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.

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 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!

 

 

 

 

 

                              

I left it downstairs

 Geraldine's story

 On a quiet, mild spring evening, John and Patricia decided to watch a television program dedicated to China, it’s geography, it’s development, it’s population and overall what their future would look like.  A long fascinating broadcast that was to last at least 3 hours.

The house they lived in was rather large with 2 bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs, at the same level as the garage. Then, upstairs was the living area : kitchen, dining-room, very big lounge, study and another couple of bedrooms. A terrace rounded the level with a wide space where you could eat outdoors around a garden table.

After a quick snack, they sank into their armchairs with a drink and sitting confortabily started watching TV.  They were travelling from one part of China to another, very different, going from the developped Shanghaï to the most remote fishermen’s or small farmer’s villages.

When their dog started to bark, John shut him up".

-« Shhh ! Don’t bark  you fool !  We can’t hear » !

When they finally went to bed, they felt they had so much new knowledge about this huge country that they were discussing when they would finally decide to take steps to go visit the place…

Next morning, Patricia woke up first, got the coffee and breakfast ready and the lovely smell of hot toast got John out of bed.

Sitting on the terrace overwatching the blossoming cherry and plum trees, they were set for a lovely day.

Patricia started walking donwstairs and exclaimed :

-       « Oh ! John, did you leave your wallet downstairs !  It’s on the first step…

-       No, not that I remember !

-       But look, here is the key of the house just next to it.  Gosh, what on earth happened here ?

-       I don’t know !  Let’s have a look through the wallet !  Has any money been stolen ?

-       I don’t really know how much I had in there…. But I never have much…

-       Well, there are a few coins and a 10 euro banknote.

How strange !  The identity and credit cards were untouched !

As Patricia walked out of the house, right in the middle of the lane, she found a bunch of keys she had never seen before ! 

-       What on earth are these keys, where do they come from ! she shouted out loud.

The mystery was growing….

John went off to work and Patricia heard her neighbour calling her from behind the fence.  They lived in exactly the same house, as there were 4 of them built by 4 Italian bricklayers who  had left Italy in the sixties when hunger and poverty were still around.  Since they had done well, they had all built new houses and rented the first ones out.

-       Hi Geraldine !

-       Hi Mary, how are you ?  Lovely day again.

-       Well, something very strange happened last night ! We were watching TV in the back room and I think that’s when we were burgled while we were watching a fantastic television documentary about China !

-       Oh ! so did we ! Wasn’t it wonderful !  China is realy so inspiring and there’s so much we’ve never heard about, yet to discover ! So tell me about last night.

-       Well, when we went to bed, I found that things had been moved around near my jewellery box. As I went looking through it, I realized my grandmother’s neckless and earrings were missing.

Then my husband came out of his room and his military medals had been scattered on his commode and two of them had been taken !  He was very upset, certainly more than me with the loss of my jewels….

-       Then Patricia showed Mary the keys she had found on the ground in front of her house.  Do these keys belong to you ?

-       Yes ! They the keys of the Charity Organization I volunteer for. Where did you find them ?

-       Well just in front of my door, in the lane….

Come in for some coffee and we’ll try and figure out what happened.

After a discussion with more details about the evening in each house, Patricia and Mary came to a relatively plausible conclusion :

The burglers started in Mary’s house and ran out as soon as they had found a rather substantial booty, steeling the key in the entrance for their next visit…

After that first fruitfull visit, they probably started their visit in house number 2.  As they reached the first floor, they had picked up John’s wallet intending to look through it…  Then the dog barked quite loudly which made them run away as quickly as possible, dropping the wallet and key of the house on the first step.  And as they were running as quickly as they could, they dropped the neighbour’s key in the alley.   They fled as quickly as possible hoping nobody was after them.

Mary was releaved they hadn’t managed to keep the keys and Patricia and John found they had been very lucky : if they had heard the burglers before they ran away, they could have got into trouble !

When Patricia went home after the sucessfull outcome of the mystery, she went straight to the dog, giving him a huge cuddle :

-       Sorry we shouted at you last night and thank you, thank you, thank you… you’re the most wonderful dog ever….

 ------------------------------------------Story made by elecronic intelligence

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I was curled up on the couch with a good book. As I flipped through the pages, I suddenly realized that I had left my phone down stairs.  Groaning, I got up from the couch and made my way down to the first floor. As I descended the stairs, I noticed that something was off. The usually quiet house was filled with an eerie silence.

My heart pounding, I quickened my pace and reached the bottom of the stairs. That's when I saw it - the front door was wide open.

Panic set in as I realized that someone must have broken in. I frantically looked around for something to use as a weapon, but all I had was a decorative vase.

