#fivestrayminutes – Page 5 – five stray minutes

Dream remembered

Published on August 28, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison Wright4 Comments

In was in these very hills soon after I came to this place that I had a vivid dream.

After climbing steep hill, I was led through a large courtyard painted white, up some stairs and through tall, heavy wooden doors into what seemed like another world.

Inside, tall thin arches covered with long drapes in rich fabric wafted slightly in the breeze. The hall – for that’s what is was – had drapes hanging everywhere, so that the precise size of the room could not be discerned. One could not see the walls themselves.

There was a large rectangular table at one end with people seated around: Arabs, Africans, men, women, all in grand attire. In the centre, a heavy round table, covered with a cloth. In the corners of the room were large brocade cushions piled high. People were dressed in long robes, and cloth headdresses studded with jewels and reclining, comfortably talking, and drinking out of jewel encrusted goblets.

As I entered, wearing a plain purple robe and leather sandals, but no other adornment, an imposing woman stood up.

She had the most magnificent robe of all. Deep purple, with swirls of bright blue, and gold brocade on a matching outer cloak. It complemented her dark brown complexion perfectly, and set off her bright eyes with a power I had seldom seen in a woman.

As she rose, so too did everyone else. She approach me slowly , with the dignity befitting her office.

She said, “So, you have come”.

I stood tall, bolt upright and held her gaze, “Yes, I have”.

She took her time and circled around me, at about two metres distant, inspecting me, it seems. The hall was quiet, but not unsympathetic.

I stood motionless and looked straight ahead. When she had come full circle she faced me once again. Raising her chin ever so slightly, as those of authority do, she said in a deep, resonant voice, “Welcome!”

With that she handed me the gold goblet in her hand. I raised it in a toast to her, with my head bowed for a moment, and then drank my first sip. I felt as if I had come home.

(This was the first dream I had, very soon after emigrating to Portugal.)

A visitor

Published on August 27, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison Wright2 Comments

We discovered that the young guy at the meeting was called Thabo. We also discovered that his uncle’s big house was just around the corner from where we lived. Well, just around the corner, if you can walk with ease, that is. He already had elbow crutches, and walked with difficulty. I could see it in the tensing of his arm muscles and clenched grip. And he knew very little about what MS was going to take from him. New diagnoses are the hardest.

But hey, this guy was so determined to “keep on going”. We said, “Come around on Saturday, we’re home all day”. So he did.

It was the time of the food shortages. He was very respectful to arrive at 2.30 pm. The fact was that we had not eaten yet. I was about to serve our lunch, when the bell at the gate rang.

He followed me up the drive, and took a seat. I said, “Now, listen, I can see that you walked all the way here. We were about to have lunch. It is chicken wings and gravy with rice. And some spinach from the garden. We would love you to join us in our meal”.

The tall, skinny young man beamed bashfully. “Only if there is enough…” Yeah, I thought. He had not eaten yet today either.

“Today, there is”.

So there we sat, the three of us in our lounge, with trays on our laps. And plates piled with real food. I silently thanked God that on this day, we had enough food for everyone.

We had a lovely conversation after that, with our bellies full. He could tell a good story, that Thabo.

Lunch

Published on August 26, 2019August 26, 2019 by Allison Wright1 Comment

I did not go out into the garden yesterday. Or at least I don’t remember whether I did. I must have watered, but only in a mechanical sort of way, without paying too much mind.

The day was too full to linger there. And today, I have made my rounds, the cursory greetings and expressions of delight at a new flower, the swelling gourd and loofah pod, new things.

Dangling green beans that I leaving hanging, although I should pick them, but will wait until I have time to cook. And oh, surprise, young peas already on their self-sown vine. They are nice and I nibble on their sweetness and discard their shells wherever I like.

And then I remember food, for yesterday was rushed boiled potatoes and something else, on yes, ice cream which did not cool. So why, you ask such crazy eating?

It is the text. The imperative of the big text demands my all, and does get it, in fits and starts.

But today, I gather up this and that and peppers and tomatoes and onions and cheese and whatnot. I force myselfself to make the dough. The pizza is in the oven and will have to pass for the five vegetables that one is supposed to eat daily. Ah, the big text calls me,
But wait, the oven timer is sounding.

I shall eat like a queen today, if queens eat in front of laptops somewhere in this squiffy realm.

The box

Published on August 25, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

“What this doing outside?”

Cath and Andrea had just moved house. Outside the side door on a narrow strip of cement running the length of the building was a box of papers belonging to Andrea.

“You need to sort it before it comes inside,” said Cath.

Andrea pouted. “What if it rains?”

“Best get to it, then, sweetie.”

Andrea sat on the box for a few minutes. “Bloody hell!”

Then she lifted it up and took it to the back garden. There was a 44-gallon drum there. She tossed most of the papers into the drum, doused them with cigarette lighter fuel, set a match to them, and watched them burn.

Her early literary efforts went up in flames, apart from one of two sheets of paper. She figured that she had sorted those papers pretty well. Done!

Deus é grande

Published on August 24, 2019August 24, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

Outside the kitchen door there was a concrete hard standing with a depression in it running the length of the courtyard towards a metal door in the wall shielding the view of the back garden from the road.

