touch – Page 4 – three good words

March 29, 2015

morning ritual

under the shower: a reflection
wet and bare
skin showing
clean, gleaming

pearls merging to wetness
steaming
as the water whispers on and on
arias sung alone
private unknown glee

later, dressed
sitting at a surface
cup in hand, porcelain smooth
eating what was made
by recipes written

private perfect memories
held in immaculate hands

bliss
.

March 20, 2015

the art of life

freedom
is not words spoken
alone

it is sang out loud
in the silence that is accepted
across a bridge, dividing
knowing what needs demanding
a rule unbroken
a law of life.

but those sunk in silence
deaf to the marvelous sound
will tell you, whisper, shout:
spring does not exist
fall is an advertisement
summer a ludicrous myth
but winter the truth that has come

not snow-sparkling white
children laughing during snowball fights
but wet and grey
full of frostbite
that’s the one
that is the silence that has come

until one, two, three and more
sing of the sun
bright in the skies
flowers below, shining
trees like seas
green and grassy
life bursting in all colours
rejoicing
second to none.

…

she laughs when i say
i am (not: shall be) myself
i have a place within
that is sacred, me

and there is that moment
the question, hope, wonder:
how long until that laughter fades?

until understanding pervades
that each and all
have their holy place
beating under their ribs
smooth on their skin?

freedom is not a request
it never was a favour
it is necessary
the natural state of all things
but no one said it was easy

like canvas waiting
clay cool in one’s hands
the art of life is
living
loving
being
free
.

October 20, 2014May 16, 2020

The doors opened, two guests stepped out and they stepped in. In the compartment there was silence and easy lounge music. Alexis didn’t bother to look at her new roommate. All she could think of was her shower. In less than a minute they were at her door, Alexis opened it and dropped everything the moment she walked in. Finally. the sea the sea After booting up her office laptop, she finally found the time to turn and give Mr Russell a good look. Tall, dark and handsome indeed. They probably saw him and coined the phrase. About thirty, maybe a bit older. And he looked as much in need of a shower as she did. It really was way too humid.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather shower first,’ Alexis said, ‘unless you have a pressing need,’ she added, not without a little irony. With looks like that she felt he couldn’t be all that touchy, and she’d been looking forward to that shower since three.
‘No, go ahead,’ he said with that accent Alexis hadn’t heard in a long time.

And as always when she heard it, it softened something inside, not much, but enough to notice. Just then her phone beeped loud, twice. Alexis checked, she had a message. It read that Marc, her colleague back home, had sent her the graphs she asked for. He wanted to know if she got them, the servers had crashed again after they uploaded the new program. Now he wasn’t sure if anything reached anyone.

‘On a second thought, why don’t you go first,’ Alexis said turning back to her computer.
‘Are you sure?’ Mr Russell asked, sounding too polite, never mind the accent.

Ah, he rather wished he didn’t owe her this. Well, she’d rather have had her rooms to herself too, but Claire could look like a lost kitten if she wanted to, it was only one night, and so far Mr Russell didn’t look like a psychopath. Added to that she was dead tired. She had no time to argue.

‘I have to check this, so go ahead,’ Alexis said while sitting down at her laptop. She registered shifting and moving behind her, entered the password and heard how Mr Russell walked past her to the bathroom, the door closing with a quiet click. Alexis opened her email and saw that she had received one from Marc, except that it was void of graphs. She called and told him, Marc said he knew, he wanted to make sure she actually got his mails first, and promptly sent her the actual material. They small talked some more, and Alexis mentioned the charity-work she was currently doing for the hotel. With the shower running on the other side of the bathroom door, she felt safe to vent a little.

‘Russell?’ Marc asked. ‘You don’t mean Russell from Trinity?’
‘Trinity? In Dublin?’
‘No, the one in Beijing,’ Marc snorted. ‘Of course in Dublin.’
‘I’m tired, Marc, can’t expect me to – wait, you mean the Russell from Trinity who wrote about that funeral pyre or what it was they found in Ecuador last year?’
‘Yeah, he was part of the group,’ Marc said, the usual click-clack of his fast-typing fingers still audible over the phone. ‘Yeah, here, Kieran Russell, Trinity College, currently working on the Indigenous Spirit Rituals of Polynesia. I knew I heard that name somewhere.’
‘Spirit Rituals?’
‘Yeah, he’s got this whole thing on spiritualism and how indigenous peoples generally have a link to a non-visible Entity. You know, Karlson’s stuff, life after death, spirits and everything. I think he wrote something on zombie myths, actually. Could be wrong though.’
‘Ok. How long has he been on it? Do you know?’
‘Nope. But…’ more click-clacking from the keyboard, ‘yeah, looks like he’s trying to trace back the roots like Luchovsky -’
‘But Luchovsky’s mad -’
‘Yeah,’ Marc chuckled. ‘Got thrown out of the Vatican last month -’
‘Again? I thought he was banned for life after the crypt?’
‘Nah, cousin’s a cardinal or something. Anyway – this guy’s slant is different.’
‘How so?’
‘Says here, Russell’s about how good old opium for the people’s come to be such big business to day. Lots of heathen cult incorporation, shrines turned to churches, something on the Mars cult – right up Luchovsky’s alley – ’
‘Not much of a Catholic then.’
‘Couldn’t say,’ Marc said, typing on, popping gum. ‘He’s been working with some big names actually – he’s part of that Mexico City network with the pyramid – oh, and he’s worked with our good friend George.’
‘Kaluo?’
‘Yep.’
‘Makes sense,’ Alexis said, hearing the shower pour on. If he could work with George he had to be good. ‘So, what does he look like, exactly?’ Alexis asked, wanting to be sure.
‘Here, check yourself,’ Marc said.

