Foreign Parts

Part the First

^{Dear Diary, this is one of the times I'll bet that you wished I'd not forgotten you because.... Strewth! Where do I start?}

^{Imagine, morning. Clunk. I came to, sitting all cramped-up in the sleeping compartment; well, I had to arrange my arrangements.}

^Austria?

^{But no, as you know, I wasn't born in Austria: actually, they first had the inkling of me during a storm in the Gulf of Darien. Warm and cozy like. Well, what would you do in a storm?}

^{My father would have called me something completely different had the captain’s daughter, the other person in the bunk incidentally, not had the upper hand, intimately involved in the proceedings as she was.}

^{So she called her daughter Darien.}

^{Here I am, and I'm sticking with the story.}

^{Accident, happily.}

^{My father being a sailor, you might expect me to be similarly gifted [from a genetic point of view] but twenty years later, on a journey over an awful churning grey choppy sea, and then the long overland drag on a procession of pungent trains I had junked all the theories.}

^{Yup, Dear Diary I was very jet- lagged.}

^{Very jet-lagged indeed.}

^{Well travelworn, anyway.}

^{Well, now my story opens on a dusty blue train with pretty brown tinted windows, and, hey presto, we're at 12'30°E, 47°S. Europe to you. Austria, sort of.}

^Action!

^{Imagine, if you will then, this rather handsome and dusty train trailing through the South Tyrol loaded with laughing light green drunks, and tired Après-Ski aficionados.}

^{Houselights on.}

^{I, your reticent hero, am one of them. I have just rolled out of my schlafplatz, and having banged my head against someone else’s skis, am rubbing the resultant bruise.}

^{The compartment is full of crushed-up newspapers and empty sandwich packages, and also of course our rucksacks. My friends and assorted others are discussing the price of coffee, sorting through their pockets for odd Euros and, well, well, finding Cents, Szloti, Pennies, buttons, condoms and almost anything else that you can find apart from stone rings. But no Euros.}

^{Well, that’s sod’s law, isn't it!}

^{In Austria, March is often a brilliantly sunny month, and I had arrived there not only for the skiing, but for the Sun too.}

^{Not exactly: back to the present: at this precise moment I am reading the banner headline on the Osterreicher Zeitung in front of me. I understand more than I speak, which is a certain limited selection of Austro-German, the words ‘No, not at all’, ‘Never,’ and of course: 'Get lost - those are my pockets and I am wearing the jeans they belong to so why don't you get your hands out of them’ - and some other rather less elegant phrases, being my most active vocabulary.}

^{No. what had caught my attention was the lurid report in the papers: ‘Autobahn Maniac Strikes Again' Apparently, Ha! Ha !- an unknown lunatic was tempting people into leaving their cars in the middle of the night by putting a shop-window mannequin on the motorway, which prompted them to stop, then waylaying and killing them. Only passing motorists in the other lanes of the motorway had seen these things happening. ‘People Are Talking About It All Over Austria!’ cried the ‘Osterreicher Bild Zeitung’. Well it’s obvious; the story or whatever it was had become a subject of well, discussion.}

^{Or sort of, well, panic. Just then, as I rummaged amongst all the things on the floor looking for a plaster to soothe my fevered kaboodie while simultaneously trying to find my travel insurance receipt, the train began to apply its brakes and I looked out of the window. The snow and the mountains were breathtaking as the dawn, came up, soft and gentle. My breath was sufficiently taken for me to sit there for some moments. Then all at once we'd arrived at wherever it was, and everyone rolled out of their assorted compartments, smeared the wrong lipstick on and applied an erroneous combination of eyeliners from the mixtures they found in the tousled bags - then trooped out and confronted a New Austrian Day.}

^{The Aussies of course, had found some tinnies somewhere, and were starting on the 227th verse of a bawdy version of ‘Waltzing Matilda’.}

^{Well, for my part I went to sleep in-between verses on the bus which was gently swaying along the road, and woke up at our hotel.}

^{"See you downstairs in ten minutes", said the boys, full of what I suspected was their idea of fun.}

^{"Sure Boys!" said Trixie, ever willing for some of it.}

^{I made a mental note to strangle her as soon as we were back from Foreign Parts. For the time being, being useful, she could live.}

^{We checked in. Somehow Trixie and I had been double-booked, so they gave us adjoining singles on the first floor (does that sound right?) I hate singles. Rooms. I mean. In hotels. Besides, single rooms in hotels create a whole continuum of problems for which my vocabulary is quite inadequate. I'll leave your mind room to reel on about it. Well, you have to live with it don't you?!}