I tiptoed towards the door, vase raised above my head, ready to strike. But as I peeked outside, I saw that there was no one there.

Feeling a mix of relief and confusion, I looked around to see if anything had been stolen. It was then that I remembered why I had come downstairs in the first place - my phone.

I looked around, but it was nowhere to be found. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that whoever had broken in must have taken it.

Feeling violated and vulnerable, I called the police and waited for them to arrive. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think that this was all my fault - I shouldn't have left my phone downstairs.

 

 

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

 

Annemarie's story

Alice gazed at the gauzy filaments of a spider’s web as she climbed the stairs, holding
tightly to the old wooden banister… and forgot what she had been downstairs for. It
happened so often - one or other of them had those slight lapses pf memory when they
went to the garage, downstairs or just into the next room for something and forgot what he
or she had gone for, so often that the sentence, ‘I’ve left it downstairs, it had become a
euphemism between them for something forgotten; ( sometimes, thought Alice, it felt like a
sign to an incipient Alzheimer’s sentence.) The couple usually laughed or Alice would say
“That’s the problem with multitasking- easy to forget something. Anyway it’s good for us,
going up and downstairs, good for our bone density and for the extra exercise.” Sometime
during the day, or the following day after a good night’s sleep, the forgotten, no the lapsed
word would have descended from brain to mouth.

After her husband passed away, after forty-eight years of marriage with all its ups and
downs, Alice had sold the rambling house set in the undulating countryside north of
Edinburgh; the garden with all its ups and downs was too much for her and Alice had
decided to move to Sussex. It was so much nearer to her two daughters and the five
grandchildren and she could help with baby-sitting, looking after their homes, animals and
plants when they went on holiday - she could be useful.
She bought the bungalow in her daughters names (hopefully to live long enough for them
to avoid death duties.) There could be no greater contrast between her old home in the
tree-covered hills and her cosy modern bungalow on the coast. Sunlight cross-crossed the
room casting rippled reflections from the sea onto her walls; she could hear the constant
whoosh whoosh of the waves breaking on the pebbled beach. Passers-by enjoying the
brisk sea air would wave or stop for a few words as she pottered in the postage-size front
garden. She joined a couple of clubs and felt very much part of the community. It was true
that after a some years she no longer needed to baby-sit but her daughters, and
sometimes the whole family, came to see her, have a proper Sunday roast in her small
dining room, a room filled with memories and photos of Michael and her time together or
they would take her out somewhere special.
Today it was for a birthday lunch and a surprise visit she knew not where.
“Well that was a delicious meal. I am so lucky to have you two lovely daughters. I could
almost do with a siesta,” said Alice, draping around her neck her silk scarf, a birthday gift
designed and hand-printed by her eldest granddaughter. “But,” she added “first the
surprise. What on earth is it?”
“Wait and see, Mum; it’s a surprise after all, ” said her younger daughter mysteriously. Ten
minutes later the two women and Alice were wending their way through an avenue of
elderly, gnarled trees bordered by a profusion of rose beds. Alice would never forget the
all-pervading scent on that hot summer afternoon as they ambled up to the entrance. Nor
would she forget the sign -“The Elms Residential Home. Luxury care for the over 55’s”.
Too shocked, too stunned to say anything she followed her daughters in, allowed herself to
be shown around a large luxury bedroom (or what Alice termed bed-sitting room), a
communal room with several elderly women and men in comfy old people chairs.
“And now the gorgeous gardens,” trilled her elder daughter.

“This is our surprise. Between us we’ve saved you all the trouble of finding somewhere, of
selling the bungalow and all the paper work done. No more housework, there’s a dining
room as well with really decent meals and what’s more proper care if you should need it.
You move in in three weeks time,  she added gleefully, both daughters with big smiles on
their well made-up faces.
Close to tears Alice stared at the two of them. “But why on earth would you do all this
without consulting me?”
“Mum this is our surprise. We’ve noticed how forgetful you've become. It’s much better to
be here now before you get worse, somewhere you can be with other people, where you’ll
have help when you need it. We’ve been worried about you for a while. You live in a
bungalow but you are forever saying ‘I’ve left it downstairs'

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

Sarah's story

I left it downstairs 5 – Annette
(23.02.2023)

She stands there on the landing, her white hair like a halo against the dark hallway behind her.  Her eyes seem to be gazing into an interminable grey-blue distance, past the wooden, open verandah, past the rooftops below.  She lays one hand on the banister to steady herself, because the other hand is clutching something.
"I left it dowwnstairs," she says, her voice become as soft as the cloud of vaporous hair that is now all that is left of the rich brown tresses she had twenty years ago.
"No, you didn't.  You're holding it right now."
"I left it downstairs," she repeats, "I'm going down to fetch it."
"No, Mum," says the other voice sternly, almost in exasperation.  "You've got your telephone in your hand.  And you're not going downstairs.  You might trip, and then where would we be?"

