Catchetorite

By Gunnar Alutalu

The question was: What to do with all this money? It was a substantial sum and its source had been rather unexpected.

Carole had a suggestion…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329992375

Book preview

Catchetorite

Catchetorite

By

Gunnar Alutalu

About The Book

The question was: What to do with all this money? It was a substantial sum and its source had been rather unexpected.

Carole had a suggestion…

About the Author

Gunnar Alutalu was born in 1933 in the small Baltic country of Estonia. Having become a refugee during the Second World War, he experienced first-hand the insecurities and deprivations that wartime conditions bring.

Nevertheless, he also had many agreeable and happy experiences and had the opportunity to travel, learn new languages and come to a greater appreciation of other cultures.

He landed as an immigrant to Canada in 1949.

He studied welding engineering and worked in this field.

He lives in Quebec City. 

Manfried and Carole

--- But it’s supposed to be gluten-free. It was a girl who said that.

--- Do you really know what you are talking about? Do you know what gluten is? Explain it to me. It was a man’s voice that threw out that challenge.

--- Of course I know what gluten is. There’s more than one gluten, I’ll have you know.  They are very tiny and they come in a set.

--- In a set? A set of glutens? I’m learning things…

--- Well, they are more like an army from a Star Wars picture. If you swallow them, they swarm all over your insides, establish colonies and multiply while you sleep.

--- And then?

--- And then you stop breathing and your body stiffens.

--- Why, that is called ‘rigor mortis’.

--- Used to be. But that’s a misnomer. The modern term is either ‘glutenus terminatus vitus finitus’ or ‘terminal glutenitis’. I forget which.

--- I know what glutens really are, another female’s voice announced triumphantly. --- They are slippery little things, hide in donuts, such as we are eating, and they are sweet, buttery and delicious. And they are good for us!

--- Good for us? If they are so good for us, why are they taking them away from us? another male voice protested.

--- You tell me! Haven’t they taken away our whole milk, our sugary soda pop and our salty potato chips? Ask these people! I didn’t do it.

Manfried heard this conversation. He didn’t turn around to look at them. He guessed that they were either students or graduates out looking for a job in their chosen field, like he himself was.

The ever-popular coffee-shop was crowded, as usual, and he felt fortunate to have found a seat. It was a table for two, but he was alone, as usual. After depositing his hot coffee and Chocolate Boston Cream Donut on the fragile-looking table, he took notice of his surroundings.

There seemed to be two people at every table. Man-woman, boy-girl. The only other single customer was a defiant-looking elderly man who had grabbed a table for four and sat with an empty coffee cup in front of him, seemingly determined to take up permanent residence. Newcomers were searching for the morning’s newspaper, but these were hard to come by. The few issues available were being politely passed around from one patron to the other, ‘‘please and thank you’’ being heard in both French and English. The newspapers were in French, but most Anglophones had no trouble whatsoever with reading the French paper. Manfried himself, being a native Montrealer, had grown up perfectly at ease in both languages. He would have liked to glance at the daily gazette in order to get the details of last night’s game between the Montreal Canadians hockey team and the visiting Boston Bruins, but all copies were being perused. True, the man with the four chairs and the empty cup had two copies on his table, but no one had approached him to ask whether he was finished with them, and Manfried also preferred to ignore the gentleman and look elsewhere.

He was holding his coffee cup in his left hand this time. It made no difference to him, which hand. Ever since he could remember, he had been perfectly ambidextrous. With a chuckle, he recalled the numerous times when he had frustrated the hitters on the opposing baseball teams as he had switched his pitching arm at will.

Maybe he should exploit this rare ability and try out for a professional baseball team. But ball playing was really not his thing. Chemistry was. He had recently graduated with a degree and had been actively searching for employment in his chosen field. Thus far, he had not been successful in obtaining a position.

At one time he had been interested in the field of psycho-analysis, and he had to admit that he still was. For instance, he believed he knew what was eating that selfish, massive man who had not been politely sharing his table or newspapers with his fellow customers. The problem went back to his relations with his domineering mother? Could be. Finding acceptance with his school-mates? It may very well have been a contributing factor.   But the final chapter of his female-dominated existence had begun with his marriage. He realized belatedly that he had gradually relinquished his role as family head to his ambitious bride and now it was too late. Any attempt to gain control of his life, such as when and where to go for a drink with the boys, had led to unpleasantness and arguments with his woman. His mother had always won and had had the final word. And why should he now be surprised that his wife made all the family decisions? Such was life. But here, in the coffee-shop, he was a man. He could sit at this big table for as long as he very well wanted, and no woman could uproot him. He knew very well that this slip of a waitress was trying to dislodge him, as the line-up of customers was reaching out of doors, but he would not budge. He was a paying customer and had the legal right to sit in his chair until his full pension kicked in. Yes, here he was in control. Yes, here he was the man at the wheel.

