June ~ 10 B

Next half chapter, I think this is slow going, but mysteries take their time unfolding.

Monday in town, June visited the 'phone shop first. She was told that it would be no problem, and as Charles O'Connor had had a landline, she did not even have to be home. Someone from the company would activate her line, and she could choose a telephone now. "Just test at intervals from some time Wednesday. When you get the dialling tone it means it's working." He wrote her telephone number on a small piece of paper and put it into the desgnated window on the telephone, June had chosen. She thanked him and left.
    Then she walked to the bike shop at the outskirts of town. They had the perfect bike for her, sturdy and even green, her favourite colour. She did not remember when she had last ridden a bike. Dennis had not liked bikes, and been rich enough for them to have two cars. A small, sporty one for him, and a roomy, yet easily handled one for her for shopping, going places with the kids and for their holidays, weekends, and all that. It was the one that had killed him and the kids. She had not felt like driving or even owning a car since. But a bike was something else. The bike dealer had asked her a question.
"Sorry," June said, "I was woolgathering."
"I asked if you'd like to buy a helmet or anything else?"
"Sure," June said, "I'd like a helmet. And panniers or whatever they're called. Biking home with bags on the handle is not a thing I'd like to do."
"No," the bike dealer said, "I would strongly advise against it. By the way, we have a big parking lot behind the shop. You can familiarise yourself with the bike out there."
"Thanks a lot," June said surprised. "Am I that transparent?"
June did remember how to ride a bike, and felt like a little girl once again. 'It seems you really do not forget,' she thought.

She slowly biked on to the library and found a couple of useful-looking books on Morse code. She had some trouble getting registered, as she only recently moved in, and could not produce the wanted identification papers. A temporary card solved this problem.

Biking to the centre of town, she met the mail-man. He hailed her and said: "I'm sorry I walked into your house last week. You were not at home, I had forgotten some letters of yours. You sure get a lot! I was thirsty so I drank some water. I think I left behind my lunch."
He spoke in short sentences with small pauses in between, June had already notice this on his first visits, but today it was even more prominent. Strange habit that. But at least he solved one mystery. "A pudding?" June asked.
"Yup. It was getting hot. I wanted to let it cool while having some water. Later, I wanted to eat it. I could not find it. Did you eat it?" He looked expectantly at her.
"No, I did not. You can have it next time you come. But, you know, it's not nice to walk into other peoples' home while they're not at home."
"I know. Sometimes I forget. I was so thirsty."
June looked closely at the mail-man. Suddenly she saw the person, and not just the mail-man. She noticed the epicanthic folds and the flat nose. He was suffering from Down syndrome. Mildly enough to function as a mail-man, ride a bike, and so on, but his social control was somewhat lacking. "It's OK," she said, "I'll keep the pudding for you."
"Thanks! It's a treat. I can't always afford one. The baker makes them Monday. That's today. I really like them. See you tomorrow."
    June biked to the baker's and bought a new pudding. She was sure that after sitting a whole week in her fridge, the old one would be inedible, if not downright harmful.

 ... to be continued

På dansk

Her er så det næste havle kapitel. Det går langsomt fremad, synes jeg. Men på den anden side, mysterier tager deres tid.

Mandag tog June først ind til telefonbutikken. Hun fik at vide, at det ikke ville være noget problem for hende at få en telefon, Charles O’Connor havde haft en, så ledningern lø der allerede. Ja, hun behøvede ikke engang at være hjemme. En medarbejder fra selskabet ville komme ud til et eller andet målerskab, June forstod ikke rigtig forklaringen, og syntes, det var pinligt at spørge igen. Men det korte af det lange var, at hendes telefonnummer ville blive aktiveret uden at hun behøvede at gøre noget, og hun kunne få en telefon med hjem med det samme.
"Bare sæt den i stikket og løft røret med jævne mellemrum fra onsdag middag," forklarede den unge forhandler.  "Når du hører klartonen, betyder det, at den virker." Han skrev hendes telefonnummer på et lille stykke papir og satte det ind i det dertil indrettede vindue på den telefon, June havde valgt. Hun takkede ham og gik.

Derefter gik hun hen til cykelforretningen i udkanten af byen. De havde den perfekte cykel til hende, robust og endda dæmpet grøn, en af hendes yndlingsfarver. Hun kunne ikke huske, hvornår hun sidst havde cyklet. Dennis havde ikke brudt sig om cykler og havde været rig nok til, at de kunne have to biler. En lille, sporty bil til ham og en rummelig, men alligevel let bil til hende til indkøb, ture med børnene og til deres ferier, weekender og alt det der. Det var den, der havde dræbt ham og børnene.
    Siden da havde hun ikke haft lyst til at køre bil eller overhovedet eje en bil. Men en cykel var noget helt andet. Cykelhandleren havde stillet hende et spørgsmål.
"Undskyld," sagde June, "jeg var lidt fraværende."
"Jeg spurgte, om du havde brug for en cykelhjelm eller noget andet tilbehør?"
"Ja da," sagde June, "jeg vil gerne have en hjelm. Og et par cykeltasker. Jeg har ikke lyst til at cykle hjem med poser på styret.”
"Nej," sagde cykelforhandleren, "det vil jeg også på det kraftigste fraråde. Forresten har vi en stor parkeringsplads omme bag butikken. Derude kan du lære cyklen at kende."
"Mange tak," sagde June. 'Kan det mon ses på mig, at jeg er utryg ved at sætte mig op på en cykel,' tænkte hun.
June kunne heldigvis godt huske det der med at cykle, og følte sig helt som en lille pige igen. 'Det ser ud til, at man faktisk ikke glemmer det, man har lært som lille,' tænkte hun.

