Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 79
January 23, 2014
PETRI-DISH PASSION
We should
Have been born
One flesh,
Uncleft
By cell-division;
One mind,
One breath.
Manuela Cardiga
Have been born
One flesh,
Uncleft
By cell-division;
One mind,
One breath.
Manuela Cardiga
January 20, 2014
THE INK BLOT GUEST SPOT: "Disembroidering the fear" by Jen Hartley
she didn’t think her life would bend
in sideways, splitting curlicues
contralto tones from laughing Muse
demanding that she stop and mend
and patch, and stitch, and rend some more
an e’er-unraveling tapestry
dismantling the sophistry
of separation and of war
replacing panes of silver thread
with her own hair, her skin, her mind
the fibers stretch, the spools unwind
from deep within her aching head
she didn’t know all she could lose
and still remain, a fractured seer,
disembroidering the fear
in subtle hues of blacks and blues
Jen Hartley
in sideways, splitting curlicues
contralto tones from laughing Muse
demanding that she stop and mend
and patch, and stitch, and rend some more
an e’er-unraveling tapestry
dismantling the sophistry
of separation and of war
replacing panes of silver thread
with her own hair, her skin, her mind
the fibers stretch, the spools unwind
from deep within her aching head
she didn’t know all she could lose
and still remain, a fractured seer,
disembroidering the fear
in subtle hues of blacks and blues
Jen Hartley
January 19, 2014
THE INK BLOT GUEST SPOT: "Tangerine Dream" by Grant Harbison
Dundee, Scotland 1987
21 year old Brian Hegarty ran frantically down the stairs of his house when he heard the relentless banging on his front door. When he opened the door, his friend, Craig Munro stood outside looking very anxious.
“Whit’s aw the bangin’ aboot?” Brian asked. “The wife’s jist got the bairn tae sleep.”
“Sorry, mate. We’ll need tae get movin’ if we want tae see the game.”
“Whit are ye oan aboot? The pub’s jist doon the road.”
“Aye, but we’re no gaun tae The Crown.”
“Eh?”
“Ah thought we’d gang tae The Viceroy.”
“That’s awa oan the other side o’ toon. Whit dae ye want tae gang there for?”
“It’ll be full o’ United supporters, plus there’s a bigger telly.”
“Aye, awricht. Let me jist grab ma jaicket an’ say cheerio tae the wife.”
Twenty minutes later, they both waited patiently at the bus stop.
“Ah’ve got a feelin’ it’s gonnae be a braw game the nicht,” said Craig. “An’ you?”
“Naw, beatin’ Barcelona at Tannadice is wan thing, but oan their groon’? Nae chance.”
“Aw c’moan, United could dae it. Scottish fitba’ is no aw aboot Rangers an’ Celtic.”
“Ah ken that.”
“If Aberdeencan dae it in Europe, so can we.”
“We’ve done well tae get tae this stage. Where’s that bus?”
Craig looked at his watch. “It better hurry up. Dinnae want tae miss the start.”
Just then, a bus turned around the corner a little further up the road.
“Here we go,” said Brian
When they entered the pub three quarters of an hour later, they were astonished to find that it was almost empty.
“A bit quiet,” Brian commented. “Is yer watch richt?”
“Aye, ah checked it before ah left hame.”
“Let’s hae a pint.”
“Whit can ah get ye, lads?” the barman asked.
“Twa pints o’ lager,” said Brian.
“Ah thought the place wid be mobbed by noo,” said Craig to the barman when he returned with the drinks.
“Aye, it wid be if the telly wis workin’,” the barman replied.
“Whit!” exclaimed Craig.
“Aye, been like that for a few days noo. Repair man said he’d be here the morra.”
“Aw that’s jist brilliant!” Brian moaned. “Whit noo?”
“Whit aboot the Tartan Dog?” Craig suggested.
“Dinnae be daft. That place will be full o’ the Dens Park mob. We’d be subjected tae verbal abuse or even worse when they find oot that we’re United supporters.”
“Aye, yer richt. Whit aboot Saracens?”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s aboot a mile doon the road. Hurry up an’ finish yer pint. We’ll probably only miss the kick aff.”
Outside the pub, Craig set the pace and Brian struggled to keep up.
“Slow doon, wid ye!” Brian yelled.
Craig slowed down to let his friend catch up. “If ye move a wee bit faster, we’ll get there oan time.”
“We could go hauf oan a taxi?” Brian proposed.
“Waste o’ money.”
“Are you bein’ tight fisted again?”
“That’s no fair. Ye ken ah only get ma Giro oan Tuesday. Whit aboot you. You’re the wan that’s workin’.”
“Aye, but ah’ve got a wife an’ bairn tae support.” Suddenly they heard the sound of sirens
“That’s no too faur awa,” said Brian.”Ah wonder whit that’s aboot?”
“Somethin’s oan fire.”
“Eh?’
“Look,” said Craig pointing ahead. “Dae ye no see the smoke?’
“Aye ah see it noo. Ah wonder whit’s burnin’?”
Just then, three fire brigade trucks whizzed past them.
“Must be serious,” stated Craig
Brian noticed a figure walking towards them. “Maybe we should ask this auld guy.”
Before either of them could ask the question, the man spoke to them first. “Ah widnae gang doon that way, lads, it’s chaos.”
“Whits oan fire?” Brian asked.
“The Saracens pub,” the man replied.
“Aw naw.” Craig groaned. “How?’
“Ah dinnae ken. Aw ah ken is that naebody got hurt.”
“Where tae noo?” Brian asked Craig.
“We better gang hame,” replied Craig. “There’s a bus comin’. C’moan, run!”
Both young men ran across the road, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic
“Hurry, Brian, it’s awready at the bus stoap!”
As soon as they got to the bus, the doors had already closed. They tried desperately to get the driver’s attention, but he didn’t see them and drove off.
“This is turnin’ oot tae be a disaster,” Brian grumbled. “An’ you said that this wisgonnae turn oot tae be a braw nicht.”
“It’s no ma fault.”
“We should’ve went tae The Crown, or better still, got a few cans an’ watched it at hame.”
“If a bus comes in the next few minutes, we’ll see maist o’ the second hauf.”
“Wan o’ the greatest matches in Dundee United’s history, an’ we’re miles fae hame, waiting oan a bus.”
“Aw, cheer up, will ye. Ye can be a richt prophet o’ doom sometimes. Here’s a bus comin’.noo. So stoap moanin’.”
“Dae ye ken the United score, pal?” Craig asked a young man sitting at the front of the bus.
The young man shook his head.
“Does anybody ken the United score? he yelled.
Some of the passengers shook their heads, while others ignored him.
“Looks like we’ll huv tae wait,” he said to Brian.
Twenty minutes into the journey, the driver stopped the bus.
“Whit’s happenin’?” Brian asked. “This is no a bus stoap.”
“Whit’s gaun oan?” Craig hollered.
“Ah think the bus has broke doon, son,” an elderly woman at the front of the bus replied.
Brian sighed and shook his head. “This jist gets better an’ better.
Moments later the driver appeared. “Ah’m sorry aboot this,” he told the passengers. “Ye’ll aw have tae wait for another bus. Ah dinnae ken whit the problem is. Jist mak sure ye’ve aw got yer tickets.”
“There’s nae time tae tak another bus,” Craig told Brian. “We’ll huv tae walk.”
“We’re still too faur awa. We’ll never mak it in time.”
“Ah ken a shoart cut, c’moan.”
“Where are we gaun?” asked Brian minutes later.
“If we go ower the railway lines, we’ll get tae the graveyard. We’ll nip through the grave yard an’ we’ll be minutes awa fae The Crown.”
“Ah’m no gaun through there!”
“Och, dinnae be a big fearty.”
“Ah’m no feart.”
“Aye ye are. Dinnae worry. Ah can assure ye there’s nae heidless corpses or zombies walkin’ aboot.”
