Rather a bugger that wee Purwokerto gal never getting back. Earlier in the day E. had proved unresponsive, perfunctory in her replies. The next few days she would be given a rest. One thought of course of Joyce’s Nora / Molly, rallying at the call when Jim was struggling with the absence. Didn’t P. from Purwo have one of those little faux-lace fronds beneath her scarf, sitting across the top of her forehead, black with a pattern of perforations along the lower edge? It was rather like the doilies Bab had used at home for narrow shelves and occasional tables, seating smaller figurines & vases. The straight rear sat flush against the wall behind and out front the little half circle enclosed the particular item. Should the invitation be accepted by the lady—mother of three young children; husband for whom she could never do anything right—assurances would be offered, any sign of alarm assuaged. Soft pedal; no fear anything untoward. However the occasion might unfold, whatever the toils developed, the scarf and that piece of stretched fabric would be left completely undisturbed. With the six hour time difference the exchanges were tricky. Once or twice in the last few weeks the gal had messaged well after midnight. Given the short half-day free, likely the Sunday would be working. Still, possibly an opportunity might be found. How a lass like that would respond to a photo request couldn’t be guessed. Outside chance a sly wink would be ventured, some hint or sign. Porn had penetrated a good number of the innocents even in the kampungs now. We awaited further. Worst might be a pose before one of the plastic vines out front a mall. The Kaaba for her WhatsApp thumbnail didn’t augur well; but you never can tell.
Herceg Novi, Montenegro
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