^{"Come on! Hurry up!" says Trixie.}

^{"Okay, Okay!" We'd left the doors of our rooms open and were shouting to each other. My voice had been as cracked by the journey as was the flower vase and the mirror in my room; but I said nothing.}

Foreign Parts

Part the Second

^{Outside, and after all, that’s what we were there for, the snow was just what a true red-blooded skier desires with all her heart. The snow conditions were still so deep that the dense blanket thus formed started just below my window. It had that delicate crust of ice which the best snow must have, to accommodate the fanatic just adequately. Skiing fanatics, you know...}

^{Now let me tell you about the place. Our rooms looked out onto a back garden and an ornamental pond which must have been very pretty in summertime, but which was frozen at this time of year. At the back were some lovely woods from where I could distantly hear the sounds of the small motorway we had come along in the bus (it was a feeder road actually, that cut through the wood). That was the basic geography.}

^{Anyway, I had to get out of my clothes, which, by then were beginning to smell distinctly Ukk, and I threw them off and rushed into the shower.}

^{The cold water brought me to with a start. But of course that was before I screamed, because there was a friendly plumber in my bathroom. It was rather a tight fit. He smiled, but said nothing... It just wasn't the right time to start a conversation. You have to agree, really. You never knew, perhaps he did this all the time.}

^{But I'm the logical type so I asked myself; 'Is this covered by my insurance?'}

^{I suppose he was fixing the hot water, because it rarely ever worked in my room again. Perfect Eh?}

^{I rushed back into the part of my room that was not visible to the plumber. Cursing, probably.}

^{"What was that all?" said Trixie, amused. "Oh, you should have just wrapped yourself in a towel and been polite...you never know he could turn out to be a really nice person!" That was Trixie.}

^{Dear reader, do I have to explain what nice means when it comes from the mouths of… Trixies?}

^{"Knickers!" she said laughing, holding some pink toweling ones out in front of her. "They'll be your downfall!" [She must be psychic!]}

^{Well, there wasn't much choice, or for that matter much time left, to get to our inaugural Après-Ski and try the local vino-reddo before chucking-out time, so, time being short, I struggled into her emergency absorbents.}

^{Never could skate, better at skiing (that’s what I was there for) and all those Austrians are so clean that they always shine the floor under the rug. Did you know that? Crash!}

^{I'd slipped over on the perfectly polished floor. A masterpiece.}

^{Sheila was a dear; she found a big piece of cotton wool and a foot of sticking plaster and fastened my eye in, just to make sure it wouldn't fall out prematurely.}

^{"Oh what a shiner!" she laughed.}

^{I reserved my opinion. That was upstairs. Later, however: by the time we arrived downstairs the rest of the party was quite well away on the first (what’s the opposite of après?) Ski party.}

^{The Aussies were still somewhere in-between Bangkok and Sydney, to judge by the gaiety.}

^{"A bit previous, isn't it?" someone, probably Trixie, said.}

^{At that point I discovered that I had somehow been parked with someone else's rucksack. Dead ringer for mine.}

^{I peeked in. Whoops! Wearing some smelly Aussie’s mangled Y-fronts was not to my taste. Back to Trixie.}

^{The party wended its way. As they do.}

^{After a few minutes I noticed that some big lug was giving me his version of The Eye. On my blind side, naturally.}

^{"Hullo Dulling", he intoned. Foreign accent, in case you hadn't noticed. Trial shot across the bows. Handsome brute, actually.}

^{I ignored him. In fact, I couldn't see him too well; and the combination of jet lag and throbbing eye had affected my hearing [negatively].}

^{"You vant drink?"}

^{Trixie arrived all of a sudden.}

^{"My friend's tired - Why don't you talk to me?" said the ever helpful tart with a part, Trixie, that is. Or was the word Hopeful? I was left alone while the party became more and more festive. You get used to being one-eyed really pretty quickly, you know!}

^{At length it was well after lunchtime and I had finally located my rucksack, so I left the gaily madding crowd and hauled it up to my room.}

^{I washed my undies, (wouldn't you?), hung them on a bit of string by the window over the radiator and opened the window to clear the room of closed-up fugg. Just ten minutes nirvana, that’s all!}

