Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

There is an English association here in Strasbourg that hosts an English short story writing competition.  As you can imagine, I decided to enter, and this year my entry was strongly influenced by events of the last year.  I wrote the piece in one session, and I thought it was credible enough to warrant a nod with the judges.

Alas, last night I received ‘the rejection letter’ so I figured it was no longer necessary to keep it unpublished (as was their request), and that you might want to read it.  Naturally, you will recognise vast sections of it, but I have taken liberties to make it a little more tragic.  I used a suggested title- The Thief, and ran with it from there on.

This month marks the start of several rather awful anniversaries- this week a year ago we realised Mom was never going to be cancer free.  It’s also the first time we won’t celebrate her birthday.  With everything else that is going on, I still have to deal with this.  But more than anything, I am a little bit proud of my short story, and am suitable devastated it didn’t reach the short list.

I would say happy reading, but it isn’t happy at all.

The Thief
 
With the sound of Jerusalem filling the poor acoustics in the village church, the young mothers followed the men in their lives as they hoisted a coffin on their shoulders and swayed down the narrow aisle, out into the warm autumn sun.

Outside, the orchestral background of Jerusalem rang out from speakers that had been erected for the overflow of people expected, and Liz found herself taking a deep breath to counter the sobs that lay below the surface of her poker face.
Pall bearers hoisted the coffin off their shoulders, and slid it in to the cavernous space of the waiting vehicle.  It was a great element of sadness for the family that their small, personal Church had no space for old-fashioned burials, and that the coffin was being sent off for cremation, a cremation that nobody would be present for, nobody would see it, wouldn’t even know when it was scheduled to take place.

The driver of the hearse locked the rear door firmly, tucked himself behind the steering-wheel, started the engine and slowly drove off.  By now congregation had also spilled out of the Church and they all watched as The Patriarch lifted a hand and waved his wife goodbye for the very last time. Alongside Liz, Caro trembled, and glancing over, Liz saw tears streaming down her sisters’ face.  She proffered a tissue from her sleeve, but Caro wryly rejected it, and Liz realised that she needed it herself- the tears had started falling down her cheeks when she saw her father wave goodbye, and she knew that this moment would remain engrained on her memory forever.
 
The Thief had hid under a mantle of darkness- if nobody is looking for you, one almost didn’t need the darkness, but there it was; a space that that nobody had looked at in years. It was almost the perfect hiding place.  The Thief did not know how long they had lain there in wait- it did not matter at all really; the comfort of being ignored was a trump card. 
While the buzz of day to day activities rushed passed, The Thief stretched- movement had been subtle, but most necessary.  Time had provided the opportunity for The Thief to move into another hiding place, and to do that, an extra personality had been needed.  That had meant more food; more space, and when the time came, the riches of life had been theirs, and it was known that the punishment would be theirs too. 

The sun settled on the crystal clear autumn day; Liz fretted. She’d kicked off those ridiculous high heels that she was unaccustomed to wearing; she had swopped out the pale blue silk shirt for a crisp clean but old metal-head tee, but wasn’t bothered enough to retrieve her disguise by removing the dangling diamond earrings or wiping off the prettily applied make-up. So late in the day, her mascara had wept, and now her raccoon eyes almost complemented her deathly white pallor. She needed a drink. She needed to be away from her nieces so that she could be sad; angry; crying; vent; scream in pain and agony. Today she had buried her mother. Tomorrow she would not be able to talk to her. Ever again. Thank goodness she didn’t have her own children around to see her like this. The month before had been difficult enough on them, and she was definitely grateful they were back in a normal routine.  When Caro offered up her husband to take Liz to the pub, she breathed a silent sigh of relief. She needed a raucous distraction; she couldn’t sit in silence and have a month of memories flood over her.  

From inside the coffin waiting in the cool cellars, The Thief wasn’t to know what was going to happen. But it didn’t matter anymore. The Thief had taken what was planned, and knew that justice would be dealt in due time.  Quick justice for such a lengthy stake-out hardly seemed fair- had they not seen the many months of patient waiting?  No, it was obvious that they hadn’t. They hadn’t seen The Thief coming. Cynical, laughter spilled from within. If you don’t look for me, why are you surprised when you find me? 

It was a whiskey night. Behind the bar counter was an old fling from her school years. He proffered the most expensive bottle of scotch they had, an ice bucket and a bottle of sparkling mineral water. He knew her well enough, even after all this time. But then, everyone here knew each other well. She knew that in the Church that morning she was surrounded by so many friends who felt the same; they all felt hollow at the emptiness that was now a part of their lives. But while they felt sad, Liz felt tormented. She felt tormented by a thief that had taken her mothers’ life.  
It was a thief that had killed her. That thief had taken away her life. That thief had stolen a life. The
Thief had stolen her mother. The Thief had stolen her sisters’ mother.  The Thief had stolen a cherished grandmother. The vicious vermin body of life sucking muck had taken away the kind hearted generous soul that had impacted the lives of three communities. Liz lifted her glass, and thought about how she had anxiously waited for messages from her Mom, and that had been just 4 weeks ago. How quickly had the elements of the cancer exploded after they discovered It? 

In a little more than 36 hours, a The Thief’s time was up. The many disguises The Thief had taken were to be cremated in an oak coffin. In a matter of minutes, the mantles would be burned by the very fires of hell. In a matter of minutes there would no longer be Nodes On The Lung. Very soon, the Non-Benign Mass would be ash. And last but not least, The Uterine Cancer-The Thief’s’ very first disguise- would be nothing but something that you can pour into a perfume bottle and fling into the river. But nobody would ever forget the Thief.