June

June klæbede skodderne fast med bredt, grønt tape. De skulle ikke vække hende igen i nat. Den grønne tape dannede en smuk kontrast til de cremefarvede gardiner og de nymalede hvide vinduer og skodder. Bagefter stod hun lidt i den månebelyste have og betragtede sit lille hus, der lå mellem skoven og stranden. Haven så mystisk ud i måneskinnet, og de lave hække indrammede den perfekt. Lågerne var lukkede, men lette at åbne, selv for en person af spinkel statur som hun selv, ja, endog for et barn.
Det var hendes drømmehus. Men en lille stemme i hendes hoved hviskede, at den drøm ikke havde haft hende helt alene i huset, uden venner, uden bekendte, uden familie, og kun med et spinkelt håb om at finde nogen.
    Den salte brise fra havet blandede sig med hendes tårer.

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Næste morgen vågnede June. For første gang i måneder havde hun sovet hele natten. Efter at hun havde tapet skodderne fast, havde natten været mørk og stille. Det var en helt ny fornemmelse. Hun følte sig udhvilet og fuld af energi. Efter en langsom morgenmad bestående af friskplukkede brombær drysset over den yoghurt med mysli, der var hendes normale morgenmad, og en dejlig kop dampende varm te, var hun klar til hvad som helst.
    Først på listen stod tagrenderne. Ejendomsmægleren havde advaret hende om, at huset, selvom det var i fin stand, var stærkt forsømt, da det ikke var blevet vedligeholdt i næsten tre år.
    At pudse vindueren, smide de døde planter ud og skrubbe køkkenet og badeværelset havde fyldt hele den første dag i hendes nye hus, og rengøring og omrokering af soveværelset hele den anden. Men i dag skinnede solen fra en skyfri himmel, og det var på tide at udføre noget arbejde udendørs, inden efteråret for alvor satte ind.
    Hun fandt stigen hængende på sine kroge bag skuret. Hun havde overtaget stort set alt fra den tidligere ejer, en pensioneret revisor uden slægtninge. Hun havde smidt sengetøj, madrasser, personlige ejendele og det meste af tøjet ud, men beholdt næsten alt andet. Manden havde været en pertenntlig  person, men det var åbenbart var gået hurtigt ned ad bakke med ham inden han døde. Alle de tunge ting lå, hvor de skulle, men lettere genstande som tallerkener, gryder og pander, køkkengrej og værktøj lå ofte rundt omkring på underlige steder.
    Hun stillede stigen op ad væggen og klatrede op. Tagrenderne trængte bestemt til en omgang. Hun smed store flager af jordagtigt snavs ned på jorden. Hun var ved at skrabe de sidste rester op fra den solbeskinnede tagrendemed en haveskovl, da hun hørte lågen ud mod vejen gå op … den kunne godt trænge til lidt olie. Klædt som hun var i en af den tidligere ejers slidte skjorter og med håret sat op under en gammel stråhat, lignede hun ham åbenbart ham nok til at postbudet kunne tage fejl. Han gav et sæt og kaldte hende ved den tidligere beboers navn: »Hej Charles, jeg kan se, at rygterne om din død var stærkt overdrevne.«
    Hun vendte sig om, og postbudet opdagede sin fejl: »Undskyld, frue. Er De den nye ejer?«
    »Ja,« sagde hun. »Jeg hedder June Cullen. Goddag.«
    »Goddag, fru Cullen. Jeg har et brev til Dem og nogle til Charles … hvad skal jeg nu gøre med dem?«
    »Jeg har adressen på hans advokat, hvis De vil tage Dem af det. Eller De kan lægge dem i den store konvolut på kommoden i entreen. Så skal jeg nok give dem til ham, næste gang jeg er i byen.«
    »Du må hellere tage dem, og måske endda kigge på nogle af dem. Der er også regninger, og måske bør du gøre noget ved dem. Jeg lægger dem i den store konvolut for dig.«
    »Ja tak,« sagde June, »jeg er ikke egnet til hverken besøg eller breve i dag, men jeg lover, at det bliver bedre næste gang.«
    Postbudet så på hende og sendte hende et skævt smil: »Det kunne nok have været bedre. Vi ses om en uge.«
    June gjorde sit arbejde færdigt og hældte en spand vand ned i tagrenderne. Det skyllede det sidste snavs væk og løb hurtigt ned i nedløbsrøret. Tilfreds klatrede hun ned.
    Da hun kom ind i huset, fik hun et glimt af sig selv i et spejl og måtte smile ad sig selv. Postbudet havde ret. Hun kunne have set bedre ud. Hendes ansigt var stribet og plettet med sort snavs fra tagrenderne, ligesom hendes skjorte og hænder. Stråhatten sad skævt, og hendes bukser var våde og forrevne.
    »Jeg spurgte ham ikke engang, hvad han hed,« tænkte June ved sig selv. »Næste onsdag må jeg have en kop kaffe og et stykke kage klar til ham. Jeg var virkelig uhøflig i dag. Jeg har meget at lære.«

