The Queen of Kookamonga (I)

I asked the Archie man to come nearer and collect the money for my coffee and cookies, but he didn’t accept it:

- It’s on the house, sweety, on condition that you come back tomorrow. Have a nice start at work and don’t take any notice of what I said before. –he said-
- About the missing persons and weird things happening in that ship? –I asked-
- Right. That was just a joke. You shouldn't believe everything I say. Sometimes I’m a bit of a smartass.

He laughed. But I didn’t think it was funny. Once you say something, you can’t take it back. What is said just cannot be unsaid. So “what the hell is wrong with the Ice Flower?” was the question I couldn’t get out of my head since he warned me about the weird things that he said were actually happening there. But he had decided to keep his mouth firmly shut.

- Ok Archie. Thanks for the coffee. I promise to be back tomorrow if I haven’t vanished off the face of the earth.

I walked towards the Ice Flower, now all covered with banners announcing the III Annual Kynkybooks Awards. It was a beautiful ship and had a touch of extravagance and distinction. I slipped in the reception area by accident and stood right in the middle of it, dumbfounded and dazzled by the glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the panoramic glass elevators and the walls covered with perfectly polished walnut panels.

I enjoyed the scenery, but couldn’t go too far. A security guard stopped me and asked:

- Can I see your papers, Miss?
- Of course! Mr. Falkenberg sends me; I’m looking for Mr. Diederick Panekooeke, the kitchen manager.

- Mr. Falkenberg who?

My words didn’t seem to impress him in the slightest bit. I gave him my documents and he had a thorough look. He took his list, ticked my name and said:

- Bixby… yes, you’re here. Take the lift downstairs to level four, where the kitchen is –he said, pointing at the staff door-.

The Ice Flower had nothing to do with popular cruise ships like the Jewel of the Waters, or the King of the Oceans, where half of the South Sandwichian middle-class families –including mine- had spent their summer holidays swimming, playing golf and gambling at the casino at affordable prices. But the Ice Flower was much more than a normal cruise ship: it had class.

The journey consisted of sailing on a short trip to the remotest harbours in the North Sandwich islands, reserved for a selected few. But I was not among them. I was there for work, not for pleasure.

So I crossed the staff door and when I found the kitchen, I witnessed an amazing scenery. The atmosphere was frantic: boiling pots steaming and pressure cookers whistling; cooks giving instructions to kitchen assistants; kitchen assistants sprinkling exclusive spices in huge saucepans; huge saucepans where gallons of oil heated and splutted.

A zillion helpers chopped meat and vegetables. Waiters and waitresses tray carried fast like there was no tomorrow.

Diederick Panekkoeke the Great managed everything from his watchtower. It was easy to tell who he was. He didn’t miss anything. That skinny, tall, pale guy gesticulated nervously; he carried a big log book and noted everything, shouting orders to everybody around. When he saw me, he asked:

- Are you the new waitress?

Without even waiting for my answer, he rushed down the stairs and said:

- Come over here, dear. Put a uniform on and start tray carrying to the passenger’s cabins. They’re waiting for their breakfast.
- Ehm… sorry, but I’m not the new waitress, sir. I come for the kitchen hand job. Mr. Falkenberg sends me.

Diederick Panekkoeke stared at me, as as if he hadn’t heard what I just said, pulled a long face and said very slowly with a dirty look:

- Who do you think you are? The Queen of Kookamonga? Put. That. Uniform. On. NOW.

His threatening voice sounded scary as he pointed at me with his finger, failing to touch my nose tip by just an inch. At that very moment, several questions came to my mind:

Firstly: was Falkenberg really the ship owner’s brother? Nobody seemed to know him there, and what was worse: he didn’t appear to be either powerful or respected in the ship.

Secondly: was Diederick Pannekoeke supposed to be the nice guy who would hire me and never overwork me, in Falkenberg's words? He sounded rather more like a tyrannical SOB who would exploit all the kitchen staff without mercy.

And last, but not least: Was I going to be a one-woman band, good at everything but expert at nothing? First a waitress and then a kitchen helper? Or maybe a dry cleaner? That was not exactly what I had been told.

With friends like those, I didn’t need enemies.

Diederick’s eyes threw daggers at me for having objected to his organisational scheme. I didn’t even dare protest, so impressed I was by his imposing presence. One of his hoodlums came up on the spot with a complete waitress outfit hanging from a coat hook.

