Dangerous writer

Moved to a new home

2015-04-13T16:25:00.003-02:00

I'd be more tan happy if you follow my adventures at my new home and bookmark it in your list of favourites:

https://compendiodeescritos.wordpress.com/

As dangerous as a loaded gun

See you!

IMPORTANT NOTICE

2013-11-10T22:21:00.001-02:00

One of my dearest blogfriends, Ms MJ, a nice Canadian lady author of the blog The Infomaniac is having a break and she hasn't decided whether she'll be back or not (before you click on the link, I must warn you that it's an adult blog, not for everybody).

The reason for that is a series of recent issues she had with Google. The last one happened a couple of days ago when she tried to log into Feedly -her feed reader- and she got a pop-up window saying that she should create a public Google+ profile to do so. In her own words, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

MJ has been blogging since 2006 and over the years she created around her blog a nice community of bloggers. 3 years ago, her blog and comments disappeared unexpectedly due to some technical problems with Blogger. She couldn't use her profile to comment and she had to do it anonymously. 4 years of her life had been washed out in just a blink.

I was affected by the same problem at the same time and if not for the Infomaniac Bitches, that flooded Blogger's forums with complaints, neither MJ nor me would have our blogs and comments back. Only bloggers can understand what it feels like having your blog deleted and losing your virtual identity without leaving a trace.

When everything was solved, I was so annoyed that I decided to export my blog to Wordpress. Some months later, I left Blogland and deactivated my two blogs. Two years later I decided to continue blogging. I reopened this old blog, only to find out that Google is still a pain in the neck, taking advantage of its dominant position.

Due to all the abovesaid, I have decided to go back my Wordpress blog an continue blogging there, so I would really appreciate your changing my blog adress in your blogrolls and feed readers, replacing it with this one:

http://compendiodeescritos.wordpress.com/

I have also deactivated the Google+ account I opened some months ago.

Hipster Yaya has been recently attacked by the blogging virus and is pleased to invite you to visit her new house, full of glamour and southern hospitality:

http://hipsteryaya.wordpress.com/

I'm sorry for the inconveniences caused and really hope to see you all again very soon.

THERE'S NO ONE QUITE LIKE GRANDMA

2013-11-07T20:10:00.000-02:00

Knock knock.I heard her walk towards the door at a snail’s pace.

Knock knock.

- I’m on my way! –she shouted, answering to my impatient knocking-

She stood behind the bolted door and asked:

-          Who is it?
-          It’s me Yaya. Let me in please –I whispered-

Some seconds of silence followed before she slowly opened the door. She stared at me with great surprise. Her eyes were as big as tea saucers.

-          Leni! –she shouted-
-          I’m very happy to see you again, sweetie. Everybody thought you had disappeared forever! Your face has been on the milk cartons for months!

-          Chill out, Yaya and drink some water.
-          I need something stronger. That bottle of Moonshine over there will do. I brew it myself, hehehe.
-          Yaya! This is dangerous!
-          What doesn’t kill you makes you fatter, honey.

I had a gulp from the bottle myself.

Did you think my Yaya looks like the funny smoker old woman on the left? No. She’s the nice lady on the right. But beware: her harmless look hides the naughty joker genes of the Qinans.

- I’ve been hunting high and low for you but I couldn’t find you, baby. I’ve got loads of phonecalls and emails from your boss, from your boyfriend, from your friends, from your ex-boyfriends...
- I ran away, Yaya.

-          Could you please precise me where and why? –she asked-
-          To North Sandwich. Because I was fed up with everything here.
-          I’m pretty sure that “everything” in life can be fixed, Leni.
-          Yeah. With duct tape.
-          Come on, stop being silly! Be more positive!

The living room was freezing.

-          Yaya, isn’t it very cold in this room?
-          Yes, honey. But I can’t afford the heating bill, so I just put a couple of sweaters and a blanket on. –she said, lowering her gaze-
-          What about your retirement pension? And your piano classes? Don’t you get enough money to live comfortably?

She sighed.

-          Honey, since you left, things have got only worse in Sandwich. My pupils couldn’t pay me and I ended up selling the piano, so the classes are over. My pension has been reduced, so I had to fasten the belt, just like everybody else. I must watch what I spend sweetheart or I’ll end up having tomato soup every day.
-          Is it really that bad?
-          5 million sandwichians have lost their jobs and 100 small businesses are shut down every day. People can’t pay for their mortgages and 600 families are evicted from their homes every day. Every now and then some jump off the window in desperation before they’re forced out of the house. Kitchen soups are packed full. Taxes never stop rising while salaries never stop shrinking. Elders spend their pensions to provide for their grandchildren. Social unrest is on the rise. Young qualified people have no choice but emigrating to look for a better future. And now our doctors and engineers are cleaning latrines in the pubs of Burdishland and Orsinia.

-          Talking about being positive...
-          That’s what there is, Missy! Haven’t you heard about the subprime mortgage crisis, the real estate bubble, banks’ failures, bailouts, corruption and political scandals?
-          No.

I didn’t dare tell her that I had been intoxicated by poisonous dust while working as a cruise waitress and suffered from total amnesia for several months. She wouldn’t believe me.

-          Are you hungry, honey? I’ll make you a sandwich.

I opened the fridge like I used to do when I was a kid expecting to find some tasty delicacies but it was almost empty.

-          Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll get a box of groceries from the Blue Cross.
-          Do you live off charity, Yaya?
-          No, Leni. My income is not enough for the cost of living, but I get by with a little help from the food bank. I was a bit ashamed at first, but not now. Anyway... let me offer you a warm cup of tea and a sit down. Now tell me, how come you took French leave without notice? I’m all ears, honey.

I sighed deep and took some seconds to think how to explain I had screwed up my personal and professional life in the blink of an eye.

But before I could even open my mouth, the doorbell rang.

FIXIN' DA HOUSE

2013-11-01T21:45:00.001-02:00

I'M NOT DONE YET WITH THE PAINTING...

THE HOUSE STILL NEEDS SOME IMPROVEMENTS...

THERE'S A LOT TO CLEAN...

AND TIDY UP...

SO AS SOON AS I GET MY BEAUTY SLEEP...

AND DOLL MYSELF UP

I'LL BE READY FOR THE RUNWAY. SO GUYS...

AT THE WHEEL, HIPSTER YAYA: MY DEAREST GRANNY

UNDER RECONSTRUCTION

2013-10-16T17:42:00.002-02:00

Thanks for all the fish

2010-10-29T12:02:00.000-02:00

Saying farewell is never easy, especially after 3 years of dedication and commitment.

I started blogging on the 11th November, 2007 and am now taking a break. Maybe for some months, maybe forever. The decision to take this step is a carefully thought-out one, although I make it under an atmosphere of mixed feelings.

Over this time, Dangerous Writer evolved from starting as a Spanish-speaking site with the purpose of publicising my writing, to becoming an English written blog where I posted a serialized fictional story and a number of short tales.

However, keeping such rate of work has proved to be too time-consuming for me and too demanding for those who stop by. I must now move on to new projects, new commitments and new horizons.

Despite the circumstances in which I leave, I will always remember Dangerous Writer fondly. Over these three years, I made new friends, met excellent people and I wish them the best in their lives. I have been touched, moved and overwhelmed by the response I have received and I thank each and every one of you. I also wish to thank those who struggled to recover my disappeared comments from Blogger when my old blog was removed. I will never forget this.

And last but not least, I’ll always treasure the memory of those who inspired the best pages of this blog. Sadly, I haven’t heard from them for a while. I wrote each word, took each picture and edited each video for you.

Hasta la vista my friends, wherever you are.

The Author (a.k.a. Leni Qinan)

First time I do one of these

2010-10-25T06:21:00.000-02:00

These are my two first memes since I started blogging, in 2007. Hence, the enthusiasm. Please don’t blame it on me: it’s Mago’s and xl’s fault.

Mago’s questions:

1) Do you believe in ghosts? Of course I do. In this blog there are ghost butlers, late wives and deceased ancestors who come back from the afterlife to change the destiny of some humble mortals.
2) Are you content with your life?No. I had great expectations, but to my shame also sundry failures that I will never overcome.
3) Have you ever been at or close to point blank?
I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve lost it.

4) Is philosophy necessary? As a method of asking, wondering and knowing, it’s the basis of science.
5) Do you live with books?
Some of them live in their shelves and others -the ones I have written or are in progress- live in my laptop and in my mind, eagerly waiting to come to light.
6) Have you ever been on stage?Just once, on a school Christmas theatre play when I was little. Guess who the proud author was. I had my minute of glory.
7) Do you regularly read a printed newspaper?
No. I check the news on the internet and listen to the radio while I drive. It’s comfortable and updates are real fast.

8) Are you afraid of the future?
No. I’m more concerned about short time issues and worry about the ‘here’ and ‘now’. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. Maybe nothing.9) Do you know yourself?
I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure. I’m discovering through others some personal features about myself that remained unnoticed to me.

10) Will you play on?I’ll do something better: I’ll answer xl’s meme, if you can get an overdose of me.

Ready?

Xl’s questions:

1) Coke or Pepsi?
Always Coke. I find Pepsi too sweet for my taste.

2) Do you play a musical instrument?Unfortunately not.
3) If you could go back in time, would you make a different decision in your life?
Yes, a few ones: personal, academic and professional.
4) Which sport do you consider to be "football?"22 guys in shorts kicking a ball on a grass field: i.e. soccer.

5) Do you like to travel?That’s one of my favourite activities.
6) Do you like Piña Coladas and getting caught in the rain?I'd prefer to make love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape
7) Surely you like cats, right?
Sorry to disappoint you: I’ve never been a cat person. But I’m recently changing my mind.

8) Beatles or Stones?
Stones, of course.
9) Which foreign languages can you speak (regardless of fluency)?French, English –I think-, Spanish, Catalan, German –when I'm inspired-. I tried Italian and Japanese some years ago, but I gave up.
10) What special meal would you prepare for me?Some Mediterranean specialty, especially for you.

Thanks, Mago and xl!

Ready to be the party queen

2010-06-06T21:42:00.001-02:00

The morning after when I woke up, Ed was not there. I lazily rolled over, tummy to back, to his side of the bed. It was still warm. The pillow had his scent. And it smelled so good.

I yawned and stretched. There was a sentence written on the mirror in red shiny characters: “Time to get going, sleepy head”, it said.

Hmm. What a funny awakening after a night of love and passion. I would have expected something more romantic from him, kind of “A day without you is like a day without sunshine”. But maybe it was a matter of Burdish humour (the type of humour that makes you laugh for five seconds and think for five minutes; something that most Sandwichians -like me- will never get).

I looked out the porthole. It was a genuine spring morning and I smelled the salty sea air that blew through the fluttering net curtains.

And I suddenly remembered… it was the day of the awards ceremony!!!

There was an impressive mannequin in the middle of the cabin, all dressed up like a princess in a magnificent red tulle dress, a pair of shiny red patent leather shoes, red opera gloves and black mink stole; it wore beautiful drop earrings, a ribbon choker and a tiara worthy of a queen.

But there was something oddly funny about that mannequin: a pair of silk sheer stockings, a tiny beaded black g-string and a rhinestoned bra were hanging from its right hand. I smelled a rat.

- You can’t attend the awards ceremony in a French maid outfit, Leni –said a familiar voice-
- Hellgirl! Are these clothes and sexy undies for me? –I asked her-
- Of course, my dear. You’ll look pretty as a picture in this fabulous red dress. Have a look at the jewels. They’re real: genuine Burmese rubies and legendary South African diamonds that I borrowed especially for you from the Tiffany House in Madhattan. I know red is your favorite colour and diamonds are your favourite gems.- What do you mean you “borrowed” the jewels?- Well, I had to cast a spell on the shop assistants that made them a bit groggy, so that they didn’t object when I asked if they would be kind enough to lend me their best ruby choker and diamond tiara.- Hellgirl! That’s is a robbery!
- Oh my, this is too strong a word to say, Leni! We don’t use money in Hell; our economy is based on deals, barters, swaps and borrowings. So what’s wrong with it when both parties agree on such a private agreement?
Ah, she was impossible. Meanwhile, I was blinded by the brightness of the red fabric, the real rubies and the diamonds. I couldn’t take my eyes off the dress.

- Did you know, Leni, that the reporters of “The Sandwichian Chronicle” have nicknamed you “Ed’s missing urban Cinderella” when you disappeared? –she asked, as she was leafing through a newspaper-.
- Yes. I became famous when they caught us kissing last summer at the Arena lobby.

I had been stalked by the Sandwichian reporters for months until I disappeared. It all started when Bob Gausmann, my ex-boyfriend, invited me to the tennis cup finale. The crème de la crème of Sandwich was there to watch the event and of course, Ed was there too. When he saw me with Bob, he became so jealous that he lost his cool and phoned me to meet him at the lobby on the spot. I managed to calm him down and when we patched things up, we hid in a dark corner to kiss. Right after make up sex, there’s nothing like make up kisses. But as soon as his lips touched mine, three reporters came out of the blue flashing their cameras.

- Tonight’s the night to show them that you’re not a poor thing. –said Hellgirl- It will be earthshattering news when it’s official.- What? What will be official? –I asked, very intrigued-
- That you’re Ed’s girlfriend.
I collapsed on the bed.

- AM I??? –I asked in shock-
- I think so. It’s pretty obvious that he has some expectations about you, isn’t it?- He’s just protecting me. I’m now in a difficult position, unemployed and far from home.- Of course. And you have a mission in life that has a lot to do with him.- What mission???
She was about to answer when Percy, her inseparable servant, made a star appearance in the room, wearing his tacky red top hat.

- Long time no see, Leni. I still can’t understand why you date humans again, least of all Ed. He may come up with a marriage proposal and impregnate you five times before you realise it. So honey, my condolences. He’s a hottie but he’s old and immortal also. He has been twice widowed; he’s dark as a dungeon and weird like a twilight vampire! What a nice history you will inherit, luv. You surely deserve someone better. –said Percy-
- Stop the verbal diarrhea, Percy. We all make mistakes. –said Hellgirl, smoking her long golden cigarette-. As the say goes: “If you marry you will regret it. If you do not marry you will regret it. If you marry or do not marry, you will regret it.” –she laughed-. I already had 15 husbands when I started to regret, so it can’t be that bad!- OOOOOH SHUT UP! I’M NOT MARRYING ED!!! –I shouted while they killed themselves laughing-

I was very worried.

