The Stone: Part Three.

by | Apr 10, 2024 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

…he immediately set about drawing lines on the sand, using a small stick

The human skeletons in hiking gear overtook the obliging couple and approached the stone. The man allowed his wife to touch it first, and was duly rewarded for his generosity. Like him, I saw the bag of bones transform into the most beautiful young woman, surpassing any I’d observed in Paris.

He quickly followed suit and the scene changed from a waiting room in a doctor’s surgery, to a nineteen thirties jazz club. From somewhere deep in the rocks, a band began to play. Saxophone, clarinet and the soft pumping of a trombone to keep the beat. The tune was Glen Miller’s In The Mood,  and boy, were they just!

They spun around the beach, throwing up divots of sand into the air. Their coordination and choreography would have gotten them a Ten From Len!

My overworked attention was then drawn to the final brace of oldies. Unlike their predecessors, they were both decked out in sportswear. The tracksuits hung from their emaciated frames like laundry on a clothes horse. The man humped an oversized sports bag over one shoulder and the both sported deep tans. Although subjected to the ravages of eighty plus years of ageing,  they both appeared reasonably fit and agile. My curiosity was working overtime. What could the magic rock possibly do for this pair? I was soon to find out as the man touched the stone. As his wife followed suit, he immediately set about drawing lines on the sand, using a small stick and bending without effort.

From my vantage point, I recognised his creation before it was complete; a tennis court. Relieved, I was glad their chosen activity didn’t have a sexual theme. From the sports bag, he took out two racquets and a tube containing three bright yellow balls. The man, who seemed to have filled out the joggers and top, handed one bat to his partner.

Bouncing one of the balls on the wet sand, the man proceeded to send an exocet of a serve to his partner. She crouched and bent low to her left effortlessly, taking the sting off the serve. She sent it spinning back with a deft move of the wrist, just clearing the imaginary net. The following scene was straight from the centre court at Wimbledon as the ball zipped back and forth in the most intense of rallies. The two amorous couples and the dancers turned their respective attention from each other to the ongoing point. Each shot was greeted with whoops and hollers from the youthful onlookers.

After what seemed like an age, the woman played a clever drop shot which seemed to land too far in front of her husband. Nevertheless, the man threw his whole body into the return, hitting the sand in a belly-flop.  He lobbed the ball over her head. In a feline-like leap, she was over the yellow projectile on its downward journey, sending it at warp speed between the knees of the man, who had jumped to his feet. He could only turn and watch lamely as the ball bounced out of sight into the sea.

The shot was followed by applause from the spectators, clothed vans otherwise. The four couples strode up the beach, where they were joined by the skinny-dippers carrying their clothes..

By the time I’d reached the car park, it was empty except for a young man who was letting his black labrador out of the boot of a beaten up Renault Clio. I approached the man and held out my hand to the dog, who sniffed it enthusiastically. I stroked its head and addressed its owner.

“Did you see anyone leave the car park?” I asked the man.

“No, it was empty when I arrived about five minutes ago. Nice car by the way,” he replied.

“Thank you. It’s my pride and joy,” I countered, hoping I’d got it right in French. He nodded and seemed to get it. The timing was wrong. They couldn’t have left that quickly, I thought. Reliving the last half hour or so, I decided I really needed a beer; car or no car. I fired up Shimmie and headed up the hill to the village.

When I arrived at the tiny square which housed a couple of commercial premises, including the small bar, I was astounded at what I discovered.


Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Receive an email notification for new posts