It was hot, so we five kids begged my mother to let us dam up the gap between the bottom of the door with towels, and run the hose pipe so that the depression filled with water for us to play in.

She agreed, so there we were, my sister and I, our two little boy cousins and the girl from across the road, all sitting naked except for our underwear on the concrete, splashing each other with a pitiful amount of water.

There was a lady at the school gate telling people about Heaven, where our souls go when we die. That is what we were talking about. She said that we had to repent of our sins, whatever that meant. Then my friend from across the road said it was that if you had been bad you had to say you were sorry. We had to be good to get into Heaven. We all looked up at the bright blue sky and wondered if you could get to Heaven if you had been mainly good and only a little bit bad.

We didn’t know. I laughed at my sister, because she couldn’t say “damnation” properly. She laughed at me because I did not know what it meant. We decided that God must be very big. Then, our cousins splashed us, and tickled us. That is all.

Why?

Published on August 24, 2019August 24, 2019 by Andrea Bernard3 Comments

Translators.

We strive to understand the meaning behind the words. To dig deeper. To get it.

Why then can some of us not understand the meaning of:

Rest in Peace

When one of us has passed away?

Words: 37 Stewing about it: for some hours Writing: 4 minutes Correcting: 4 minutes

Tunnelvision

Published on August 23, 2019August 23, 2019 by Andrea BernardLeave a comment

Plötzlich schlittert der BMW, wir rutschen Richtung Straßenrand, dann über den Bordstein in eine Waldgebiet und kommen an einem Laternenmast zum Stehen. Aber all das wird erst im Nachhinein klar. Es geht unfassbar schnell. Eben noch auf dem Weg zum Flughafen und in der nächsten Sekunde komplette Stille. Wir steigen aus und ich sage: „Schnell, wir rufen ein Taxi, dann schaffe ich es noch zum Flughafen.“ Meine Mutter holt ihr Handy raus und telefoniert, wenige Minuten später sind wir auf dem Weg. „Ich muss meinen Flug kriegen“, ist alles, was ich denken kann. Am Flughafen, ich sitze in der Abflughalle Richtung Japan. Entspanne mich. Und dann beginnen die Kopfschmerzen. Ich steige ins Flugzeug ein, sie werden schlimmer. Die Flugvorbereitungen beginnen, ich bekomme Herzklopfen. Wenn ich nun doch verletzt bin? Ich beginne zu ventilieren, schließlich wird eine Stewardess auf mich aufmerksam. „Ich hatte einen Autounfall auf dem Weg zum Flughafen. Und jetzt tut mir der Kopf weh.“ Der Flug geht ohne mich und ich ins Krankenhaus. So fühlt es sich wohl an, wenn man nach einem Unfall einen Schock hat.

Office

Published on August 23, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

She was on the phone when Andrea walked in. Cath had her feet crossed at the ankles, resting on an old manilla folder on top of one corner of her enormous desk. Her ankle-high Continental-style leather boots were scuffed at the heel, and the soles were somewhat worn, but still held faint traces of chic.

Black tapered trousers, red and white flecked jacket, white shirt, and fancy wrist watch. This was Cath faking it until she made it. Not that she wasn’t doing too badly on the making it part, but she was ambitious.

She motioned to Andrea to turn around so that she could see how Bert had cut her hair. Andrea obliged.

“It’s a war zone around here. Operations just don’t get it. But you’re looking great, my love. Thanks for the burger, by the way”. She smiled as she took her first bite.

Die Mauer im Kopf

Published on August 22, 2019August 23, 2019 by Andrea Bernard1 Comment

Dreißig Jahre ist das jetzt her. Die Mauer. Damals, in der DDR, durften wir den Namen nicht aussprechen, die Mauer nicht sehen. Reglementierter Sprachgebrauch: „Antifaschistischer Schutzwall“.

Sprache beeinflusst das Denken.

Noch heute sehe ich die Mauer zwiespältig. Sie war tatsächlich Schutz und Gefängnis zugleich.

Heute ist das unsagbar, nein – undenkbar! Mit all den Mauertoten und den Grausamkeiten, die an dieser Mauer geschahen, eben: unsagbar und unsäglich. Und doch meine Wahrheit.

Die Mauer, sie hat mein Leben verändert und bestimmt. Als sie da war – und noch mehr, als sie fiel.

©2019 Andrea Bernard
[91 words. Writing: 4 minutes; editing 5 minutes]

Bertram

Published on August 22, 2019August 31, 2019 by Allison WrightLeave a comment

“It feels weird being here without Cath,” said Andrea as she sat down in front of the mirror. Bert flashed a bright smile at her, but said nothing. Always so composed, in his designer blue jeans, loafers, and perfect white shirt, cuffs rolled, scissors and comb at the ready.

He looked intently at her in the mirror. “I was thinking maybe we could go shorter here. Assymetrical.” Andrea turned her head to one side as Burt drew the line against her scalp to show her.

“Do your thing, Bert. Strictly club cut, though.”

“Of course.”

It was like a meditation. Bert’s clean shaven head, his neat hands. Always, his mouth closed, his relaxed, even breathing. The sculpture was conducted in silence, while the latest hits played at low volume in the background. This was his art; he was in his zone.