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06/09/2021
Siebenkäs
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Siebenkäs
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Strandhafer (an idyll in 4 acts) PART 2
(The first part you will find under the construction de toilette)
The small perfumery in the main town of the island came to her mind.
Since someone should be able to tell her something more specific.
That same day, she set out.
She had allowed herself two careful sprays on her neck.. allowed herself, enough to paint her little car with the between
herbaceous green, powdery soft and delicately woody-spicy
Fragrance. No longer than half an hour lasted
the ride - and she enjoyed every second of it.
On the main street with the shops she could not
park. On the way from the public parking lot to the
little pedestrian street where the perfumery was, she held the
small bottle firmly in her right hand, which she
still in the trouser pocket had put.
Then came the next horror.
The window of the perfumery was covered with newspaper
taped shut, a sign in the door read:
"Temporarily Closed for Renovation"
As if everything was conspiring against her.
She took a deep breath.
She needed a coffee right now.
Just a few houses down, she spotted a shop.. she didn't know yet, it seemed to be a kind of middle
of a bookstore and a coffee shop.
Well at least it was something.
And already she was sitting at a little round table close to the
Window, where various Jane Austen editions were decorated with
Beach accessories and some sand were decorated.
She didn't have to wait long for her cappucino,
a young man brought it to her, on the saucer
lay two shell-shaped cookies.
"If you have any book requests as well - the boss is
in the warehouse for a moment, but she'll be right back, I'm just here for
coffee," he said Coffee," he said and wiped once with the
Towel over the spotless table, before he
went back behind the little counter.
The capuccino was good, very good in fact, for the fact that this was only
a bookshop.
She pulled the found bottle out of her pocket and
gave herself another economy spray on the neck.
The soft-green shimmering aura in which she now even
a hint of something like leather, fitted well
to the bitter-smooth aroma of the coffee, suited the just-
first-relax and even to the books in the window,
which she contemplated pensively.
From the back, lying in a slight dimness
of the shop she now heard footsteps, which on the wooden floorboards
sounded somehow dynamic. That had to be the boss.
Then a number of things happened at once.
She saw a perhaps forty-year-old woman in jeans and a dark
blue blouse, who was a few feet from her table
Books on a shelf. She had rather short,
blonde hair that looked as tousled as normal-
only rather expensive hairdressers could manage.
And at the same time she saw a second image, before her inner
Eye. Many years ago, at the Helene Lange High School in Hamburg. Her best friend Carola,
yes, that was her name, stood at the cabinet and pulled out atlases.
"Well, is this going to be any good today?" said Mrs. Stockman,
the geography teacher.
Mrs. Stockman and Carola - both of whom, she
noted to her amazement to her amazement, had almost completely forgotten about them.
Yet Carola and she had been inseparable
for some time the time when her parents' divorce had gone through And Carola had become a kind of accomplice because her parents were divorced too.
The owner of the shop, who had so reminded her of Carola
had disappeared into the back again.
There was no denying the resemblance, although
Carola was altogether rounder and a little smaller,
if she was not mistaken. Besides, she had moved abroad after
Tenthshe had moved abroad, for her mother had taken a
Position as an interpreter in England.
Or was it in Sweden? Why had neither of them
had contacted each other again? Why did two people who were so close who had been so close, lost sight of each other completely?
The soft, now rather resinous-powdery scent matched
to the temporal shallowness of their trip down memory lane.
She had to smile. It was nice that she had remembered
Carola again had. And sad at the same time. Maybe she could find out something about her and get in touch with her.
Now the blonde came back forward with some books
forward.
"If there's anything I can do for you - just let me know
say..."
"Yeah, thanks, not really at the moment. But nice
Store this is, I didn't even know about it..."
She joined her at the table.
"I just opened last week. I don't know anybody here
practically no one here yet, either."
"I live 20 kilometers away, pretty close to the ocean."
She didn't know exactly why she was telling this either.
