… ist eine großartige Geschiche meiner LK-Schülerin Elisabeth Weber. Bis zum Schluss fragt man sich WER die Geschichte eigentlich erzählt. Die Geschichte ist ein hervorragendes Beispiel für einen unreliable narrator und für defamiliarization (vgl. Lodge Die Kunst des Erzählens, Kap. 11).
Withered Hopes
Manny was trapped in pitch-black. She couldn’t even see her own shiny covering. Although she didn’t look it, she was smarter than most people around her. She tried to concentrate on her surroundings, but her thoughts were slowly drifting away under the soporific sounds from the underground.Simon had memorized his little speech a gazillion times, it seemed to her. How he would ring her doorbell and her surprise about his appearance would melt into happiness. Samantha, I’m so sorry. If I could go back in time, I would care more. I would be there for you whenever you need me. Without you, my sun doesn’t shine. Without you, I am nothing. He had said those five little sentences over and over again, so that Manny wasn’t sure, if asked, she’d say her name was Manny or Samantha. Not that she could say anything, but still. How ridiculous some people behaved, living in their own world of illusions.And Manny was there to help Simon. After all, he was the only one to have ever talked to her, not caring that she wouldn’t answer him.Absent-minded, she noticed that someone had settled right across from her.“Do you mind?“ It was an old man’s voice.
“Of course not.“ That was Simon’s voice.
“Are you going to Beckton Park, too?“
“No. The one after that.“
“Visiting someone?“
“Yes.“
Manny could hear the irritation about the nosy man in Simon’s voice. Although she could only guess, the man must have been smiling encouragingly, so Simon continued.
“My ex-girlfriend.“ And after a pause: “It’s all my fault. I forgot the flowers.”
Now it was the old man’s turn to be irritated. “The flowers?”
“Yes, the flowers. They were her everything. After work she would go out in the garden and nurse them. And on Sundays, we would sit amongst them and she’d look beautiful. She was so beautiful …” His voice trailed off. It started to rain. There was only the constant sound from the underground and the rain pattering against the window.
After a while, the old man cleared his throat. “So she had some some flowers.” Simon came to life again: “Some? The house and the garden were overflowing! She was so beautiful with all the flowers …”
“Yes. Sure. But how come you and her … I mean, what happened?” Simon sighed. “She went to Dublin to visit a friend from College. Two weeks in the midst of summer. I had to take care of her flowers. She had written two pages of instructions. When I had to water which flowers. She even asked me to talk to her favourite one, the blue Lily of the Nile. But I lost the instructions and I forgot about it. I had never worked in a garden before.” Simon’s voice turned guilty.
“When she came back, the lilies were withered in the heat and she found the watering can broken. I didn’t know it was broken, but she thought I had done it. It must have been the cat, but that doesn’t matter anymore. She said she couldn’t believe that I had been too lazy to get a new one. She didn’t shout at me. She just looked at me sadly. I couldn’t look her in the eye. The next day I left.”
It was silent again. Then Simon decided he wanted to have some reassurance. Manny felt his hand lifting her up and was dazzled by the light. “I bought a new one.” Manny smiled an invisible smile. Simon always had to say the obvious when he was nervous. He pointed at the watering can. “I even painted the blue lilies on it.” Though a little hurt by the “it” Manny was still proud of her fancy looks. It was hard not to get cocky.
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
“She’ll love it!”
“Really?”
“Of course, it’s wonderful!”
“They always do that kind of “meaningful present” stuff in films. Like in the new one. With that French actress and what’s‑his-name?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure she’ll like it very much.”
Manny was so used to humans always flattering each other, and yet she couldn’t help but roll her imaginary eyes.
In the meantime they had come to Beckton Park, and the old man said “good-bye” and “good luck” politely. They were the only ones left in the compartment. Simon started tapping his fingers nervously on Manny, who reverberated softly.
Finally they arrived at their station and Simon hesitantly got up. Suddenly he stopped.
Manny saw her. The tall, slender woman not alone. His arm around her neck and kissing her lightly, a man came towards their compartment. Manny felt a sharp air draft before she hit the ground. Simon was shaking heavily and got off the train very quickly. He was already gone when Manny had found her orientation again.
She smells like a rose, she thought before she slid under a seat as the train accelerated.
It didn’t matter anymore.
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