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De næste par dage gik June på opdagelse i sit nye hus og dets omgivelser. Den største del af haven strakte sig fra huset over mod skoven, og hver dag opdagede hun nye planter, buske eller bær. Haven havde været velplejet engang, men var nu nærmest en jungle. Nogen havde slået de små græsplæner på begge sider af huset og klippet hækkerne, men alt andet voksede, som det ville og hvor det ville. June tænkte, at hun ville iagttage haven et helt år for at se den i alle årstider, før hun for alvor gik i gang med noget, men brombærrene var ved at overtage stien til skoven, så de måtte klippes ned. I skuret fandt hun et par dejlige handsker af gedeskind, hvide og bløde af brug. De var en smule for store til hendes små hænder. »Charles må have været en meget lille mand,« tænkte hun. »Mine hænder er ikke store – jeg er ikke stor – og det meste af det, jeg finder i dette hus, passer mig.« Mens hun tænkte, faldt hendes blik på beskæresaksen. Præcis den, hun selv ville have købt, og de justerbare håndtag var indstillet, så de passede til hendes hænder.
    Hun gik løs på brombærrankerne, og efter en lang formiddag var stien ind i skoven rydet igen. Om eftermiddagen klippede hun rankerne i små stykker og lavede en lille kompostbunke i et afsides hjørne af haven. Så vidt hun kunne se, voksede der intet der. Hun smed også alle de døde stueplanter og snavset fra tagrenderne på sin nye kompostbunke. Før solnedgang nåede hun at gå en lille tur i skoven, der fandt hun svampe og vilde brombær samt et gammelt træ, hvor der boede bier. Hun plukkede et par svampe, smagte på brombærrene og lod bierne være i fred. Middagen med svampe og urter fra haven var lækker.
    Næste dag regnede det, og June tændte lamperne, reparerede den, der ikke virkede, og tog fat på at gøre stuen ovenpå beboelig. Alle papirerne fra det store skab blev bredt ud på bordet, og hun satte sig til at sortere dem. Hun besluttede at gemme et par af de fotos og papirer, der havde tilhørt Charles O’Connor. Hun havde en tåget idé om at lave et mindealbum eller noget i den retning. Når alt kom til alt kunne hun takke ham – og hans kone, som June kunne se på billederne – for dette vidunderlige hus. Ingen af dem havde været store. Det måtte være forklaringen på, at handskerne passede hende, ligesom saksen og Charles' gamle skjorter. Hun fandt ingen billeder af børn eller andre slægtninge, og kun enkelte billeder fra udflugter med gamle klassekammerater og kolleger – Charles’ kone havde været sygeplejerske, så hun. Og her, for fire år siden, fandt hun billeder af Charles ved hendes begravelse. Så, var det mysterium da løst. En lille kasse med billeder, breve og dokumenter kom op på den øverste hylde i det nyrensede skab, resten proppede hun brutalt ned i en plastikpose og bar ud i skuret. Derefter fjernede hun tæpperne, støvsugede og vaskede gulvet, de små borde, lamper, blomsterborde og vindueskarme.
    Den følgende dag vaskede hun stuegulvene to gange til. Endelig var det rent. Det store skab kunne hun ikke flytte, men alle de andre møbler blev flyttet rundt, til hun var tilfresd med rummet. Det store bord blev sat under et vindue, og nogle polstrede stole og marokkopuder blev placeret i en hyggelig gruppe næsten lige overfor døren.

Nedenunder var det nemmere. Hun havde allerede ordnet badeværelset og skrubbet køkkenet.

* * *

Næste dag var det mandag, og June tog bussen til byen. Hun ordnede regningerne hos banken, vandselskabet og elselskabet. Hun foretrak at gøre det personligt; tingene gik som regel glattere på den måde, og det gjorde de da også denne gang. Hun besøgte advokatkontoret, afleverede konvolutten med breve til sekretæren og fik en ny. Derefter gik hun på indkøb. Hendes indkøbsliste var kort, men hun nåede at besøge en boghandel, en isenkræmmer, et bageri og til sidst byens tre supermarkeder. Hun tog hjem belæsset med pakker og poser.