^{Gentle, almost soundless, snore.}

^{It’s wonderful to lie down when you're really tired, you know, relax.}

^{Ah! But not for long, for in my dreams, as it were, I heard the door knock. Dreams - I have such vivid dreams. I naturally thought that this must be Trixie and, it being by then eight-ish at 12°30’E, I flung (flang, fling, flong?) open the door not really thinking what I was doing in the dark, expecting as I said, the visage of the shifty one, probably with the usual story to tell (‘Well, he’s really awfully nice, as a person, I mean, and I thought I'd give it a try, I mean if you don't give it a try you'll never know if you missed anything!')}

^{I'd thrown myself into bed in absolute exhaustion, and was naked, you see. Wouldn't you be? And that was the nub of the matter, for there at the door with a profile against the light, redolent of Frankenstein’s first cousin Herk, and clutching a bottle of schnapps and two glasses, was OhmiGod! He. You know, the handsome one...}

^{"Dulling", he lunged at my naked goods and I did that clever sidestep they teach you in judo, rolled back over the bed in a perfectly tectonic and elegant circuit of space, bearing... well, having borne Maria-Rudolf, who achieved an unlikely first in the Olympic style swoop, combined with a gymnasts forward roll, a cyclists break fall and a Spitfire’s stall turn, and with a horrible shriek vanished through the (helpfully)open window.}

^{Oh, incidentally, taking all my knickers and their bit of string with him. Well, not quite the whole collection, thank God, no he left me the purple ones with the pink and green lace and the khaki battledress ones.}

^{There was the inevitable pause, during which my entire life flashed before me, followed not too quickly by the sound of a big base drum going Boing! Followed by much laughter and then the squeal of what I could swear was a mangy chicken being torn asunder by mad hands.}

^{Yes, that was Maria—Rudolf all right. I recognized his breath.}

^{And I’d never realized before that monsters could achieve almost perfect falsettos.}

Foreign Parts

Part the Third

Oh, fer chrissake Dar", said Trixie, "Ole K-R's probably really awfully nice, and if I was you I'd give it a try, I mean you never know maybe you've missed the chance of a lifeti..." upon which I slammed the door and sought the security of my own underwear. What remained of it. Well, finally then I dressed and stomped downstairs, leaving the hotel by a side door. Disgust, dudgeon, you know. I thought I'd find a nice friendly ‘Raststatte’ and maybe also some other less demonstrative company.

I walked down the main street, but tourists (and tourist’s bars) are not an attraction for me, and I walked into a side road, following it for some minutes. Now I was about a kilometer or so from the edge of town, which I could see clearly as an oasis of lights in the winter darkness. It had been a clear night, but now it began to spatter a little with snowflakes, and the wind began to rise a bit. I could see a scatter of lights up ahead of me and I saw the lights of cars on the road heading into the gloom.

Finally, I reached the lights, and to my relief they were of one of those very lovely restaurants which you sometimes find scattered around in the forest. I located my Euros and drank a gluhwein and a few vinos’, which warmed the cockles of my heart. In fact I drank several, and they cheered my spirits endlessly. The company was quite good, that is to say neither drunk nor pushy, and I enjoyed a pleasant couple of hours.

Finally I decided to get back to the hotel to get some sleep. I like to rise as early as possible to get some skiing in, on clear runs.

So I started back along the road.

Well I'd had rather too many Gluhweine, so my knees were a little spongy, but what the hell, it was a very quiet night.

Now unexpectedly I could hear my footfalls echoing amid the snow and ice which was piled at the sides of the road. Quite ghostly. Or Creepy. Actually, very creepy.

Trees swishing, wind moving, foliage clicking, moving. Now my radar detected a slight attack of the screaming willies. I began to get hot and sweaty, but for all the wrong reasons.

I began to slow down my accelerating breathing ...God!

I suddenly recalled the headlines I’d read… began to remember the stories about that famous maniac motorway killer, the infamous Graz AutoKiller. Then I thought about Frankenstein, Dracula and bats and... God!

And new I was walking fast, but not too fast, controlling my breathing admirably well, considering... the horror that was to come!

What did I say? To come?

What did I mean by that?!

My breathing was perfect, but when by chance I counted the heartbeats that I could hear perfectly clearly in my ears (Perfectly clearly (Funny?) my heart was doing about one hundred and eighty!

Well, subtracting, [or should I say adding], the percentage of heartbeats that the average female has, in addition to the average heartbeat rate of the male, multiplying by two hundred and twenty five and taking away the number you first thought of, to my amazement etcetera, it was still over one hundred and three beats a minute out!

It occurred to me that either I had suddenly developed acute heart disease or there was someone following me (if I was unlucky it could be both, but one thing at a time!); but I dared not stop.

