Episode 4

'When she deigns talking to me, she's pulling a face...'

'And the way she dresses... Sometimes I put my foot down, but you can never be sure, she might be changing her clothes in the school bathrooms like I did at her age!'

'And that music she listens to…'

Sarah, Paule, Catherine and Ludmila, four colleagues, were talking about their teenage daughters before getting to work: they all put on a disgusted air, from the mother of a staunch girls' bands fan to the mother of a gothic kid.

'That must be so hard for you,' Annie, a woman looking so blissful it was suspicious, chimed in. 'I'm so glad I don't have these problems with my elder. She's going to university next year, at only sixteen, just like her mother.'

'Her son is on drugs' Paule whispered in Sarah's ear. Sarah suppressed her smile. 'He smokes weed and he's only twelve.'

'What kills me is that my little Salome used to have personality, she was unique, my own little girl' Sarah said. 'Now she looks like everybody.'

The others looked at her with compassion.

'And don't you ever feel that your daughter's turning into, like... plastic?'

She was suddenly stared at.

*    *    *

This afternoon, Salome came home with cold sweat. She had to end this once and for all. She rushed into her room and had to lean on the door frame. The skein had disappeared. She closed her eyes, scared, panicking.

'I'm so much smarter than you are. Who do you think you are? You can't escape from me so easily.'

Barbara was sneering at her. She had to be strong and get rid of her. At the beginning, following her directions was like a game and she did have fun with her new friends who wore very colourful clothes and spoke very loudly. Sometimes, she felt out of place, unfaithful to herself, for instance when she laughed at her former friends before those two weeks, or when they were talking about cute blokes (but the embarrassment  she felt might not be entirely due to Barbara's influence). Sometimes, instead of going to beauty shops for a whole afternoon, she'd feel like reading books, or going to the cinema to see arthouse movies. There must be some boys who liked arthouse movies. Weren't there? Anyway, Barbara could not be always right when she told her what to do to attract them. And since a few days, she felt strange, as if she were… dead inside. She did not recognise her own skin and she felt that she was sporting, without using self-tan, an orange glow. She was emptying herself out – she used to have so many dreams, desires, projects… suddenly she pictured herself dead at thirteen and screamed.

*    *    *

At this moment, Martin, who was having a session with a patient having unusual fits of laughter, jumped off his seat when he heard his daughter. He apologised briefly to his patient and went to see Salome.

'Darling, what's wrong?'

When she saw him, Salome screamed again. He had changed into bright red smooth velvet pants and a pink mohair sweater. So Barbara, trying to protect herself, had taken possession of his soul too… how could they get out of this situation?

'Dad, you have to allow me some personal space' she said, sobbing.

Martin, vanquished, blurted: 'I'll see you again after my session' and went back to his patient. As soon as he came in his office, his patient started laughing and Martin suddenly understood why.

'Oh, stop it', he said, unnerved. 'I can dress the way I want, I am in a good mood and pink is always flattering for any complexion. At least, I'm not suffering from obsessive conformism preventing me from fulfilling my desires, even though it wouldn't be that complicated to try and stop worrying about what people think of me for a while.'

Which shut the patient's trap.

*    *    *

That night, as she was going home, Sarah did not know that she was going to find her house in a state of chaos. She was merely concentrating on her knitting, her nice black-and-white scarf, one knit, one purl and pass the yarn, her small time for herself, her small moment of quiet, her own bubble in the underground. She could not help noticing, opposite her, a woman wearing a red mohair shawl. She raised her eyes and found herself facing her morning co-traveller.

'You can't have completed it today? You only had the tail of that shawl on your needles this morning…'

'Work that's begun in the morning is ended in the evening, the other one never stops, gotta keep up with her' the woman replied amicably.

Sarah feared suddenly that this woman was a lunatic living, say, with her twin sister in a derelict house where they both did knitting swiftness contests after a life of unpaid labour dressing their whole family with their own little fingers. Things were really bad before feminism.

'I'm not a slave', the woman said, as if she had read in her thoughts. 'I'm your only chance!'

Episode 5

She could feel the ground vibrating to the deafening music. She didn't know how she had wound up in this party, under a summer sky, with all those happy people dressed with sequins. But she was both happy and sad. Someone took her by the hand and pulled her, against her will, to the centre of the dancefloor.