Den nat drømte June – næsten et mareridt. Hun glemte det, så snart hun vågnede, men for at forhindre, det i at fortsætte, når hun faldt i søvn igen, gik hun hen til vinduet og så ud over havet. Månen var gået ned, og stjernerne lyste, nogle af dem meget klart. Nogle af dem syntes at være meget tæt på horisonten. Så begyndte en af stjernerne tæt ved horisonten at bevæge sig. June undrede sig, men irettesatte sig selv. »Det er et skib, min pige. Muligvis langt ude på havet, så du kun kan se toplanternen.« Som for at bevise, at hun havde ret, steg »stjernen« lidt op, og et lille grønt lys blev synligt. »Se nu der, det er et skib, sandsynligvis på vej hjem til havnen lidt længere oppe ad kysten.« Men så pludselig kom der en lang række små blink fra skibet. »Hvad nu? Er der problemer?“ June var helt vågen. Hun kiggede på sit ur: kvart i tre, midt om natten. De små blink holdt op, som om de ventede på et svar, og begyndte så igen. June gættede på, at det var en slags kode. Blinkene stoppede igen, og June gik ud på badeværelset, hvor vinduet vendte ud mod skoven. Inde fra skoven kom en række blink. Tydeligvis svar på dem fra skibet.
    De var tæt på men inde i skoven, og meget tydeligt. Hun bandede lavmælt. Hun havde endnu ikke lagt sin sædvanlige notesbog og blyant frem, selvom hun havde købt begge dele i boghandlen. Hun stillede to gamle lysestager op, så lysglimtene blev indrammet af dem. Så gik hun tilbage til soveværelset.
    Skibet var nu længere borte, tydeligvis på vej mod havnen, og snart forsvandt dets toplanterne igen. Hun blev stående lidt endnu ved vinduet. Flere lanterner dukkede op og forsvandt på vej mod havnen. Ikke underligt. Det var et travlt sted, og mange fiskere sejlede stadig ud og fiskede om natten. June krøb tilbage i sengen. Lige inde søvnen igen overmandede hende, gik det op for hende, at koden sandsynligvis havde været morse. Hun havde kunnet morse for længe siden. Det var måske på tide at genopfriske det.

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June havde aldrig følt sig mere klodset. Uanset hvor meget hun prøvede, kunne hun ikke få styr på morsekoden. Pludselig huskede hun de vers, hun havde lært som spejder:
A er en gul appelsin og et fad  ·-
B er en bjørn med tre unger på rad  -···
C to citroner, hver på sin kvist  -·-·
D er en dolk med tobloddråber vist  -··
... og så videre helt til Å. Versene var ikke lige gode alle sammen, men hun reciterede dem for sig selv alt imens hun gjorde rent, plukkede, bagte, pudsede, polerede og alt det andet, hun gjorde den dag.     Postbudet kom med flere regninger, og hun bød ham på hjemmelavet æble- og brombærtærte serveret med en vanilje-flødeostsauce. Han foretrak te frem for kaffe, og June var ikke ked af det, for det havde også været hendes valg. De talte om de tidligere ejere, ikke særligt dybtgående, men postbudet bekræftede, at hustruen, Anne, havde været lille og spinkel og at de aldrig havde fået nogen børn. Han fortalte, at Charles havde mistet lysten til at leve efter hendes død og hurtigt var blevet senil.
    Efter at postbudet var gået, sad June i haven mens det blide septembertusmørke sænkede sig. Hun kom pludselig i tanke om, at hendes bedstemor havde kaldt det skumring. Som barn havde hun syntes at  det var et trist ord, der mindede hende om 'skummelt', mens tusmørke havde en mystisk og eventyrlig klang. Bedstemor var død for mange år siden. June savnede hende stadig. Hun var den eneste, der forstod hendes interesse for sprog og kunst i en familie af teknikere og revisorer.
    Da hun blev voksen havde hun giftet sig med en mand, som end ikke bedstemoren brød sig om, og det havde sat hele familien i oprør. Han havde været filmstjerne i sin ungdom og medvirket i "voksne film". Da June mødte ham, var han holdt op med at indspille film og var i stedet forsanger i et heavy metal-band. De havde haft uendelige problemer med hans ry og hans mange tatoveringer. Udlejeren ville ikke engang leje den mindste lejlighed ud til dem, det var som om hans penge på en eller anden måde var mindre værd end andres. Til sidst havde de fundet en lurvet lejlighed, og der havde de boet lykkeligt med deres to børn, indtil den forfærdelige dag, hvor hele hendes liv blev væltet omkuld som dominobrikker.