Anyway, now I knew that my heart would explode with a ghastly thwack, any moment! Gosh, I knew it!

Oh, Golly. Stop. 'Are you mad, he'd catch me easily then! No, but it’s he who is mad. ...homicidal ...nuts - bonkers..! I knew with a dreadful clarity at that moment, that I was doomed.

I wouldn't say that I panicked, but I knew in my bones, with great earthstopping urgency, that I had to have a leak really soon.

Now I was streaking through the darkness like Concorde late for its tea break; Ahhh!' Zigzagging!

I arrived at the hotel -sweet relief! - And realized that I was still alive.

Wonderful! I went through the back door, and like a bat out of hell up the stairs. I pushed open my door. I turned on the light. Nothing.

Nothing? By that I mean, darkness. No light.

I make my way down to the reception. Well, to tell the truth I trip on the top step and fall down the stairs, ending up in a heap.

Somebody, a shadow perhaps, picks me up.

Drama, Thrum, Thrum!

"Who?...Oh, you're one of the party...." (Strikes match)"Oh yes well. ....The Ski Party that you're with has gone out"

"Yes I know, but what’s wrong with the lights?"

"Oh that!”(Oh, That?) "The lines are down; the service will be back in the morning".

Foreign Parts

Part the Fourth

I rushed back upstairs, as the hotel was almost empty, and sat on my bed.

Well, what would you do?

The hotel was empty, dark, I had been closely followed by a thousand demons and here I was sitting on my bed, alive. Being an old-fashioned and philosophical girl I decided to get some sleep.

But, think clearly now; first I must prepare my body for that certain charming stranger, well just in case - I mean you never know do you? And it would save time, save us both getting into an awful lather. (Oh and it's an ancient Après Ski Tradition, as old as a MacDonald’s hamburger.)

Shave legs, prepare eyes for delicate kisses, do exercises for bust. 'Ouch! Ruined the left one, pulled all its muscles – that nipple will never raise its head again!'

Okay, enough of that.

Face pack. Wrong order, who cares! I love hot mud.

Fortunately the shower was working just this once, and, wonderful! - There was no plumber to be seen, even at one-o'clock in the morning, and even more wonderful, and increasingly rare too, there was warm water. Lovely!

Mind you I was so hot from all that running I was boiling hot. Itchy.

I showered, mudded, and lay down. You know, to relax. Silence, how rare! - for...forty-five seconds...

Down the corridor a window banged open. ...the wind was rising.

Ghosts? I shivered. But not with cold.

I was loathe to move, but I' thought I'd close the window.

‘WhooooHooo', the wind whistled and shrieked. If I'd been the type who developed such ideas, I'd have felt freezing cold. Well, I didn't, anyway. I just lay there itching all over and hot, listening to the wind. Covered in cracked mud. Charming. All-over, mind you. Stranger things’ve happened after a few drinks.

Crash! The window in the corridor had come open.

Noises off of splintering. Crash bang <&c.>. Me?, I thought I'd Just get some sleep.

I turned over.

Clunk, Whoooooohoooo Whooooo hooooo!

"Blast!"

At this point I decided to get up and close the [expletive deleted] window.

So naturally I opened the door, and wrapped in some of the bedclothes, made for my goal.

Ah, but its Mice and Men on this one isn’t it? **** it!

Suddenly there was this group of shadows approaching along the corridor, shufFle shuffle, their ghastly breath outlined against some poor lost light beams who were only trying to go home and get some sleep like me.

I know it sounds crazy, but suddenly I knew in my deepest marrow that, they had come for me.

God!

I fell- back into my room.

Ready for blue murder! I seized the first thing that fell into my hand, a heavy object, about ten centimeters thick and twice as big as a large hand. It was all I had, all that was between me and....or worse! Oh, God! I almost screamed. Not quite though, rather I reckon I sort of gurgled. Hush!

Defence, you know.

This was the bottom line, I knew it –her finest hour - now the crazy assassins were poised to strike right near my door, they were shining-up their weapons, or loading their tritons, right here in the corridor!

My heart, liver kidneys and spleen all sank to new lows....my throat went dry. ..Drier than a dead dingo’s dangler... I went hot all over... it just could be the Gluhwein still coursing through my veins... blood… Blood red, .Oh no, not to die in a foreign field!

I decided that there was only one thing for it.

