Wednesday, 9 October 2024

My beautiful İstanbul

My beautiful Istanbul

From January to March, I walked your streets,  
wrapped in cold winds and soft light.  
The Bosphorus, always moving,  
carried whispers from a thousand years.  

A city where people smile at you for no reason,  
where a thousand cats and countless dogs welcome you.  
Seagulls circled above, happy to see me  
as I crossed bridges between continents.

The Grand Bazaar pulled me in,  
with its chaos, its colors, its stories  
woven into every corner.  
So many people there, each with their own history.  
Spices filled the air, and I found myself  
lost, not in direction but in time.

I descended into the Basilica Cistern,  
where I stared in the eyes of Medusa.
I stood beneath the shadow of Hagia Sophia,  
feeling its weight, its age,  
and yet it stood so effortlessly,  
a testament to everything you are.

And the trees, oh, the beautiful trees...  
Old, magnificent witnesses, standing silent  
in forests and gardens everywhere.

In the quiet moments,  
when the crowds faded,  
I watched the city breathe,  
felt its pulse in every alley,  
its history seeping into my bones.

Istanbul, you held me for those months,  
in your arms of stone and sea,  
and even as I left,  
you stayed with me,  
etched into my memory,  
my beautiful Istanbul.  
I will love you always...

The Sculptor's Love

He walks the quarry in silence,  
among the rough, raw faces of stone,  
and there—hidden in shadow—  
a block catches his eye.  
It is love at first sight.
He kneels, brushing dust from the surface,  
his hands already tracing her curves in his mind.  
She is there, waiting for him  
to free her from the anonymity of the mountains.  
He smiles,  
imagining the beauty that will rise from the shapeless hard rock,  
her eyes soft with a life she does not yet know.


Days stretch into nights,  
and he can not stop. 
Chisel after chisel,  
the tap of his hammer echoes like a heartbeat,  
steady and patient,  
each strike bringing her nearer.  
The stone yields to his will,  
his fingers guiding, shaping,  
breathing her into existence one careful touch at a time.  
His bones ache, his skin wears thin,  
but he does not tire.  
He can see her now,  
emerging with every fragment that falls away,  
her lips, her hands, the delicate arch of her neck
until she stands before him,  
the perfect vision he had dreamt.


She is done.  
Complete.  
He steps back, holding his breath,
staring into the eyes he carved,  
and they gaze back at him,  
unblinking, silent,  
yet so full of everything he longs for.  
His heart catches in his chest.
She is not just stone,  
not to him.  
She is warmth and softness,  
a companion, a love he cannot bear to be without.  
He whispers to her,  
his voice trembling with a strange, tender hope:  
"If only you could live.  
If only you could step from this cold marble,  
breathe, speak,  
be mine,  
as I have been yours from the moment I found you.

Monday, 7 October 2024

"Don't waste time with time wasters"

Time is one of the most precious things you have. Do not let people who don't value time, dictate how you use yours.

Saturday, 14 September 2024

Today I gave up love

Today I gave up love,
I accept
That there won't be anyone,
To love me
To protect me and hold me close,
To support me
Or help me dream.

Today I gave up love,
I see
The very long nights ahead, 
Dark ones...
But there will be nobody
To look up in the beautiful sky
And count stars with me.

Today I gave up love,
I cried
Sorrowful tears of self-pity
Because,
There will be nobody 
To wander the forests
And plant trees with me.

Today I gave up love,
I feel 
The quiet desperation 
Of being alone
And there will be nobody
To walk with me
Through life's unending lanes.


Today I gave up love,
I fear
The silence that will follow me,
And I know
There will be nobody.
No echo of a shared goodbye,
Just me, alone, as time stands still.

Sinop 09/07/2024

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

The Stalker




Mary Daulby was not a bad person but she had a secret: she was a stalker. Mary had been stalking Anthony Settlefield for the past two years and she knew everything there was to know about Anthony. She even knew which colour toilet paper his wife preferred.

Mary had not set out to be a stalker. She was a very decent woman who never wished anybody any harm nor ever intended to cause anyone any hurt.

It all happened innocently at first when she would drive her son to school each morning and pass Anthony’s house. He was always walking to work dressed in the same navy blue suit and a white shirt sometimes with the pink tie sometimes with his light blue one. So she began to pay attention, and for months she observed the little things, even down to how he walked and how he avoided the puddles near his house
Mary learned his name when she had had to take Michael to the Doctors. She was waiting to be called in when she saw him coming in to book an appointment and she heard the receptionist repeating his name aloud: ‘Anthony Settlefield.’

Anthony was a man of habit and if Mary was running late, she would find out something new about him; like the way he always kept his fingers pressing the button on the traffic lights while he waited at the crossing on Sandgate High Street.

On Tuesdays, before he left for work, he always placed the blue recycling bag, full of shredded paper, carefully positioned on the left of the black box containing several empty plastic bottles of lemonade and green bottles of Ravenswood wine – she recognized her favourite brand one day when the traffic was very slow and she stopped right outside his house.

On his days off he attended his garden. Anthony seemed a happy man and was always smiling, and if she knew him she would have thought he was smiling at her. His garden used to be a mess but he had slowly made it look very pretty, with bushes of the most beautiful pink roses that she had tried so hard to cultivate but somehow never managed.

She didn’t mean to stalk him but every time she saw Anthony she would learn a thing or two about him. Like in the sports centre where Michael had swimming lessons every Wednesday, early in the evening. She waited through Michael’s hour long lesson, sitting in the café, from where she could see her son and anyone else who was in the swimming pool.

That was how Mary found out that Anthony swam ten lengths at a time before he had a one minute break then would go back to swim ten more. When he was done he would dry himself with the black towel he had carefully placed on the table at the side of the pool, with his glasses on top, and leave just before Michael was ready. She had been bringing Michael to the swimming pool for years and had never noticed Anthony before until she started paying attention to him. She knew she would have to be careful or he would think that she was interested in him.

