A Bizarre Train Ride

A Bizarre Train Ride

by Michal Reibenbach

Earl grey tea 

My husband and I are on our way by train to visit Leipzig. We relax into our, shabby, thread worn, brown padded seats. The train rocks back and forth as it rattles along. It’s an old train with little separate compartments with sliding doors. There’s a smell of cigarettes in the air. For a while, I am mesmerized by the scenery, the fields and rolling hills flitting by outside my window. The sky is a soft light blue with gentle clouds. At length, I turn my attention to my husband and we discuss our plans for the coming day. Aside from us and a couple of old ladies sitting opposite, the compartment is empty. Periodically I glance at the two old ladies before me. One of the ladies looks rather haughty. She is dressed respectably in a cream-colored suit and a neck scarf with a floral pattern. Her grey hair is scooped up in a bun. She constantly stares out of the window and pretends not to notice us. Her small, scrawny companion is shrouded in a shapeless print dress, grey with small red roses. Her face is covered with web-like wrinkles. She reminds me of a little bird the way she is twitching restlessly about in her seat. She continuously watches us with her small, sharp eyes and is obviously dying to ask us a question but can’t pluck up the courage. Finally, I smile at her which prompts her to do so. 

‘Excuses me for asking, but what language are you speaking?’

‘We’re speaking Hebrew,’ I answer in my broken German.

‘Ah yes, yes, I see, I see,’ she says and I can see that she is swilling this information around in her mind.

‘And which country do you come from?’ she then asks.

‘We’re from Israel,’ I answer.

‘Ah Israel, ah Israel,’ she says and I can see that once again she is busily endeavoring to absorb this information.

‘And do you have Arabs in Israel?’ is her next question.

‘Yes we have Arabs in Israel and we also have Jews. We are Jews,’ I clarify.

‘Ah, ah, Jews, Jews!’ she cries out in animation.‘And do you have towns in Israel?’ she asks.

‘Yes, we have towns,’ I answer.

‘and do you have apartments?’ she then asks.

‘Yes, we have apartments, we live in an apartment,’ I explain patiently.

‘She obviously thinks we live in mud houses or tents?’ my husband hisses at me in Hebrew.

‘and do your apartments have doors which can be shut and opened?’ is her next question.

‘Yes our apartments have doors which we can shut and open,’ I answer and I can’t help but smile at her bizarre interrogation.

Undeterred she continues, ‘and do you have windows with window panes in them?’

‘Yes we have windows with window panes in them,’ I answer.

Throughout this strange dialogue, the other old lady continues to staunchly stare out of the window as if it is beneath her or maybe she thinks it’s ‘bad manners’ to listen in onto other people’s conversation.

‘and do you have curtains on your windows?’ she asks.

‘Yes, we have curtains on our windows,’ I answer.

This answer finally seems to satisfy her, if we have curtains on our windows we are clearly a civilized country. Contented she sits back in her seat and is silent for a while.  All of a sudden she chirps up once again, ‘May I ask you a big favor?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I reply.

‘My grandson is meeting me at the railway station. He’s never met a Jew before. May I introduce you to him?’ she inquires.

For a few moments, my husband and I sit in utter astonishment in reaction to the old lady’s request. Our eyes lock in an amused glance. There is nothing especially Jewish about our looks. We both have pale complexions, my husband has light grey eyes, mine are bright blue. Maybe our noses are sort of Jewish? But to make the old lady happy we are willing to oblige.

‘Yes, of course, we’ll be delighted to meet your grandson,’ I say congenially. 

As the train pulls into Leipzig station, the rattling of the train is drowned out by the screeching of the breaks and we tilt forward in our seats as the train shudders to a stop.

We accompany the two ladies off the train to the crowded platform, noise is everywhere. The bird-like lady spots her grandson and she shuffles quickly through the throng up to him, ‘Hans, mein Liebling,’ she exclaims loudly and raises her withered hands up to him. He wraps his arms around her shoulders. Pulling away from him she declares, ‘Look who I met on the train, this pleasant couple, they are  Jews, isn’t it exciting? I want you to meet them.’

Her grandson turns bright red with embarrassment. We shake hands and exchange pleasantries after which he says, ‘I apologize for my grandmother. She lives in a tiny village and she isn’t very worldly.’

‘No need to be upset we really enjoyed her company. She kept us amused,’ I assure him. We bid our farewells and hurry away.