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June rejste sig fra stolen, før minderne overvældede hende. Hun gik hurtigt ud i entreen for at hente sin vinterfrakke og gå en beroligende tur langs kysten. Vinterfrakken var en af de ekstravagante ting, som Dennis, hendes filmstjerne-mand, havde givet hende, og en af de få ting, hun havde beholdt fra sit tidligere liv. Den lurvede lejlighed havde været billig, og Dennis tjente gode penge, så de havde råd til en stor bil, fint tøj, dyre ting og god mad. Livet havde været godt, bortset fra hendes forældres åbenlyse foragt for Dennis.
    Hun stak hænderne dybt ned i lommerne, og hendes venstre hånd rørte ved noget blødt. Hun trak det frem, og med tårer i øjnene sank hun ned på den lille bænk i gangen. Det var Brians plyskoala. Den havde først tilhørt Carla, men hun havde aldrig elske den på samme måde som Brian.
    Den sidste dag havde han forestillet sig, at den fløj et fly tilbage til sit hjemland i junglen, og han havde gentagne gange banket Koala hårdet mod Carlas hoved og bilsæderne. Til sidst havde hun sagt til ham, at Koala måtte ligge i hendes lomme, indtil den havde lært at flyve et fly. Koala havde ligget i hendes lomme, da hun steg ud bilen hos farmor og farfar. Hun var gået ud i haven sammen med Dennis’ mor, der havde brug for en hånd til at grave kartofler op til aftensmaden. Dennis og hans far var gået ned ad indkørslen for at hente en stor pakke, som postbudet havde efterladt der, mens Carla og Brian havde fået til opgave at bære deres ting ind fra bilen. Ingen fandt nogensinde ud af, hvordan det skete, eller hvem af børnene der havde pillet ved håndbremsen, men pludselig begyndte bilen at rulle ned ad den stejle indkørsel med begge børnene i. Både Dennis og hans far blev ramt af bilen, der fortsatte ud på den trafikerede gade, hvor den blev årsag til et alvorligt uheld.
    Dennis’ far, Brian og Carla var døde på stedet, mens Dennis i flere dage svævede mellem liv og død, før han forlod denne verden mens June holdt hans hånd og hviskede kærlige ord i hans øre. Dennis’ mor blev ramt af et slagtilfælde dagen efter den fælles begravelse og kom sig aldrig igen, før hun blev ramt af endnu et slagtilfælde, denne gang større og dødeligt, et par måneder senere.
    Junes forældre skrev eller ringede ikke til hende en eneste gang i al den tid. Hun blev altså alene og flyttede nordpå for at komme væk fra det hele.

 * * *

June sad længe på en træstamme på stranden og stirrede ud over havet, uden at mærke hverken kulden eller det indtrængende mørke.
Det, der fik hende til at lægge mærke til sine omgivelser igen, var et skib på havet, der nok en gang sendte meddelelser i morsekode. Hun tog sin notesbog og blyant frem og skrev det ned, hun så. Hun var helt sikker på at det ikke ville være fejlfrit, men hun håbede, at det ville være godt nok til, at hun kunne få mening i det. Hun kunne ikke se svarene fra skoven; vinklen måtte være forkert, men hun gik ud fr at der var nogen, ligesom sidst. Båden sendte signaler to gange til inden den sejlede videre og ud af syne. June noterede alt, hvad hun kunne fange.
    Hun vendte hjem og følte sig pludselig rigtigt sulten for første gang i lang tid. Hun kiggede i køleskabet og fandt resterne af kagen fra postbudets besøg og en lille budding i en plastikbeholder. Hun kunne ikke huske at have købt den, så hun gik hen for at tjekke sine kvitteringer i papirkurven. Nej, ingen buddinger nogen steder. Men der lå nogle breve i konvolutten på kommoden i entreen. Hun kiggede på dem – de var til hende. Måske havde postbudet glemt at give hende dem og var vendt tilbage med dem, efter at have afsluttet sin runde? Men det forklarede stadig ikke buddingen.
Hun lod buddingen stå, men spiste resten af kagen med en stor kop te til. Så satte hun sig ned og forsøgte at transskribere prikkerne og stregerne fra havet. Hun sad længe og forsøgte få mening i det. Måske var der en kode inden i koden? Måske indeholdt den nogle beregninger? 'Nej', tænkte hun. 'det tror jeg ikke på. blinkene fra de to steder kom for tæt på hinanden og for hurtigt. Det må være umiddelbart forståeligt. Komplekse koder kræver tid.'
Hun besluttede at lade hjernen arbejde med det, mens hun lavede noget andet. Hun tog sig af vasketøjet og polerede sølvlysestagerne og kom så i tanke om den markering, hun havde lavet med lysestagerne i badeværelset.
'I morgen tager jeg ud til det sted i skoven og kigger,' tænkte hun. 'Måske kan det hjælpe mig med at knække deres kode.'

* * *

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 gennem mellemrummet mellem de to lysestager og var ikke i tvivl. Det store træ – det var der, ham, der signalerede idnde fra land, måtte sidde.  Det måtte være let 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, hivis det kunne ungås.

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 sit selvforsvar, 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 det store egetræ. Det måtte være det, det ragede højt op over hende. Det var tykt, og en let slidt sti førte derhen 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 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 uheld, 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.

* * *

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 i en kirkebænk 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.

 * * *

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 papirerlapperne 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 bilive 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.

 * * *

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 lå der allerede. Ja, hun behøvede ikke engang at være hjemme. En medarbejder fra selskabet ville komme ud og gøre noget i 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.

