[guide.chat] chapter one in mysterious ways by geri stone
- From: vanessa <qwerty1234567a@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "GUIDE CHAT" <guide.chat@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 11:11:32 -0000
IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
Chapter 1
Hurrying home through the busy streets of Vienna, my thoughts were with Peter,
my lover and my best friend. He was in England, training to be a flying
instructor, and I missed him so much. Opening the door to my flat, I saw his
letter waiting for me on the mat. Writing was our only means of communication.
I couldn't afford a telephone, at least not yet - the installation was still
too expensive, even now, in 1965.
Peter always wrote long chatty letters, this one was six pages long. After
describing the people at the flying club and what went on there, he wrote at
great length and in detail how much he loved me, and that he missed me so much.
It would take another two, perhaps even three months until he could be with me
again - an eternity for him.
And for me too, I thought and a long sigh escaped me. Then, as I carried on
reading and my longing grew almost unbearable, my lover suggested I should come
and visit him for a few weeks.
For an instant I allowed myself to dream of exploring England, a country so
different from Austria, as I had learnt from his letters. Then I pushed my
dream away - visiting Peter was impossible. Only a few months ago I'd bought
my flat - I couldn't afford a holiday. But a warm feeling lingered, knowing
how much Peter wanted me. I loved him, and it was wonderful to know that he
loved me so much too.
Still basking in the magical glow of his love, I jumped when the doorbell rang
and Veronika, my best friend, walked in. I couldn't wait to tell her about the
letter, and the invitation, of course.
"Are you going, Trudi?" she came straight to the point.
Regretfully I shook my head. "I owe too much money. I can't afford the fare
to England."
"Why don't you ask Peter to send you the ticket?"
I hesitated a second before shaking my head again. It was very tempting, but I
had always been independent, and wanted to keep it this way. Veronika knew me
well enough to understand without long explanations.
"If I were in your shoes, nothing would stop me," she said. "What about
hitchhiking?"
I laughed - the idea was so ludicrous, I tried making a joke of it. "You can't
be serious, Veronika. Imagine standing on the road outside Vienna, asking for
a lift direction London!"
It was unthinkable, for one thing: England was too far away. Veronika and I
had hitchhiked before, but only a few hours, just as long as it took to get to
the mountains - we were both enthusiastic rock climbers on a tight budget.
Without my best friend and alone, I would never travel that way.
"I couldn't do it on my own," I admitted eventually.
"I'll come with you," she offered casually, as if travelling to England was
something quite ordinary.
I looked at her in surprise. "Do you mean it?" Perhaps my dream was not
impossible after all.
But could two girls really hitchhike to England? Was it safe? We would still
need some money, especially for the ferry to get across the channel, but
perhaps the tickets were not so expensive. Still, the whole idea seemed very
dubious.
If we did go, Veronika would certainly be the right friend to share such an
adventure with. She was dependable, and our journey might even be fun. Then I
realised this was a fool's idea after all. Having started my job only five
months ago, I had no holiday entitlement.
Just then, the doorbell disrupted my thoughts, and Franz, Veronika's fiancé,
walked in. After greeting him with a long kiss, she came straight to the
point: "Trudi and I are hitchhiking to England, to visit Peter," she said, as
if everything was decided.
Still, there was no harm pretending, so I said nothing and played along.
Franz digested the news calmly; he was accustomed to the unexpected from
Veronika. He knew and liked Peter, but he did not want his fiancé to hitchhike
without him, especially to a strange country. If he could prevent it, he
would. Veronika was very beautiful; she had the looks of a model. Long blond
hair framed an elfin face with large hazel eyes and a pert nose - she was
perfect in every way, and whenever I was with her we were surrounded by men
trying to get to know her. Franz was very insecure of his power to hold her,
but he was determined to try.
"If you are going, Veronika, so am I," he stated, looking at his fiancé with
the owner's proud glint in his eyes.
A long discussion followed. Veronika did not really want Franz along. And I
did not want to make a threesome. Travelling alone with her, I might consider
hitchhiking - but with Franz coming too? I didn't think so.
But did it matter? The whole idea was absurd, and quite impossible to put
into practise. It was much better to forget the whole thing altogether.
I turned to my friends, but they were still arguing. Franz was adamant his
fiancée would not go on this trip without him, he told us grandly and a little
pompously.
"But hardly anyone will take three hitchhikers along," I finally interrupted
them, forgetting my decision to abandon the idea.
Veronika's eyes lit up as her fiancé admitted I had a point there. He was
quiet at first, but then an idea came to him. "Let's take Ilse along," he
suggested. "We split up during the journey, travel in pairs, and meet in
England."
I didn't really believe in the possibility of this holiday, and I don't think
the others did either, but in spite of it, somehow we could not leave it be.