Seconds later, Alexis had a new email, with a link she clicked on. The page popped up showing pictures of a group of faculty, and in the middle of it a familiar face. So it was him, Kieran Russell. Not bad. Not bad at all. Well, at least now she knew who he was.

‘Is it him?’ Marc asked on the other end.
‘Looks like.’
‘Bit good-lookin’ don’t you think?’ Marco mused.
‘Not everyone has to look like Milo,’ Alexis said, which made Marc chuckle again.

Their boss looked like a slim version of Kojak, without the lollipops, and the looks for that matter. Still, Prof. Milos Zetakis was a very able boss and both Alexis and Marc enjoyed working for him. Alexis would have hardly stayed at the department if she hadn’t, and Marc wasn’t someone to tolerate dictatorships.

‘Ok, Marco,’ Alexis sighed, covering a yawn.
‘Polo,’ Marc said on automatic, making Alexis smile.

It was their silly game. Whoever forgot to say Polo had to pay the next round of drinks, never mind if they were on opposite ends of the planet.

‘I think I should stop before my bill eats up my phone,’ Alexis yawned again. Lord, she was tired. Where was the food? ‘I’ll send you everything by, say, tomorrow?’
‘Take your time. Milo won’t be in until day after.’
‘Oh, sweet. Great. God, I’m tired. Sorry, Marc, but I really should go.’
‘Sure. Take your time.’

And Marc was gone. Alexis turned back to her screen. Kieran Russell from Trinity. And he signed in as Mr Russell. Alexis liked that. Most rode on the wave of prestige, and thought writing a treatise automatically put you in a different category of human. Alexis would have preferred Ms Jordan as well, but since Mr Kelly found out what she was doing it was Dr Jordan the moment she walked into the lodge.

Alexis closed the url Marc sent her, opened the files in her mail, set up her field laptop and connected the two computers to process the data she gathered so far. Soon she would have the entire complex in 3D. The past weeks were really only taking measurements and photographs so that she had something solid to work with when she returned home. Then she could finally work on understanding what it was she and Toni had dug up there, Toni who did the wise thing and sped home to his wife and kids once the clouds started showing. pier dark What did they find there, though? An old settlement? A temple? Or something nobody knew about? It was a cooperation with Hawaii State, Toni working on the Islands and Alexis back home, using the gift of the gods named internet to communicate seamlessly. Even so, a few weeks field work were always necessary for Alexis to not lose touch, and now she was on her third week. She had two more to go, and then it would be back to rainy San Francisco again, not that the islands were much better right now anyway, God she was hungry. Really, where was that food?

October 19, 2014May 16, 2020

midnight menu

Not PG rated

She didn’t talk very much, but she always said thank you with a smile. Every Tuesday and Thursday night, after the late-night shift, he would go to the diner, sit at the counter and order the Midnight Menu that was made almost entirely out of fat and cholesterol. It tasted heavenly.

Oliver, or Oil as his colleagues called him – it was that one lunch break where he listed reasons why extra virgin olive oil was healthy that did it. He couldn’t help it, it was the kind of trivia he knew. So, he would walk into the diner at sometime past 2 a.m., sit down at the red-leather stool and start off with a coffee to wake him up, then continue with some nuts or crackers in the small dish someone always set before him, and finally go for the Midnight Menu, greasy and heavy in his stomach, the perfect thing to carry him home and send him to sleep the moment he undressed and hit the pillows.

Sometimes he didn’t undress at all. It all got into a muddle once he passed his door. Somnolence thickened his fatigue halfway up the five floors, and by the time he opened the door, he was sleep-walking. Every now and then he woke up in his shirt and tie, his pants unzipped. He somehow always remembered to remove his shoes, the fruits of rigorous childhood training where one step into the house with muddy shoes was accompanied with the siren-like shriek from his mother. And he always had muddy shoes. Since then it had become almost a reflex to remove his shoes the moment he closed the door. The rest, however… Oliver couldn’t say how often he’d woken up drooling on his jacket, but only ever on Wednesday and Friday mornings, after the late-night shift and endless jokes about olive oil.

