Queueing
for Food
The queue in front of me shortened steadily but, just as I was getting
served, the plates ran out. There were only dirty dishes left.
I
took a dirty plate and rinsed it with water. The grease had stuck
to it firmly, so the dirt couldn't be cleaned by rinsing. I couldn't
find a brush, but I poured some dish washing liquid on it and rubbed
it with the palms of my hands.
The
queue behind me grew longer. The dirty stains would not vanish in
an instant. When finally the plate looked clean I rinsed it with hot
water. In a while the liquid dissolved. I then took some spaghetti
and sauce and moved on to the bread table.
An
American friend of mine, whom I was meeting, queued in front of me.
In a small plate he had taken a piece of bread with some cheese and
vegetables. I thought that this was meant for me, so I took it. My
friend admonished me saying I shouldn't touch other people's foods.
He seemed genuinely hurt and forgot to see where he was heading. As
a result he hit his head on the wall and fell on the floor.
I
rushed to his help, but my friend was able to rise up to a seating
position on his own. The blow was so hard, thought, that for a moment
he didn't see anything but stared into nothingness. At the same time
his face turned red and he vomited forcibly. "Luckily I didn't
die," he said.
After
the meal we walked on the yard. We talked about American pop culture.
Actually the subject was not so familiar to me, so I had to struggle
to keep up with the level of conversation.
We
came to a river side. The river was small, only a brook. We walked
on the river bed very close to the water. We were slightly too adventurous
since the ground was slippery. My feet slipped and I almost fell to
the water unless I had managed to take a hold on plants that grew
next to the brook. By keeping a steady grip of the plants I pulled
myself up. "The plants over here are stronger than in America,"
my friend remarked. "Otherwise you'd have sunk in the water."
In
my mind I could see the molecules of the plants arranged very neatly
among each other. I turned the picture in my mind in three dimensions,
until we came to a road, along which a group of people were treading.
To my surprise my parents were in the group along with some other
acquintances. I greeted them.
The
group seemed tired. They stopped by the side of the road and took
their rucksacks out of their backs so as to take some snacks and refreshments.
I
talked with my parents. They had marched on for dozens of kilometres.
There
were thunder clouds in the horizon. I warned my parents about the
approaching storm. They got up and put the rucksacks in their shoulders.
With my mother's lead the group marched on back towards the city.
Soon they disappeared behind a curve.
I
remained seated with my friend. Soon, however, my mum came back. She
breathed heavily and sat on her rucksack. "Why did you turn back?"
I asked.
"Allergic reaction," she replied. "Look at these red
patches on my skin."
"You shouldn't have left your group," my friend said. "You
can be sued for neglecting the right for helping others. The iching
of skin is no reason for leaving people on their own decices at the
mercy of the storm."