- There you go, sweety. –said Dierderick-. Remove those horrible old baggy trousers, white t-shirt and faded black cardigan. This is your new kitchen outfit: a cute short-sleeved white blouse, princess style; a soft black velvet short skirt with white lace petticoats; white stockings, garter belts and black buckle shoes. Oh, and don’t forget the cap on top of your beautiful hairstyle. It’s a very sexy outfit, worthy of Cinderella. Now MOVE. There’s a lot to do.

Deiderick’s assistant escorted me to the dressing room. I changed clothes and when he saw me in the waitress outfit, he said:

- Great, but I’ll give you a smaller size. You’ll look even more sexy and get better tips in tight clothes, shorty.

How thoughtful. I wore the smaller size, but the buttons looked like they would be going to pop and break as soon as I’d try to breathe inside that junior petite uniform. What would the Waitress’ Unions think about this?

- How does it grab you? –he asked-
- I can’t breathe –I answered-
- Don’t talk nonsense. You look absolutely cute.

And that was that. I had to wear the Barbie waitress uniform because he bloody well said so.

I was told to take the tray marked “Deck 4, Level 2, Suite 20”. A beautiful ceramic tray with an energy breakfast worthy of a king: coffee, milk, orange juice, a toasted bread and pastry basket, cold meat and sausages, scrambled eggs, fruit jam and a honey bowl. The dishes and glassware were made of china and fine crystal. The silver cutlery shone like a star. The napkins were made of the softest Egyptian satin cotton. There was a delicate porcelain jar with a beautiful red rose in the middle of all these tasty delicacies.

I lined up behind my co-workers carrying that heavy tray. Everybody was given precise instructions about the rooms to be served. We all crossed the flip flap door at the speed of the light towards the elevators. We were told to line up and get organised by decks and levels. I had to take the fourth elevator.

"Eggs and sausage" (Tom Waits)

At the Grub'n Booze Cafe

When the bus dropped me off at the harbour, it was 7 am. It’s my habit to arrive always earlier than originally planned, just in case; even more when I’m worried.

I stopped on the docks for a coffee. Right on my way, I found a big sign on the sidewalk that read:

“The Grub’n Booze Café opens most days at 6 or 7; but sometimes as early as 5am; though occasionally, it could be as late as 10; maybe 11.

The Grub’n Booze Café closes every evening about 9 or 10pm; perhaps at 7 or 8; even at 11. Some days we’re gone fishing; but lately, some other days we’re around most of the time, except when we’re somewhere else.”

The author of these unfathomable paragraphs displayed a twisted, rather brilliant, sense of humour. They made me smile. And this was my lucky day: 7 am and the Grub’n Booze Café was open.

I had a look inside. The place had its charm, but it was weird as everything in North Sandwich: the glassware, dinner sets and cutlery were strangely shaped, but they had mouth-watering cakes and incredibly yummy biscuits called pannekoekies in the Northern language, which was slightly different from my Southern native dialect. Or perhaps it was the other way around: they certainly thought it was me the weird one, not them. Everything is relative. It all depends on how you look at it.

Talking about swimming against the tide, I noticed that hardly anybody took the bus in North Sandwich. The vast majority of locals moved about by bicycle. They drove carefully in a parallel lane to the road, driving odd bikes with baskets, shopping trolleys, baby seats and other useful accessories on the handlebar.

Come hail, rain, snow, sleet or high winds, North Sandwichians cycled to go to work, to go shopping, to take their kids to school; they even cycled to walk their dogs.

It was clear that if I wanted to pass unnoticed, I should have to buy myself one of those as soon as I’d make enough money, or better find me a second hand one, because my budget was really skinny for the moment. But when in Rome... I should do as the Romans did.

The harbour was very busy and I could perfectly see the “Ice Flower” ferry from my position at the Grub’n Booze Café. I ordered a cappuccino. The guy behind the counter said:

- Sorry sweety, but we only have Northwiccinos here.
- What’s a Northwiccino? –I asked-
- A tasty delicacy of my invention: a North Sandwichian cappuccino. I sprinkle it with cocoa powder, icing sugar and cinnamon.
- That sounds very delicious! Then, I'll have a Northwiccino with one of these cookies. –I said, pointing at them-
- We call them pannekoekies. You’re not from here, right, Missy?
- Ehm… no.
- Are you Southerner?
- Yes. I didn’t realise it was so apparent.

The guy introduced himself, trying to break the ice.

