goodness me

I keep my Faraday in this cage.

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Copyright © 2017, Michael M Wayman

She is black-haired, pretty, intelligent, not small, but not plump or fat, shapely really. But can I push her into my life while sitting in my living room? No, I go outside, it is a Friday, late afternoon in late summer. The street is full of people coming from the railway station, or do you say train station, going home.

She is blond, pretty, probably intelligent, not small, but shapely – just what I thought I wanted, or nearly. I stare at her, I concentrate all my internal whatevers on her, she walks straight past me, she walks up my front path and disappears into my home and sits on the sofa.

“Oh, there you are. I must have walked straight past you. My name is Normandie Williams. I feel this need inside me to find out more about you...”

I tell her my name and offer her a drink, Merlot and soda water. I pour two glasses and sit next to her on the sofa – the whatevers inside me tell me to do that, that is to sit next to her close.

I tell her that I am a writer and as of five minutes ago I need a female person in my life. “You live in a single room apartment, you have nothing planned for the weekend, you are bored, spending your weekend with me could be fun. And you are much younger than me...”

“I don't live alone in a single room apartment, I live with my parents, but perhaps it would be fun to be with you.”

I tell her about a collection of short stories I am creating. “Look at this one, I wrote it this morning. I've transferred it to your mobile telephone, Normandie.”

“Onkel Toby!” She spoke in her language, which I hardly understand. Who was she? No idea. She told me on the phone that she would arrive later in the day, it was a long way to drive. She told me how we had chatted at some family party last year – especially about a certain freedom. And because of that certain freedom she wanted to stay with me for a week. “Onkel Toby!” she said again and “Till later!” and put the phone down.

So who the hell was she? She sounded young. What was the certain freedom? I didn't know. Maybe she would be fun.

There she was, at the front door. She was certainly very sexy, perhaps mid twenty. She walked straight into me, hugged me hard and kissed me. “Onkel Toby!” I did not recognise her – who was she?

I poured two Merlots and orange juice and we toasted the freedom. I tried some indirect questions in the hope that I would discover what the certain freedom was. Another Merlot and orange.

I like to think that I'm a very tolerant person who is ready for anything that is not violent and does not include rope and handcuffs. However I do not discuss such things with other people – just not a good idea. I certainly do not remember discussing such things with her or discussing such things with anybody. Who was she? And what exactly did she want to do with me? For a whole week?

I felt a bit weak – too many Merlots and orange. Let's carry your case up to your room. She had two suitcases – one was very heavy and the other was heavier. I struggled.

Nice room at the top of the house – light and airy with a view over the hills. She liked it – she stared out of the window – she turned – she moved towards me – she tripped over the bed. I tried to catch her – not a good idea when schlepping two heavy cases – the corner of the rug slipped under me and I fell too.

When I woke it was dark. Where was I? Or better still: on whom was I? It was warm, smelt nice and was slowly going up and down. Try to think.

When I woke it was light. I went downstairs and made breakfast. Great smell of freshly-brewed coffee. She came down the stairs – she did look very attractive. Omelettes and Prosecco.

I suggested going for a walk across the fields. “Onkel Toby!” she said, what a good idea. She told me what she was going to do with me that evening – she told me that she had a great hunger.

To be honest, I did not understand most of what she said, but what I did understand sounded very interesting. However I refuse to write about it here. I would soon discover what she had a great hunger for; or rather, for whom.

“Onkel Toby!” she said, she had something very special to show me – in her bedroom. She opened one of her suitcases, I leaned forwards for a better view and the corner of the rug slipped under me and I fell again.

When I woke it was light. I was lying on my back – I felt happy – I definitely remember feeling happy. I remained prostrate and feeling good.

She suddenly appeared. She grabbed her mobile phone and shouted at it. It shouted back. It could have been her mother. A lot of shouting.

No, no, she should not have been there, certainly not with that evil uncle Toby. No, she must return home immediately, no question.

She was very apologetic, but she had to go, no question. Such a great pity, it had been so much fun, especially my trick with the chocolate pudding, but she had to go.

She promised to visit me again, as soon as possible. “Onkel Toby!” she said once more and kissed me and drove away.

I hoped that she would return – whoever she was. I had to get rid of that rug and who was Onkel Toby?

“I shall call you Toby. I don't think that you are my uncle, but you could keep me amused for the weekend.”

It sounds like a politician being garotted, it is her phone, it is her mother. Where is she? And she had better be back home for dinner, pronto.

“No Mum. I've got something special to do. I'll see your when I see you.”

It sounds like a whole parliament being garotted, the room went dark, her father speaks to her, shouts at her. She belongs at home.

The room goes darker, I concentrate all my internal whatevers on her to help her. She is able to finish the call. She takes a small metal case out of her handbag, she places her mobile phone in it and shuts the lid. “I keep my Faraday in this cage.”

The sun pours through the windows again. “Thank you. You helped me. You are so good. It just pours out of you – the goodness.”

I don't understand, I stutter. “Do you know what kasseler is? It's like gammon. I'm going to fry some kasseler chops, heat some sauerkraut and boil some potatoes – I've peeled them already, and some carrots. You are hungry aren't you?”

She is. “Try the Colman's Mustard on the chops – not too much, it's very strong.” I remember Hôtel Normandy, I find my Patricia Kaas CD and play it.

Il restera de nos amours Une chambre mauve au petit jour Et des mots que tu m'avais dits Hôtel Normandy

Time for bed. She squeezes my lips together with thumb and finger, she pushes my head to one side and kisses my exposed neck. She turns her back on me. I snuggle up behind and put my arm around her.



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