     At that moment, a group of dancers started to perform a choreography that she had to follow.

*    *    *

     Sarah was coming home briskly. After what the madwoman with the shawl had told her, she had stood up and walked towards the wagon door, shoving two or three people in the process, and she had to wait to get out, during two painful minutes, stuck between a lady with a rock-hard belief that perfume should be put on every hour and a gentleman who lived by healthy, organic principles: no deodorant, lots of physical exercise in a stout work day. Someone had filled in her seat immediately, a guy who had stared at the madwoman until she told him: 'It's amazing how people's eyes in the metro reminds me of oxen.' When he had plunged back in his sci-fi novel, she had gone on with a dreamy voice: 'Although my favourite ox, which I had called James, had those sharp and, at the same time, soft eyes.'

     So Sarah was coming home and she felt aggravated. She was glad that Martin would be here… since Salome, in all probability, would be locked in her room, singing loudly and out of key over those terrible new songs she loved.

     When she opened the door, a man in red and hairy pink shouted at her: 'Darling!' It took her a while to recognize the man she had married.

'What are you doing dressed like this?' She blurted.

'It's Salome! Come and see her! I've already called the doctor!'

     Sarah followed Martin, who looked dark and stern, in spite of his complexion, lit by his pink mohair sweater. Martin opened the door for her and showed her her darling daughter, lying on the bed.

     Her eyes were closed, her breathing was faint. Fine beads of sweat shone on her skin. Her orange, thickened skin, her plastic skin.

Episode 6

Sarah was doing the cleaning.

Her daughter was going through endless tests at the hospital, yet nothing was found to explain her condition. She seemed to be sleeping, in a state of REM sleep. Her brain activity demonstrated that she was dreaming.

So Sarah had taken a few days off and was presently cleaning the whole place from the floor to the ceiling, just to avoid thinking too much. She and Martin stayed by Salomé constantly, taking turns. She had come home with that idea of cleaning for a few hours, before coming back to the hospital.

She had gloves on, her back started to ache and she felt like sneezing because of chemicals; she realised she had not done Martin's office yet.

She rarely went into that room.

When she opened the door she noticed that something had changed. It felt a bit like a smell, but it wasn't, it just was… an atmosphere.

The room's quiet, understated and welcoming atmosphere had become more exuberant, with a hint of aggressiveness. Yet nothing had changed in the furniture.

Puzzled, she scanned the room and saw the skein on one of the bookshelves. She took it with a cry of surprise. How had it found its way there? She squeezed it in her hands, ignoring that unpleasant feeling of having received an electric shock, what with those fuzzy yarns, probably sheared from the back of a filthy goat, you should be prepared for everything, and she got ready to bring it back to the shop. Here was a welcome distraction, perhaps even better than cleaning.

*    *    *

Meanwhile, Salome dreamt that she was dancing. It was all very tiring, but every time she thought about leaving the party, something new caught her attention, stroboscopes, music, beautiful boys eyeing her…  She recognised a familiar silhouette at the bar.

*    *    *

At the top of the street, the small yarn store was already lit. The owner was knitting peacefully a pair of lace mittens. When Sarah came in, she looked at her closely. Grey complexion, worried look. Something must have not gone according to plan.

'I've come to bring you back this skein' Sarah said. 'You put it in my bag by mistake about three weeks ago.'

'It wasn't a mistake' the owner replied, 'it was a discovery offer.'

Sarah stared at her.

'I like to make pretty surprises to my faithful clients,' the owner explained, 'small things to make them forget their habits for a while, make them discover a new universe… for instance, I converted one of my fine hook experts to knitting with bulky yarns, now she won't do anything but Aran… I immediately thought you needed some pink.'

Feeling a bit uneasy, Sarah replied nothing.

'But because I like you, I've made you a special gift…' she leaned towards Sarah. 'This skein is magical!'

'What?'

'I'm not just saying that because it's very cute,' said the owner, stroking the skein, which twitched slightly as a response. 'I'm saying it because all our mohair skeins are bewitched when they're spun.' These are the advantages of hand-spinning. In order to seal the spell, the skein is then dyed in a very precise colour. Pink will bring you elation, a desire to attract and lightness. You did notice that your family is more fanciful, didn't you?' That last question was asked without much confidence. Usually, the spell always worked.