- Leni, pull yourself together. I’ve known Ed for 250 years now. He’s neither a dork nor a freaky guy and I’m totally sure that he’s head over heels in love with you. I predict you’ll end up marrying him -and you’ll marry well- but all in goodtime. –said Hellgirl-
- Arrrrgh… will you come off it, please? –I mumbled-
- What? Isn’t he good-looking? –asked Hellgirl-
- Yeah he’s really hot. –I answered-
- Isn’t he filthy rich? –asked Percy again-
- Yes, indeed.
- Then what else can you ask for? If not for the fact that he’s older than God, darker than black and busier than a three-legged cat, he would be perfect. Oh and he gets up to some crazy antics quite often too…
I raised an eyebrow. Percy went on.

- But for better or worse, you love him, Leni. Poor thing. You’re sick of oldermenitis and that turns you into an oldephile.
- What???- That's the opposite to a paedophile. –said Percy- You know, one of these perverts and vicious individuals who like to shag with the older generations… I’m 535 years old, Leni and very open minded to any sexual options if you'd ask… -whispered Percy into my ear-

- You would be the last one I'd ask! -I said-

I was about to shout out again, utter a curse, a harsh abrupt scream. But before I did, Hellgirl warned him:

- Percy, if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll send you to ride the wings of pestilence and doom you to dwell in caves filled with creepy worms and biting bats till the next millenium.- Your threaten sounds like the hackneyed libretto of a bad opera rather than the punishment of a she-devil, Hellgirl. How come you never force me to march naked among the applicants for the title of Miss Universe or arrange a threesome for me with Angelina Jolie, Megan Fox and Lucy Liu, instead?
- That’s a foursome, hamster dick! You’re so stupid that you can’t even count.- Hey guys, stop it. Now. Or I’ll get mad. You sound like dumb and dumber!
They could spend hours fighting over the most stupid things one can imagine.

- I just need to look pretty and witty tonight! Prettier and wittier than Misty! –I cried in despair.-
- Aww… poor thing. Look what you’ve done, Percy: you made Leni cry and you’ve pissed me off. I’m gonna freeze you for a while.
Hellgirl pointed out at him and Percy was frozen on the spot in carbonite, like Han Solo in “The Empire strikes back”.

"Party girl" (U2)

A natural way to get a great night's sleep

2010-06-05T06:10:00.000-02:00

I spent a couple of days resting in Ed’s suite, still dozy in the mornings, tossing and turning in bed in the evenings, experiencing horrible nightmares in which I saw myself swimming in that recurrently familiar hell of blood.

I was terrified of the dark. The temporary disruption of my body's normal biological rhythms was causing me a great deal of inconvenience: I simply couldn’t sleep.

On the first night, I woke up in the middle of my bed screaming and crying. Ed was sleeping next door to mine. When he heard me, he rushed into my room very alarmed.

- What happens, Leni? Did you have a nightmare? –he asked-
- Yes. A horrible one.
He sat beside me and held me.

- You’re now healed from your temporary amnesia, but you’ve gone through a lot of suffering in the last months and you’re still afraid and nervous. Tell me, what's worrying you now? –he asked-
- I can’t sleep, Ed. I mean I'm just scared that if I close my eyes... when I open them... I'm gonna be back in that horrible sea of blood, drowning, running out of air, with all these kids pulling my feet into the blood…- Okay. Then stay with me.
Oops. I didn’t expect that offer.

- Come home with me. When you open your eyes, I'll be there. I won’t touch a hair on your head, if that worries you.- Oh no! –I said, very embarrassed-.

He raised an eyebrow.

- You mean “Oh-no” to “stay with me”? To “I’ll be there when you wake up”? Or to “I won’t even touch you”? –he asked, pretending to be curious but actually teasing me-.

I am absolutely convinced that in a few thousand years from now, the evolution of the human brain –if there is any- will lead to total elimination of language. Men and women will replace verbal communication with telepathy; misunderstandings will be old reminiscences of their long forgotten primitive ancestors. But until that moment arrives, the language and our limited ability to sense by intuition what the others mean will prevail.

As it shows, we were still clearly stuck at this confusing primary stage of verbal communication.

- Ed. I thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I said ‘Oh-no’ because I would be very disappointed if you didn’t even touch a hair on my head from now on. –I laughed-. But I’m afraid that your kind invitation will bring you lots of trouble. You’re a public person. Reporters and photographers will stalk us; the press will start spreading false rumours about you and me and make our life hell if we’re caught together again.
- Do you care about it?- Not particularly. I’m a nobody. But I worry about the consequences that it may bring you.- Firstly, you’re not a nobody. And secondly, you must leave it to me. Tonight we’re celebrating the Kynkybooks’ annual awards ceremony, here in the ship. Would you like to join me to the reception party?- Sure, but…- You will sit beside me at the presidential table. I want everyone to admire you.

- I feel flattered Ed, but I’m not just an ornament…- Of course not! I want you to show everybody that you’re not just a pretty face!
Jeez… I would be rubbing shoulders with the Sandwichian, Orsinian and Burdish top societies and I couldn’t disappoint him: I could neither look like the back end of a bus nor sound like a prize idiot. Not only that: I had to pass the acid test with honours; everybody would be judging me. I suddenly started asking myself what Ed would expect from me.

What do men want from women? Maybe someone whom they can show off to the world? I don’t mean a trophy wife, but someone who makes them proud to be their partner? Does that include necessarily brains, beauty and a nice personality? It’s nearly impossible to be perfect, but guys want everything good to be packed in the same container.

And what do women want from men? Some activity, not only in bed? The big memorable things in our lives along with these little things that really do matter too? Women are demanding indeed, aren’t we?

Just for curiosity... which tribe do you belong to? The one of those that overlook birthdays and anniversaries? That of those who are too busy to return the calls? Or rather the one of the owners of an inbox packed to explosive capacity with unanswered e-mails or sms? Dudes: EVERYONE’S BUSY, so SPLAT!

Little things do matter for women, so if the response time is poor, you haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell: your women will think you’re not interested and move right along into the loving arms of another male predator that proves to be more romantic and attentive. This is the law of the urban jungle: you’ve been warned.

But back to the conversation…

- We’ll be on front page of all the newspapers in Sandwich, Orsinia and Burdishland. –I said-
- That’s is exactly what I want. You’re wonderfully volatile and dangerous like dynamite, Leni. Just be yourself and strike them hard. –he replied-
- What…?
- You heard me. You’re not going to hide anymore.

And what if I wanted to hide? I knew that as soon as I appeared publicly with him, I’d be the target of everybody’s looks. The tabloids and gossip magazines would have enough material to publish for a while.

- Leni, I can get you a personal shopper and my driver will take you to the most exclusive shops downtown. Buy yourself a beautiful evening dress that really suits you well and a pair of high heeled shoes. Go to the hairdresser, to the beauty salon. My secretary will arrange all the necessary appointments for you. - But…
- Please, do it for me. Today I have some delicate matters to solve concerning what has happened to you lately, and you should not be around.
- Why not, if I may ask?
- Because the people I’ve sent to look after you have failed lousily. I need to have a few words with Moebius and Falkenberg and I still have to get even with that bloke who blew amnesic powder on your face. Ruud… whatever the fuck his name is.- Have you… sent people to take care of me? You don’t have to be my babysitter! I can take care of myself!- Sweety… don’t take offence at my remarks but it’s pretty obvious that you can’t. You’re getting into trouble all the time and I won’t discuss this matter with you. Now let’s go to bed again, please. It’s 3am already and we’re tired. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.- No. Sleep with me. Here. In my bed. Please.

He smiled, got into my little twin bed beside me and we started kissing, desperate for each other. I rolled on top of him and quietly gazed into his eyes.

- Ed…
- Hmm…?
- This hard thing here… is it a banana in your pocket? –I asked-
- No, cheeky. It’s a genuine erection in my pocket. Don’t expect a banana if you lay naked on top of me.- So you’re happy to see me, right?- Yes, indeed. I’ve been missing you badly.
Have you ever slept with a curious explorer of the universe, an adventurous tracker by nature? Well, I have. The less he knows, the more he wants to know. And he started some nature observations on me, slowly spreading my legs wide apart and taking his time to have a look.

- You have a nice little pussy, Leni. So tight and soft. And I love it when it’s shaved.
He slid two fingers into me without preliminaries, gently rubbing up the walls in slow circular motion, hooking them deeper inside, as if he were looking for something. I moaned with pleasure. I didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, but in a few seconds he could tell from a look on my face that he had found it.

- Gosh you’re so wet –he said-

He searched deeper with his fingers, until he hit the most unbelievably sensitive spot inside me and I strangled a scream. He tapped it repeatedly, softly, mercilessly, every time a little faster. I let out an even greater moan of pleasure. It wasn't long before he gave me a mind-blowing orgasm. But he didn’t stop there. That magical night the air smelled of desire and curiosity.

I started shagging his fingers like a wild mink, as we kissed. His tongue touched my tongue and entered my mouth, rubbing every corner, sucking on my lips. I went over the edge and squealed with pleasure while he made me come once, twice, thrice... I lost count of how many times. Thank God he stopped after a while or else I would have drowned in a pool of sweat and fallen in total exhaustion.

Scientists would just describe it as a huge endorfin shot in a human brain, but in reality I was back from a trip to the stars; I had been swallowed by a black hole, emerged on the other side of the galaxy and the whole world disappeared in an explosion.

I laid back on the bed in sweet languidness and lassitude with a wondeful feeling of well-being. The intense pleasure sensation hadn’t left me yet. He spooned me, wrapped his arms around me and whispered magic words of love right into my ear until he fell asleep.

I closed my eyes. The sea of blood, the evil kids, the nightmares, the fuzzy dreams never came back.

That glorious night I slept like a baby.

"If only tonight we could sleep" (The Cure)

The Burdish soul

2010-04-19T17:00:00.001-02:00

When I opened my eyes I felt as if I had come back from a trip to Hell, emerging at last from the worst hangover of my life. The vividly horrifying images of my nightmares had left a bitter taste in my mouth and a very sad feeling in my heart. That was the cathartic process I went through before my memories finally found back their place in my mind.

I was naked in bed, covered with thin silk sheets and soft blankets, wrapped in semidarkness. My waitress outfit was carefully folded on a chair. Ed was sleeping on the couch, right in front of me. I had the feeling that he had been right there beside me from the beginning of time, long before I had drunk the sorcerer’s potion.

I didn’t dare wake him up, but I felt I had to let him know that I was myself again. So I got up, gently laid my hands upon his chest and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly.

- Good morning, honey. How do you feel? –he asked-

- I feel good, thanks. –I answered-

- Tell me … can you remember your name?
- Yes. I remember that my name is Leni Qinan, but unfortunately I forgot how to play landlord and maid. What about a refresher course? –I laughed-

- We will play again naughty games very soon, Leni. Let me now enjoy the pleasure of having you near me. I thought I had lost you forever and I need to know that you’re not just a dream.

He was happy, but not in the mood for jokes. I carefully unbuttoned his shirt, straddled him and rested my head on his shoulder.

He enfolded me inside his big leather jacket, wrapped his arms around me and we stood still and quiet for some minutes, skin to skin.

That day I learned what the Burdish soul was.

The good people of Burdishland have endured terrible hardships over the years and borne historic burdens with endless patience, just as they regularly stand the adverse effects of extreme climate, which pretty obviously has an influence on their reserved and shy character.

The average Burdish men and women are quiet and formal; attentive and disciplined. Unfortunately, they don’t much like strangers, as I had been able to notice myself when I visited the country. I felt rejected and ostracized. I've been considered an outsider, an alien, a gaijin, treated like a stranger in the most offensive and derogatory sense.

The Burdish people inherently lead a sad existence: it has long been argued by historians whether or not Burdishland is to blame for causing the major disasters that the world has suffered, resulting in war, death and age-old hatred. But whatever the controversy conclusions might be, the Burdish quietly bear their cross, remaining firm under suffering without yielding, still knowing they will be blamed for ever and ever.

The Burdish are not exactly warmhearted people, but they are emotionally honest. They don’t fake what they feel, which makes them look sometimes harsh, sharp or even rude.

Their language is discouragingly hard to learn; but underneath that barrier and their apparently unyielding temperament, the Burdish people hide a strong sensitivity. They are devoted, committed, sensible people, but unfortunately they seldom show their emotions. Only penetrating deep into the intricate ways to their soul and finding out the exit from that labyrinth, they can become very lovable and endearing.

How do I know all this? As a Southerner who easily laughs, cries and blows up pretty fast, but goes down just as fast, I had to overcome my impatience and take the time necessary to find my way to Ed’s heart. In the core of his essence, and scratching deeper than the surface of his identity, I knew that deep down he was capable of affection and intense warmth in spite of his apparent coldness and lack of feeling.

Rather than just an ordinary Burdish citizen, he was a complex man still in touch with his zeitgeist and mysterious past. This added an irresistible magnetism to his personality.

I had seen him embracing the dark and falling in endless melancholy pools. No human force could drag him out of the blues; he refused my offers of help. He had to overcome it by himself, seeking shelter into his infinite loneliness. But time healed his wounds. And at that precise moment, time was healing a very bad one: extreme fear of losing someone he loved.

So there I was, all naked in the arms of that Burdishman who had been getting on my trail for months and had just found me.

- Don’t ever do that again. -he said-

- What? -I asked-

- Disappear. Promise me you won’t.

- Promised.

- I have something for you.

- Great! I love surprises!

He showed me the wonderful diamond ring he had given me some months ago, when I travelled to Mawi-Mawi.

- You threw it in the well of my house, in Burdishland; then you pawned it in Grytviken. I found it and redeemed it for you. There you go, it’s all yours again.–he said, putting it on the palm of my right hand-

How typical of him to understate his feelings. I always thought that such a beautiful diamond ring should go together with a love proposal.

In my country -the South Sandwich Islands- when a man declares his love to a woman, she expects him to kneel down and tell her that she’s the sweetest woman on earth; that she has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi that makes her unique and special; that he can no longer live without her. At home, this is what we call to be clear.

Well. Each to his own. I wouldn't be discouraged so easily.

- Oh, thanks. What am I supposed to do with it now? -I asked-

- Whatever you want. -he calmly answered-

- Maybe I can pawn it again. I’ll surely need some money when I’m home. I’m now unemployed, you know?

- Leni, I’m not the genie in a magic lamp that you can call as you please to ask for three wishes. I won’t get you the ring back if you pawn it again. If you’re too greedy you’ll end up with nothing. Buddah said: "There is no fire like passion, no shark like hatred, no snare like folly, no torrent like greed".

- Oh, Buddah. You knew him? –I asked, laughing-

- I’m old, but not that old, silly.

Excellent. He was in a good mood again.

