The storm

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We witnessed the worst storm in the village last night darling.

We really did not see it coming, being that the weather in the village is usually dark and dreary. I was going back home after having bought some flowers and brought some books to read from the library, when it started to hail so hard, the villagers and I ran to the first place we could find for shelter, which for some of us, turned out to be a small cabin at the end of the cobble stone street.

We stepped inside — the woman who hides her smiles with her scarves, Baker’s mother with her comb still in her hand, two burly men and I — to find a small living room with a fire burning. We stood, waiting for the owner of the cabin to question our presence there as we soaked the carpet under our feet, when this woman with a glorious head of long red hair came in, bearing curvy hips that produced short, heavy steps.

“It is berry berry windy and berry berry cold outside Maddeliene!” she said, in a thick Spanish accent. She wore a nose ring on her small nose and a Givenchy ear cuff earring. She did not have an inch of grace in her heavy steps and yet all of us adored her the minute we saw her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, have we met?”

“But of course, no, no Maddeliene. Eduardo tells me everything about you — everything! God bless him Madre Mia that boy talks too much!”

I turned around to see puzzled faces around me and realised that the villagers had never seen this woman in the village before. I wondered whether she had come with the storm as the thunder quivered outside.

I wondered whether she had come with the storm as the thunder quivered outside.

“What are you doing there — sit there and here,” she said, while lifting throws off the sofas and chairs and handing them to us so we could sit in front of the fire. Starting with tea and moving on to whisky, the villagers and Muccacina (I never caught her name, but then again, this is how everyone called her the minute they saw her), sang “Singing in the rain” until they were too drunk to remember the lyrics and moved on to classic Christmas songs while Muccacina played her piano.

Admittedly, I wasn’t too much fun. All I could do was tense up my shoulders and hold my cup of tea near my lips, raising apocalyptic questions as the armchair I was sitting on vibrated with the sound of the thunder. There is an unquiet horror when the thunder, the wind and the rain are all performing. At one point, Muccacina stopped her playing and called me out for being a downer.

“You’re not singing Maddeliene, why?

I pointed to the outside with one finger, while holding tightly to my tea with the other four.

“Madre mia Maddeliene, why are you so scarred? It’s a storm, it will pass. Aii, I have worried about so many things, only some of them have happened! Come, come.”

She took my hand and led me to the piano near the others and handed me my whisky, after which she played so hard, and we sang so loud, the thunder was nowhere to be heard.

Story credit: Image via Tumblr.

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