'Look, everything's gone wrong now.' Sarah told her. My daughter has changed a lot these last days, she's become more… fanciful, as you say, but not in a good way… she's moved away from us and now she's been sleeping for three days and no one knows what's wrong with her and her skin looks like plastic…'

The owner looked panicked.

'Like plastic? And she's in coma?'

'No… she's been sleeping and dreaming. Since three days.'

The owner felt guilty. How could things go so wrong? Did…

She called someone in the rear shop.

'Ida! Come, please! She's back!'

The rear shop door opened. The woman with the red shawl entered.

'Haven't I told you long enough, Annette.' She simply said. 'Come with me, madam, there's time yet.'

Episode 7

Annette had closed her shop. She now sat, looking as contrite as a scolded child, between Ida and Sarah, in the rear-shop. On the table, under the light, the pink skein glowed with false innocence.

Ida extended her hand towards Annette. She gave her a pair of antique-looking crocheted gloves. Ida put them on and, very quickly, squeezed the skein as hard as she could. They heard an aggressive growl. Ida opened her hand as if it were burnt. A stupefied Sarah watched the skein fall back on the table.

'There can't be any more doubt. See, Annette.'

'I'd have never thought she could do something like this' Annette blurted.

'That is because you are much too nice. One would think you were born yesterday, sometimes you're just like a baby smiling at people thinking they're all as nice as daddy and mummy. And you see what happened?'

'But she's our sister!'

Sarah was startled.

'What! What is all this about?'

Annette gave Ida a quick look. Ida had leaned back in her chair.

'First, we have to tell you who we are. Do you know about the Moirae?'

'Yes. And?'

'In Greek mythology (Ida winced when she had to say that word), the Moirae are three women. Three sisters holding human destinies in their hands. The first one spins, and each thread is a human life, the second one measures the thread, and the third one...'

'The third one cuts the thread and they die. So?'

'So… it's not only a legend.'

Sarah did not understand and stared at her.

'The three Moirae have actually existed and they still exist. Gods are immortal… even when they aren't worshipped anymore. They just get by, and pretend they're humans.'

'Zeus is a CEO now' Annette said amicably.

'And Hermes deals in Internet access offers' Ida added. 'Athena's in politics. Yes, we've all… found an occupation.'

'Even Hera' Annette grumbled.

Ida ignored her deliberately, since Hera, who had guides to good manners published under her name, when really they were written by her 'assistant', sort of put the whole pantheon to shame.

'Well,' she said, 'we are the three Moirae. We don't preside over men's destinies anymore, of course, but we can... give our two cents. As you've seen with this skein, which, unfortunately, did not have the expected effect.'

'I am the spinner, the youngest of the three' Annette said.

'I am the measurer, the middle sister, but undoubtedly the more mature' Ida said.

What about the elder…?'

'The elder is in there' Ida said angrily, showing the skein. 'Our elder sister was very upset about losing her power over men's fates. So, at first, she only did small deeds, she used to stifle animals, then we put a spell on her so that all animals would run away when she came near them, and then she went back to human beings.'

'She'd perform little experiments over them, sometimes only to make them sick. She particularly liked to see them lose their vitality.'

'She played at turning people into vegetables…'

'She played at puncturing holes in their brain...'

'Before that, she'd played at having buboes covering their whole bodies...'

'And her latest find was to turn people into plastic. First, their skin would change, then, they'd fall asleep, then they'd fall into a coma, and finally...'

Sarah did not want to hear the rest.

'How long does my daughter have...?'

Annette and Ida looked at each other. Annette finally forced herself to whisper:

'A few hours...'

Episode 8

'The solution is simple.' Ida had said. 'Simple, but not easy.'

'I have to go back to the hospital now. 'What do I have to do ?'

'You shouldn't go back to the hospital now. Let me explain. When we realised that Barbara had turned one of her victims into a plastic doll, Annette and I did the same to her... to teach her a lesson. But we didn't kill her.'

'We're not murderers' said Annette proudly.

'The three of us are immortal anyway. So, thanks to one of our spells, we've turned her into a doll and put her in the rear-shop, in the open and not into a glass jar as I wished, because someone didn't want to keep her in confinement.'

Sarah glanced at Annette, who visibly refused to feel guilty about it.

'We've noticed that she managed to move about. She didn't move much: from one shelf to another, once to the left, another time, to the right... and one day, she disappeared.'