Clutching the comfortingly heavy inlaid object by its leather (Leather?) cover (Cover?) I rushed into the corridor, whooping the Antipodean version of ‘Death or Glory,’ the better to take the bastards by surprise!

With perfect timing and at precisely that moment the sky decided to flash wild lightning, and an enormous clap of thunder.

I do admire perfect timing, especially in movies, don't you?

I took a wild swipe at their collective heads <all thousands of them>, let out my version of the famous whoop meaning ‘Death or Glory, boys’' and... Incredible, but at that blood-red moment my assassins suddenly all shrieked (It must have been effective, when in retrospect, with thunderclap and lightning.)

Anyway suddenly I knew I'd won. Well, almost.

Aha! Now they were in full retreat! The demons rushed back along the corridor, and I heard the shrill shout ‘The Graz AutoKiller!’

So that’s who it was! So that was it!

I told you I knew, didn't I!

There was no time to be lost, I must rid the world of this scourge.

I rushed along the corridor to help; no time to encloth myself, no, this bedsheet would do fine. And this...eh, Bible? Well that would do just dandy thank you. Have a nice day! After all, I had them in full flight.

There was horror and ghastliness abroad, let me tell you: the whole hotel was rent asunder by the horrified screams in the darkness and occasional lightning flashes on

all three of its occupants.

No, but seriously, Now I was in hot pursuit. Hot pursuit knows no boundaries. After all it was my duty. And I had a tankful of Gluhwein to drive me. Boots On!

Wonderful. No shortage of fuel, Vroom. Patrol Forward!

Whoosh. Klumpa. Klumpa.

I arrived at the reception, but apparently the receptionist had taken a powder. And people looked at me as if they had just seen the AutoKiller.

Wow! I was close, really close. All my fear was gone. Where was he/she/it?

I looked around me. Silence, then thunderous darkness. Well, silence can't be thunderous, can it?

The sounds of an awful crashing upstairs.

I fastened the sheet around me with a spare bit of old cord I found behind the reception desk, and clutching my bible in one hand, a passing bottle of brandy in the other for a little extra Dutch Courage, made my way back upstairs.

Thumpa thump.

Of course I was looking for the MotorManiac. Suddenly I heard a weird splashing crunching sound, almost at my elbow.

That must be he/she/it!

I rushed in. Skidded to a halt: but too late. Golly.

Then.

I fell in the bath.

In the dark.

Simultaneously, perfect timing, all the remaining lights went out. Well, they still haven't marketed waterproof candles. Not for hotel use, anyway.

Next!

There was an awful scream broken by the sound of the mouth attached to it being immersed in... well bloody What?. ..I thrashed around on the floor, horrible wetness everywhere.

Panic grabbed at my vitals, but then a long slug of brandy straightened my imaginary bow-tie.

An awful voice was gurgling, I mean shrieking at the top of its voice. Blimey. I panicked too: “The Graz AutoKiller” somebody shrieked. Oh, dear!

I made to rush downstairs but some fool had left the tap on somewhere, and the stairs were like a waterfall.

Klumpa Klumpa.

I skidded at the top and cascaded down faster than the water, five steps at a time, like a hallucinating mime artiste.

A perfect Par-des-Deux straight through the madding crowd which purported to be the remains of the inmates of the hotel.

More shrieks. Boots first. Bonka Bonka.

I screamed despite myself – “The Graz AutoManiac!” but magically the lobby was empty ...They knew. Ahah!

It was somewhere...and I was red hot on the trail, I was certain that the trail was still warm.

Somewhere in the background police sirens were shrieking.

I was determined to get there first. I was first (or was it last?) out the door and rushing through the bushes, thumpa thumpa, through the pond, into...

Foreign Parts

Part the Fifth

Oops!

Where the hell was I?

I clutched my rags about me and took another pull at the brandy, holding the book under my arm. I thrashed around in the darkness… I could hear voices and screeching tyres...

Ouch. The ground was uneven.

I was obviously close to my goal, because the Police, or whatever, were close behind.

Much later, well, a few seconds can seem like an age, can't they?

Scrape clumpa thumpa bonka.

Now was The Time! I gritted my teeth. I struck out boldly, suddenly sensing cold air, space - in the awful brilliant greyness of a sudden uncanny flash of lightning I realized that I must be flying through the air... to complement all this there was a perfectly placed Boom! of thunder.

Oh, I do like neatness!

After a few seconds I felt soft earth around my ankles.

Now I was among trees and bushes, and the night was blacker than ever.

Everything faded to a point.

Beep!

