tororo

For complying with a request by ratsonjulia, now a serial (at least the pilot of it)

DAUGHTERS OF BASTET

For years she had not given any news. I had not forgotten her utter disdain for ordinary means of communication, and a letter from her was the last thing I was awaiting - not to say a postal package. I checked for the third time: no doubt, it was her name on the tag. I raised eyes. The postman was still here. I raised eyes higher only to realize he was staring at me with some insistence. I felt the urge to check the tag once more, more carefully than ever. Was he waiting for a tip? How much are you supposed to tip a seven-foot high native american postman, complete with that distinctive inscrutable gaze they have in movies? As I kept counting the letters in the "sender's name" box: K, R, I, S, T, I, blank, Y... he stretched a paper. Apparently all he needed was a signature. He did some "harrumph" sound before disappearing. I was still wondering if it would have been polite to produce a similar sound in response when I perceived another sound, behind me, a small scratching sound.

To be continued....