And it presented a good enough reason to go to the pub, to use the telephone
there to call Ilse. She was the only one of our friends who might come along
on such a journey, especially at short notice - and she was also the only one
with the luxury of a telephone at home.
In the pub we decided to fortify ourselves with a jug of Gluehwein. Now, in
late autumn, it was already cold enough to enjoy the mulled spicy hot wine.
Then we squeezed into the narrow phone booth, all three of us, because Franz
did not want to be left out. He didn't trust us, and was determined to hear
everything, afraid his girlfriend would go without him after all.
I had known Ilse just a few months, from an English course we both took. She
worked in an office, as I did. I liked her and we got on fine, but I would
much rather have travelled with Veronika, my oldest and closest friend. But
did it matter? We were only pretending; it was just a happy game. Hitchhiking
from Vienna to England was unthinkable, and quite impossible to put into action.
Ilse joined us in the pub. After filling her glass with Gluehwein, we
explained about Peter's invitation and our plan.
"But Trudi, won't Peter mind if we all come, instead of just you on your own?"
Ilse pointed out.
This was a point we had not considered so far. But under the influence of the
mulled wine, we convinced ourselves and each other that Peter wouldn't mind.
After all, he would benefit, because I would come. And I'd write and tell him,
of course.
But it was not quite as simple as that. It was Ilse, the realist, who now
raised the two major obstacles which stood in our way, obstacles we had so far
ignored.
"I don't have much money," she pointed out. "And I'm not entitled to another
holiday this year."
We had finally come to the crux of the matter. Only Franz had a holiday
entitlement, and he also had money, but not enough for us all. I did have
savings, but it was money put away for my flat. Still, with the payment not
due until March, it could be our emergency fund. But the second problem seemed
insurmountable: how could we get three weeks off? But under the influence of
another two glasses of Gluehwein nothing seemed impossible. We could probably
manage with very little money if we hitchhiked, and if we tried, we might get
time off - unpaid leave maybe. At least we could ask - no harm in asking, we
told each other.
Next day, in the light of a sober morning, I was ready to abandon our plan, but
as we had promised each other we would at least try, I asked my boss. To my
surprise he told me to take next year's leave now, at the end of November. It
would be convenient for him, because nobody else wanted time off - although
next summer I would have no holiday. But as summer was a long way off, I
agreed.
To my surprise, my friends got leave too. The unlikely was happening: our
journey to England was not an impossible dream anymore; in two weeks we could
be on our way. I'd travel with Ilse, and meet Franz and Veronika in England,
where Peter would arrange everything. Happy that I would come, he hadn't
objected to anything, but only requested we bring a few small bottles of drinks
not available in England. So we took one bottle each; I carried the
Himbeergeist, clear raspberry-brandy, surprisingly strong, though sweetly
smelling of fresh raspberries.
Not to waste time, we decided to begin our journey on Friday straight after
work. Later, we could eat and relax, but at least we would already be on our
way. We'd take a tram to the outskirts of Vienna to the Westautobahn, hike
through Germany and Belgium, and go by ferry from Ostend to Dover. And if we
got too tired, we could always book into a cheap guesthouse on the way, or go
by train a few hours and sleep.
Finally the day had come, our journey was about to begin. Ilse and I stood on
the side of the road dressed in anoraks and trousers. From a distance we
looked like boys. This was deliberate, as we wanted only those drivers to stop
who gave lifts to boys too. And if we should still get into trouble, we were
confidant we could handle it, especially as I was a black belt in judo.
The first part of our journey was easier than expected. Never waiting longer
than twenty minutes or so, after twenty-four hours we were somewhere in
Germany, enjoying a cheap meal in a motorway station. My friend and I were
exhausted. The warm meal revived our spirits a little, so we decided to push
on for a while. But the fun had gone out of it, and our sense of adventure had
left us too. I really had enough, and Ilse felt the same. Briefly we
considered staying the night here at the inn but the rooms were expensive, and
it was too soon to stop for a night. We hadn't even travelled half way yet.
Reluctantly we went back out into the dark, to stand on the link-road to the
motorway, trying to get a lift to Belgium.
I was freezing cold and very sleepy. This adventure was not exciting anymore;
all I wanted was a bed - a warm bed - and sleep. Instead, I stood with my
friend in the dark, on the side of a road somewhere in Germany. Too tired to
talk, we just raised our hands when a car approached, but not one vehicle
stopped.
It had started to rain. We stood there, close to an hour, cold and wet. I
felt like a beggar - this was no fun, but utter humiliation. I would never
hitchhike again after this journey, I promised myself.