"And what do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Oh, nothing exciting, I write, for women's
journals, zeitgeist and fashion, and now and then some
Politics, but carefully dosed, so to speak."
"Great! I mean, if you can make a living doing that. And
near the sea, it sounds almost like Pilcher..."
"Well. It's not all that rosy. I have a
ten-year-old son, who does not get along here and
as a single mother, I have these doubts all the time Am I doing this right or am I thinking too much about myself?"
She wondered how open she was about herself.
"Oh, I see. Yes, I can imagine that, it's
certainly not easy..."
She sat down at the table with her now.
That voice. It was not unlike Carola's not too dissimilar to Carola's, but a little too deep "Yes, it really isn't easy. I often think I
the boy just not enough..."
"I think that's what most single parents think."
"Tell me, can I ask you something weird -
is your name perhaps - Carola?"
"Now that's what I call really weird! And so beautifully direct.
But I think this directness is good. Suits you.
Just like her perfume, Miss Dior, and in the original
version."
"No way...are you sure?
She was completely gobsmacked.
"Absolutely sure, I can smell it."
"You know, I drove all the way here for this... it's a
longer story..."
"Let me just interject something before you tell me in peace tell me. I think you worry too much about a lot of things.. that quickly mutate into worries, can
that be? that be?"
"I don't know... the Jan thing is quite real. In the end, it's true
but... a child and a boy needs a
Father..." "Or two mothers..." She put her hand gently on the strange
Hand that lay beside the cup on the table.
The soft, rounded scent rose to their noses again,
benevolent, reassuring, and confident.
Her hand did not withdraw.
Aftermath
If one were to walk down the March path a few weeks later,
one might stop in front of the house with the little
blue balcony and admire the many plants
and flowers in the garden.
What a lot there was - beach grass carnations, coastal angelica,
red spring rushes, dune vetch, salt hare's ear, sea mustard,
pale purple beach bindweed, centaury, and
in between, lush beach grass, rough yet
cuddly, tough and wonderfully tender at the same time.
The only thing that wasn't there to see was a sign
with the words "For Sale".
The small perfumery in the main town of the island came to her mind.
Since someone should be able to tell her something more specific.
That same day, she set out.
She had allowed herself two careful sprays on her neck.. allowed herself, enough to paint her little car with the between
herbaceous green, powdery soft and delicately woody-spicy
Fragrance. No longer than half an hour lasted
the ride - and she enjoyed every second of it.
On the main street with the shops she could not
park. On the way from the public parking lot to the
little pedestrian street where the perfumery was, she held the
small bottle firmly in her right hand, which she
still in the trouser pocket had put.
Then came the next horror.
The window of the perfumery was covered with newspaper
taped shut, a sign in the door read:
"Temporarily Closed for Renovation"
As if everything was conspiring against her.
She took a deep breath.
She needed a coffee right now.
Just a few houses down, she spotted a shop.. she didn't know yet, it seemed to be a kind of middle
of a bookstore and a coffee shop.
Well at least it was something.
And already she was sitting at a little round table close to the
Window, where various Jane Austen editions were decorated with
Beach accessories and some sand were decorated.
She didn't have to wait long for her cappucino,
a young man brought it to her, on the saucer
lay two shell-shaped cookies.
"If you have any book requests as well - the boss is
in the warehouse for a moment, but she'll be right back, I'm just here for
coffee," he said Coffee," he said and wiped once with the
Towel over the spotless table, before he
went back behind the little counter.
The capuccino was good, very good in fact, for the fact that this was only
a bookshop.
She pulled the found bottle out of her pocket and
gave herself another economy spray on the neck.
The soft-green shimmering aura in which she now even
a hint of something like leather, fitted well
to the bitter-smooth aroma of the coffee, suited the just-
first-relax and even to the books in the window,
which she contemplated pensively.
From the back, lying in a slight dimness
of the shop she now heard footsteps, which on the wooden floorboards
sounded somehow dynamic. That had to be the boss.