Hun cyklede langsomt videre til biblioteket og fandt et par bøger om morsekode, der så nyttige ud. Hun havde lidt besvær med at blive oprettet som låner, da hun først for nylig var flyttet ind og ikke kunne fremvise de krævede identifikationspapirer. Et midlertidigt lånerkort viste sig at være løsningen på dette problem.

Da hun cyklede ind mod byens centrum, mødte hun postbudet. Han vinkede til hende og sagde: "Undskyld, at jeg gik ind i dit hus i sidste uge. Du var ikke hjemme. Jeg havde glemt at give dig nogle af dine breve. Du får virkelig mange! Jeg var tørstig, så jeg drak lidt vand. Jeg tror, jeg glemte min frokost inde hos dig."
Han talte i korte sætninger med små pauser imellem; det havde June allerede lagt mærke til ved hans første besøg, men i dag var det endnu mere tydeligt. En mærkelig vane. Men i det mindste løste han én gåde. "Var det en budding?" spurgte June.
"Jep. Den var ved at blive varm. Jeg ville lade den køle, mens jeg drak vand. Senere ville jeg spise den. Men den var væk. Har du spist den?" Han så forventningsfuldt på hende.
"Nej, det har jeg ikke. Du kan få den, næste gang du kommer. Men du ved godt, at det ikke er pænt at gå ind i andres hjem, mens de ikke er der."
"Det ved jeg godt. Nogle gange glemmer jeg det. Jeg var så tørstig."
June kiggede nøje på postbudet. Pludselig så hun personen, og ikke bare uniformen. Hun lagde mærke til de tunge folder ved øjnene og den flade næse. Han led af Downs syndrom. Mildt nok til at kunne arbejde som postbud, cykle og så videre, men hans evner til at følge de normale, sociale spilleregler lod noget tilbage at ønske. "Det er okay," sagde hun så, "jeg gemmer buddingen til dig."
"Tak! De er så lækre. Jeg har ikke altid råd til en. Bageren laver dem om mandagen. Det er i dag. Jeg kan virkelig godt lide dem. Vi ses i morgen."
    June cyklede hen til bageren og købte en ny budding. Hun var sikker på, at den gamle ville være uspiselig, hvis ikke direkte sundhedsskadelig, efter at have stået en hel uge i hendes køleskab.

 ... fortsættelse følger

June ~ 10 A

A smallish chapter of June's story.

Does this even make sense?
I'm slowly getting her into a situation, where she'll have to choose between having friends or a solitary, independent lifestyle.

Back in her living room the musings on the mass made way for practicalities like cleaning her table for lunch. She was also curious how the pieces of paper were doing. She pulled them out instead of lunch. The letters were still brown, legible. but totally meaningless to June. Was it a second code, like a code within a code? June did not believe this, only very practised coders could send fast in Morse - she had no problems following the dots and dashes fron the ship, and even less those from the big oak. And translating twice, normal words to code to Morse was really tough. No way this could be the answer.

June copied what she could read, carefully, making lines in place of any illegible letters. It was gibberish. She tried comparing with her transcription of the dots and dashes from the ship, which she also had written out in the same manner. It sure looked like more of the same gibberish. Suddenly it struck her. Morse code was international. And in many languages special Morse signs were added to the 26 English letters, just like her Danish Æ, Ø, and Å. She had actually found some letters Æ and Ø in the texts, but no Å. Maybe it was in another language, maybe the ones she could not remember from her verses were  another languages' special letters? Tomorrow she would have to go to town again. Books on Morse code should be obtainable at the library or in the book store. And a telephone. And a bike? Yes that would be just right. Sanne and Jonah were nice, as were the kids, but she would not sponge on their kindness. She had forgotten about lunch, and now it was soon time for dinner. She put away the papers and went to the fridge. The pudding was still there, and everything were as she had left it. Still, yet another mystery. She was beginning to feel like a collector of mysteries.

 ... to be continued

På dansk
Endnu et kort kapitel i Junes historie.

Giver det her overhovedet mening?
Jeg er langsomt ved at få hende ud i en situation, hvor hun bliver nødt til at vælge mellem venner og en ensom, uafhængig livsstil.

June låste sig ind og lukkede døren grundigt efter sig. Tankerne om messen veg for praktiske gøremål som at rydde bordet til frokost. Hun var også nysgerrig efter at se, hvordan papirlapperne havde det. Nysgerrigheden vandt, og hun tog dem frem i stedet for at spise frokost. Bogstaverne var stadig brune og læselige, men det gav ingen mening. Var det en anden kode, måske en kode inden i en kode? June troede ikke rigtigt på det. Det krævede øvelse at kunne sende hurtigt i morse, og hun havde ikke haft problemer med at følge med i det, de sendte hverken fra skibet eller fra det store egetræ. Og at oversætte to gange, først fra almindelige ord til kode og så videre til morse, var virkelig svært. Det kunne umuligt være sådan, det hang sammen.

