Handheld

”Go and drink some water darling,” Gertrud said.

”No, I’m not thirsty,” her elderly gray-haired husband replied. ”Oh, you meant the dog,” he added a bit disappointed.

”Yes, he has just puked. Perhaps we serve him too many treats.”

”I don’t think so. Usually he doesn’t puke because of the treats.”

The red ball of yarn, lying in the bowl on the table, listened to the old people’s multiple misunderstandings with an inward smile. Often one of them answered from the east, receiving questions from the west, followed by several exchanges of funny remarks until the case was settled.

The yarn was skilfully rolled to a ball by Gertrud, whilst her husband held the red skeins with both hands. He turned them a little up and down, forward and back, in order to avoid misplaced fingers, and at the same time avoiding funny remarks, until all was settled and the yarn in its place. He almost looked as a conductor of a symphony orchestra playing a sensitive nocturne.

In this way the red ball of yarn was born. When the end of the thread was in its place it felt as if the umbilical cord was cut. It, however, was not baptized, but let us call it Ariadne, just to give her a name.

Two more balls of yarn in darker colors were placed in the bowl with knitting needles through their bodies. “It made sense and felt coquettish at the same time,” Ariadne thought. As lying there, quite comfortably and having a fair view, she wondered whether there was a meaning to life, not really being able to specify the thoughts. “It might be too many long threads playing with my mind,” she concluded.

One day Gertrud suddenly grab Ariadne from the bowl, forced the knitting needles out of her and started stitching.

”Whoops,” Ariadne gasped, ”what turns up next? Damn, I’m about to loose my mind as well as the thread. What is this woman doing to me?”

Gertrud started knitting, and as time passed by Ariadne felt, little by little that she grew smaller and smaller. “I am about to reach the end,” she thought with her two minds. “I wonder about the opportunity of a second life? The end feels reachable.”

Right now she lost the clear thoughts, feeling life leaving her body.

“Thank you for everything,” she managed to think before not being here anymore.

”Look now,” Gertrud said to her husband. ”You have got a new scarf. Here you are.”

Suspiciously he mumbled: ”Isn’t it a bit short?”

”It’s long enough and will cover everything necessary.”

A new scarf was born. But within the fibres of the yarn, it felt as a rebirth.

Of course just a feeling.