There was no reason why he went to the diner so religiously. It had nothing to do with the interior, which looked like a bad copy of a 50s’ family eatery. It wasn’t the music which was always this side of mediocre, let alone the clientele that looked just as half-dead as he usually felt. It was the food at first, greasy and delicious and so unhealthy he ate up with glee. And when she suddenly turned up, he had another reason as well. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she had a nice face, the kind you could watch and watch and watch and not get tired, unless you were drifting off into the land of nowhere like he often was. She moved gracefully, like a dancer, never talked louder than necessary and always said thank you with a smile. He liked her, though all the conversation they had was a hello and goodbye, except his usual order and how she jotted everything down as if she’d heard it for the first time.

He at first thought she was a little slow. He never changed his order, so why all this writing? Then he saw her reading that French woman they’d had in school and changed his mind. He got a little cautious too. She was working the night shift at a slightly seedy dig, looking prim and proper like a neatly trimmed garden, without any sign of unease. The moment he realized this, Oliver got curious. Very quietly, over the space of weeks of Tuesday and Thursday late-night shifts he started wanting to know who she was, why she read that French book on the graveyard shift, and what the rest of her life looked like. She had to have something of a rest of her life. He had a rest of his life, though it didn’t amount to much. If he wasn’t sleeping he was working, if he wasn’t working he was sleeping. Weekends just drifted by, and there was Terry who insisted on drinks on Friday night, usually spent listening to Terry talk about his boring life. He’d had a girl once, ages ago. Pretty thing, bright, with plans for her life that did not entail the likes of him. Oliver didn’t mind. Thinking about her and them and us and everything else had proven to be unnecessarily complicated, he kept on messing up the one steady thing in his life, his job. So he wasn’t too shocked when she called it quits. He hadn’t seriously seen a woman in… years.

There was Stella from down the hall though. He’d found her crying on the stairs one day, crying so hard she could hardly move, so he helped her up, opened her door for her and made her some chamomile tea, why did women always have camomile tea? Then he listened to how she walked in on her boyfriend fucking another woman, got her box of Kleenex for her and hugged her awkwardly across the corner of her kitchen counter. He tucked her into bed fully dressed, except her shoes of course, slipped a tacky white teddy into the crook of her arm, a gift from the man she just fled from. Oliver made sure she was ok, Stella told him twice she was all right, so he left.

A week later, some drab Sunday night, the doorbell rang. Oliver opened it and saw Stella standing there with a bottle of wine, saying she wanted to say thank you. They drank the wine in his kitchen and fucked on his couch, and since then it was kind of an arrangement that he turned up at her place on Sunday evening with a bottle of wine. They rarely drank any of it because Stella was a riot in bed. She knew some surprising things, and liked talking about the men she met while they were fucking. Oliver got to know about a lot of people this way, it was way better than the Sunday night special on TV.

That was his life really, the late-night shift on Tuesday and Thursday, a few drinks with Terry on Friday, maybe a trip to the gym on Saturday, and sex with Stella from down the hall on Sunday evening. It was easy, there were no complications, and Oliver lived rather contentedly this way. He didn’t want anything to change really, though sometimes he did dream of faraway places where he would live a different life altogether, where he might have something close to ambition, but those were just dreams anyway.

October 18, 2014May 16, 2020

in the field

It was typical rain-season weather where all the back roads were swamps of mud and you were lucky to reach the lodge without being marooned half way. Getting stuck in turn usually ended in pushing the jeep and landing face-down in the mud. The sky was a heavy grey, clouds hanging so low Alexis felt she could touch them. There was that metallic taste of a storm brewing in the air, thickly humid as it was, making any type of material stick annoyingly to her skin. And for some reason all the mosquitoes of the islands had decided to congregate around every living, breathing mammal and probably the dead one’s as well, God she hated them. Mosquitoes really were one unnecessary genetic mutation.

Alexis parked her jeep with a sigh of relief, jumped out, gathered her gear and made her way back to the lodge. The first gust of pre-storm wind swept around her, ruffling her frizzled hair, damp and haphazard, half eating the clip she tried to tame it with. She felt sticky from head to toe and could only think of the shower waiting for her upstairs. All she needed was her key and then, hallelujah, she would scrub down, wrap herself up in the hotel’s heavenly bathrobe and then spread out on her bed with the thunderstorm crashing on outside.