June skrev omhyggeligt de bogstaver ned, hun kunne læse, og satte streger i stedet for ulæselige bogstaver. Det var det rene volapyk. Hun prøvede at sammenligne det med sin afskrift af prikkerne og stregerne fra skibet, som hun havde skrevet ned på samme måde. Det så ud som mere af det samme volapyk. Pludselig gik det op for hende. Morsekode var international. Og på mange sprog blev der tilføjet specielle morse-tegn til de 26 engelske bogstaver, ligesom de danske Æ, Ø og Å. Hun havde faktisk fundet nogle Æ'er og Ø'er i teksterne, men ingen Å'er. Måske var det et andet sprog, måske var de bogstaver, hun ikke kunne genkende fra sine vers, bare specielle bogstaver fra andre sprog? I morgen måtte hun tage ind til byen igen. Biblioteket måtte have bøger om morsekode, ellers måtte hun prøve hos boghandlen. Og en telefon. Og måske også en cykel? Ja, det ville være helt perfekt. Sanne og Jonah var søde, og deres børn også, men hun ville ikke udnytte deres venlighed eller blive afhængig af dem. Hun havde glemt alt om frokosten, og nu var det snart tid til aftensmad. Hun lagde papirerne væk og gik hen til køleskabet. Buddingen stod der stadig, alt var som hun havde efterladt det. Alligevel var et endnu et mysterium. Hun begyndte at føle at hun samlede på mysterier.

 ... fortsættelse følger 

June ~ The Solitary Hero ~ 9 An interlude. June kapitel 9 ~ et mellemspil

Here's the strange interlude I woke up with some days ago. Does it fit? Why, why not? Do you like it?

Next morning June was hit by a strange thought. 'It's Sunday. I want to go to church.' She found the local paper, an old-fashioned one, still giving the time for church services nearby. She perused the list. All the evangelical ones were at 9 or 10. Too early for her to make it by bus. Then an Adventist one, offering service and coffee at 9.30. June spluttered., Her irreverent parents had always called the local Adventist community for Saint Coffee's. A Pentecostal service at 10.30, more like it. but alas too far away from the bus stop to make it in time. This left only the Catholic mass at 11. She thought back on her childhood travels to France and Italy. Majestic Gothic or Roman churches, smelling of frankincense and candles. Pretty windows, old ladies mumbling in the corners. Her parents had been rather indifferent, finding religion of any kind a waste of time. Dennis had been a scorner. But still their children had been baptised in the local church, and he and the children were buried there as well.
She decided to go to the mass. She dressed inconspicuously, came a few minutes before the mass began and sat down in a pew in the back of the church. She intended to behave as everybody else, and this was easier done when not sitting up front. The church was very full, and really nothing special, mock Gothic, red bricks inside and out, sparse but with a couple of nice glass mosaics windows depicting Jesus, Mary and some saints. Only the smell was the same, calming, incense and candles and something else.

The priest entered, preceded by a few altar servers while the congregation sang. Nobody played the organ, and she wondered if the organist had fallen ill.
The priest seemed to be an ordinary, kind man. After confession of sins, a nice thing, June thought. and some back and forth someone from the congregation read passages from the Bible while they all remained seated. Then they got up while the priest read from the Bible. So far nothing strange. Sermon, profession of the faith, missing the renunciation of the devil and evil - but why not, because of the confession if sins in the beginning? Collecting of money, Dad was right there, Catholics were a greedy lot. Then came something different, Bread and wine were carried to the altar by children from the congregation. The priest took them, said a lot of prayers and suddenly it struck her: It is a re-enactment of the last supper. We're the disciples, the priest is Christ. Then everybody knelt, and June with them, And the priest took bread and wine one by one and said the words that Jesus had said at the last supper: This is my body ..., This is my blood ... June asked God all the whys and hows from her marriage and from the death of her dears one by one. She did not get an answer, but just as she raised her head, the priest lifted up the bread and wine and half sang: Through him, and with him, and in him, O God, almighty Father, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honour is yours, for ever and ever. Amen. And then the sun broke through the clouds and shone through one of the yellow pieces of glass directly on the elevated host. And she felt at peace.
She got up with the rest of the congregation, said the Lord's prayer, stumbling a bit over the inclusion of some prayer by the priest alone before the Thine is the kingdom piece.

The priest prayed for peace, and the woman next to her turned to her and extended her hand. June took the offered hand, and the woman said: "Peace be with you!" June had noticed the woman earlier, she was together with her husband and three small children, She had quietly been nursing the baby during the sermon, and now it slept, leaning against her neck.