Cut, Print

Foreign Parts

Part the Sixth

I awoke. My rear end as cold as ice. To avoid acute cystisis it had to be moved. Dammit, I was sitting in a stream. Or something. Suddenly I remembered where I was (or approximately, anyway.). Hauling my naked butt out of the stream (thoughts of Blue-Arsed Fly, perhaps?), I realized that the Graz AutoManiac might well be sitting next to me! I jumped clear to the bank, despite the rumbling, crashes and flashes.

Crunk Crunch...I whapped through the bushes and started to run. (Oh, I should explain, I was wearing something, apart from the remains of the sheet; my ski boots.)

Anyway, I pounded through the forest flourishing first the bottle and then the book until at length I screeched to a halt.

Then, as I rounded a turn I was confronted by a very decorative forest-house kitsch as you could only imagine in your wildest burbling’s.

Dear reader, at this point you have to imagine the clanging thunder, wild lightning at theatrically perfect intervals, and the occasional flurry of snowflakes. Or you won’t get it at all. I just thought I'd mention that.

To get things straight. After a decent interval I looked up to make sure that there wasn't actually an A.S.M. sitting in the nearest tree scattering tiny bits of torn up ‘Queensland Tribune’s.

Thumpa. Klumpa, klumpa bonk.

Then I gave my nose a scrape and rapped sharply on the door. Well, it was more of a scrape really, as my hands, and most of the rest of this previously perfectly prepared Corpus Delicti were rapidly turning what looked in the scattered flashes and the reflected light of the windows a series of shades of neon blue to Day-Glo grey. Not to mention the orange. Oh, and there was a decorative wisp of lichen or sea weed or whatever fringing my ex-perfect makeup job.

I leaned against the doorway with my book (for some reason it had become my safety blanket) in one hand, and my first-aid kit of brown liquid in the other. I took a deep breath.

At that exact moment, someone opened the door.

I had had no time to even begin to annunciate well worn phrases such as ‘Avon Calling’, when the face disappeared and the door slammed.

I banged on the wood with the butt end of the bottle.

The cold was beginning to affect my judgment.

I took a quick, protective swig from the brandy. After a moment the door opened a crack, but only to display the large black muzzle of a shotgun.

My God again! Was this it, the maniac?

Unfortunately I didn't have time to ask, for next there was a dull bang, and part of a tree fell around me, nearly breaking my neck.

No, I tell a lie, it was the upright of the porch! They’re getting rare, you know.

The house gave a delicate twang, like any well tuned lute, and then the entire front portion began to ease its way towards mother earth.

There was a further series of bangs. Someone screamed-

"Der Graz AutoManiac!" came the awful scream.

Blood-curdled, I spun around. So it was here!

But where? You mean...here! I spun round again. I spun round once more. I positively pirouetted.

Foreign Parts

Part the seventh

Ski boots are not perfectly suited to walking, as you know, and thus suddenly I sat down rather hard, fortunately just avoiding the demise of the front of the house, from which a string of oaths issued, which had they been pennies, would have meant that suddenly I'd won the State Lottery.

However. The increasing discomfort of my lower portion goaded me. My first aid kit was getting low. I suddenly remembered that the maniac ...could... be... here! What! And where was my Insurance policy? Did it exclude maniacs? ...Were maniacs considered acts of God? Such thoughts reeled through my brain, and so I took another blast of the brown poison, further to settle the matter.

I thrashed around in the darkness with my bottle. No contact. Beep. Time was that I should find the maniac and bring him/her/it to rights. It would be no less than poetic. Momentarily I could see myself, carried shoulder high by cheering, admiring, crowds, dressed in a mixture of ski-elegance and casino chic.

Adoring faces, suntanned hunks and not a few hunkesses (just for balance). I could see it all.

Ah, so that is what it’s like to be famous!

I stopped as my boots hit hard surface, and then skidded a few metres as I realized that whatever the surface was, it was now wreathed in a thin skin of ice.

Where was I? Almost complete darkness.

I turned right, then left*. Silence.

At last then, I saw a distant light approaching rapidly.

*the logical alternative. Ed.

A motorized appliance!

The car was travelling so fast that the light became blinding, before the engine could be heard. No sooner had I vainly tried to flag it down, than it was almost upon me, and then past,

"Blast!" I doubted that the driver had even seen me.

I decided to wait on the road, whichever it was, until the next car came; then I could get back to the hotel real fast.

I took a slug of the first aid kit, and discovered that it was perilously low.