Little Detectives

by Michal Reibenbach

homemade lemonade

I live in Dillydale, a boring little village where nothing of importance ever happens. My best friend Chloe and I spend many happy hours together, playing the various street games which little girls do. By far our most exciting game is pretending we are ‘detectives’. 

Chloe’s parents are quite well off and have bought her a beautiful bike. Thus she cycles up the road, stops beside our front gate and waits for me. My family is poor and I don’t have a bicycle, besides my fearful mother would never allow me to ride a bike. We surreptitiously sneak over to one of my neighbors. He has an old, rusty, man’s bicycle with brakes that don’t work in his garage and permits me to use it. I call out to him, ‘Mr. Smith, I’m taking your bike!’ He calls back as he always does, ‘Alright, love.’ If my anxious mother were to find out that I am riding an enormous man’s bike without breaks she’ll have a fit! 

I love cycling, the sun above is bright, the breeze on my face is welcoming, the motion and speed as my legs move up and down, it’s a feeling of freedom.  We cycle down the trail through a pine wood, there is a fresh scented tang of the pine needles. Arriving at a pond, we dismount and lean our bikes on the rough, dark trunks of tall pine trees, rasin drools from wounds in their bark. As always Chloe has come fully equipped with a hamper of food, a folding gas ring, magnifying glasses, string, and various tools. We cook sausages on the gas ring, gulp them down with bread rolls and then eagerly eat the dessert which is a delicious chocolate cake. Having appeased our hunger we set about putting up booby traps by tying pieces of string from one tree trunk to another in order to trip up ‘thieves’ or ‘murderers’ who might be lurking in the forest. We also dig a hole which we cover with branches, into which we hope ‘the criminal’ will fall!  Then taking hold of our large magnifying glasses we slowly walk around the pond carefully inspecting the ground for anything suspicious. The magnifying glass enlarges our eyes enormously, it is quite startling. ‘I’m the ghost of the large eye,’ says Chloe in a moaning tone of voice and as a result, we double up in a fit of laughter. Tiring of our game we sit down at the edge of the pond. Shimmers move across the green surface. The lily-pads are in bloom. We throw pebbles into the water, they send ripples in ever-widening circles until they disappear. A woodpecker pecks a tree trunk hunting for insects and the sound dispersing around us. At length, we rise, brush the brown pine needles from off the back of our trousers, gather up our ‘stuff’, collect our bikes and cycle off back home.

Those childhood memories would be treasured forever.

Sixty years later:

I’m reading the book, ‘Little Detectives’ and the whole time I have the uncanny feeling of ‘deja vu’ as if I recognize all the streets and places described in this novel. As soon as I've turned over the last page I go shuffling off to my computer and search for the author’s name in Google. Low and behold! I discover that the author used to live in Dillydale, the same little village in which I  grew up in and he and his friend, although a year younger than I, also used to play ‘detectives’ as children. Now an old man the author has used his childhood memories from Dillydale to write the novel I’ve just finished reading, ‘Little Detectives’, which is so successful it is studied by some A level students for their literature exams and has also been produced as a film. As for me, I’m no writer but I am a good storyteller. I enjoy reminiscing about my memories to my children and grandchildren and I hope that they might someday also pass down my stories to their own children and grandchildren!

The Potato Patch

By Michal Reibenbach

poteen

The neglect in the garden has long settled in. In summer the only flowers in the garden are a few Hollyhocks who stubbornly show their tall, magnificent blooms above the tangle of weeds.

Every day after work her father goes out into the garden, where he plants row upon row of potatoes.

His little daughter is curious about the potato patch, ‘Why are you planting so many potatoes?’

‘The potatoes will clear the ground from the weeds,’ he explains.

‘What shall we do with so many potatoes?’ is her next question.

‘If Moses supposes his toeses are roses then Moses supposes erroneously; for nobodies toeses are poses or roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be,’ chants her father.

The daughter thinks to herself, ‘He’s reciting a tongue twister in order not to answer my questions.’ Out loud she simply says, ‘You are funny!’ 

Occasionally a scientist friend of her father comes to visit. He watches on with intrigue as her father rushes energetically from one end of a row of potatoes to the other, digging up potatoes at each end, then moving onto the next row and going through the whole ritual once again. Her father clarifies, ‘The potatoes are spreading at such an alarming rate, I’m endeavoring to contain the patch so that it doesn’t completely swallow up the whole garden.’

The scientist says, ‘With your energy and my brains we could build a thriving business together!’

