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Cul-de-sac, Vaxjo! - 07 Cul-de-sac, Vaxjo! - 07
by Thanos Kalamidas
2022-12-10 09:20:05
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07. Facts, pros and unwritten question mark cons

Very early the next morning, still dark with a light fog veiling the neighbourhood. Inside, Ruby and I after a night with little barefoot crying girls and masked men with long knives cycled my dreams all night, I’m trying with not much success to have a proper breakfast. Black coffee, toast with a slice of cheese, two cherry tomatoes and a boiled egg. The happy starting of a new day for a diabetic. Ruby is all over her breakfast. Salmon with something and something, tin alchemies. No comment here.

After a few minutes with me staring Ruby having breakfast with her tail straight up like an antenna, I put down my coffee cup, I take a deep breath and I ask the cat in a very serious tone, “Okay, Ruby. I’ve lost my appetite for breakfast. Now, you tell me what was all that yesterday, why now, why all at the same time and why to me.”
Ruby ignored me and continued with her salmon as if I hadn’t said a word.
“Do you think there is a connection?” Still no answer. Not even a look.

“Fine, you don’t want to hear me then …no cheese for you,” and I pushed in my mouth the last piece of the toast and cheese I was keeping in my plate for her to lick. And of course the minute the cheese reach my tongue Ruby hit me with a spiteful look that said, “you nasty selfish human.” My turn to ignore her and focus into my tablet.

Växjö Theatre – Växjö Teater

First and out of habit, I checked Växjö Facebook page, but nothing noteworthy caught the eye. Thankfully, the application has automatic translator nowadays so I can short of comfortably browse posts and comments. Parking problems, looking for an affordable children hairdresser, a nice photo of the lake and a church survey the only posts for the last two days. No bare foot crying girl, no rubbery and no wounds from knives. Växjö’s page obviously had a very quiet night.

I depressed myself for a bit more with international news, local wars, inflation and pandemics until I decided that I had enough of morning misery and that it was time to turn to my yellow pages notebook. Put yesterday’s local misery into some kind of order. Pencil is a must when write on a yellow page legal notepad, so arming myself with one I return to the kitchen table.

Three vertical lines. Facts, pros, cons.

Twelve year-old girl,
barefoot and crying.
Late in the evening.
No more information.

She had an innocent fight with her peers in the playground.
She was playing at the schoolyard and missed curfew.
She didn’t understand how late it was she lost her shoes in the dark.
She had a fight with her best friend.

domestic violence.

I didn’t want to write the third con. The darkness of the thoughts that accompanied the third possibility made me reject any desire to see it written. So, I didn’t. I just let three question marks looking at me from behind a very dark curtain.

Ruby sensing that something upset me stood from the sofa she was laying and looked out of the window. Instinctively I checked what she was looking. Light fog veiling everything with a bunch of crows flying over the tops of the few trees at the parking lot and smoke rising in indolent curls from a distant factory. A scenery matching my mood.

The question-marks were still looking in my soul even though my eyes didn’t look at them. I refilled my cup and I went out in the balcony for some fresh air. The minute I stepped out, Karl jumped also out on his balcony, waving both hands shouting something his glass covered balcony didn’t let go through. Pantomime at work, I shown him my coffee cup and with my other hand invited him to come around for a coffee. He ignored my so successful hand signs and continued waving with both hands while shouting something not audible from my also glass-covered balcony.

In the end he moved his hands sidewise like an airplane ready to land and entered the house leaving me there in owe for our communication skills. Thankfully, soon after he came out again this time  carrying his telephone with one hand and pointing it to me with the other. I sighed, reminded to myself that the third age has no mercy and went inside looking for my telephone.

“I called Lucas,” Karl, the not small talk man.
“Good morning to you too, Karl.”
“Well, yes… Good morning. How are you?”
“Oh man, leave it Karl, what did Lucas said?
“What do you mean …nothing?”
“He said it is under investigation and he cannot tell me nothing!” Karl’s anxiety pushing him into Swedenglish syntax.
“What about the girl?”
“Forgot to ask.”
No comment!

Silence for a bit and then I told him about my facts-pros-cons list.
“I need a smoke,” he said after I explained my not-finished thoughts about the question-marks.

Ten minutes later, we were both in the old Opel, windows open temperatures just over zero and fog all around.
“I think you must put two more lines with three question-marks,” was the first thing he said after lighting his cigarette.
“Why two?” He just looked t me and somehow I understood.

domestic violence.

Not sure why, I underlined them.

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