Daisy was sitting at her kitchen table, quietly smoothing the facets of a plaster sculpture with a small rasp. The winter sunshine came in through the closed window, the sunrays warming her face just enough to be perceptible. Her fingers felt rough from the dry plaster dust, but the smooth edges she was working on were agreeable to the touch... On a couple of shelves on the wall near her, there were other little sculptures, Dinky Toys cars and aeroplanes, a miniature Eiffel Tower, and a balsa wood model of a Lancaster bomber.
Presently a man entered the kitchen, wearing a lady's dressing gown that was slightly too small for him. He stopped by Daisy's chair, bent over her from behind, put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her neck. "Good morning, lovely. Sorry that I fell asleep again... Not very polite of me."
"Don't worry, darling, you were tired, and for a good reason... And you see, I can amuse myself quite well."
"What is this? Supposed to be a work of art? You an artist now?"
"No, I wouldn't say that. Just having some fun."
"But it is abstract art!"
"Not for me. I call this 'Kitchen table'... I'm just trying to make a miniature model of a table as I perceive it."
"A table? It looks very strange for a table. I don't see any right angles or straight edges."
"That's my point exactly. My perception of angles is very vague, and when I follow the edge of a table with my fingers, it curves away from me left and right... The table-top is smooth, but slightly wavy, don't ask me why... The only thing I perceive the same way as you, is that there are clear edges to a table-top, so my little model has lots and lots of pronounced edges..."
"And it looks like something by Picasso... no offence."
"Ah yes, Picasso! Unfortunately, we blind people are not allowed to touch the sculptures in museums and galleries... But recently an artist friend of mine made a small copy of a Lipchitz for me. It's there on the upper shelve... And I must say that cubist sculpture makes a lot of sense to me..."
"Fascinating! And you sitting here so peacefully with your little rasps and gouges: that I find fascinating too... You were a real tiger in bed last night... and this morning!"
"You too, skipper," Daisy giggled, "you too!"
She put the plaster piece and her tools back on the shelf and started to sweep and mop the dust away from the table. "Let's have breakfast together, shall we? What can I fix you? Is eggs and bacon all right, and some coffee?"
"Yes, perfect. You know, sweetheart, I love it when you call me 'skipper'. It reminds me so of the good old days..."
"Yes, I also feel transported back in time in your company, and that's a very agreeable feeling... Here we are, reminiscing like two old crones... How old are you now by the way?"
"I'm twenty-eight, and you?"
"Twenty-seven! So you were, what, twenty-two or so when you took me along to Berlin that night?"
"Yep... And I was the oldest of the crew. They respected my seniority: Daddy knows best!"
"Oh, but you did impress us immensely with your maturity!"
"Maturity at twenty-two! The bloody war did that to you: they stole our youth from us... We were just a bunch of kids, operating the most deadly weapons in history.... and half of us paid for that with our lives. And then: not as much as a thank-you afterwards..."
"I know, I know... Here, butter your toast; the eggs and bacon will be ready in a jiffy!"
While they enjoyed their breakfast, they kept discussing the past, and the crew. "I see that you have Derek's cute little Lanc in your collection..."
YOU ARE READING
D for Daisy (The Blind Sleuth Mysteries 1)
Mystery / ThrillerWorld War II. A Lancaster lands at its base in England after bombing Berlin, and a member of the crew is found dead. However, his young wife Daisy finds out that he has been murdered. But she is only a woman, blonde and pretty, and blind since birth...