- My name is Archimedes Smith, but you can call me Archie. My wife Elektra and I are the owners of this humble tavern. Elektra cooks and bakes the panekoekies. Since I’m not as talented as she is, I only serve the grub and booze to our distinguished clientele. We’re aliens too, from the East corner of Burdishland.

In just ten words he had updated me on his life. Elektra Smith waved hello from the back door.

- Pleased to meet you, Elektra and Archimedes. By the way, I suppose you have nothing to do with the famous principle of physics…
- You mean that when a body is immersed in liquid, it receives an upward thrust from the bottom towards the top, equal to the weight of the displaced liquid and blah blah blah? –he asked-

That man didn’t cease to amaze me.

- I wouldn’t have expressed it better. –I answered-
- I’ll tell you a secret: Archimedes the Great was my most famous ancestor. The family pride and joy. And sorry but… I think I haven’t heard your name yet…
- Nicolette Bixby.
- Pleased to meet you, Nicolette. Tell me, what brings you to the Nordvyken harbour? –he asked, holding out his hand to me-.
- Pleased to meet you, Archie. I’m going to work in a ship. –I answered, shaking his hand-
- Oh really? What ship?
- The “Ice Flower”.

Archie suddenly got startled, threw his mug on the counter and sprayed the coffee out of his nose.

- You said the “Ice Flower”? That one over there? –he asked, pointing at the ship-
- Right. What’s the matter? –I asked back, in alarm-
- Doing what? –he asked again, leaving my question unanswered-
- I’ll work as a kitchen hand. Why do you ask?
- For no special reason. –he said, looking down-
- Come on, tell me: what’s wrong with the “Ice Flower”?
- Listen Nicolette: in this land there are lots of sea legends and harbour gossips about strange phenomena happening in that ship. Don’t take it too seriously, but if I were you, I would be careful. -he whispered-
- What kind of strange phenomena? Blackbeard? Guybrush Threepwood? Jack Sparrow? –I asked, skeptically-
- No, sweety. There are no pirates in the "Ice Flower", but don't make jokes, please. There are missing persons; abnormal appearances; weird journeys. That ship is cursed. The captain takes ages to find a new crew and staff for every trip. They pay well, but nobody's crazy for enrolling in this ship. But enough of that story.

Other customers had arrived and Archie left to approached them. What a good excuse to avoid answering my tricky questions. He left me worriedly thinking. It was hardly surprising that there would be a weak spot or something fishy in Falkenberg's job offer. My life was full of these unforeseen circumstances.

I sat at a table and peacefully contemplated the harbour landscape while I started pondering the option of skipping the job interview with the ship kitchen manager, to prevent further knock-on effects.

The docks were a hive of activity: busses loading passengers; busy passers-by rushing to work; heavy trucks unloading huge containers with goods and merchandises in the ships; the grey sea in the background; cars heading to the ferry queue… did I say cars?

Suddenly, I was shocked to see a majestic shiny black Bentley entering the “Ice Flower”. It was Ed’s car. His favourite among the ones he owned. Not just that: two workers unfolded and glued to the ship wall a huge poster, displaying this message: III Annual Kynkybooks Awards Ceremony. I must admit that my heart skipped a beat when I realised that Ed would be in the ship, chairing the ceremony and cocktail party. Now I knew who organised the event.

I covered my face with my hands but kept peeking through my fingers to see what was happening. Ed was not there, but Moebius Hax -his mysterious and arrogant lawyer- was.

Moebius left the car carrying a thick briefcase under his arm and speaking on the cell phone.

I was moved deeply. I felt distressed. I wanted to see Ed again, but after my misfortunes and fall into disgrace, I was too ashamed: there was a significant difference between being the Queen of the Dumbass Industries in Grytviken and being the lowest of the low in the Nordvyken ferry.

I had been a posh lawyer at one of the biggest corporations in South Sandwich and the right-hand person to one of the most powerful men in the island. But I had been sacked and now I was a poor devil; a liar on the run; a nobody at the bottom of the dung heap.



"One better day" (Madness)

Picture nº4: "Cookies" by Antoine Helbert

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)

From the frying pan into the fire

When I arrived in the North Sandwich Island, I planned to spend my first night sleeping on the beach. I thought it would be a safe place to stay before I’d meet the mysterious Mr. Falkenberg, who had promised to offer me a decent job the day after.

I walked for a while until I made out the lighthouse lamp throwing beams of bright light out to the sea. I spread my sleeping bag out on the sand and was about to lay down when a group of hobos surrounded me, giving me a very threatening and unfriendly look.