'And she may have fallen behind the shelves' Annette said stiffly.

'This is what someone said. Someone who's a little too nice. I, who know a bit more about life, have immediately thought that she was hiding in one of the bewitched skeins that Annette orders from Sleeping Beauty.'

'By Sleeping Beauty, you mean that... uh...' Sarah asked in a tired tone.

'What applies to former gods also applies to fairy tale characters' Ida explained patiently. 'But you can be reassured, the Sleeping Beauty has a safe spinning wheel now and she won't have another little work incident like the one she had.'

'These are the advantages of hand-spinning.' Annette chimed in, her eyes gleaming. 'You're not expecting it, and whoo! You've got a yarn spun by Sleeping Beauty!'

'My skein comes from the...' Sarah begun. 'Never mind, go on, you'll tell me about the rest later.'

'So, Barbara, under the shape of a plastic doll, is hiding at the centre of the pink mohair skein, which she controls. I've had my doubts very quickly and this is why I observed you, secretly at first, and then, trying to get your attention. So, here's the solution : take big needles, which Annette will give you, knit the whole skein, let me suggest you a garter-stitch scarf, and once the skein is over, leave enough yarn to bind off, you'll see Barbara, and you'll stick the other needle in her midsection! Her spirit will fly off the doll, I'll capture it and put it IN A GLASS JAR, which HAS TO BE DONE. Then your daughter will be safe. She'll wake up, in great shape, and she'll only have a distant memory of all this.'

Sarah stared at them.

Isn't there a simpler, or faster way?'

'It'll be fast with size 15 needles' Annette said innocently.

'You have to knit that skein. The benevolent spell was meant for you, and it will give you strength to take on your adversary. While you're knitting, keep your mind concentrated on the enemy you have to defeat: if you don't, and I know it's hard to believe, you might not be strong enough to strike Barbara.'

'She's full of tricks, you know. Very cunning.' Annette said with a glint of sisterly love in her eyes, before realising she shouldn't be so nice.

She went and picked big wooden needles, which she gave to Sarah with an encouraging smile.

'These look like stakes.' She said. 'Just like the ones for vampires, in a way?'

'In a way' Ida replied quietly.

Sarah took the needles, made a slip knot with the yarn, and started knitting.

After a few rows, she unexpectedly felt at peace and merry. She raised her eyes, met with Ida's and had a surprised smile.

'The skein spell is working on you' she observed with satisfaction. 'Go on, you'll need it.'

Sarah didn't like pink, nor mohair. Yet... when she felt the yarn's softness and warmth on her fingers... The colour had a little cheerful something... With her mind fully on her knitting, she was very happy to work with this yarn.

Yet, after a few minutes, she felt that something had changed in the room's atmosphere. A heavy sadness hung in the air. The yarn itself seemed to turn grey.

Do you know what is it you're holding? An imperceptible voice whispered to Sarah.

You're holding a deadly instrument...

Yes, and you're a sadistic torturer who wants to kill my daughter, Sarah thought.

Stop it, you're much worse than I am. You know what knitting needles are responsible for... you know what they did...

And what's that? Sarah told herself, determined not to give in.

All those things... before women's rights...

Suddenly, Sarah saw in her mind's eye images of blood, flesh and membranes torn by clumsily handled knitting needles. She smelled all this, heard the screams, felt the shame, the pain that lingered for days and weeks, the fever. Nothing was more inconspicuous than a knitting needle... no weapon easier to hide, a surgical device that wasn't one, evidence displayed for all eyes to see, yet unseen...

This is all over now...

This is over in this country, but there'll always be a place in the world where women won't have any other choice than to use... their knitting needles...

And then, the voice went one, yet before that, there were the knitters of the guillotine...

Sarah felt that she was taken back to the time of the French Revolution, on an overcrowded square. She was knitting on four tiny dpns, which looked like a prehistoric weapon, and she was filled with boundless rage. When she saw the tumbril that carried the death convicts, she started singing in a loud voice, with all her peers, Ah ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, les aristocrates à la lanterne... and only stopped when the first cut head rolled in the basket, and screamed with joy.

Needles have a history... How can you wish to pick those torture instruments... the voice hissed.

Sarah felt weak and discouraged. She wanted to lay her work down.

'Don't do that!' Ida screamed. 'She's trying to get at you! Don't leave your work in progress!'

