Chapter 2

Written by: Anna Zhigareva

The days merged into weeks, the weeks into months. For a while, Sue had the disturbing thought that something had happened to Wilson. Every day she checked all her letters twice through, every day ending with disappointment. She didn’t know Sandra’s brother, but she worried. Had something truly happened to the devoted writer whose letters she secretly read?

But as time passed, Sue realised perhaps Wilson was someplace exotic, someplace wild and free, where paper and pen didn’t mean much, where the breeze could take your mind away and let you fly through the day on a whiff of sea smells.

Some days into the warmth of November, Sue was standing at the kitchen bench, chicken soup cooking in a pot on the stove as she stared out at the splashing waves far beyond. The soup smelt of distinct Indonesian spices. Nirmala had taught her well. Nirmala was one of the few people Sue had made good friends with at the school, and the only person she had told about the letters. As Sue was raising a spoon to her lips, the letter flap in her door rattled as something small was pushed through. As it landed lightly on the floor, Nirmala, who had been seated lazily on the sofa in Sue’s living room, bounced up and jogged over to the door to pick up the delivery.

“Sue,” Nirmala’s voice shook with excitement as Sue turned around, the spoon still halfway to her mouth. “It’s a letter.” Her eyes danced. “From Wilson.”

***

“Dearest sister,

What a journey I have had in the past eight weeks. I traversed the continent by flying from India to Russia and from there to the UK. Russia is a marvel, Sandra, a marvel! The culture, somewhat lost amid the modernisations of the twenty-first century, can still be found on the edges of society. Which is where I spent the majority of the last two months.

I’m sorry for not writing, but the autumn – which very quickly turned into a freezing, snowy winter with its own charms – and the utter freedom of the stunning Sibirsk country completely took me away from the hassle of city life, from communication with the outer world, from everything, and brought me to the hum and harmony of nature and sweet people.

They do drink, Sandra, but I won’t have you worry. They’re not the drunken troublemakers many have pictured in their narrow-minded heads. They’re good people, they are. I wish you could have been there, Sandra. I miss you.

Perhaps you’ll reconsider and see me one of these days.

Alas, I must go and join the party brewing outside my Edinburgh hotel this very moment.

I love you, my sweet Sandra.

Yours,

Wilson”

***

“Sue.”

“Hmm?” Sue looked up from the letter, feeling slightly dazed. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was Wilson’s writing style, maybe the soup had made her sleepy, but she suddenly felt very tired.

“You’ve got to find this Sandra. And lead her to Wilson.”

Comments

This has a very clever twist. This serial promises to be as successful as Wait Til I Tell You.
A great read Anna!!! Nicely Penned. Vivid writing: the description of soup brewing and aromatic Indonesian spices. Sandra is Wilson's sister... I hope all authors know that. And the deviation of not putting the story within the story everytime is also good.
Loved the chapter Anna!! What a wonderful way to bring Sue's life into perspective. Instead of just penning one travel log after another, you have given the serial a novel like twist and feel. I love the way you use words to paint a verbal picture. Great job!