The oldest one among them, who appeared to be their leader, got into a flap and took a step forward to shout at me:

- Get out of here, Missy! This is not your territory! If you want to sleep on the beach, you’ll have to pay. –he said-
- Excuse me sir, but I think I haven’t got it right. Is this place all yours? –I asked-
- Yep.
- Very nice. And I presume that you mark your territory like the lions, by peeing on the boundaries, right?
- Don’t get cocky, Missy. I ain’t joking, so you better pay the toll or there will be consequences. This is not a rule of the road, but the law of the jungle.

Things were not looking good. One of the hobos unzipped my backpack and took my wallet.

- Keep your hands off my things! –I shouted in anger, pushing him -
- Hm… you don’t have much money here… Nicolette –he said, scrutinizing my fake ID card-
- Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not rich, Mr. Robin Hood.
- Very well observed Missy, but we don’t steal money from the rich to give it to the poor. When it comes to money, we don’t play nice over here.
- Thank you for this valuable piece of information, Mr. Whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is. I’ll find myself a better place to sleep near the lighthouse.
- The coastline is all ours.
- That’s bloody great, man. And I suppose all the woods in the country and the park benches in the city are yours as well, right?
- Right.
- Then, could I have at least my wallet back? Take the money if you want, but I need my papers –I asked, angrily-

The greedy hobo took all the money from my purse, rummaged through my documents and stared at my fake driving license. He was annoying me big time with his funny ideas about private property.

Suddenly an angry woman appeared from out of the blue, threateningly shaking a rolling pin over her head.

- Give her the wallet back, Phantom. -she spat out in a low tone of voice, now firmly holding the rolling pin with her right hand and tapping it against her left-
- Phantom??? My god, is that your stage name? –I said, nearly splitting my sides laughing-

Were there bandits and robber gangs in the North Sandwichian beaches, like Dick Turpin, Jesse James and Billy the Kid? In the past I often had romantic fantasies about outlaws and good thieves. But things look a little different when you’re the one who’s being robbed: it’s not ok to steal, even if you’re desperate, and Phantom didn’t look desperate at all, but rather more a cheeky swine. He stepped back and threw my wallet on the sand, in a rage.

- Are you making your nightly rounds, madam? -he asked the lady with the rolling pin-
- Yes. And I didn’t expect to find you here. If my memory serves me well, I’ve told you a zillion times that my husband doesn’t want to see you scaring people near the lighthouse. –said the lady-

I took my wallet from the ground. Phantom booed her loud, turned around and left. The hobos followed him to the rocks, where they warmed their hands on a trash fire that was burning in a barrel.

- Thank you very much for your help, madam. –I said, relieved-
- It is very ill-advised to hang around here in the dark, sweety. You should be more careful in the future.
- I will.

After a short silence, I dared ask.

- Excuse me, madam… do you live in the lighthouse?
- Yes. What’s with the lighthouse, dear?–she answered-
- I need to see a person there tomorrow, about a job.
- It must be my husband! We’re the only people who live there.
- You must be Mrs. Falkenberg, then! My name is Nicolette Bixby. I’ve met your husband at the ferry.

We shook hands.

- My husband has some interests in the ferry to South Sandwich. They need more staff in the ships; that’s probably the offer he wanted to discuss with you. But let’s go home, Nicolette. This place is not safe.

We walked to the other side of the beach.

The North Sandwich lighthouse had been erected on mile marker 18 of the coast, at Lancaster Bay. Lancaster was the name of a ship that had sunk ten miles away from the shoreline, giving its name to the bay. The locals kept the anchor on a hill, in memory of the seamen that died in the shipwreck.

I was surprised to see that the beautiful Northern lighthouse had not been converted into a bed and breakfast with magnificent sea views, as it happened in the past with the picturesque lighthouses of the Death Coast, in the South Sandwich Islands.

The Falkenbergs lived in a cosy and welcoming cottage beside the lighthouse, with a well looked after garden brimming with all kinds of flowers. Mrs. Falkenberg prepared a cup of tea and cookies and we sat beside the fireplace.

- My husband and I have been the lighthouse keepers for more than two hundred years now.
- For more than two hundred years??? –I asked in shock-
- Yes –she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world-. We come from a very long-lived family.

Oh man. Weren’t there any normal people left in these Islands? Had the life expectancy index hit world record levels in North Sandwich? Were the Falkenbergs really so long-lived people, as she said, or perhaps were they supernaturals? I didn’t dare ask.