One day when she was about to go into her favourite sandwich shop she saw Anthony crossing the street and going in. She didn’t want to follow him but she was running late and she couldn’t afford the time to go anywhere else for.
“Morning, Tony. The usual?”
“Yes, please Carol.” Mary had never heard Anthony speak and she was pleased to hear that he was well spoken and very polite.

She stood in the queue, two spaces behind him, with her head down, hoping no one would recognize her as the lady who baked Gold Cakes for the shop a couple of years previously. While she listened to the conversation, she watched the lady behind the counter making a ham and salad sandwich – brown bread with margarine not butter - with a blob of mayonnaise and a pinch of salt on the salad. No pepper.
“How are Ellie and Tommy?”
“They’ve both had a virus, I am afraid to say. They caught one of the bad ones and Jane thinks we should not go camping next week”
“A bit of fresh air will do them good, Tony!”
“That’s what I thought but Jane thinks we shouldn't go camping in case they get worse when neither Jane nor I speak French.”
Mary felt so guilty of spying on him that she left the shop without buying her sandwich. She really didn’t mean to stalk him.

On the Saturday before Easter she found out even more about Anthony. Mary went to Sainsbury’s for some last minute shopping and as she grabbed a trolley she saw Anthony getting out of his car with his wife and a couple of little children – a boisterous boy and an adorable little girl.
Mary wasn’t usually nosy but she could not help wondering what type of things he liked and as she moved around the shop she heard his wife asking the children if they could see any peach toilet paper and when they couldn’t find any she seemed quite disappointed “I think we should go back to do our shopping in Tesco’s.”

Mary didn’t mean any harm, she was just curious. When she reminded herself that she was intruding into someone’s privacy she headed for the check-out, without buying all the things she needed; paid for her goods and left. She felt ashamed and embarrassed for deliberately listening to his family conversation.

Fate didn’t really help Mary much because that day, in fact just a few minutes after, when she was coming out of the petrol station, just on the way out of the shopping complex, Anthony came out of the supermarket car park and she ended up driving behind him. She didn’t intend to do that but the road she could use as an alternative route was closed so she followed him until they reached and he entered an alley behind his house. She had never noticed the alley before but, now that she knew about it, she wondered if she could see his back garden from there. Did they have as many roses as he had on the front? Were they also of the fragrant kind?

Mary tried very hard to avoid thinking about Anthony but living in a small town she had no choice, especially when it came to events like the school fairs. She always ran the cake stall and anyone buying a cake would come to her stand. At the Summer School Fair, he turned up with his children, but no sign of his wife. “One banana cake for my Dad and two cookies for me and my brother.” the little girl explained.

Mary was secretly pleased that he liked the banana cake. It was her own recipe and she was flattered when the boy came back for “Another delicious banana cake, please.”
As the weeks passed Mary was beginning to worry about her “addiction” to spying on Anthony and every time she saw him her heart jumped and she felt a wave of heat through her face. She couldn’t tell anyone about her obsession with Anthony because they would think she was weird. Mary was so concerned with her fixation that she became quite forgetful and somehow, no matter how important the task was, her thoughts would wonder to her problem and she would stop paying attention to what she was doing.

She began to lose things. First they were only garden tools. She must have bagged them with all the weeds. Then she lost one shoe of her favourite pair but it wasn’t until she thought she had lost a library book only to found out that she had returned it to the library that she realised how bad things really were.

She rang the doctors and arranged for an appointment. The doctor told her that sometimes these things happen and if she worried too much it would increase the tension and create a vicious circle. He asked her if she wanted to be referred her to a counsellor but she declined. She didn’t want anyone to think she was crazy and living in such a small town someone was bound to find out that she was seeing a shrink.

Instead, she started writing a diary where she explained how she felt about things. She could not help feeling like a bad person.
Just before Christmas Michael’s school announced they had been selected to sing in the and Michael would be doing a solo performance. On the day of the service she went along and, as she entered the church, she noticed Anthony sitting on a pew at the far left with his daughter and son. She sat not far behind them and she noticed how lovely his singing voice was and how he knew all the lyrics of the hymns. She was almost envious and regretted not having learned them before as she had received the order of the service a few days earlier. She imagined that he was a regular church goer; a good man. He didn’t deserve her stalking him like that.

Things came to a boil on Christmas Day when Mary and her family went for a walk on Sandgate beach to recover from the rather lavish Christmas lunch. As they walked along the beach she heard Anthony’s voice. She looked around but couldn’t see him. She could swear she had heard him singing Jingle Bells. Mary was so upset with herself that she claimed to have a head ache and walked back home on her own, leaving Michael with Simon and his parents.
On New Year’s Eve Mary made a resolution to stop stalking poor Anthony. She knew her curiosity and fixation with the man was getting out of control and she had to stop. Michael was in his last year at Primary School, so she thought it would be for the best if she gave in to his increasingly insistent request of walking to school on his own.

Mary felt very lonely and the long hours in the house, deliberately avoiding Anthony, were somewhat depressing. Don’t get me wrong, she didn’t miss Anthony. She missed being able to go out and be free to come and go as she pleased but unless she controlled her fascination with the man, she would not be really free. But she was a good person and she would do whatever it took to stop stalking the man like that.
As the days passed, Mary started feeling lower and lower and, to get her out more often, Simon bought them a dog which she had to walk twice a day. Having the dog didn’t help though because although she took him out after Anthony had left for work, the last walk was always in the evening and she didn’t want to bump into Anthony and go back to her stalking days.

Twice he had overtaken her on his way to the Ship Inn, the local pub, and she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Then, Valentine’s Day was a disaster. Someone left thirty three roses at her house with a note saying: “For all the years I missed not being with you”. Simon was very jealous but eventually dropped the subject when she pointed out to him that she was thirty five so the roses were obviously not meant for her and someone had got the address mixed up.

She knew it was her fault that Simon was so suspicious. He knew her too well not to realise that something was going on and it was bothering her. It was an awful Valentine’s Day and on the following Sunday they had yet another fight. After almost an entire day crying she decided to take the dog for an extra long walk just after Sunday dinner. She walked all the way up the hill, avoiding Anthony’s house then all the way up to the woods. Mary was quite unlucky because at the end of her hour long walk, as she turned back onto the footpath that crossed the woods, on her way back home, she saw his car parked on the secluded car park on the left.

