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  1. #1
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Please, would you proofread my text.

    Soon, between Katarina and me developed a relationship far beyond an ordinary helper-patient attachment. After some weeks, we were like two persons who had known each other for decades. I felt I visited someone who was my second mother. My own mother had been living in Bosnien and I went to see her only during my holiday and probably Katarina filled that empty post.
    If I came in the morning we would drink tea or coffee and at some other time she would not let me go without tasting her food. She was an excellent cook and whatever she made tasted delicious. Sometimes, I helped her with chopping and peeling vegetables or carving the chicken. She liked to eat fish and I would follow her to the supermarket which twice a week received fresh fish from the coast. Katarina was born in a little town by the sea and knew everything about fish and other sea species. This town was in the middle of the country and it took hours for a lorry to transport its load from the coast to his final destination. I never understood how she could knew that the fish behind the glass counter was not fresh, but her ability to decide the quality of the fish was extraordinary. Before I had said anything she would raise her walking stick over her head and wave it at a young shop assistant who blushed with embarrassment.
    "This fish is too old, isn't it?"
    "It is from yesterday," Her face was now deep purple and if she could she would like to disappear into the plughole in front of her and never come back.
    "In my home town such fish we do not even give to our pats," Katarina said and demonstrative turned to the exit. This scene repeated in the other shops and the effect was the same. The poor shop assistants were left with deep emotional scars that will take their physical manifestation in the form of profuse sweating, heart racing and body shaking as soon as they saw us entering the shop.
    Once, she called the manager himself of a supermarket because fish stench was unmistakable. It was a hot summer and probably a device in control of the cooling system did not function well. The manager was a tall, lanky and blond middle age Swede who looked like a basketball player who had decided to become a businessman. The sleeves of his suit was too short for his long arms. He had probably already heard about a certain woman with her walking stick who was causing havoc in the shops and he was blushing even before Katarina uttered a word. When she raised her walking stick just a few centimetres from the ground he winced and stretched out his hands if front of him as if saying, "Please, do not hit me. I am innocent!"

    Katrina used the upper register or her voice and her actress experience to express her utter disgust for selling such old fish. I looked through the glass and I saw a few cods, salmons and mackerels lying on the pieces of broken ice like cadavers and I noticed that the manager's face and the salmon's fillets had the same nuance of the pink colour.
    The man apologized deeply and promised that similar thing would never occur again. I had already seen him in my imagination calling his psychotherapist the same day and requesting an emergency appointment. He would need at least some hours of discussions to get rid of this unpleasant encounter.
    "Don't you think sometimes 'these bloody Swedes,' they are so mean?" Katarina asked me when we were on our way back to her flat.
    "I do," I answered, "but I do not dare to criticize because whatever I say they answer, "If you don't like it here why don't you go back where you came from?"

    To be continued....

  2. #2
    beascarpetta's Avatar
    beascarpetta is offline Key Member
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Soon,a relationship going far beyond that of any ordinary helper-patient attachment developed between Katarina and myself.

    After some weeks, we were like two people who had known each other for decades. I felt as if I was visiting my second mother. My own mother was living in Bosnia at that time and I only went to see her during my holidays and probably Katarina filled that void.
    If I came by in the morning we would drink some tea or coffee and at other times she would not let me go without tasting her food. She was an excellent cook and whatever she made tasted delicious.

    Sometimes, I helped her with chopping and peeling vegetables or carving the chicken. She liked fish and I would accompany her to the supermarket which got fresh fish from the coast twice a week.

    Katarina had been born in a little town by the sea and knew everything about fish and any other type of seafood. The town we were living in then was in the middle of the country and it took lorries hours to transport their cargo to its final destination.
    I never understood how she could tell that the fish behind the glass counter was not fresh, but her ability to decide the quality of the fish was extraordinary.
    Before I had said anything she would raise her walking stick over her head and wave it at a young shop assistant who blushed with embarrassment.
    "This fish is old, isn't it?"
    "It is from yesterday," the assistant's face was now a deep purple and if she had been able to, she would have disappeared into the plughole in front of her never to resurface again.