- Please, tell me about you, Nicolette. –said Mrs. Falkenberg-
- Nothing’s interesting about me, madam. I come from South Sandwich and I’m looking for a job.
- I already know that, sweety. But I can see sorrow and despair in your eyes.

At that point, I broke down and cried my heart out.

- I’ve lost everything a few weeks ago. I had a man who loved me, a good job, a nice house, a car… and everything went up in smoke! Now I have to hide from those who are stalking me! –I said, looking down with tears in my eyes-

She interrupted me.

- Who’s stalking you?
- If I told you who’s stalking me, you would think I’m completely nuts.
- People from Hell, to be sure –said Mr. Falkenberg, who had just opened the main door to the house-.

He kissed his wife tenderly on the forehead and she smiled at him.

- Welcome, Nicolette. I didn’t expect to see you before tomorrow at 8 am. –he said-.
- Nicolette was being disturbed by Phantom and his gang at the beach. –said Mrs. Falkenberg-
- And your lovely wife came to my aid. –I ended the sentence-
- So we can skip the introductions… -he said-
- Nicolette was telling me about some people who are stalking her.
- The people from Hell. Am I right? –asked Mr. Falkenberg-
- Yes.
- They never cross the sea, but they could send someone to abduct you and take you back to South Sandwich.
- I don’t want to go back.

Falkenberg removed his raincoat, poured himself a cup of tea and sat beside us.

- Nicolette, how would you like to work for the North Sandwich Ferry Company as a kitchen hand, assisting with meal preparation and plating in the ferry? The salary is nothing to shout about, but the kitchen manager is a nice guy who won’t work you to death. How does it grab you?

Compared to my two-day escort job in South Sandwich, it sounded like heaven to me.

- I accept it. –I answered immediately-
- Then you’re hired. You’ll start tomorrow at 8am in the cruise ship called “Ice flower”. Look for Diederick Pannekoek, the kitchen manager and tell him that I’ve sent you. There’s a very important event tomorrow at the ship: numerous celebrities and important figures will be in attendance of a famous Burdish publishing house awards ceremony and cocktail party at the auditorium. Diederick is short of people in the kitchen; it will be an extremely busy day and you may have to do a little bit of everything: from preparing hors d’oeuvre to serving snacks and drinks at the lounge. But you’re nice, well-mannered and a hard worker, I suppose.

Oh my god, did he say "A famous Burdish publishing house"? How famous? And how Burdish? I feared that Ed was among those present and would see me, but I couldn't refuse Falkenberg's offer. I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

- Thank you. I really appreciate your offering me this chance. I’m not afraid to work, Mr. Falkenberg. I’ll be in the ship tomorrow at 8 am sharp. You won't be disappointed.

I had no choice but to take the job and go completely unnoticed.

"My lighthouse" (Pulp)

The ferry to the North Sandwich Islands

You can’t possibly buy a one way ticket from the South Sandwich to the North Sandwich Islands. The ferry company only sells round trip tickets, as if they wouldn’t want the visitors to stay for very long. They're probably right. As the saying goes, visitors and fish stink in three days.

In all honesty, I was not in the least worried about it. Actually, I had no intention to go back to South Sandwich, but I had to buy the two-way ticket, just like the rest of the passengers did.

The cars were queuing to enter the ship at the harbour. The ferry company staff organised the car boarding in amazingly absolute order: long rows of cars drove inside the ship in perfect harmony.

When the doors were locked behind the last car, the engines started roaring and the ferry left the harbour followed by a flock of seagulls. The passengers fed them with pieces of bread that the seagulls would catch in the air. A large group of ducks swam on the wharf water, picked the leftovers that fell into the water and ate them.

I watched the South Sandwichian coast get farther and the buildings become smaller. My sadness grew deeper by the minute.

We would be sailing on the cold waters of the Strait of Sandwich for a couple of hours until we would arrive in Noordvyken, the capital city of the North Sandwich Islands.

Traditionally, North and South Sandwich have always been irreconcilable rivals. The Sandwichian chronicles are full of collective memories and jealousies, crimes and battles and other sad vicissitudes throughout their history.

In the beginning, there was no division between North and South. There was an only Kingdom: the Kingdom of Sandwich. The problems began two centuries ago when the lovely daughter of the King of Sandwich and one of the Lords of the Kingdom fell madly in love.

The ambitious King of Sandwich didn’t approve of that marriage –he had thought of a prince from a wealthy kingdom to marry the princess, thus ensuring a strong political alliance-. In fact, diplomatic talks had just started for that purpose. But one night, the Lord escaped with the princess and they took shelter in his castle, bordering the river and facing the northern mountains.

