The Fortnightly Movie Club

“Aw… the fortnightly movie club!”
“And what’s showing?”
“Monty Python and the Holy Grail”
“Seen it… but don’t mind again. Lemme try. Depends on how soon I get on to a terminal. Have a few official mails to be processed.”

“All right. Cross my thumbs then,” she said, with a smile that was very infectious and alluring you knew that hasn’t changed from childhood. There are certain types of smile that smacked of attitude, though you need to be a good reader of the types of creases that formed around the mouth area; then there are those that beckon you only to make you realise that you mis-read it; and then there are those that you think are meaningful only to realise the face that contained the head that issued it actually meant nothing. This was not a naïve one, neither meaningful one, nor neutral. It was… friendly. No agendas, no hidden messages. And Canon felt a stab of jealousy at her heart, not at the man who had the woman. That he was yet to feel in or against anyone.

“Awright, later then…” he said looking at his watch as Dirk muttered a “Ciao”, walking away with the tray containing the plate and tissue and other degradables to depositing rack.

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“Some rain,” said the blonde boy – good-looking by any standards, just around 6 feet, thin firm pink smiling lips, blue eyes, wide shoulders that was genetic than gymmed - though no doubt some shaping had gone into it; but who doesn’t lift a little weight or swam a bit or played soccer here! He was slanting his face to his left shoulder to ease the attempts of his shoulder-high, slim, flowing red-head girl with handful of assets hidden inside a thick overcoat snug enough to keep warm from the chill of 8.15 p.m greying sky that had been drizzling the past hour non-stop. She was trying to nibble his left ear out of sheer boredom. They have been holding hands – her right and his right holding high the umbrella and clasped in each other’s grip – while his left girdled her waist and came up to vanish inside the unbuttoned coat around the hip. The movement inside the right waist-level showed he was keeping her warm with amorous caresses that signified nothing specific. At least it would not specify anything for a while, as long as the rain continued to frustrate their walk-away!

“If you call this rain, what would you call what we have back home!” remarked Canon as he stepped out of the glass doors to just outside, under the one foot awning that helped them seek temporary refuge from the drizzle. Actually it was constant and boring than pouring, hence it was irritating. And it made the muddy macadam that was so dry and firm that afternoon soggy now. It’s not a happy feeling to feel your shoes gum to the mud once every ten steps, and if you are not careful, you probably are going to soil the edges of your trousers. And there is always the likelihood of a trashed beer-can tripping you! So, the couple were waiting. Next to them, about four feet away from them, to the right of the boy, was a lonely, plump blonde who after desperate attempts to club her hands in a cup to blow some hot air from her mouth into the cache made by the cupping, to keep herself warm, gave it up, turned to where the wall met the hinges of the glass door, shielding away from the gentle gust that accompanied the drizzle, took a half-crushed pack of Gauloises, pulled one and lit it, shielding the lighter. Replacing the cigarette pack and lighter into her left trouser pocket, removed the stick from her mouth with her gauche hand, moved the hair falling on the right eye with a deft flick of right hand, blew a plume of rich French smoke into the German rain. And gave a side-long furtive glance at Canon standing at the far end of the slim girl.

Uninvited comments in these parts from strangers new to these parts! Those are the sentiments hereabouts where people considered you not so firm or impolite if you didn’t look into people’s eyes or did not hold gaze when conversing… where people considered it impolite and rude if you continued to gaze into the eyes of strangers who are on-coming passers-by, for more than the moment of instant unintended contact on the streets. But the couple didn’t mind. These are changing times. Young ones and teens and adolescents are bearing out a different outlook. Smiled easily and with warmth, offered you cigarette if you lent them lighter as they casually accosted you on the street for “feuer”. Didn’t mind crossing tables over at a pub for a small, quick, curious stab at gleaning new info from new people who are total strangers right from their skins to their languages! The plump girl however was probably of a different breed, not totally comfortable at this sudden openness happening. So she gazed strangely, as she licked her upper lip to feel the sting of the nicotine.

“Where you from?,” asked the boy, with a slightly different accent that Canon was to distinguish four months later as something specific to the region of Saarland, across the country. Students came to universities and colleges to study, right across the land. No holds barred. And that was really exciting. Fellowmen and women within the country were confronted with an explosion of cultural exchanges among themselves. And they had believed – since they hadn’t encountered until now – that it was merely dialectical as well as proportional variations (in culinary and other related practises) lingually and soci0-culturally. Now it seemed that there is a whole world of difference between two people who lived in two different towns that are merely three or four hours drive apart! One thing never varied: the way a German opening up to English would pronounce the ‘a’, with a little twang of ‘e’ to it. So nasal and funny but with a sweet feel to it.

“Indien”.

“Ah!, it pours when it rains there, right? Have heard of it,” said the boy.

“Yes, raincoats are no use. Tschüss…” Canon started braving the drizzle that had now almost thinned out to droplets you thought you imagined were there. As he trundled away, swerving a little slush of shiny grey, he could hear the plump blonde unlocking the chain that had tethered her cycle to the cycle rest vertically impaled to the ground. Rows of them where you locked your cycles routinely. Now he climbed a little mound to reach the tarmac, pausing to check the time. Time to catch the pay-phones to call back home.

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