- Please tell me what is it you want me to do with the ring. -I asked him seriously-

- I've already told you: you can do whatever you wish. -he answered in an undertone-

- Wrong answer. But I feel generous today and I’ll give you a second chance: please tell me, what is it you want me to do with the ring, Ed?

He laughed, but didn’t answer.

I looked in his eyes and asked directly:

- Would you like me to wear it?

- Yes. -he answered-

- Does it mean that you love me?

- No. It means that I hate you.

I couldn't help wondering whether he was speaking seriously or just joking.

- I hate you like I never hated before in my whole life. I hate you to the top of my strength and more than my words can say. This ring means that I don’t want to wake up in the mornings and see your face beside me; that I don’t want to make love with you; that I don’t want to take care of you for the rest of my life; that I just hope you hate me as much as I hate you.

Touché.

He put the ring around my finger and stared deeply into my eyes for a seeming eternity without even blinking. I couldn’t resist his gaze, but I wished with every fibre of my being that I could melt into him.

- I hate you too, Ed. More than anyone else in the world. –I whispered, smiling-

"Can't take my eyes off you" (Muse)

The sorcerer (II)

2010-03-28T07:47:00.003-02:00

I don’t know how long I had slept when the sorcerer woke me up rubbing one of his dragon amulets against my cheeks. He recited a litany of incomprehensible words as I felt pleasantly drowsy. He dug in his pocket and offered me a tiny black bottle in the shape of a heart.

- I think we’re not late yet. Drink from here. You will recover your memories in a few hours. –he whispered-
- What is this? In plain English, please –I asked-
- An elixir to make you remember. –he said, shaking the bottle before my eyes-
- What’s in this concoction? –I asked-
- The magic that will bring your memories back. Drink it up.
- Hehehe, let me see if it’s marked ‘poison’ first.
- It’s not poison, gel! Drink it up in one gulp. –said the sorcerer, impatiently-
- What if it makes me shrink or grow larger?- It wouldn’t hurt you to grow a bit, but you’re not Alice in Wonderland. Drink. It. Up. Now.

Whe sorcerer realised I didn’t trust him and was reluctant to drink from the bottle. He turned to Ed and said:

- The gel must be willing to drink the potion or it won’t work.
- I’ll take care of this. –said Ed-

Ed took the small bottle in his hand and kneeled down beside me.

- Sweety, please drink it up. I promise it won’t do you any harm. I’ll stay beside you watching your sleep. It’s your last chance.–he said, stroking my cheeks-
- Yeah, ok, but what if he’s another paranormal creature from Hell? This could be poison and I could be dead in a few minutes. –I said, very nervous-.
- It’s not poison. This guy is reliable. He was very famous in my days and I’ve known him in Burdishland.
- My mother always told me not to accept candy from strangers. Least of all would I accept a black bottle of … who knows what this thing is.

He kept silent.

- I’m gonna tell you a funny story: A 500-year old weirdo that I have never seen in my whole life wants me to drink a black concoction that he calls “a magic potion”, to bring back to my mind supposedly deleted memories, that I’m not even sure I have lost. Don’t misunderstand me, dude. What would you do if you were in my shoes? He gives me the shivers! –I said-
- I understand your uncertainty and have no rational explanation for that. But sometimes in our lives, we have to believe and not ask. All I want you to do is trust me. Have faith. –said Ed-

I sighed deep.

- Ok, dude. Don’t ask me why I do it, but I’ll do it.
- Good girl.
- And then, sleep long and deep. As the poet said… what thou seest when thou dost wake, do it for thy true-love take… -said the sorcerer-

I didn’t feel any better after hearing him pronounce that Shakesperian quote from “Midsummer night’s dream” that pictured Titania, the magical beautiful Queen of the fairies, waking up and madly falling in love with a donkey under the effects of an enchantment. That was not very encouraging. And yet I drank the brew. It tasted deliciously sweet and I soon started noticing the effects: I felt terribly drowsy.

- Adieu, my good lady. –whispered the sorcerer-

I was too tired to say anything, so I just waved weakly, fighting off the urge to sleep.

- Mylord, the gel now needs to sleep for at least two days in a warm and cosy bed. Make sure she does. Then, she will regain normalcy.
- From your lips to God’s ears. You will be largely rewarded after she comes back to her normal self.
- Grammarcy, Mylord. May I ask ye something?
- Belike, if I can answer your question …
- Have ye noticed that this woman hath the scent of life about her? Her aura is spectacular and she is allured by irresistible magnetism.
- Yes, Master. I know her very well.
- She’s a lovely kid, but she can be a bit of a handful; nevertheless, I recommend you let her make light in your dark. Ye know what I mean.
- I absolutely know what you mean.- Then, good luck and be well, Mylord. I remain at thy disposal. It’s time for me to go back to my dominions.
- Safe paths, Master.

When the sorcerer left the room, I could hardly keep my eyes open, but I could hear their conversation.

I had fallen in such a state of sluggishness that I could no longer move. Ed carried me in his arms and took me to one of the rooms in his suite. He carefully removed my clothes, put me to bed, covered me with a warm blanket and sat on the edge of the bed.

The rain was drumming on the porthole pane. I felt how the ship moved and remembered a lullaby that my mother used to sing to me at bedtime:

Under the pale reflection of the moon,
In the pirate ship where I was born,
The waves rocked my cradle.
I leaned listening to my mother
Long live the sea, long live the sea.

The song lines repeated over and over in my brain. I curled up in fetal position and fell into deep, restful sleep.

That night I had dreams about dark oceans of blood; people dying and falling in the blood; being pulled into the blood by evil children pretending they were drowning, but in reality trying to make me drown.

Then I saw a big animal jumping on my bed. It had a horrible human face and human arms that grabbed me. I ran outside with this creature on my back.

In my escape, I was hit by a car. The ambulance came, and a medic tried to stick a thin wire into my fingertips and force it through my veins to my heart. I managed to escape but there was nothing but dense fog before me…

But in the morning of the second day, the nightmares ceased as though chased off by the comforting presence in the room of my protector.

I woke up. I opened my eyes and Ed was there, sleeping on an armchair, right in front of me.

"Ripples" (Genesis)

The sorcerer(I)

2010-03-14T07:00:00.014-02:00

- Who are you? And how did we meet?–I asked, staring into his eyes-
- Oh, come on. –he answered, unwillingly-
- My memories of you are deleted. So tell me, who are you?

He sighed.

- I’m Ed Davies. I own a publishing house in South Sandwich and some other businesses in Orsinia. –he said-. You made a stupid deal with Hellgirl, a devil woman you’re friends with. You agreed to write a book for her if she brought Bob, your boyfriend, back to you. She entrusted me with the publication of your book and she would get the earnings. I just followed her instructions and contacted you.

My face radiated. For a moment, I walked on a cloud thinking I was a published writer.

- Have I published a book? –I asked, very excited-
- I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but you haven’t. I wrote it for you to pay your debt with Hellgirl. But it’s a long story.

Gosh I was friends with a devil woman and this guy had saved my soul writing a book!

- It seems I have an interesting life.
- Sure, you can’t complain.
- Go on. Tell me more about yourself.
- Oh Leni, is this really necessary?
- Yes, it is.
- I was born in Burdishland and live in the South Sandwich Islands.
- How old are you? Hm… you must be fortyfivish… -I said staring at him-

He laughed.

- No, I’m quite older.
- Forty-six? –I said, smiling and getting closer to him-
- If I’d tell you what my real age is you would die of a heart attack, so wait until the sorcerer comes and you recover your real identity. Believe me, you already knew everything about me.
- Give me some refresher hints, please. I’m a poor amnesic woman who has forgotten everything. –I asked, pretending to pout but smiling then-

He laughed again and looked down.

- This is one of the things I like most about you. You’re so curious and funny; so alive.
- Stop flattering me and tell me, how old are you? Are you married? Do you have kids? What do you do in your spare time?
- Fuck, Leni if I told you all this you’d get scared the hell out of me and I would lose you again!

He sighed deep and sipped his long drink.

- I’m 297 years old. I married twice and was widowed twice too. I had four children, but they’re all gone.

I nearly fell off my chair laughing.

- Dude, do you know that you’re really talented for gothic pitch-black humour and horror movies? That was fun but stop teasing me, will you?
- Yeah, I’ll stop teasing you. –he said, looking down-

But no, that was not a joke and he was not teasing me. That was his real story and he didn’t want to talk about it. The world we were living in was no longer ordinary, but notoriously weird. We were just two tiny pawns lost in the fight between good and evil.

He was saved by the bell: it was providential that the transparent butler made his appearance with a gloomy individual who wore what appeared to be a shiny magical armour over his black cloak. He wore chunky chains and layers of necklaces dripping with amulets. His hands were full of rings.

- Mylord… Master Nikolae the Long is here. –announced the butler-
- Good den, Mylord. Good morrow, my lady – said the sorcerer, greeting Ed and me-
- Good den, Master. How fare thee? Welcome to my chambers. I disposed to call you with the purpose of breaking a major spell that has been cast on this gel. It has been brought to my knowledge that thou art reputed to be the best in thy field. –said Ed. bowing at him-
- My modesty prevents me from declaring my services as the best, Mylord. But mayhap… -said the sorcerer, bowing too-

They both laughed.

- Please, be me guest. I will introduce thou to the hexed gel. –said Ed-
- Aye, Mylord.

Oh gosh, they spoke old English, just like in Dungeons and Dragons, Tunnels and Trolls, Medieval Fantasy, Gor and all the games I used to play in my teenage role player years! At least I could take advantage of all the hours spent as a basilisk, an elf woman, a female zombie or whatever creature the gamemaster would assign me.

I could follow and speak the same language, which surprised Ed and pleased the sorcerer.

- What be your name, kid? –asked the sorcerer-
- Nicolette Bixby, Sir. –I answered-
- Excuse me but, she thinks that’s her name, but her real name is Leni. -interrupted Ed immediately-
- Aye. Methinks thou art very pretty… by my troth! –said the sorcerer-
- Verily, she is so. –said Ed-
- Grammarcy, you are kind, Sir. -I thanked them-
- Master; call me Master, please. And don’t forget to bow at the Lord. Come hither, gel.

I approached him and couldn’t resist the temptation to ask:

- Dude. Tell me something. You can speak modern English, can’t you?
- Of course I can. – he chuckled-
- Then why do you use the old language? We’re in 2010, not in 1500.
- Because modern English doesn’t taste good in my mouth. –he answered with disdain-.

Gosh, was he arrogant and scary! I called it quits and softly bowed at Ed. I noticed he had to make an effort not to split his sides laughing. The sorcerer smiled at me and I approached him, not very confident. He took my face in his hands and stared into my eyes. His mesmerising look sucked all the energy out of my body and I fainted.

Tangerine dream “Impresions of sorcerer"

Discussing sex track records

2010-02-21T07:00:00.010-02:00

- Don’t gossip behind my back! – I begged in despair- Please, tell me what’s happening to me!

Ed sighed deep and smiled at me with infinite patience.

- The guy in the elevator blew some kind of amnesic powder on your face, so that you would forget your most recent memories. You’re now hexed and I’m making some arrangements for you to recover your memories. Then, you’ll be free to do as you please. At any rate, when you become Leni again, we need to talk.

“We need to talk” actually sounded more like “you better listen” and in my circumstances it was quite scary. I had some curiosity about my supposed relationship with him:

- We need to talk about what? -I asked-
- It’s a long story. You’re no longer the person I used to know now, so I’d rather talk about it when you get back to yourself, provided that the spell can be broken.

It was clear that to speak to me about our past in these circumstances, as if I had been struck by a mysterious disease that would have changed me into a different person, was cruelly distressing.

- You said before that we were a lot more than friends and a bit less than lovers. Did we ever …? –I asked-
- What? Had sex, perhaps? –he asked back-

I nodded.

- Yes, we’ve had. –he answered-
- And what was it like, if I may ask –I asked, evily-

Would he be the “bam-wham-and-thank-you-Sam” type? Or would he rather be the kind to send roses and play mandolins under windows? I was curious like a cat.

- I don’t know what it was like for you; for me it was… intoxicating passionate and extremely tender. –he said, smiling softly-

Contrary to what I expected, I concluded that he belonged to an endangered species: he had feelings! How wrong I had been to believe all my life that men lacked sensitivity except on the shaft of their dick, especially in their mature years.

I always thought that it's in the male nature to shag first and feel later, if they did feel anything at all; that sex comes easy and that most times, when a guy romances a woman, it’s just for a shag later on, and no-thing else.

And this one was talking to me about tenderness and passion.

I blushed to real red. How come my brain had missed what appeared to be such a wonderful experience?

My heart told me that he expected from me at least a short comment; a small detail about our relationship; the indulgence of a tiny memory. But I was completely unable to find a trace of him in my mind.

- Tell me something, Leni… You now know a lot about my past, but I don’t know much about yours. Let’s try a small memory effort. Tell me a secret… how many lovers have you had during your young life?

I gasped in amazement.

- Hey! It’s extremely unfair to take advantage of a poor amnesic woman to rummage through her past! -I complained-
- Just make a little effort. -he said-
- Ok, as far back as I can remember… I first had sex at college, when I was seventeen, with one of my classmates. When did you had sex for the first time?
- It's hard to tell... In my land and during my days it used to be very different. I was young and foolish. We still had the "droit du Seigneur" and I used it many times, though I’m not exactly proud of it.
- The "droit du Seigneur"? What’s that?
- Ius primae noctis. You’ve never heard of that, haven't you? Well, you’re not missing much. Forget it.

In the times of the feudal lords, the “droit du Seigneur”, "ius primae noctis", or most recently, "the lord's right", was an alleged legal right allowing the lord of an estate to take the virginity of the estate's virgins.

The origins of this barbaric pagan tradition are blurred, but it reached its peak in the Middle Ages, where it spread all over Europe, including Burdishland, paradoxically known as the cradle of the civilised world. Legend tells that in the 16th century, ius primae noctis was replaced with a bridal tax in Scotland. On the other hand, as late as the early 20th century, Kurdish chieftains in Western Armenia still reserved the right to bed Armenian brides on their wedding night.

- Enough about me. Tell me what happened then. –he asked-

Then I whispered to myself, looking down and slowly counting on my fingers:

- Then I had Paul… Martin… Steve… John… Neil… Pete… Dave… Bob… and another one whose name and face I can’t remember.

That triggered his quiet fear and inner anger.

- I’m not surprised that you’ve had such a nice track record, Miss Shagsalot; just to look at yourself. I presume I’m the one whose name and face you can’t remember. –he said, sharply-
- I don’t do it on purpose.
- That’s a good thing! You never cease to amaze me Leni. How can you possibly remember so well all these dorks that never meant anything to you but cannot remember me?