Everybody knelt again, also June. And then The priest spoke to the congregation:"I know many present here today are not Catholics, and while the Eucharist is reserved for those in full communion with the Church (June could hear the capital letter), everybody is welcome to have a blessing. I'll know by your placing your right hand on your left shoulder. A blessing, June mused, yes, why not. In for a lamb, in for a sheep - she almost laughed out loud. Jesus had been called the lamb of God a short while ago. She followed the family next tho her, The man took the two toddlers, they looked to be three and two years old, while the woman followed carrying the sleeping baby. The priest gave the two small ones a blessing, also the sleeping baby, and placed the sacred hose in the mouth of both parents. One of the altar servers smiled and surreptitiously waved at the woman. June realised that at least he, and probably a bigger one too, also belonged to the couple. Five children,, and they looked so happy. June hurriedly placed left hand on her right shoulder, the priest smiled at her and made the sign of the cross over her.

Then she knelt with the rest of the congregation once again - much more kneeling, standing, blessing and such were happening than during the masses she had been to during religious teaching in school. Also you had to pray along, not only listen and sing. She had heard something about active participation; this must be it.
The mass ended with announcements of things happening in the coming week, rehearsals for first holy communion, and coffee after mass. June smiled again. Saint Coffee's lived here too. And then the final blessing, and "The Mass is ended, go in peace."

Outside the church the mother of five turned to June: "You're new here, are you coming for coffee?"
June looked at her watch. Ten minutes to the next bus and then a two hours interval. "No, thanks," she replied. "I have to catch a bus either in ten minutes or in two hours and ten minutes. It'll be too late."
The woman asked June which bus and after hearing the number offered to take her. "We live in the next town on that route, and we have a big car, have to with six kids ..." she was interrupted by the two boys having served at mass who came running to her.
"Did we do OK, mummy?"
"Pater Andrew promised us a chocolate bar if we sat quietly during mass and did our job."
"You did fine," the woman said, "I'm sure you'll have your bribe." They ran off to the next house, and the woman turned to June, "Are you coming or not?"
"Maybe next time," June said. "It was rather overwhelming, But six kids you say, I see only five."
"Oh, the oldest is missing, she's the only girl by the way, she's in Australia with the World Youth days, meeting the Pope, seeing the world."
"Australia," June blurted, "how old is she ... Oh, OK, I'll tag along for coffee, this sounds too interesting, and I'm half late already."

June sat next to Sanne and Jonah, her husband, and had a surprisingly good cup of coffee. She told them that she was not a Catholic - "We guessed" Sanne said - but had come because it was the only service matching the bus' time table.
Sanne told a bit more of the World Youth days, an amazing biennial happening for all between 18 and 25 years of age.
Then June told of her father's nickname, Saint Coffee's, for arrangements like this, and had them both laughing "Some Catholics call it the eighth sacrament," Jonah said.
Emboldened by this, June continued: "My father also said Catholics were always busy collecting money, and what I saw today confirmed this.
"Oh," Sanne began, and the oldest son sad "No way!"
"Yes, Daniel, please explain," Sanne said, and Daniel continued. "You see, first, the money are symbolic, it't like we're giving us. It's OK to put in only a small coin - most do actually. And then our offerings - us - are carried to the altar, as if giving us to God. Secondly. The Church in Denmark is very far from rich. We do not get any tax money, and the buildings need repair and heating in winter, and priests have to eat too, you know."
"I never thought of it this way," June said.

The drive home was cosy. Daniel and Peter, the next oldest, told her about some wild games in the woods, of riding horses, and of a stupid teacher at school. Andrew told her solemnly that he was named after the priest, and Mark happily babbled at her. The smallest slept, then awoke crying. June deftly gave him his comforter and gently patted his hair until he slept again.
"You're good at this", Sanne said, "Do you have kids of your own?"
June felt that she was not prying, and answered non-committally. "I have no family, except for my elderly parents, living far away."

She asked to be let off at the bus-stop. Sanne gave her their phone number, and added: "Don't hesitate to call if you need a lift,"
"I'll need a 'phone first," June replied.
"Get one, we're heading into winter. And you should get a bike, too" Sanne added. "It's absolutely manageable by bike to town."
"Thanks for everything, and for the ride," June said waving.

June walked home alone, musing. "Peace". The word peace had been said repeatedly during mass. It had been almost the first and the last words spoken by the priest. And she felt more at peace than ever before.

 * * * * * * * * *

På dansk

Her er et underligt mellemspil til historien om June. Det dukkede op fuldt færdigt i mit hoved for et par dage siden. Hvad synes I Passer det ind? Hvorfor eller hvorfor ikke? Kan i lide det?