Da June endelig nåede hjem, spiste hun lidt af det gode brød og tog sine morsekode-papirer frem igen og fandt biblioteksbøgerne frem. Især den ene var god. Den havde en oversigt over de specielle tegn og deres forskellige læsninger (Se nederst). Hun fandt hurtigt ud af at de tegn, hun havde oversat til danske bogstaver eller opfattet som fejl også var bogstaver på andre sprog. Altså var det bare morse på et fremmedsprog. Men hvilket? Først troede hun at det måtte være et af de andre nordiske sprog, men der var alt for mange konsonanter, efter hinanden, til det. Selv ikke islandsk var så sært, og der var også nogle specielle bogstaver, der ikke fandtes på islandsk. Fransk og de andre romanske sprog måtte hun udelukke af samme grund. Måske kunne det være rumænsk, men hun var temmelig sikker på, at selvom det havde masser af ekstra bogstaver, havde det ikke mere end højst tre konsonanter i starten af et ord. Bare hun dog havde lyttet bedre efter i sprogvidenskab. Et eller andet slavisk sprog kunne måske passe. Hun prøvede polsk. Alle de ekstra bogstaver passede, og det gav nogle voldsomt udseende ord der alligevel så ud som om det kunne være rigtige ord.
    Hun havde ikke meget kendskab til polsk, men huskede, at sproget havde syv kasus, masser af forskellige bøjninger samt et vanvittigt verbalsystem. Det kunne alt sammen passe på ordene i hendes tekst. Mange ordstammer lignede hinanden, men med helt forskellige endelser. Teksten forblev lige ulæselig for hende trods al hendes grublen.
    »Katolikker!« tænkte hun og var lige ved at sige det højt. »Mange polakker er katolikker. Måske kunne Sanne og Jonah hjælpe?« Det ville blive en opgave til næste søndag – hun indså, at hun havde tænkt sig at gå til messe igen – eller til når telefonen begyndte at virke.
    Onsdag testede hun ivrigt telefonen med jævne mellemrum. Hun havde set flere lysglimt i løbet af natten, og dem fra skoven havde været mere insisterende, og hun havde hørt nogen råbe højt derude … kort sagt kunne June ikke lide at de var så tæt på. Så snart klartonen lød, hvilket allerede skete tidligt om eftermiddagen, ringede hun til Sanne og Jonah.
    Sanne tog telefonen, og June forklarede, at hun gerne ville i kontakt med en pålidelig person, der talte polsk. June blev meget overrasket, da Sanne svarede, at hun kunne polsk. »Jeg studerede polsk på universitetet for nogle år siden,« fortalte Sanne hende. »Jeg fik godt nok aldrig afsluttet min uddannelse – der kom for mange børn – men jeg blev ret god til polsk inden jeg stoppede, jeg talte det næsten flydende. Og hvis jeg skulle have glemt for meget, ved jeg, hvem jeg skal spørge, og han bor i nærheden. Bare kom forbi.«

June var meget i tvivl om hvad hun skulle gøre. Hun havde brug for hjælp, men hun havde ikke lyst til at involvere sig i eller blive afhængig af andre mennesker igen. Men til sidst vandt hendes sunde fornuft. Hun var mere bange for skumle mennesker, der sendte koder og råbte højt og vredt i mørket – smuglere, forestillede hun sig – end for at komme tættere på Sanne og hendes familie.

    Hun boede næsten præcis midtvejs mellem den store by og Sannes lille by, så det var ikke noget problem at cykle derhen.


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In English

June taped the shutters in place with broad, green tape. They would not wake her up again tonight. The green tape made a nice contrast to the cream-coloured curtains and the newly painted white window frames and shutters. Then she stood in the moonlit garden, looking at her small house situated between the woods and the sandy beach. The garden looked mysterious in the moonlight and the low hedges framed it perfectly. The gates were shut, but easy to open even for a person of slight stature like herself, even for a child.
 It was the house of her dreams. But, a soft voice whispered in her head, that dream did not entail her living all alone in it, with no allies, no friends, not even any family, and with only a slight hope of finding any.
 The salty breeze from the sea mixed with her streaming tears.