Mary’s curiosity was immediately roused and, looking through the trees, she saw Anthony walking in the woods, taking photographs. For all the hours she had spent thinking about Anthony, he never struck her as a keen photographer. She reminded herself of her New Year’s resolution and walked faster hoping the dog didn’t bark at the light of the flash.

Mary tried not to dwell on it but couldn’t help thinking about what she had learnt about Anthony that day: he was obviously a nature-lover because only someone who loved birds would spend so much on a good pair of binoculars like the ones she saw hanging around his neck. She also thought he must have had more money then she had initially thought as his camera looked rather expensive with one of those big pricey lenses attached to it.

She went home feeling even edgier than before. She considered telling Simon about her awful secret but eventually decided against it. Things were bad enough as they were. They were both too tense and confessing would only make things worse. Besides, Simon would not understand that there was no sexual motivation behind her behaviour; it was just plain curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.

That evening when Simon offered to take the dog out for its last walk, Mary was relieved. She laid in bed thinking about her diary and contemplated writing about how she fell but she was determined to stop stalking the man and the best thing to do was not to think about him at all. So, instead, she made herself a cup of tea and watched the news. She really meant it this time; she wasn’t going to stalk Anthony ever again.

After that, Simon started taking the dog for its last walk of the day every day, unaware that he was helping to release the pressure that Mary was under.Steadily their relationship began to improve.

At the beginning of May, Simon told her he was taking her on a romantic weekend to . Simon wanted to celebrate their wedding anniversary in style and told her to go and get a new dress and some pampering so she started preparing for the trip. She had spent too long in the house and had also put on almost a stone in weight.

On the week before leaving for , Mary had a new hair cut, a manicure and bought a new dress that fitted her a little bit better. On the day before the trip she went out to buy some new underwear. As she was about to pay, she saw Anthony crossing the shop towards the counter but she controlled herself to not look back and find out where he was going, what he was wearing or who he was with. She continued to chat to the lady serving her in the counter telling her all about the trip to and forgot about Anthony.

When Mary got home back from the shops, she made herself a cup of tea, sat on the sofa and holding her old diary she began to tear page by page, throwing each one of them into the fireplace, watching while they burned. Her days of stalking Anthony Settlefield were over!

That night, when Simon was out with the dog, and while Mary drove Michael to stay with her in-laws while they were in , stones were thrown at the back windows of her house, breaking several panes of glass and one of the large panels of the patio door. The police were called and they suspected of a group of youngsters wondering around the houses in Sandgate causing trouble. They asked Simon to install a light at the back and maybe grow a tall hedge at the back.

“They usually deter intruders.” They explained.

Simon was so upset that he didn’t want to leave the house on its own. They never made to and instead had a romantic weekend at home.

The weeks passed and she did everything she could to avoid having a situation where she was compelled to find out more about Anthony. She was successful too, because in the following months, apart from one time at the Summer Fair, she didn’t see Anthony again.

Months passed and Mary slowly forgot about her fixation with Anthony Settlefield. Then, one afternoon, Mary heard the front door bell ring, seemingly with more urgency than usual.

“Mrs Daulby? Mary Daulby?” The two police officers stood on her porch.
“Oh my God, did something happen to Michael or Simon?” Mary saw the pity in the policewoman’s eyes.
“It is not related to them, Mrs Daulby.” The lady sounded sympathetic.
“Can we come inside, please?” Her male colleague sounded serious.
Mary could not think what would the police want with her and as she had not thought about Anthony for such a long time, her guilty conscience never imagined that the police were there because of Anthony Settlefield.

“This is about Anthony Settlefield, ma’am.”
Suddenly Mary felt her face burning and her throat closing and she knew she was about to cry. She had thought she had put Anthony Settlefield behind her.
“Don’t worry, dear.” The policewoman sat next to her and put her arm around her. “We know all about what he has been doing to you.”
“You should have called us sooner.” The policeman said.
“I didn’t realise…” Mary sobbed.
“I know… most people don’t realise that we can do something about stalkers.” The policewoman interrupted.
A glass of water appeared in front of her. “You will be alright.”
Mary slowly sipped the water trying to understand why the police were being so nice about her stalking Anthony.
“Stalking is a serious offence, Mrs Daulby.” The male officer passed a box of tissue to Mary.
“He has been arrested now, dear.” The police lady pulled a tissue out of the box and handed it to Mary. “He has been arrested and we have thousands of photos and items that we believe to be yours in his possession.”
Mary stared at the policeman. “What are you saying exactly?”
“By the evidence in his garage and shed, he must have been stalking you for over four years. If he plays guilty, which we think he will, you won’t even need to see him in court.”