Næste morgen blev June ramt af en mærkelig tanke. 'Det er søndag. Jeg vil gerne i kirke'. Hun fandt den lokale avis, en gammeldags én, der stadig angav tidspunkterne for gudstjenester i nærheden. Hun gennemgik listen. Alle de protestantiske gudstjenester var enten kl. 9 eller 10. For tidligt for hende at nå frem med bussen. Så var der en adventistgudstjeneste, der tilbød gudstjeneste og kaffe kl. 9.30. June havde nær spruttet sin morgenkaffe ud over avisen. Hendes respektløse forældre havde altid kaldt det lokale adventistmenighed for »Sankt Kaffe«. En pinsegudstjeneste kl. 10.30, det lød mere som noget for hende. Men desværre lå den for langt væk fra busstoppestedet til, at hun kunne nå det i tide. Så var der kun den katolske messe kl. 11 tilbage. Hun tænkte tilbage på sin barndoms rejser til Frankrig og Italien. Majestætiske gotiske eller romanske kirker, der duftede af røgelse og stearinlys. Smukke glasvinduer og gamle damer, der mumlede i hjørnerne. Hendes forældre havde været temmelig ligeglade og betragtet enhver form for religion som spild af tid. Dennis havde været en spotter. Men alligevel var deres børn blevet døbt i den lokale kirke, og både han og børnene var også blevet begravet der.
    Hun besluttede at gå til messen. Hun klædte sig diskret, ankom et par minutter før messen begyndte og satte sig bagerst i kirken. Hun havde til hensigt at opføre sig som alle andre, og det var lettere, når man ikke sad forrest. Kirken var meget fyldt og egentlig ikke noget særligt: pseudogotisk, røde mursten både indvendigt og udvendigt, sparsomt indrettet, men med et par smukke glasmosaikvinduer, der forestillede Jesus, Maria og nogle helgener. Kun duften var den samme – beroligende, af røgelse, stearinlys og noget andet.

* * *

Præsten kom ind sammen med et par altertjenere, mens menigheden sang. Der var ingen, der spillede på orglet, og hun spekulerede på, om organisten mon var blevet syg.
    Præsten virkede som en almindelig, venlig mand. Efter syndsbekendelsen – 'det var da en god indledning,'  tænkte June – og lidt mere sang læste nogle fra menigheden passager op fra Bibelen, mens de alle sad ned. Derefter rejste de sig, mens præsten læste op fra Bibelen. Indtil videre intet mærkeligt. Prædiken, trosbekendelse, hvor forsagelsen af djævelen og det onde manglede – mon det var på grund af syndsbekendelsen i begyndelsen? Kollekt, med kurve, der gik rundt og som folk lagde penge i; far havde ret, katolikker var et grådigt folkefærd. Så skete der noget anderledes: Brød og vin blev båret op til alteret af børn fra menigheden. Præsten tog imod dem, sagde en masse bønner, og pludselig gik det op for hende: Det er ligesom en genopførelse af den sidste nadver. Vi er disciplene, præsten er Kristus. Så knælede alle, og June med dem, og præsten tog brød og vin et efter et og sagde de samme ord, som Jesus havde sagt ved den sidste nadver: »Dette er mit legeme …, Dette er mit blod …« June spurgte Gud om alle sine 'hvorfor' og 'hvordan' om sit ægteskab og om sine kæres død. Hun fik ikke noget svar, men lige da hun løftede hovedet, løftede præsten brødet og vinen og sang nærmest: "Ved ham og med ham og i ham tilkommer dig, Gud Fader, den Almægtige, i Helligåndens enhed, al herlighed og ære fra evighed til evighed. Amen. Og så brød solen igennem skyerne og skinnede gennem et af de gule glasstykker direkte på hostien som præsten hold i vejret. Og hun følte sig fyldt af fred.
Hun rejste sig sammen med resten af menigheden, bad Fadervor og snublede lidt over, at præsten indflettede en bøn alene, før han kom til »Dit er riget«.

Præsten bad om fred, og kvinden ved siden af hende vendte sig mod hende og rakte hende hånden. June tog imod den udstrakte hånd, og kvinden sagde: »Fred være med dig!« June havde lagt mærke til kvinden tidligere; hun var sammen med sin mand og tre små børn. Hun havde stille og roligt ammet babyen under prædikenen, og nu sov den, lænet mod hendes hals.

Alle knælede igen, også June. Og så talte præsten til menigheden: »Jeg ved, at mange af de tilstedeværende her i dag ikke er katolikker, og selvom eukaristien er forbeholdt dem, der er i fuld kommunion med Kirken (June kunne høre det store bogstav), er alle velkomne til at modtage en velsignelse. Jeg ved det, når I lægger jeres højre hånd på jeres venstre skulder.« En velsignelse, tænkte June, ja, hvorfor ikke. Hun fulgte efter familien ved siden af hende. Manden tog de to små børn – de så ud til at være tre og to år gamle – mens kvinden fulgte efter med den sovende baby. Præsten gav de to små en velsignelse, og lagde en hostie til munden på begge forældre. En af alterdrengene smilede og vinkede i det skjulte til kvinden. June indså, at i det mindste han – og sandsynligvis også en større dreng – også var deres børn. Fem børn, og de så så lykkelige ud. June lagde i forvirringen venstre hånd på højre skulder; præsten smilede til hende og gjorde korsets tegn over hende.