“Dinnae be daft, Craig. It’s no the deid ah’m worried aboot, it’s the livin’. A lot o’ scallawags hing aboot there.”
“There’ll be naebody there.”
When they reached the graveyard, Brian looked in dismay at the railings.
“Whit’s the matter?” Craig asked.
“There’s spikes oan toap.”
“So?’
“It’s dark. Wan slip an’ yer impailed.”
“It’s no that high. Ah’ll climb ower first, then ah’ll watch ye fae the other side.”
“Okay.”
Craig climbed over the railing with ease. “See it’s easy.”
Brian climbed the railing tentatively. When he reached the top, he wobbled slightly before jumping forward.
“Noo tae get tae the other side. Quiet as a moose, mind.”
“Aye.”
Nervous to begin with, Brian felt slightly relieved when they’d reached halfway without incident. But that relief was short lived when three young men suddenly appeared in front of them.
Brian felt his fear rising. “Ah telt ye this wid happen.”
“Let me dae the talkin’,” said Craig.
“Ah dinnae think it’s gonnae dae any good.”
“Awricht, lads,” Craig greeted them.
None of them answered. They just stared at Brian and Craig with malevolent grins on their faces.
“We’re jist tryin’ tae get tae a telly tae see the end o’ the match, said Craig.” Dae any o’ ye ken the score?”
“Ye better hand ower yer cash,” one of them threatened.
“Och, dinnae be like that. It’s a big match for United the nicht.”
“Ah dinnae care. Ah’m a Dundeesupporter. Noo dae as ah say an’ hand ower yer cash. Baith o’ ye.”
“When ah say run, we run,” Craig whispered to Brian.”
“But…”
“Nae buts. Jist dae whit yer telt.”
“Hey, stoap whisperin’.”
“We’re skint,” said Craig.
“Ah dinnae believe ye. Ye’ve got ten seconds.”
“Run, Brian!”
Craig and Brian ran as quickly as they could towards the railing on the other side.
“Faster, Brian. We still huv tae get ower the railin’. C’moan, they’re gainin’ oan us!”
“Ah’m daein’ ma best!”
As soon as the got to the railing, Craig clambered quickly over. Seconds later, Brian tried to get over, but slipped on his first attempt.
“C’moan, they’re behind ye!”
With adrenalin pumping, Brian scrambled to get over the railing. As he was about to get to the top, he felt a tug on his leg. He lashed out with his boot and connected the face of his assailant. His attacker squealed .He managed to reach the top of the railing, but when his feet hit the ground, he felt an agonising pain in his right ankle and screamed loudly.
“Whit’s wrang!” cried Craig.
“Ma ankle. Ah think ah’ve sprained it!”
To Craig’s surprise, the other two men hadn’t bothered to climb over the railing. They merely attended to their friend without pursuing them any further. Craig helped Brian to his feet and carried him on his back until they reached the road. Brian sat on the side of the road, while Craig tried to flag down passing cars. Eventually a car stopped.
Craig ran to the driver. “Thanks for stoappin’. Ma mate’s sprained his ankle.”
“Ah’m no gaun anywhere near the hoaspital, pal,” said the driver.
“Nae problem, mate. We jist want tae get tae The Crown pub.”
“Ah’m gaun that way. Dae ye need a haun’?”
‘Aye, ah wid appreciate it.”
“Are ye a United supporter?” Craig asked the driver when they’d got Brian into the car.
“Aye, pure Tangerine.”
‘Dae ye ken the score?” asked Craig excitedly.
“Naw, ah’ve jist been drivin’ aw the way fae Manchester. Ma radio packed up the other week. Tae be honest, ah dinnae think we’ll dae it. No many teams gang tae the Nou Camp an’ get a result. It wid be a dream result though.”
“That’s whit ah’ve been tellin’ him aw nicht,” said Brian from the back seat. “The amount o’ bad luck we’ve been huvin’ the nicht, ah reckon it’s a disaster.”
“Oh ye o’ little faith!”
The driver stopped the car outside the pub. “There ye go, lads. Hope it’s a win. Dae ye want a haun wi’ yer pal?”
“Naw, yer awricht. Thanks a lot, mate!”
“Nae bother.”
As soon as they got inside the pub, Craig asked one of the patrons if he would give up his seat for Brian. The man complied and helped get Brian to the seat.
“What’s the score,” Craig asked the man.
“Wan each. We jist scored.”
“That means we’re twa-wan up oan aggregate?”
“Aye, we jist need tae haud oan.”
“Whit can ah get ye, mate?”
‘Pint o’ lager will dae. Thanks, pal.”
“Did ye hear that, Brian? Wan apiece. We jist need tae haud oan.”
At that moment, the commentator began to get excited .”United have it on the left hand side. The ball is whipped in, onto the head of Iain Ferguson, and it’s a goal! Barcelona 1 DundeeUnited 2. Oh what drama we have here at the Nou Camp. From going one nil down, United have pulled back two goals in the dying minutes.”
The whole pub erupted in loud cheers. Craig gave Brian a bear hug and ran to the bar to get the drinks in. Just as he ordered the beers at the bar, the whole pub burst into song, singing, ‘The Terrors of Tannadice.’ Craig felt the hot rush of tears as he brought the beers back.
Brian was also in tears. “We done it, Craig!”
“Ah telt ye!”
“Aye, ye didnae jinx everythin’ the nicht.”
Craig laughed. “Drink up, we need tae get ye tae the hoaspital.”
“That can wait.”
“Aye, a few merr widnae dae any herm.”
By Grant Harbison
21 year old Brian Hegarty ran frantically down the stairs of his house when he heard the relentless banging on his front door. When he opened the door, his friend, Craig Munro stood outside looking very anxious.
“Whit’s aw the bangin’ aboot?” Brian asked. “The wife’s jist got the bairn tae sleep.”
“Sorry, mate. We’ll need tae get movin’ if we want tae see the game.”
“Whit are ye oan aboot? The pub’s jist doon the road.”
“Aye, but we’re no gaun tae The Crown.”
“Eh?”
“Ah thought we’d gang tae The Viceroy.”
“That’s awa oan the other side o’ toon. Whit dae ye want tae gang there for?”
“It’ll be full o’ United supporters, plus there’s a bigger telly.”
“Aye, awricht. Let me jist grab ma jaicket an’ say cheerio tae the wife.”
Twenty minutes later, they both waited patiently at the bus stop.
“Ah’ve got a feelin’ it’s gonnae be a braw game the nicht,” said Craig. “An’ you?”
“Naw, beatin’ Barcelona at Tannadice is wan thing, but oan their groon’? Nae chance.”
“Aw c’moan, United could dae it. Scottish fitba’ is no aw aboot Rangers an’ Celtic.”
“Ah ken that.”
“If Aberdeencan dae it in Europe, so can we.”
“We’ve done well tae get tae this stage. Where’s that bus?”
Craig looked at his watch. “It better hurry up. Dinnae want tae miss the start.”
Just then, a bus turned around the corner a little further up the road.
“Here we go,” said Brian
When they entered the pub three quarters of an hour later, they were astonished to find that it was almost empty.
“A bit quiet,” Brian commented. “Is yer watch richt?”
“Aye, ah checked it before ah left hame.”
“Let’s hae a pint.”
“Whit can ah get ye, lads?” the barman asked.
“Twa pints o’ lager,” said Brian.
“Ah thought the place wid be mobbed by noo,” said Craig to the barman when he returned with the drinks.
“Aye, it wid be if the telly wis workin’,” the barman replied.
“Whit!” exclaimed Craig.
“Aye, been like that for a few days noo. Repair man said he’d be here the morra.”
“Aw that’s jist brilliant!” Brian moaned. “Whit noo?”
“Whit aboot the Tartan Dog?” Craig suggested.
