The oranges of truth

The Falkenbergs offered me to stay in their house that night. They were weird but nice and it was not hard to decide between a warm bed at the peaceful lighthouse and a pitch battle with the hobos on the beach.

- You can sleep in my daughter’s room until you find accommodation. Now she has her own flat downtown. You will find some old pajamas and a pair of bear slippers in the wardrobe that you can use, if you need them –said Mrs. Falkenberg sadly, looking down-

It was very apparent that she was suffering from a bad case of empty nest syndrome and was unconsciously adopting me. But we were one and alike: I didn’t mind receiving some maternal comfort at that very moment.

- How old is your daughter? –I asked-
- Vera is more or less your age, Nicolette. Her name means “faith and truth” in Latin. I’m her mother and of course, I cannot be impartial, but I think she’s a real gifted artist. She paints most peculiar landscapes of this island –she said smiling-.
- Why so peculiar?
- Because they’re magic. Let me show them to you.

Mrs. Falkenberg took a sketch book from one of the shelves in the room and showed me the images that Vera had painted there. The drawings were done in colour with the point of a brush and, to my huge surprise, they were animated and set in motion. The waves crashed over the rocks at the beach; the wind blew through the weeping willow branches; and the clouds travelled across the sky in the prints. I had never seen anything like that before in my whole life.

- This is simply… amazing! – I said-
- She can also make the viewers travel through space and time to the places she has painted. Would you like to join me here? –she asked, poiting at one of the sketches-

She held my hand and before I could even answer I was carried out to a two-dimensional colourful beach, all covered with sea shells and pebbles. I took a starfish as an evidence of our trip. Some seconds later, we were back in the house.

- Did you enjoy this little journey? -she asked-
- Sure, Mrs. Falkenberg. It was thrilling! –I said, staring at the starfish, still in shock-
- Very few things are impossible in this life, Nicolette. You just have to have hope and faith.

It was a nice little trip, and I still ask myself how could possibly Vera Falkenberg’s paintings could teleport those who watched her magic landscapes to the real location.

I became a bit suspicious. I had far surpassed my annual blind faith amount and preferred not to think too much about that, but believe me when I say that only Hell can work these visual wonders. I just didn’t have the guts to tell Mrs. Falkenberg that her beloved daughter probably had some kind of deal with Hell, by virtue of which she was able to cast a spell on her canvasses and make them truly “unique”.

I drank my cup of tea and Mrs. Falkenberg offered to cut my hair to jaw-length bob before I went to bed, so that no evil beings would recognise me in the ferry.

- Take no risks if you want to pass unobserved. –she said-

She was probably right. But I was a bit reluctant about letting her do that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to upset her while she had a pair of scissors in her right hand. She didn’t waste any time and started immediately. Strands of my long black hair fell on the floor. I can’t deny I felt a bit sad.

- Don’t worry, Nicolette. You look very cute now, almost like a teenager and your hair will grow stronger. You’re elegant and sophisticated but you may want to wear something more comfortable, like an average North Sandwichian youngster.

Did I have to look like an average North Sandwichian teenager in order to go unnoticed? She gave me a cotton pad to remove my make up and a pair of black baggy trousers from her daughter. I put them on and took off the white gold and diamond earrings that Ed had given me for my birthday the year before.

- Now you look simply perfect. –she said after my metamorphose-

That night, the sound of the waves rocking the beach didn’t help me sleep: I had fuzzy dreams and nightmares about cheeky mice sleeping inside my boots and giant spiders casting their huge cobwebs around me. At 6 am sharp, Mrs. Falkenberg knocked on my door.

- Nicolette, it’s time to get up. –she whispered through the door-

I had a quick shower, got dressed and joined her and her husband for breakfast. Before I left, they wished me good luck on my first day at work.

As a city-proud urbanite in true love with the modern world, that never lived in a house with a nice garden in the suburbs, but in a concrete flat downtown, the sight of the flowers and plants at the Falkenbergs’ cottage fascinated me. They had wood kittens, miniature ships, roosters, swallows, weather vanes, small bells, sheep, seagulls, ducks and hedgehogs all over, decorating their garden and patio. There was even a wicker basket inside the barbecue, with three little wooden puppies inside!

I hadn’t yet crossed their fence on my way to the ferry, when something powerfully caught my attention: in the enchanted garden, near the shed where they kept their tools and bicycles, there was a long row of bushes loaded with tiny fruits that looked incredibly mouth-watering.

I knew it was very unwise, but their delightfut scent was so tempting that I couldn’t help picking some of these little shiny orange-shaped balls and eating one of them. They were ripe, sweet, tender and so tasty that I had not just one but two, three, even four more, and then I filled the inner pockets of my jacket with some of them, when I heard a low voice behind me say:

- Be on guard against the oranges of truth and wooden animals at night. Even little kids know that!

I had been caught red-handed with my mouth full of these small oranges. I turned back to see who was talking, but I could only see Mr Falkenberg’s Pegassus. I looked in all directions but couldn't see anyone else.

- My name is Colt. Cornelius Colt. –said the Pegassus, to my surprise-

Oh man, that sounded very much like 007’s equine version! But joking aside, I had the fright of my life: a winged horse was talking to me!!! I was speechless, in utter nightmarish panic.

- I haven’t heard your name yet, Miss…
- Qinan. Leni. –I grumbled really frightened, with my mouth still full of tiny oranges-

I was shocked by my own answer. I was supposed to be Nicolette, not Leni, and keep my real name secret for my own safety. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t control my words.

