Vandelier's Song E-Book

Uffe Berggren

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 190

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The stories in this book are tales of eleven people and eleven destinies. Vandelier has not had a drink in months. Something happens that throws him back into the old habituals. Cliff is sitting with his revolver in his hand in front of the TV, waiting for the evening to end. You have to live as you teach, or? Ella returns to her youth and experiences anguish before meeting her father again. Lucille is intimidated by violence and turns back to her bookkeeping.

Leseprobe

Contents

The Home Coming

Fatz is the Greasiest

In the Greyhound Depot

You’re Looking at the Next President

The Witch Master of Self-pity

Drugstore

Sunday Morning

An Unusual Day, Judy!

Roses & Perfume

Not Much of a Smile

Vandelier’s Song

Post Script

The Home Coming

Ella steps down from the yellow bus in a cloud of stale diesel fumes aggressively spreading in the quivering heat. The sun sparkles in the dust along the sides of the bus, as if thousands of minimal mirrors are fixed all along the bus side, just to get this bus to appear somewhat brighter.

On the stairs of the bus station sits Crazy Harry. He grins between two saliva stripes slowly crawling down the stubble chin. He has not changed.

“Hey, Harry!” she says, “how are you holding up?”

Harry stares blankly, does not seem to recognise her. He squints into the sun. He and the bus station look the same as four years ago.

“Girl,” Crazy Harry says, “dog girl!”

He grins even wider and is clumsily flapping his arms. Like he is trying to fly up towards her. Or even greeting her. It is hard to tell.

“Nah?” says Ella, “yes, I always had dogs with me. It is right! Now I have no dog.”

Why is she telling him that? Does he understand?

Ella looks around. No one has come to meet her. The sun is sitting so low that it makes her squint like Crazy Harry when she gazes along the road towards the farm. Nothing is to be seen there, nothing that is moving anyway.

Inside the dusty old bus station there is old Vera Bradley still standing behind the counter. As long as Ella can remember, Vera has been working there. Vera has aged, unlike Crazy Harry. Mainly through that her cheeks are hanging even lower than in the past.

Vera looks up from her packages when Ella comes in.

“My, oh my, look who’s coming here, Martin Parks girl! The youngest if my old eyes doesn’t deceive me. Jenny, no, Gabriella was your name?” Vera Bradley says and smiles so wide her face splits into hundreds of wrinkles.

“Right,” Ella says and is definitely sensing a lump growing in her throat.

For the first time in years any one outside work recognises her, or knows who she is. Now, these two guys recognised her in a matter of minutes!

“Long time since you were home, right honey?”

“Yes, it has been a few years,” Ella mumbles.

“At home on vacation?” Vera wonders and gazes intently at Ella with her piercing icy blue eyes.

“Nah, I quit!”

“Couldn’t you take it?” Vera Bradley asks with some anxiety in her voice.

“Oh yes, but ...”

“I see! The old place still has its lure. Where did you live, in New York?”

“Yes, and in Montreal.”

“With your mother then?”

“No, but she lives in Montreal,” Ella replies and is noticing that Vera does not keep up with what is happening.

“Oh yes, I knew it was a big city. What did you do there then?”

“Working at museums as a guard, waitressing, delivering mail and such,” Ella says.

Ella feels like she is being cross-examined. Then she remembers that Vera Bradley, of course, serves as the village’s news agency.

“Well,” Vera Bradley says and ponders on it,“and now you’re home!”

Vera looks at Ella over her horn rimmed glasses. Vera’s grey hair is like aged wood in the harsh bright sunshine from the windows.

“Yes, it seems that way!”

Outside a car horn is honking. Ella gazes out the window and recognises her father’s old truck. Ayoung, good-looking guy is sitting in it. At first glance she does not recognise him.

“But, it’s Jimmy!” Ella yells and rushes out into the blinding sun out on the dusty street.

She hugs the young man while he is still trying to step down from the truck’s cabin. When he is standing beside her she notices that her little brother is now a head taller than her. She has to tilt her head back to look at him. Previously, it was he who had to do that tilting movement. He is a little embarrassed she notes. He looks hesitatingly at her.

“So tiny you have become,” he says, “you’re so pale. How are you doing?”

“Tired,” she answers with a faint smile.

“Okay, get in, so we can be on our way home,” Jimmy says.

They sit in silence for a while as a puzzlingly familiar landscape sweeps past them on both sides. Ella notices that Jimmy looks at her a few times, as if trying not to let her know that he is looking.

“Seems to have been a tough journey.”

“Yes,” she responds, and glances at him.

Imagine that her little brother has grown and become such a tall and handsome guy! Where has time gone?