Word count: 3120 words

Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Seu Mineiro

by R Vidovix

Branquinha, Zulmira, Carmen and Pequena sat on the porch waiting for Seu Mineiro, the black and tall gentleman who sold fruit and vegetable in the morning and fruit salad in the afternoons.
“Today is even hotter than yesterday.” Carmen fanned herself for the millionth time.
“You are going to break your fan this time.” Zulmira warned Carmen.
“Yeah, and then you won’t be able to do your ‘Show da Paraguaya’. Pequena reminded Carmen.
“This heat is unbearable; I can’t wait to go back to Paraguay” Carmen complained, waving the fan faster.
“Seu Mineiro is going to be here soon with a fruit salad. Once you have it, you feel better.” Branquinha reminded her. Everyone knew Carmen had a soft spot for Seu Mineiro.
“Did you know that before Seu Mineiro turns the corner up the road he combs his hair and sprays his mouth with mouthwash?” Pequena said.
Branquinha and Zulmira laughed.
“That is because he likes Carmen.”
“Why does he never come for you in the nights?” Zulmira asked Carmen.
Carmen stood up and went to sit on the banister “He is a believer and believers are not allowed to do it outside of the marriage.” Carmen told them.
“There he is!” Pequena shouted.
“Shush.” Branquinha hushed Pequena, “We don’t want him to know we have been talking about him, do we?”
“Fruit salad, very cold fruit salad!” Seu Mineiro shouted parking his cart on the side of the street and was immediately surrounded by the lots of people wanting his popular fruit salad. Once the crowd disappeared he moved to the shady spot near Carmen.
“Seu Mineiro, it is my birthday tomorrow. Do I get a free fruit sa…?”
“Pequena!” Zulmira interrupted. “How many times do I have to tell you that it is rude to ask for presents?
“Your birthday? That is good.” Neither Pequena or Seu Mineiro paid attention to Zulmira. “We are having a party then?”
“Branca said I can’t have a party.” Answered a disappointed Pequena.
Seu Mineiro poured a ladle of small bits of papaya, banana, apples and melon in to a paper cup filling half of it. “Why not? It is your birthday!” He said, filling the rest of the cup with blackberry milk, offering the first cup to Carmen.
“She doesn’t want people to know my age.” Pequena kept her eyes to the ground.
“Only because Inspector Armando told her that if you want to stay here, you have to keep quiet.” Zulmira explained.
“I don’t mind not having a party! Zulmira said she is going to make me a cake! A chocolate one.”
“A chocolate cake?” Seu Mineiro looked at Zulmira, surprised. “Can you make chocolate cake, Zulmira?” He closed the lid of his trolley and leaned against the porch.
“Zulmira can make all types of cake Seu Mineiro. She can even make icing for it!”

The following morning, Branquinha, Carmen and Pequena sat on the porch waiting for Seu Mineiro.
“Maybe he sold out and he is not coming down here today” Pequena didn’t like waiting. “What if he hasn’t got any apples”.
“Don’t be silly Pequena. Seu Mineiro would never sell out before coming to see Carmen. He will have your apple. The only place he goes before coming here is to the Hotel das Aguias where he unloads most of his stock. He is just late.”
“I hope his wheelbarrow hasn’t lost its front wheel again.” Carmen sounded worried. “Last time it happened, he was stuck with his fruit and veggies and the wheelbarrow in the street.”
“There he is! There he is!” Pequena ran up the road to meet Seu Mineiro. “Seu Mineiro, Seu Mineiro, have you got any apples left?” They hear her calling.
“Ah Pequena, no apples today. The plane didn’t bring any.’ Seu Mineiro stopped the wheelbarrow outside the verandah.
“No apples today?” Pequena repeated his sentence.
‘Instead,” Seu Mineiro wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief, “They sent me a weird fruit, let me see if I can find it.” His hands reached the carried bag hanging on the handle of the wheelbarrow.
Pequena’s face lit up. “What have you got in that bag, Seu Mineiro!”
Seu Mineiro looked at Pequena, his hands holding something, hiding it from Pequena. “Happy birthday Pequena”
“A pear!” Pequena screamed. “A pear, my very favourite fruit!”
Carmen smiled.
“Zulmira, Zulmira, look what Seu Mineiro brought to me!” Pequena was too busy running to the kitchen to thank Seu Mineiro.

Sunday, 4 January 2009

I Must Not Sleep

By R Vidovix

I look up but I can no longer see the sun shining above the canopy. I don’t have a watch but I know it is gone five o’clock. The birds have all stopped singing as they get ready to go to bed. The monkeys have stopped jumping and screaming as they prepare to hide for the night.
I walk along the trail counting the large trees in the way. There are 19 mahogany trees and 26 Brazil nut trees to go before I reach home. Unless I find the Brazil nut shells in the path, I will have no time to collect any today. The light is fading rapidly and I must walk faster if I want to reach the landing strip before nightfall.
I breathe deeply and the smell that comes to my nostrils tells me of heavy rain. It rained a little this morning but the dry smell of the soil tells me the forest needs more water. It will rain soon.
I cross another stream on the way and notice the paw prints next to a drinking spot. They weren’t there this morning. I don’t know enough about animals to recognize which one left the mark but I can tell it is a big cat. Paulo says jaguars will rarely attack a person in the jungle but the stories I have heard tell me otherwise: in the jungle all big cats are dangerous.
I walk faster looking around; checking to see if there is any threat to my safety. I am not scared but I am worried. I didn’t mean to be out this late and I didn’t bring a torch with me. I should not have forgotten Paulo’s advice: never go out without a machete and a torch. At least I have a machete.
The last hill is very slippery and as I hold the roots of a tree to help myself upwards, a big insect jumps onto my arm. It looks like a leaf and, although huge, it doesn’t look harmful, and I hope it stays there until I get home. I have no time to put it in one of the plastic carrier bags I have in my back pack. They are common in the jungle but I can’t remember seeing one as large as this.
I am tired and thirsty and I will have another drink from the stream just before the 7th Brazil nut tree. I am almost running now. The light is almost gone.
I reach the last mahogany tree. I can’t help but look up and notice there is a new parasite on its trunk. I can’t tell what it is, it is too dark. It is my favourite tree but today I have no time to stop and appreciate its beauty.
I am scared now and I am almost running. I step into a hole and I feel my feet sinking. I try to pull out but it is too late. I have stepped on an ants nest and the stinging sensation of an attack from a thousand ants is immediate. I can feel them climbing all over my feet and coming up my leg. I move away but they come with me and I can now feel the bites in my hips. I bend down and rub my rubber flip flop all around my foot trying to kill the ants. I lift the leg of my jeans but they are everywhere. They are in my hands, climbing up my arms.
The last rivulet is just ahead me. I must run and get in the water as fast as I can. I lie in the stream and the cold water makes me shiver but I can feel the stinging going away. Ants don’t like water. I lie there for a few minutes hoping that they have all gone.
I get up. It is completely dark now and I can barely see the way. Paulo always says that people often get lost in the jungle because they panic.
I stop to think and clear my head. I bend down and scoop some water in my hands. I drink it in the hope that I will have a clear mind to make the right decision.
My eyes are getting used to the dark and as I look up, I can vaguely see the sky. The moon will be there soon and hopefully I will find the way home.
I drink some more water hoping that an answer to my problem will become clear to me. Nothing happens. I am still cold and very scared. My teeth start to rattle and I think of Paulo again.
“I must not panic.” I whisper. “I must not panic.” This time I say it louder. I must convince myself.
The noise is very loud out here. The crickets, toads and owls keep the jungle so lively that I can barely hear anything else. I continue walking, slowly, with the machete scanning the ground and then my right foot. I know the way well but the darkness adds an entire dimension to it. I think about blind people having to live every minute of their lives in the shadows.
For the thousandth time, I repeat to myself “I must not panic, I must not panic”. I carry on walking, seeking the clear path. I know I’m very near the 7th Brazil nut tree. I hear a noise and something splashes right behind me. I jump and shout but nothing else happens. I have no idea what it is but I don’t think it is a jaguar.
I’m so terrified that I can’t move. “I must not panic. I must not panic”. I recite the mantra for a few seconds. It works. I breathe deeply and I begin to move forward again.
I trip on something and fall over. I try to get up but my hand hits something hard, wooden. It is not a root, I don’t think. I touch it and it doesn’t feel alive. I hold it with my hands and when I feel how round it is I laugh in relief, it is a Brazil nut shell. I have reached the 7th Brazil nut tree.
I hear the water hitting the leaves and feel the rain falling down my face. I am still damp from jumping into the spring. I don’t want to get even wetter. I sit near the trunk and stay there for a few minutes waiting for the thunder and lightening that are bound to come.

