Lemons and Love

I picked up a whole pile of crazy the other day on my way to the village - an old woman who squeezed my cheeks, and when we got to her bus stop, refused to get out of my car without some cash from me, until a stranger came up, dragged her out, and apologised to me, without apparently being connected in any way to the woman.

But she's hijacked this story. This story is about a whole different woman, who was hitch-hiking on a particularly bad piece of road today. It was so bad, I was almost stopped anyway for fear of falling into a pothole camouflaged in a puddle, and disappearing entirely forever, so I wound down my window and said "Hello! Do you want a lift somewhere?" "Why yes," she said, "thank you ever so much." Well, okay, so I'm taking the liberties of an unlicensed and entirely unqualified translator here, but I'm sure I'm not entirely off the mark. She climbed into the passenger seat bearing the usual basket, handbag, stitched-up umbrella and long pointy stick, and she squeezed my cheek. Then she smiled, and took a deep breath. "Do you know what I was doing today? I was playing with unicorns! It was ever so much fun. That's why I'm so muddy, you see." She paused to show me a bit of her skirt that was, indeed, muddy. She touched my cheek. "I wish you had been there to see it," she said mournfully, "although I must say, I'm rather achy now." She groaned and touched her back, her arms and her head, moaning pitifully and yet still smiling. "Maaf," I said, I'm so sorry. Then she gave me lemons, and when I said, "Berapa?" she looked horrified and presumably said (still in Dusun), "Please do not dirty the memory of the unicorns with mention of money. These are a gift for you, my child." 

Ok, honestly, I have no idea what she said for twenty minutes. Except the achy part, I got that, and the mud. Also the gift of lemons. When I showed appreciation she took out two more and for the rest of the drive I sat with four lemons on my lap, her garden prizes sweetening the air until we reached her house. As she got out, she groaned again and I said "Maaf, maaf." She smiled, shook her head, and said goodbye.