Isabel’s Teddy Bear

– Will this be special enough, I wonder? – Isabel mused, looking at the design of a plush teddy bear. There was another week to go until Robert’s birthday, and this year she would like to surprise him with a truly personal gift. She didn’t want to waste her time navigating the endless sea of ostentatious gift shops, wandering among the fashionable displays of expensive yet pointless offerings.

– A home-made surprise is much more valuable than a shop-bought one – she thought.

Generally people only invest money into buying presents for those near and dear to them, not time. Most people simply walk into the first gift shop they stumble upon and pick up any attractive knick-knack from the shelf, as long as it’s expensive, because this creates the impression that it is also valuable, despite the fact that selecting it only used about ten minutes of their I-have-no-time lives. They settle the bill, paying the unspeakably shameless price, which both benefits the shopkeeper and allows them to relax in the knowledge that they have done their utmost by way of their peerless generosity. And when the time comes, they can hand over the present with a smug grin on their face, mindful that their dues have been taken care of for yet another year, thanking God that this has happened with next to no effort.

– How petty, how hypocritical! – Isabel grumbled.

As she studied the sewing pattern, featuring the little head and ears, she was overwhelmed by the desire to create something soft and gentle. She used to be a passionate collector of soft toys; her sofa, bed and shelves were populated by loveable bundles of fur. A single glance at them could dissipate the rain clouds gathering over the head of a sad or careworn Isabel. Back then, they lived together like a large family; all the toys had a name and personality of their own, and some were even able to talk.

– He will most probably like this, especially since it will be hand-stitched – Isabel persuaded herself, as happiness gradually filled her heart.

She came across this design a few months ago, on the colourful website of a soft-toy maker. She immediately fell in love with the ready-made teddy shown rolling about on the picture, with its button eyes, snub nose and leisurely spread-out soft paws. The teddy was made of brown fabric, and its neck was tied with a pink ribbon. Isabel was so carried away by it that she decided she’d try to make one just like it. She wasn’t put off by the lack of suitable tools or expertise. She decided to work with whatever she could find at home. She cut up faded T-shirts, old sponges and rags to make the stuffing, and used pearls for button eyes. Although the teddy didn’t really look like the original on the picture, Isabel didn’t mind, as she was pleased with her efforts regardless. She placed her new favourite on the windowsill and marvelled at it for a long time. She was very proud of herself for managing to put the teddy together without a sewing machine; her primary goal, after all, was to prove to herself that she could do it. She wasn’t too concerned, although one could tell that in places the sewing was a little loose. After all, the teddy wasn’t made for a small child who’d drag and throw it around by its tiny feet, and anyway it should be able to cope with some careful and restrained affection.

Now, a good few weeks after its birth, she finally scrutinized the teddy squinting in the window, taking in its mauve fur, awkwardly stitched eyes and oblique nose. Unevenly cut pieces of sponge protruded from its body, which made it look lopsided. Its limbs and head were overstuffed. Isabel was suddenly experiencing a sense of doubt, and she lost heart, realizing that her brilliant idea of sewing a plush teddy for her best friend’s birthday might not be viable after all. Perhaps she wasn’t experienced enough, and her manual skills not quite refined. This was a bigger challenge than creating the design; one needs to be more intrepid and more professional for this. Isabel would always raise the bar incredibly high, because she enjoyed jumping over it through sheer hard work.

– I can’t be satisfied with an average teddy. I need an amazing one this time! – she commanded herself.

– If I managed the first time round, I’ll manage again, and this time it will be much, much nicer.

She stepped over to the double-door white wardrobe and opened it wide. On the lower shelf there were bagfuls of leftover fabric squeezed in tightly: fur, velvet, lace, terry cloth. A long plastic box contained rolls of colourful ribbons. Next to it was a larger metal box, its lid decorated with prints of winter scenes. The shelf was also home to a few old medical jars filled with pearls, a large roll of thick black yarn – which couldn’t have fitted any of the boxes due to its size – and a small bottle of black ink. Isabel picked up the metal box and opened its round lid, under which was concealed threads and embroidery yarns in myriad shades: red, blue, orange, turquoise, purple, grey, green, white. A flat case contained rows of needles in various sizes, while in a glass jar pins with colourful heads were stabbing one another. Underneath the untidy rolls of yarn there lurked four pairs of press buttons and a tiny pair of scissors. Isabel idly dug into the small chest, making a tight roll of thread jiggle. Then she removed the ribbon box from the wardrobe as well: purple, green, yellow, red, brown, orange, claret. The shiny purple silk ribbon was her favourite. She took it into her hand and started to stroke it gently. It was so soft and slippery, like a pristine layer of mountain snow. Isabel shuddered at its touch, as she felt the warmth of her fingertips radiating back from the molecules of the ribbon. She decided that she’d embellish the teddy she was about to make with this ribbon, and she’d embroider a purple nose onto it as well. So she now had a design for the decoration, but what about the colour of the teddy itself? She thought of Robert and an earlier conversation between them, when she asked him about his favourite colours. Robert mentioned four colours: black, orange, blue and purple.

