Patra Düldig’s Galoshes
Patra Düldig says goodbye and goodbye and goodbye. He is starting over. He is
going to Berlin to say hello to his new life. His mother has bought him a new black
raincoat, which he drapes over his right arm, the strong one that carries two suitcases
instead of one, which makes three suitcases, which Patra Düldig could tell you. Patra
Düldig is proud of his right arm.
Getting on the bus, Patra Düldig has a problem with his coins. They do not add up
properly in his palm for the journey that awaits him. Patra Düldig is quick to recognize
this as much more than a simple problem of bus fare. But it is not raining and it is far to
Berlin and even if it was, Patra Düldig would soon see that the rain must have somewhere
to go once it has fallen and Patra Düldig has no galoshes.
Now what is going to happen is that Patra Düldig is going to miss the last step
between the bus and the wet black street. Look where you’re stepping there, Patra Düldig.
So much is at stake. Don’t let that dummkopf bussdriver hurry you into your new life.
And what are those black bundles in the wet streets of Berlin, huddled under shiny
black raincoats with broken umbrellas and no galoshes? Could one of them be Patra
Düldig’s new life quibbling over the rent?
Hello! Hello! Hello! Sorry to disturb you.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.