GIFTS THAT BIND by S. Nadja N Zajdman, amber-coloured tea with a twist of lemon

 

As soon as I grew out of them, which was soon, my daddy placed my baby booties on the rearview mirror of his car.  His cars would change over the course of the years, but I always think of Daddy’s car as a green Chevrolet whose back doors couldn’t open.  This was by design.  My brother and I had to climb through the front passenger door into the back seat.  This way, our parents were sure we wouldn’t fall out. 

Daddy considered my baby booties his good luck charm.  We came to think of them as a signpost.  In a crowded parking lot, we looked for what my little brother called, “Your shoes on the mirror.”

By the time I was twenty-five, these cloth booties began to fray, so Daddy took them to a shoemaker and had them bronzed.  However, on Montreal’s notorious potholed roads, the now-bronzed shoes would clang together, so, reluctantly, Daddy placed them in the glove compartment, which is where I found them when he died suddenly, two years later.  I keep them within sight, at my work station.  An image of them appears on the back cover of the memoir I wrote about Dad.  The front cover, which was enlarged to poster-size for my local library’s launch celebrating Jewish Heritage Month, features an image of  me in my daddy’s arms  with the original cloth booties protecting my tender and tiny feet .  I can’t fit my hand into the bronzed version, now.

I am older than my father was, when he died.  I am still astonished that I have lived almost my entire adult life without him.

about the author

 S. Nadja Zajdman is a Canadian author. She has published the story collections Bent Branches and The Memory Keeper, the memoirs I Want You To Be Free and Daddy's Remains, and the essay collection Between Worlds. 

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Let the waves carry you by sally Storr,a glass of strong spirits

Armine

Armine lowered her gaze as the Le Strange family passed her church pew. It would be very rude to stare, but she was entranced by the oldest son, Hamon. She had been gazing at the back of his head, with his dark wavy hair and upright posture. Now she heard his footsteps pass her and thought she caught a waft of his cologne. Well, a girl could dream.

            ‘It’s time,’ said Armine’s mother. ‘We can’t wait any longer. You’re sixteen. You can read and write, so you need to go into service and help us out.’

Armine was the oldest of six children. Her father had been a fisherman in Old Hunstanton all his life, but he was getting old and poorly – he was over fifty now - and he couldn’t work the long hours he used to, supporting the family. So, Armine’s mother found her a job at the newly established Le Strange Arms Inn, as a parlour maid. She started at six in the morning, and sometimes didn’t finish until ten at night. The cleaning work was hard but there was nothing she couldn’t do. It was Armine’s job to go round the lodging rooms each morning lighting the fires. She loved meeting the guests and seeing their possessions. If they were at breakfast, she liked nothing better than to go to the dressing table and pick up the shiny objects placed there, such as a silver brush, an ornate mirror, or a perfume bottle. She knew she shouldn’t, but she was so curious.

She worked hard – she looked around her at the guests and compared their lives with her own. What made them different? If hard work would mean a better life, she could do that. So, she worked even longer hours, earning extra for evening shifts and only taking a half day off each week. On her half day, she always went down to the beach, sat on a tuft of grass on the dunes and watched the tide go in and out. She breathed in the soft, salty air. Something about that air filled her lungs and her heart with joy. Much as she’d like to see the world, this is where she belonged.

Serena

The sea and the sky changed colour every time she looked at the view. It was mesmerizing: the tide retreating, the water becoming flat and calm as the sky transformed from dazzling blue, through turquoise, green and purple, eventually settling into orange and crimson, spreading across the sky as the sun slid further and further down the horizon. Serena felt like that scene, her emotions waxing and waning continuously as she contemplated the enormity of tomorrow. This time tomorrow she would be married and Serena would be sharing the bridal suite with Nathan. Was she doing the right thing? Of course. So many questions went through her mind, but Serena intended to enjoy every last moment of this view before she became a married woman.

Serena treasured the ocean and she loved quirky places, which is why she’d chosen The Le Strange Arms, at Old Hunstanton, as their wedding venue. She had fallen in love with the hotel and its location above the sand dunes as soon as she saw it. The hotel seemed to be built the wrong way round, its front facing the sea with its back to the village. Some of the rooms were a bit pokey by today’s standards, and the furnishings a bit of a jumble, but the charm of its Victorian history shone through all its foibles. It was built in the 1860s by Henri Le Strange, who had a vision for the first seaside holidays, when people would travel in the newly-invented train to spend time enjoying walks along the beach and the sea air. An advantage of its location was a magical view of the sun setting every evening over The Wash.

Serena sat on the window ledge and watched intently as the sun went down. She was very tired, with all the excitement of preparing for the wedding tomorrow. Her eyes grew heavy, but she couldn’t stop looking at the mid-summer sky, thinking about all the past visitors to The Le Strange Arms who would have seen the same sunset in years gone by. There was suddenly a frenzied knock at the bedroom door, which brought her to her senses.