It has been a while since the rain started and I don’t think it will stop tonight. I’m sitting on the ground with my chest against my knees trying to keep some of the body heat that I have still got. Nobody comes this way at this time of the night and there is no one waiting for me at home to notice that I am not there.
Maybe I should carry on. Maybe I should not. The mud will make it all very slippery, hard to keep to the right track. I worry that I will go the wrong way and fall into one of the deep holes that the miners left in their search for gold.
I decide to stay put.
I lean against the 7th Brazil nut tree and using the machete I scrape everything from the ground near me. I move my hands in a circular movement until I know there is nothing other than me there. I try to forget how cold I am.
I think about why am I here. I remember the warmth of my orange soft blanket I had when I was a child. I try to think of wonderful and pleasant memories but my mind wanders back to the present. I have no choice. I must stay here and wait for my fate.
My eyes are heavy. I must not sleep. My thoughts go back to civilization. The memory of my orange blanket mixes with the thought of my mum’s warm bean soup. I can almost taste it in my mouth. I think I am dreaming.
I must not sleep…
The rain stopped and everything comes out to play. The noise is even louder now. There is a toad very near me and I can hear its coaxing so close that I don’t move. Toads usually don’t scare me but right now everything is frightening.
Something jumps on my foot and my mind tells me to freeze. It is cold and wet and when I feel it moving I want to jump. There is no need. It moves away on its own wish. It must be the toad hopping away to somewhere comfier. I bring my feet nearer me. I wonder what would happen if I doze off just a little…
I have lost all notion of time. How long have I been here for? It could have been six minutes; it could have been six hours. The nights are very long in the jungle.
I count my heart beats. I know it beats 72 beats per minute. One, two, three… seven hundred twenty. It seems an eternity.
Counting is not helping. It is making me anxious and even more nervous. I must calm down and let my mind and body synchronize with Nature.
I listen to the jungle again. There are some friendly noises coming from above me. It is probably a monkey-mum comforting her baby. I inhale the pure air and smell the sweet essence of the Brazil nuts that must surround me.
I look around and don’t expect to see anything but the night, somehow, it doesn’t seem so dark anymore. My arms and legs are less tense now and although I am still cold and hungry I feel relaxed.
I feel free. I feel part of the rain forest.
My eyes are so heavy… I can sleep now…
Word count: 1654

Nothing but a Seamstress

by R Vidovix

My aunt Celestrina is nothing but a seamstress. She was born into a family who had no money and lived off the land. When she was eight, while she and her younger brother Virgil were gathering the goats, a snake bit Uncle Virgil and the silly girl, instead of running home to get help, carried him all the way home, and all because he begged her not to leave him alone. While she carried him in a hurry – she was always in a hurry – she fell into a fence and the barbed wire scratched her left eye – she was also very clumsy. By the time she got home, she had not only managed to get her brother bitten by a snake but she was also blind in one eye.

As the time passed, she became less clumsy but she was still doing things in a hurry. She learned to sew and because she was always in a hurry she would finish making a dress faster then the others, even though she should take longer, after all the fabric was expensive and that is how you make dresses. People took pity on her though and could find no fault with her.

When she was twenty-two, one of the labourers, who worked on the same farm as her parents worked, fell ill and although it was none of her business – she was always butting in where she shouldn't – she looked after him for weeks and weeks.

All that waste of time and effort paid off though because the man, who was almost as ugly as her and probably had never experienced a woman's touch in his life, fell in love with her, and a few months later they were married.

Her parents, who always had a soft spot for her, were so pleased. They said that they were so glad that their Celestrina had found someone to be happy with but the truth I guess, is that they never thought for a second that she would be so lucky as to find a man who would take her at all - clumsy, ugly, blind and all.
Within a few months, she was expecting her first child and was over the moon. She gave birth to Walter and from that day on the only thing that mattered was Walter.

When Walter was five, his father fell ill again but this time he got more and more sick and soon died. There was no money left even for the funeral and, if it wasn't for Uncle Virgil, Aunt Celestrina's husband would have been buried in the woods.

Two weeks after her husband died, Aunt Celestrina found out she was pregnant and, so conveniently, she had to move back in with her parents. The child, clumsy like her mother, finally arrived on the worst possible day of the year. It was the harvesting day when all hands were needed. If it wasn't for my mother who, unlike Aunt Celestrina, was pretty, not blind and had married well, she would have died. My mother and one of our maids kindly came to help her give birth to the little girl, who like her parents, was also very ugly, and died seven days later.

Time passed and Celestrina continued living with her parents. People felt sorry for her and often asked her to make their clothes. She made quite a bit of money that way which she stored away.
When Walter was seven, she decided to move to the nearest town because she wanted him to go to school. She could not afford it but again, people took pity on her and someone lent her a room in the back of the butchers and she moved in. She didn't have to pay rent, however. Instead, she had to make sausages with the meat left at the end of the day.