So, the bottom line was approaching at breakneck speed!

Foreign Parts

Part the Eighth

I didn't have long to wait.

Within two or three minutes other lights approached, much to my relief, and this time I took no risks and started to wave early (well, I didn't want to be missed, did I?)

Oops! I'd fallen over.

Oops! I couldn't get up for a whole bag of reasons. Skid, skid.

Blast the ice on my boots!

Now the car had halted and I was caught full in the lights. I continued my attempts to verticalise. Skid, skid. Running on the spot.

Just at the moment that I was beginning to feel thankful, I glanced towards the driver, new out of the car and peering at this slightly (I thought) odd/battered/raggy figure when:

"AAAAAHHHHHHhhhhh!" The driver gave me a very strange look, for reasons too impossible to imagine, screamed, leapt in the air and simply dematerialized, leaving several pens and pencils in the road. Odd?

I was non-plussed, naturally.

Now, what to do?

Well, what would you do?

I hung around for a few minutes, and then heard a crashing and thrashing in the forest which reminded me of the famous Maniac, that is to say, its existence; so I suddenly got the willies, and made off as they say, in a Westward direction.

I drove into town of course.

You know, I really didn't know what to do with the poor blighter’s car, so I left it with a thankyou note scribbled with my totally frostbitten' fingers on the back of a letter I found in the glove compartment on the driving seat, and put the keys in the glove box too. Then I left the car nearish the hotel, and slunk through the back entrance and up the stairs in my by now, multicoloured, rags.

Clump clump clump.

Amazing, you know, I was still clutching that bible. Funny how you do things like that at moments like those. Phew!

Well. I had a lovely shower, took a couple of aspirins and snuggled down to sleep. I slept really well. And I didn't have sore feet the next morning. I had a sore derriere, though.

Foreign Parts

Part the Ninth

"Hullo!", said Trixie brightly, "There’ve been ructions going on round here all night - its just as well you were asleep.. ......they think that somehow that loony they were talking about was in town last night ...all kinds a’ things... but anyway, we had a lovely time down at the disco..!.." We had breakfast together. The whole town was abuzz with the stories about the famous maniac. I kept mum. After all, my plans were hardly off the ground vis-à-vis maniacs, the catching of...and I wasn't going to tell anyone that I had been near as a whisker...

Would Sherlock Holmes tell you the secret before the story was out?.... Not on your …Ouch!

The paper had banner headlines:

‘Was this the Graz AutoKiller?’ and further: ‘Graz AutoKiller seen in Forest – Graz AutoKiller carries tailors mannequin onto main Graz-Linz Autobahn, drops it when attacked by courageous motorist’. Then a report ‘'Georg Braun, the courageous motorist attacked by the mad Graz AutoKiller, stood ground bravely, until, threatened by a butcher’s cleaver reportedly sharpened to the viciousness of a razor blade, he at last parried many blows’ (Picture of Braun, with dazed expression and black goatee beard, large thick spectacles and heroic pose against a reproduction of a gaunt Teutonic Madonna with a gunmetal crucifix.’‘ Yes, heroic Herr. Braun parried the savage blows of the maniac, almost won and then was defeated by the extreme violence of his attacker, “As they say", said Herr Doktor Braun "He actually had the strength of at least ten men, maybe more - it' was useless to struggle against such odds. I decided instead to raise the alarm in order to save the lives of innocent motorists. But one thing that will remain with me until the day I die is that horrible face! My God! Such a ghastly mangled face stripped of all humanity; those red eyes looked at me through a wild mask of destroyed and rotting flesh and ghastly exposed nerve ends covered with mud, and, urghh! I can't speak any more; I must go for a Kur in order to recover from this awful experience!’ Herr Doktor Braun is a filing clerk at the Ministry of Social Order in Linz and was visiting his mother-in-law who is a Registered alcoholic.' End of report.

Another report; this time on the radio.

‘Pyotr Podgorny, who lives in a forest dwelling near the autobahn concerned was today claiming exemplary damages from the Ministry of Health after he was attacked by the Graz AutoManiac not two hundred metres from where the motorist you nave doubtless read about, Herr Professor Doktor Georg von Braun was similarly dry-gulched. The sadistic maniac involved, says Herr Podgorny, was at least two and a half metres tall and was enormously strong. After a short but awful struggle with the maniac, Herr Podgorny drove him back: but displaying awesome power the maniac (apparently in a fit of pith after being somehow, doubtless with the help of God alone, repulsed by the sturdy Burger, who is even now offering a Novena at the cathedral in Linz in thankfulness for his deliverance) managed to partly destroy his homely dwelling by tearing away part of the roof supports, thus reducing the entire front of the house to wreckage.