‘Room service!’ called a young female voice, with a thick Norfolk accent.

‘Coming!’ she called back as she stood up and moved sluggishly towards the door.

‘Can’t wait all night,’ was the retort. The voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door between them. Serena heaved it open a crack at first. She hadn’t ordered anything but was inquisitive to know more about her visitor. It was dark in the corridor, especially in contrast to the light her eyes had been experiencing through the window. It took Serena a moment to adjust. A silver tray was thrust towards her. The frail-looking figure behind the tray was dressed in voluminous dark clothing, which appeared to cover her from head to foot.

‘It’s from the Master. He’s sent it special for you as he heard you were getting married tomorrow,’ said the girl. Serena opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t think what to say. Her mind was busy taking in this odd apparition.

‘You goin’ to take this?’ asked the girl.

‘Oh, OK. Don’t you want to come in?’ Serena asked.

‘I got work to do. Sleep well.’ Serena saw the glimmer of a smile, which lit up her face completely, as the mysterious female departed at speed down the corridor.

Armine

Sundays in church, Armine now sat with the staff from Le Strange Arms. She was close – oh so close to Hamon -but she didn’t dare to think he even noticed her existence. But one Sunday, as the Le Strange family rose and left their pew, Hamon’s sister Emmeline dropped her delicate hankie, embroidered with tiny roses, right next to Armine. Armine tried to call out after her, but she had gone. Hamon was just behind and he saw what had happened. He stopped and smiled broadly at Armine, and took the hankie.

            ‘Thank you so much. Emmeline will be very grateful.’ he said.

 Armine was overcome with delight. She could still smell the scent of roses from the hankie on her fingers. ‘I’m not going to wash my hands today,’ she thought. As time went on, Armine’s path crossed Hamon’s now and again. He got to know her face and always greeted her warmly. Armine found it hard to believe this man could be as kind as he was handsome. She couldn’t keep away from Le Strange Arms, living daily in hope that she might see him again.

On Midsummer’s Day, the Le Strange family held an Annual Ball to thank all the staff. It was traditional for the family members to serve and entertain the staff as a thank you for all their hard work on the longest day. As luck had it, Armine found herself in Hamon’s arms for a waltz. She’d never had the opportunity to learn to dance, so he had to guide her every step. She giggled and laughed, smiled and grinned her way through it and decided it was the best moment of her life.

Serena

Serena stood for a moment, staring down the corridor, wishing she had had the chance to find out more about her mysterious visitor. She put the tray down on a table. On it was a selection of delights, beautifully presented: a small bottle of champagne, a miniature box of truffle-filled chocolates, and a delicate hankie, embroidered with tiny roses – Serena’s favourite flowers! There was a card balanced against the bottle. Serena read the bold, blue handwritten note:

‘Let the waves carry you where the light cannot,’ it said. Underneath was an indecipherable signature. How charming, thought Serena. She noticed that the sun had well and truly set now. It must be way past ten o’clock. Where had the time gone? Serena enjoyed every last drop of champagne and the exquisite taste of each chocolate, before heading for bed. She picked up the beautiful hankie and instinctively sniffed it – a delicate rose perfume enveloped her. Gorgeous! she thought, as she relaxed into the heavenly starched white sheets of the king-sized bed. She slept heavily and woke up to the sound of her alarm. Her to-do list whizzed through her mind before she even opened her eyes to see the view of the beach, this time lit with a honeyed dawn light. She instantly remembered the wonderful gift on the silver tray and looked across to the table. But it wasn’t there. It was nowhere to be seen. How odd! Could she really have been so deeply asleep when the girl came back to collect it, that she didn’t hear her? Serena dismissed the thought at once as she had so much to do. The hairdresser and the make-up artist would be here in an hour, along with the three bridesmaids and the florist, and later the photographer.

 Serena felt dizzy with excitement. She gazed over at her peach lacy gown, which was hanging outside the wardrobe. The dress had an air of Victorian elegance about it, which fitted with her surroundings. She realized she couldn’t wait to put it on and marry Nathan. Any doubts she may have had last night had vanished with last night’s tide. As Serena went downstairs to breakfast, her eye caught sight of a painted portrait. It was fairly high up on the wall so she wouldn’t normally notice it, but something enticed her to raise her head and look at it properly.

Armine

Hamon was equally charmed by this young woman’s sense of humour and pretty figure. He was heir to his father’s fortune, and as such it was expected that he would marry gentry. But Hamon felt so attracted to the servant girl, he just couldn’t stop thinking about her. He contrived a meeting with Armine in the corridor. He knew she would be finishing her cleaning soon. When she appeared, her face was smudged with dirt, and she was carrying a bucket full of ashes. She gasped in surprise and then burst into laughter at herself. Hamon almost fell down laughing too.