Manfried forced his thoughts back to reality. He was an amateur shrink, but a professional chemist. He had oppressive student loans to reimburse. His only vehicle, his bicycle, needed new brake pads and his ancient tiny fridge had decided to heat things instead of cooling his meagre left-overs. For weeks now he had tolerated tepid beer and liquid ice cream, but had had to discard items that were developing extra bulk in the way of something green. He realized that, being a chemical engineer, with a little bit of time and research, he could find out what that stuff was. He could identify what the elements and interesting parts were that made up this repulsive-looking substance. Fascinating work, but far from income-producing.

Well, well… he knew that girl that just came in and was counting pennies in her beaten-up purse as she stood in line. It was Caro Something, yes, Carole Conne, a former fellow student in the university. What a pleasant surprise! Manfried had always liked Caro. As a person, of course. She had constantly been in the company of a handsome young man, a law student. Consequently, it was widely assumed that they formed a pair.

He looked her over as she neared the take-out counter. She was of medium height. Actually, just a tad on the tall side. Athletic, of a happy disposition, friendly. Manfried remembered that she was the offspring of an Anglo father and a French-Canadian mother. She seemed to be about the same age as Manfried. Today she wore her curly, blonde hair in a bun.

--- Miss Conne! Carole! Over here! I have saved a chair for you, he called to her and waved.

She smiled and came, carrying a small-sized coffee cup on an over-sized green plastic tray.

She knew the young man who had offered a seat to her. It was Manfried Mann, a chemistry student. A fit young man of slight build, of her height and age, with a thick head of brownish hair, somewhat sun-bleached, now that it was summer, and a fine-featured face. She had always felt uneasy when looking into his disarmingly frank and honest blue eyes. She had felt that Manfried knew things about her, secret things, sins; that he could look into the most private corners of her soul. Not that she had anything to hide. He just made her feel that way… Come to think of it, she recalled that Manfried was dabbling in psycho-analysis. Maybe he should have pursued that career. He certainly had the eyes for it…

--- Alone today? I don’t see your boy-friend. Working, I hope.

--- No, Lyman isn’t working as of yet. Times are hard. He’s doing things for our rich uncle, but it’s not a very lucrative position. Our uncle wants us to make our own way in the world and not to depend on him.

--- You said ‘our uncle’. I don’t understand.

--- Lyman is my cousin.

--- Oh. I have been entertaining a mistaken opinion about you and him.

--- That is understandable. When entering university, we came to an agreement that he would watch my back and that I would watch his. We wanted to be protected against involvement with the opposite sex until the graduation ceremony was over. 

--- Very wise of you. I won’t reveal your secret to anyone. You can do that whenever appropriate, Manfried managed to utter. He surprised himself for having managed to sound so casual, so calm, so normal. He was a chemistry maverick, but had he been a doctor, he would have noticed a sudden spike in blood pressure, in both in the systolic and the other kind. Sudden good news of such sort were a shock to the heart. Carole was free, and presumably unattached! His heart had survived the surprise-attack, but was no longer completely his. In an instant, that lovely girl had stolen a large part of it.

He realized that she was talking to him. What was she asking? Oh yes, whether he was working…

--- Well, I am holding on to the same part-time job I had as a student, --- driving a delivery truck and sometimes riding a bicycle.  But, I keep giving out applications constantly.

--- Good. I trust it pays for your bread and butter.

--- Bread, yes, but it doesn’t reach as far as the luxury of butter.

--- Never mind, Manfried. Butter is not good for you anyway.

--- I don’t know whether I agree with you there, Carole. I find nothing wrong with it chemically. We have been brainwashed. Conmen have been fooling around with our food.

--- You may be right, there. A new study is due. This subject has been milked for some time now. We are due for some other sensational discovery.

--- How about you, Carole? Are you luxuriating in barrels of butter?

--- Not in barrels, not in buckets. My butter supply comes from the restaurant where I work. I rescue the occasional tiny plastic container that is destined for the garbage-can. You know, the tiny portion that is given to customers when they order a meal? Yes? These form the basis of my daily diet. It’s a natural product, no artificial additives, no chemical yellow colouring. Nutritious, too.

--- But, if you ate mainly butter, morning, noon and night, would you not gain weight?

--- Absolutely. That is where my money goes, --- to the gym. I go to the best place in town, with the latest machinery that does practically all the work for you. The membership is not cheap. But, the way I look at it, a girl cannot skimp when it comes to her figure. Don’t you agree, Manfried?

--- Oh,