She lived there for almost two years when, one night, she put her finger through the mincing machine – she was still clumsy enough – and lost her job and her room. By this time, she had met a very rich and vain woman who said to her that if she made all her dresses for her, she could live in the small out-house in the back of the garden.

Aunt Celestrina lived there for four years until the woman had to move away. The woman, who was a good soul, had introduced Aunt Celestrina to the tailors and engineered her a job making trousers with them. Walter who had just quit his job as a shoe polisher and was now working as a delivery boy, earned some money that added to her meagre salary was enough to pay the rent of a small room not far from Walter's school.

When Walter was fifteen, a local businessman offered him a job as a cashier in his shop. Walter had been working for the man as a delivery boy for a while and the man knew he was an honest lad. My Aunt Celestrina did not let him take it, though. She said she had bigger plans for him. My Uncle Virgil, who had done well for himself, gave her enough money to pay rent for almost 6 months, but instead she used the money to send Walter to the big city to study more.

Walter, taking after his mother in terms of grandeur, decided to do Medicine. Obviously, Aunt Celestrina who could not afford the fees, also couldn't say 'no'. That was around the time when my Grandparents started complaining that they couldn't live alone much longer. Again, this time even more conveniently, Aunt Celestrina moved back with her parents with the excuse that she was going to look after them, and continued sending every penny to Walter.

She was so obsessed with making money for Walter that she would do housework when it was dark so she could spend the day sewing. Consequently, the house was no longer as clean as everybody else's house. My grandfather, who was blind to my Aunt Celestrina's faults, was always complaining about my Mum and we stopped visiting. Occasionally, when Uncle Virgil came to visit, we would get news that Walter was doing so well or that Grandmother had had another fall.

A few more months passed and one day Uncle Virgil came around to tell Mum that Aunt Celestrina had had a stroke. I was seventeen at the time and I was very annoyed because I was supposed to go to the city to buy a new dress for my cousin's wedding, when we got the news.
Mum, being a good soul that she is, did the shopping in a hurry and left the following day to be by Aunt Celestrina bedside. Uncle Virgil paid for Aunt Celestrina to be looked after in a hospital and being so lucky she didn't die.

Eventually, she recovered, and, if it wasn't for the limping and the weird voice, no one would have noticed anything different. She did become a bit uglier I suppose but she was already so ugly that it was hard to notice.

Walter was in his final year and needed all the money he could get so Aunt Celestrina, now no longer a fast seamstress, had to neglect the housework even more. The kitchen garden needed weeding, the orange and lemon trees needed trimming and they stopped making cheese.

The year passed very slowly and although my Mum went there a couple of times, there was very little she could do.

When Walter finally graduated, they didn't even invite my Mum and that was the last straw. Their excuse was that they only had six invitations. They invited Uncle Virgil and his wife, my grandparents, Aunt Celestrina and Walter's best friend. From that day on, we have not spoken to them. To be honest I can't understand why everyone seems to love and revere Aunt Celestrina. She is nothing but a seamstress.

Thursday, 10 January 2008

Branquinha

By R Vidovix


When the brothel’s owner, Branca, called the new girl Branquinha*[1] , everyone realised that she was Branca’s protégé and no one should mess with her.
That was not a problem though because she was petite and her big brown eyes had nothing but innocence in them and her quiet and modest manners, a very uncommon quality amongst prostitutes, was welcome by most people.
It was also her first time ever as a ‘proper girl’. She had never been to a brothel before. In the past, her lovers had given her enough money to help her out but she had never actually lived in the brothel. When she decided to follow that way of life, she caught the coach and travelled as far as it would go and at the end of the road she found herself in a place where most people had never heard of.
Murilo, the gay bartender and manager, immediately realised Branquinha’s potential: although she was naïve, she was also young; had clear, white and delicate skin; long black hair and straight white teeth. Somehow, she looked out of place amongst the other women who were a lot more experienced and time had taken its toll on their faces and their bodies had been abused by years of alcohol, late nights and all sorts of mistreatment by the men who came to ‘make love’ with them. He knew she would be good for business.
Murilo, in his outrageously camp voice, explained to Branquinha how it all worked: the man paid for the ‘key’, which allowed him the use of Branquinha’s room for 30 minutes. That money was paid in advance directly to the House.
‘If the guy doesn’t have enough time to finish what he came here for, tell him to come back again tomorrow.’ Murilo advised Branquinha. ‘Any money he gives you is yours to keep and you must always ask for the money in advance unless they are regular clients.’
There was a lot to learn about drinks. If one of Branquinha’s clients – she didn’t have any yet but she should expect many – ordered a bottle, she would get 10% commission. She would also get 50% commission on cocktails but none on beer or cachaça*[2].
“I make the cocktails, so yours will have no alcohol. Branca does not like the girls drinking too much spirits. Drunken girls are bad for business.” Branquinha would get no commission on beer
He showed Branquinha the two bathrooms. “Every time you are done you have a shower. Branca doesn’t like dirty girls. If you kiss a client in the mouth make sure you brush your teeth quickly or you might get hepatitis.’
As they passed the kitchen they couldn’t get in because Zulmira, the cook, had not arrived yet. Through the crisscross partition they looked in the kitchen.
‘She must be a good cook.’ The kitchen reminded her of her mother’s kitchen where everything was very clean and neat.
‘She makes the best fish casserole in the whole of Peixoto de Azevedo. She can even make lasagne and in your birthday, she will bake you a cake.’
‘Lunch is at 12 and dinner is at 6. Eat fast because we open at 6:30 and although most punters will only arrive after 8, you can pick up extra business if you are there early.’
Branquinha spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning her new bedroom and making the bed with the sheets that Murilo had lent her. ‘You can borrow these until you have enough money to buy your own.’