He had probably had a gazillion young maids by using that notorious ius primae noctis privilege, and yet he was jealous like hell and possessive as a viper when it came to talk about my past suitors! His irrational self was quietly screaming pain and anger.

But he asked for that. I tried to re-enact in my mind the map of all my past relationships. I could see a bunch of faces, names, occasional dates, boyfriends, love affairs, one-night stands… but he was not among them!

- Who are you? –I asked, staring into his eyes-
- Oh, come on. –he answered, unwillingly-
- My memories of you are deleted. I want to know who are you.

"Who are you?" (The Who) ((I know, too predictable, but this track is still great. ))

Illustrations:

First picture: "Gossip" by Ray Caesar
Second picture: "Amnesia". Photomontage by visual artist Jennifer K. Mulcahy

http://www.jenniferkmulcahy.com.

Hexed

2010-01-31T07:00:00.001-02:00

- I’m the man who loves you. –he said-

I had to hold on tight to the side of the table, because I started shaking like a leaf when he said that. The guy got me really flustered. He gazed into my eyes with his piercing look and I couldn’t think straight.

WOW.

Not happy with his stunning sentence, he took a short pause to breathe and continued to speak slowly.

- I can’t believe you have forgotten me just like that, Leni.

He said that in a low tone of voice; sadly; looking down. I flung myself into the armchair, squirming with embarrassment. My short skit and lace petticoat fluttered in my fall. Two buttons of my ridiculously tight blouse popped and broke. He fixed his eyes on my cleavage.

- Dude, I give up. You may be the man who loves me; my brother; the butcher or even the bloke who has impregnated me ten times, but I can’t even remember your face. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you, capisce? –I said rudely-

Can rudeness ever be polite? Of course the answer is no. I knew I had hurt him and I regretted my harsh words on the spot.

He sat back on the sofa, far from me and said:

- Listen to what I’m saying, please. Maybe this will help you remember who you are and where you come from. Your real name is Leni Qinan, not Nicolette Bixby. That’s a fake name you paid for when you thought you could get in trouble. You were born and lived in South Sandwich all your life. You worked four years as a lawyer for the Dumbass Industries. Your ex-boss, Harry Balls, aka Big Cheese, used to bully you and one day you decided to take three weeks off, pretending you had chicken pox. But in reality you went to Mawi-Mawi, where you were detained in the police station for going topless on the beach. Unfortunately, when you were released, your picture had been published in the Sandwichian newspapers. You boss caught you cheating and fired you. He banned you from the job market by spreading all kinds of false rumours about your supposed disloyalties. You’ve been unsuccessfully job hunting for six months and when you gave up all hopes, you ended up asking Hellgirl for help. She introduced you to his friend Demonius High, from the firm High, Low & Partners. They both had the great idea of hiring you as a social escort, in order to entertain his VIP customers. That included having sex with them, if requested. Your first and only client was Leonard Ellison, the Orsinian tycoon. He had two Viagras and you gave him two strong soporifics to prevent him from shagging you. Does that ring a bell?

Yes, I vaguely remember that night. I nodded. He continued talking.

- You decided to quit the job when Demonious forced you to take pictures of Leonard having sex with you, because you suspected that he would use them to blackmail him. That same night you disappeared in the ferry to the North Sandwich Islands.
- I never had sex with him! And I never took these pictures!–I said, a bit annoyed-
- Good for you, then! I’m not judging you! –he said, very upset-

That was a very accurate summary of my latest history. My gray matter was restoring its memory steadily without a break.

I was starting to remember but suddenly, my empathic brain sensed a new kind of emotion in that man’s heart: fierce jealousy. The green eyed monster was eating his soul from the inside.

- I remember that just some minutes ago someone blew silver itching powder into my face when I came upstairs. My eyes are still sore. –I said-
- Ok NOW this starts making sense… Tell me the name of the bastard, please.
- Why should I? What’s the matter?
- Leni, Nicolette… or whatever you think your name is… tell me who was that guy.
- One of my coworkers.
- Do you remember his name?
- Yes.
- What was it?
- Ruud.
- Good girl. Now Ruud what?
- I don’t know, sir –I cried, frightened-
- Oh shit, stop calling me sir, for fuck’s sake!!! –he shouted-

He immediately regretted having yelled at me. He turned back, ashamed and whispered:

- Please, excuse my disturbing you. I’m very troubled. But that is no excuse. Accept my sincere apologies.

An expectant silence filled the room. What could I say?

- So Ruud. I’ll find that asshole. He gave you amnesic powder. He’ll pay dearly for this. We need a sorcerer.-he said-
- A sorcerer! What for??? -I asked, a bit scared-
- To break the spell. It’s pretty obvious that you’ve been hexed. Otherwise you won’t be able to remember your past anymore. And then, this Ruud will get his comeuppance.

He meant a real sorcerer. When I was little, I saw “The sorcerer’s apprentice”, Mikey Mouse’s funny interpretation of Goethe’s poem with Dukas’ music in the background, in the beautifully strange film “Fantasia”. That day I learned that nobody should meddle with things they don’t understand.

Some years later, like all the kids of my age, I frantically played Monkey Island, Indiana Jones and the fate of Atlantis in my computer and… of course, Simon the Sorcerer: the only sorcerer I ever had something to do with.

- These are nothing but silly superstitions! –I said in anger-
- You don’t even know who you are. What other evidence you need? –he said, staring at me-.

At that point, I started throwing one of the biggest tantrums I’ve ever had in my whole life.

- And what will you do now? Call Harry Potter? Gandalf the Gray? Merlin the wizard? -I asked-
- Ok, dream on, smarty pants. But I’ll bring your memory back. –he answered-
- Listen, Mr. Whatever the Fuck Your Name is: my life was plain and ordinary until I entered this room. Will you please let me go and forget what has happened here forever?
- Wake up and smell the coffee, Leni. Your memory has been deleted and you can’t remember that your life has neither been plain nor ordinary. You’ve been blessed with the gift of life and you’re expected to complete an important assignment that hasn’t been revealed to you yet. Your fate is inevitably linked to mine and I can’t –I won’t- let you go, whether you like it or not. You don’t believe me now, do you? I don’t give a shit. I have time to wait until you realize it.

The gift of life? An important assignment that hadn't been revealed to me yet? Our fate linked together? What the hell was all that nonsense?

Suddenly, a strange guy came into the room. He was a solemn, skinny and serious being. From his clothes, I presumed he was the butler. But his most remarkable feature was that he looked like a hologram: his whole body was transparent. You could see through him in the most literal sense of the word!

- Is there anything you need, Mylord? –he asked-
- Yes, Stoicescu. We need to go back to South Sandwich immediately. Miss Qinan is joining us. She will need her own room in this suite and of course, new clothes according to her style. And I urgently need to speak to Nicolae the Long.

The transparent guy turned back to face me and greeted:

- It’s a real pleasure to meet you again, Miss Qinan.
- Don’t bother speaking to her. She’s been hexed and can't remember her past. This is why she’s being a bit silly and is so pissed off. -said Ed-

I looked at them out of the corner of my eye and shouted with rage:

- I’m not being silly!!!
- Oh, poor thing. My cousin was hexed by a witch with a major spell in 1516. His hair and nails turned to blue; he got a beak growing around his mouth; he forgot the language. All he could do was quacking. He didn’t recover his powers of speech until Nicolae the Long could break the spell, three weeks later. -said the butler, looking at me-
- That’s why we need him here to help her regain normalcy. -said Ed-
- Wait a minute guys… what do you mean 1516? We’re in 2010! And what’s all this nonsense about sorcerers dressed in cloaks and pointy hats? –I shouted-

They didn’t take any notice of what I said and walked to the other side of the room.

- You’ll have to excuse her. She doesn’t really mean what she’s saying. She’s a different creature now but she will be as sweet, witty and nice as ever when the spell is broken. Meanwhile, find me the sorcerer and please arrange it for him to come here as soon as possible.

The butler nodded and disappeared down the corridor.

"I don't even know myself" (The Who)

The Queen of Kookamonga (III)

2010-01-17T07:00:00.031-02:00

- I thought I'd never see your lovely brown eyes again, Leni. You look beautiful as a rose – he said, stroking my left cheek with one finger-

My brown eyes were round; glaring; big as saucers; bigger than ever, I’d say. I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t know who that man was and why he was taking the liberty of stroking my cheek. I hadn’t seen him in my whole life and yet he spoke to me in such a casual and familiar way. And he was calling me… Leni?

- Excuse me, sir, but you must be mistaking me for someone else. My name is Nicolette, not Leni. –I said, as I placed the tray on the coffee table-.

He roared with laughter.

- I always loved your wonderful sense of humour sweetheart, but I could spank you just for that.

Spank me! That was some fun I wouldn’t share just with anyone! We had just met and he was already treating me as if we'd been lovers for years! And he was about to start taking liberties! Maybe Ruud was right after all when he said that some passengers in the ship would secretly want to shag me. I asked myself if this particular guy was one of them. Just in case, I pressed the ridiculously short skirt of my small outfit against my butt. As if it were going to help.

- You don’t know how hard it has been for me to find you, love. Let’s share this delicious breakfast. –he said, intending to hold me in his arms-

I stepped back quickly.

- I’m… sorry, sir. Excuse me if I insist, but I’m afraid that I don’t know you. I do appreciate your tempting offer, but I’m not allowed to share breakfast with the ship’s passengers. I work here and I’m on duty.

Hoping my excuses would calm him down I walked to the exit door, discreetly but quickly, intending to leave the room as soon as possible.

- Oooh you want to play a bit, sweetheart, don’t you? Ok, let’s play landlord and maid! –he laughed, running behind me-.
- I’m sorry, sir, but as I said before I don’t know you and I must be going now. I have some tasks to do and if I’m late I risk to lose my job. –I said, rushing behind the dining table-

Landlord and maid? Really, my kinky side was a hidden treasure that I had reserved only to a selected few over the years.

I felt as if he was playing rabbit stalking instead. The guy was fast and big and obviously, he caught me soon. He grabbed me in his arms from behind and started kissing my neck. I kicked my legs in the air and begged him to leave me alone, shouting in fear that I didn’t know who he was. He stopped harrassing me on the spot and left me standing on the floor, putting his hands up, clearly showing that he had no intention to molest me.

- Ok Leni. As you like it. Game over. –he said, quite disappointed-

The truth is I couldn’t even remember my real name at that moment. After a deathly silence, he fell on his knees, helpless. He sweetly kissed my hands and pulled me closer to him. I went bright red.

- My name is Nicolette, sir. Not Leni. And please, stop kissing my hands. –I insisted, as I withdrew them-
- Hey, sweetheart, don’t tease me. You’re Leni Qinan, my sweet and dear Leni, from Grytviken in the South Sandwich Islands.
- I’m Nicolette Bixby.
- Nicolette what? My arse! Who do you think you are, the Queen of Kookamonga? You’re Leni, my Leni. –he said, desperately-

The Queen of Kookamonga must have been a very famous celebrity, surely surrounded by glitz and glamour, which marked the North Sandwichian life. I vaguely remembered someone call me that before, but I couldn’t tell who and when.

- You don’t know what an ordeal I’ve been through to find you since you disappeared from South Sandwich. I could have saved you all the terrible things you’ve been through. Why didn’t you call me? Now look into my eyes and tell me once again that you don’t know who I am. –he said-
- I’m sorry, sir. I can look into your eyes as much as you wish, but I swear to God this is the first time I see you in my whole life. –I said, looking down, in tears-
- You really don’t remember me? How can this possibly happen? We were a lot more than friends and just a bit less than lovers.

I was terrified. I didn’t know whether I was the victim of a great deception or my past history was dissolving into my brain. I decided to believe the first option.

- I’m sorry, sir. I just came here to deliver your breakfast. Surely the male receptionists of the ship will be able to send you some nice female company, if that’s what you wish. –I whispered-

Like Hulk -except for the green face and the torn clothes- he suddenly became furious and lost it completely.

- What??? I want nobody but you, Leni! I’ve been months in a desperate search for you since you disappeared without a trace, after selling your flat off cheaply and pawning the diamond ring I gave you. I’m Ed, Ed Davies. I need to know that you haven’t forgotten me. –he said, freaking out-

Unfortunately, his name didn’t tell me anything. And what could i say about the rest. Did I have a flat and a diamond ring? I was very confused.

- I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t remember you. –I said, looking down-.
- Have you forgotten how we used to dream? How we loved each other?

I looked down in silence. I felt very sorry for him. I would have loved to tell him that I remembered him, but that couldn’t be possible.

- Has Hellgirl put a hex on you? –he asked-
- Who is Hellgirl? –I said-
- It’s ok, forget it. It’s clear to me that something has happened to your memory. Don’t take it wrong but… have you hit your head recently? Has someone cast a spell on you? Have you taken drugs? –he asked, in despair-
- No, this hasn’t happened to me and I haven’t done any of these things.
- Maybe you’ve had a tad of them and don’t remember now. –he laughed-

He made me laugh. He had a sense of humour. And guys with a sense of humour have so much spunk in life.

- Maybe. –I smiled- But tell me… who are you… Ed?

He smiled and looked down.

- I’m the man who loves you.

"I'm the man who loves you" ( Wilco, Live in Chicago, Lollapalooza 2006)

The Queen of Kookamonga (II)

2010-01-01T11:00:00.001-02:00

As I was waiting for the elevator, among a group of waiters and waitresses, the guy behind me approached me and whispered in my left ear:

- Hey, lil’ one. Are you new here?

I turned back to face him and answered:

- Yes. It’s my first day. And you?
- I’ve been working in the ferry for ten years now. My name is Ruud.

We couldn’t shake hands as we carried our trays, so we bowed. I couldn’t help thinking that Ruud sounded a bit like… “rude”.

- Nice to meet you, Ruud. I’m Nicolette.
- Nice to meet you, Nicolette. How’s things? –he asked-

I laughed and looked down.

- I still don’t know. –I said-
- If you experience any problems with the Big Shots and look for revenge, you can always spit in the milk or pee in the coffee. I’ve done it a zillion times. It won’t solve anything but will help you let off steam. –he suggested-
- Dude, that’s revolting! –I said-
- Not when you see how incompetent they are to do any real work and how good they are at fucking up the work of others, just by smoking too much, talking on the cell phone all the time, telling you what to do and what not to do and getting paid ten times more than you to do so. Apart from realising one fine day that they secretly want to fuck you.

Oops. Except for this last sentence –which would have made me throw up on his shoes immediately-, he could have very well described the performance of the long forgotten, always hated and never missed Big Cheese, my ex-boss.

