I spy Zingiber officinale sitting at a desk at the back of the garden. She is wearing a smart green suit and talking loudly on the phone. Her lime coloured hair is piled high on her head in tight braids and each one is fastened with a deep fuchsia hair tie. Her knobbly brown legs are covered with fragile papery skin and her bulbous veined feet swing back and forth as she talks. She seems perfectly well to me but as I draw closer I can see that she is actually holding a hot water bottle close to her abdomen, and her words come out stunted through gritted teeth. She looks up as I approach and motions for me to come closer. As I step towards her she hangs up the phone.
“Can I help you there?” she asks all businesslike. I feel impelled to curtsey and so I do.
“Good morning ma’am” I stammer. “I was passing through and I noticed that you seem to be in pain. Why do you carry that hot water bottle?” She attempts to smile through a wince and I can notice on her brow beads of sweat forming.
“If you must know” she begins, “It’s the time of the month, and to tell you the truth I have a hell of a time every damn time”.
“What’s the problem?” I ask concerned
“Spasms, painful bloody spasms all day long!” she sighs. “It’s like there are hands wringing me out from the inside. Hang on a minute will you…” She clutches her middle in pain as her body emits air from either end.
“Oh god I’m so sorry, how awfully embarrassing” she says her cheeks flushed.
“Not at all” I say encouragingly. I notice a kettle and some cake on a table by her side.
“If you like I could make some tea for us, and there’s cake here too, we could each have a slice?” I say trying to cheer her up. She slumps back and undoes the buttons to her pants.
“A nice thought but I couldn’t eat a thing. Never have had much of an appetite”.
She gets out a small black diary from a drawer in her desk and hurriedly rifles through the pages.
“I’m supposed to be flying overseas for business tomorrow and I’m absolutely dreading it. I get nausea you see whenever I travel. Be it by plane, by boat, by car. You can’t take me anywhere!” she laughs but the laughter soon turns to a wheeze.
“And to make matters worse I’m sure I’ve got a cold. My forehead is hot and I’ve got pain in my chest. Not a great time to be heading over to a conference I must say. And those tiny plane seats make my legs stiff and sore. Yet there’s no way to avoid it. Business is business!”
The telephone rings and she picks it up and launches into bright bubbly chatter. I leave her to her conversation, and the stresses of her daily life.
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