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MP: The blessing bowl and the fear IX

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie

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"I'll go and get the trashcan inside," I announced, "before the kids start kicking it about." I walked through the back garden, which was relatively long. Our house was from 1901, from the early days of the village and all the plots from that time had been large. It was one of the few brick-built houses, I was told by the broker, because there had been a brickyard at the beginning of the village, which used the clay from the creek for its stones. "Your house will still be standing when wooden houses are blown over by the first hurricane to hit us 'had been his sales pitch.

Our house also had a basement at elevated height that ran underneath the entire house with an exit to a small space in the garden that was closed off by a heavy hatch. "That," the broker had said, "is or was the coal chute, coal was dumped through the hatch in the past and then you scooped it into the basement in the boiler, which has now become a new gas-fired installation."

 

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I stepped out of the gate and walked over to my gray bin, where my neighbor was already moaning. "Good day," he said,'how are you, "we are doing it wrong, we have to put the containers out at the last minute." "I am fine, " I replied, 'how are you and what do you mean at the last minute?" "Filthy stinking Indians," growled the man who was known in the neighborhood as a true racist. 'They go through your garbage and take out the plastic bottles,' he pointed to the floor around the bin, 'and the garbage truck goes by automatically, it lifts the bin and empties it, there is no longer a swamper who picks up bits of junk. "

"They hand in those bottles for a deposit, I have no problem with that," he pointed to the ground again, "but they simply leave everything else that they get out  and I can pick it up again." "Right," I said, "I'll think about it."

'I just chased away another Indian who got all the rubbish out of your container, "he continued. An alarm bell rang. "I hope he went for the bottles," I asked. "That as well," said the neighbor, "he had arms full of junk." "Good God, no," I thought. "I came out and shouted from afar that he had to get lost," my neighbor said, "but he kept digging, then I grabbed my gun out of the truck and that lazy feather-ass ran off."

"Fine spoke man, my neighbor," went through me. I stooped and picked up some papers and threw them in my empty bin. "Thanks for the advice," I said, and I went back into my backyard to put the container behind my house. "Has it been emptied," my wife wanted to know when I came in. " "Certainly," I replied, "there was nothing left in it." "Nice," she said, "that sorts it out,  I felt a bit threatened," and I knew what she meant.

 

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A few minutes later we were sat rather cozy in the small lounge and watched Netflix with a glass of wine in front of us at a side table. "I'm glad the thing's gone," my dear said, and I agreed with her. I did wonder if I would still have the connection, for the bowl had been brought to the house and I lived there, would the connection have to do with distance, it had been given to me and I had more or less rejected it, my wife had thrown it away, but I would have agreed.

"Ridiculous," my normal inner voice went through me, "you are almost starting to believe that crap." I took a sip of wine and then the gravel voice rang out beside me. "not soooo ridiculous, at all!" I stiffened up and choked again. "Don't drink so eagerly," my wife admonished me, "you'll stay in it, first you choke on coffee and now on wine." I kept to myself why I had choked.

San Daniel 2019

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10/12/2019 00:13

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