“How is mother?” he asks.

“Oh well, she’s okay. She thrives well in life, as you could have suspected,” Ella says.

“She’s still working at the museum?”

“Yes,” she replies.”

“Thought of going to visit her in the fall,” Jimmy says.

“She’ll like that!”

“Might be fun to meet her.”

“How old are you now, Jimmy?” Ella asks and looks at him and squints a bit.

“Eighteen,” he replies.

“And a danger to the girls,” Ella laughs, “you’ve really grown up, little brother!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Jimmy says, a trifle embarrassed.

They sit quiet for some time. Ella notes that she still recognises every house, every bend in the road, well, almost every tree and patch of the road.

It was not that long ago anyway!

“You got my letter?”

“Yes, Dad was happy, of course. Over you coming home for a while, that is.”

“Will be great to see him.”

“Because you’re not going to stay? You still hate this place?” Jimmy wonders.

Ella glances at him. He is no longer a small boy with a runny nose. Now he is an grown man. Looks more adult than she is feeling herself.

“You can’t tell Dad!” she pleads.

“What then?”

“What I’m going to tell you,” she says.

“Okay!”

He glances quickly at her. Then fixes his eyes again on the road. There is not much to watch, but it is that way when you are driving a car. Therefore, he does it.

“You see, I got pregnant down there,” she says very silently.

“Well,” says Jimmy and is still staring straight ahead. His jaw muscles seem unnaturally taut.

“You’re not embarrassed, huh?” she wonders.

“Nah,” he replies without looking at her.

“There was a man I did not really like. So it was ...”

“You’ll deliver it here at home?” Jimmy wonders.

“No, I got rid of it.”

Now it seems definite. Now it’s over and she has even told it to someone she can relate to. She is sad, but not as stunned as before.

“You, …okay!” Jimmy says.

Ella is convinced that he is blushing.

“You certainly have grown up, little brother!” Ella mumbles.

She pats his arm. He turns towards her and smiles. The sun comes in from her side of the car, so he squints slightly towards her.

“I was planning to rest and think,” she says.

“Okay!”

“But Jimmy, don't tell Dad anything! He will just get worried,” she pleads.

“Not a word!” Jimmy promises.

She is feeling more alert. She is not alone. Now she has a little brother who is big enough to share her worries.

“I wonder,” she says, “have you bought a new dog?”

Fatz is the greasiest

There are good restaurants, that are bad and bad restaurants, that are great. There are even many places that do not really deserve to be called restaurants at all. Fatz is one of those. Fatz does not hesitate to take a deep breath at calling itself a restaurant, but not far from it. Fatz is not far from calling itself a restaurant, but far from being a good restaurant.

It is primarily a place to stay a while, grab a bite to eat and save a few dollars before you move on to the next place, where ever you are heading.

Morego Avenue runs along the highway from San Francisco down to Berkeley. At LaSalle Street sits Montclair Center, which is a little insidious suburban center. And on LaSalle Street is Fatz.

There are other restaurants on Morego, but Fatz is the greasiest. Fatz is owned by Jim Haggerty, who once upon a time was nick-named Fatz. He has lost a lot of weight since those days and is rather skinny now, but the name still lives on. In some ways this is a disappointment to the guests who walk into Fatz and for some reason want to talk to the proprietor. When introduced to Jim Haggerty something they sense that something is lacking. Sure, you might fathom that Haggerty has been a big fat guy at some time. But, at Fatz there has to be a fat proprietor. The ordinarily sized Haggerty does not make him as an owner anymore. Luckily enough people nowadays rarely ask for the proprietor. That is not the kind of clientele they have at Fatz. The ones coming in nowadays don’t ask for much. They can handle that Haggerty isn’t as fat as he once used to be, especially in his younger days. It’s the ordinary customers, the regulars if you want to call them that, they can cope with the way things are at the moment. For others it is way harder.

At Fatz you can have a meal without ruining yourself. Most people having their meals at Fatz workwithin the Montclair Center. Some argue that it’s good for your economy to have your meals at Fatz, but it might be worse for gastronomy and your looks. But, you shouldn’t trust them too much. There is always a lot of gossip travelling around about every food-joint. That’s half the charm; the rumors are half of the pleasure when coming here.

Reba adjusts her cap and gives Steve, the Chinese kid who’s always teasing her, a scolding. She makes a quick glance into the mirror and she doesn’t really object to what she is seeing there, a heart-shaped face with a skin tone like milk chocolate. She can’t se much of her hair below her cap, but always crops it very short.

