Erica

By Rex Jacobs

Erica is the story of an old lady with a bag full of money, and was a most compelling tale to write. The keyboard was never idle as night after night I was dragged from the gas chambers of Auschwitz, through Europe, on to Australia and finally back to Poland where her journey had begun so many years past. Sometimes a writer need only create the characters, and let them do the telling.

Any connection to persons either living or passed on is strictly coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

Rex Jacobs

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rex Jacobs
• Release date: Nov 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370783649

Rex Jacobs

Life is a wonderful, exciting, sometimes dangerous and often totally boring trip. I have certainly had a taste of all these slices of the human experience and thankfully have managed not to overdose in any particular compartment.I strive to write as honestly and openly as possible, but will never get drawn into discussing the source of inspiration for any particular tale. They are all true in some way. We all have our own truth. That is the way it is with mankind.My journey is seventy years young as of 2016, and if you don’t find me plonking away at a keyboard, I’ll be somewhere behind the lens of my faithful Nikon, tending my private garden or manipulating some beautiful pieces of glass into some form of art.I write for enjoyment, and always endeavour to capture that ‘I know where he’s coming from moment’. This is my first real attempt at the online publishing world, and would love to take the opportunity of thanking you for popping in to meet me.I hope you enjoy the read, and wish you every success in life. It is a wonderful trip.Rex Jacobs.

Book preview

Erica

by

R. Jacobs

I met an old lady in a café, and bought her coffee and cake in the most unusual of circumstances. She had just been involved in a dispute with her bank manager, and had a large green shopping bag secured firmly on her lap. I did not even get to know her name, such was the brevity of our meeting. All I knew was that she did not trust banks, and the argument had been about withdrawing her life’s savings in cash. I went on my way, but I have never forgotten the sadness in her face. For the past several years I have wondered what her story might have been. I have named her Erica, and written this …

Copyright © R. Jacobs 2007

Apart from the café meeting, all events depicted in this story are fictitious.

All names are also fictitious and any link to persons, either living or deceased is strictly coincidental. The fact that this could very well be a true story should be enough to ensure we are forever vigilant.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Erica

Erica

It was approaching two in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast.

The steaming cup of coffee on the sign was too much to ignore. I found the last parking spot on the shady suburban street and turned off the phone. If they wanted me for the next ten minutes, they’d have to leave a message.

Either I had picked the right café for a snack, or the local women’s group was holding its bi-annual community meeting. There was not a table to spare.

Just as I was about to vacate the premises to find a quieter, and probably far less successful establishment, the old lady in the window seat caught my eye.

She could have been ninety years old, but was more likely a very well worn seventy.

She had kind eyes; timid, tired eyes, but kind. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and her dress was straight out of the 1954 Women’s Weekly social pages.

She could have been my grandmother.

‘Walter’ she smiled ‘Come and join me’

She shifted the empty chair alongside hers and gently slid it back.

‘You don’t mind?’ I inquired.

‘Not at all Walter’ she hesitated as a sad recognition fell across her face.

‘You’re not Walter, are you?’

‘Err no, my name is Mic…’

‘Yes, it’s been so many years … so many things have happened … I’m sorry

it’s just that you looked so much like Walter as you walked through the door.

Please forgive an old lady.

She picked up her cream bun and took another bite as her eyes begged me to mysteriously change into her Walter.

‘I’ll just order a coffee and cake’ I smiled as I rose to get up from my chair.

She reached out and grabbed my hand.

‘Please come back, it’s been so long since I’ve sat in a restaurant with a man’

It was hardly a restaurant, and I only had ten minutes, but how could I refuse a lonely old lady a fraction of my busy life. I squeezed her hand in a guarantee of my return, and headed for the counter to order a cappuccino and a citrus tart.

I had just returned to my seat when my phone rang. In my haste for a coffee, I had not turned it off properly. I took it from my pocket and noticed an important client’s name displayed on the screen.

I excused myself from her presence and turned to go outside. She nodded in approval as she demurely wiped a smear of cream from her lips.

I found