Post by Arjan Hut on Dec 19, 2019 10:34:13 GMT -5
In this video I'm reading a bit from the Citybook ‘I love the sound of a train in the distance’, with a live soundtrack
by musician and singer Wiebe Kaspers. This is the text in English:
"Dark out and constant squalls, but the air is warm. The whole city’s one big building site. New roads, renovated residential blocks, everything has to be finished before Leeuwarden becomes a Capital of Culture. A whole year of celebrations and events around the theme Mienskip. A Frisian word that’s difficult to translate, but the dictionary simply says ‘community’.
Through the gate and behind the house it smells like someone has been doing some soldering. The fences are closing in. Old workers’ homes disappear, replaced by small flats and studios. The people from the housing association explained it at an information evening at the stadium. ‘In the future, people will be more solitary and prefer to live alone. All our statistics point in that direction.’
I’m at the chemist’s for some painkillers. Lucia, who lives close-by on the Vliet, is talking to the woman behind the counter. Lucia has a Zimmer frame. She’s sitting on it. She has one good eye and the other is completely white. She likes to talk, especially loudly.
‘WHAT’S THAT THERE?’
‘That’s vaginal gel.’
‘VAGINAL GEL! OH!’
‘Sometimes people need it.’
‘OH, YES, DEFINITELY. YES!’
I take a box of Ibuprofen off the shelf and look at the Eucalyptus shower gel for a moment. Then our postie comes into the shop.
‘I’ll just help this lady for a moment,’ the woman at the counter says, smiling at Lucia. I often hear and see Lucia in shops. The shop assistants and managers smile then too, but with eyes full of impatience. This woman’s eyes are cheerful.
‘OH, YES, OF COURSE! I’LL BE ON MY WAY!’
The postie, a woman in her fifties with short grey curls and red cheeks, is facing a mystery. She’s looking for 4a Insulinde Street. She’s been delivering to our street for years. We live halfway along, at 106. According to Mrs Panic, the higher the number, the more antisocial the residents.
‘That must be on the other side of the street. We’re number 1.’
The lady in the shop is sure of it. Lucia is already halfway to the exit with her Zimmer frame and looks back over her shoulder.
‘THEY KNOCKED THOSE HOUSES DOWN. THEY’RE GONE.’
The postie knows that too. The site is vacant. A big hole full of rainwater. Both women study the letter as if it it’s a treasure map. It’s nothing special. Junk mail from a gym up the street. Fit4Free, the logo says. Lucia has almost reached the door. Her good eye shoots in all directions.
‘GOODBYE AND GOD BLESS.’
The shop assistant calls after her. ‘Give my love to the cats!’"
I pay for the painkillers.
I’m already feeling a little better.