“Dinnae be daft. That place will be full o’ the Dens Park mob. We’d be subjected tae verbal abuse or even worse when they find oot that we’re United supporters.”
“Aye, yer richt. Whit aboot Saracens?”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s aboot a mile doon the road. Hurry up an’ finish yer pint. We’ll probably only miss the kick aff.”
Outside the pub, Craig set the pace and Brian struggled to keep up.
“Slow doon, wid ye!” Brian yelled.
Craig slowed down to let his friend catch up. “If ye move a wee bit faster, we’ll get there oan time.”
“We could go hauf oan a taxi?” Brian proposed.
“Waste o’ money.”
“Are you bein’ tight fisted again?”
“That’s no fair. Ye ken ah only get ma Giro oan Tuesday. Whit aboot you. You’re the wan that’s workin’.”
“Aye, but ah’ve got a wife an’ bairn tae support.” Suddenly they heard the sound of sirens
“That’s no too faur awa,” said Brian.”Ah wonder whit that’s aboot?”
“Somethin’s oan fire.”
“Eh?’
“Look,” said Craig pointing ahead. “Dae ye no see the smoke?’
“Aye ah see it noo. Ah wonder whit’s burnin’?”
Just then, three fire brigade trucks whizzed past them.
“Must be serious,” stated Craig
Brian noticed a figure walking towards them. “Maybe we should ask this auld guy.”
Before either of them could ask the question, the man spoke to them first. “Ah widnae gang doon that way, lads, it’s chaos.”
“Whits oan fire?” Brian asked.
“The Saracens pub,” the man replied.
“Aw naw.” Craig groaned. “How?’
“Ah dinnae ken. Aw ah ken is that naebody got hurt.”
“Where tae noo?” Brian asked Craig.
“We better gang hame,” replied Craig. “There’s a bus comin’. C’moan, run!”
Both young men ran across the road, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic
“Hurry, Brian, it’s awready at the bus stoap!”
As soon as they got to the bus, the doors had already closed. They tried desperately to get the driver’s attention, but he didn’t see them and drove off.
“This is turnin’ oot tae be a disaster,” Brian grumbled. “An’ you said that this wisgonnae turn oot tae be a braw nicht.”
“It’s no ma fault.”
“We should’ve went tae The Crown, or better still, got a few cans an’ watched it at hame.”
“If a bus comes in the next few minutes, we’ll see maist o’ the second hauf.”
“Wan o’ the greatest matches in Dundee United’s history, an’ we’re miles fae hame, waiting oan a bus.”
“Aw, cheer up, will ye. Ye can be a richt prophet o’ doom sometimes. Here’s a bus comin’.noo. So stoap moanin’.”
“Dae ye ken the United score, pal?” Craig asked a young man sitting at the front of the bus.
The young man shook his head.
“Does anybody ken the United score? he yelled.
Some of the passengers shook their heads, while others ignored him.
“Looks like we’ll huv tae wait,” he said to Brian.
Twenty minutes into the journey, the driver stopped the bus.
“Whit’s happenin’?” Brian asked. “This is no a bus stoap.”
“Whit’s gaun oan?” Craig hollered.
“Ah think the bus has broke doon, son,” an elderly woman at the front of the bus replied.
Brian sighed and shook his head. “This jist gets better an’ better.
Moments later the driver appeared. “Ah’m sorry aboot this,” he told the passengers. “Ye’ll aw have tae wait for another bus. Ah dinnae ken whit the problem is. Jist mak sure ye’ve aw got yer tickets.”
“There’s nae time tae tak another bus,” Craig told Brian. “We’ll huv tae walk.”
“We’re still too faur awa. We’ll never mak it in time.”
“Ah ken a shoart cut, c’moan.”
“Where are we gaun?” asked Brian minutes later.
“If we go ower the railway lines, we’ll get tae the graveyard. We’ll nip through the grave yard an’ we’ll be minutes awa fae The Crown.”
“Ah’m no gaun through there!”
“Och, dinnae be a big fearty.”
“Ah’m no feart.”
“Aye ye are. Dinnae worry. Ah can assure ye there’s nae heidless corpses or zombies walkin’ aboot.”
“Dinnae be daft, Craig. It’s no the deid ah’m worried aboot, it’s the livin’. A lot o’ scallawags hing aboot there.”
“There’ll be naebody there.”
When they reached the graveyard, Brian looked in dismay at the railings.
“Whit’s the matter?” Craig asked.
“There’s spikes oan toap.”
“So?’
“It’s dark. Wan slip an’ yer impailed.”
“It’s no that high. Ah’ll climb ower first, then ah’ll watch ye fae the other side.”
“Okay.”
Craig climbed over the railing with ease. “See it’s easy.”
Brian climbed the railing tentatively. When he reached the top, he wobbled slightly before jumping forward.
“Noo tae get tae the other side. Quiet as a moose, mind.”
“Aye.”
Nervous to begin with, Brian felt slightly relieved when they’d reached halfway without incident. But that relief was short lived when three young men suddenly appeared in front of them.
Brian felt his fear rising. “Ah telt ye this wid happen.”
“Let me dae the talkin’,” said Craig.
“Ah dinnae think it’s gonnae dae any good.”
“Awricht, lads,” Craig greeted them.
None of them answered. They just stared at Brian and Craig with malevolent grins on their faces.
“We’re jist tryin’ tae get tae a telly tae see the end o’ the match, said Craig.” Dae any o’ ye ken the score?”
“Ye better hand ower yer cash,” one of them threatened.
“Och, dinnae be like that. It’s a big match for United the nicht.”
“Ah dinnae care. Ah’m a Dundeesupporter. Noo dae as ah say an’ hand ower yer cash. Baith o’ ye.”
“When ah say run, we run,” Craig whispered to Brian.”
“But…”
“Nae buts. Jist dae whit yer telt.”
“Hey, stoap whisperin’.”
“We’re skint,” said Craig.
“Ah dinnae believe ye. Ye’ve got ten seconds.”
“Run, Brian!”
Craig and Brian ran as quickly as they could towards the railing on the other side.
“Faster, Brian. We still huv tae get ower the railin’. C’moan, they’re gainin’ oan us!”
“Ah’m daein’ ma best!”
As soon as the got to the railing, Craig clambered quickly over. Seconds later, Brian tried to get over, but slipped on his first attempt.
“C’moan, they’re behind ye!”
With adrenalin pumping, Brian scrambled to get over the railing. As he was about to get to the top, he felt a tug on his leg. He lashed out with his boot and connected the face of his assailant. His attacker squealed .He managed to reach the top of the railing, but when his feet hit the ground, he felt an agonising pain in his right ankle and screamed loudly.
“Whit’s wrang!” cried Craig.
“Ma ankle. Ah think ah’ve sprained it!”
To Craig’s surprise, the other two men hadn’t bothered to climb over the railing. They merely attended to their friend without pursuing them any further. Craig helped Brian to his feet and carried him on his back until they reached the road. Brian sat on the side of the road, while Craig tried to flag down passing cars. Eventually a car stopped.
Craig ran to the driver. “Thanks for stoappin’. Ma mate’s sprained his ankle.”
“Ah’m no gaun anywhere near the hoaspital, pal,” said the driver.
“Nae problem, mate. We jist want tae get tae The Crown pub.”
“Ah’m gaun that way. Dae ye need a haun’?”
‘Aye, ah wid appreciate it.”
“Are ye a United supporter?” Craig asked the driver when they’d got Brian into the car.
“Aye, pure Tangerine.”
‘Dae ye ken the score?” asked Craig excitedly.
“Naw, ah’ve jist been drivin’ aw the way fae Manchester. Ma radio packed up the other week. Tae be honest, ah dinnae think we’ll dae it. No many teams gang tae the Nou Camp an’ get a result. It wid be a dream result though.”
“That’s whit ah’ve been tellin’ him aw nicht,” said Brian from the back seat. “The amount o’ bad luck we’ve been huvin’ the nicht, ah reckon it’s a disaster.”
