∞ 41 ∞
CURSED
Valentina stood tip toed on a chair in the attic. She had her mobile phone up to her ear, with it cradled in a big piece of aluminium foil in one hand, as she held a deformed wire hanger in her other hand, which she had stretched out of the small top opening window and was angling around, while she tried to have a conversation at the same time and not fall off the chair.
Her telephone landline was dead yet again. It was at least her thirtieth phone call to the telephone company since the problem started a year earlier. Ironically, it was the only bill she was ever up to date with, but the line seemed to be down more than it was ever up and the phone company either wouldn't, or couldn't fix the problem. Each time she called, she would have to go through explaining the entire problem again and each time got back different answers, different advice or different promises than she had had the previous time. Each time the subsequent phone company associate had no knowledge that there was a problem or who the colleague that Valentina had spoken to previously was, what department they might have been in, or why they hadn't proceeded to escalate the complaint and send an engineer out again (or do whatever it was that they had promised on the previous call) not that the engineers they sent out were ever able to do anything that would fix the problem for any length of time. However each time the new associate assured her they would «certainement» solve the problem.
Valentina felt like a blood vessel would burst somewhere important. She found it difficult to explain herself in French because the problem had become so compounded and once again she found herself in a situation where she couldn't understand the rapidly spoken technical words they used, which she was sure some of the phone company workers were doing on purpose. All she knew was that the phone bill had always been paid and she hadn't ever gone two weeks without a problem with the connection for a year or more. It was not only inconvenient, being out there alone with a telephone that so often didn't work made her even more vulnerable. To make matters worse, just in phoning the telephone company about the ordinary line, she spent up the credit on her mobile she could scarcely afford phone each month, as soon as she applied it. So the mobile that should have been a safety net in the case of an emergency also rarely worked and when it did, there was no signal. She felt both helpless and furious.
«[I do not know, I do not work there... ... Yes I am certain... ... NO, I am remember that he says this... ... Yes exactly, that is correct. He promises me he sends someone to fix... ... Pardon?... ... I don't remember. You don't have the information in your computer?... ... Just one moment...]» Valentina got down and hastily leafed through her journal to a page dense with scribbled notes. «[His name is: Jan-Olaf... ... NO, I do not know the family name. We are in France.; you have more than one Jan-Olaf who works there?! Look you know there is a problem! What is the difference that who I speak to? I pay you. You need to fix. Just fix. It is not my job this problem! This is your problem...]»
But it WAS her problem, the phone company was all paid up as her contract stipulated. If one studied the small print, they on the other hand, had never promised a guaranteed line. So as far as they were concerned: 'it was regrettable if the customer felt dissatisfied with the service' and they would try to help, being the upstanding company that they were – but there was no "problem" as such... Next she would be on the phone for half an hour with accounts, trying to get reimbursed for the mobile phone credits and the downtime on the landline and the whole process would start over. Yes, she was certain a blood vessel would burst somewhere important, very soon.
The call cut out, forcing her to call back and go through the whole automated robot voice again and then through the foreign call centre again. And then when she finally got through to a customer service manager in France, a voice recording from her mobile phone company interrupted, informing her that she had very little credit left and that she would be cut off soon. Luckily she was able to get the telephone company to call her back, but when they did, the cell phone reception started to cut out again and she was left running around different rooms of the upper floors sticking her do-it-yourself antennae out the window. She was at the window of her bedroom and the phone slipped out of its slippery aluminium foil cradle, but luckily Valentina caught it with her knees and somehow, by a rare stroke of luck, managed not to shut it off. Then when she composed herself and started to speak to the manager again, the cell phone cut out completely. She didn't have time to get aggravated, because just as she was closing the window to go back to the attic and stick the antennae out that window, she could see the entire herd of goats had gotten through the fence and were walking down the drive toward the road. She shoved the phone in her pocket and rushed down the shaky ladder as quickly as she could.
By the time she got to them they had already reached the road. A few of them were fairly wild and it was difficult to contain them. There was an unusual amount of traffic on the road that day and the occupants of the cars that slowly drove past were staring disdainfully out their windows at her as she tried to round the animals up. She was probably making it even worse, because she was so frantic that one of the goats would be run over and so utterly embarrassed by what an idiot everyone clearly thought she was. Luckily a courier who was passing with a package for a neighbour stopped and kindly started helping her round the animals up.
Just then her cell phone rang. It was the telephone company account manager.
«[Excuse me Monsieur. I have a problem now.]»
«[Yes of course madam. I understand you have a problem. I am contacting you to solve this problem.]»
«[No uhmm (pardon me) with my animals. Will you come to my house again later?]» Valentina said in a slightly elevated tone out of frustration and meaning to say 'would you TELEPHONE me again later, when I am at my house' as she turned toward the courier who was helping her and looking apologetic that she was wasting his time.
«PARDON?» asked the courier, perking up with a big smile (mistakenly thinking that Valentina was speaking to him about coming to her house later).