Derefter knælede hun sammen med resten af menigheden endnu en gang – der var langt mere knælen, ståen, korstegn og den slags end der havde været til de messer, hun havde været til som en del af sin konfirmationsforberedelse. Man skulle også bede med, ikke bare lytte og synge. Hun havde hørt noget om aktiv deltagelse; det måtte være det her.
    Messen sluttede med meddelelser om begivenheder i den kommende uge, øvelser til den første hellige kommunion og kirkekaffe efter messen. June smilede igen. Sankt Kaffe boede altså også her. Og så den afsluttende velsignelse og »Messen er slut, gå bort med Kristi fred.«

Uden for kirken vendte moren til fem sig mod June: »Du er ny her, kommer du med til kirkekaffe?«
June kiggede på sit ur. Ti minutter til den næste bus og derefter ville der først gå en om to timer. »Nej, tak,« svarede hun. »Jeg skal nå en bus enten om ti minutter eller om to timer og ti minutter. Det bliver lidt sent.«
Kvinden spurgte June, hvilken bus det var, og da hun hørte nummeret, tilbød hun at køre hende. »Vi bor i den næste by på den rute, og vi har en stor bil – det er vi nødt til med seks børn …« Hun blev afbrudt af de to drenge, der havde været alterdrenge under messen, og som kom løbende hen til hende.
»Klarede vi det ikke fint, mor?«
»Pater Andras lovede os en chokoladebar, hvis vi sad stille under messen og gjorde det, vi skulle.«
»I klarede det fint,« sagde kvinden, »jeg er sikker på, I får jeres bestikkelse.« De løb videre til det næste hus, og kvinden vendte sig mod June: »Kommer du med eller ej?«
»Måske næste gang,« sagde June. »Det var lidt overvældende. Men du siger seks børn – jeg kan kun se fem.«
»Åh, den ældste er væk – hun er forresten den eneste pige – hun er i Australien til Verdensungdomsdagene, hvor hun skal møde paven og se verden.«
»Australien,« udbrød June, »hvor gammel er hun … Åh, okay, jeg tager en kop kaffe, det lyder alt for interessant, og jeg er allerede for sent på den.«

June satte sig ved siden af Sanne og Jonah, hendes mand, og fik en overraskende god kop kaffe. Hun fortalte dem, at hun ikke var katolik – »Det havde vi gættet,« sagde Sanne – men var kommet, fordi det var den eneste gudstjeneste, der passede med busens køreplan.
Sanne fortalte lidt mere om Verdensungdomsdagene, en fantastisk begivenhed, der finder sted hvert andet år for alle mellem 18 og 25 år.
Derefter fortalte June om sin fars øgenavn, »Sankt Kaffe«, for arrangementer som dette, og fik dem begge til at grine. »Nogle katolikker kalder det det ottende sakramente,« sagde Jonah.
Opmuntret af dette fortsatte June: »Min far sagde også, at katolikker altid havde travlt med at samle penge ind, og det ser da ud til at være rigtigt.«
»Åh,« begyndte Sanne, og den ældste søn sagde: »Det passer ikke!«
»Ja, Daniel, forklar du det,« sagde Sanne, og Daniel fortsatte: »Ji, for det første er pengene symbolske; det er, som om vi giver os selv. Det er helt i orden kun at lægge en lille mønt i – det gør de fleste faktisk. Og så bliver vores offergaver – os selv – båret op til alteret, som om vi giver os selv til Gud. For det andet: Kirken i Danmark er langt fra rig. Vi får ingen skattepenge, og bygningerne skal repareres og opvarmes om vinteren, og præsterne skal jo også spise, ved du nok.”
»Sådan har jeg aldrig tænkt på det,« sagde June.

Turen hjem var hyggelig. Daniel og Peter, den næstældste, fortalte hende om nogle vilde lege ude i skoven, om at ride på heste og om en dum lærer i skolen. Andreas fortalte hende højtideligt, at han var opkaldt efter præsten, og Markus pludrede lystigt til hende. Den mindste sov, men vågnede grædende. June gav ham behændigt hans sut og klappede ham blidt på håret, indtil han faldt i søvn igen.
»Du er god til det her,« sagde Sanne, »har du selv børn?«
June følte ikke, at hun snagede, og svarede undvigende. »Jeg har ingen familie, bortset fra mine gamle forældre, der bor langt væk.«

Hun bad om at blive sat af ved busstoppestedet. Sanne gav hende deres telefonnummer og tilføjede: »Tøv ikke med at ringe, hvis du har brug for et lift.«
»Jeg skal først lige have en telefon,« svarede June.
»Skaf dig en, vi går vinteren i møde. Og du bør også skaffe dig en cykel,« tilføjede Sanne. »Det er helt overkommeligt at cykle ind til byen.«
»Tak for alt og for turen,« sagde June og vinkede.

June gik hjemad mens hun grublede. »Fred«. Ordet »fred« var blevet gentaget flere gange under messen. Det havde været både det første og sidste ord, præsten havde sagt. Og hun følte sig mere fredfyldt end nogensinde før.

Words for Wednesday ~ Onsdagsord June, the Solitary Hero ~ 8

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over as a moveable feast with many participants supplying the Words.
When Delores closed her blog forever due to other problems, Elephant's Child (Sue) took over the role of coordinator.
Now, after Sue's demise, River has taken the mantle of coordinator upon her shoulders.

No matter what, how, where or who the aim of the words is to encourage us to write. Poems, stories, subtitles, tales, jokes, haiku, crosswords, puns, ... you're the boss.
Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow. Anything goes, only please nothing rude or vulgar.

This month the words are given by River at Drifting through Life

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please leave a comment on River's blog, then we can come along and read it and add a few encouraging words.

It is also a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true.

Please, remember to follow the links, go back and read other peoples' stories. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction, feedback and encouragement. And we ALL need encouragement.