The incident started a war that the King of Sandwich lost and resulted in the division of the country in two parts: the North Sandwich islands –where those in favour of the Lord and princess lived- and the South Sandwich islands –where the rest of the citizens lived.

Back to 2009, the last thing I heard about this silly rivalry was that the travellers from both parts needed a passport and a special visa. Thank god Rufus Villain had arranged a new identity for me: my papers were in order.

I went up on the deck, sat on a bench and thought. Nobody waited for me at the other side and I had neither a plan A nor a plan B. I was scared and lonely.

Did I say ‘lonely’?

- Hello loser. –said a familiar voice behind me-.
- Hello Hellgirl. –I said, without even turning my head-.
- Fuck, Leni! I gave you the chance of your life to get a good job and the next thing I know is you nearly kill your first client and then you defame my good friend Demonious High!
- Hellgirl, about Leonard: he alone nearly killed himself with an overdose of Viagra that he took to shag me until I’d get sore, in his own words. I only gave him two sleeping pills to calm his instinct down. And about Demonious… he was going to blackmail Leonard with pictures I was supposed to take of Leonard and me having sex.
- So what? What’s wrong with that?
- I don’t approve of these methods to make money. Blackmail is a crime and they send you to jail. Didn’t you know that?
- Yes I knew, Miss Puritan.
- No I’m not! And now will you please let me go? I’m hiding, you know? I’m unemployed, poor, lonely and I just want to disappear!
- I’m leaving this time, Leni. I have some unexpected business to attend to in Hell. The coal haulage contractors are on strike and if I don’t solve this, all the devils will be freezing this winter. But don’t ever dream of getting rid of me just like this. I’ll be watching you. –she said, pointing at me with a threatening finger-

Hellgirl disappeared in a cloud of fire and I stood on my own at the deck. It was my fate to be stalked by the hell’s minions, and my only fault for having trusted them in the past. These star appearances and rants were a cross I often had to bear.

A soft drizzle started falling. I was lost in my thoughts when a man sat beside me and opened his umbrella over me.

- It’s… raining. –he said-
- Yeah. Thank you for the umbrella. I was actually… about to go inside the ship.
- Oh. I thought you liked the rain. I like it. My name is Falkenburg. –he said, holding out his hand to me-
- My name is… -I hesitated- Nicolette Bixby.

I almost screwed up saying “Leni Qinan”.

- Pleased to meet you, Nicolette.
- Pleased to meet you, Mr. Falkenberg.

Falkenberg... that name rang a bell. Where had I heard it before? Wasn't it the Flying Dutchman's captain? You know, the ghost ship with a ghostly crew that was cursed to sail the oceans forever...

We shook hands and continued the conversation.

- Do you live in North Sandwich? – I asked-
- Yes. ¿And you?
- Oh no, I’m just looking for a job there.
- What would you like to do, Nicolette?
- I would accept anything, as long as the boss doesn’t try to swindle me and I don’t have to do a loathing work.

He looked at me very surprised.

- Then, see me at the lighthouse tomorrow at 8am and I may offer you a decent job.
- Well… thanks for the offer, sir. I surely will.

Falkenberg got up and took something from his pocket. It seemed an origami bird that started unfolding its wings and then grew bigger… and bigger… until it became a big white Pegasus.

Falkenberg whistled and jumped on the magnificent animal that took off in the air, making no sound at all. Silent as a shadow, he waved goodbye from his swift steed as he ascended in the air, defying gravity. My eyes followed him until he disappeared in the night. This guy really knew how to leave in style.

Nobody but me witnessed such a spectacular farewell. I was all alone at the deck.

When the ferry arrived in the Noordvyken harbour, I took my backpack and went downstairs to solid ground.

I had no place to go. I took my backpack and sleeping bag and headed to the beach, where I would try to find my way to the lighthouse.





"The loneliest guy" (David Bowie)

Meet Nicolette Bixby, my alter ego

Do you really think one can get rid of the supernatural gang just like that? If you do, you must be joking.

Supernaturals get infatuated very easily with humans and their nicest personal features, start considering they’re irresistible playthings and fiddle about with them to end up creating all kinds of havoc or even becoming a real pain in the neck.

I started feeling paranoid about it. I didn’t want them running behind me with a knife just because I had abandoned my escort job. So I carefully planned my disappearance before my photograph was posted on bulletin boards, milk cartons, postcards and websites of South Sandwich along with a phone number to be contacted if a sighting was made.