A random observer gazing at Reba might think that life is good. It’s a pleasure looking at her, even if she herself sometimes thinks that her appearance leaves very much to be wanted. But she looking good in that mockery of a hat Haggerty thinks she should wear on her head in order to represent Fatz in a pleasing manner. That’s the way it is with Reba, her looks are good, but on the ordinary side. She would look alright in almost anything. That is a trait she doesn’t really appreciate to its full extent.

“They’re just passing by,” Reba sighs regarding her image in the mirror and finally makes a face of distaste. “If they were living here, they would be home by now!”

They have seen to it that they are leaving for somewhere else around the outskirts of the city. They have had enough sense to avoid this part. Either is it too expensive, or not fashionable enough. So, there is a special kind of people in the neighborhood.

They’re not the ones having a meal at Fatz.

Reba is like said before not content with her own image in the mirror. She wonders why no one else looks at her like she is looking at herself. Men do not really stand in line. Not that it would necessarily be much more fun then, but it would at least be some kind of change. At least.

“Reba, you wont grow more beautiful by looking at yourself in the mirror,” Steve teases her.

She smiles, he is always laughing at her and winking at her in a flirtatious manner.

“Steve, how old are you really?”

Reba is coming out from behind the counter. She moves some glasses into the shelf where they use to stand.

“Twenty-two”.

Steve looks at her interrogatively.

“I’m twenty-three, did you know that?” Reba says.

Steve looks at her with a somewhat intense stare, smiling a bit.

“Wow, almost an old lady!” Steve says, winking at her.

“Watch out so I don’t feed you a knuckle-sandwich! But, you look so childish I‘d better not.” Reba says.

She giggles some, like she had uttered something really funny. That’s the way she’s feeling anyway. Whatever that means.

“You’d better. You know all Chinese are masters of Kung Fu?”

Steve clenches his fists and strikes a pose with his feet wide astride.

“No, really?”

She is waiting, but steps up closer to Steve.

“Sure.” Steve laughs.

Steve relaxes his pose, continuing to smile at her, like he always does.

Reba laughs and pinches his cheek.

“Yo, Steve, you don’t seem like any of them ordinary burger flippers. Don’t you do a whole range of other stuff?”

“You could say that”.

Steve keeps on polishing the counter. Suddenly its is like he seems very interested in this job.

“Maybe I shouldn’t even be guessing, but rather ask you up front what do you think?”

“If you don’t want to guess, let me tell you instead”, he says.

Steve looks at her, still keeping on polishing the counter. He checks if Haggerty is on his way back onto the premises.

“I’m proud guessing your secret,” says Reba.

She leans towards the counter.

“It’s no secret, I make photographs and do a bit of writing”, Steve tells her.

“You know pictures of animals in the sunset, forests, the sea and halfway pretentious nature romantic texts to go along with them.”

“Aren’t you proud of what you do?”

She gazes at him with a somewhat forced and introvert smile.

“It’s more like it is not as easy making a living doing them kind of things. No one has shown any interest in buying text and pictures in a while now. That’s why I’ve become interested in the restaurant business. People have to eat and then there is need for guys like me to take care of their dirty cutlery and plates”.

“But, what a pity!”

She is taking a chance; she doesn’t know if that is what he wants to hear. It’s not what she wanted to say. Maybe somewhere in between instead. She doesn’t know if it is important to please, that’s not really her style. To be honest ,she really doesn’t know what her style is. She sighs.

“With such a talent like mine, you mean? Bah, I think it’s a good experience. I don’t have to run around trying to peddle pictures and texts for a while. Some sort of vacation with salary, if you see it that way.”

“How long have you been at it?” Reba wonders.

“Let’s see, almost a year. I like it, but I’ll quit next month. It’s fall in the mountains by then. Then Steve packs his backpack full of film, paper and cameras and hits the road with sleeping bag and tent to catch “the passing of the seasons”.”

“I hope you’ll get some good pictures,” Reba says.

Sure, it’s just a thing that you say, but Reba is sincerely hoping that it will work out fine for Steve so he is able to make a living, and then the pictures have to be good enough to sell.

“The question is if anybody wants to buy them!”

“Sure they will.”

“Maybe”, he mumbles.

Steve looks at her like he wants to remember every shift of the expressions in her face.

“How about you then?” Steve continues. ”Will you keep on serving here at Fatz for the remainder of your life?”

He smirks towards Reba, like he knows that she really has bigger plans.

He should only know, Reba thinks, that I have no clue to what I’m going to even tomorrow!

“Not really, but I have no detailed plans for the future”, Reba mutters.

Reba smiles at Steve, as to show him how vague a future she has.

“Would you like to go along with me up into the mountains this fall?” he asks. “You could easily fix a new job if you don’t like sleeping outdoors?”

