towards them :                 

-       Hello, I’m Luis ! How are you ! What brings you here ?

-       Hello Luis, well, we’re travelling along the coast, going to Lima, and thought we’d sleep around here tonight.  I’m Jack and here is Jill !

-       But Lima is so far… You’ll never get there !

-       Oh ! No. It’s only about 2.500 kms. We could be there next month, but there’s no hurry ! 

-       Oh God ! It happened so fast ! Luis told us :

-       Well, you can sleep here, in this little shed next to mine, showing us a small wooden shelter with no roof and the walls about 1,80m high. It had a low swinging door to it. You’ll be protected of strong winds and of the sun in the morning.  And we can  eat together if you want to.

So, Jack and Jill accepted and started talking with Luis who told them about his very simple fisherman’s life, day in, day out with it’s good and bad fisheries. After a while, he asked them to go and fetch some white wine : « por favor, un vinito blanco » ! He explained where the closest place was and sent them off.  By this time, Jack and Jill who had left their bags in the shelter were a bit worried… What if Luis drank too much !  Was it going to be a safe place to sleep in ? « Alea jacta est » !

When they came back with the wine, Luis had gathered a few of his friends around and they all started eating the potatoes Luis had cooked and drinking wine. Jack and Jill were cautiously on guard, not drinking too much and following the conversation.  After a while, they told their host they were tired and needed to go to sleep and headed towards the shelter thanking Luis for his hospitality !

They had noticed that, while they went off buyng the wine, their bags had been opened and looked through ! So, they decided to only sleep with one eye closed, which meant Jack would be on watch while Jill would get a bit of sleep and vice versa.  Jack took his opinel knife out of his bag and kept it near his hand.  They could hear the men shouting louder and louder nearby and really felt trapped in the shelter.

Jill was the first one to sleep as Jack took the watch.  She woke up to his loud snoring, opened her eyes and began to panic at what she saw : Luis was standing behind the short swinging-door looking at her with such a lecherous eye that she immediately felt completely naked. She strongly controled the scream that was reaching her lips, went for the knife and started shaking Jack like hell. Luis turned away and started walking back to his home….

-       Gosh, you bastard ! You were to keep an eye on everything and here you are snoring like hell while this man is looking at us ! He could have raped me, stolen our bags or money !....I bet you would still be sleeping like a baby… 

-       Jack pulled her towards him : I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry you were so frightened.  But you know, he’s drunk and weak and you don’t have to worry.

Jill stayed awake, wide awake the rest of the night trusting noone no more. With the feeling that Oh God ! it could have happened so fast !   Jack woke up with the sun streaming over him the next morning.

They got up, checked their bags : nothing missing.  Went around to Luis’ house to thank him and found him fast asleep, snoring on the bench in front of the house. They left a little note thanking him and a bit of the bread they had bought ans started walking North.

Lima was still a long way away!

------------------------------

Jackie's story 

Oh my God…it happened so fast

The stench greeted her as she arrived home after a weeks holiday in the Swiss Alps where the air had been as pure as a hospital oxygen tank.   It hailed her like a slap in the face, the smell was just like a Moroccan leather tanning pit – overpowering and made her gag.

Perhaps this is why she felt overcome with nausea as she walked down to the garden stepping onto carefully chosen paving stones toward this terrible smell to check up on her latest acquisition.   Sure that she had shut the door of her greenhouse before leaving so was surprised to see an unusual curly vine like green stem of a plant protruding from under her door that must have forced the door open while she had been away.

It was stretching into the grass and starting to curl around her beloved rose tree.   

 The greenhouse had been a present to herself to enjoy and always been her dream.     Inheriting some money unexpectedly, she had thought, what is it at my age that would really bring me a lot of pleasure.   She imagined herself pottering for hours with flower pots, digging her hands in soil and seeing little shoots of tomatoes and lettuce grow and feeding her large family from her produce.  She would be so very happy to spend her days in her special place.          So the day arrived when it would be delivered and put together.   She hadn’t had time before her holiday to plant anything except for a gift that her aunt who had arrived unexpectedly plant pot in hand.   They hadn’t been much on speaking terms since the reading of the will in the Notaire’s office – but now she remembered that her Aunt had quickly disappeared after her visit telling her to plant it quickly in the corner and gave it an unpronounceable name.  She had thought nothing of it and put it in the far corner of her greenhouse.         Now she remembered the scowl on her aunt’s face as the notary confirmed inheritance to herself only.    After all she had been her Uncle’s favorite.  

