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    #1

    On the run, part sixteen

    Would you please correct my mistakes in the sixteenth and the last part of my short story?

    My leave-taking was painful. I felt as if I were leaving my family. Miroslav and I had become close, like brothers. We gave each other a long hug with tears in our eyes. I wished I could have told him we would meet again, but I knew this was the last time I was looking in his eyes. I carried my suitcase across the courtyard through the clusters of playing children and adults discussing aloud and gesticulating. I went through the entrance door, sat into a taxi, and before we drove off, I cast the last glance at the dilapidated buildings.

    At the train station, I caught the train to Stuttgart and arrived there in the afternoon. The station was quiet. The majority of passengers were the celebrants returning with the local trains. In cafes and on the benches sat groups of immigrants engrossed in conversations, Italians, Greeks, Turks, Yugoslavs...They spoke in their mother tongues and made a constant din. I waited until the train arrived and went aboard. I chose an empty compartment, but before we departed, my two countrymen barged in, each lugging two heavy suitcases. They greeted me and heaved their luggage onto the overhead racks. As they did so, I smelled the leather of their short black jackets, and I wondered if anyone had ever told them how ludicrous they looked in those short jackets behind which protruded two bulging stomachs. They probably were in their forties, but their flabby faces and rolls of fat made them look much older. They made themselves comfortable, and one of them smacked his lips, rubbed his hands, and said, “My wife made me a cheese pie just before I went. We’d better eat it before it turns cold.” He pulled the suitcase down from the rack and opened it quickly. He took out a parcel wrapped in white greaseproof paper, unwrapped it, and held it in front of me. I could not resist its wonderful smell and took a slice of it. “Man, you’re not a bird, take more.” He shook the parcel before my eyes to encourage me, and this time I took a larger piece. He turned to his friend, and just like he did with me, urged him to take more. He put the rest of the pie on a foldaway table, rubbed his hands again, dived into his suitcase, and pulled out a bottle of slivovitz. “Ten years old, homemade. Got it from my father-in-law.” He pulled out three polystyrene cups, put them on a table, and filled them with the alcohol.


    I was devouring the excellent warm pie when he asked, “Mate, what do you do here? Working?” I managed not to choke, but felt blood rushing into my face.
    “I was visiting my uncle.” I spluttered and swallowed the bite which threatened to stuck in my throat.
    “What does he do?”
    “He is a car mechanic,” I said, glad that my mind responded quickly.
    “Good, good,” he grunted and picked up the cup and gave it to me. He took one for himself, and his friend took another.
    “Let’s toast to your uncle’s and your health.”
    He downed the cup in one gulp, and I did the same. It was burning my mouth, and felt like lava in my throat, but it was the best drink I ever drank in my life.
    THE END

  1. teechar's Avatar
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    #2

    Re: On the run, part sixteen

    Quote Originally Posted by Bassim View Post
    My leave-taking was painful. I felt as if I were leaving my family. Miroslav and I had become close friends, like brothers. We gave each other a long hug with tears in our eyes. I wished I could have told him we would meet again, but I knew this was the last time I was looking would look in his eyes. I carried my suitcase across the courtyard through the clusters of playing children and adults discussing various thing aloud and gesticulating. I went through the entrance door, sat in to a taxi, and before we drove off, I cast the last glance at the dilapidated buildings.