On Branquinha’s first night, Branca sent a message to a rich local merchant telling him that there was a new virgin girl in her place. Just before the rich merchant arrived, Branca gave Branquinha a solution to put in between her legs ‘to make it tight’, she explained.
When the merchant arrive, a fat and ugly man with a moustache that covered most of his mouth and face, Branca took him to the Red Room – a room where the ugly wooden walls were covered by red satin fabric and the bed had red fresh linen. The large rug, although old, covered the gaps on the wooden floor stopping the smell and the cold coming from the water below the building. The Red Room had an en-suite and Branca took great pride on it, as it was the only brothel’s room, in the whole of the Peixoto de Azevedo, which had such a luxury.
The merchant took his clothes off and Branquinha had to cover her mouth to hide her shock: he had a stomach that was bigger than the biggest watermelon she had ever seen. She hoped he would not crush her under his weight. As he fumbled her small breasts wanting to kiss her mouth, she could smell the garlic and onion he’d had in his dinner.
‘I don’t kiss in the mouth!’ She remembered what Murilo had said about not kissing customers in the mouth.
He was very excited, after all a virgin was not something he had everyday, and four minutes later, once he was finished, he got up, put his trousers back on and handed her a wad of notes.
As the merchant walked away, with a self satisfied grin in his lips, Branquinha went to shower. She washed and washed and if it wasn’t for Pequena knocking on the door hurrying her, she would have stayed there for a long time, for no water would ever be enough to wash away the dirt she felt she had inside.

Word count: 861
[1] Little Branca
[2] Strong Brazilian rum

Wednesday, 7 November 2007

Just another Day

By Rose Vidovix

I don’t need an alarm clock in the jungle. I hear the noise of the monkeys screeching far away in the trees and I know it will soon be time to get up.

The light is beginning to enter my room through the gaps where the planks join the wooden wall. I turn over in my hammock and cover my head with the not-thick-enough chenille sheet. After a few minutes dozing off, I wake again. This time with the birds singing and cheeping loudly.

Today is just another day and unlike the miners down in the “baixão” – the gold mines an hour or so away from me - I don’t have to get up just yet. I stretch out my arm and reach for my small radio from a shelf where I keep my precious books and my bible. I turn the radio on to listen to my favourite radio program “Good Morning, Amazonia”. Today, between songs and messages to people who the outside world can’t reach, the presenter talks about the dangers of having too much to drink. I stay in my warm and comfy hammock a little longer pretending I don’t have to get up just yet.

I wonder if, when I move away to distant lands, I will ever remember this moment in time, where the rain hits the tin roof and the warmth of the sheet is not quite enough to warm me up. I ask myself if my next place will be very different or even if there will be another place.

I turn the radio off and get up. I don’t need to get dressed because I usually have a shower in the evening and put some clean clothes on which I sleep with. Jeans, t-shirt and socks make very warm pyjamas.

I don’t attempt to open the window as I know the rain will hit my face, come into the room and turn the soil floor into a muddy mess. I open the door of my bedroom and look at what I call the kitchen and living room. A large room with no walls around it. On one side there is the raised fire and to separate the rooms there is a large table; on the other there is enough room for my orange hammock. I look around to see if there are any large snakes or small animals crawling on the floor.

I run quickly to the building outside for my morning pee. I am very lucky here to have a proper toilet that is covered and I can sit down when doing my needs. Most people have nothing more than the forest ground where the ants can crawl onto your feet and the insects fly under your bum while you are in your most vulnerable state.

I go back to the kitchen, and putting some water in a large bowl, I wash my face with the fragrant soap that I allowed myself to bring with me when I moved here. I reach for the blue towel and, after shaking a couple of insects off it, I dry my face.

I brush my teeth and as I rinse my mouth I plan my day ahead. No need to water the kitchen garden but it will be a good idea to pick the baby cucumbers today rather then hope they will turn into proper fully grown ones. With this rain, they will rot before long.

The firewood won’t last much longer than tomorrow and I’m hoping one of the men from the mines will come up here today, with some excuse or other, and they will cut some wood for me.
When the fire starts burning, I go to the well to get fresh water. Although the rain is constant we don’t have adequate ways to collect water and keep it clean so we use the well for drinking water and cooking. It is a lot worse in the dry season when there is no water in the well and I need to go to the river for all the water.

Placing the kettle full of water on the metal board above the fire, I wait for it to boil. My mouth is dry and I want a cup of the herbal infusion that people over here call tea. The water is boiling. I pour some into a white enamel cup with the herbs and pour the rest of the water into a pan and add some mille flour mixture to it, some sugar and a bit of cinnamon. That is my breakfast. I don’t really like it, but I have run out of wheat flour and haven’t made any bread for days. Today I choose not to eat rice for breakfast again. Once I have eaten, I pile the pans and dishes into a large shiny aluminium bowl with last night’s dishes. I sit at the table, sipping my tea and waiting for the time to pass.

It is almost 7 am and I need to turn the CB radio on. That is how I communicate with my people in town. We speak briefly but again, there is nothing much to be said. They are not sure if they will send a plane this week. It has been raining for days without stopping and the landing strip is so short that the clay soil holds onto the wheels of the plane and doesn’t let it reach the speed needed to take off. If they think they can’t land they will throw down sacks of provisions next week. We are awfully short of salt, sugar, beans and rice.

I hang the hammock in my kitchen and put some music on. I have saved the batteries for the tape-player for today so I turn the tape on and listen to Slave to Love by Bryan Ferry. I can hear the tape player slowing down but I rewind the tape and play it again. This time, I can barely recognize the song and less than half way through, it refuses to continue. I stay in my hammock, staring at the grey corrugated iron roof thinking of nothing, listening to the rain and the birds, the crickets, the flies, the wind in the leaves and all the jungle noises that one can’t pinpoint where it is coming from or what it is.

I write another entry in my diary but this time I don’t go on about the philosophy of learning to like your own company. Today I feel rather too cynical to discuss such matters. So my entry is just about the rain and the unusual absence of snakes in my kitchen/living room and toilet.

I lift the heavy brick that is placed above a lidded pan to avoid the gigantic rats opening it. Inside are the black beans that I put to soak yesterday afternoon for my lunch and dinner today. I pour the water out, place some new water in the pan and put the beans to boil in the fire.

