A Tempest the rain doth become.

photo by Ms K.

Jenny sat at the table in the bay-window on the ground floor of the guest house.

From her seat she could see part of the road, the pavement beyond, the railings and then the sea.

The road was grey, the pavement was grey and the sea was little better.

The railings though were bright yellow.

A little rusty in places, but aren’t we all?

She was thinking about the pain in her left hand. Was it inflammation of the joint or was it arthritis? And what’s the difference anyway?

She was also thinking about standing up from the table and returning to her room but the yellow railings called to her. 

Come!

She wanted to. She would like to go swimming, but not in that puddle of murk.

“How can you be so gay?” she asked the railings.

“The Mediterranean – now that is a sea worthy of its colour.”

A week before she had been on the south coast of France, the sun had been shining and the verdant green of the pine trees had framed a blue that had made her sigh.

She sighed now.

Perhaps a walk along the sea front?

She looked at the window and saw the first dusting of rain.

She sighed again.

“It don’t never rain but it pours,” she said choosing to ignore the double negative.

Instead she decided to go back to her room, at the back of the hotel where neither the railings nor the sea could speak to her – the only window looked onto a heating vent.

Grey.

She closed the curtains and stood silently as the gloom settled around her. She tried to remember what she had read earlier that morning, her book was still open on the bed where she had been reading.

Something about the past.

A quote from someone.

It might have been Shakespeare.

If she couldn’t remember, then she would have to open the curtains again and flick through the pages of the book until she found it.

And if she opened the curtains, she would have to look at the grey central heating unit. And if she did that, the gloom - lifted by the opening of the curtains - would descend upon her like a shroud.

She hated grey.

It would have been better to have remained by the bay-window – at least the railings offered something bright.

And with that thought, she remembered the quote. 

What’s past is prologue.

It was Bill.

Her day felt better already.

Despite the tempest the rain had now become.

So Long, been nice to know you.

It started with his tonsils.

Then the knee.

After that, one cataract and then the other, changing the sparkle - if not the colour – in his eyes.

And then, the hip. Not the same side as his knee - so the in-balances balanced each other out and his walk became upright and assured. 

He had just started remedial walking when his heart gave out.

Luckily a donor donated, and the doctors carried out a successful transplant, adding a pacemaker to make sure.

“Could you change the kidneys whilst you’re at it?” he had joked. “Or put in one of those computer chips so that I can access the internet directly?”

The doctors had laughed.

His wife hadn’t.

 

Jenny was still young, only just sixty and she had never had an operation in her life – she wasn’t going to start now. 

But she had a dilemma.

Yes, she had promised ‘till death us do part – but this was no longer the same man she had fallen in love with. She didn’t recognise the half of him. Less if you calculated in all the blood that was transfused during the operation. And now he wanted to change his brain!

“I want a divorce.” It was breakfast time and he was tucking into All-Bran and Spirulina – things he had never eaten at any other time in his life.

“Because of the beard?” He had given up shaving.

“I don’t think my vows are contractual any more, I didn’t marry you.” She pointed in turn at the knee, the hip, and the chest.

Then- not wanting to discuss this with a stranger – she stood up, said goodbye and walked out of the door.