    At the train station, I caught the train to Stuttgart and arrived there in the afternoon. The station was quiet. The majority of passengers were the celebrants commuters returning with the on local trains. In cafes and on thebenches, sat groups of immigrants engrossed in conversations-- Italians, Greeks, Turks, Yugoslavs. They spoke in their mother tongues and made a constant din. I waited until the train arrived and went aboard. I chose an empty compartment, but before we departed, my two of my (fellow) countrymen barged in, each lugging two heavy suitcases. They greeted me and heaved their luggage onto the overhead racks. As they did so, I smelled the leather of their short black jackets, and I wondered if anyone had ever told them how ludicrous they looked in those short jackets, behind which protruded two their bulging stomachs. They probably were in their forties, but their flabby faces and rolls of fat made them look much older. They made themselves comfortable, and one of them smacked his lips, rubbed his hands, and said, “My wife made me a cheese pie just before I left. went. We’d better eat it before it turns cold.” He pulled the suitcase down from the rack and opened it quickly. He took out a parcel wrapped in white greaseproof paper, unwrapped it, and held it in front of me. I could not resist its wonderful smell and took a slice. of it. “Man, you’re not a bird; take more.” He shook the parcel before my eyes to encourage me, and this time I took a larger piece. He turned to his friend, and just like he did with me, urged him to take more. He put the rest of the pie on a foldaway table, rubbed his hands again, dived into his suitcase, and pulled out a bottle of Slivovitz. “Ten years old; homemade. Got it from my father-in-law.” He pulled out three polystyrene cups, put them on a table, and filled them with the alcoholic drink.

    I was devouring the excellent warm pie when he asked, “Mate, what do you do here? Work?” I managed not to choke, but felt blood rushing into my face.
    “I was visiting my uncle.” I spluttered and swallowed the bite which threatened to get stuck in my throat.
    “What does he do?”
    “He is a car mechanic,” I said, glad that my mind responded quickly.
    “Good, good,” he grunted and picked up the cup and gave it to me. He took one for himself, and his friend took another.
    “Let’s drink a toast to your uncle’s and your health.”
    He downed the cup Slivovitz in one gulp, and I did the same. It burnt was burning my mouth, and felt like lava in my throat, but it was the best drink I ever drank in my life.
    THE END
    Thanks for sharing this wonderful story with us Bassim. I'm already looking forward to the sequel.

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    #3

    Re: On the run, part sixteen

    teechar,
    Thank you for your patience and help. I probably do not even need to tell you how much I appreciate your work, and how much it means to me that you have taken your time to help me. I am also glad that you liked me story. My stories are different in mood, but I am trying at least to make them readable so that people can experience something new and different and at the same time enjoy it, and not see it as I waste of time. I have almost all the time a few stories in my mind, and this one knocked at the door and wanted to come out. I felt I had to write it down. I do not know if and when I am going to write a sequel because another story, which I called "Obsession," occupies my mind. It is about a man who is obsessed with a woman, and who has built his life around the picture of her which is formed in his mind, although he has never spoken with her. I think that we men are easily deceived when we see a beautiful woman, and often men create an illusion, which has nothing to do with reality. It sometimes leads to a deep disappointment.

    I would like to ask you about the word "celebrants" I have used in my sentence:" The majority of passengers were the celebrants returning with the local trains." You have used instead the world commuters. With the word "celebrants" I wished to describe people who had been in cemeteries to honour to their dead and now they return home. I could not find a proper word, and therefore I used "celebrants." I am wondering if I could use some other word instead. I think that the word "commuters" is more appropriate to describe people to travel to and from their jobs, but in this case they are just returning from cemeteries and churches.

  2. teechar's Avatar
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    #4

    Re: On the run, part sixteen

    Ah, in that case I would say: "The majority of passengers were people returning home after visiting cemeteries to honour their dead." The word "celebrant" has a totally different meaning.

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    #5

    Re: On the run, part sixteen

    teechar,
    His writing in the first paragraph "...has become a close friends..."
    I don't think the friends need to be added the "s" in the end.

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    #6

    Re: On the run, part sixteen

    Quote Originally Posted by Polyester View Post
    teechar,
    His writing in the first paragraph "...has become a close friends..."
    It's "had", not "has"; I also don't know where you got the indefinite article from.

    Quote Originally Posted by Polyester View Post
    I don't think the word "friends" needs to be added the "s" in at the end.
    Yes, it does. Miroslav + Bassim = two people.
    Bassim is saying: We (Bassim and Miroslav) had become close friends.

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