- But tell me: what have the guests done to deserve spittle and wee in their breakfast mugs? –I asked-
- Wait until you meet them: the vast majority is a bunch of narrow minded idiots. Just wait and see how the posh egocentrical assholes treat you like shit as soon as you enter their suites carrying their breakfast tray.

I was a bit shocked by the ebullient speech. I could see the red glow of his eyes and the swelling of the veins in his neck as he spoke. The guy was getting really worked up. There was no doubt that he had gone through very demeaning experiences in the guestrooms during his years in the ferry.

- Are you from the Unions? I must tell you that I really appreciate and respect your work, but I warn you: you won’t convince me to join, so put a sock in it, will you?
- I’m not a Unionist. I belong to the only genuinely and incorruptible secret workers’ association in this island: the Sandwichian People’s Front.
- And what do you and your friends do?
- We struggle to get decent work conditions for the people in North Sandwich.

As I said: a trade unionist in disguise. The situation reminded me very much of a Monty Phyton’s terrific gag in “Life of Brian”: the Judean People’s Front Suicide Squad –those who stabbed themselves in a proud fit of dignity and patriotism right under Brian’s nose, desperately hoping to be saved from sure death by crucifixion-. That Ruud and his protest strategies appeared to be as lonely and ludicrous as the Judean Squad in the movie.

- Don’t misunderstand me, dude. I’m not exactly a rightie but I’ve had my ups and downs with the Trade Unions in the past and swore to God not to mix with them again. So you can save the commie sermon because it sounds like Jurassic Park to me. You know: collective bargaining, strikes and all. Something I don’t need to hear.
- Uh oh, what have we got here? What a smarty pants! Do you really know what that was?
- I don’t think I even had full use of reasoning at that time.
- You probably were not even at the Great Sperm Race in these days.

I gasped in surprise at his rude remark. He smirked.

- There’s no need to be rude. -I whispered-
- I didn’t mean to be rude, lil’ one. But I can’t help it. I am actually Ruud.

He laughed at the pun. But I didn’t think it was that funny.

- Nice outfit –he said, pointing at my clothes-
- They gave me this one -which is too tight for me- because they say it makes me look sexy. But I can’t even breathe. –I said, pointing in the kitchen’s direction-
- The sods! I’ll get you a bigger one. You can call me if you need help –he said, slipping a piece of paper into my pocket, where he had noted down his cell phone number in big red figures-. And don’t forget that you can always spit in the milk or pee in the coffee.

This was what I call an innovative solution for hard times. It was pretty obvious to me that there was social unrest at the ferry company.

Ruud and I waved goodbye when the lift stopped at the second level, where I had to deliver the tray. But before I left the elevator, he dug in his pocket and took a handful of silvery powder that he gently blew on my face. A soft shiny cloud rained on my eyelashes, cheeks, nose and lips. I protested weakly and tried to shake the powder off my face. I had to leave the tray on the floor, shut my eyes and rub them furiously. All of a sudden I felt a slight dizziness and had the weird feeling that something undefined was blotted out of my mind; something that was definitely missing, leaving a big blank space in my memory. When I took the tray again, he said with an evil smile on his face:

- Merry Christmas, Nicolette.
- Merry Christmas, Ruud. – I answered, still dizzy and puzzled-

I walked down the corridor, looked for Suite nº 20, knocked on the door and waited.

A tall man with long dark hair in a maroon gown opened the door. He appraised me from top to bottom and greeted me with bedroom eyes. His sensual seductive looking glance told me he was in the mood for something romantic.

- Room service. Your breakfast, sir. -I said, putting the tray on the coffee table-
- I thought I would never see your lovely brown eyes again, Leni. You look beautiful as a rose.

His blue-greyish eyes beamed; his smile gleamed. I felt a wonderful mixture of shyness and satisfaction and that butterfly feeling in my stomach. I felt like a queen in that room, though I had never seen that man before in my whole life and didn't really know who that Leni he mentioned was.

"Somerset house" (Tindersticks)

The Queen of Kookamonga (I)

2009-12-06T07:00:00.021-02:00

I asked the Archie man to come nearer and collect the money for my coffee and cookies, but he didn’t accept it:

- It’s on the house, sweety, on condition that you come back tomorrow. Have a nice start at work and don’t take any notice of what I said before. –he said-
- About the missing persons and weird things happening in that ship? –I asked-
- Right. That was just a joke. You shouldn't believe everything I say. Sometimes I’m a bit of a smartass.

He laughed. But I didn’t think it was funny. Once you say something, you can’t take it back. What is said just cannot be unsaid. So “what the hell is wrong with the Ice Flower?” was the question I couldn’t get out of my head since he warned me about the weird things that he said were actually happening there. But he had decided to keep his mouth firmly shut.

- Ok Archie. Thanks for the coffee. I promise to be back tomorrow if I haven’t vanished off the face of the earth.

I walked towards the Ice Flower, now all covered with banners announcing the III Annual Kynkybooks Awards. It was a beautiful ship and had a touch of extravagance and distinction. I slipped in the reception area by accident and stood right in the middle of it, dumbfounded and dazzled by the glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the panoramic glass elevators and the walls covered with perfectly polished walnut panels.

I enjoyed the scenery, but couldn’t go too far. A security guard stopped me and asked:

- Can I see your papers, Miss?
- Of course! Mr. Falkenberg sends me; I’m looking for Mr. Diederick Panekooeke, the kitchen manager.

- Mr. Falkenberg who?

My words didn’t seem to impress him in the slightest bit. I gave him my documents and he had a thorough look. He took his list, ticked my name and said:

- Bixby… yes, you’re here. Take the lift downstairs to level four, where the kitchen is –he said, pointing at the staff door-.

The Ice Flower had nothing to do with popular cruise ships like the Jewel of the Waters, or the King of the Oceans, where half of the South Sandwichian middle-class families –including mine- had spent their summer holidays swimming, playing golf and gambling at the casino at affordable prices. But the Ice Flower was much more than a normal cruise ship: it had class.

The journey consisted of sailing on a short trip to the remotest harbours in the North Sandwich islands, reserved for a selected few. But I was not among them. I was there for work, not for pleasure.

So I crossed the staff door and when I found the kitchen, I witnessed an amazing scenery. The atmosphere was frantic: boiling pots steaming and pressure cookers whistling; cooks giving instructions to kitchen assistants; kitchen assistants sprinkling exclusive spices in huge saucepans; huge saucepans where gallons of oil heated and splutted.

A zillion helpers chopped meat and vegetables. Waiters and waitresses tray carried fast like there was no tomorrow.

Diederick Panekkoeke the Great managed everything from his watchtower. It was easy to tell who he was. He didn’t miss anything. That skinny, tall, pale guy gesticulated nervously; he carried a big log book and noted everything, shouting orders to everybody around. When he saw me, he asked:

- Are you the new waitress?

Without even waiting for my answer, he rushed down the stairs and said:

- Come over here, dear. Put a uniform on and start tray carrying to the passenger’s cabins. They’re waiting for their breakfast.
- Ehm… sorry, but I’m not the new waitress, sir. I come for the kitchen hand job. Mr. Falkenberg sends me.

Diederick Panekkoeke stared at me, as as if he hadn’t heard what I just said, pulled a long face and said very slowly with a dirty look:

- Who do you think you are? The Queen of Kookamonga? Put. That. Uniform. On. NOW.

His threatening voice sounded scary as he pointed at me with his finger, failing to touch my nose tip by just an inch. At that very moment, several questions came to my mind:

Firstly: was Falkenberg really the ship owner’s brother? Nobody seemed to know him there, and what was worse: he didn’t appear to be either powerful or respected in the ship.

Secondly: was Diederick Pannekoeke supposed to be the nice guy who would hire me and never overwork me, in Falkenberg's words? He sounded rather more like a tyrannical SOB who would exploit all the kitchen staff without mercy.

And last, but not least: Was I going to be a one-woman band, good at everything but expert at nothing? First a waitress and then a kitchen helper? Or maybe a dry cleaner? That was not exactly what I had been told.

With friends like those, I didn’t need enemies.

Diederick’s eyes threw daggers at me for having objected to his organisational scheme. I didn’t even dare protest, so impressed I was by his imposing presence. One of his hoodlums came up on the spot with a complete waitress outfit hanging from a coat hook.

- There you go, sweety. –said Dierderick-. Remove those horrible old baggy trousers, white t-shirt and faded black cardigan. This is your new kitchen outfit: a cute short-sleeved white blouse, princess style; a soft black velvet short skirt with white lace petticoats; white stockings, garter belts and black buckle shoes. Oh, and don’t forget the cap on top of your beautiful hairstyle. It’s a very sexy outfit, worthy of Cinderella. Now MOVE. There’s a lot to do.

Deiderick’s assistant escorted me to the dressing room. I changed clothes and when he saw me in the waitress outfit, he said:

- Great, but I’ll give you a smaller size. You’ll look even more sexy and get better tips in tight clothes, shorty.

How thoughtful. I wore the smaller size, but the buttons looked like they would be going to pop and break as soon as I’d try to breathe inside that junior petite uniform. What would the Waitress’ Unions think about this?

- How does it grab you? –he asked-
- I can’t breathe –I answered-
- Don’t talk nonsense. You look absolutely cute.

And that was that. I had to wear the Barbie waitress uniform because he bloody well said so.

I was told to take the tray marked “Deck 4, Level 2, Suite 20”. A beautiful ceramic tray with an energy breakfast worthy of a king: coffee, milk, orange juice, a toasted bread and pastry basket, cold meat and sausages, scrambled eggs, fruit jam and a honey bowl. The dishes and glassware were made of china and fine crystal. The silver cutlery shone like a star. The napkins were made of the softest Egyptian satin cotton. There was a delicate porcelain jar with a beautiful red rose in the middle of all these tasty delicacies.

I lined up behind my co-workers carrying that heavy tray. Everybody was given precise instructions about the rooms to be served. We all crossed the flip flap door at the speed of the light towards the elevators. We were told to line up and get organised by decks and levels. I had to take the fourth elevator.

"Eggs and sausage" (Tom Waits)

At the Grub'n Booze Cafe

2009-11-22T07:00:00.114-02:00

When the bus dropped me off at the harbour, it was 7 am. It’s my habit to arrive always earlier than originally planned, just in case; even more when I’m worried.

I stopped on the docks for a coffee. Right on my way, I found a big sign on the sidewalk that read:

“The Grub’n Booze Café opens most days at 6 or 7; but sometimes as early as 5am; though occasionally, it could be as late as 10; maybe 11.

The Grub’n Booze Café closes every evening about 9 or 10pm; perhaps at 7 or 8; even at 11. Some days we’re gone fishing; but lately, some other days we’re around most of the time, except when we’re somewhere else.”

The author of these unfathomable paragraphs displayed a twisted, rather brilliant, sense of humour. They made me smile. And this was my lucky day: 7 am and the Grub’n Booze Café was open.

I had a look inside. The place had its charm, but it was weird as everything in North Sandwich: the glassware, dinner sets and cutlery were strangely shaped, but they had mouth-watering cakes and incredibly yummy biscuits called pannekoekies in the Northern language, which was slightly different from my Southern native dialect. Or perhaps it was the other way around: they certainly thought it was me the weird one, not them. Everything is relative. It all depends on how you look at it.

Talking about swimming against the tide, I noticed that hardly anybody took the bus in North Sandwich. The vast majority of locals moved about by bicycle. They drove carefully in a parallel lane to the road, driving odd bikes with baskets, shopping trolleys, baby seats and other useful accessories on the handlebar.

Come hail, rain, snow, sleet or high winds, North Sandwichians cycled to go to work, to go shopping, to take their kids to school; they even cycled to walk their dogs.

It was clear that if I wanted to pass unnoticed, I should have to buy myself one of those as soon as I’d make enough money, or better find me a second hand one, because my budget was really skinny for the moment. But when in Rome... I should do as the Romans did.

The harbour was very busy and I could perfectly see the “Ice Flower” ferry from my position at the Grub’n Booze Café. I ordered a cappuccino. The guy behind the counter said:

- Sorry sweety, but we only have Northwiccinos here.
- What’s a Northwiccino? –I asked-
- A tasty delicacy of my invention: a North Sandwichian cappuccino. I sprinkle it with cocoa powder, icing sugar and cinnamon.
- That sounds very delicious! Then, I'll have a Northwiccino with one of these cookies. –I said, pointing at them-
- We call them pannekoekies. You’re not from here, right, Missy?
- Ehm… no.
- Are you Southerner?
- Yes. I didn’t realise it was so apparent.

The guy introduced himself, trying to break the ice.

- My name is Archimedes Smith, but you can call me Archie. My wife Elektra and I are the owners of this humble tavern. Elektra cooks and bakes the panekoekies. Since I’m not as talented as she is, I only serve the grub and booze to our distinguished clientele. We’re aliens too, from the East corner of Burdishland.

In just ten words he had updated me on his life. Elektra Smith waved hello from the back door.

- Pleased to meet you, Elektra and Archimedes. By the way, I suppose you have nothing to do with the famous principle of physics…
- You mean that when a body is immersed in liquid, it receives an upward thrust from the bottom towards the top, equal to the weight of the displaced liquid and blah blah blah? –he asked-

That man didn’t cease to amaze me.

- I wouldn’t have expressed it better. –I answered-
- I’ll tell you a secret: Archimedes the Great was my most famous ancestor. The family pride and joy. And sorry but… I think I haven’t heard your name yet…
- Nicolette Bixby.
- Pleased to meet you, Nicolette. Tell me, what brings you to the Nordvyken harbour? –he asked, holding out his hand to me-.
- Pleased to meet you, Archie. I’m going to work in a ship. –I answered, shaking his hand-
- Oh really? What ship?
- The “Ice Flower”.

Archie suddenly got startled, threw his mug on the counter and sprayed the coffee out of his nose.

- You said the “Ice Flower”? That one over there? –he asked, pointing at the ship-
- Right. What’s the matter? –I asked back, in alarm-
- Doing what? –he asked again, leaving my question unanswered-
- I’ll work as a kitchen hand. Why do you ask?
- For no special reason. –he said, looking down-
- Come on, tell me: what’s wrong with the “Ice Flower”?
- Listen Nicolette: in this land there are lots of sea legends and harbour gossips about strange phenomena happening in that ship. Don’t take it too seriously, but if I were you, I would be careful. -he whispered-
- What kind of strange phenomena? Blackbeard? Guybrush Threepwood? Jack Sparrow? –I asked, skeptically-
- No, sweety. There are no pirates in the "Ice Flower", but don't make jokes, please. There are missing persons; abnormal appearances; weird journeys. That ship is cursed. The captain takes ages to find a new crew and staff for every trip. They pay well, but nobody's crazy for enrolling in this ship. But enough of that story.

