Lives On Recycled Paper
A Letter for the Mayor
‘Hello, Ms. Ronin, how are you?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘My name is Dorothy. I’m the senior journalist and editor for my college magazine.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘Your son is a friend of mine; we bowl together on Sundays.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember you called last week.’
‘I did. You told me to meet you here at 2 o’clock. I’m here. Why meet in the park?’
‘I had no money to take a bus, so I walked from home. It’s okay, the park is joyful in the summer, look at these silver birches.’
‘You’re right. What’s that you’re carrying?’
‘A letter for the Mayor written on recycled paper. I made the paper in the Japanese arts and crafts course at the adult educational centre.’
‘Oh!’
‘I’m learning Japanese too.’
‘Japanese, that must be difficult.’
‘It is, but only because of my age; after fifty, the brains cells aren’t so with it.’
‘I understand. So, that letter you’re holding, what’s in it?’
‘My family’s story.’
‘Would you like to share it with me?’
‘Well, the bad luck moved in during 2014. Someone flung a Molotov cocktail at our front door where it exploded into flames. The fire raced through the apartment, killed my daughter, Belinda. She was twelve years old. We lost everything.’
‘Would you like a tissue, Ms. Ronin?’
‘No, thanks, I’ve got one.’
‘Marvin’s a good boy. While studying, he also worked at the off-licence in the evenings. He was saving to buy us new furniture.’
‘Did everything burn?’
‘Yes, everything went up in flames, except the stove and our old metal bathtub. We bought cardboard furniture called Damaris.’
‘I’ve heard of it. The tables and chairs are practical and solid. Can you tell me what happened to Marvin? I heard he got arrested for stealing, spent time in jail, and now he’s in the hospital with serious injuries.’
‘Marvin wasn’t stealing anything.’
‘Okay, go on, Ms. Ronin.’
‘He and his friend Mikey found a used sofa on the pavement. Mikey told me what Marvin said on that day, it’s tatty, but Mum will appreciate it.’
‘And so they picked it up, Ms. Ronin?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘The owner of the sofa placed it on the street because pest controllers were fumigating his apartment. He called them in because of a spider infestation.’
‘I hate spiders, Ms. Ronin, yuck.’
‘Baby spiders hatched on his guava fruits; they sat in a ceramic bowl on top of the fridge. They kept a few babies and took them to the aquarium where they have arachnid tanks.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, anyway, the owner of the sofa, a white man, saw the boys walking down the road carrying his possession. He called the police.’
‘Because of a sofa, Ms. Ronin?’
‘Yes. A policeman shouted as he shot two bullets in the direction of the boys.’
‘Sounds awful.’
‘Marvin said in court that first bullet whistled passed an ear. And the second one, he felt clipping the air by his right knee; he wore board shorts that day. The boys froze and dropped the sofa.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Marvin was thrown in jail for theft; he got a six-month sentence. The first night in his shared cell two prisoners did things to him that a man isn’t made for. He lost his mind for a while. A prison warden transferred him to a sanatorium where he was attacked.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Ms. Ronin. Marvin’s a great guy. How he’s suffered, it’s so unfair.’
‘As I said before, I made the paper this letter is written on in my art course. The wood came from a local oak tree. Fungus infected four of its boughs, they were sawn off. I was happy to hear an arborist saved the tree.’
‘A local tree, you say, Ms. Ronin?’
‘Yes. Mr. Ainara, my art teacher, found the boughs on the ground in this park and decided to make good use of them. He said, trees have souls, the boughs shouldn’t be laid to waste like that.’
‘Mr. Ainara sounds like a wise man.’
‘Yes, he is. This paper literally comes from this here soil. Its soul has witnessed the goings and comings of this area for three hundred years.’
‘Awesome. Come, I’ll walk you to the Town Hall.’
‘Thanks, Dorothy, but it’s only five minutes away.’
‘I know. Let’s walk and talk, Ms. Ronin.’
‘This letter holds Marvin’s testimony as well as mine. My lovely boy now lies in hospital with a broken collarbone, three cracked ribs, and a ruptured spleen. No one has been arrested for attacking him.’
‘Goodness. I’m sorry, I wish I could do more.’
‘Dorothy, at least you care and you’re interested in getting to the truth.’
‘Can I ask you one more question?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘You have a different surname to your son, why’s that?’
‘After all the bad things happened, I couldn’t live with the name Jackson anymore, it’s a slave name. I researched it on the internet at an ancestry website. The information made me sick, it made me feel lonely. I needed a stronger name to fortify my spirit and to strengthen my focus.’
‘Was it difficult changing your name?’
‘No. I’ve been a divorcee for ten years, so, I was able to change it. Ronin is a Japanese name. It means a vagrant samurai without a master.’
‘Wow.’
‘Here we are, Ms. Ronin, in front of the Town Hall where I hope you’ll be able to have a consultation with the Mayor.’
‘Me too.’
‘Good luck! Thanks for sharing yours and Marvin’s story. Bye.’
‘You’re welcome, Dorothy.’
‘Don’t mind me, I’m still recording.’
‘Okay.’
‘Ms. Ronin ascends the steps of the Town Hall. Her steps are weary, but her head is high. She’s clutching a letter made from recycled paper. She has calligraphed her heart and that of her son’s, Marvin, on the page in Indian deep red ink.’
Find your copy of the book here
About the author
Maroula Blades is a multifacetted artist living in Berlin. She was nominated for the Amadeu Antonio Prize 2019 for her educational multimedia project “Fringe”. The project was supported by the Swiss Jan Michalski Foundation for Literature. She was the first runner-up in the 2018 Tony Quagliano International Poetry Award, and the winner of Erbacce Poetry Prize 2012. Works were published in The Caribbean Writer, Thrice Fiction, The Freshwater Review, Word with Jam, Midnight & Indigo, Abridged, The London Reader, Stories of Music Vol. 2, So It Goes, Newfound Journal, and by Peepal Tree Press among others.
Regularly, Ms. Blades gives poetry and prose workshops in Berlin schools and high schools. Her multimedia projects have been presented at many international literary festivals in Germany.
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