“Oh ye o’ little faith!”
The driver stopped the car outside the pub. “There ye go, lads. Hope it’s a win. Dae ye want a haun wi’ yer pal?”
“Naw, yer awricht. Thanks a lot, mate!”
“Nae bother.”
As soon as they got inside the pub, Craig asked one of the patrons if he would give up his seat for Brian. The man complied and helped get Brian to the seat.
“What’s the score,” Craig asked the man.
“Wan each. We jist scored.”
“That means we’re twa-wan up oan aggregate?”
“Aye, we jist need tae haud oan.”
“Whit can ah get ye, mate?”
‘Pint o’ lager will dae. Thanks, pal.”
“Did ye hear that, Brian? Wan apiece. We jist need tae haud oan.”
At that moment, the commentator began to get excited .”United have it on the left hand side. The ball is whipped in, onto the head of Iain Ferguson, and it’s a goal! Barcelona 1 DundeeUnited 2. Oh what drama we have here at the Nou Camp. From going one nil down, United have pulled back two goals in the dying minutes.”
The whole pub erupted in loud cheers. Craig gave Brian a bear hug and ran to the bar to get the drinks in. Just as he ordered the beers at the bar, the whole pub burst into song, singing, ‘The Terrors of Tannadice.’ Craig felt the hot rush of tears as he brought the beers back.
Brian was also in tears. “We done it, Craig!”
“Ah telt ye!”
“Aye, ye didnae jinx everythin’ the nicht.”
Craig laughed. “Drink up, we need tae get ye tae the hoaspital.”
“That can wait.”
“Aye, a few merr widnae dae any herm.”
By Grant Harbison
INTERMITTENT SHOWERS
The storm broke
Last night and
Flung rough winds
Of doubt at the new
Dreams I'd built,
Bolstered by words
I spoke and wrote.
The storm broke
Last night and
I was sleepless,
Listening
To the screaming
Of the bitter wind.
The storm broke
Last night and
I, casting out
That doubt,
Denying forecasts
And rumours of pain,
Ran out,
Wide armed,
And dancing
And welcomed
The blessed fall;
The tender grace
Of the cleansing rain.
Manuela Cardiga
Last night and
Flung rough winds
Of doubt at the new
Dreams I'd built,
Bolstered by words
I spoke and wrote.
The storm broke
Last night and
I was sleepless,
Listening
To the screaming
Of the bitter wind.
The storm broke
Last night and
I, casting out
That doubt,
Denying forecasts
And rumours of pain,
Ran out,
Wide armed,
And dancing
And welcomed
The blessed fall;
The tender grace
Of the cleansing rain.
Manuela Cardiga
January 18, 2014
PART 11: The Man Who Had Everything and The Woman With No Art
The Man Who Had Everything lay very still, as the woman gently removed his soiled clothing. When she moved, lifted him to ease off his shirt, a great pain took hold of him. and he screamed like a frightened child. Somewhere inside, something vital was broken, and he cried. Tears ran down his face, clear liquid spewed out from his nostrils, and dripped into his opened mouth.
She hushed him, with the gentle tones of a mother. She stripped off his pants and his underwear, and wiped him clean of his piss as tenderly as she might an infant. He watched her as if from a great distance.
Soon he lay as naked and as blameless as a baby. She stood over him, stretched out her hands over his supine form, and again that breeze lifted at hair, but this time that same air teased at his flesh.
A ripple of change moved through him, as though he was as mutable as water, as if in his body some odd tide rose and fell at her command.
She, The Woman With No Art was a Moon, and he felt the fierce pull of her will in every particle of himself, in every part of his anatomy.
She was changing him.
"What are you doing? What do you do to me?"
"I am healing you. Or rather, fixing you," she smiled, "You were not ill, you were broken."
"YOU broke me!" The Man Who Had Everything was horrified to hear the petulant tones coming out of his mouth. A lifetime of bad habits could apparently not be healed by a few minutes of terror. Healed, or was it fixed?What ever she was doing, he was becoming more than he had been before. An exultant power rose in him and threatened to overflow in a triumphant shout.
He heard her joyous laughter "Wake, Michael, be glad, or mad as the will takes you. One thing you will never be again is the man you were before. You belong to me. Now you are mine, my very own."
Manuela Cardiga
She hushed him, with the gentle tones of a mother. She stripped off his pants and his underwear, and wiped him clean of his piss as tenderly as she might an infant. He watched her as if from a great distance.
Soon he lay as naked and as blameless as a baby. She stood over him, stretched out her hands over his supine form, and again that breeze lifted at hair, but this time that same air teased at his flesh.
A ripple of change moved through him, as though he was as mutable as water, as if in his body some odd tide rose and fell at her command.
She, The Woman With No Art was a Moon, and he felt the fierce pull of her will in every particle of himself, in every part of his anatomy.
She was changing him.
"What are you doing? What do you do to me?"
"I am healing you. Or rather, fixing you," she smiled, "You were not ill, you were broken."
"YOU broke me!" The Man Who Had Everything was horrified to hear the petulant tones coming out of his mouth. A lifetime of bad habits could apparently not be healed by a few minutes of terror. Healed, or was it fixed?What ever she was doing, he was becoming more than he had been before. An exultant power rose in him and threatened to overflow in a triumphant shout.
He heard her joyous laughter "Wake, Michael, be glad, or mad as the will takes you. One thing you will never be again is the man you were before. You belong to me. Now you are mine, my very own."
Manuela Cardiga
INSPIRATION
You planted
A seed
In the palm
Of my hand.
One seed,
The glad sun
Caressed
And awoke;
One word
You spoke
And a story
Took hold;
Threw glad
Leaves out
Sprouted
And pouted
Flirty flowers;
Exploded
In ripe globes Of sweetness
Desirous of
Devouring mouths
Hungrily uttering
The sound
Of one seed
One word
You spoke
And I heard.
Manuela Cardiga
A seed
In the palm
Of my hand.
One seed,
The glad sun
Caressed
And awoke;
One word
You spoke
And a story
Took hold;
Threw glad
Leaves out
Sprouted
And pouted
Flirty flowers;
Exploded
In ripe globes Of sweetness
Desirous of
Devouring mouths
Hungrily uttering
The sound
Of one seed
One word
You spoke
And I heard.
Manuela Cardiga
THE INK BLOT GUEST SPOT: "Silver Lining" by Grant Harbison
Bruce McKenzie sat on the settee and changed the channel on the television with the remote control once again.
Daytime television, he thought to himself. Nothin’ but soapies an’ quiz shows. The unemployed in Britainmust have the best general knowledge in the world. Pretty useless when there’s nae jobs aboot, an’ nae prospective employer gies a damn whether ye know that Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in Scotland, Pythagoras was Greek, or any such trivia. That kind o’ knowledge is only good for the pub oan quiz nights.
His wife, Linda, came through to the living room and glared at him. “Are you mopin’ again?”
“Nothin’ else tae dae,” he answered.
“Ye could try lookin’ for a job.”
“Ah’m forty eight years auld. Naebody wants me.”
“That’s because ye havnae tried.”
“Oh, ah’ve tried. Ah’ve been tae the job centre many times. Nothin’ but red tape. Everythin’ requires experience. How dae ye get experience if ye cannae find a job? Even a toilet cleaner has tae have experience. How hard can it be? Dae ye want tae know the biggest joke? Ye have tae be employed before ye can apply for a part time job.”
“Yer jist no interested. That’s yer problem. Ye’d rather spend maist o’ yer time drinkin’ wi’ yer mates in the pub or wastin’ money oan horses that don’t win. Ye’ll have nae redundancy money left the way you’re carryin’ oan. Even when ye were workin’, it wis the pub an’ the Bookies every Friday an’ Saturday. Noo that yer unemployed, it’s nearly every day. Yer problem is that yer too easily led. Twenty eight years of marriage an’ what have we got tae show for it? Nothin’.”