Other customers had arrived and Archie left to approached them. What a good excuse to avoid answering my tricky questions. He left me worriedly thinking. It was hardly surprising that there would be a weak spot or something fishy in Falkenberg's job offer. My life was full of these unforeseen circumstances.

I sat at a table and peacefully contemplated the harbour landscape while I started pondering the option of skipping the job interview with the ship kitchen manager, to prevent further knock-on effects.

The docks were a hive of activity: busses loading passengers; busy passers-by rushing to work; heavy trucks unloading huge containers with goods and merchandises in the ships; the grey sea in the background; cars heading to the ferry queue… did I say cars?

Suddenly, I was shocked to see a majestic shiny black Bentley entering the “Ice Flower”. It was Ed’s car. His favourite among the ones he owned. Not just that: two workers unfolded and glued to the ship wall a huge poster, displaying this message: III Annual Kynkybooks Awards Ceremony. I must admit that my heart skipped a beat when I realised that Ed would be in the ship, chairing the ceremony and cocktail party. Now I knew who organised the event.

I covered my face with my hands but kept peeking through my fingers to see what was happening. Ed was not there, but Moebius Hax -his mysterious and arrogant lawyer- was.

Moebius left the car carrying a thick briefcase under his arm and speaking on the cell phone.

I was moved deeply. I felt distressed. I wanted to see Ed again, but after my misfortunes and fall into disgrace, I was too ashamed: there was a significant difference between being the Queen of the Dumbass Industries in Grytviken and being the lowest of the low in the Nordvyken ferry.

I had been a posh lawyer at one of the biggest corporations in South Sandwich and the right-hand person to one of the most powerful men in the island. But I had been sacked and now I was a poor devil; a liar on the run; a nobody at the bottom of the dung heap.

"One better day" (Madness)

Picture nº4: "Cookies" by Antoine Helbert

The oranges of truth

2009-11-08T07:00:00.000-02:00

The Falkenbergs offered me to stay in their house that night. They were weird but nice and it was not hard to decide between a warm bed at the peaceful lighthouse and a pitch battle with the hobos on the beach.

- You can sleep in my daughter’s room until you find accommodation. Now she has her own flat downtown. You will find some old pajamas and a pair of bear slippers in the wardrobe that you can use, if you need them –said Mrs. Falkenberg sadly, looking down-

It was very apparent that she was suffering from a bad case of empty nest syndrome and was unconsciously adopting me. But we were one and alike: I didn’t mind receiving some maternal comfort at that very moment.

- How old is your daughter? –I asked-
- Vera is more or less your age, Nicolette. Her name means “faith and truth” in Latin. I’m her mother and of course, I cannot be impartial, but I think she’s a real gifted artist. She paints most peculiar landscapes of this island –she said smiling-.
- Why so peculiar?
- Because they’re magic. Let me show them to you.

Mrs. Falkenberg took a sketch book from one of the shelves in the room and showed me the images that Vera had painted there. The drawings were done in colour with the point of a brush and, to my huge surprise, they were animated and set in motion. The waves crashed over the rocks at the beach; the wind blew through the weeping willow branches; and the clouds travelled across the sky in the prints. I had never seen anything like that before in my whole life.

- This is simply… amazing! – I said-
- She can also make the viewers travel through space and time to the places she has painted. Would you like to join me here? –she asked, poiting at one of the sketches-

She held my hand and before I could even answer I was carried out to a two-dimensional colourful beach, all covered with sea shells and pebbles. I took a starfish as an evidence of our trip. Some seconds later, we were back in the house.

- Did you enjoy this little journey? -she asked-
- Sure, Mrs. Falkenberg. It was thrilling! –I said, staring at the starfish, still in shock-
- Very few things are impossible in this life, Nicolette. You just have to have hope and faith.

It was a nice little trip, and I still ask myself how could possibly Vera Falkenberg’s paintings could teleport those who watched her magic landscapes to the real location.

I became a bit suspicious. I had far surpassed my annual blind faith amount and preferred not to think too much about that, but believe me when I say that only Hell can work these visual wonders. I just didn’t have the guts to tell Mrs. Falkenberg that her beloved daughter probably had some kind of deal with Hell, by virtue of which she was able to cast a spell on her canvasses and make them truly “unique”.

I drank my cup of tea and Mrs. Falkenberg offered to cut my hair to jaw-length bob before I went to bed, so that no evil beings would recognise me in the ferry.

- Take no risks if you want to pass unobserved. –she said-

She was probably right. But I was a bit reluctant about letting her do that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to upset her while she had a pair of scissors in her right hand. She didn’t waste any time and started immediately. Strands of my long black hair fell on the floor. I can’t deny I felt a bit sad.

- Don’t worry, Nicolette. You look very cute now, almost like a teenager and your hair will grow stronger. You’re elegant and sophisticated but you may want to wear something more comfortable, like an average North Sandwichian youngster.

Did I have to look like an average North Sandwichian teenager in order to go unnoticed? She gave me a cotton pad to remove my make up and a pair of black baggy trousers from her daughter. I put them on and took off the white gold and diamond earrings that Ed had given me for my birthday the year before.

- Now you look simply perfect. –she said after my metamorphose-

That night, the sound of the waves rocking the beach didn’t help me sleep: I had fuzzy dreams and nightmares about cheeky mice sleeping inside my boots and giant spiders casting their huge cobwebs around me. At 6 am sharp, Mrs. Falkenberg knocked on my door.

- Nicolette, it’s time to get up. –she whispered through the door-

I had a quick shower, got dressed and joined her and her husband for breakfast. Before I left, they wished me good luck on my first day at work.

As a city-proud urbanite in true love with the modern world, that never lived in a house with a nice garden in the suburbs, but in a concrete flat downtown, the sight of the flowers and plants at the Falkenbergs’ cottage fascinated me. They had wood kittens, miniature ships, roosters, swallows, weather vanes, small bells, sheep, seagulls, ducks and hedgehogs all over, decorating their garden and patio. There was even a wicker basket inside the barbecue, with three little wooden puppies inside!

I hadn’t yet crossed their fence on my way to the ferry, when something powerfully caught my attention: in the enchanted garden, near the shed where they kept their tools and bicycles, there was a long row of bushes loaded with tiny fruits that looked incredibly mouth-watering.

I knew it was very unwise, but their delightfut scent was so tempting that I couldn’t help picking some of these little shiny orange-shaped balls and eating one of them. They were ripe, sweet, tender and so tasty that I had not just one but two, three, even four more, and then I filled the inner pockets of my jacket with some of them, when I heard a low voice behind me say:

- Be on guard against the oranges of truth and wooden animals at night. Even little kids know that!

I had been caught red-handed with my mouth full of these small oranges. I turned back to see who was talking, but I could only see Mr Falkenberg’s Pegassus. I looked in all directions but couldn't see anyone else.

- My name is Colt. Cornelius Colt. –said the Pegassus, to my surprise-

Oh man, that sounded very much like 007’s equine version! But joking aside, I had the fright of my life: a winged horse was talking to me!!! I was speechless, in utter nightmarish panic.

- I haven’t heard your name yet, Miss…
- Qinan. Leni. –I grumbled really frightened, with my mouth still full of tiny oranges-

I was shocked by my own answer. I was supposed to be Nicolette, not Leni, and keep my real name secret for my own safety. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t control my words.

- Nice to meet you, Miss Qinan. I would recommend you not eating too many of those. They’ll make you tell the truth and unveil your secrets to the most unsuitable people, like me. But these little fruits are very useful when you want to find out if someone is telling lies, just like you’ve been doing since you arrived in this island. Hopefully, it only lasts a few minutes, so never do that again.
- Oh, ok, I won't. –I said to the cheeky horse, with eyes big as saucers-
- And please, be careful with the wooden animals in the garden: they’re cute and all, but at night they become real and they’ll love to steal your expensive designer's boots; they have a strong inclination to sleep in warm places and your boots look very warm and cosy. And the spiders will cast massive webs around you, also.

They had already done it in my dreams.

- Last, but not least: never talk to strangers, even if they look like reliable winged horses. Thank you for telling me what I needed to know.

After his misterious speech, Cornelius Colt -the talking Pegassus- took off neighing and laughing. I watched him disappear among the clouds, as my jaw dropped.

I was so shocked, annoyed and worried. Just one day in North Sandwich and I had already confessed my real name to a feathered horse! Who had sent him? What was it he needed to know and I had supposedly told him? Was it my real name? Now I was really concerned.

I took my backpack and left the lighthouse under the drizzle. It was still dark. North Sandwichians start their working day very early in the morning and the streets were already busy at 6,30am. I walked to the bus stop to catch the bus that went to the harbour, hoping that nobody would ask me again what my name was or where I came from, until the effect of the oranges of truth had passed.

"Hide and seek" (Imogen Heap)

From the frying pan into the fire

2009-10-25T07:00:00.004-02:00

When I arrived in the North Sandwich Island, I planned to spend my first night sleeping on the beach. I thought it would be a safe place to stay before I’d meet the mysterious Mr. Falkenberg, who had promised to offer me a decent job the day after.

I walked for a while until I made out the lighthouse lamp throwing beams of bright light out to the sea. I spread my sleeping bag out on the sand and was about to lay down when a group of hobos surrounded me, giving me a very threatening and unfriendly look.

The oldest one among them, who appeared to be their leader, got into a flap and took a step forward to shout at me:

- Get out of here, Missy! This is not your territory! If you want to sleep on the beach, you’ll have to pay. –he said-
- Excuse me sir, but I think I haven’t got it right. Is this place all yours? –I asked-
- Yep.
- Very nice. And I presume that you mark your territory like the lions, by peeing on the boundaries, right?
- Don’t get cocky, Missy. I ain’t joking, so you better pay the toll or there will be consequences. This is not a rule of the road, but the law of the jungle.

Things were not looking good. One of the hobos unzipped my backpack and took my wallet.

- Keep your hands off my things! –I shouted in anger, pushing him -
- Hm… you don’t have much money here… Nicolette –he said, scrutinizing my fake ID card-
- Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not rich, Mr. Robin Hood.
- Very well observed Missy, but we don’t steal money from the rich to give it to the poor. When it comes to money, we don’t play nice over here.
- Thank you for this valuable piece of information, Mr. Whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is. I’ll find myself a better place to sleep near the lighthouse.
- The coastline is all ours.
- That’s bloody great, man. And I suppose all the woods in the country and the park benches in the city are yours as well, right?
- Right.
- Then, could I have at least my wallet back? Take the money if you want, but I need my papers –I asked, angrily-

The greedy hobo took all the money from my purse, rummaged through my documents and stared at my fake driving license. He was annoying me big time with his funny ideas about private property.

Suddenly an angry woman appeared from out of the blue, threateningly shaking a rolling pin over her head.

- Give her the wallet back, Phantom. -she spat out in a low tone of voice, now firmly holding the rolling pin with her right hand and tapping it against her left-
- Phantom??? My god, is that your stage name? –I said, nearly splitting my sides laughing-

Were there bandits and robber gangs in the North Sandwichian beaches, like Dick Turpin, Jesse James and Billy the Kid? In the past I often had romantic fantasies about outlaws and good thieves. But things look a little different when you’re the one who’s being robbed: it’s not ok to steal, even if you’re desperate, and Phantom didn’t look desperate at all, but rather more a cheeky swine. He stepped back and threw my wallet on the sand, in a rage.

- Are you making your nightly rounds, madam? -he asked the lady with the rolling pin-
- Yes. And I didn’t expect to find you here. If my memory serves me well, I’ve told you a zillion times that my husband doesn’t want to see you scaring people near the lighthouse. –said the lady-

I took my wallet from the ground. Phantom booed her loud, turned around and left. The hobos followed him to the rocks, where they warmed their hands on a trash fire that was burning in a barrel.

- Thank you very much for your help, madam. –I said, relieved-
- It is very ill-advised to hang around here in the dark, sweety. You should be more careful in the future.
- I will.

After a short silence, I dared ask.

- Excuse me, madam… do you live in the lighthouse?
- Yes. What’s with the lighthouse, dear?–she answered-
- I need to see a person there tomorrow, about a job.
- It must be my husband! We’re the only people who live there.
- You must be Mrs. Falkenberg, then! My name is Nicolette Bixby. I’ve met your husband at the ferry.

We shook hands.

- My husband has some interests in the ferry to South Sandwich. They need more staff in the ships; that’s probably the offer he wanted to discuss with you. But let’s go home, Nicolette. This place is not safe.

We walked to the other side of the beach.

The North Sandwich lighthouse had been erected on mile marker 18 of the coast, at Lancaster Bay. Lancaster was the name of a ship that had sunk ten miles away from the shoreline, giving its name to the bay. The locals kept the anchor on a hill, in memory of the seamen that died in the shipwreck.

I was surprised to see that the beautiful Northern lighthouse had not been converted into a bed and breakfast with magnificent sea views, as it happened in the past with the picturesque lighthouses of the Death Coast, in the South Sandwich Islands.

The Falkenbergs lived in a cosy and welcoming cottage beside the lighthouse, with a well looked after garden brimming with all kinds of flowers. Mrs. Falkenberg prepared a cup of tea and cookies and we sat beside the fireplace.

- My husband and I have been the lighthouse keepers for more than two hundred years now.
- For more than two hundred years??? –I asked in shock-
- Yes –she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world-. We come from a very long-lived family.

Oh man. Weren’t there any normal people left in these Islands? Had the life expectancy index hit world record levels in North Sandwich? Were the Falkenbergs really so long-lived people, as she said, or perhaps were they supernaturals? I didn’t dare ask.

- Please, tell me about you, Nicolette. –said Mrs. Falkenberg-
- Nothing’s interesting about me, madam. I come from South Sandwich and I’m looking for a job.
- I already know that, sweety. But I can see sorrow and despair in your eyes.

At that point, I broke down and cried my heart out.

- I’ve lost everything a few weeks ago. I had a man who loved me, a good job, a nice house, a car… and everything went up in smoke! Now I have to hide from those who are stalking me! –I said, looking down with tears in my eyes-

She interrupted me.

- Who’s stalking you?
- If I told you who’s stalking me, you would think I’m completely nuts.
- People from Hell, to be sure –said Mr. Falkenberg, who had just opened the main door to the house-.

He kissed his wife tenderly on the forehead and she smiled at him.