And for today we were given:
Mosey
Quicksand
Ashes
Wire
Wild
Twisted
And/or:
Clowning
Spilled
Villa
Reliable
Trusted
Mountain

I intended to use some of the words and then the story ran away with me. But as the Words for Wednesday preamble says: "Use all Words, some Words, one Word, or even none of them if that makes your creative juices flow" I do not feel bad about this. An who knows, I might return and write more, now using the words.
Continuing my story from here: June, the Solitary Hero - 7
I am really fighting to keep my poor June solitary, I might have to give up, as I have her stuck in a hard place in my mind.

June awoke to a beautiful sunrise. She debated with herself what to do now. As she entered the bathroom, she once again remembered her candlestick-clue. Looking through the hole formed by the two candlesticks, June was not in doubt. That big tree, that was where the land-bound signaller was placed. It had to be easy to find. A big oak, not that far from her house. She dressed in old, warm clothes and a sturdy, waterproof overcoat. At second thought she put a small notebook, some zip lock bags and a pair of rubber gloves in her pockets - one more reason to love that old coat. Really deep, waterproof pockets.
At third thought she went into the house and got her foraging basket. Inconspicuous was the clue.

At the gate to the wood she stopped, went back, got a saw from the shed and cut down a sturdy sapling. It would serve her as a walking stick, and as a weapon if need be. She still remembered her self defence, even if her style had grown rusty. She wanted training, she had to find a club or something in town. Still thinking she plodded through the woods in general direction big tree. Several times she stopped, looked at mushrooms, tasted the blackberries, and picked a goodly portion of ripe sloeberries.

Then the tree towered over her. No doubt this was it. It was thick, and a worn path led to it and halfway around the trunk. She waked up to it, looking up. It was an oak, the branches laden with acorn. She picked up one from the ground and peeled off the outer layer. Inside it was red and fresh. She picked some more and out them in another compartment of her basket. Acorn were useful, and picking them up was a good excuse for circling the tree and for standing still, listening. She saw and head nobody.

Where the worn path to the tree ended, the trunk was worn as from someone climbing up. June looked up, and noticed that climbing up here would be easy. The branches almost made a natural staircase and off the ground the branches forked and made a comfy seat.
She gathered some more acorns and noticed small pieces of torn paper at the ground. These she picked up too and stuffed them deep down into her pocket. She continued on past the tree for a short span. When she found a patch of king boletes she picked the best and decided to call it a day.

June returned home without mishaps and rinsed the berries, cleaned the mushrooms, and put the acorns out to dry before setting herself at the table with the small pieces of paper and a mug of tea.
The pieces were wet and musty from lying in the forest, and she laid them out to dry. Most of them seemed empty, with only a few words here and there. June lost patience and fetched her iron and board. Ironing the pieces with care, she noticed letters appearing. 'Invisible ink', she thought to herself, and carefully ironed all the small pieces. On most of them brown letters appeared, and stayed.
She took the papers back to the table and began putting them together. It was not east, many of them were torn, some were missing, and some still only half legible. But in the end she had what looked like a page from a notebook, with words and their meanings. All in a language she could not read. June looked up. The sun was already nearing the trees. She put away her puzzle and prepared the mushrooms. Sunset found her in bed with a nice book.

... to be continued

Og historien på dansk
June vågnede op til en smuk solopgang. Hun overvejede, hvad hun nu skulle gøre. Da hun gik ind på badeværelset, kom hun endnu en gang i tanke om sit spor med lysestagerne. Hun kiggede ud gennem mellemrummet mellem de to lysestager og var ikke i tvivl. Det store egetræ, hun kunne se i mellemrummet. Ham der havde signaleret inder fra land, måtte have siddet deroppe. Det kunne ikke være så svært at finde et stort egetræ ikke så langt fra hendes hus. Hun klædte sig i noget gammelt, varmt tøj og en robust, vandtæt frakke. Efter lidt overvejelse puttede hun en lille notesbog, nogle fryseposer og et par gummihandsker i lommerne – endnu en grund til at elske den her gamle frakke. Virkelig dybe, vandtætte lommer.
Efter endnu lidt overvejelse gik hun ind i huset og hentede den kurv, hun brugte til at plukke svampe i. Der var ingen grund til at henlede opmærksomheden på sig selv, hvis det kunne undgås.

Ved indgangen til skoven standsede hun, gik tilbage, hentede en sav i skuret og fældede et robust ungt træ. Det kunne hun bruge som vandrestav og som våben, hvis det blev nødvendigt. Hun kunne stadig huske det meste af det selvforsvar, hun havde lært, selvom hendes teknik var blevet lidt rusten. Hun havde brug for træning; hun måtte finde en klub eller noget i byen. Mens hun stadig tænkte over det, traskede hun gennem skoven i retning af det store træ. Flere gange standsede hun, kiggede på svampe, smagte på brombærrene og plukkede en anseelig portion modne slåen.

