[aube]

My name is Johannes. Johannes de Ruiter. I was born on a stormy night in November, in a fishers hut. My father was out there fishing, somewhere lost in the storm, when I left the warmth of my mother's body to have a look at the world. Now, seventy years later, I'm still as amazed by life as I was then. Every morning when I wake up and see the light falling through the trees, a grand feeling warms my old heart. Life is amazing, and I enjoy it. My story is an odd one, but I've decided to put it down on paper anyway. It all commenced on a Sunday morning, when I woke up from a gentle dream and Maertge entered my bedroom.

Maertge, who had helped me with the running the household since I was too old to do it by myself, brought me a dinner tray full of tea and biscuits that morning, she smiled at me. She had been with me for the past twenty years, but I knew very little about her. Sometimes I wondered how old she was, because in those twenty years of duty, I'd never seen her change. She looked exactly the way she had looked twenty years ago, and it was impossible to guess her age. She was a small, round-bellied woman with her black hair tied up in her neck. She didn't talk much but cooked delicious dinners, and she seemed much occupied by what I ate and how I dressed. Although she was a lot younger than I was, I obeyed her as if she were my mother. Anyhow, that morning there was something different about her. The look in her eyes had changed.

I'd never seen her ill, and never thought of the possibility that she, as with every human being, could have such an ordinary illness as a fever or a cold. In fact, I'd never truly considered her as a human being. Maertge. Unconsciously she was part of my life, with her rough hands holding the dinner tray and her black eyes, peering at me through a network of wrinkles.

"I've found a woman," she said to me while putting the dinner tray on my knees.

I was still in bed, and groaned something in response. She shouldn't bother me with news about the outside world so early in the morning.

"In the garden," she added.

It was unusual for Maertge to say so much.

"What about her?"

I drank my tea and she opened the curtains. The morning light fell neatly on my bedcovers, underlining their deep, blue shades. My third wife had bought them once on a market in Israel.

"A dead woman," Maertge said calmly, locking the shutters away.

Her face was motionless, but Maertge didn't seem the sort of woman to be bothered by such news. People lived and people died. That's why I was so glad to have her with me. Nothing bothered her. Not Maertge. When odd things happened, she remained calm. I didn't ask any questions. The dead woman wasn't my business.

"I shall put her in the back, then." she smiled quietly. "And then I need to go to the market. I'll get you some ginger cookies."

Ginger cookies were my favourite pastries. Normally she would bake them herself, but lately she had been too busy. It was almost Easter, and the house needed cleaning. Maertge was a religious woman, and believed Easter to be period of abstention and prayer. For that, the house had to be proper. The sacrifice of Jesus should be an example to everyone, she had told me once. I wasn't religious, but had never had the courage to tell her so. Every year again we went through the same ritual. It made her happy. This time, it had been different though. She had been extremely occupied by several things. First of all, we had had new neighbours; noisy children and a young woman, always wanting to know what we were up to. As if we were up to something! All I wanted to do was live quietly and enjoy the days I had left. Then, there had been the affair with the police. Some sort of officer had visited the house and had wanted to look around. The neighbours had probably sent him. I didn't know what he wanted to find, but Maertge had dealed with him very nicely. I had been sitting in my library reading a book about biology, while she'd showed him around. I had heard them talking for a while and then Maertge had started cleaning again. The officer never came back.

Maertge was such a great woman, I thought. I could trust her with anything.

Maertge loved biology too. She collected all kinds of animals, but mostly butterflies. It wasn't the different species she was after, but the different colours. She nailed them down on bright white linen, and provided them all with a card. She labelled them, looked up their names, and made a portrait of each of them.

"They have different characters," she had to tried to explain me once. "Every colour stands for a different nature. I collect them, you see? They've got all kinds of colours; all kinds of personalities."

Lately she had stopped chasing butterflies. Her collection was complete, she had said. I wondered what she would do now that the butterflies didn't occupy her anymore.

Easter morning came and we went to church. A choir of children with high pitched voices sang of God and Jesus. I sat on one of the hard, wooden benches and listened quietly. Maertge was sitting next to me, watching the choir intensely. I knew she loved the singing. Afterwards, she told me one of the singing girls had been one of the neighbouring children. I was surprised hearing that one of them could actually do more than just being noisy. Maybe they weren't so bad after all.

"True angels, aren't they?" Maertge smiled at me with gleaming eyes.

That evening I saw her making a new label.

"What have you caught this time?" I joked.

She smiled at me and her wrinkled face brightened up.

"I've found a fallen angel," she muttered.

Her crooked smile rested glued to her face for the rest of the evening. A few days later, when she brought me the morning paper, I saw an interesting article on the front page. The light peering through the shutters fell on my paper and I read out loud.

Young Girl Missing. Anna Paradis has been declared missing since last Sunday. The police started an investigation but nothing has been found out yet.

My eyes dwelled to meet Maertge's.

"That's our neighbour's daughter," she said calmly, and locked away the shutters. "A pretty, little girl. Very fragile. With beautiful coloured hair.."

[Lubesh]

“What is it you’ve catched this time?”....What have you caught this time?

Formatting was better, thanks. I enjoyed that except i don't undertand why he would take dead people lying around in his stride.

[aube]

[quote=lubesh]"What is it you've catched this time?"

im certainly glad my english teacher didnt read that. ayy she would have tried to drown me in the toilets if she had..

[Lubesh]

brutal but fair me thinks.lol schools haven't changed then?

[jason]

Nice story but you seem to repeat yourself at times, like "In those 20 years of duty, I'd never seen her change. She looked exactly like she did 20 years ago.

fishers hut - fisher's hut?

I enjoyed your diaglogue and the way you described the characters, though.

[aube]

yeah fisher's hut, forgot the '
and apparently, lubesh, they havent i personnaly think its more brutal than fair, altough she has got a point, that teacher of mine.. she just doesnt like me to slaughter her language, well, i can understand! hehe

[Maud]

good idea for a plot but carried out poorly, by the way that news title sounded just fake

[FatherPaul]

This story has wonderful symbolism. I especially like the symbolism of her collecting butterflies. The depth of this story was impressive.

[maxaynjj]

The grammar in some places needed rewording. I found the plot obvious once I read about the butterflies.

Not bad.

[creativeminds]

Originally Posted by aube

My name is Johannes. Johannes de Ruiter. I was born on a stormy night in November, in a fishers hut. My father was out there fishing, somewhere lost in the storm, when I left the warmth of my mother's body to have a look at the world. Now, seventy years later, I'm still as amazed by life as I was then. Every morning when I wake up and see the light falling through the trees, a grand feeling warms my old heart. Life is amazing, and I enjoy it. My story is an odd one, but I've decided to put it down on paper anyway. It all commenced on a Sunday morning, when I woke up from a gentle dream and Maertge entered my bedroom.

I thought this was a beautiful opening to the story. It gives a brief and yet detailed discription of the character's past. I thought it decribes the character really well and gives you a really good tone for what to expect in the furture

[marty2shorty]

I suspected Maertge of being evil once I read "The officer never came back."
Good story, I love both of the character's descriptions and ideas.

Also, what did Maertge mean when she said, "I shall put her in the back, then." ?

~Me.