- Nice to meet you, Miss Qinan. I would recommend you not eating too many of those. They’ll make you tell the truth and unveil your secrets to the most unsuitable people, like me. But these little fruits are very useful when you want to find out if someone is telling lies, just like you’ve been doing since you arrived in this island. Hopefully, it only lasts a few minutes, so never do that again.
- Oh, ok, I won't. –I said to the cheeky horse, with eyes big as saucers-
- And please, be careful with the wooden animals in the garden: they’re cute and all, but at night they become real and they’ll love to steal your expensive designer's boots; they have a strong inclination to sleep in warm places and your boots look very warm and cosy. And the spiders will cast massive webs around you, also.

They had already done it in my dreams.

- Last, but not least: never talk to strangers, even if they look like reliable winged horses. Thank you for telling me what I needed to know.

After his misterious speech, Cornelius Colt -the talking Pegassus- took off neighing and laughing. I watched him disappear among the clouds, as my jaw dropped.

I was so shocked, annoyed and worried. Just one day in North Sandwich and I had already confessed my real name to a feathered horse! Who had sent him? What was it he needed to know and I had supposedly told him? Was it my real name? Now I was really concerned.

I took my backpack and left the lighthouse under the drizzle. It was still dark. North Sandwichians start their working day very early in the morning and the streets were already busy at 6,30am. I walked to the bus stop to catch the bus that went to the harbour, hoping that nobody would ask me again what my name was or where I came from, until the effect of the oranges of truth had passed.



"Hide and seek" (Imogen Heap)

Who won the war?

To my shame, I must confess that I got drunk for the first time at the tender age of five. But please, don’t think I was a precocious alcoholic: believe it or not, I’ve always been a strict teetotaller, except on that day.

I was a very curious kid and my natural inclination was to learn by myself. This irresistible urge hasn't left me yet and still pushes me to do very silly things quite often. Like the one I did on that crazy day of my childhood:

That afternoon, my mother was very busy in the kitchen cooking something delicious; probably chicken croquettes or meat pasty, my favourite food. I could hear the sound of oil popping and spluttering in the saucepan. It smelled so good of tomato sauce, fried onions and minced meat, that my stomach started to rumble.

I was actually bored to tears in the living room with my 2-year old brother who, unlike me, had never been the life and soul of the party.

There was an original episode of Star Trek on the TV. The war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire had just started. These aggressive ridged-foreheaded guys in their spacecrafts gave me the shivers, but I couldn’t help looking at them for a while.

I was bored. I racked my brains trying to find out what mischief I could get into before I went nuts. I could stick my fingers into a wall socket, throw things out of the window or write a story about the scary monster that I saw in my nightmares. But that wasn’t exciting enough.

I immediately spotted something much better to do right there, in front of my nose: the door to the wooden cabinet where my parents kept the liquors; a forbidden door to a world that I had always wanted to explore but never could. It was too tempting to resist. And guess what: that day the key was in the lock and my mom was not looking. What else could I ask for?

I didn’t hesitate a second to open the door and gaze at the treasure inside: ten beautiful colour glass bottles that smelled like hard candy, lemon juice, herbs and cream. I was mesmerised.

To my my amazement, the Klingon starships were stalking the Enterprise and the good guys were in trouble. But I was more interested in my recent finding.

I needed an assistant, and my brother was the only candidate around. I took the first bottle and offered him to taste it first, but he shook his head declining the honour. He stubbornly refused my bribe to buy his silence. So I drank straight out of the bottle and savoured the sweet taste of the Baileys cream: alcohol; caramel; vanilla.

My brother stared at me with eyes as big as saucers. It was pointless explaining him the pleasure I was experiencing: he would never understand it. So I just asked him not to squeal and continued drinking by myself.

My attention was drawn then by a slim bottle of Limoncello. That meant smaller quantity of booze and therefore I couldn’t drink too much or it would show. The bittersweet taste of the lemon zest rolled down my throat. I had enough of it with just one gulp.

I grabbed the Drambuie bottle next and leaned back on the sofa. The alcohol hadn’t started yet hitting my brain. I drank a bit and felt that strong burning sensation in my stomach, but enjoyed the taste of heather honey, herbs and spices on my tongue.

In the meantime, Captain Kirk had managed to escape into hyperspace and dodge the gravitonic mines, but the Klingon commander ordered to follow the Enterprise and the battle continued with a great deal of fireworks coming out of the Klingon Empire Starship.

I started laughing uncontrollably for no apparent reason. I went from Grand Marnier to Parfait Amour, devoting some minutes to the funny bottle of Frangelico, in the shape of a monk. These Christian hermits from the hills of Northern Italy certainly knew how to brew tempting concoctions. I was sleepy and flushed.

I saved for last the irresistibly tempting apple Schnapps. Without further ado, I swigged down the bottom of the bottle. That definitely finished me: I collapsed on the floor. My little quiet brother decided I had drunk enough and deigned to speak to my mother about my deplorable state.

My mother rushed out of the kitchen and asked what was happening, very alarmed.

- She drank from the bottles –said my brother, pointing at the wooden cabinet with his little fingers-

I was immediately taken to hospital, where I was diagnosed with alcoholic poisoning and treated with stomach pumping and a shot of vitamin B at the emergency room.

I had a twelve-hour sleep in my bed and a hangover from hell when I woke up. I swore to God I would never drink again.

Mother, father and lil’ brother came to my room to ask how I was feeling and laugh about my last misdeed. But I didn’t want to talk or hear about it and hid my head under the pillow, feeling shame and guilt.

All I wanted to know was who had won the war: the Federation or the Klingons.



"Whiskey in the jar" (Metallica)