It’s more than eight years ago: Ila and I were waiting for the bus, on a Saturday afternoon, somewhere towards the exit of the city. That was our first proper encounter with the British rain. We had miscalculated the bus’s timetable: another half an hour or so to wait.
The drops felt like perforating the skull… Nowhere to hide, apart from under a tall tree, by the church fence, where the bus stop was… The rain still got through to us…
A graveyard surrounded the church. The church doors locked, no one in the graveyard, no one on the road, no one at the bus stop, no one in front or around the houses across.
Feeling absolutely miserable. Also holding some shopping bags: some of them paper bags, which had already started to melt.
I remember myself swearing at the elements to make them stop.
Not sure if I only thought this or I indeed said it loudly: ‘If only we had an umbrella!’
Strangely, Ila and I turned our heads towards the graveyard at the same time. From somewhere in the graveyard, the wind was blowing a black opened umbrella towards us.
I don’t remember feeling amazed, shocked, surprised or happy!
I felt sheltered. That’s how I felt.
I don’t know how that umbrella ended up there. Or how it managed to circumvent all the gravestones or flower vases.
When the bus finally came, we left the umbrella behind.