Coming back from her holiday, she entered the greenhouse and could see trailing stems twirling and twisting round  on the wooden base.   Snake-like shoots with leaves and as she walked it tangled in her shoes – moving even as she bent over to climb up her leg.   Overwhelmed, she discovered this snake like plant was everywhere and rapidly covering every inch of her glass walls with aerial rootlets forming and growing aggressively. 

She examined one of the green shoots and to her horror saw it was throbbing with life.     Although there was no way the plant could see her she felt it had invisible eyes and was watching her every movement.

  Very soon it would start to curl around the windows and in a few weeks the greenhouse would be totally covered and hidden from view.    It could then start to push against the wall of glass and lift off the roof – perhaps even jumping onto her own house to start climbing there.    Would she wake up one day to find the plant had imprisoned her, curling around her front door?    She would be stuck, a prisoner in her own house.      Feeling distressed and sweaty just thinking about this as her imagination was running away with her she advanced further into the hothouse.  

 The smell of this terrible plant/animal was so ferocious that she had to put her arm in front of her mouth to stifle a gag.   My God…that happened fast….so she cut it into tiny pieces and burnt them one by one.

-----------------------------------------

 Patrice poem

My life a story

Change, joy, loss, adventure. Oh!

It happens so fast. 

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 Annemarie's story

Oh God, it Happened so Fast!

  It was supposed to be a fun day out.  Eight children / teenagers ranging from ten to fifteen years and two adults grudgingly agreeing to take them…to the adventure water park. They were enveloped by sapphire blue skies;  the  warm waters lapping the lake's edge beckoned them in for a leisurely swim or for messing about in boats but, no, what they craved was the adventure park. It was crowded, screamingly noisy and involved lots of queuing.

  Admittedly skimming along in what amounted to a water sleigh was fun but then one of them wanted to go on the high drop. Please, please would she  go with him because Christopher’s dad was going on another ride with the younger ones. Eventually she gave in, her fear eclipsed by the desire to prove her courage, to be cool before the teenagers and youngsters.

  The queue was a long, snake of scantily-covered young bodies serpentining its way through ornamental shrubs. The sun was blazing, burning her shoulders her white shoulders an angry red as they sweltered in the unshaded areas. Eventually they reached the steps to the high drop; metal steps resounding with the tramp of bare feet continuously marching onwards and upwards like so many soldiers on a march.  At twenty metres she could see the curve of the lake, the purple bougainvilleas sprawling up the wall of Cipriano hotel; apprehension set in. She gripped the rail, her sun-red knuckles turning to a drained white. At twenty-five metres a trembling fear overtook her but thoughts of turning back were constrained, her way back impeded by the incessant tramp behind and below her…nor was there any room for passing, and certainly not fifty or more youngsters. She was committed. Courage girl, it can’t be that bad if all these people are happy to do it, she bravely muttered to herself,  grasping the rail and defiantly refusing to look down.

  Christopher, just in front of her, sat down and pushed himself off. When she reached the platform, thirty-four metres high, her heart was galloping; she was rooted to the spot, unable to look left or right and certainly not below at the crinkly red rooftops and the sailing boats slapping in the waves. 

  It was her turn to sit and push off into the void; paralysed she was stuck on the tiny platform, conscious of screams and shouts far below and impatient youngsters  behind her. She shakily sat down, delving into the backwaters of courage and she shouted to the bronze Adonis, guardian of the high drop, who stood beside her:

“ Just push me! “

  And he did!

  For a split second she was aware she was midair, not actually on the almost perpendicular slide and for a nanosecond she wondered if she would miss the slide and plummet to earth, then she felt the hard, wet, metal safety of the slide and the next instant she was plunging through the water-tough below when a hand,(Christopher’s father's ) reached down to lift her from the water. With her other hand she hastily  rearranged her one-piece swimsuit wedgie, most of which was round her waist.

“ My goodness, that was fast, “ she burbled through the water, still quivering, heart still hammering.

“I'm so proud of you,” beamed Christopher, “ you know you're probably  the oldest person to do that!”

  And that didn’t make me feel cool, courageous or compensated!