Tired of his wife’s habitual tirades, Bruce got up and went to the bedroom to fetch his jacket. When he opened the front door of the flat, he heard his wife yelling.
“Aye, away ye go tae yer mates. Wan o’ these days ah’ll no be here when ye get back!”
Bruce sighed and headed for the lift.
Outside the flats, it was a typical wintry day in Glasgow. Permeating rain accompanied an icy wind that blew vehemently. Bruce zipped up his jacket and started to walk; but before he reached the main road, the rain fell harder. Cursing to himself, he ran back to the entrance of the flats for shelter.
Cannae got oot in this, he grumbled to himself.
He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and felt his car keys underneath.
Ah could take a drive. Ah’m gonnae have tae sell it soon.
He lit a cigarette and thought about where to go. After a few minutes deliberation, he decided to head towards the city centre. He dropped his cigarette, ran to the car and drove off.
After parking the car outside a pub a little later, he took a slow walk along the road. He felt a sudden pang of hunger and went in search of a café. As he strode along the road, his eyes were drawn to the Bookmakers on the other side. Ignoring the temptation, he ambled purposefully forward and eventually found a café on a corner. Once inside, he ordered a roll with bacon and a mug of black tea. After he had consumed the roll, he sipped at the steaming hot beverage and thought about how his life had been four months earlier.
There had been rumours going around that the Glasgowdivision of the company would be closing down. Bruce had heard it many times in his thirty years of service, and had scoffed at everyone’s concern. But when the union had validated those rumours, he’d been just as worried as the rest. When the final day had come, management had apologised to the workers, stating that it was the recession that had caused the closure. Alone in a pub that evening, he’d pondered over the word and had concluded that it was a fancy dressed word for a depression.
For the first two weeks after being made redundant, he hadn’t been able to break the bad news to his wife, and had left the flat at the same time every morning, pretending that he was going to work. Eventually the stress had gotten to him, and he’d come home drunk one night and told her. He’d known that she would be upset, but he’d expected a little sympathy and had received none.
Once he’d finished his tea, he looked out of the café window and saw that the rain had stopped. He paid his bill and lit a cigarette as soon as he got outside. After walking around aimlessly for a while, he saw an ATM, withdrew £200 and made his way to the Bookmakers.
Strolling along the road, he wrestled with his mind, trying to convince himself that he would only be taking one bet. He’d tried that approach many times in the past, but the overwhelming feeling he always got that the following race would be a winning one, frequently outweighed his common sense.
As he reached the Bookmakers, he hesitated when a feeling of remorse came over him; but the lure was too much and he stepped inside. He briefly glimpsed at the names of the horses that would be running in the next race and decided on a horse called Paradise Venture, which had odds of 10-1. Once he’d placed his bet of £100 for the horse to win, he waited patiently for the race to begin.
When the race began, his horse maintained a steady pace, sticking close to the front runners. A while into the race, his horse caught up to the one in front and excitement rose in the commentator’s voice.
And as we head for the final furlong, it’s neck and neck between Shining Armour and Paradise Venture.
Bruce felt his heart beat faster and held his hands in front of him in silent prayer. Suddenly the tone of the commentator’s voice reached a crescendo.
We’re in the final furlong and it’s still neck and neck between Shining Armour and Paradise Venture. But here comes ParadiseVenture. Paradise Venture has taken the lead. Paradise Venture is streaking ahead. ParadiseVenture has won!
Bruce couldn’t contain himself and let out a mighty roar before he went to collect his winnings. Filled with jubilation, he elected to go for a celebratory drink in the pub next to where his car was parked.
No more than two, he silently warned himself.
The pub was a small affair, and apart from a couple who sat close to the bar, Bruce was the only other patron. They were very loud and he estimated their ages to be early thirties. From their attire and the numerous tattoos and piercings, he deduced that they were either Goths or Heavy Metal fans. He ordered a lager shandy and thought about what he was going to do with the money. He resolved that he would have to buy something nice for his wife. Deep in thought, he was startled when the man that was sat at the table stood next to him. He ordered a pint of lager and a vodka and lemonade.
“Get a packet o’ peanuts as well,” the woman at the table cried out.
“Aye, awright.”
While waiting for the drinks, he stared at Bruce. “You look pleased wi yersel’. Get a big win oan the horses, like?”
“Ye could say that,” Bruce replied.
“Oh aye? An’ how much would that be?”
“A thousand quid.”
“Yer kiddin’.”
“It’s true.”
The man turned to his girlfriend. “Jenny, this guy jist won a thousand quid oan the horses.”
“Congratulations,” she responded.
He turned back to Bruce. “This calls for a wee celebration. What are ye havin’?”
Bruce shook his head. “Sorry, ah cannae drink too much. Ah’m drivin’.”
“Where dae ye stay?”
“Ibrox.”
“We stay nearby. Why don’t ye come tae oors? We can have a wee party.”
“Ah need tae get back tae the wife.”
“C’mon. We’ll get a few drinks in, have a few laughs. Ah’m sure she’ll understaun’.”
“Ah don’t even know ye.”
“Ah’m Gary an’ the lassie ower there is ma girlfriend, Jenny. What dae ye say?”
Bruce hesitated for a moment. “Aye, awright.”
All three of them finished their drinks and left the pub. It was late afternoon and the early winter darkness began to fall.
On the way, Bruce stopped the car outside an off licence and he and Garywent inside to buy the alcohol. Ten minutes later, Bruce parked the car next to a tenement building. They entered through the close, with Bruce at the back. Gary turned the handle of the door of the house on the bottom floor and the door opened.
“Jist as ah thought,” he said. “Ye forgot tae lock up again, Jenny.”
“Sorry, Gary,” she said.
“Cannae be too careful these days,” said Bruce.
“Aye,” replied Gary. “Especially if ah’m lookin’ efter it for a mate. He’s away tae Spainfor a holiday. Come in.”
“Oh, so it’s no yours? Where dae you stay?” Bruce asked when he walked inside.
“We’re still oan the waitin’ list for a flat. We’re stayin’ wi’ ma mother in Springburn until we get an offer. Ye want a beer?”
“Aye.”
“Vodka for me,” said Jenny.
Gary put an Iron Maiden CD in the CD player and then went to fetch the drinks. As the evening progressed, the drinks flowed more rapidly, and Bruce struggled to keep up with Gary. He noticed that Jenny was still nursing her second drink.
“Ah guess yer no much o’ a drinker,” Bruce said to her.
“Naw,” she replied. “It goes tae ma head too quickly. In fact, ah cannae even finish this. Ah’m off tae bed. Goodnight.”
After Jenny had retired to bed, Gary brought out the whisky. Not being much of a spirit drinker, Bruce felt the effect instantly. But Gary kept pouring glass after glass. After a while Bruce struggled to focus. Gary saw his dilemma.
“Ah’m away tae get ye a blanket an’ a pillow, mate. Ye can kip oan the couch.”
Bruce sat on the couch and took off his shoes and trousers. When Garycame back with the blanket and pillow, Bruce lay back on the couch, wrapped the blanket around himself, and fell asleep almost immediately.
The following morning, Bruce woke up with a massive headache and a huge thirst. He quickly put on his trousers and shoes and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he saw that the clock on the wall showed 11am, he was taken aback.
Ah couldnae have slept aw that time. Ah have tae get home. Ah better tell the other two that ah’m leavin’.
Moments later, he knocked on their bedroom door. “Gary, Jenny!”
When he got no response, he knocked a bit harder. He opened the door slightly and peered inside. There was no one in the bedroom and the bed was made. Although it seemed a bit strange to him that there was no one in the house, and they hadn’t bothered to wake him, he assumed that they’d just gone to get some groceries. But when he put on his jacket and put his hand in the pocket, he knew something was very wrong, when he realised that the money and his car keys were missing. He ran to the front door, but as he got there, he heard someone putting a key in on the other side. When the door opened, Bruce and a man he’d never met before stared at each other in alarm.
