Part 28 – The dinner set
April 12th 2007 21:59
Sitting with Re on the floor of his cell I looked around the room. It was more an apartment than a cell, comfortable furniture, small kitchen, but no windows and two armed guards outside the front door.
He worked with a pile of sugar, in one hand he held a small electric device, a bit like a shaver, but smaller. In his other hand a curved piece of plastic. Dipping the plastic in the sugar he pointed the device at it. A ray of light emitted and the sugar melted then reformed around the plastic. Gently Re pushed the newly made plastic into shape.
“Why are you here?” he asked, continuing his work.
“I’m here to learn from you. Is that sugar?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing with it?”
“I was bored so I’m making a bowl. It seemed a useful way to fill the time.”
“With sugar?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“You don’t make bowls with sugar.”
“Then why was it left here for me?”
‘It’s probably to put in your coffee.”
He looked at me, “Coffee! Are you mad, why would I do that?” He wore new clothes, but nothing else had changed about him. I mean, his hair and make-up were the same. He needed a shave.
“Sugar makes coffee taste nice,” I said.
“Sugar?”
“Yes, sugar.”
The light I’d seen in his eyes all those weeks before had faded. He was smaller than I remembered.
“Sugar doesn’t go in food. Who ever heard such nonsense? It’s used to make super hard alloys for machinery and household tools.”
Ignoring the sugar I asked, “What did they do to you?”
“You work for them, you know what happened.”
“I’ve spoken to them about it and warned my superiors you shouldn’t be treated that way.” I wanted to kiss him.
“You should warn their superiors, you should go to the highest body in the world and tell them about it. That’s what we do where I come from. We complain until something gets done.”
“Where are you from?” I moved forward, just a little. He moved back.
“I shouldn’t tell you that. You can’t be trusted.” No kisses today. Disheartened I stood and left the room. Perhaps he’d be in a better mood tomorrow.
Days passed and I visited regularly. He didn’t speak to me. He wasn’t eating and didn’t drink. He withered before my eyes.
“Why won’t you eat Re? Do you want to kill yourself?”
“No,” his bowl was almost complete. “Could I have some more sugar?”
“Only if you speak to me.”
He glared at me, “So you can ask me more questions that have no meaning?”
“I want to get to know you.”
“Cut me up then. Find out how my body works. Kill me in the name of science but don’t visit every day pretending you’re hurt and it’s something personal. You hit me over the head, seduced me then locked me up and tortured me. I don’t want to speak to you.”
That was more than I’d got from him in days. My training had only taught me how to beat people up and how to control of a man’s mind by looking sexy. I wasn’t prepared for all of these words. I had no moves that would make him forgive me, so we were stuck. He wasn’t talking and I had had no way of making him.
I left the room; there was nothing else to say.
I didn’t see him for a week, there was no point. When I returned I had more sugar. He sat on the floor and continued working. I sat and watched, we didn’t speak.
Every day I came with more and more sugar and we ignored each other while he worked. Before long he had made a set of 4 bowls, 4 plates, 4 cups, a vase and two candle holders. He spent his time making a dinner set and yet he refused to eat. While his resilience seemed vast I could see his strength waning and wondered if perhaps his mental strength was ready to give way too.
The next day I returned with two meat pies covered in mushy peas. He sat at his relentless work, but today it was different, there were wires and cables, something electrical. The smell of the meat and pastry must have preceded me and filled the room as I walked down the corridor because before I could ask, “Would you like a pie?” he had taken it from me and was eating.
I questioned him about what he was making. “With this I will gain control of the facility and will no longer be a prisoner.”
“But what is it?”
He beamed at me, “A toaster!”
He worked with a pile of sugar, in one hand he held a small electric device, a bit like a shaver, but smaller. In his other hand a curved piece of plastic. Dipping the plastic in the sugar he pointed the device at it. A ray of light emitted and the sugar melted then reformed around the plastic. Gently Re pushed the newly made plastic into shape.
“Why are you here?” he asked, continuing his work.
“I’m here to learn from you. Is that sugar?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing with it?”
“I was bored so I’m making a bowl. It seemed a useful way to fill the time.”
“With sugar?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“You don’t make bowls with sugar.”
“Then why was it left here for me?”
‘It’s probably to put in your coffee.”
He looked at me, “Coffee! Are you mad, why would I do that?” He wore new clothes, but nothing else had changed about him. I mean, his hair and make-up were the same. He needed a shave.
“Sugar makes coffee taste nice,” I said.
“Sugar?”
“Yes, sugar.”
The light I’d seen in his eyes all those weeks before had faded. He was smaller than I remembered.
“Sugar doesn’t go in food. Who ever heard such nonsense? It’s used to make super hard alloys for machinery and household tools.”
Ignoring the sugar I asked, “What did they do to you?”
“You work for them, you know what happened.”
“I’ve spoken to them about it and warned my superiors you shouldn’t be treated that way.” I wanted to kiss him.
“You should warn their superiors, you should go to the highest body in the world and tell them about it. That’s what we do where I come from. We complain until something gets done.”
“Where are you from?” I moved forward, just a little. He moved back.
“I shouldn’t tell you that. You can’t be trusted.” No kisses today. Disheartened I stood and left the room. Perhaps he’d be in a better mood tomorrow.
-o0o-
Days passed and I visited regularly. He didn’t speak to me. He wasn’t eating and didn’t drink. He withered before my eyes.
“Why won’t you eat Re? Do you want to kill yourself?”
“No,” his bowl was almost complete. “Could I have some more sugar?”
“Only if you speak to me.”
He glared at me, “So you can ask me more questions that have no meaning?”
“I want to get to know you.”
“Cut me up then. Find out how my body works. Kill me in the name of science but don’t visit every day pretending you’re hurt and it’s something personal. You hit me over the head, seduced me then locked me up and tortured me. I don’t want to speak to you.”
That was more than I’d got from him in days. My training had only taught me how to beat people up and how to control of a man’s mind by looking sexy. I wasn’t prepared for all of these words. I had no moves that would make him forgive me, so we were stuck. He wasn’t talking and I had had no way of making him.
I left the room; there was nothing else to say.
-o0o-
I didn’t see him for a week, there was no point. When I returned I had more sugar. He sat on the floor and continued working. I sat and watched, we didn’t speak.
Every day I came with more and more sugar and we ignored each other while he worked. Before long he had made a set of 4 bowls, 4 plates, 4 cups, a vase and two candle holders. He spent his time making a dinner set and yet he refused to eat. While his resilience seemed vast I could see his strength waning and wondered if perhaps his mental strength was ready to give way too.
The next day I returned with two meat pies covered in mushy peas. He sat at his relentless work, but today it was different, there were wires and cables, something electrical. The smell of the meat and pastry must have preceded me and filled the room as I walked down the corridor because before I could ask, “Would you like a pie?” he had taken it from me and was eating.
I questioned him about what he was making. “With this I will gain control of the facility and will no longer be a prisoner.”
“But what is it?”
He beamed at me, “A toaster!”
| 47 |
| Vote |
Shared on
Subscribe to this blog
