Free writing loosens the pen and disinhibits our censoring mind. 500 words at a gallop give our imagination the opportunity to wander ‘away’- rather like Kezia in Mansfield’s brilliant New Zealand short stories: Prelude, At The Bay and ‘The Doll’s House’. I do wonder what KMansfield would make of the possible rediscovery of Nefertiti!
Cameron had only stolen two things in his life and both involved women. The first was a song. Or more accurately a song on an album memorably inscribed by a friend who lent it to him in a moment of hash caked euphoria.
“No one should go through life without hearing Aretha singing ‘I say a little prayer.” The song was perfect. So was the necklace. Cameron lifted his shoulders and started to hum the words of the song, as he remembered the second thing he stole. It travelled with him at all times and reminded him of his strange childhood spent frequently in the company of his Aunt Nina, who descended on home whenever his mother took off in pursuit of her latest love. Nina didn’t care much for romantic love. She told him to remain aloof.” Love tampers with your destiny Cameron. You lose your way. “Nina painted things inside out. She used charcoal and oils to find souls. She painted him once and declared it one of her finest creations. Nina playfully referred to the portrait as her pension and Cameron was thrilled; his lifelong shyness assuaged by the arresting face that Nina assured him was his quite his own.
However, when three years later, Nina announced she was relocating to New York with her dog walker lover, Cameron felt so outraged that he stole his portrait in recompense. Nina accepted her nephew’s action philosophically. She would draw and paint some more in New York, believing regret a manifestation of an inferior mind.
The portrait revealed to Cameron his secret, invincible self. It sustained him when he felt disappointed. Love had eluded him. Ordinary women cheapened language with their falsities. The third whisper had asked for his heart, well he would give it. Decision made, Cameron wandered apparently aimlessly back to his tent, mentally beckoning the whispers to accompany him. “My heart needs you “he told the whispers that were now all giddy in his head. Their giddiness ceased abruptly as another presence joined them, this presence spoke with a different tone, in a voice that did not expect to be disobeyed.
” Leave Miranda to me “said a voice who was not a whisper.” I do not countenance betrayal. “‘’Thankyou’’ said Cameron and he knelt down on the floor of the tent. ‘Now please accept my heart’’ and he brought out a small charcoal portrait from his trunk.
The world seemed to hush.
‘’Akhatem has been reborn.’’ Said the new voice in wonder.
Cameron sensed a swirling scent of myrrh about his face and slender searching fingers following the sweeping lines of his eyebrows. Then the tender touch of his mouth with honeyed lips as he lost his Cameron to Akhatem, the most loyal servant to Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile.