“Who are you an’ what are ye doin’ in ma hoose?” the man yelled angrily.
“Ah came here wi’ Gary last night. Are you the guy that lives here?”
“Gary? Who is Gary? Ah’m callin’ the police.”
“Wait, don’t. Ah think ah’ve been conned. Ah met this guy last night and he said that he was lookin’ efter the place for somebody. Ma money is gone an’ ma car keys.”
The man picked up the phone.
“Please, ye have tae believe me.”
The man put down the phone and looked at Bruce suspiciously. “Ye mean tae say that someone wislivin’ here while ah wisaway?”
“Ah know it sounds like a likely story, but it kinda looks that way.”
“How did they get in? And how did they know ah wis away?”
“The door wisnae locked when we got here. Maybe ye were bein’ watched. Please, ye can see that ah havnae stolen anythin’. Ah’m a victim.”
“Jist get oot o’ ma hoose!”
When Bruce got home a little later, there was no one home. His eyes were immediately drawn to the envelope on the mantelpiece. He opened it and read the letter inside.
Bruce, I’ve had enough. I’ve gone to stay with my mother for a while. I need time to think. Don’t even think of contacting me. I mean it.
Two weeks later, Bruce strolled along the road feeling sorry for himself. As he neared Ibrox stadium, he saw a car that looked a lot like his. When he got closer, his excitement rose when he recognised the number plate. He quickly ran to his flat to fetch the spare keys.
Upon his return, he looked around to see if anyone was watching him, before he got into the car and drove off. After parking the car outside his block of flats, he checked the inside of the car and opened the boot. Inside the boot were two large suitcases.
Jist in time, he thought. Looks like they were plannin’ tae go somewhere.
When he got to his flat, he went straight to the fridge and took out a can of beer. After a few sips, he wondered about the suitcases. Curious, he went back to the car to fetch them. When he returned and opened them, he stared in absolute shock when he saw the vast amounts of money inside each case.
There has tae be a fortune!
Just then the telephone rang.
“Hello,” Bruce answered.
“Bruce, ah’m no comin’ back.”
“But, Linda.”
“Nae buts. Ah’ve made up ma mind.”
“Linda, ah’ve got somethin’ tae tell ye.”
“Ah’m no interested. Ah’ve decided tae make a new life for masel’. Ah’m no prepared tae live a life o’ poverty.”
“But, ah’ve got some great news!”
“Goodbye, Bruce,” she said and hung up.
Bruce put down the telephone and stared at the suitcases.
“Your loss, hen,” he said with a huge smile on his face.
Grant Harbison
Daytime television, he thought to himself. Nothin’ but soapies an’ quiz shows. The unemployed in Britainmust have the best general knowledge in the world. Pretty useless when there’s nae jobs aboot, an’ nae prospective employer gies a damn whether ye know that Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in Scotland, Pythagoras was Greek, or any such trivia. That kind o’ knowledge is only good for the pub oan quiz nights.
His wife, Linda, came through to the living room and glared at him. “Are you mopin’ again?”
“Nothin’ else tae dae,” he answered.
“Ye could try lookin’ for a job.”
“Ah’m forty eight years auld. Naebody wants me.”
“That’s because ye havnae tried.”
“Oh, ah’ve tried. Ah’ve been tae the job centre many times. Nothin’ but red tape. Everythin’ requires experience. How dae ye get experience if ye cannae find a job? Even a toilet cleaner has tae have experience. How hard can it be? Dae ye want tae know the biggest joke? Ye have tae be employed before ye can apply for a part time job.”
“Yer jist no interested. That’s yer problem. Ye’d rather spend maist o’ yer time drinkin’ wi’ yer mates in the pub or wastin’ money oan horses that don’t win. Ye’ll have nae redundancy money left the way you’re carryin’ oan. Even when ye were workin’, it wis the pub an’ the Bookies every Friday an’ Saturday. Noo that yer unemployed, it’s nearly every day. Yer problem is that yer too easily led. Twenty eight years of marriage an’ what have we got tae show for it? Nothin’.”
Tired of his wife’s habitual tirades, Bruce got up and went to the bedroom to fetch his jacket. When he opened the front door of the flat, he heard his wife yelling.
“Aye, away ye go tae yer mates. Wan o’ these days ah’ll no be here when ye get back!”
Bruce sighed and headed for the lift.
Outside the flats, it was a typical wintry day in Glasgow. Permeating rain accompanied an icy wind that blew vehemently. Bruce zipped up his jacket and started to walk; but before he reached the main road, the rain fell harder. Cursing to himself, he ran back to the entrance of the flats for shelter.
Cannae got oot in this, he grumbled to himself.
He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and felt his car keys underneath.
Ah could take a drive. Ah’m gonnae have tae sell it soon.
He lit a cigarette and thought about where to go. After a few minutes deliberation, he decided to head towards the city centre. He dropped his cigarette, ran to the car and drove off.
After parking the car outside a pub a little later, he took a slow walk along the road. He felt a sudden pang of hunger and went in search of a café. As he strode along the road, his eyes were drawn to the Bookmakers on the other side. Ignoring the temptation, he ambled purposefully forward and eventually found a café on a corner. Once inside, he ordered a roll with bacon and a mug of black tea. After he had consumed the roll, he sipped at the steaming hot beverage and thought about how his life had been four months earlier.
There had been rumours going around that the Glasgowdivision of the company would be closing down. Bruce had heard it many times in his thirty years of service, and had scoffed at everyone’s concern. But when the union had validated those rumours, he’d been just as worried as the rest. When the final day had come, management had apologised to the workers, stating that it was the recession that had caused the closure. Alone in a pub that evening, he’d pondered over the word and had concluded that it was a fancy dressed word for a depression.
For the first two weeks after being made redundant, he hadn’t been able to break the bad news to his wife, and had left the flat at the same time every morning, pretending that he was going to work. Eventually the stress had gotten to him, and he’d come home drunk one night and told her. He’d known that she would be upset, but he’d expected a little sympathy and had received none.
Once he’d finished his tea, he looked out of the café window and saw that the rain had stopped. He paid his bill and lit a cigarette as soon as he got outside. After walking around aimlessly for a while, he saw an ATM, withdrew £200 and made his way to the Bookmakers.
Strolling along the road, he wrestled with his mind, trying to convince himself that he would only be taking one bet. He’d tried that approach many times in the past, but the overwhelming feeling he always got that the following race would be a winning one, frequently outweighed his common sense.
As he reached the Bookmakers, he hesitated when a feeling of remorse came over him; but the lure was too much and he stepped inside. He briefly glimpsed at the names of the horses that would be running in the next race and decided on a horse called Paradise Venture, which had odds of 10-1. Once he’d placed his bet of £100 for the horse to win, he waited patiently for the race to begin.
When the race began, his horse maintained a steady pace, sticking close to the front runners. A while into the race, his horse caught up to the one in front and excitement rose in the commentator’s voice.
And as we head for the final furlong, it’s neck and neck between Shining Armour and Paradise Venture.
Bruce felt his heart beat faster and held his hands in front of him in silent prayer. Suddenly the tone of the commentator’s voice reached a crescendo.
We’re in the final furlong and it’s still neck and neck between Shining Armour and Paradise Venture. But here comes ParadiseVenture. Paradise Venture has taken the lead. Paradise Venture is streaking ahead. ParadiseVenture has won!
Bruce couldn’t contain himself and let out a mighty roar before he went to collect his winnings. Filled with jubilation, he elected to go for a celebratory drink in the pub next to where his car was parked.
No more than two, he silently warned himself.