 * * *

Next morning June woke. For the first time in years, she had slept through the night. After she had taped the shutters fast with the green tape, the night had been dark and silent. It was a whole new feeling. She felt rested and energetic. After a leisurely breakfast of freshly picked blackberries sprinkled upon the yoghurt-and-granola that was her staple, and a nice cup of steaming hot tea she was ready for anything.
First on the list were the gutters. The real estate agent had warned her that the house while totally healthy, was sorely neglected as it had not been tended to for almost three years.
Cleaning the windows, discarding dead plants, and scrubbing kitchen and bathroom had taken up the first day in her new house, and cleaning and rearranging the bedroom all of the second. But today the sun was out in splendour, it was time to do some outdoor works before autumn came.
She found the ladder on its hooks behind the shed. She had taken over practically everything from the former owner, a retired accountant with no known relatives. She had thrown out beddings, mattresses, personal items, and most of the clothes, but kept almost anything else. The retiree had obviously been a tidy person but gone quickly downhill before his demise. All the heavy stuff was where it was supposed to be, but lighter items like plates, pots and pans, kitchen and work utensils from the house were often misplaced.
She leaned the ladder against the wall and climbed up. The gutters sure needed a cleaning. She threw big flakes of blackish muck to the ground, and using a garden trowel she was scraping out the last of the debris from the sunwards sprout when she heard the gate to the road open ... it could do with an oiling. Dressed as she was in one of the former inhabitant's worn shirts and with her hair tied back under an old straw hat, she obviously looked enough like him to deceive the mailman. He started and hailed her with the former occupant's name: "Hey Charles, I see that the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated."
She turned around, and the mailman realised his blunder: "Sorry, Ma'am. Are you the new owner?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm June Cullen, How do you do?"
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen. I have a letter for you and some for Charles ... what'll I do with them, now?"
"I have the address of his lawyer if you want to take care of it. Or you can leave them in the big envelope on the dresser in the hall. Then I'll deliver them to him when I next go to town."
"You'd better take them and better take a look at some of them. There's bills too, and maybe you should do something about them. I'll put them into the big envelope for you."
"Thanks," June said, "I'm neither fit for company, nor letters today, I promise better next time."
The mailman looked at her and sent her a lopsided smile: "You could have done better. See you in a week's time."
June finished her job by pouring a pail of water into the gutters. It cleaned away the last of the muck and drained nicely down the spout. Satisfied she climbed down.
Entering the house, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and had to laugh. The mailman was right. She could hardly have done worse. Her face was striped and splotched with black muck from the gutters, same as her shirt and hands. The straw hat sat askew, and her trousers were wet and torn. She could do with a bath.
"I did not even ask him his name," June thought to herself. "Next Wednesday I'll have a cup of coffee and a cake ready for him. I really was impolite today. I have much to learn."

 * * *

The next few days June was an explorer in her new house and its surroundings. The largest part of the gardens stretched away from the house towards the woods, and every day she discovered new plants, shrubs or berries. It had been well kept but was now a half jungle. Somebody had mowed the tiny lawns here and on the beach side of the house, and cut the hedges, but everything else was growing how and where it liked. June thought she would like to see the garden during all seasons before she really began doing anything, but the blackberries were taking over the path to the woods, they had to be kept at bay. In the shed she found a delicious pair of goatskin gauntlets, white and supple from wear. They were a tad too big for her tiny hands. "Charles must have been a very small man," she thought to herself. "My hands are not big, heck I'm not big, and I mostly fit what I find in this house." Thinking this, her eyes fell on the pruning shears. Just the ones she would have bought for herself, and the adjustable handles were set to fit her grip.
    She attacked the brambles, and after a long morning the way into the woods was once more clear. The afternoon saw her cutting up the vines and making a small compost heap in a remote corner. As far as she could see, nothing grew there. She added all the dead houseplants and the muck from the gutters. Before sunset she had time for a small walk in the woods, and there she found mushrooms and wild blackberries and an old tree with bees living in it. She picked a few of the mushrooms, tasted the blackberries and let the bees alone. Dinner with mushrooms and herbs from the garden was delicious.
    Next day it rained, and June lit the lights, repaired the one lamp that did not work, and cleaned the upstairs living room. All the papers in the big cupboard were spread on the table, and she sat to work sorting them. She decided to save a few of the photos and papers belonging to Charles O'Connor. She had a vague idea of making a memorial scrap book or something. After all she could thank him -- and his wife too, June learned from the photos -- for this wonderful house. None of them had been big, the wife even positively tiny. This had to be the explanation for the gloves fitting her, and the shears and several other things. She found no photos of children or any other relatives. A few photos from outings with old classmates and co-workers, Charles's wife had been a nurse, she saw. And here, four years ago, she found photos of Charles at her burial. Well, one mystery solved. A small box of photos, letters, and documents went on the top shelf of the newly cleaned cupboard, the rest she brutally stuffed into a plastic bag and carried out into the shed. Then she removed the carpets, vacuumed and washed the floor, the small tables, the small lamps, the plantstands and windowsills.
    She washed the living room floors twice more the following day. Finally they were clean. The big cupboard was too big for her to move, but all other furniture was moved out of the way and back again. In the afternoon she rearranged the things to her satisfaction. The big table was placed under a window, and stuffed chairs and Moroccan poufs were placed in a cozy group almost opposite the door.

Downstairs was easier. She had already tackled the bathroom and scrubbed the kitchen surfaces.

* * *

Next day was Monday and June took a bus to the bigger town. She arranged bills with the bank, the water company, and the electricity company. She liked to do so in person, things usually went smoother that way, also this time. She visited the lawyer's office, handing over the envelope to the secretary, and had a new one. Then she went shopping. Her shopping list was short, but had her visiting a bookstore, a hardware store, a bakery, and finally the supermarkets. She went home laden with parcels and bags.