It was dark when I left the house hurriedly. I had left no trace of my getaway in the flat. The coffee maker was still hot. My cell phone was on the table, next to my laptop. I had deleted all the compromising files and e-mails. My car was in the parking lot and the gas tank was full. Nobody would suspect that I was gone.

I took a few clothes and money and headed to see someone I had met at the Dumbass Industries: Rufus Villain. Needless to say, his name was the butt of all jokes. But he was a great guy.

Rufus Villain once was the official art restorer of the Dumbass Industries’ impressive art collection. He worked on the restoration of a portrait of the old King of Sandwich, the old crystal chandeliers at the Conference Room and the entire Auditorium that dated from the 19th century. He did a brilliant job, but one day Big Cheese got off on the wrong foot, thought he didn’t like it and decided to do without Rufus. After a horrible fight, he simply fired him.

Just like it happened to me when I had been dismissed, Rufus couldn’t find himself a new job: Big Cheese managed to ruin his reputation in the artistic circles and Rufus lost all his clients immediately. He tried to resist, but ended up closing his once-prosper art business and disappearing off the face of the earth.

A few months later, I accidentally came across him in the streets of Grytviken. He looked old, tired and very embarrassed when I asked him how he was doing. He gave me a vague answer and invited me to visit his new office in the old part of town. I accepted his invitation.

Apparently, Rufus was running a printing business that didn’t seem to pay much. I came to that conclusion when I saw the gloomy premises where his equipment and machinery were installed. There were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and dust all over the room. He was very proud of it; but in all honesty, I couldn’t see why. I thought he probably had a sentimental reason for that.

But Rufus wasn’t really in the printing business. That was just a cover for his real occupation, because he did something completely different for a living. Something more exciting and really well paid: he was the best forger in Sandwich.

He could copy everything you’d ask for: artworks, money, id cards… and he would never be caught. He was a true artisan, in the style of the medieval copist monks.

For the moment, he produced and sold false identification documents for foreign workers in Orsinia and the Sandwich Islands. It was illegal, but I promised to keep the secret.

On my way to see him, I got the blues. I had failed at life. I could neither keep my job, nor face my financial obligations. I feared I would soon be stalked by a mob of howling supernaturals. Not to mention that I had screwed up my chances of a life with Ed, whom I dearly loved and missed badly.

But I couldn’t sit and cry out day after day. It was time for change: I needed a new identity, a new past and a brighter future. And Rufus could help me. I knocked at the door to his office and waited.

- Leni… what a nice surprise! Come in, please. What brings you here? –he smiled-
- Excuse me for breaking like this into your office, but I need your help, Rufus.

I told him my desperate story, omitting to mention my deals with the hell’s minions, which were beside the point.

- I'm hopeless –I said-
- I will help you, Leni.
- Tell me what your fees are and I will pay you in advance.
- Oh no. I’m not going to charge you.
- Come on, Rufus. It’s your work and your time.
- You were always very nice when I worked for the Dumbass Industries and I could never thank you for that, so let me just do this for you and for the good old times.

His watery eyes smiled at me. That touched my heart.

He took me to the back room and pulled a drawer from one of the filing cabinets. Three small green frogs jumped off it to land on a wooden table where the letters of the alphabet were carved.

- Come sit beside me, Leni. Allow my three little friends to find you a new name.

The started jumping on the letters. Rufus put his reading glasses on and noted down each one of them on a sheet of paper. When the frogs stopped jumping, he said:

- Alright. Your new name will be Nicolette Bixby. How do you like it, Leni?
- It sounds nice to me.

Rufus snapped his fingers and the three frogs jumped back to the drawer. Then, he opened one of his huge filing cabinets filled with bundles of papers, tied with red and blue ribbons, and took a small folder with the name ‘Nicolette Bixby’ written on it.

- Leni, here’s all you need to start your new life. New passport, id card and Social Security number. The rest is up to you. What are your plans for the future? –he asked-
-I’m leaving on a ferry to the North Sandwich Islands and I’ll look for a job there. I don’t mind accepting a revolting job; I could be a fart and sweat analyst, a pet embalmer or even a horse breeding facilitator. I just want to leave my past behind and start a new life there in anonimity.
- How sad, Leni. You were always merry and bright and now I see the blues in your pretty brown eyes. Your secret is safe with me.
- I appreciate that. I’ll come out ahead, Rufus.