    "In my home town we do not feed such fish to our cats," Katarina said and demonstratively turned round and made for the exit.
    This scene repeated itself in all the other shops we went to and the effect was the same. The poor shop assistants were left with deep emotional scars that showed in profuse sweating, palpitations and bouts of shaking as soon as they saw us enter the shop.

    Once, she even demanded to speak to the manager of a supermarket because the stench of decaying fish was unmistakable.

    It was a hot summer and probably the cooling system was not working properly. The manager was a tall, lanky and blond middle-aged Swede who looked like a basketball player turned businessman.
    The sleeves of his suit were too short for his long arms. He had probably already heard about a certain woman with her walking stick who was causing havoc in the shops and he was blushing even before Katarina uttered a word.

    When she raised her walking stick just a few centimeters from the ground he winced and stretched out his hands if front of him as if to say, "Please, do not hit me. I am innocent!"

    Katrina used both the higher register of her voice and her past experience as an actress to voice her utter disgust at the audacity to sell such old fish.

    I looked through the glass and I saw a few cod, salmons and mackerels lying on the pieces of broken ice like cadavers and I noticed that the manager's face and the salmon fillets were the same shade of pink.

    The man apologized profusely and promised that no such thing would ever occur again. I could almost hear him call his psychotherapist the same day,requesting (asking for)an emergency appointment. He would need several more sessions to work through this unpleasant encounter.
    "Don't you sometimes think that 'these bloody Swedes,' are just so mean?" Katarina asked me when we were on our way back to her flat.
    "I do," I answered, "but I wouldn't dream of criticizing them because to whatever I say they'll answer, "If you don't like it here why don't you go back to where you came from?"

    This is just a quick first take
    take care,
    bea
    Last edited by beascarpetta; 10-May-2008 at 05:50.

  3. #3
    Anglika is offline No Longer With Us
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    Please, would you proofread my text.

    Soon, between Katarina and me developed a relationship far beyond an ordinary helper-patient attachment. After some weeks, we were like two persons who had known each other for decades. I felt I visited someone who was my second mother. My own mother had been living in Bosnien and I went to see her only during my holiday and probably Katarina filled that empty post.
    If I came in the morning we would drink tea or coffee. At other times she would not let me go without tasting her food. She was an excellent cook and whatever she made tasted delicious. Sometimes, I helped her with chopping and peeling vegetables or carving the chicken. She liked to eat fish and I would follow her to the supermarket which twice a week received fresh fish from the coast. Katarina had been born in a little town by the sea and knew everything about fish and other sea species. Wher she now lived was in the middle of the country and it took hours for a lorry to transport its load from the coast. I never understood how she could know that the fish behind the glass counter was not fresh, but her ability to decide the quality of the fish was extraordinary. Before I had said anything, she would raise her walking stick over her head and wave it at a young shop assistant who blushed with embarrassment.
    "This fish is too old, isn't it?"
    "It is from yesterday," Her face was now deep purple and if she could she would like to disappear into the plughole in front of her and never come back.
    "In my home town such fish we do not even give to our pets," Katarina said and turned to go. This scene was repeated in the other shops and the effect was the same. The poor shop assistants were left with deep emotional scars that took physical manifestation in the form of profuse sweating, heart racing and body shaking as soon as they saw us entering the shop.
    Once, she called for the manager of a supermarket because the fish stench was unmistakable. It was a hot summer and probably the cooling system was not working well. The manager was a tall, lanky and blond middle age Swede who looked like a basketball player who had decided to become a businessman. The sleeves of his suit were too short for his long arms. He had probably already heard about an old woman with her walking stick who was causing havoc in the shops and he was blushing even before Katarina uttered a word. When she raised her walking stick just a few centimetres from the ground he winced and stretched out his hands if front of him as if saying, "Please, do not hit me. I am innocent!"