- Welcome, Nicolette. I didn’t expect to see you before tomorrow at 8 am. –he said-.
- Nicolette was being disturbed by Phantom and his gang at the beach. –said Mrs. Falkenberg-
- And your lovely wife came to my aid. –I ended the sentence-
- So we can skip the introductions… -he said-
- Nicolette was telling me about some people who are stalking her.
- The people from Hell. Am I right? –asked Mr. Falkenberg-
- Yes.
- They never cross the sea, but they could send someone to abduct you and take you back to South Sandwich.
- I don’t want to go back.

Falkenberg removed his raincoat, poured himself a cup of tea and sat beside us.

- Nicolette, how would you like to work for the North Sandwich Ferry Company as a kitchen hand, assisting with meal preparation and plating in the ferry? The salary is nothing to shout about, but the kitchen manager is a nice guy who won’t work you to death. How does it grab you?

Compared to my two-day escort job in South Sandwich, it sounded like heaven to me.

- I accept it. –I answered immediately-
- Then you’re hired. You’ll start tomorrow at 8am in the cruise ship called “Ice flower”. Look for Diederick Pannekoek, the kitchen manager and tell him that I’ve sent you. There’s a very important event tomorrow at the ship: numerous celebrities and important figures will be in attendance of a famous Burdish publishing house awards ceremony and cocktail party at the auditorium. Diederick is short of people in the kitchen; it will be an extremely busy day and you may have to do a little bit of everything: from preparing hors d’oeuvre to serving snacks and drinks at the lounge. But you’re nice, well-mannered and a hard worker, I suppose.

Oh my god, did he say "A famous Burdish publishing house"? How famous? And how Burdish? I feared that Ed was among those present and would see me, but I couldn't refuse Falkenberg's offer. I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

- Thank you. I really appreciate your offering me this chance. I’m not afraid to work, Mr. Falkenberg. I’ll be in the ship tomorrow at 8 am sharp. You won't be disappointed.

I had no choice but to take the job and go completely unnoticed.

"My lighthouse" (Pulp)

The ferry to the North Sandwich Islands

2009-10-11T15:00:00.002-02:00

You can’t possibly buy a one way ticket from the South Sandwich to the North Sandwich Islands. The ferry company only sells round trip tickets, as if they wouldn’t want the visitors to stay for very long. They're probably right. As the saying goes, visitors and fish stink in three days.

In all honesty, I was not in the least worried about it. Actually, I had no intention to go back to South Sandwich, but I had to buy the two-way ticket, just like the rest of the passengers did.

The cars were queuing to enter the ship at the harbour. The ferry company staff organised the car boarding in amazingly absolute order: long rows of cars drove inside the ship in perfect harmony.

When the doors were locked behind the last car, the engines started roaring and the ferry left the harbour followed by a flock of seagulls. The passengers fed them with pieces of bread that the seagulls would catch in the air. A large group of ducks swam on the wharf water, picked the leftovers that fell into the water and ate them.

I watched the South Sandwichian coast get farther and the buildings become smaller. My sadness grew deeper by the minute.

We would be sailing on the cold waters of the Strait of Sandwich for a couple of hours until we would arrive in Noordvyken, the capital city of the North Sandwich Islands.

Traditionally, North and South Sandwich have always been irreconcilable rivals. The Sandwichian chronicles are full of collective memories and jealousies, crimes and battles and other sad vicissitudes throughout their history.

In the beginning, there was no division between North and South. There was an only Kingdom: the Kingdom of Sandwich. The problems began two centuries ago when the lovely daughter of the King of Sandwich and one of the Lords of the Kingdom fell madly in love.

The ambitious King of Sandwich didn’t approve of that marriage –he had thought of a prince from a wealthy kingdom to marry the princess, thus ensuring a strong political alliance-. In fact, diplomatic talks had just started for that purpose. But one night, the Lord escaped with the princess and they took shelter in his castle, bordering the river and facing the northern mountains.

The incident started a war that the King of Sandwich lost and resulted in the division of the country in two parts: the North Sandwich islands –where those in favour of the Lord and princess lived- and the South Sandwich islands –where the rest of the citizens lived.

Back to 2009, the last thing I heard about this silly rivalry was that the travellers from both parts needed a passport and a special visa. Thank god Rufus Villain had arranged a new identity for me: my papers were in order.

I went up on the deck, sat on a bench and thought. Nobody waited for me at the other side and I had neither a plan A nor a plan B. I was scared and lonely.

Did I say ‘lonely’?

- Hello loser. –said a familiar voice behind me-.
- Hello Hellgirl. –I said, without even turning my head-.
- Fuck, Leni! I gave you the chance of your life to get a good job and the next thing I know is you nearly kill your first client and then you defame my good friend Demonious High!
- Hellgirl, about Leonard: he alone nearly killed himself with an overdose of Viagra that he took to shag me until I’d get sore, in his own words. I only gave him two sleeping pills to calm his instinct down. And about Demonious… he was going to blackmail Leonard with pictures I was supposed to take of Leonard and me having sex.
- So what? What’s wrong with that?
- I don’t approve of these methods to make money. Blackmail is a crime and they send you to jail. Didn’t you know that?
- Yes I knew, Miss Puritan.
- No I’m not! And now will you please let me go? I’m hiding, you know? I’m unemployed, poor, lonely and I just want to disappear!
- I’m leaving this time, Leni. I have some unexpected business to attend to in Hell. The coal haulage contractors are on strike and if I don’t solve this, all the devils will be freezing this winter. But don’t ever dream of getting rid of me just like this. I’ll be watching you. –she said, pointing at me with a threatening finger-

Hellgirl disappeared in a cloud of fire and I stood on my own at the deck. It was my fate to be stalked by the hell’s minions, and my only fault for having trusted them in the past. These star appearances and rants were a cross I often had to bear.

A soft drizzle started falling. I was lost in my thoughts when a man sat beside me and opened his umbrella over me.

- It’s… raining. –he said-
- Yeah. Thank you for the umbrella. I was actually… about to go inside the ship.
- Oh. I thought you liked the rain. I like it. My name is Falkenburg. –he said, holding out his hand to me-
- My name is… -I hesitated- Nicolette Bixby.

I almost screwed up saying “Leni Qinan”.

- Pleased to meet you, Nicolette.
- Pleased to meet you, Mr. Falkenberg.

Falkenberg... that name rang a bell. Where had I heard it before? Wasn't it the Flying Dutchman's captain? You know, the ghost ship with a ghostly crew that was cursed to sail the oceans forever...

We shook hands and continued the conversation.

- Do you live in North Sandwich? – I asked-
- Yes. ¿And you?
- Oh no, I’m just looking for a job there.
- What would you like to do, Nicolette?
- I would accept anything, as long as the boss doesn’t try to swindle me and I don’t have to do a loathing work.

He looked at me very surprised.

- Then, see me at the lighthouse tomorrow at 8am and I may offer you a decent job.
- Well… thanks for the offer, sir. I surely will.

Falkenberg got up and took something from his pocket. It seemed an origami bird that started unfolding its wings and then grew bigger… and bigger… until it became a big white Pegasus.

Falkenberg whistled and jumped on the magnificent animal that took off in the air, making no sound at all. Silent as a shadow, he waved goodbye from his swift steed as he ascended in the air, defying gravity. My eyes followed him until he disappeared in the night. This guy really knew how to leave in style.

Nobody but me witnessed such a spectacular farewell. I was all alone at the deck.

When the ferry arrived in the Noordvyken harbour, I took my backpack and went downstairs to solid ground.

I had no place to go. I took my backpack and sleeping bag and headed to the beach, where I would try to find my way to the lighthouse.

"The loneliest guy" (David Bowie)

Meet Nicolette Bixby, my alter ego

2009-10-01T12:00:00.001-02:00

Do you really think one can get rid of the supernatural gang just like that? If you do, you must be joking.

Supernaturals get infatuated very easily with humans and their nicest personal features, start considering they’re irresistible playthings and fiddle about with them to end up creating all kinds of havoc or even becoming a real pain in the neck.

I started feeling paranoid about it. I didn’t want them running behind me with a knife just because I had abandoned my escort job. So I carefully planned my disappearance before my photograph was posted on bulletin boards, milk cartons, postcards and websites of South Sandwich along with a phone number to be contacted if a sighting was made.

It was dark when I left the house hurriedly. I had left no trace of my getaway in the flat. The coffee maker was still hot. My cell phone was on the table, next to my laptop. I had deleted all the compromising files and e-mails. My car was in the parking lot and the gas tank was full. Nobody would suspect that I was gone.

I took a few clothes and money and headed to see someone I had met at the Dumbass Industries: Rufus Villain. Needless to say, his name was the butt of all jokes. But he was a great guy.

Rufus Villain once was the official art restorer of the Dumbass Industries’ impressive art collection. He worked on the restoration of a portrait of the old King of Sandwich, the old crystal chandeliers at the Conference Room and the entire Auditorium that dated from the 19th century. He did a brilliant job, but one day Big Cheese got off on the wrong foot, thought he didn’t like it and decided to do without Rufus. After a horrible fight, he simply fired him.

Just like it happened to me when I had been dismissed, Rufus couldn’t find himself a new job: Big Cheese managed to ruin his reputation in the artistic circles and Rufus lost all his clients immediately. He tried to resist, but ended up closing his once-prosper art business and disappearing off the face of the earth.

A few months later, I accidentally came across him in the streets of Grytviken. He looked old, tired and very embarrassed when I asked him how he was doing. He gave me a vague answer and invited me to visit his new office in the old part of town. I accepted his invitation.

Apparently, Rufus was running a printing business that didn’t seem to pay much. I came to that conclusion when I saw the gloomy premises where his equipment and machinery were installed. There were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and dust all over the room. He was very proud of it; but in all honesty, I couldn’t see why. I thought he probably had a sentimental reason for that.

But Rufus wasn’t really in the printing business. That was just a cover for his real occupation, because he did something completely different for a living. Something more exciting and really well paid: he was the best forger in Sandwich.

He could copy everything you’d ask for: artworks, money, id cards… and he would never be caught. He was a true artisan, in the style of the medieval copist monks.

For the moment, he produced and sold false identification documents for foreign workers in Orsinia and the Sandwich Islands. It was illegal, but I promised to keep the secret.

On my way to see him, I got the blues. I had failed at life. I could neither keep my job, nor face my financial obligations. I feared I would soon be stalked by a mob of howling supernaturals. Not to mention that I had screwed up my chances of a life with Ed, whom I dearly loved and missed badly.

But I couldn’t sit and cry out day after day. It was time for change: I needed a new identity, a new past and a brighter future. And Rufus could help me. I knocked at the door to his office and waited.

- Leni… what a nice surprise! Come in, please. What brings you here? –he smiled-
- Excuse me for breaking like this into your office, but I need your help, Rufus.

I told him my desperate story, omitting to mention my deals with the hell’s minions, which were beside the point.

- I'm hopeless –I said-
- I will help you, Leni.
- Tell me what your fees are and I will pay you in advance.
- Oh no. I’m not going to charge you.
- Come on, Rufus. It’s your work and your time.
- You were always very nice when I worked for the Dumbass Industries and I could never thank you for that, so let me just do this for you and for the good old times.

His watery eyes smiled at me. That touched my heart.

He took me to the back room and pulled a drawer from one of the filing cabinets. Three small green frogs jumped off it to land on a wooden table where the letters of the alphabet were carved.

- Come sit beside me, Leni. Allow my three little friends to find you a new name.

The started jumping on the letters. Rufus put his reading glasses on and noted down each one of them on a sheet of paper. When the frogs stopped jumping, he said:

- Alright. Your new name will be Nicolette Bixby. How do you like it, Leni?
- It sounds nice to me.

Rufus snapped his fingers and the three frogs jumped back to the drawer. Then, he opened one of his huge filing cabinets filled with bundles of papers, tied with red and blue ribbons, and took a small folder with the name ‘Nicolette Bixby’ written on it.

- Leni, here’s all you need to start your new life. New passport, id card and Social Security number. The rest is up to you. What are your plans for the future? –he asked-
-I’m leaving on a ferry to the North Sandwich Islands and I’ll look for a job there. I don’t mind accepting a revolting job; I could be a fart and sweat analyst, a pet embalmer or even a horse breeding facilitator. I just want to leave my past behind and start a new life there in anonimity.
- How sad, Leni. You were always merry and bright and now I see the blues in your pretty brown eyes. Your secret is safe with me.
- I appreciate that. I’ll come out ahead, Rufus.

I took my new documents, hugged him in gratefulness and rushed to the ferry station.

Outside, my old name was gone. But not my old me.

"She's leaving home" (The Beatles)

RIP Big Cheese

2009-09-22T19:10:00.001-02:00

I left Leonard’s Royal Penthouse Suite and walked back home, after having unveiled Demonious’ intentions of blackmailing and extorting Leonard. I definitely refused to partake in something so wicked.

On my way home, I was shocked to see in a news stand Big Cheese’s photograph under the captions of “The Sandwichian Chronicle”.

The headline read:

“TOP EXECUTIVE GETS FIRED FROM PHILANTROPIC CORPORATION"

I immediately bought it to read the surprising news.

“Corruption accusations against Harry Balls, general manager of the Dumbass Industries until yesterday, ended up in his devastating dismissal, demanded unanimously by the company Board of Directors. Balls has been indicted on corruption charges that have led to his professional ruin. The former top executive of the Dumbass Industries will face charges of fraud, obstruction of justice and lying to judge Handgun, who leads the investigations. Information from reliable sources state that Balls could face over ten years in prison for the above mentioned accusations, which he claims to be calumnies…”

Oh man… so Big Cheese was in Big Shit now, swelling unemployment ranks, just like me!

“The harder they come, the harder they fall” sang Jimmy Cliff.

When I realised his reign of terror was finally over, I danced like a monkey and clapped hands in the street. The Unions would be celebrating as well, to be sure. And yet, his loyals would continue to think that there was a black hand devising a secret plot against him.

I just couldn’t resist taking my cell phone and dialling his number in a fit of rage.

- Hey. Harry. –I said-
- Hey. Q. –he said-
- I’ve read the news. Did you like the taste of your own medicine?
- Q… what the fuck???
- Tell me, have you lost your virginity now? Go fuck yourself!!!

What a sad end to a story of loyalty and honesty that started ten years ago. It was the 28th of august 1999 and I had a job interview with him at the Dumbass Industries headquarters.

I was half an hour early. He was half an hour late, as usual. Unpunctuality was one of his outstanding characteristics, together with unpredictability, tyranny, arbitrariness and that invisible harmful dash of cruelty. But I didn’t know that yet.