The pub was a small affair, and apart from a couple who sat close to the bar, Bruce was the only other patron. They were very loud and he estimated their ages to be early thirties. From their attire and the numerous tattoos and piercings, he deduced that they were either Goths or Heavy Metal fans. He ordered a lager shandy and thought about what he was going to do with the money. He resolved that he would have to buy something nice for his wife. Deep in thought, he was startled when the man that was sat at the table stood next to him. He ordered a pint of lager and a vodka and lemonade.
“Get a packet o’ peanuts as well,” the woman at the table cried out.
“Aye, awright.”
While waiting for the drinks, he stared at Bruce. “You look pleased wi yersel’. Get a big win oan the horses, like?”
“Ye could say that,” Bruce replied.
“Oh aye? An’ how much would that be?”
“A thousand quid.”
“Yer kiddin’.”
“It’s true.”
The man turned to his girlfriend. “Jenny, this guy jist won a thousand quid oan the horses.”
“Congratulations,” she responded.
He turned back to Bruce. “This calls for a wee celebration. What are ye havin’?”
Bruce shook his head. “Sorry, ah cannae drink too much. Ah’m drivin’.”
“Where dae ye stay?”
“Ibrox.”
“We stay nearby. Why don’t ye come tae oors? We can have a wee party.”
“Ah need tae get back tae the wife.”
“C’mon. We’ll get a few drinks in, have a few laughs. Ah’m sure she’ll understaun’.”
“Ah don’t even know ye.”
“Ah’m Gary an’ the lassie ower there is ma girlfriend, Jenny. What dae ye say?”
Bruce hesitated for a moment. “Aye, awright.”
All three of them finished their drinks and left the pub. It was late afternoon and the early winter darkness began to fall.
On the way, Bruce stopped the car outside an off licence and he and Garywent inside to buy the alcohol. Ten minutes later, Bruce parked the car next to a tenement building. They entered through the close, with Bruce at the back. Gary turned the handle of the door of the house on the bottom floor and the door opened.
“Jist as ah thought,” he said. “Ye forgot tae lock up again, Jenny.”
“Sorry, Gary,” she said.
“Cannae be too careful these days,” said Bruce.
“Aye,” replied Gary. “Especially if ah’m lookin’ efter it for a mate. He’s away tae Spainfor a holiday. Come in.”
“Oh, so it’s no yours? Where dae you stay?” Bruce asked when he walked inside.
“We’re still oan the waitin’ list for a flat. We’re stayin’ wi’ ma mother in Springburn until we get an offer. Ye want a beer?”
“Aye.”
“Vodka for me,” said Jenny.
Gary put an Iron Maiden CD in the CD player and then went to fetch the drinks. As the evening progressed, the drinks flowed more rapidly, and Bruce struggled to keep up with Gary. He noticed that Jenny was still nursing her second drink.
“Ah guess yer no much o’ a drinker,” Bruce said to her.
“Naw,” she replied. “It goes tae ma head too quickly. In fact, ah cannae even finish this. Ah’m off tae bed. Goodnight.”
After Jenny had retired to bed, Gary brought out the whisky. Not being much of a spirit drinker, Bruce felt the effect instantly. But Gary kept pouring glass after glass. After a while Bruce struggled to focus. Gary saw his dilemma.
“Ah’m away tae get ye a blanket an’ a pillow, mate. Ye can kip oan the couch.”
Bruce sat on the couch and took off his shoes and trousers. When Garycame back with the blanket and pillow, Bruce lay back on the couch, wrapped the blanket around himself, and fell asleep almost immediately.
The following morning, Bruce woke up with a massive headache and a huge thirst. He quickly put on his trousers and shoes and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he saw that the clock on the wall showed 11am, he was taken aback.
Ah couldnae have slept aw that time. Ah have tae get home. Ah better tell the other two that ah’m leavin’.
Moments later, he knocked on their bedroom door. “Gary, Jenny!”
When he got no response, he knocked a bit harder. He opened the door slightly and peered inside. There was no one in the bedroom and the bed was made. Although it seemed a bit strange to him that there was no one in the house, and they hadn’t bothered to wake him, he assumed that they’d just gone to get some groceries. But when he put on his jacket and put his hand in the pocket, he knew something was very wrong, when he realised that the money and his car keys were missing. He ran to the front door, but as he got there, he heard someone putting a key in on the other side. When the door opened, Bruce and a man he’d never met before stared at each other in alarm.
“Who are you an’ what are ye doin’ in ma hoose?” the man yelled angrily.
“Ah came here wi’ Gary last night. Are you the guy that lives here?”
“Gary? Who is Gary? Ah’m callin’ the police.”
“Wait, don’t. Ah think ah’ve been conned. Ah met this guy last night and he said that he was lookin’ efter the place for somebody. Ma money is gone an’ ma car keys.”
The man picked up the phone.
“Please, ye have tae believe me.”
The man put down the phone and looked at Bruce suspiciously. “Ye mean tae say that someone wislivin’ here while ah wisaway?”
“Ah know it sounds like a likely story, but it kinda looks that way.”
“How did they get in? And how did they know ah wis away?”
“The door wisnae locked when we got here. Maybe ye were bein’ watched. Please, ye can see that ah havnae stolen anythin’. Ah’m a victim.”
“Jist get oot o’ ma hoose!”
When Bruce got home a little later, there was no one home. His eyes were immediately drawn to the envelope on the mantelpiece. He opened it and read the letter inside.
Bruce, I’ve had enough. I’ve gone to stay with my mother for a while. I need time to think. Don’t even think of contacting me. I mean it.
Two weeks later, Bruce strolled along the road feeling sorry for himself. As he neared Ibrox stadium, he saw a car that looked a lot like his. When he got closer, his excitement rose when he recognised the number plate. He quickly ran to his flat to fetch the spare keys.
Upon his return, he looked around to see if anyone was watching him, before he got into the car and drove off. After parking the car outside his block of flats, he checked the inside of the car and opened the boot. Inside the boot were two large suitcases.
Jist in time, he thought. Looks like they were plannin’ tae go somewhere.
When he got to his flat, he went straight to the fridge and took out a can of beer. After a few sips, he wondered about the suitcases. Curious, he went back to the car to fetch them. When he returned and opened them, he stared in absolute shock when he saw the vast amounts of money inside each case.
There has tae be a fortune!
Just then the telephone rang.
“Hello,” Bruce answered.
“Bruce, ah’m no comin’ back.”
“But, Linda.”
“Nae buts. Ah’ve made up ma mind.”
“Linda, ah’ve got somethin’ tae tell ye.”
“Ah’m no interested. Ah’ve decided tae make a new life for masel’. Ah’m no prepared tae live a life o’ poverty.”
“But, ah’ve got some great news!”
“Goodbye, Bruce,” she said and hung up.
Bruce put down the telephone and stared at the suitcases.
“Your loss, hen,” he said with a huge smile on his face.
Grant Harbison
January 17, 2014
THE INK BLOT GUEST SPOT: "Summer Sketches" by Vera Alexander
The ducks on the pond in the park always came rushing to the bank when they saw Sharon. In the short time that she had been going there they had learnt that where Sharon was, food was near. Sharon had started feeding them scraps of breads at first. She got a bit worried about this as she seemed to have a vague memory that bread was not really good for them – it swelled in their tummies or something. She couldn't remember if this was really bad or not really good for them so one day when she walked past a pet shop she decided to go in and ask for advice.
As she entered the shop a person walked towards her. The first thing she was aware of was a mop of bright pink hair, and then came the piercings: right eyebrow, left cheek (Ooo that must hurt!), a bar from the outside of one nostril to the other with a chain attaching the bar to a lip piercing. There was also a myriad of piercing in his/her (?) ears. Skinny (very skinny) jeans covered the legs and a deaths head tee shirt and black takkies completed the overall picture.
A pleasant cultured deep voice asked "Can I help you?"