    Katrina used the upper register of her voice and her acting experience to express her utter disgust at anyone selling such old fish. I looked through the glass and I saw a few cod, salmon and mackerel lying on the pieces of broken ice like cadavers and I noticed that the manager's face and the salmon fillets were the same shade of pink.
    The man apologized deeply and promised that a similar thing would never occur again. In my imagination I had already seen him calling his psychotherapist the same day and requesting an emergency appointment. He would need at least some hours of discussions to get rid of this unpleasant encounter.
    "Don't you think sometimes 'these bloody Swedes', they are so mean?" Katarina asked me when we were on our way back to her flat.
    "I do," I answered, "but I do not dare to criticize because whatever I say they answer, 'If you don't like it here why don't you go back where you came from?'."

    To be continued....
    .

  4. #4
    RonBee's Avatar
    RonBee is offline Moderator
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    After some weeks, we were like two people who had known each other for decades.
    Have you learned anything from the suggestions you have received so far?

  5. #5
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    RonBee

    I understand that I still have a long way to go but I also understand that since I started to use this site I have made significant progress. You all have helped me so much that I have to say thank you a thousand times.

    Have a nice day RonBee!

    Bassim

  6. #6
    RonBee's Avatar
    RonBee is offline Moderator
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    If I came in the morning we would drink tea or coffee and at some other time she would not let me go without tasting her food. She was an excellent cook and whatever she made tasted delicious. Sometimes, I helped her with chopping and peeling vegetables or carving the chicken.
    If I came in the morning we would drink tea or coffee, and if I came at some other time she would not let me go before I tasted some of her food. She was an excellent cook and whatever she made tasted delicious. Sometimes I helped her chop and peel vegetables or carve the chicken.

  7. #7
    RonBee's Avatar
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    Default Re: Home care worker - part six, Short story

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    She liked to eat fish and I would follow her to the supermarket which twice a week received fresh fish from the coast. Katarina was born in a little town by the sea and knew everything about fish and other sea species. This town was in the middle of the country and it took hours for a lorry to transport its load from the coast to his final destination. I never understood how she could knew that the fish behind the glass counter was not fresh, but her ability to decide the quality of the fish was extraordinary. Before I had said anything she would raise her walking stick over her head and wave it at a young shop assistant who blushed with embarrassment.
    She liked to eat fish, and I would go with her to a supermarket which twice a week received fresh fish from the coast. Katarina was born in a little town by the sea and knew everything about fish and other seafood. This town was in the middle of the country and it took hours for a lorry to transport its load from the coast to its final destination. I never understood how she could know that the fish behind the glass counter was not fresh, but her ability to decide the quality of the fish was extraordinary. Before I had said anything she would raise her walking stick over her head and wave it at a young shop assistant who blushed with embarrassment.
    Don't they pack the fish in ice before it is transported?


    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    "This fish is too old, isn't it?"
    "It is from yesterday," Her face was now deep purple and if she could she would like to disappear into the plughole in front of her and never come back.
    "This fish is too old, isn't it?" she said.

    "It is from yesterday" replied the shop assistant. Her face was now deep purple and if she could she would disappear into the plughole in front of her and never come back.
    Plughole?


    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    "In my home town such fish we do not even give to our pats," Katarina said and demonstrative turned to the exit. This scene repeated in the other shops and the effect was the same. The poor shop assistants were left with deep emotional scars that will take their physical manifestation in the form of profuse sweating, heart racing and body shaking as soon as they saw us entering the shop.
    "In my home town such fish we do not even give to our pets," Katarina said, and then she turned around and left. This scene was repeated in the other shops, and the effect was the same. The poor shop assistants were left with deep emotional scars that took the physical form of profuse sweating, palpitations and shaking hands as soon as they saw us enter the shop.

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    "Once, she called the manager himself of a supermarket because fish stench was unmistakable. It was a hot summer and probably a device in control of the cooling system did not function well.
    Once she talked to the manager of a supermarket because the fish stench was unmistakable. It was a hot summer, and the cooling system was not functioning well.

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