«[Sorry sir I don't speak with you],» she said to the courier, covering the bottom of the phone and wincing in apology.
«[Ohhh. Please forgive me. I was of the understanding you wanted my help,]» said the telephone company manager on the other end of the phone in a sarcastic tone; having heard Valentina, he assumed she was speaking to him. «[And I see on your records that we have returned your queries before madame, to try and help you with YOUR problem but YOU have not returned our calls.]»
«[This is BECAUSE I HAVE NO TELEPHONE to telephone you with. Obviously, because my telephone does not work. And I USE ALL THE CREDIT ON MY MOBILE TO PHONE TO YOUR COMPANY and so it also does not work],» said Valentina raising her voice in an agitated, incredulous tone.
«[Please avoid being impolite madame, or I will have to disconnect this phone call.]»
«[IMPOLITE? You are joking?]»
«[No madame, I do not joke. Our company guarantees a safe working environment for all of its employees and takes abuse from customers very seriously, it will not be tolerated. Please refrain from raising your voice with me.]»
Valentina felt that blood vessel throbbing again where she really would start yelling at the manager. She couldn't find the words to explain and knew she was only going to further aggravate herself listening to yet another smug phone company worker –who didn't give a damn anyway– twist the story and make it out that she was the one in the wrong. It infuriated her that they had the nerve to go on with the charade that they were doing her a favour in trying (or appearing to try) to sort the issues out, seeing no relevance in the fact that she was paying for a service she wasn't receiving and was wasting yet more time she wouldn't be reimbursed for in trying to resolve the unfair quandary.
«[I cannot speak with you in this moment. Please can you telephone me to my home, after... in... 12 hours--ehmmm 2 hours. In TWO hours. Okay? I have an urgency at my home now. Alright??» Valentina was uncertain how much the telephone account manager had heard, because the battery on her phone had gone dead at some point during her last sentences.
After she finished penning the goats in and thanked the courier profusely several times (and making sure he understood that she hadn't meant to ask him to come back and see her after he finished his deliveries) she collected kindling for the fire and fed all the animals. Her three favourite geese were missing! She looked for them for an hour with no luck. Finally giving up, praying they were just being sulky and hiding somewhere, she picked up her muddied hand washing from the ground that the animals had all trodden on, because someone –probably D'Adhémar– had pulled down her makeshift washing line and finally went inside.
It had already been a bad day without all that had happened with the animals and the phone company. There was no fuel left in the tank and she couldn't afford a whole tank, which was all they would deliver because of some 'safety' regulation. The latest vet bills had arrived that morning and so had the long past due electricity bill. Daunting. The washing machine had stopped working altogether and the old water heater too had suddenly stopped working without warning, so she had to boil several kettles full of water just to get a small bath. It was so cold both outside and inside, she was frozen by the time she dried off and came in from the bathroom. It was like an ice box in the house. The kitchen was a deplorable mess. It burned too much to wash the dishes in the freezing cold water and the drain kept backing up and filling the sink with sulphury smelling water and debris anyway. Her ordinarily long, narrow fingers were like thick, red sausages from the chilblains she had developed and they burned and itched terribly.
How was it possible that it was THAT cold in the house? She was certain it was colder inside than it was outside. She didn't feel like doing anything other than not being there. She didn't bother trying to light a fire; the wood was damp anyway. She had forgotten the kettle outside in the bathroom, so she washed a dirty bowl out with soap and icy water, trying not to leave her swollen hands in the burning cold water too long and hoped it was clean enough... She was sure she would get 'ptomaine' poisoning –Sister Philomena was always warning about it and the importance of keeping the monastery's spotless kitchens clean– or some other terrible malady soon from the wretched living conditions. She made a mash of various things that were left in the cupboard: some white beans, tomato paste and capers, which she spread on some crackers. She devoured the meal quickly without bothering to taste it (or washing up) and went to sleep.
She sat in bed smothered in a feeling of burning-cold hopelessness. She felt as frozen in her mind as she did in her body. Could anything else go wrong? It was like she was cursed. She hoped she would find her geese in the morning, but there was nothing she could do either way. If they were gone for good or dead, she would have to accept it.
Cold. Tired. Terrified.
∞
There was yet another terrible storm that evening that shook the tall trees with such force, that Valentina lay awake all night, wondering as ever, if that tree in front of the cottage would soon uproot itself and come crashing down, or the other one on the edge of Martin-Martin's property would be found the next day with the top half through his new barn (dead livestock, crushed tractor and all). With no insurance and the storms so frequent that year it was scary... What if when it fell, it fell right through the roof on top of her? Or worse! HALF on top of her! Was it tall enough and heavy enough to come through the roof? She would lay there for days, dying slowly in agony, with a shattered pelvis and crushed legs. She got up and moved her bed up against the far wall of the room close to the fireplace – just in case. It was the best she could do.