– Which of these would go best with the purple ribbon? – Isabel wondered.

– Black is too funereal and ordinary, blue is too airy, and purple would be too monotone if teamed with a ribbon of the same colour.

So she finally opted for the orange, since she found it a cheerful colour. She decided that she shouldn’t sew a present from some discarded rags, so as a first step she’d need to stock up.

– Let’s take a look at the list – she said, and produced a sheet of paper to make a note of what she’d need: fabric, thread, embroidery yarn, thimble.

– And stuffing, of course! – she remembered as she spotted the curly edge of a sponge peeping out of the wardrobe.

The haberdasher’s was about twenty blocks away from the second-floor flat that Isabel had been renting for the second year running from an elderly Swedish lady. The flat was listed on the register of inner-city apartments as part of a recently refurbished three-storey apartment house. Isabel enjoyed living in the two smart rooms, furnished in a modern style; however, she disliked the fact that both rooms had a pair of windows each facing the communal circular corridor, so that she was forced to live with the sight of the outlines of her neighbours hastily whizzing past the gap left between the drawn curtains. In addition to this, the flat was north-facing, so she couldn’t enjoy direct sunlight, which was also deplored by her disproportionately willowy and, at spring-time, often budless house plants. Yet she had no choice, and necessity had made her move here despite knowing – and this knowledge was paired with a slender hope for a more positive future – that this eighty square metre island decked out in wood flooring would not be the final stopping place of her life.

She had forged a close friendship with the black cat belonging to one of her ground-floor neighbours. The cat often paid surprise visits to Isabel’s windowsill packed with flower pots, where he would sit in her warm lap purring, eager for love; they would marvel at the leaves falling off the lonesome tree in the inner courtyard, or at night silently survey the veiled moonlight of the city. Robert had never ventured close to cats or other furry creatures, due to his severe allergy. This was to Isabel’s great regret, because as a result he couldn’t share in the peaceful and rare harmony that the stroking of a cat’s soft fur can trigger.

She had met Robert at university, on an outing with their year, a riverside trip. Isabel was instantly attracted to this tall, slightly rotund, cheerful guy, who was munching on his mayo sandwich with an endearing bear-like slowness, beside him his multi-pocketed and name-tagged backpack. Unobtrusive and unobserved, Isabel checked out the letters written on the tag: Robert Z. Lorrens.

– It has a nice ring to it – she thought.

Even this would already have been sufficient for her to be certain that she’d be connected to this guy through an everlasting bond of friendship. Without further ado, she took the initiative and asked him the time. Robert turned his head towards her slowly, as if he was unsure where the sound was coming from, a look of relief on his face when he noted that the sound was but the chirping of the slender and meek brown-haired girl sitting next to him.

– Just chirp if you need anything! – Robert winked at her before resuming his nibbling on his half-eaten sandwich. A secret ardour came to life in Isabel’s heart, and she felt convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that the two of them would become friends. She fished out a bag of chocolate biscuits from her bag.

– Peck peck! – she cried, handing the bag to Robert. He laughed, because he liked the girl’s complicity. From then on, Isabel chirped whenever she wanted to say something. This is how their friendship took off.

They discovered in no time that they had been living in the same student hall for over half a year, they both adored home-made redcurrant jam, their passion was Diablo video games, and that they were born on the same day, one year apart. They were true kindred spirits.

– I would always shed a tear whenever we had to part for the holidays – Isabel thought, feeling nostalgic as she trod the busy roads on her way to the haberdasher’s. Robert lived far from her, and the situation was made worse by Robert’s heart disease. On a few occasions, he had suddenly suffered a dangerous attack, and was forced to stay in hospital for months. His illness got less severe over the years, though Isabel, who loved Robert like her brother, couldn’t suppress the fear that her happy life could splinter at any minute as a result of this insidious illness, akin to the way an invisible root cracks open the solid pavement.

Isabel believed in the possibility of a pure and honest friendship between men and women, although she did weaken on one occasion and allow Robert to kiss her. This opportunity was repeated, and thereafter Isabel was long troubled by remorse. Robert was too dear to her, and she didn’t want such things as a false desire for love rooted in human selfishness to dismantle the precious bond between the two of them.

– This was so long ago – Isabel mused, looking at her image reflected in the spotlessly clean window of the textile shop.

Her face was but a tired and wrinkled copy of the rosy cheeks with which she had glanced at Robert on the day of their first encounter. The years kept running their unrepeatable laps, yet their friendship had lost none of its strength.