Startled Sharon realised that the voice came from the (now established) gentleman in front of her. A fleeting thought scooted across her mind. "Don't judge a book by its cover!"
"Um yes. I work close to the park and I usually go there at lunch time. One day I still had the crusts of bread when I stood up. I crumpled them and flung the crumbs to the ducks. They soon got used to me and now expect me to feed them. I was just wondering if bread was okay?"
"Not really! A bit is fine as they forage for other things in the water. If you want to vary the diet you could try some fruit. What they don't eat the fruit eaters and monkeys will eat. The fruit will also bring fruit flies which is good and bad. Good for the insect eaters but bad for pollution! You could also take birdseed or special pellets as a change."
"Wow! This is more than I bargained for!" laughed Sharon.
"It's always best to let them forage for food so don't visit them everyday. And remember there are probably others who are also feeding them!"
"Okay – can you give me a small packet of uh…duck pellets did you say?"
"Yes!"
Soon Sharon was walking out of the shop clutching the packet ready to experiment the next day.
During lunch the next day Sharon took out the small container of duck pellets and sprinkled them in front of the ducks as they waddled to meet her. At first they were a little bit suspicious. One brave soul waddled up, inspected it then turned to her as if to say "This is not our agreement! Where is the bread?"
Just then a little toddler approached. One hand was clutching her mom's hand and the other hand extended out towards the ducks, clutching a bit of bread. The duck turned its back on Sharon and waddled slowly towards the toddler. As he got closer, she got scared and ducked into her mom's skirts trying to climb up into her mom's arms. Sharon was storing the scene in her mind for future use. Her mom yanked her up and whispered in her ear. The little girl threw the bread as far as she could and then buried her head in her mom's chest, peeping shyly out to see if the duck took the bread. She giggled when she saw him take it.
While Sharon was watching this scene unfold a few of the younger ducks were examining the pellets. One, obviously braver than the rest pecked at a pellet, then pecked again. On the third peck he gulped it into his mouth and swallowed it. The others around him gained confidence and were soon pecking away at Sharon's feet.
In the days that followed they got used to the pellets. Sharon glowed when she noticed that they preferred to be near her than many of the other people offering them food scraps.
Sharon started taking her sketch pad with her when she went to park. So many scenes unfolded there and she had an overpowering need to capture as much as she could.
Vera Alexander
About the AuthorName: Vera Castleman but pen name is Vera Alexander.
I have always wanted to write but unfortunately life happened and writing just got shoved onto the back burner. My 3 year old UK granddaughter came to South Africa for a visit and asked me to write to her when she got back home. And so the Della and Easter series sprang into being. This series is aimed (with gorgeous illustrations by Manuela!) at children under 8 years of age. There are five books in the series all of which are available on www.smashwords.com. Four of the books are available on www.amazon.com.
I have also written a teen graphic novel called "In the Twinkling of an Eye" and a novella called "Full Circle". Both of these are available on www.amazon.com.
At present I am writing a novel called "Darkest before Dawn"
If you wish to keep up to date with me you can catch me at:
http://veralex325.blogspot.com/
www.facebook.com/VeraTruthAlexander and
https://twitter.com/Vera_Truth
January 16, 2014
Moonlight
I just wanted some clarity. I wanted some light to come down from heaven and illuminate my path.
I wanted to see my way clear.
I suppose I am tired of stumbling forward in the dark, sometimes stubbing my toes, or bumping my nose into insurmountable obstacles.
I wanted clarity, and so I prayed; and though I have often been heard before, and answered (although to my chagrin the answer hasn't always been what I wanted to hear); this time the silence was deafening.
I realised suddenly: my question, my plea was absurd.
What I was asking for was not clarity at all; I was asking for certainty.
I was taking the coward's way out.
I was edging my bets, holding back.
And that is not how it works.
There is no clarity, or certainty.
We are all as blind as bats in this twisted path.
We must stride out with confidence anyway, hold nothing back.
And if we can't see the way and we stumble?
Well then, we get to rest for a minute.
We press our cheeks to that comforting ground for a second, then up we get.
Chin up, head back - and back on that track.
Manuela Cardiga
I wanted to see my way clear.
I suppose I am tired of stumbling forward in the dark, sometimes stubbing my toes, or bumping my nose into insurmountable obstacles.
I wanted clarity, and so I prayed; and though I have often been heard before, and answered (although to my chagrin the answer hasn't always been what I wanted to hear); this time the silence was deafening.
I realised suddenly: my question, my plea was absurd.
What I was asking for was not clarity at all; I was asking for certainty.
I was taking the coward's way out.
I was edging my bets, holding back.
And that is not how it works.
There is no clarity, or certainty.
We are all as blind as bats in this twisted path.
We must stride out with confidence anyway, hold nothing back.
And if we can't see the way and we stumble?
Well then, we get to rest for a minute.
We press our cheeks to that comforting ground for a second, then up we get.
Chin up, head back - and back on that track.
Manuela Cardiga
PART 10: The Man Who Had Everything and The Woman With No Art
The Man Who Had Everything felt a giant invisible hand close around his heart. He was lifted high and hefted off the bed; flung like a toy to lie – limbs akimbo – against the far wall.
The Woman With No Art slid off the bed and approached him with mincing steps; one dainty foot poked at his chest.
“That was rude of you Michael. Rude and cruel.” She leaned down to look at him, and to his surprise The Man Who Had Everything saw tears in her eyes.
“I really thought you had understood me, as I understood you…” she laughed: a bitter little laugh.
“Well…so what else is new. I am misunderstood. I thought you would be different.” The pain in her face was raw.
“We are seen as succubus, vampires, as monsters by these limited small-town folk; but all we are is alone, we Fae. Alone.”
She crouched down next to him and touched her fingers gently to the centre of his chest.
“Thousands and thousands of years alone. Imagine that. We live forever and have nothing, nothing at all. All our loves are dead, so we seek. And all we seek, is what you and every other creature seeks. Some warmth, something to reach for in the night; someone to look us in the eyes, see us for what we are and still love us.”
He stared up at her, numb and dumb. “Is it so terrible Michael, to ask for love? Is that not what you have longed for all your life? Is that not what I was offering you?”
Her hands were lifting him up with terrifying strength, setting him back on the bed with the same ease and regretful care a child might show a beloved toy mistreated during a tantrum.
“It hurts being misunderstood, and unwanted; but worse of all, Michael, it hurts being feared.”
The Woman With No Art was smoothing back his hair with gentle fingers.
“No-one loves what they fear, and I so need to be loved.”
Manuela Cardiga
The Woman With No Art slid off the bed and approached him with mincing steps; one dainty foot poked at his chest.
“That was rude of you Michael. Rude and cruel.” She leaned down to look at him, and to his surprise The Man Who Had Everything saw tears in her eyes.
“I really thought you had understood me, as I understood you…” she laughed: a bitter little laugh.
“Well…so what else is new. I am misunderstood. I thought you would be different.” The pain in her face was raw.
“We are seen as succubus, vampires, as monsters by these limited small-town folk; but all we are is alone, we Fae. Alone.”
She crouched down next to him and touched her fingers gently to the centre of his chest.
“Thousands and thousands of years alone. Imagine that. We live forever and have nothing, nothing at all. All our loves are dead, so we seek. And all we seek, is what you and every other creature seeks. Some warmth, something to reach for in the night; someone to look us in the eyes, see us for what we are and still love us.”
He stared up at her, numb and dumb. “Is it so terrible Michael, to ask for love? Is that not what you have longed for all your life? Is that not what I was offering you?”
Her hands were lifting him up with terrifying strength, setting him back on the bed with the same ease and regretful care a child might show a beloved toy mistreated during a tantrum.
“It hurts being misunderstood, and unwanted; but worse of all, Michael, it hurts being feared.”
The Woman With No Art was smoothing back his hair with gentle fingers.
“No-one loves what they fear, and I so need to be loved.”
Manuela Cardiga