Their cottage used to be an old stable. Her father piles up the potatoes in a part of the cottage, which hasn’t as yet been renovated. Daily the stack of potatoes is growing ever larger. The potatoes at the bottom of the pile begin to rot and to smell revolting. The nauseating smell attracts cats who come to ‘pee’ on the pile. It now begins to stink ‘to high heaven’. The little daughter asks her father, ‘Why don’t you sell the potatoes instead of letting them rot?’

Once again to avoid  answering his daughter’s question her father chants, ‘If Moses supposes his toeses are roses, then Moses supposes erroneously; for nobody’s toeses are poses or roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be!’

    

Maddie's Dream

by Michal Reibenbach

Ovaltine

Big Maddie knocked on the scratched, weathered beaten, wooden door of the tired looking house. Some of the houses large, whitish grey, stones were covered in moss and the white paint of the window’s wooden frames was flaking off. It took a while before an old, plump woman opened the door; peeking out from behind her was a little girl. Big Maddie recognized them: the old woman was her grandmother and the little girl was herself as a little child. She didn't understand what was happening; 'had she somehow gone back in time?!'

"What do you want?" asked the old woman. In her heart, Big Maddie felt she wanted to cross the threshold, enter into the house, and somehow help the motherless girl that had once been herself as a little child; so she said, "Please don't be alarmed! I just thought you might need some help around the house?"

"Yes, actually I do," answered the old woman, “The house is in an awful mess and I don't feel very well. I really do need some help but I'm afraid I won't be able to pay you very much."

"Oh that's alright," said Maddie. "You can give me whatever you can afford."

She didn't tell the old woman that she was even willing to work for free, for it might have seemed strange and suspicious. The old lady let Big Maddie into the house, "If you could begin with cleaning the kitchen and the sitting room, and then folding the laundry—I'm afraid I'll have to leave you now to go and lie down for a while, for I feel rather dizzy," said the old lady, and she shuffled off to a back room to rest. At the same time, her grand-daughter scurried up the stairs and out of Big Maddie's sight; as a result, she was left alone.

Big Maddie began to look around curiously. As she did so, she could see the belongings of the little girl's father lying about everywhere; and that brought back memories as to how much he used to resemble an Ogre, which was what everyone had called him: ‘The Ogre.’ She could feel his presence all around her, even though she couldn't see him. She thought to herself, "He's made himself invisible, to make it easier for him to torment me!"

Upon entering the kitchen which was in an awful mess; she set about washing the dirty dishes and cooking-pots with great gusto; until there was a large pile of them drying on the draining board. Next, she washed the floor down with a cloth, until it shone. Then, as Big Maddie stood still waiting for the damp floor to dry, she called out to the Ogre, "Even though I can't see you, I know that you are around here somewhere, for I can feel your presence! I've journeyed back in time in order to help the pathetic, motherless child that used to be me all those years ago. Now that I've cleaned your filthy kitchen and washed your dirty dishes, will you show your little girl some love?"

The Ogre roared with laughter, "Ha-ha-ha-" and then he shouted out in a slurred, cocky voice, "I can't give her any love, for I don't have any emotions!"  Big Maddie could tell that he was drunk. The Ogre was so enraged with her request; so much so that, with the force of his anger, he managed to knock some clean dishes off the sideboard and consequently they smashed down onto the floor and broke into tiny pieces. In despair, Big Maddie sat down on the kitchen floor with her shoulders hunched over and began to cry into her chest, tears burst forth spilling down her face for the little girl. Finally, she pulled herself together, got up and wiped away her tears with an old tea-towel she found in a kitchen drawer, then she set about sweeping up the broken dishes with a broom and threw the pieces into the dustbin. Next, she dried up all the pots and dishes with her tear-soaked towel and placed them in the cupboard. Having finished cleaning the kitchen to her satisfaction she took the towel, along with a broom, mop and a bucket of water with her into the sitting room; where she set about tidying it up and scrubbing the floor. This also involved dusting off any toys she found lying around and placing them into the toy-chest; while she was doing this, her tea-towel got caught in the wheels of a toy car and as she pulled at it, she accidentally tore the towel---she thought to herself dismally, 'All I'm armed with to help the poor, motherless child fight her battles, is a wet, torn, tea-towel..'