Robert had neither been over-sensitive nor a particularly sentimental man. He was more of a geek: he designed and wrote computer programs, and implemented ideas. He saw things in black and white. Isabel liked the unguarded directness with which he put across his views, and the fact that it was his conscientiousness that governed his goals. His sharp and suitably morbid sense of humour was always a pleasant way to spice up the long days spent immersed in the rat race. Robert was a genuinely realist soul, for whom life was an endless round of physical contact coloured by words here and there. He had a vast collection of model cars and fantasy play figures in his home, yet not a single soft toy. His high-specification computer was his most faithful companion.

– High time to add to this collection – Isabel chuckled.

In the fabric shop she was greeted by a stony-faced woman in a sporty jumper, her greasy hair tied into pigtails. It was obvious from her expression and intonation that she loathed her job as a salesperson, and what she loathed even more was the likes of Isabel, those who were unfamiliar with the world of sewing, and who would point at random items on display behind the counter or who would want to buy metres of fabric without having a clue about their proper name. Isabel gathered her strength to withstand the woman’s hostile gaze, and explained loudly and clearly that she was looking for some fabric suitable for making a plush teddy bear. The assistant listlessly went through the various materials on offer, but Isabel had to hesitate for an awkward moment because she had no idea about any of them, which is why she couldn’t quite choose from the selection.

So the assistant reluctantly emerged from behind the counter, and at breakneck speed showed Isabel the fabrics she’d pointed out. Isabel became frightened by this unexpected arrogance, and decided to ponder a bit longer. Then, the woman briefly explained the characteristics of each fabric, thus meeting the requirements of her job description.

Isabel felt dizzy just being in the bright cavalcade of colour that dominated the shop. The shelves chock-a-block with all sorts of fabrics created the impression that she was in a fairy-tale workshop, where one only had to reach towards a shelf or drawer and the materials required for any particular task would immediately pop up. Behind the cashier’s desk, the various threads and yarns were laid out by shades of colour, and on the hooks of a revolving stand hundreds of embroidery yarns were hanging on display. Isabel had never before seen so many hues of rainbow colours. The walls were covered with magnificent gobelin patterns, magically transforming the space into a fantasy picture book.

A contented silence was reigning in the shop, Isabel being the only customer. She was enjoying the peace and quiet, and the fact that she was able to take her pick without being disturbed, because she found it difficult to decide on her desired shade of purple when faced with a selection of ten different yarns. So she picked up a few, to compare them.

– It’s impossible to decide between purple and purple – she said, mulling the matter over.

The doorbell rang a few times as people entered the shop, bringing in with them a most irritating and jarring street-noise. They swarmed around Isabel and carried on muttering to themselves or to the shop assistant, who kept running up and down between the counter and the storeroom to serve everyone promptly so that the shop could be cleared of this interminable supply of intruders. Isabel started to feel awkward in this hustle and bustle as strangers were trying to get past her, pushing her about. The shop was really rather narrow and small.

– It would be so much easier to shop back home – she said to herself. Her hometown could only boast a single haberdasher’s and a much more modest selection of wares than this shop; however, she’d be welcomed by the same, kind shop assistant who’d worked there ever since her childhood, and who would gladly help out in the event of dilemmas. She knew Isabel by name, as she did everyone else in the town. Isabel liked this little shop, its homely feel, and the considerate care that would even follow her out onto the streets after the shopping.

All this was missing from this shop. It was an impersonal passageway, one of the big city’s cunning cash-devouring machines.

Isabel waited until all others had left the shop, because she didn’t want to shout over anyone and she disliked joining the crowds queuing at the till. The shop assistant dealt with her remaining requests very impatiently, then simply threw a bag of white cotton wool at her and didn’t even allow her to deliberate on choosing the right kind of thread. Being well brought up, Isabel still thanked her for the service, although she wasn’t in the least bit pleased with it, and left the shop carrying a giant shopping bag.

– I hope I haven’t forgotten anything, because I certainly won’t be coming back for a while – she grumbled while crossing the road. She took a glance at the shopping bag swinging in her hand; in it was the crumpled orange-red fabric that she’d first need to iron before getting started with the sewing, because these days merchandise only tends to come with a high price tag and no genuine quality. Her indignation, however, finally eased when she actually pictured the teddy bear in the making, and the excitement-filled obstacles, many of them pleasant and insignificant, to be encountered in the process of its birth.

—

The fabric was still warm from being ironed when Isabel laid it out on the table, carefully smoothing out the mischievous creases. Its touch reminded her of a mixture between a rough carpet and a soft baby blanket. She had previously prepared all the required tools – scissors, thread, needles, pattern – so that her mini sewing studio could operate without a glitch.

– I hereby declare the teddy studio open – she solemnly stated, waving the black felt-tip pen in her hand like a conductor.