I can still see myself sitting on a black leather sofa, in the waiting room, on the sixteenth floor of the Dumbass Industries’ main building. I had carefully chosen my best outfit: a white shirt, black designer’s miniskirt and high heeled red shoes. I carried my wallet and keys in the big Valentino handbag that I reserved for special occasions. During the long wait, I suddenly spotted a run down the front of my left stocking and panicked.

Half an hour later, an old secretary announced that Mr Balls had finished his meeting with the Chairman and would see me right away.

Bullshit. He hadn't met the Chairman. The sod had stood me up for half an hour, only to show me who was THE BOSS.

I entered his office and he kindly offered me a seat. He slowly read my curriculum vitae and asked me to tell him about my professional track record in detail.

I described my first job as a trainee at the Orsinian Telecomms Company; my second job, also as a trainee, at the Zantlander Engineering Corporation and then my last job at the Bank of Zeewland, where I was working as a financial analyst for the moment.

There I had a lazy boss who overworked me every morning with all the things he didn’t feel like doing, but I never complained about it. It was a nice job. I travelled, home and abroad. I had learned a lot. My colleagues were nice.

- So tell me… what’s the reason why you’re looking for a new job? –he asked me-
- I’d like to advance my career and have a better salary, sir. –I answered, naively-

He stared at me and his eyes glowed like a bright crimson red, as if he was about to shoot me with his laser beam eyes. He looked… demonish.

- Miss Qinan, your cv is excellent. Your academic background is impressive. And you’re fluent in four languages too.
- Thank you, sir. I’m Sandwichian by birth and of Italian descent. I learned English as my second language and attended a Zantlander school. That's why I'm quadrilingual. -I explained-

His eyes glowed again and he took a deep breath.

- We’re interviewing several candidates for this position, Miss Qinan. So don’t be discouraged if we don’t call you for a second interview: in all honesty, the competition is fierce. If you’re discarded, I’m sure you will find a good job real soon.

That strange comment sounded to me very much like ‘Don’t call us, we’ll call you’. So if you’d ask me, yes, I was totally discouraged and convinced that I had been definitely discarded. We shook hands and I left, thinking that I would never hear from him again.

But I was wrong: One month later, when I had lost all hope, the Human Resources Manager of the Dumbass Industries phoned me for that second interview and offered me the job. It was very well paid. I would have many responsibilities and a lot of power in the company. I would be promoted immediately if I proved I was worthy. Of course, I accepted.

That day I was not aware that my professional future would be an ordeal that would take my health away and make me fall to pieces a few times: Overtime. Rants. Being shouted at. Stress. Pressure. Fear.

Harry Balls knew very well how to scare the hell out of his employees to squeeze them dry. He never hesitated when it came to infamously sack a worker, whether it was a senior manager or a junior clerk.

He had a few enemies and everybody hated him, myself included.

He never worked, rather brilliantly mastered the fine arts of delegation as he played minesweeper, solitary and pinball in the three monitors on his computer desk.

“It’s not me who works for you, Q, but you who work for me”, he would go when I’d turn to him if I’d get into difficulty.

He paid well, but the price was too high.

I hunted for a new job several times, but none of the head hunters that interviewed me ever called me again when they knew that I was working for him. I was always eliminated from the list of candidates. So I had to accept that my professional fate was dead sure stuck to his.

So RIP Big Cheese. I wouldn't miss him. As the Union guy said,

What goes around comes around.
You have to sleep in the bed you make.
He who ives by the sword, dies by the sword.
You do the crime, you do the time.

It was time for me to make a radical change in my life. I couldn’t go on averting my gaze when I came across old colleagues, stealing food from the supermarket, tearing to pieces the eviction notices I had received, or giving the slip to the Tax Collector’s Office. My face would be soon well known among the most famous tax evaders in Sandwich and the rest of the southern hemisphere.

And suddenly I had this great idea: I would disappear and start a new life somewhere, seeking complete anonimity. I took my backpack, put some money and clothes inside and headed to the Grytviken harbour.

So there would be no more Hellgirls, Demonious Highs, Leonard Ellisons or Harry Balls. Too bad that there would be no more Ed Davies either. Or at least that was what I presumed.

Berlin ‘Barclay James Harvest’

How I almost became a two-bit criminal

2009-09-06T10:00:00.026-02:00

After my lurid story with Leonard Ellison, I rushed home and had a long hot shower, feeling dirty and sick. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, just thinking of the politest way to resign from my escort job, before I discreetly disappeared from the scene.

In all honesty, I was not the best candidate to entertain anyone ‘to the fullest extent possible’, as it was written in my employment contract; least of all, would I do that for a bunch of bored business guys looking for free kinky entertainment after their important working meetings. So Demonius High’s VIP clients should have to find themselves another nice girl of easy virtue.

But even though Demonious was a Hell minion and not exactly my favourite person, I didn’t want to betray him or take French leave. So I decided to speak to him, in order to dissolve our association. He answered my phone call very enthusiastically:

- How did it go last night with Leonard, Leni?

The right answer to his question was ‘I couldn’t possibly imagine that your best client would be as revolting as a slimy puddle of dog’s vomit, so I had to give him two sleeping pills to neutralize the effect of the two Viagras he had swallowed to shag me until I’d get sore’. But I didn’t want to sound rude; so instead of answering that, I preferred to keep my mouth firmly shut and just said:

- It was fine, Dem. But let me keep the secret to myself.

And then he said something that shocked me big time:

- Oh, you’re so cute and discreet, Leni! I’m glad to hear that everything went fine, because tonight you’ll have an extra task to perform.

What now? Would I have to shag Leonard’s driver too?

- Well, the truth is… I wanted to speak to you about the job, Dem… -I said-
- Listen, Leni. This is very important: I’m going to leave a small parcel for you at Leonard's hotel's reception desk, containing a micro camera hidden in a wristwatch. You will wear it and take detailed pictures of him while you two have sex when he doesn’t notice. –he said, interrupting me, not even noticing that I was talking-
- Aaah. -I said, in shock- And what’s the purpose of these pics?
- We need them for our files, honey. That’s all you need to know about them. You will receive a very generous tip, of course.

Oh my, now we were having a stolen photo session and I was going to become a two-bit criminal. I was totally sure that Demonious would use the pictures to blackmail Leonard. And what did I care? He was an asshole too.

But I didn’t want to participate in stuff like that. Besides, whatever the generous tip would amount to, I was wondering how could I possibly take a picture of that guy while having sex with him in such a way that he wouldn't notice.

- Leonard phoned me this morning. He has taken a shine to you, Leni. He wants to meet you again tonight at 8pm in his hotel suite, for a private dinner. Don’t forget to pick up the camera at the reception desk before you meet him. –said Demonius before he put the telephone down-.

That was great news: we were having another private party. That meant Leonard hadn’t kicked the bucket yet, in spite of the Viagra and sleeping pill cocktail overdose.

And on top of it, Demonius didn’t even let me speak when I tried to tell him that I intended to quit the job.

It was definitely the end of the deal. I had to speak to Leonard and unveil the truth about the bloody micro camera. Then, I would disappear forever.

This time I was not going to get all dolled up to look like a modern pin-up girl.

At 7pm I put a white blouse, black cardigan, jeans and trainers on, put my hair up in a ponytail, took my backpack and walked to the most luxurious and sophisticated hotel in Grytviken: The Sandwichian Crown. It had been built in the 80s with the finest designs and materials and pricelessly marketed abroad by the King of the South Sandwich Islands himself. That was Leonard’s hotel.

At 8pm I announced to one of the receptionists:

- My name is Leni Qinan. Mr. Leonard Ellison is waiting for me.

As soon as she heard that name, the girl rushed to the phone, dialed a number and whispered a few words. When she came back to the reception desk, she whispered:

- Miss Qinan, this is for you. –she said, handing me a small box-. Mr. Ellison is waiting for you at the Royal Penthouse Suite on the tenth floor.

I opened the box. There was a wristwatch inside and a note from Demonious saying: “Just press the side button to activate the micro camera and take as many snapshots as possible”.

I took the long and cruel road to the slaughterhouse, from the elevator to the tenth floor. I walked along the corridor towards the door to the Royal Penthouse Suite.

I knocked at the door and a maid opened it. The suite looked impressively stylish and comfortable. It had an awesome view of the bay.

- If you’ll please follow me to the parlour, Miss Qinan, Mr Ellison would like a word with you. –said the maid-

I nodded and followed her. Leonard was sitting on a sofa, in a maroon dressing gown, reading a newspaper.

- Good evening Leonard, nice to see you again.
- The pleasure is all mine! –he said-. You’re so hot tonight with that naughty schoolgirl look!

Gosh, this guy was impossible. I did my best to look unattractive and yet he looked at me through rose-tinted spectacles. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t remember anything that happened the night before.

- Leonard, I have something important to tell you. –I said, serious-.
- Uh oh. Tell me what is it, sweety.
- Demonius is betraying you.

He stared at me and laughed loud.

- Why would he do that?
- Maybe to extort money from you?
- I trust him completely.
- Would you put your hand in the fire for him?

He hesitated. I could see the shadow of a doubt there.

- Surely not. But why should I believe you? -he asked-
- You’re right: Why should you believe me if I said to you that Demonious gave me this wristwatch with a hidden micro camera inside and detailed instructions about taking pictures of you while we're having sex? –I said, as I got up and started walking towards the door-.
- Not so fast. –he said, grabbing my arm-. What’s the matter?
- You heard me –I answered-. Would you like to see the evidence of what I just said? There you go –I said, throwing the wristwatch and the note on the table-.

He took it and watched it carefully. He looked puzzled and a bit skeptical.

- You still don’t believe me? Dude, your underdeveloped mosquito brain should be kept in a specimen jar floating into a vitriolic solution, with a label saying: ‘Kick my ass’. See what happens when you’re filthy rich and you hire an unscrupulous lawyer, Leonard?

Then I ran away. I ran outside as fast as I could and didn’t stop until I got home. I was so afraid.

Demonious would soon know that I had unveiled his secrets.

Hellgirl would soon find out that I had betrayed his beloved friend.

And last, but not least, Leonard the Great would soon realise that he had made a deplorable fool of himself by blindly trusting a dodgy lawyer and hiring an opportunistic unemployed woman in disguise, eager to make easy money at his expense. Someday he would even discover that she could have very well led him to join the eternal sleep, poisoning him with her red pills.

I knew they wouldn't let me go just like that.

"Let it be me" (Ray Lamontagne)

The scummy man (II)

2009-08-09T10:00:00.001-02:00

Leonard was rude beyond belief. That arrogant bastard really thought he was much better than the rest of humanity. He believed he had the right to look down on everybody, and that included Demonius.

When we left Chez François, Demonius stopped a taxi and went back home, visibly upset for not having been invited to our private party.

Leonard put his arm around my shoulder and we walked to his white limousine. We waited until the driver opened the door for us and he gently pushed me in. He didn’t miss the chance to hike up my skirt and spank my butt. I pretended to be surprised and that made him laugh loud. I remained stolid, expecting things would get worse in the next minutes.

We sat on the back seat of the car. He got real close and poured himself a long glass of whisky. Then, he took two blue pills from his pocket and swallowed them with the whisky in one gulp.

Yes, blue pills, the kind that make guys flush and get a splitting headache before they start seeing smurfs, among other remarkable side effects. You guessed it: not only one, but he had two Viagras. So he was paving the way for a crazy sex session. How thoughtful he had been to think I’d love to see an endless erection that night!

He removed his tie and undid the first button of his shirt, sweating like a pig. I started to worry.

- Hike up your skirt for me, Leni. –he said, leaning on the back seat-

That was childish, wasn’t it? I had heard that request a zillion times when I was at kindergarten. But now it was not that funny.

I pulled up my skirt a bit. I felt his fingernails gliding over my inner thighs, and around to my butt. He then pushed me towards him and ordered:

- Now show me what you hide there.
- Where? –I asked, naively-
- Right here, silly. –he answered, squeezing my pussy-

From that moment on, I decided to stop asking stupid questions.

He tried to pull my knickers down and finally ripped them off me impatiently. Then, he took them, pressed them to his nose and took a deep sniff, closing his eyes and moaning.

I didn’t want to have a quickie on our way to the hotel, so if I wanted my plan to succeed, I had to be fast and go at it full swing, or he would suspect.

Then, with incredible sangfroid, I asked him:

- Leo… why don’t we go to your hotel suite? I know a few games that you may like to play with me…

I unbuttoned my shirt slowly. I was amazed at my coolness. He reached out his hand to touch my breasts, but I covered them quickly.

- Not yet, dude. I want you to pour your whisky on me and then lick it clean. But that will be when we are in your hotel. So for the moment… keep your hands off me.

His eyes flashed an evil glimmer.

- What a cockteaser you are –he said-

My heart was beating like a machine gun. He was so obsessed trying to remove my shirt, that I could manage to drop the sleeping pills in his drink when he was not looking. In the meantime, he started to finger me. I pretended I was enjoying it, just hoping he would end soon.

The car stopped in front of the hotel gate. I hurried him:

- Oh jeez, Leo, take me to your room… I’m so horny that I just can’t wait.
- Let’s do it here, slut.
- No. I can’t. I need some privacy.

Slut? Was he calling me slut? I actually needed some privacy to kick his balls too. Definitely, I was not good at that job. Gosh, when were the sleeping pills going to take effect???

The limousine stopped in front of the hotel and we rushed to his suite.

There, he pushed me on the sofa, ripped my shirt off and cupped my breasts with the palms of his hands. He grabbed my arms, as if I would be going to escape and whispered in my ear:

- I’m going to fuck you until you get sore, Leni. So you better get ready.

His fly was open and his erect dick was sticking out of it. He took it in his hand and asked:

- How do you like it? Isn't it gorgeous?

Suddenly, his eyelids started falling down slowly. His whole body loosened up and collapsed on the carpet, finally falling asleep on the spot, just as the airport chemist had predicted.

- How do I like your dick, asshole? Why don't you put your nose in your ear and blow your brains out? This is how I like your dick! –I shouted, kicking him in the ribs-

Leonard snored loudly on the floor, his erect dick still grotesquely showing through the fly of his pants.

It was 3am when I finally could get rid of him. He had been breathing on my neck all day. I tried to button up my shirt, but it was torn. I couldn’t find my knickers. My mascara had run and my lipstick smudged.

I took my handbag hurriedly and left the hotel suite. I looked so horrible that I took the emergency exit stairs instead of the elevator, just in case someone would come across me and call the police.

I walked down the streets and cried, feeling rage and anger, feeling dirty and devalued. And it was only my fault.

"Sullen girl" (Fiona Apple)