Sarah was knitting furiously.
She knitted furiously in the bus that was taking her too slowly to the hospital, forcing people to stay away from her with her unintentional rib-poking, she knitted while she ran, shouting 'I'm in a hurry!' to an old man who wanted to congratulate her for doing handcrafts and talk to her about fine arts, she knitted in the corridors and sat nervously by Salome. And then, she had to stop.
Martin, on all fours, was rubbing his face and hands against the yarn while purring blissfully.
'It soft... Rmmmhhh' he said, toying with the fluffy yarn.
'Martin, let that go, I must knit' Sarah told him.
He glared at her and bared his teeth. An astounded Sarah saw a disquieting gleam in his eyes. She suddenly understood the meaning of his behaviour and his outfit (a pink suit and a sequinned scarf. Even the nurses could barely help laughing.) He too was under Barbara's evil spell, and she was using him as a watch feline, to protect herself...
Moved by an irrepressible impulse, Sarah stood up. She felt a colossal strength welling up in her, a sparkling energy. She suddenly became a thousand women: the soul of late knitters, of the first crafstwomen, came to her help.
'You cannot do this ! You shall not, for it is sacrilegious!' she bellowed, brandishing her two needles, arms outstreched, as if they were two antennae linking her to heavenly powers.
'Knitting is constructing', she went on 'knitting is enjoying the yarn, true, but the soul shall not revel in mere enjoyment!' For it would be a waste of the soul!' The soul must engage itself in creation, it must strive ceaselessly, be endlessly patient and accomplish a labour of love!' Stitch after stitch after stitch!'
Immemorial knitters echoed in her voice: 'Stitch after stitch after stitch…'
'Knitting makes you learn about life…' she went on, sitting again to knit at a renewed and supernatural speed, while Martin, vanquished, sat on the floor and proceeded to lick the back of his hand as if it were his paw.
* * *
In the nightclub, Salome refused to move, shivering with fear. Barbara had gestured to her. She was holding a glass filled with a purple liquid.
Suddenly, the floor slid under her feet and she was facing her enemy.
'Don't be so shy' Barbara told her. 'You'll always be stuck-up. Drink this...'
* * *
Sarah, with the support of the knitters' souls, knitted and knitted so hard she entered a trance. She left her body, flew towards the ceiling, saw herself knitting for a second, then...
The hospital bedroom disappeared. She heard loud music. Sarah was in the nightclub.
A half-naked hunk started dancing suggestively in front of her. She pushed him aside firmly and found what she was looking for.
* * *
Salome yelled 'I won't drink your filthy drink!' but she felt her will weaken.
Suddenly, someone spilled the drink and knocked Barbara, who fell and broke one of her high heels.
'Leave my daughter alone, you murderer ! Go f*** yourself !' Stupid c***!' Sarah shouted.
Yes, among all the knitters' souls that were supporting her, there were a good many souls belonging to sailor knitters.
'Mummy!' Salome ran into Sarah's arms, and she was again, for a moment, the little girl she once was. Sarah could have cried with joy.
'My work isn't done yet... sweetie...' she said as she vanished in spite of herself.
* * *
Sarah regained consciousness in the hospital bedroom. She heard her daughter's difficult breathing, that kind of rattle she had since she had gone to sleep. She lowered her eyes on her knitting.
The scarf was almost done. She saw, at the core of a pink yarn nest, an ugly plastic doll, a sort of gnome. Without flinching, she took her needle and struck.
A black butterfly rose up and the doll disappeared with a cry. Salome's skin took on her soft appearance again.
But Ida wasn't here to lock up the butterfly, who flew out of the room, angry, then excited by the presence of all these sick people around...