She took a tentative step forward.  She would rather be down in the shop; someone might come in.  If anyone came it was usually in the afternoon, but sometimes they came in the morning.
"Go back to your room, Mum.  If you fall down the stairs you'll be back in hospital.  Would you like that?"
Fall down the stairs?  Was it as bad as that?  And back in hospital?  No, she certainly didn't want that to happen.  She turned and walked slowly back to her room
They had kept her in the hospital for ten days.  That was when she had let the soup burn and it had set off the smoke alarm and the neighbours had called the fire department.  They had finally decided there was no reason to keep her there and had sent her home.  But Bertie had come up and there was talk among the authorities, and now it seemed Bertie had some power of attorney over her.
She lay down on her bed.  There wasn't much else to do.  She forgot why she had wanted her telephone.  She tried to remember but it was too difficult.  She would remember later; she always did.
She hadn't been out for her walk today.  Every morning she went out after breakfast and walked around the village.  Not all the way around it; though it was a small village, you couldn't go all round it on account of the steep wooded slopes on the north side.  But she had her little route, out through the 15th century gate, on past the cemetery and back along the walls, chatting with neighbours and picking up sticks as she went.  She had checked with the mayor; it was all right to pick up the sticks.  She generally brought back a bagful and built a fire with them in the kitchen while she prepared lunch; that made it cosy when Andy was there at lunchtime.  Though actually it was he who made the lunch most of the time these days; she usually forgot something essential like the salt, or couldn't remember exactly how you finished the recipe.
That was it.  She wanted to phone Andy.  Why hadn't he come this morning?  She punched the keys and the phone began to ring at the other end, but there was no answer.  He was probably working in his atelier, soldering the little bits he put together for his sculptures.  When he was doing that he didn't hear his phone.  She drifted off to sleep.

She was awakened by a racket downstairs.  She called down to Bertie but of course he didn't hear her.  It sounded like somebody moving heavy things, there was grunting and swearing, then the door slammed shut.  The motor of a van started up under her window and after a moment it drove away.  Then all was quiet.
It was a quiet village.  A quiet, beautiful village.  It hadn't changed much since she had come there when Bertie was a toddler.  There were more tourists now, but that was good for business.  She had done right to leave her shop in town and come here; her clients had followed her, and the tourists made new ones.  The best times were before Bertie went away to university; then he had helped her in the garden and with the house, and she had hoped that after university he would come back and everything would be the same.  But he had gone off, and married, and divorced, and gone somewhere else, but had never come back here.  Except for a short visit from time to time, with his children.  But this time he had come without them.
She heard more noises, as if someone were pushing cartons around.  The door opened and closed several times.  Then she heard steps coming up the stairs and Bertie came into her room with two big suitcases.  He opened the drawers  and the wardrobe and began piling things into the cases.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going home, and you're coming with me."
"But why are you taking so many things?  I won't need that much."
"No need to buy new things," was his cryptic reply.
Her heart sank a little.  Of course she would be glad to see her grandchildren, but she didn't get on that well with Bertie's third wife, and she always felt a little awkward in their house.  She had always liked it best being at home, knitting her sweaters, seeing her friends and neighbours.  Sleeping in her own bed, surrounded by her own things.  Well, maybe it wouldn't be for long.
"Come on, get your shoes on, we're going."
"Already?"

Out of doors, down the street a little, a group of neighbours were watching the proceedings.
"He's taking her away," said one.  "And she didn't even say good-by to us."
"I wanted to go in this morning but he said no," said a tall man with a grizzled beard.  They all knew whom he meant by "he".  "He said she wasn't well."
"She looked well enough to me just now," said the first one, whose name was Tina. "Don't you think so, Andy?"
"Maybe she'll be back," said another.
"I doubt it," said Tina.  "I heard something about putting her in a facility."
"Maybe the one in Belleville?  Then we could all go to see her.  Andy, don't look so guilty!  There was nothing you could do."
"I don't know," he began.
"Nonsense, your psychiatrist has forbidden it; you know that."
They all knew that Andy's wife had died of Alzheimer's, that he had taken care of her for the last five years of her life and that it had worn him down.  He had found a new partner in Annette, but when she had started to show signs of the same illness, his psychiatrist had sounded the alarm.  Now they lived separately but he came faithfully to see her every day.
"Actually, I don't think she's going to be in Belleville," said Julie, who until now had said nothing.  "I heard he was taking her down near him.  And I don't think she's coming back.  I saw a van in front of the house earlier, they were taking something away, and it looked like Annette's knitting machine."
"Maybe he was shipping it down there," said Tina.
"No.  The man from the van was giving him money, not taking it from him."
They were all silent for a moment.
"How do you know he was taking her down south?" asked Tina after a moment.
"He said so himself, actually.  I heard him talking to the estate agent."
"The estate agent!"
As she said these words, a little red car drove up in front of the house they were still staring at, and the person in question stepped out of it.  She placed a little printed panel against the front wall, slipped back into her car and drove away.  Though the printing was big enough to read from where they were, they all approached to see it more clearly.
"For Sale" said the sign, placed underneath the big window where the lettering still said "Designer Knits" but which now showed desolately empty of items for sale.  They turned and stared again down the street out of which Bertie's car, and then the estate agent's, had driven, but all they saw was a collection of dry leaves, twirled down the dusty gutter by the precocious winds of early autumn.
 