The rain is a lot less intense now but there is still the constant spitting that I know will stay when the sun comes out. I walk towards the kitchen garden and pick all the small green cucumbers I find. I also pick a few small courgettes, red peppers and okra to send to the boys in the mines. After a few minutes my basket is filled with vegetables and I hope one of the boys will come up to the landing strip this morning or I will have to go down there. The vegetables need eating soon and I need to see someone. It can get very lonely here.

There is still some vinegar left so I pour it into two glass jars together with the baby cucumbers, add some salt, close the lid of each one of them and place both jars into a large pan of water in the fire. They will be ready in a couple of hours.

It stops raining and the sky begins to brighten up. I quickly put the clothes I washed three days ago and are still damp into a half barrel of water and hope that the lemon verbena leaves that I put in the water will take the mouldy smell away. I wring the clothes and start hanging them on the line. Apart from my two pairs of jeans everything else is very thin so it will dry in a few minutes. The sky is so blue now and the sunshine gets very intense, heating my back almost burning my skin underneath the shirt.

It is nearly time for lunch. I make myself some rice and cook some of the vegetables I got this morning. They taste fresh. The beans could have cooked for longer. I finish eating and put all the dishes in the bowl which is still half empty.

The heat of the sun makes everything steamy and it is very hot. I dampen a towel with cold water and my face. I hang it around my neck to keep me cooler.

I go to my room and from an old biscuit tin I pull out the last bar of chocolate I have. I go back to my hammock in the living room and sit down, leaning back, enjoying the moment I am about to have.

This is the last bar I have. I ran out of sweets a few days ago but kept this last one. As I tear the wrapper, I can smell the richness of the cocoa and the sweetness of the sugary coconut inside it. I have a small bite at first, savouring it slowly, enjoying the intense flavours, knowing that this is likely to be the best part of my day.

When there is no chocolate left, or any smell of it or even the after taste in my mouth I get up and picking up the bowl with the dishes and a bar of soap, I go down the path towards the rivulet where I wash the dishes.

The jungle is never quiet. You can hear so many noises and although you are lonely, you are never alone. I wash the dishes in the stream and go back to the hut. It starts raining again so I quickly put the clothes which were hanging on the line back inside. The T-shirts and underwear are dry but the jeans could do with another half an hour out there. Hopefully tomorrow the sun will last long enough to dry them.

It doesn’t look like anyone will come up here today so I better go to them. I pick up my vegetables and place them into a canvas sack. I tie the sack into my ‘jamanxim’ – a straw rucksack that we use to carry goods up and down the hills.

Closing the door of my bedroom and leaving my place behind, I start my journey towards the miners’ camp. I walk down past the rivulet and further into the jungle. I hear the monkeys again but can’t see many birds because of the rain. The tall trees look majestic from below and as I look up, I can see the light coming from above the green, thick canopy of trees.

As I carry on walking there is more to be seen, dead leaves, new green shoots sprouting from everywhere, the occasional tree trunk on the ground. I manage to avoid the nest of red ants that I stepped in last week and still have the marks from on my feet. The memory of the incident makes me feel a little stupid. I knew I should not wear flip flops when going down that path. Of course, they all wear them over here but it was silly of me.

The track opens into a fork and each new track goes to a different camp. I choose the one on the left, not only because it is nearer but also one of the men there is a good hunter. So they often bring me some pieces of meat from one animal or another. If I give them plenty of vegetables someone will take some to the other camp at some point later today.

When I’m nearly there, from the distance I see Cigano – his nickname is also the Brazilian Portuguese word for gypsy – with his knife, skinning a large rodent. I will have a good dinner today. I shout “Hello” and chat for a little while. I follow him back to the camp and we exchange gifts. I know he, too, will be looking forward to his dinner tonight.

Soon it is time to say goodbye. I walk back home and the rain above me continues to hit the trees but somehow I don’t get very wet. The trees keep the rain to themselves I suppose.
All the way home I think about the song I heard earlier and I wish I could sing it or even know the words. I sing another song, quietly at first, and as there is no one around to hear me making a fool of myself, I try singing at the top of my voice. Somehow the song doesn’t sound the same song I wanted to sing so I go back to a quieter mode.

On my way back I collect a few sticks and put them into my straw rucksack. I will have to cut some serious wood tomorrow. When I get back home I unload the wet wood and place it above the metal board above the fire. That should dry out next time I light the fire.

I pour a cup of dry beans on the table and pick out all the stones, and the beans I feel are not good for cooking. I rinse the rest and put them into a bowl of water to soak for tomorrow.
It is almost time for dinner. I am undecided how I am going to eat the meat. I light the fire while I make my mind up. If I cook it and them put the beans inside it will make the beans a bit softer. So I cut it into pieces and place the pan in the fire. I have to be careful not to let the sticks to catch fire. Once they are dry, I place them aside and feel better for having wood for tomorrow. There is nothing worse than having no dry wood to light a fire with.

Dinner is ready but I never eat before having a wash. Today I have enough water from the rain to have a shower with. I take my clothes off and with a metal can, I throw water over my body. It is cold and I quickly rub the fragrant soap all over. I don’t have time to enjoy the moment as I am already shaking. I rinse the soap out and wrap myself in a towel quickly. I change into one of the fresh washed t-shirts and a damp pair of jeans. I have to wear my jumper tonight. It is raining even more and the night soon takes over my place.

I light a candle and sit at the table to eat. So I re-heat the rice and pour some of the beans and meat stew on top of the rice. Dinner tastes a lot better than today’s lunch. I love the taste of food that is cooked in a smoky room. It always tastes better.

Once the dishes are in the bowl, I go to my room. I get in the hammock with my chenille sheet around me, a candle in the chair near by. My book is almost ending but I have saved it for tonight. It has a happy ending, which makes me smile.

I turn the radio on and the voice of the radio presenter is very soothing. The radio brings back the memory of what is it like to be with real people in the real world. It makes me think of all the people I love and miss.

He wishes Happy Birthday to everyone whose birthday is today. I turn the radio off, blow the candle and cover my head. I feel tears in my eyes but I wipe them, say ' Thank you' and try hard to stop thinking and sleep. After all, it is just another day.


Word count: 2722