Dark Oasis
The garden possessed a single tree. Whilst not exactly a secret garden, its position off a beaten track ensured seclusion. Hamsita - a young receptionist - regularly took her lunch-break there, together with a few other in-the-knows such as Harry the office doorman and his heart-throb of the moment from Office Stores called Trudy. There were a few complete strangers now and again, but each of them only came once. Today was a particularly hot day in early May, with unbroken blue skies which the weatherman had promised to last as long as he could continue forecasting. Did the weatherman live in the clouds? So what did he do on cloudless days like this one? Hamsita was evidently in a frivolous mood today.
But her favorite seat in the garden was already occupied. She suddenly cringed at the possible nature of a stranger on her bench. Done up in heavier clothes than the temperature required, a man-shape at that. Very few women came here. Except Harry's sweethearts. She sat down upon the other bench, the one which Harry often used for his courting. No sign of him today. Trudy was off sick, Hamsita recalled. A lot of colds going round. A bit of a sniffle herself, in fact.
The sun was extremely bright, the tree's shadow like a giant ink-blotted spider soaking into the bottle-green turf. If it were not for the stranger, this lunch-break would be perfect. She placed the packed lunch on her lap, the pleated red skirt riding just above her knees. Women's legs were often prettier without nylons, but sometimes uglier like a furless animal's. Her legs were more pretty than ugly, she was certain. No sign yet of middle-aged ruckles - or proud violet veins. In any event, she was confident that her beauty was more than just skin deep. Her heart was in the right place, too.
The stranger was looking across the garden at Hamsita. Or his face was turned in her direction, but from this distance his eyes looked folded over. He was just someone enjoying the fabulous sunshine, having stumbled upon this garden whilst doodling a walk. It was peculiar, Hamsita thought, that her thoughts were so peculiar. She'll be thinking he's one of the weathermen, next.
This was not really a garden. There were hardly any flowers. Merely an expanse of greenery tucked away at the back of the town. Not a play area - just emptiness for its own sake and, of course, the single tree which a breeze was making wriggle. Ah, there's Harry. Today the sight of Harry was almost a relief. On his own, for once.
"Hello, Hammy. OK?"
"Yes, thanks, Harry. Trudy's off colour, I hear."
"Is she? Is she? I didn't know."
"Just a cold, I believe."
"Gets up your nose, don't it?" He laughed at his own joke as he sat next to Hamsita, seeing that her usual bench was occupied by the stranger. She opened her container: full of Marmite sandwiches and a Golden Delicious.
"Want one?" she asked.
"I wouldn't say no." But he couldn't say yes, either. His large hand took a sandwich which he munched loudly, whilst the stranger gesticulated to one of them. Harry blushed a brighter shade of sunburn, made a few garbled noises of excuse and departed the way he had come.
It would look like a storm if the sky were simply a darker blue all over. A perfect wall-to-wall ruler-edged deep blue cloud. She was relieved to see the stranger following Harry. Deep down somewhere, she never expected to see Harry again. Doormen were usually ex-servicemen, who needed some occupation to keep complete retirement at bay. Harry's time had come. He may as well have been killed in the war. She blew her nose and crunched the app-le. The sun's angle had changed the tree's reflection in the grass, a blotch now like a disease of darkness, instead of a spider-stain. Hamsita saw, too, that her legs were mapped with black rivers as the sappy blood seeped too near the skin. Trudy was probably in bed with a tall dark shape at the moment. Then Hamsita's heart suddenly started throbbing at the onset of even stranger thoughts, just as the rain started splattering through the leaves of the tree.
Published 'Literatia Macabre' 1996
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