“Do you really want me to tag along”, she asks. “What about the rent? I do have a room, you know. A lot of gear too, what about that?”

“Pay the rent two months in advance. Then you might change your mind, or keep on watching nature. You don’t need to make any life-changing decisions. Soon there will be wintertime in the mountains and we have to go to where it is warmer. It’s all about some weeks, maybe a month.”

“You mean you really want me to tag along?”

Why? It’s like she can’t grasp what he is saying. Like she doesn’t want to listen to the words he is using, like she wants to hear that she misunderstands and keep on staying here with her miserable life.

“May be we can have a lot of fun together,” says Steve with a short chuckle.

Like he really wants to say something completely different. Like he is talking to her in a language he is expecting her to understand. She wonders if she does that, if he says the things she suspects he does. She’s not that sure, but it doesn’t make any big difference anymore. It’s not the most important.

“You mean in the sleeping-bag?” she asks and to her disappointment she notices that she gives a little laugh, a bit nervously.

She not fond of that nervous, prude side in herself, but usually she comforts herself by muttering that she grew out of it.

There are a lot of things she is hoping will become different, just as she gets a bit older.

Now she can’t wait much longer to get older, the years have passed rapidly enough as it is. Maybe it’s not only the years she’s lacking, but also the experiences that come along with every year older she gets.

“Not necessarily, but you’re fun talking to”, he says and continues “It’s mostly because I like working with you I have stayed here as long as three months. The other places I worked I only endured a couple of weeks each.”

“Okay!”

Reba gazes at him.

“Okay, I'll tag along with you if you promise that there is a possibility to slide into your sleeping-bag if I feel like it.” Reba sighs.

As recently as yesterday she’d become worried hearing herself saying something like that. Now it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Like the world has changed.

She doesn’t understand herself. Something is happening and she doesn’t master it, she doesn’t even master herself.

She’s feeling a bit high by all this news. All these new things happening to her.

“Sure, I’m more than willing to be surprised!”

Steve is staring at her. If someone else had said what he just said, or stared at her in this way, she would truly be worried. Now it doesn’t seem that dangerous, it seems cute in a way. She doesn’t get why she thinks it is.

“Sounds good!” Reba giggles; though somewhere deep inside her she’s a little bit worried.

It frightens her that Steve has such an easy way of handling profoundly loaded words. Still, she doesn’t want to get scared, not right now. It seems like it is a nice time and that a bunch of changes are on their way. She has a craving for change. Life's been so boring for such a long time now.

“When can you leave?”

Steve looks right at her and his eyes are so dark it’s hard to grasp what he’s thinking. Maybe you can’t do that even with people with brighter eyes, she ponders.

“Well, I don’t know, you said a month?

Reba knows that it doesn’t matter when he wants to leave. She doesn’t care about Fatz. She could quit right now. Just put her rag down and walk out. But, you’re not supposed to do that kind of thing. At least if you would like to give the world the appearance of you being a trustworthy citizen with plans for the future and a clear goal for the rest of life.

“Exactly.”

“Then I’m in!”

Reba gives Steve a hug.

“Good, that’s settled then!”

Steve replicates her hug and breaks up her hug. He takes a step back, looks at her and then shakes his head, without any contempt.

“But Haggerty will go crazy of course, he’s gonna start yelling that Fatz is going bankrupt and that’s our fault.” Reba rambles on.

“It’s going down anyway? Hardly anyone comes here anymore.”

Steve gives her a poke at the waist.

“But look, the first guests of the evening!”

Steve leaves for the kitchen. Reba turns towards the couple just entering the door. They are eyeing the premises.

“Table for two?” Reba asks with a broad smile.

The couple turns towards her and smiles back!

In the Greyhound Depot

There’s something special about the depots of the Greyhound lines. They are regular life in miniature. They are the heart of the countryside’s contacts with the rest of the world.

Just now a metal shining bus arrived. The passengers stepped out of the bus and went into the depot to wait for a friend coming to pick them up, or to wait for the next bus taking them further.

Just like at a railway station there was a movement of change inside the building. Local people were hanging around inside. They were looking at the travellers. Studying their disoriented gazes and trying to figure out what the travellers were heading for. But, just after a few moments they had categorised the travellers and returned to what they had been doing. Some of them seemed to be primarily occupied with smoking. Others were reading. It was an ordinary night. It was late, but not so late that all life had ceased to exist in the waiting area of the bus depot.

In a quiet manner there was something in the air, something almost foreboding a promise. What exactly was promised wasn’t quite clear. A lot of people were still waiting for travellers or for one of the approaching buses.

There’s something absolute about waiting areas. They