Live Encounters Poetry & Writing 16th Anniversary Volume Seven
November- December 2025
Quilting and Gossip, story by Dirk van Nouhuys.
Anne Fukuhara called her Best Female Friend Bridget Connors Saturday morning after she returned from her trip with Dennis Forbes to make sure they could quilt the following Monday. When she entered Bridget’s house without knocking, as she often did, Bridget was not working but studying a magazine showing designs. Bridget did not follow printed patterns but used them as a basis the way an experienced cook reads recipes but makes their own dish.
Bridget held up a picture that seemed a brightly colored chaos from an article titled Experimental Quilting.
“What do you think?”
Anne shook her head and said, “Not for me.” They continued for a few minutes looking through pictures in the magazine. Bridget agreed that the bright quilt should have some hidden structure to sustain it. The quilt Anne liked best was made of irregular rectangles of different cream and beige colors and the quilter had found a piece of cloth thickly worked with vines and flowers and cut and worked it so on the quilt it appeared as a single spray extending from low on one side to nearer the top on the other side.
“How was your weekend?” Anne asked.
“OK. I went with Mark to a concert.”
“How was it?”
OK. Mark is OK. He likes me. He knows how to give me a good time.”
“How far does that go?”
“I’m really not sure. How was yours?”
“I showed Dennis Forbes where we were interred while he was living in our orchard.”
“Shit yes. I forgot you were going to do that. How did he take it?
“He took it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s almost all gone now. Where I grew up from seven till twelve. It’s a stretch of rocky ground and ghost foundations.”
“Why did you go back?”
“To show him our story.”
“Did it work?”
“Even the fences are gone. Our gardens. The fields where our parents grew our crops, our apples. I couldn’t tell which foundation was ours, which one was where I went to school with my friends. One building’s left run by the Park Service and it was closed. Do they think it was a park? I could still find the grave yard. I got emotional. I cried and cowered. I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“What would my father do if he saw us there?”
“He’s never gone back?”
“Never, never.”
“What did Forbes do?”
“He helped me to my feet.”
Bridget had just begun working on something with pieces cut like a soccer ball with pentagons set in hexagons, the hexagons white, and the pentagons bright colors. She lifted the seven pieces she had stitched and asked Anne, “You see, the problem is the edge. How do I make it whole?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” Bridget smoothed the fragment she had made and ran her finger around the irregular edge.
“He asked about the monument there.”
“What kind of monument?”
“It’s an obelisk. Well, a small one. It has a saying written on it in Japanese.”
“What does it say?”
“I never learned to read Japanese.” She cast down her eyes.
“But you know what it says.”
“Tower that comforts the soul.” He asked me and I told him. Then I hid from him. I mean we were out in the open, but I walked away. When I returned he understood. I asked him what his father had done with our land. But his father is dead. He sold it for a lot of money.”
“Did you ask him if he could make amends?”
“I asked him how much it was.”
“Did he know?”
“He said, $6,000 dollars then. He learned that from a title search. So you see he has taken it to heart. That would be about $15,000 now.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I do. We went onto the hot springs I told you about. I soaked a long time in the warm water while he swam laps. When we were children, and I was watching him for our moms, I was older but it doesn’t matter now.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s a good looking guy now.”
“Did you learn more?”
“No. I let him off. We talked about books. Then we went to a motel in Bishop I had picked out. A teenaged girl checked us in.“
“Separate rooms I take it.”
“She took a long time to answer the bell and was straightening her clothes when she came out of a back room. I think she had been making it with her boyfriend. Then we had dinner in a café she recommended.”
“How was that?”
“He asked about my ex-husband; so I told him.”
“How did that happen?”
“He asks a lot of questions. Questions are like coins for him that he shoves into the conversation machine.”
“But you answered.”
“I wanted him to know who he was dealing with. I asked him what he would say to my father.”
“What did he say?”
Anne shook her head. “He said he didn’t know. Well, that’s an honest answer.”
“What would your father say to him.”
“If he came with money in his hand, or something like that, he would be cordial. Otherwise the cold warrior stare. I wanted to hug him.”
“Did you?”
Anne shook her head. “I was afraid. All night long I was afraid.”
“Are you afraid of him.”
“Not now. We have a date next Friday.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?”
“I think so.
“What are you afraid of?”
“How am I to be myself?”
“How close were you on that trip.”
“I already miss our conversations.”
“Is this a romance?” Bridget asked.
“No, something else. A romance is about the future. We live where the past and future mix.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s very much about the moment,” Bridget mused.
“We drove on through gorgeous canyons up to the Sonora pass.”
“What’s that?”
“It over 9000 feet. In history people ate one another when they were trapped there.”
“Are you sure that’s not ‘Donner Pass’ — I remember it was called ‘The Donner party’.”
“I’m not sure. Do you think there could be foxes up there?”
“Foxes?”
“Yes, I thought I smelled foxes around the view point. There were foxes sometimes in our orchard. I smelled them at night when I was as a little girl. It was scary. In Japan fox spirits, like, they are scary nature spirits. At night they carry torches to their weddings. Seeing their dancing lights is a good omen, but they take revenge on uninvited guests.”
“Revenge?”
“I think they can steal your soul. They are shape changers. Sometimes they take human form and marry men or women and it’s a good omen.”
“Is he a fox?” Bridget asked.
“Am I a fox?” Anne answered.
© Dirk van Nouhuys
Dirk van Nouhuys is an American writer, journalist, minor Silicon valley pioneer, and editor known for his work in fiction and non-fiction. His work spans various genres, including novels, short stories, essays, poetry, manuals, and technical documentation. He has contributed something over 100 times to literary magazines and journals. Van Nouhuys’ writing often explores complex characters and intricate narratives, reflecting his interest in the human condition and societal issues..You can learn more about him from his web page https://www.wandd.com/ including a complete list of publications.