 

 

 

Paula's story and some photos

A Japanese toilet

James making delicious tea and coffee

Beautiful table

A gunshot split the silence of the night. A body tumbled softly to the ground. A car door slammed, an engine roared, then faded quickly away.

 

All up and down the up-to-now quiet suburban street, lights flicked on in the houses, and bedroom windows were flung open as men thrust their heads out. 

 

“What was that?” they called to each other.

“What’s going on?” 

“Did you hear that?” 

“That sounded like a gunshot!”

 

Henry glanced across the street, and there, at the foot of the driveway opposite his own, was a huddled form lying on the cement. “Jesus!” he cried, as he struggled to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. “Call 15, Jules!” he called to his wife. “It looks like Jacob!”

 

As Henry raced downstairs, he could hear his wife on the phone, frantically asking for an ambulance. He ran across the street and knelt down next to his neighbor. Blood was seeping out of a small hole on the right side of Jacob’s chest, his pajama top nearly soaked already.

 

“Who did this? What happened?” Henry asked his friend. “Jules has called for help; an ambulance will be here soon.”

 

Jacob struggled to speak, grasping Henry’s sweatshirt to pull his head close to his own on the pavement. “It was Sylvia,” he gasped. “She’s taken everything. She cleared out the bank accounts this morning; she’s taken the car; she even, she even…” he paused to try and draw a breath.

 

“Don’t speak,” Henry said, trying to comfort the big man. “Help is on the way.”

 

“She even took the ring,” Jacob finally spat out.

 

The ring. Everyone on the block knew about the ring. Jacob’s most prized possession, a family heirloom generations old. A 6-and-a-half-carat diamond surrounded by sparkling sapphires and emeralds, it once had been appraised at €12 million. 

 

“Just rest,” Henry said. “Don’t talk. Save your breath.”

 

By now, more neighbors had reached the two men on the driveway, one gasping for breath, one cradling the other’s head in his lap. “My God,” the murmurs began. “What the hell?” And the news of Sylvia’s possibly fatal betrayal began to spread through the small crowd. “She shot him! And the ring! She made off with the ring!” The incredulous murmurs swept from one resident to the next. 

 

Police and ambulance sirens wailed as they neared the scene. Within minutes, the driveway was bathed in light and activity as the emergency medical technicians worked swiftly to try and stabilize Jacob’s vital signs and load him onto a gurney. Meanwhile, two police officers were working through the crowd of neighbors that had gathered, asking questions. The wife, it’s always the wife, one cop nodded as he listened to the excited voices.

 

As the medical staff lifted the gurney carrying Jacob’s inert form into the back of the ambulance, Jacob slowly reached out for Henry’s hand. “Henry,” he whispered urgently. “Henry, I need you to do something.” 

 

“Of course, Jake, whatever you need,” Henry told his friend. “What is it?”

 

“The ring,” the big man choked out the words. “The one Sylvia has is a fake. I had a reproduction made years ago without telling her. The real one is still in the house.” He paused to draw a ragged, shallow breath. “I left it downstairs, in my toolbox in the cellar. I figured it would always be safe there. Please, Henry, go get it and keep it safe. I’ll need it, if I make it through, to start fresh.”

 

Jacob wheezed then, and dropped Henry’s hand as his eyes rolled back into his head. The doctor sprang into action, slamming shut the ambulance doors, and the car roared away into the night. Henry turned to find Jules close behind him, her eyes wide in her pale face. “Did you hear that,” Henry whispered to his wife. She nodded wordlessly. He stared at her until a small grin began to spread across his face. He said softly, “All our problems are over.”

 

 

Jackie's poor contribution

Goosey Goosey Gander where shall I wander, Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber

There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers,

I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

The stairs went crack,
He nearly broke his back.
And all the little ducks went,
‘Quack, quack, quack

 

Old father Long-Legs
Can't say his prayers:
take him by the left leg,
And throw him downstairs.^[1