Member-only story
The Fledgling Find
We had come from Frankfurt the 1,000 kilometres or so down into enemy territory — well, they’re not the enemy anymore, but will always be remembered as such, and in some sectors hailed as heroes, for resisting the ill-fated occupation (by the self-serving English language Murdoch world media)— and had parked our camper van and courteously made use of the huts in a local caravan resort and not slept there for more than two nights when an obvious Englishman in bright orange shirt and khakis and soiled running shoes woke the dear wife and me in some obvious but doubtless unnecessary distress from the other side of the fence in an, I suppose, tourist-purposed parking lot next to the camp.
“What for an unholy disturbance is this,” I said and gave what I felt was an adequately rueful smile at the wife, who appeared freshly scrubbed as befits a woman of her representation in the world and stood next to me in the way of dutiful wives, hands clasped together and expressionlessly, uninvitingly, awaited further certainty, so that she may act in an appropriate fashion to help or dismiss the intruder as may be needed.
“Hullo?” Shouted the man as we waited with appropriate attentiveness for further enquiries. Surely more would be forthcoming, but perhaps our signal for further exchanges being welcome and awaited was lost in translation. Well, surely…