I sensed Ilse felt like me, but she too remained silent. We hardly raised our
hands anymore - there seemed little point, no one stopped anyway. I was so
tired and lost - just longing for comfort and warmth - I didn't notice the
white car until I heard the screech of tires as it came to a halt. My heart
skipped a beat. It was a police car - we were in trouble. Perhaps hiking so
close to the motorway was not allowed.
A uniformed officer stuck his head through the open car window. "What are you
doing here?" he asked sternly.
There was little point in denying we were hitchhiking, so we admitted to it.
Hopefully, we didn't break any law.
"Where are you going?" was the next question.
"To England, in the long run, but for now, to Ostend," I replied. "We'll take
the ferry from there."
He opened the door to the back. "Jump in, girls," he said, a sudden grin
lighting his face. "You can come with us for a while."
We relaxed into the back seat. It was warm and dry here, and I was grateful to
be out of the wet. I had enough of hitchhiking. In the beginning I had felt a
sense of adventure and fun, but standing out there cold and wet, I had been
ashamed, as if we were begging. And suddenly I looked at this method of
travelling quite differently.
The two officers were friendly and talkative. They asked about our journey,
and wanted to know if we'd encountered any problems on the way. Gradually Ilse
and I relaxed. These men were hardly older than us, and they were nice. Soon
we forgot they were policemen and how tired we were, and the hours slipped by
pleasantly in easy conversation.
"We'll take you to the Belgian border," the driver promised. "That's as far as
we are allowed to go."
They dropped us off at the train station in Aachen. Too tired to go on, we
either booked a room or took the train. And we were too exhausted to go
running around, looking for a cheap hotel. On the train we could sleep and
continue our journey, so in the long run it would probably work out cheaper.
It was early morning but still dark. Making our way into the station, Ilse was
a shadow of her usual lively self, and I was so tired, I almost fell asleep on
my feet. On the deserted cold platform, I thought of nothing but sleep. I
knew I could go no further, and Ilse said the same. So we bought tickets -
luckily the train to Ostend arrived soon - and gratefully we sank into the warm
upholstery of the compartment, falling into a heavy sleep immediately. I
remember little of the journey, but everything must have been alright as we
made it safely to the ferry. Even there, I would have carried on sleeping, had
I not become seasick quite suddenly. Though Ilse was fine, I spent most of the
journey on the toilet, so sick I thought I would die, but once on dry land and
going through customs, I recovered quickly.
We had arrived in England, and would soon be at our destination.
The rest of the journey was easy. Going by train we changed in London, and I
phoned Peter when to expect us. As soon as our train slowed down, I saw him
waiting on the platform. And then I was in his arms. Looking into his eyes I
saw his love for me shining out, and my whole world was suddenly right again.
I was so happy to be with Peter.
I couldn't help looking at him, over and over again. His eyes were green, and
as deep as the mountain lakes we liked to swim in - I could drown in the love I
saw there. I liked everything about him - his dark wavy hair, and the way a
dimple appeared in his cheek when he smiled. I couldn't resist him when he
smiled and looked at me the way he did now. Peter was a good-looking man.
Tall with broad shoulders, he had the build of an athlete - but then, he was a
judo champion several times over. Even our interests were similar, we shared
so much. It was bliss being together again.
We drove to the flying club and he showed us around. A few small planes stood
on the ground here and there, some flew overhead and one was just landing.
Close by I saw a hangar, and some distance away several caravans huddled
together near other small buildings. Peter parked the car in front of the
clubhouse, and we settled over drinks and a meal.
"I've booked a small caravan for you both, and one for Veronika and Franz," he
told us. His arm round my shoulders, he smiled down at me. "But no one will
expect you to be in your caravan, my darling," he whispered in my ear, so only
I could hear it. "We'll be together, Trudi, whenever we can during the day,
and always at night."
It really turned out this way. When Peter wasn't flying, we were together - in
the bar, or going for walks, or in his room. Ilse slept in the caravan;
otherwise she was with us too. Veronika and Franz did not arrive, but
eventually they phoned. Our friends had been refused entry to Britain, on
suspicion of being illegal immigrants. Going through customs they were
arrested and had to spend the night in a police cell. Thinking we wouldn't
mind and to cheer themselves up, they had drunk the bottles of Enzian and
Slivovitz they carried for Peter - a friendly police woman had helped them in
this pleasant task. She didn't seem to mind drinking whilst on duty, or to
spend a few hours with illegal immigrants in a cell.
In the morning she had escorted Franz and Veronika on to a boat to travel back
to Ostend. They planned to spend their holiday in Belgium, where apparently no
one had any objections to them staying. Veronika said they were alright, and
we should enjoy our holiday, there was nothing we could do for them.
Although sad and disappointed, Ilse and I decided to follow her advice - which
was, after all, the only sensible thing to do.
from
Vanessa The Google Girl.
my skype name is rainbowstar123
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