The first thing Alexis noticed when entering the lobby was the musty, wet-clothes smell that hung like heavy draperies in the air. It would be ok after the storm, but right then it just irritated her more. Shouldering her backpack and waterproofed gadgets she trudged to the counter where someone tall and broad was arguing loudly with one of the concierges. She noticed the accent first, it spoke of rich green hills and real music in real pubs with real beer, the kind you never got on this side of the planet unless you went looking. Alexis clattered next to him, she couldn’t help it, her gear was heavy this late in the day. Claire, the young clerk, greeted Alexis with a ‘Hello, Dr Jordan!’ that was way too happy. Alexis still said,

‘Hi, Claire, Any mail?’
‘No, Dr Jordan, but with the weather like this, the plane’s bound to be late,’ the young woman smiled cheerily.

Just as well. She needed a few hours of rest anyway.

‘Could you send up something to eat, you know, not too heavy, and some very, very cold water?’
‘Of course, Dr. Jordan. Is there anything else we can do for you?’
‘Find me some decent sleep,’ Alexis sighed, but Claire frowned prettily. ‘No, I’m fine. I’d just take my keys then, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Dr. Jordan – ’ Claire started, but was interrupted by her colleague Ray who was still being harangued by the new arrival.

Alexis checked the vitals. Hiking boots, combat pants with all the pockets – good for outdoor work – dark blue t-shirt, a huge backpack, well-used, and a laptop safely packed in a waterproof case which meant serious field work. Alexis wasn’t really aware how blatantly she was staring until she saw he was looking straight back at her. Alexis blushed and looked away, really, she kept on forgetting how to act when around people. And what about her keys? Claire was still talking with her colleague, and both were looking at Alexis every now and then, until it started to get a little worrying. Finally the young woman turned back to Alexis, looking apprehensive.

‘Ahm… Dr. Jordan?’
‘Yes?’
‘May I talk to you for a second? In private?’

Claire didn’t look like she was about to kick her out of the lodge so Alexis walked to where Claire pointed, the wide French windows leading out to the patio. The first few drops splattered against the panes. Soon the storm would hit and the humidity and mosquitoes would be swept away, yeah.

‘Is something wrong?’ Alexis asked when Claire joined her.
‘No, no, nothing’s wrong. That is, nothing with you Dr. Jordan, of course not, but we are in a kind of a – predicament.’
‘What kind?’
‘It seems we’re overbooked.’
‘Oh, ok – ’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ Claire said, looking pained. ‘Mr. Russell’s room is already taken, but he did book it, so he in fact has every right to complain.’
‘Yeah, but, what’s that got to do with –’

Wait a minute. Oh, no, please no –

‘I just found out that you and Mr. Russell are in fact working in the same field – ?’ Claire asked brightly.
‘Do we now?’ Alexis asked dryly.

Why, why, why did this always happen to her? She just wanted a shower, some food, maybe a drink and then sleep, sleep, sleep. Why were the gods so against that, it was such a simple wish?

‘Well, Mr Russel is also working on a project, just like you, and we thought it might not be too awkward if you would be together, since you’d at least have something to talk about,’ Claire explained quickly. ‘It would only be for a night, the Martinez’ will be leaving tomorrow morning – ’
‘But – ’
‘Please?’ Claire asked, her wide eyes imploring. ‘You are one of our most trusted guests, and we – well, we know you, Dr. Jordan. It would only be for one night, and we would of course set up an extra bed in the second room, so… please?’
‘Yes, but Claire – ’
‘If Mr. Kelly finds out, Ray and I’ll be in a bit of a fix,’ Claire added, and Alexis sighed.

How was she to say no now? Mr. Kelly was known to be a bit… strict. Alexis knew Claire and Ray for the five years she’d been coming here to do her research, and it was true that she was known to the lodge as any other seasonal guest, maybe even more so because she always stayed for at least a month each year. And there was enough space in her suite, that was true too, she always booked one just to be able to set up the equipment she needed. During her four weeks on the islands, her suite was the base of the operation, the messy, cable-infested HQ. If they set up the bed where the couch was, they’d be out of each other’s hair. Still, there was a difference between admiring someone from a safe distance and having him around you for a night and day, seeing all your quirks and bad habits. Still, spending a night in the same room with tall, dark and handsome was a small price from keeping Jay and Claire from Mr. Kelly’s wrath.

‘If he promises not to snore, I’m fine,’ Alexis finally said and Claire beamed.
‘Thank you so much!’ she exclaimed, even hugging Alexis’ tightly.
‘Yes, yes, ok, just make sure you don’t forget my dinner,’ Alexis said grumpily.

Claire let her go again, nodding enthusiastically, piped another ‘Thank you!’ and rushed back to the reception. She could see the relief on Ray’s face when Claire gave him a thumbs up. Alexis watched how both communicated everything to Mr. Russell, who turned to Alexis and nodded as if saying Thank you. Alexis just pointed to the elevators, showing she had the key and started walking. She was really in need for a shower and felt even stickier and more frizzled than ever. She didn’t bother to look if he joined, but since the elevators took an century to arrive, Mr. Russell did manage to join her in time, backpack and laptop included.