Maddie cleaned the sitting room until it sparkled. Once again, in desperation, she called out to the Ogre, “Now that I've tidied up and cleaned your previously messy sitting room, will you agree to help your little girl, at least in ways that don't include love? For example, give her a little kindness and please stop beating her, you're damaging her, taking away her dignity and making her feel very lonely!"

"You're making me furious!" roared the Ogre, and this time he used the force of his anger to pull all the toys out of the toy chest, causing them to tumble onto the floor.

"I lock her up and beat her because she annoys me, and anyway it's good for her to be frightened of me!"

Big Maddie could tell that she wasn't making any progress with the Ogre, that in fact, she was simply aggravating him, making the situation worse. In despair, she tidied up the toys back into the toy chest and moved on to her next task: folding the enormous pile of washing which she found in the little washroom. She placed the dry laundry in the airing cupboard and laid out the still damp clothes to dry on the sofa. As she worked, she had an idea: turning to the ogre, she said: "If you keep on being cruel to your motherless child, I'll report you to social services!"

"You can report whatever you like; they're much too busy, they won't interfere!" scoffed the ogre at her in his gruff voice. Then, in order to annoy Big Maddie even more, he called out to his little girl, "Maddie, Maddie, come down to the sitting room.

Soon Little Maddie appeared. "Go and jump on the sofa, on all the damp washing, It'll be fun," he urged her.

Little Maddie did as she was told to by the Ogre for she feared him; she climbed up onto the sofa and jumped up and down on the washing. From time to time, she looked at her older self guiltily, expecting her to be angry, but Big Maddie just stood by silently. Inside she felt like a deflated balloon and a useless failure; for she had gone back in time to help the poor, unloved, motherless child that she had once been; and she was failing pitifully in her task.

Suddenly, much to Big Maddie's surprise, an enormous soap bubble came floating in through the open window and landed on the sitting room floor. There it popped; revealing inside of it an old, white-haired lady who was holding a large ginger cat in her arms. The old lady smiled at Little Maddie, who was staring on in amazement, and said: "I'm your ‘fairy godmother’, dear."

Then she turned to Big Maddie and said, "I think I know how you can help her: you can sit down beside her and encourage her to tell you her sad story; and while she tells it to you, you can write it all down. It'll help her to know that you care for her and that you want to hear her story. It will make her feel better about herself."

Big Maddie rushed over to the fairy godmother and hugged her, "Thank you so much for coming to help us,” she said.

Swiftly she went and collected a paper-pad and a pen from off the table, then briskly walked up to Little Maddie, caught hold of her hand, and said, 

"Come with me, we’re going to write a story together."

They walked over to one of the sitting room’s large, old, battered armchairs and slumped down into it. Thus snuggled up close, little Maddie began to tell Big Maddie her sad story: about how her mother had died and even though her granny had come to live with her and ‘the Ogre’ her father, he had been continuously nasty to her ever since then…Big Maddie wrote down everything that the little girl recalled. All the while the ‘fairy godmother’ watched over them, stroking her cat, and waving her magic wand at the invisible, outraged Ogre to keep him away, for he was continuously trying to interrupt them. When Little Maddie had at last finished telling her story, and Big Maddie had finished writing it all down; Big Maddie hugged little Maddie and said, "Never forget that I love you." Then she turned to face the ‘fairy godmother’ and said, "It's done, it's written."

"Good," said the ‘fairy godmother’, and then to little Maddie, "I'll leave you my ginger cat so that you won't be so lonely; she's a magic cat and if your father, ‘the Ogre’, tries to hurt you or her, she'll turn into a tigress and frighten him away. Does that make you feel better? " 

"Yes it does make me feel much better," answered Little Maddie, adding, "and thank you so much for your cat."

”I'm glad I could help you. Good-bye, Little Maddie, and good-bye Big Maddie," said the ‘fairy godmother’ and then she vigorously waved her magic wand, twirling it around above her head. This caused an enormous flash of light to bounce off the wand and up into the sky; thus the ‘fairy godmother’ was able to travel up along the beam of light she had created, and she disappeared up into the sky…

A few moments later, a rumble of thunder could be heard from far away beyond the blackened clouds…. It woke Big Maddie up and she found herself in her bed! When she looked up and out of her window she saw that a storm was raging outside; there was a downpour of rain and streaks of lightning split the sky. It was then that she realized she had been dreaming.

As she snuggled deeper into her soft eiderdown so that it enclosed her with its warmth, she thought to herself, 'I didn’t have a very happy childhood, I'm glad that I'm all grown up now!'