I took my new documents, hugged him in gratefulness and rushed to the ferry station.

Outside, my old name was gone. But not my old me.



"She's leaving home" (The Beatles)

The scummy man (II)

Leonard was rude beyond belief. That arrogant bastard really thought he was much better than the rest of humanity. He believed he had the right to look down on everybody, and that included Demonius.

When we left Chez François, Demonius stopped a taxi and went back home, visibly upset for not having been invited to our private party.

Leonard put his arm around my shoulder and we walked to his white limousine. We waited until the driver opened the door for us and he gently pushed me in. He didn’t miss the chance to hike up my skirt and spank my butt. I pretended to be surprised and that made him laugh loud. I remained stolid, expecting things would get worse in the next minutes.

We sat on the back seat of the car. He got real close and poured himself a long glass of whisky. Then, he took two blue pills from his pocket and swallowed them with the whisky in one gulp.

Yes, blue pills, the kind that make guys flush and get a splitting headache before they start seeing smurfs, among other remarkable side effects. You guessed it: not only one, but he had two Viagras. So he was paving the way for a crazy sex session. How thoughtful he had been to think I’d love to see an endless erection that night!

He removed his tie and undid the first button of his shirt, sweating like a pig. I started to worry.

- Hike up your skirt for me, Leni. –he said, leaning on the back seat-

That was childish, wasn’t it? I had heard that request a zillion times when I was at kindergarten. But now it was not that funny.

I pulled up my skirt a bit. I felt his fingernails gliding over my inner thighs, and around to my butt. He then pushed me towards him and ordered:

- Now show me what you hide there.
- Where? –I asked, naively-
- Right here, silly. –he answered, squeezing my pussy-

From that moment on, I decided to stop asking stupid questions.

He tried to pull my knickers down and finally ripped them off me impatiently. Then, he took them, pressed them to his nose and took a deep sniff, closing his eyes and moaning.

I didn’t want to have a quickie on our way to the hotel, so if I wanted my plan to succeed, I had to be fast and go at it full swing, or he would suspect.

Then, with incredible sangfroid, I asked him:

- Leo… why don’t we go to your hotel suite? I know a few games that you may like to play with me…

I unbuttoned my shirt slowly. I was amazed at my coolness. He reached out his hand to touch my breasts, but I covered them quickly.

- Not yet, dude. I want you to pour your whisky on me and then lick it clean. But that will be when we are in your hotel. So for the moment… keep your hands off me.

His eyes flashed an evil glimmer.

- What a cockteaser you are –he said-

My heart was beating like a machine gun. He was so obsessed trying to remove my shirt, that I could manage to drop the sleeping pills in his drink when he was not looking. In the meantime, he started to finger me. I pretended I was enjoying it, just hoping he would end soon.

The car stopped in front of the hotel gate. I hurried him:

- Oh jeez, Leo, take me to your room… I’m so horny that I just can’t wait.
- Let’s do it here, slut.
- No. I can’t. I need some privacy.

Slut? Was he calling me slut? I actually needed some privacy to kick his balls too. Definitely, I was not good at that job. Gosh, when were the sleeping pills going to take effect???

The limousine stopped in front of the hotel and we rushed to his suite.

There, he pushed me on the sofa, ripped my shirt off and cupped my breasts with the palms of his hands. He grabbed my arms, as if I would be going to escape and whispered in my ear:

- I’m going to fuck you until you get sore, Leni. So you better get ready.

His fly was open and his erect dick was sticking out of it. He took it in his hand and asked:

- How do you like it? Isn't it gorgeous?

Suddenly, his eyelids started falling down slowly. His whole body loosened up and collapsed on the carpet, finally falling asleep on the spot, just as the airport chemist had predicted.

- How do I like your dick, asshole? Why don't you put your nose in your ear and blow your brains out? This is how I like your dick! –I shouted, kicking him in the ribs-

Leonard snored loudly on the floor, his erect dick still grotesquely showing through the fly of his pants.

It was 3am when I finally could get rid of him. He had been breathing on my neck all day. I tried to button up my shirt, but it was torn. I couldn’t find my knickers. My mascara had run and my lipstick smudged.

I took my handbag hurriedly and left the hotel suite. I looked so horrible that I took the emergency exit stairs instead of the elevator, just in case someone would come across me and call the police.

I walked down the streets and cried, feeling rage and anger, feeling dirty and devalued. And it was only my fault.

"Sullen girl" (Fiona Apple)