2013-04-30

Der Kleine verfolgt mich angeblich

Ich sitze mit der Familie in einer Kaufhaus-Etage auf einer grünen Kunstrasen-Plattform, all das Volk lagert um uns her auf gleichartigen Podesten. Ich stehe auf um zurück zur Treppe zu kommen, trete hinab in den schmalen Gang, ein kleiner Hund läuft mir nach. Da will die Matriarchin mir helfen, sie meint wohl, ich fühlte mich von dem Kleinen verfolgt. Sie schwingt ihren Stab, womit sie bewirkt, dass die Füße des Kleinen am Boden festgesaugt werden, was ich drastisch und bemerkenswert finde. Ein wenig tut er mir leid. Als er verfolgt wurde, war sie nicht zur Stelle.

 

2013-04-20

Wiping the floor in my upstairs bedroom

I'm down on my knees before the shelves, sort of accidentally wiping the floor with a wet soapy cloth. Wetness and soap got into it accidentally. I'm wiping below the bottom shelf where nobody can see it. It isn't meant to be useful.

I remember that the woman will visit tomorrow. She might come up the stairs and stand in my bedroom door. She probably won't but if she does it might make sense if the floor insde the door was cleaned. I'm starting on it now, a rectangle bordered by shelves, door, carpet and a big dark chest.

I'm coiling the cloth, accidentally, compressing it to become a wet soapy ball, quite small, the size of a billiard ball. I'm using this to wipe the floor, although the ball's surface is very small. I know perfectly well that this is not an effective way to do housework.

Howsoever, no considerable time goes by and I'm almost done with the wiping when I notice a dark human hair, and then more on the wet floor.

 

2013-04-15

The rented car vexation

It's very dark here, thick grey clouds almost make it night. I'm standing in front of the building where my hosts live, it looks like a railway station and I think there are tracks behind it. I've just come back from the city with the man who lives here, the husband of my hostess, in his car. It is still rather early in the morning.

I'm thinking: going to the city I could have returned the car I rented. But I failed to take the opportunity. This is making me really unhappy with myself: at how ineffectively I organize things. I have a noon flight and now I still need to return the car. If I had only done that when I could have! I'm looking right now at the rented car, it's parked to the left of the building.

I'm thinking: Could I not have suggested to him that we should take this car rather than his car?

I am so unhappy with myself that I'm thinking about getting behind the wheel and driving back to the city right now. Of course, going back there and returning here will occupy the whole morning and then I will have to turn around and go back again to catch my flight. But I want to punish myself, to teach myself to think more!

 

2013-04-01

The Kraken chases me through the ship

Going out on the ledge for a second time I know what will happen. But I need to prove that I can face it now. It is like a demonstration that I need to perform; to remember, it is all about remembering. The long ledge juts out from an enormous steel wall above the ocean: the hull of a ship. Walking along I have a great view of the sea. When I get to the end I'm as frightened as I was the first time. The Kraken approaches, perched on the tower of a grey submarine. I cannot face it, my experiment fails, the kraken comes up onto the end of the ledge, I'm already in a headlong flight.

Then I'm racing through the ship from room to room, narrowly escaping the tentacles. They explore every corner of every room while the beast itself is removed from view. I need a room that can be shut. But I can't find one.

Turning left and again I spiral through corridors into another windowless room, yet one more without a door; dirty, contorted, made of steel. It is further inside than any of the others. Maybe the tentacles won't stretch so far. There is a seedy old boiler in the darkest corner.

The Kraken reaches anywhere and catches anyone, I'm thinking.

I hide beneath a tarpaulin that covers the floor. When I'm covered anything happens and catches me always. It bubbles and bulges, I don't understand it, I don't know what grips me all the time beneath.

I emerge so frightened, I can't see anything, no arm of a Kraken, the room is empty.

 

Schimmel an den Erdbeeren

Ich stehe vor einer Stahlspüle, eine dicke Staude Erdbeeren in den Händen, die wie Brockoli zusammengewachsen sind. Sie sind gefroren, weiß gefrostet, ich will daraus unser Essen bereiten.

Ich drehe die Staude in meinen Händen und sehe, dass einige Beeren nicht weißen Frost sondern weißen Schimmel tragen. Was soll man tun? - Abschneiden. - Aber kann man das übrige noch essen?

Neben mir steht ein kleiner Junge, der versteht, was ich gefunden habe. Er fragt: "Warum?" Ich sage: "Weil sie zu lange im Supermarkt gelegen haben und wahrscheinlich eine Zeit lang nicht eingefroren waren." Er zeigt mit dem Finger auf Beeren, an denen er glaubt Schimmel zu sehen, aber er hat unrecht, das ist nur weißer Frost. Ich erkläre es ihm und denke: So viel Schimmel ist auch wieder nicht daran.

Aber ich fühle mich unfähig zu entscheiden, ob wir die Staude essen können oder nicht. Ich würde gerne jemanden um Rat fragen, ich würde sogar den Jungen fragen, aber er ist doch nur ein kleiner Junge und hat keine Ahnung.

Dann frage ich ihn doch. Er ist dafür sie zu essen.

Ich stehe vor der Spüle und müsste jetzt etwas tun, aber die Erdbeeren wiegen meinen Arm nieder, ich kann ihn nicht bewegen. So schwer sind sie geworden.

 

 

 

 

© Anthony Thwaites