At an emergency session to discuss the horrific events of last night, the council has already granted the entire rebuilding of this house in gratitude for the courage of Herr Podgorny. The council is also reportedly considering the award of the Grand Cross of St Vinincius <7^th Class) to Herr Professor Doktor Doktor Georg von Braun a senior executive at the Ministry of Health, for Civilian Heroism.'

Later:

"Have you seen that blonde man...what’s his name… Er-..?" said Trixie.

"What man?"

"The one I eh, met last night"

"No".

"Listen to this", said a blonde person of the opposite persuasion, sitting down and putting his hand on Trixies thigh. ‘Monster seen near Hotel Grimwold'. He read ‘A bizarre creature dragging a tailor’s dummy swathed in rags and bandages and holding an awfully symbolic Transylvanian bible was seen by a terrified housewife last night as she put out the cat. The hunchbacked creature was seen walking crab-fashion and reportedly cursing under its breath - Said Frau Stein.' It reeked of something, likely molten pitch, but possibly even rum or brandy ...I shudder to think what obscenities it thought as it looked through the window as I undressed to go to bed. Fortunately, I was not alone.' Frau Stein will sleep more secure tonight with her husband’s pistol under her pillow. Sadly, the cat was reported to have later been found strangled, Could this be an awful warning?'

"Have you met Henri?" Said Trixie, suddenly needing to feel ever so casual. Well, anyone would, if Henri’s hand was exploring their inner thigh, wouldn't they!

Finally, after Trixie and Henri had disappeared for a 'Few Minutes' while she 'Refreshed her Makeup' I actually put my butt onto the seat of the chairlift, and managed to get to the top of the first slope that I was prepared to risk my all on. Battered though it was. My all, that is.

The nursery slopes were soft and slow; quite nice to warm-up on.

Far off I saw yesterday’s (yesterday, it seemed years ago!) Romeo, the redoubtable Maria-Rudolf chatting-up a hapless maiden or two. Well, so long as he was out of eyeshot, the better!

Then on to the higher, faster slopes.

Blast! On the fastest slopes they had posted danger notices; apparently there was a danger of snow avalanches because of deep drifted snow.

Well, we missed that one out.

And then, in the distance I saw a great moving wall of powder. It took a few seconds for the deep hissing rumbling rustle of the movement to reach me.

Strewth! That was an Avalanche.

That’s all fer now.*

* Writers Cramp

Foreign Parts

Part the Tenth

Hello again.

Well, Dear Diary, we had a perfect day, skied from peak to peak and slope to slope, the sun hot and the surface snow beginning to turn to ice; a perfect mingling of sensations, ice to burning sun heat.

Well, that’s one of the attractions of

Finally, not many days later, in fact, exhausted by my exertions, creaking in every limb, apart from tennis elbow (which is next): and writer’s cramp from scribbling in my diary - all of a sudden it was time to go.

I was so tired that I hardly had the energy to stagger down the stairs into the lobby. I noticed that the Carpet was ruined. By Water apparently. Disgraceful. These Foreign Hotels.

Anyway. We wended our merry way back to the hotel and my lovely brown-eyed man was making passionate speeches to me when who should come bye but Norm, this time be-wheeled, with his leg all in plaster.

"Want to sign it?" said Norm, all cocky. You know, heroic like.

"Why, what happened?" I yawned, needed a rest, needed to get home and sleep you see.

"Gosh, you'll never believe this", he said, launching off, "But the other day I was skiing along just minding me own business -when what should happen but this sheila with no knickers on comes by like a blue-arsed fly, at about three thousand klicks, flies in the air, does an Immelmann Triple Salko with her hands over her face, mark you (wunnerful) broke the horn barrier both on the way up and the way down.”

“Honest?”

“Honest!”

“No distinguishing marks?”

“Only a bright blue arse.”

“Go on…”

“Well, there I am, transfixed by so much beauty hovering above me - that I crash into a rock, do a triple somersault, smash through a collection of rare Amazonian palms, someone’s one and only original antique Morris Minor kaa, and end up in the middle of the high street with me leg broke!

Ha Ha! But it was worth every little bit!... Anyway - thank God for Insurance!"

I didn’t say anything.

I mean, what would you have said?

©Copyright Suzi Meyer 2005

©Copyright Olympia Press 2006

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