That night June dreamt, almost a nightmare. She forgot it as soon as she woke up, but to prevent it from resuming, she went to the window and looked out over the sea. The moon had set, but the stars still shone, some of them very brightly. And some of them seemed very close to the horizon. Then one of the stars near the horizon began moving. June wondered, then chided herself. "It's a ship, girl. Possibly far at sea, so that you can see only the top lantern." As to prove her right the "star" rose a bit and a small green light became visible. "Now look, it is a ship, probably on its way to the harbour just up the coast." But then a long series of tiny flashes could be seen from the ship. "What now. Trouble?" June was wide awake now. She looked at her watch, Quarter to three, in the middle of the night. The tiny flashes paused, as if waiting for an answer, then resumed. June guessed at some sort of code. The flashes stopped again, and June padded to the bathroom, where the window looked out over the woods. And she saw the answering flashes. Close by, in the woods, and clear. She swore softly. She had not yet installed her usual bathroom paper and pencil, even though she had bought the pencils and a notebook at the bookstore. She placed two old candlesticks so that the flashes were framed by them. Then she went back to the bedroom.
But the ship was now heading for the harbour, and soon its top light was once again invisible. She stayed for a bit at the window. More lanterns became visible and disappeared on their way to the harbour. No wonder. It was a busy place, and many fishers still sailed the seas, fishing in the night. June crept back into bed. As sleep once again claimed her, she realised that the code had probably been Morse, plain and simple. She had known Morse long ago. Time for a brush up.

 * * *

June had never felt more like a klutz. No matter how much she studied, she could not get the hang of the morse code. Suddenly she remembered the verses she had been taught as a girl scout:
A is for apple, brown is the bough ·-
B is a bear with three cubs in tow -···
C is two pins that fell where they stood -·-·
D is a dagger with two drops of blood -··
... and so on all the way to Z. The verses were not all good, but she memorised them while cleaning, picking, baking, shining, polishing and whatever else she did that day. The mailman came, bringing more bills for the house, and she treated him to a homemade apple-and-blackberry pie served with a vanilla cream cheese sauce. He preferred tea to coffee, and June was happy to comply, as this would have been her choice as well. They talked of the former owners, nothing very deep, but the mailman confirmed that the wife, Anne, had indeed been tiny and fragile and never born them any children, and that Charles had lost the will to live after her death, and quickly descended into senility.
After the mailman had left, June sat for a while in the garden, and soon the soft late September twilight descended. She suddenly recalled that her granny had called it gloaming. She had found it a depressing word as a child, akin to gloomy, whereas twilight had an elfin sound to it. Granny had died many years ago. June still missed her. She was the only one understanding her liking for languages and the arts in a family of technicians and accountants. She had married a man Granny did not like, and set the while family buzzing with outrage. He had been a movie star in his teens, starring in X-rated movies. When June met him, he had already stopped acting and was the lead singer in a heavy metal band. They had had endless trouble with his reputation and tattoos. Landlords did not want to rent them even the tiniest flat. As if his money was somehow worth less than other peoples'. In the end they had found a shabby flat and there they had lived happily with their two kids until that dreadful day when her whole life fell over like dominoes in a row.

 * * *

June got up from the chair before the memories overwhelmed her. She walked quickly to the hallway to get her winter-coat in preparation for a calming walk down to the beach and along the coastline. This winter coat was one of the extravagant things Dennis, her movie star husband had given her, and one of the few things left over from her former life. The lousy flat has been cheap, and Dennis was kind of wealthy, they could afford a big car, luxurious clothes, nice things and good food. Life had been good, apart from her parents' unrelenting and undisguised disdain for Dennis.
    She put her hands deep into the pockets, and her left hand touched something soft. She pulled it out, and blinded by tears she sank down on the small bench in the hallway. It was Brian's stuffed Koala toy. It had belonged to Carla first, but she never loved it like Brian did. On that last day he had imagined that it was riding a plane back to its jungle-homeland, and repeatedly rammed Koala into Carla's head and the car seats. In the end she had told him that Koala had to hide away in her pocket until it had learned how to fly a plane. With Koala forgotten in her pocket she had left the car at grandma's and granddad's place. She had walked into the garden with Dennis' mom who wanted a hand digging up potatoes for dinner. Dennis and his dad had walked down the driveway to get a big parcel left there by the mail-man, while Carla and Brian were charged with collecting their stuff from the car. Nobody ever found out how it happened, which of the kids released the hand brake, but suddenly the car began rolling down the steep driveway with both kids inside. Dennis and his dad both were run over by the car, which continued out into the busy street, being hit from both directions, and causing a big accident. Dennis' father, Brian and Carla were killed on the spot, Dennis lay for days between life and dead before he left this world. Dennis' mother had a stroke the day after the joint burial, and never really recovered before succumbing to the next one a few months later.
    June's parents never even once wrote or 'phoned her during this period. She was left practically alone and moved north to get away from it all

 * * *

June sat for long on a log by the sea, just staring out over the ocean, not feeling the cold or noticing the encroaching darkness.
What made her wake up, was a ship at sea, once again emitting dots and dashes. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and just copied what she saw. Surely it would not be faultless, but she hoped for it to be good enough for her to read. She could not see the answering flashes from the woods, the angle must be wrong. The boat sent off two more times, and she jotted down all she could catch.