She stood up.

'Knitting is like building, stitch after stitch, needles are not a deadly tool! It's the opposite! Knitting teaches you about life...'

She fell flat on her back. She had tried to go to Sarah, but one strand of the skein had sneakily knotted itself around her ankle.

'Just undo this knot and go' she told Sarah, who had gone to her, trying to help her. 'Annette'll help me. Go to the hospital, stay close to your daughter, don't stop knitting, whatever happens, I'll come later!'

Episode 9

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's 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...

Episode 10

Ida stood up with difficulty once Sarah was gone. Suddenly, someone made her trip up. She raised her head.

'Anneeette!'

Her sister was leaning over her, looking out of her senses.

'But I only wanted to help!'

'You always want to help! You always want to help everyone! But you're standing in my way!' Don't you understand no time can be wasted! Give me a jar!'

A trembling Annette, grabbed a blue jar on a shelf and let it drop clumsily. 

'Anneeette!'

Ida grabbed a red jar herself and ran off, really very quickly for a lady of her age.

'Let's go to the hospital!' She shouted. Then she uttered a mysterious magic formula, which came from the dawn of time, when the first legends came to life, as three spinning women first told themselves that the rhythm of their work seemed to echo the ebb and flow of human life itself:

'Boom boom boom!'

With that last sound, she broke the sound barrier and went past an astounded jogger, who suddenly considered his high-tech sports gear with suspicion.

She rushed in the hospital and dashed to the rooms before the nurse at the reception had time to offer her help.

In the corridor, she stopped. A big black butterfly that she knew well was flying around excitedly. She came to it, brandishing the jar, and imprisoned it in a cinch.

'Good. That was a good day' she concluded, while the butterfly's wings were fluttering furiously against the jar.

Then she went into the room to meet Sarah, Salome and Martin together again.

*    *    *

It was a beautiful winter evening. The brightly lit little yarn store displayed its stacks of vibrant or muted skeins. Ida and Annette sat opposite each other.

'And, once again, I never meant what I said and I think you are the best little sister in the world.'

'Do you think I'm lovely?'

'Yes, I do think you're absolutely lovely, you're adorable, you're a terrific little sister, I really am very, very lucky.'

'Right. Shall we play?'

'Let's play.'

'One... two... three!'

The two sisters started each to make a pair of socks, on five dpns.

'Let's only stop at the heel! Okie dokey?' said Annette, her cheeks tinged pink with excitement.

'Okie dokey!'

At that moment, Sarah and Salome came into the shop. The two sisters greeted them cheerfully, without dropping their needles.

'We came to thank you again... for the pink mohair skein, too: it really did do wonders. Everything is so much better since, we're all feeling happier at home, we laugh about everything!' '

'I told you so, lady!' Sleeping Beauty's spells always work! See, Ida, I was right!'

'Why, Annette, you're almost always right.' Ida replied patiently. 'I see that Salome is wearing the scarf?'

'We wear it in turns! She put it on today to go to the cinema.'

'There's a Fellini at the Latina!' said Salome enthusiastically.

'That's fantastic' said Ida affectionately.

'What are you doing?' Salome asked.

'A knitting speed contest!' Annette replied proudly. 'Each of us knits up a sock! And then, we'll make another contest, this time each of us will knit a fair-isle yoke sweater!'

Ida's smile tightened slightly and she looked at Sarah and Salome as if to tell them she had no choice.

When they left the shop, Sarah and Salome went separate ways. Sarah had to meet Martin at home, for a workshop on the concept of intimate space for a couple once the children were big enough to go and spend some time outside. Both of them had always liked the afternoon.

In the waiting line of the theatre, Salome noticed that the handsome boy from her Italian class was standing right before her. She felt embarrassed and spent her time in the line wondering if she should say hi, but, after she bought her ticket, he saw her.

'Hi' he said shyly.

'Hi' she said, her cheeks red hot with embarrassment.

'I wanted to tell you... your scarf is really nice.'

Her face lit up, and they went together into the dark room to watch Casanova.

At the bottom of the small yarn shop, there is an aquarium without water. This is where Annette insisted that Barbara be transferred. She is still fluttering her wings angrily, but Annette feeds her, and Ida comes to keep her company and moralise her, and there is no chance that she may escape ever again.

THE END