Så fik hun øje på et stort træ. Det måtte være det hun havde set hjemmefra, det ragede højt op over hende. Det var tykt, og en næsten usynlig sti førte hen til træet og halvvejs rundt om stammen. Hun fulgte den utydelige sti og kiggede op. Det var en eg, hvis grene var tynget af agern. Hun samlede et op fra jorden og skrællede den hårde yderskal af. Indvendigt var det rødt og frisk. Hun plukkede nogle flere og lagde dem i et andet rum i sin kurv. Agern var nyttige, og at samle dem op var en god undskyldning for at gå rundt om træet og for at stå stille og lytte. Hun så og hørte ingen.

Der, hvor stien endte, var stammen slidt, som om nogen havde klatret op ad den. June kiggede op og bemærkede, at det ville være let at klatre op her. Grenene dannede næsten en naturlig trappe, og lidt over jorden forgrenede de sig og dannede et behageligt sæde.
Hun samlede nogle flere agern sammen og lagde mærke til at der lå små stykker iturevet papir på jorden. Dem samlede hun også op og proppede dem ned i en pose, og så dybt ned i lommen. Hun gik videre, bort fra træet, og da hun lidt senere fandt et sted med mange rørhatte, plukkede hun de bedste og besluttede at slutte for i dag.

June vendte hjem uden at opleve noget som helst, skyllede bærrene, rensede svampene og lagde agernene til tørre, før hun satte sig ved bordet med de små papirstykker og en kop te.
Stykkerne var våde og sarte efter at have ligget ude i skoven, og hun bredte dem ud til tørre. De fleste af dem så tomme ud, med kun et par ord her og der. June mistede snart tålmodigheden og hentede sit strygejern og strygebræt. Mens hun omhyggeligt strøg papirstykkerne, bemærkede hun at der dukkede bogstaver op. 'Usynligt blæk', tænkte hun ved sig selv, og strøg omhyggeligt alle de små stykker. På de fleste af dem dukkede der brune bogstaver op, som blev stående.
Hun tog papirerne med tilbage til bordet og begyndte at sætte dem sammen. Det var ikke let; mange af dem var revnede, nogle manglede, og nogle var stadig kun halvt læselige. Men til sidst havde hun noget, der lignede en side fra en notesbog, med ord og deres betydninger. Alt sammen på et sprog, hun ikke kunne forstå. June så op. Solen var allerede ved at nå toppen af træerne. Hun lagde sit underlige puslespil væk og gjorde svampene klar. Da solen gik ned, lå hun i sin seng med en god bog.

Poetry Monday :: Bonfire & A Year Ago Mandagsdigtet :: Bål & Et år siden

Poetry Monday is a blogging challenge started by Diane @ On the Border in February 2017; later it was picked up by Delores @ Mumblings and Jenny @ Procrastinating Donkey.
    Then Dolores took over the hosting duties; but when Dolores left the internet, Diane returned and took over hosting duty again with her and Jenny taking turns suggesting a topic.
    Now Mimi @ Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over, as Diane seems disinclined to take up Poetry Monday again.

The prompts are now taken from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a (drawing) prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog. And they mostly lend themselves perfectly for poeming as well. 

  I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
  Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.

Today the prompt is Bonfire  which did not speak to me. And then I looked at the date and realised that Elephant's Child left this world today a year ago. Then I ran out of steam.

In Canberra, where EC lived, it's now once again time for the Floriade, the spring festival. She often visited, and in 2024, she took this wonderful picture of a kangaroo and her joey.  The statue is a permanent fixture. 

Og så på dansk!

Mandagsdigtet er en blogleg, som blev startet af Diane fra On the Border i februar 2017; senere blev den videreført af Delores fra Mumblings og Jenny fra Procrastinating Donkey.
    Derefter overtog Delores værtsrollen; men da Delores forlod internettet, vendte Diane tilbage og overtog værtsrollen igen, hvor hun og Jenny skiftevis foreslår et emne.
    Nu har Mimi fra Messymimi's Meanderings og jeg overtaget, da Diane ikke synes at have lyst til at genoptage Poetry Monday.
    Stikordene hentes nu fra 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts. Det er en Facebook-gruppe med et (tegne-)stikord for hver dag i året, men bare rolig, stikordene vil stadig være her og på Mimis blog. Og de egner sig for det meste også perfekt til at skrive digte om.

  Jeg har en opfordring til jer: Hvis I læser dette og andres digte via linkene, vil I så ikke være så søde at skrive en kommentar?
  Halvdelen – hvis ikke mere – af det sjove ved disse udfordringer er at modtage andres reaktioner.

I dag er stikordet Bål, hvilket ikke sagde mig noget som helst. Og så fik jeg kigget på datoen, og så at det er et år sidne at Sue, Elephant's Child, døde. Så mistede jeg gejsten.
    I 2024 var hun, som så ofte før, på Floriade, forårsfestivallen i Canberra, hvor hun boede, og tog dette herlige billede af en kænguru med sin unge. Det er en statue, der altid står der i parken.


- - - - - Coming Prompts // Kommende stikord - - - - -

October 5 Rocket   -  Raket (eller rucola, men det skriver jeg nok ikke om, bvadr!)
October 12 Contents of the safe  -  Pengeskabets indhold
October 19 X-ray vision - Røngtensyn
October 26 Clam - Musling
November 2  Big Birds _ Store fugle
November 9  Planes - Fly, høvle, plataner