Then a number of things happened at once.
She saw a perhaps forty-year-old woman in jeans and a dark
blue blouse, who was a few feet from her table
Books on a shelf. She had rather short,
blonde hair that looked as tousled as normal-
only rather expensive hairdressers could manage.
And at the same time she saw a second image, before her inner
Eye. Many years ago, at the Helene Lange High School in Hamburg. Her best friend Carola,
yes, that was her name, stood at the cabinet and pulled out atlases.
"Well, is this going to be any good today?" said Mrs. Stockman,
the geography teacher.
Mrs. Stockman and Carola - both of whom, she
noted to her amazement to her amazement, had almost completely forgotten about them.
Yet Carola and she had been inseparable
for some time the time when her parents' divorce had gone through And Carola had become a kind of accomplice because her parents were divorced too.
The owner of the shop, who had so reminded her of Carola
had disappeared into the back again.
There was no denying the resemblance, although
Carola was altogether rounder and a little smaller,
if she was not mistaken. Besides, she had moved abroad after
Tenthshe had moved abroad, for her mother had taken a
Position as an interpreter in England.
Or was it in Sweden? Why had neither of them
had contacted each other again? Why did two people who were so close who had been so close, lost sight of each other completely?
The soft, now rather resinous-powdery scent matched
to the temporal shallowness of their trip down memory lane.
She had to smile. It was nice that she had remembered
Carola again had. And sad at the same time. Maybe she could find out something about her and get in touch with her.
Now the blonde came back forward with some books
forward.
"If there's anything I can do for you - just let me know
say..."
"Yeah, thanks, not really at the moment. But nice
Store this is, I didn't even know about it..."
She joined her at the table.
"I just opened last week. I don't know anybody here
practically no one here yet, either."
"I live 20 kilometers away, pretty close to the ocean."
She didn't know exactly why she was telling this either.
"And what do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Oh, nothing exciting, I write, for women's
journals, zeitgeist and fashion, and now and then some
Politics, but carefully dosed, so to speak."
"Great! I mean, if you can make a living doing that. And
near the sea, it sounds almost like Pilcher..."
"Well. It's not all that rosy. I have a
ten-year-old son, who does not get along here and
as a single mother, I have these doubts all the time Am I doing this right or am I thinking too much about myself?"
She wondered how open she was about herself.
"Oh, I see. Yes, I can imagine that, it's
certainly not easy..."
She sat down at the table with her now.
That voice. It was not unlike Carola's not too dissimilar to Carola's, but a little too deep "Yes, it really isn't easy. I often think I
the boy just not enough..."
"I think that's what most single parents think."
"Tell me, can I ask you something weird -
is your name perhaps - Carola?"
"Now that's what I call really weird! And so beautifully direct.
But I think this directness is good. Suits you.
Just like her perfume, Miss Dior, and in the original
version."
"No way...are you sure?
She was completely gobsmacked.
"Absolutely sure, I can smell it."
"You know, I drove all the way here for this... it's a
longer story..."
"Let me just interject something before you tell me in peace tell me. I think you worry too much about a lot of things.. that quickly mutate into worries, can
that be? that be?"
"I don't know... the Jan thing is quite real. In the end, it's true
but... a child and a boy needs a
Father..." "Or two mothers..." She put her hand gently on the strange
Hand that lay beside the cup on the table.
The soft, rounded scent rose to their noses again,
benevolent, reassuring, and confident.
Her hand did not withdraw.
Aftermath
If one were to walk down the March path a few weeks later,
one might stop in front of the house with the little
blue balcony and admire the many plants
and flowers in the garden.
What a lot there was - beach grass carnations, coastal angelica,
red spring rushes, dune vetch, salt hare's ear, sea mustard,
pale purple beach bindweed, centaury, and
in between, lush beach grass, rough yet
cuddly, tough and wonderfully tender at the same time.
The only thing that wasn't there to see was a sign
with the words "For Sale".
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