‘I just wanted to give you this,’ he said as he passed her a small package. It was soft and pink, and smelt of roses. Armine opened it to reveal delicate hankie, embroidered with tiny roses

‘It’s beautiful!’ she gasped as she held it to her nose. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’ she added.

Hamon roared.

‘Let’s just say I hope this is the first of many gifts. Will you wait for me tonight after dinner?’

Armine was deeply in love.  So much so, that she didn’t go home that night.  She waited down in the scullery, long after the other staff had gone to bed, warming herself in the butler’s worn old chair, by the red and orange embers of the fire. She was almost asleep when she heard a scurry of footsteps in the corridor, and Hamon came in.  He didn’t hesitate, just hurried up to her, knelt down and took her in his arms.  He kissed her softly.

‘I couldn’t wait any longer,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching you in church for so long.  I know you are going to be mine.’  Armine was certain too as she gave in to her longing.

Serena

She stared as she took in the face. It was clearly an old image, and a little bit dusty. It had been there a long time. The face was strangely familiar. It was a young woman. She was wearing a wide brimmed bonnet, which obscured part of her face but her smile beamed out. She was seated in the picture and holding something in her left hand. Serena peered at the detail, as it was quite minuscule. It was a delicate hankie, embroidered with tiny roses. Serena could only gasp in surprise. She went to the reception desk and pointed up the stairs to the portrait.

‘Who, who is that?’ she asked.

‘Oh, that’s Armine. She was a serving girl here. Everyone loved her but I’m afraid it’s a rather sad tale.  She fell in love with the Master and he wasn’t allowed to marry her.  The day he married Lady Antonia, she went down to the beach, walked out to sea and never came back.  She couldn’t swim you see?’

Serena stood, her mouth open for a moment, in disbelief. Tears came to her eyes as she thought about the poor girl whose dreams could never come true.

 ‘Are you OK?’ asked the receptionist. ‘It’s your big day today isn’t it? Midsummer’s Day, and it’s going to be absolutely glorious.’

abou the author

Sally Storr recently retired from her work as a coach at The Open University. She has always been equally fascinated by human behaviour and by figures from literature. She’s been writing all her life but especially enjoys writing about quirky things that happen to ordinary people like herself.

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Bred in the Bone by: Ginny Swart, a very hot espresso

  Bred in the Bone

 

One day when I was about six, a dirty - looking man knocked on the kitchen door.  His hair was almost down to his shoulders and needed a wash and his clothes were really old. The kind my Ma wouldn’t even have given to the gardener. Not until she washed them, anyway. He was like a street person, only he had all his teeth, not like Gawie who comes every week and Ma gives him some bread and two rands and tells him to bugger off and not bother her any more

I knew I wasn’t supposed to let people into the house so I opened the door just a tiny bit  and said, “Can I help you?”

And he said, “You must be my niece Marie. And aren’t you a pretty little girl!”

Well. I didn’t know that I had an uncle, only Auntie Gail who lived in Joburg. She sent   me R10 in a birthday card every year but I didn’t even know what she looked like. Ma said her rubbish boyfriend got into trouble with the police and she wanted to stay up there so she could visit every Saturday.

Anyway, Ma came into the kitchen and when she saw the man she stopped dead still and kind of whispered, “Mannie, is that you?”

And he said, “Hello Arlene. Jislaaik, but my little sister’s put on a bit of weight, eh? So, how’s things?”

Well, no one ever calls Ma fat, not in front of her anyway,  but she didn’t even give him a klap, she just smiled all over her face like she’d just won the Lotto and told him to come in and she’d make him some coffee and where had he been for so long and why did he look so terrible?

So he came inside and said, “It’s a long story.”

He sat at the kitchen table and to tell the truth he smelled pretty bad. Like the inside of our rubbish bin on a hot day. But Ma didn’t seem to notice, she poured him some coffee and opened a packet of the chocolate biscuits that she only kept for the Dominee and said, “OK. So, tell me, Mannie.”

Then Uncle Mannie took off his filthy old coat and we saw he only had one arm. The sleeve of his long –sleeved shirt was pinned up against his shoulder.

I got such a fright my tummy felt all sick inside and Ma kind of moaned in pain.

But he just grinned and said, “Got you there, ladies!”  And pulled out his whole proper hairy arm from under his shirt.

It was a trick. He kept that arm against his body and just pretended!

“This gets them every time,” he said. “Losing my arm was the best business decision I ever made.” He winked and waggled his fingers at me. His nails were very dirty.

And Ma smacked him on his head and told him he was a mad bugger but she was kind of smiling so I could tell she didn’t think he was.

“But I can see you aren’t exactly making a fortune with this one- arm trick,” she said. “What happened to your job in the mine? And where’s Sanita?”

