SHE TOLD ME STORIES: A tribute and a love letter in whispers, teak and time

She told me stories,
Whispering so he wouldn’t hear us giggling
Over coffee and delicate biscuits
In a living room humming
With five decades of love.

He, the village rebel,
Wandering long-haired
And barefoot,
In a straightlaced Swiss German world.
Be a banker, not a baker.
Be a doctor, not a plumber —
Unless plumbing is your passion,
In which case you must turn it into an international empire.

An artist?
Gasp!
Close your eyes,
Clutch your chest, your diamonds and pearls,
Squeeze your signet rings.

Never in a million years, my dear!

But Papa, I love him, she said,
Not in the voice of a timid mouse
But in the voice of resolve —
Of the resilient woman she would become
By his side,
Taking care of business,
While he passion-poured himself
Into creating exclusive masterpieces
For a prestigious Italian casa of jewellery.

With effervescence,
She related last-minute adventures,
Flights in private jets
To places with legendary names,
Stories of delivering dazzling pieces
To the fabulous and famous.

She sigh-smiled at his love for handcrafted beauty,
For tending to their immaculate garden,
For restoring antique cars and boats.
She told me with ill-concealed pride
Of the wooden boat he made her,
Polishing its teak body to a smooth patina.

She told me of sailing holidays
On their boat on Lac Léman.

She glowed, recounting his dedication to his family,
Of his love for her and for their two sons.

Yesterday, she told me
Of his contented smile,
The gentle sigh he gave,
Lying beside her
As he fell asleep forever,
Early one morning
Last week.

RIP Hermann Reible. You were a wonderful neighbour.