She returned home and suddenly she felt hungry, really hungry for the first time. She looked into the fridge, and found leftover cake from the mail-man's visit and a small pudding in a plastic container. She did not remember buying it, and she went to check her receipts in the dust bin. No, no puddings anywhere. But there were some letters in the envelope on the dresser  in the hall. She looked at them, yes, they were for her. Maybe the mail-man had forgotten to give her some and returned with them when ending his tour? But this did not explain the pudding.
She refrained from eating the pudding, but devoured the left over pie with a big mug of tea. Then she sat down and tried transcribing the dots and dashes from the sea. She sat for long, trying to make the scribbled dots and dashes transform into words she could read. But the meaning eluded her. It seemed to be some code within a code. Maybe some calculations included? 'No', she thought. the answers from the two participants came too close and fast. It must be immediately understandable. complex codes need time.'
She decided to let her brain work on it while doing something else. She did the laundry, polished the silver candlesticks, and then remembered the marking she had done with the bathroom candlesticks.
'Tomorrow I'll go to the place in the woods and look.' She thought. 'Maybe that'll help me crack their coding system.'

 * * *

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.

* * *

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.

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.

 * * *

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.

* * *

Finally home she ate some of the good bread and pulled out her Morse code papers. One of the library books had the list she needed. A chart over other European language, their specal letters and their codes (look below for a list). Comparing the letter combinations she had read as Danish letters or seen as errors, to this chart made it clear to her that it was indeed some foreign language. But which one? She first expected it to be one of the other Nordic languages, but there were far too many consonants mashed together for it to be even Icelandic, also there were some special letters not present there. French and the other Roman languages were ruled out for the same reasons. Maybe Romanian, but she was fairly sure that even though they had lots of extra letters they did not have initial consonant clusters of more than two maybe three, never four or five - had she only listened more attentively to the lessons in linguistics. Some Slavonic language might fit the bill. She tried Polish. All the extra letters fit. It made strange words, but they looked like they could be real words.
    She did not have much knowledge of Polish, only remembering that it had like seven cases, lots of conjugations and declensions and a crazy verbal system, which could fit the words in her text. Many first parts looking alike, but with different endings. The text still remained illegible to her for all her thinking.
    'Catholics!' she thought, almost saying it out loud. 'Many Poles are Catholic. Maybe Sanne and Jonah could help?' This would be a task for next Sunday - she realised that she intended to visit mass again - or for when the telephone started working.
    Wednesday she avidly tested the telephone at regular intervals. She had seen more flashes during the night. and those from the woods had been more insistent, repeating a short sequense more times; and she had heard someone yelling. Not clear enough for words, but angry ... in short June did not like the proximity. As soon as the telephone line had been opened, which happened that same afternoon, she phoned Sanne and Jonah.
    Sanne answered the phone, and June explained that she would like to get in touch with someone absolutely trustworthy and Polish speaking. June was very surprised when Sanne replied that she knew Polish. "I studied Polish at the university some years ago," Sanne told her. "I never finished my studies - too many kids happened - but I was quite fluent. And if I'm not good enough, I know who to ask, and he lives nearby. Just come over.

June was in two minds over this. She was in need of the help, but she did not want to get involved with, or dependent on other people ever again. But in the end common sense won. She was more afraid of the persons sending codes and yelling angrily  in the dark woods -- smugglers she imagined -- than of getting more intimate with Sanne and her family. 
    She lived almost exactly between the big town and Sanne's small one, biking there was not an issue.

* * *

TOP


List of Morse codes in European languages
Liste over morsetegn på andre europæiske sprog:
É  Đ  É  Ę  · · — · ·
CH  Ĥ  Š   — — — —       
è  ł             · — · · –   
ñ  ń            — — · — —   
ç  ĉ  ć        — · — · ·    
Æ  Ä  Ą   · — · — 
Ø, Ó  Ö     — — — ·
Å  À         · — — · —      
ĝ       — — · — ·      
ŝ       · · · — ·   
þ       · — — · ·       
ð       · · — — ·       
ĵ        · — — — ·       
ü  ŭ   · · — —       
ś       · · · — · · ·       
ź       — — · · — ·       
ż       — — · · —