“Gone,” he said. “She only lasted until the money ran out.”

“I knew she was a little gold digger,” said Ma triumphantly. “I could just see it. All that lipstick and brassy hair.”

“Sanita had pretty hair,” said Uncle Mannie. “I’ve always gone for blondes. Like little Marie  here.”

He smiled and stroked my hair but I moved away. I suddenly didn’t like him any more.

“Anyway, the mine got too bloody dangerous,” he went on. “Pal of mine got his legs chopped off when a tipper truck overturned two k’s underground. After that, I hit the road.”

“Couldn’t you find another job?”

“Wrong colour,” he said briefly. “Then one day when I was really on the skids, I found an old You magazine in a bin. And there was this guy who’d had his leg eaten off by a shark. And people were just lining up to give him stuff. Money, clothes, even a job. So the penny dropped.”

“You tell people a shark ate your arm off? Give me a break, last time I looked you couldn’t swim!”

“Sometimes I say it’s a shark, if it’s a young guy. Surfers and swimmers, they’re good for a couple of rand.  Sometimes I say it was blown off in Namibia. Cassingana. I tell them I had to be airlifted out, the whole army story. That works with people old enough to remember that stuff.” He chuckled. “The best is my croc. I tell ‘em I was a game ranger at the Kruger and I was rescuing a girl who fell into the river. And a croc got me but I saved the girl. They love it.”

“God will punish you one of these days,” said Ma. “You should speak to the Dominee and tell him what a sinner you’ve been. He works wonders with sinners, you just have to repent.”

“I’m not talking about repenting, I’m talking my career here,” said Uncle Mannie irritably. “If I could work out a way to have only one leg as well, I would. Double my income.”

Ma shook her head and changed the subject.

“Seems like you don’t find a bathroom very often. You want a nice hot bath? Let me wash those filthy clothes you’re wearing.”

“Thanks, Arlene. But don’t wash these things, I need them for the street. Old clothes work better than good clean stuff. Hasn’t Danie got something I could wear?”

“Danie’s history,” said Ma, looking at me sideways. She was always pretending that my Pa was working in Bloemfontein and would come home any day, but by now I knew he never would. I’d stopped hoping. 

 But Ma was friends with Uncle Robbie so he always helped her do the stuff Pa used to do like fix the plugs and that. Sometimes he slept over to help her start her car in the morning. So she wouldn’t be late for work at the launderette.

Anyway she found an old shirt and some trousers of my Pa’s and Uncle Mannie looked much better once he’d bathed and put those on.

Ma said she’d make spaghetti for supper but then she opened a box of that yellow wine she liked so much and the two of them sat in the lounge telling each other what a good time they used to have when they were little. Stuff like swimming kaalgat in the river and riding their bikes around the place.

So in the end I made myself a peanut butter sandwich and they carried on telling stories about how when they were kids.

Then it got late and my Ma started getting upset. She often got upset when she drank wine. And she was carrying on about her own Pa and how he’d been an evil old sod and she wished he’d died sooner than he did and Uncle Mannie was telling her to calm down, what’s done was done and it was water under the bridge.

And she shouted, “You were no better than he was, you think I don’t remember?”

And Uncle Mannie got up and said he was going to bed, he’d had enough of her nonsense. I think Ma slept on the sofa, she was too tired to go to bed.

Early the next morning Uncle Mannie came into my room. He didn’t knock or anything polite like that. I hadn’t got dressed yet and I was sitting on my bed brushing my Princess Barbie’s hair and he came and sat on the bed too and said “Hello sweet Marie,” and began to stroke my hair. Like I was a dog.

 So I got up but he pulled me back and started to put his big hands all over me, sort of grabbing my nightie and pulling it. My nice one with kittens on.  His nails were still dirty even though he’d had a bath.

But I managed to wriggle away and shouted for Ma as loudly as I could, and he told me to shut up, he was only playing. But I knew he wasn’t playing, he was going to do Bad Stuff to me like what happened to Anneline next door when that man came in to steal their TV and he got her.

So I ran out the door and down the path and yelled at Ma to wake up. But she didn’t. And Uncle Mannie ran after me, shouting at me not to be silly. And I just ran across the road to go to Auntie Eileen’s house and all the cars hooted but he followed after me and then I heard a loud bang. 

And a car stopped and the driver jumped out and said, “It wasn’t my fault, he ran right in front of me.”

So they took Uncle Mannie to hospital and guess what, his leg was so badly smashed up they had to cut it off. Right at the top.

God’s punishment.  

About the author 

 

Ginny worked as a graphic artist in the UK, a char in Australia and a tutor of English in Hong Kong, before cominge home to South Africa and starting to write fiction 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the author the other half goes to expenses e.g. Maintaining the web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.