The other soft toys already residing in the room started to clap. Isabel took hold of the cutting pattern and tried to place it over the laid-out fabric in the most economical fashion possible. With the felt pen she drew round the outlines of the cardboard pattern marking the tiny body parts, and took care to draw their mirror image as well, so that each tiny hand and foot had its pair. Then she seized the scissors, and with a slow but steady movement guided its sharp blade over the black lines. The scissors bit into the fabric over and over again, snipping around the demarcated area. The various freshly cut out geometrical shapes covered the entire table top, and at this stage only Isabel’s blue eyes were capable of conjuring up the image of a lovely animal in them. She attached the pieces together with coloured-head pins, along the lines where she’d later tack them together, and then chose a large needle that seemed to be the right one to pierce several layers of fabric without getting stuck, and then threaded some orange yarn. She doubled the thread and tied a knot at its end. She took an ear-shaped piece of fabric and started to sew round the edges. She opted for back stitch, to make the work as stable as possible. The needle jumped merrily among the layers, first making barely visible dots into the fabric and then filling them with the infinite line of the thread pulled through the holes.

Isabel decided to make use of the protection offered by the thimble, because her unruly fingers often led the needle straight under her skin. She had purchased two thimbles of different sizes from the shop, but she had to conclude that neither of them fitted perfectly on the tip of either her middle or index finger. She made slow and clumsy progress because of the metal cover worn over her nail, since it hindered the free movement of her hand.

– Perhaps this is all only a matter of practice – she mused.

She really tried to live up to the requirements of safe sewing, but was irritated that the small shield preventing her being stabbed meant that she didn’t actually feel where the needle was going. For this reason, she found herself misplacing her stitch a few times, and every so often the line of her sewing would leave its orderly course.

– This is no good – she fumed, removing the thimble from her finger and throwing it aside.

So she returned to her usual pace, manipulating the sharp, thin wand with a firm hand and finishing one teddy limb after the other. Isabel took pleasure in the meticulous and tiring work because she enjoyed creating something new, and she could envisage the happily surprised face of her beloved as he held the precious teddy in his hands. This teddy was more precious than any factory-made, fake present, born from the unique and intimate love that Isabel felt for her dear friend. So she kept smiling, sitting at the poorly lit desk, diligently sewing and occasionally pricking her fingers while constantly thinking of Robert.

This year’s birthday would be exceptional. They had decided that they’d finally celebrate together. Due to their families’ invariably exclusive plans, they had never had the chance to do this before; but this time, every minute of this intimate anniversary would be theirs and theirs alone, and they would finally be able to celebrate the shared sunrise of their birth. Isabel had even ordered some lemon cheesecake for the occasion.

The sun was slowly heading towards the horizon, but Isabel kept working relentlessly. The needle was bobbing up and down in her hand, absorbing its warmth, and soon all the gaping threads had forged into one tight twist. Isabel switched on the table lamp, and all at once the unfinished teddy’s orange fur was gleaming brightly in the light of the glowing bulb.

– Now is the hard part – Isabel sighed, having finished all the limbs.

She took the shell she’d just stitched and stuffed it with some cotton wool to form a rudimentary little head. That way it would be easier to dream up a face. She stuck two black-headed pins onto either side of the nose to mark the place for the eyes, and fished out a tiny heart-shaped box from under the pile of leftover fabric. Where once there had been expensive and very tasty marzipan chocolate there now rattled the black pearls fallen from a broken necklace. She threaded some black yarn into a finer needle, then stuck a tiny pearl on it too and sewed it where one of the pins had been placed. Next, she repeated this process on the other side of the little head. She then pulled hard on the thread, which made the pearls sink a little into the fabric, thus giving a delicate depth to the eyes.

Isabel intended to embroider the teddy’s nose with the freshly purchased purple yarn, the definitive shade of which she had only been able to decide upon following a prolonged debate with herself. Shaping the nose was the hardest task. Isabel got started on it with unease, using the biggest and thickest needle. Using a coloured pencil, she had previously drawn a triangle on the intended spot, so that she could see how far to bring up the thread on the sides. Back then, the nose of Isabel’s first teddy had turned out rather unsightly, and this had crushed her enthusiasm.

She kept sewing and altering the shape of the nose for two painful hours, until the tiny nose met the expected standard. The giant needle shook in Isabel’s hand when she had finally finished, and her extraordinary sense of relief swept aside the heavy burden of worry that had been weighing down her heart. She felt like laughing out loud at the sight of the empty teddy shell and the sweet head lying on the middle of the table, stuffing pouring out from the back of its neck area waiting to be attached to the rest of the body. She grabbed the orange reel and cut off a long stretch of thread with the scissors. The needle being ready, it was a matter of only a few stitches and the head was in its place.

Next, the crinkling of the cotton-wool bag filled the light-filled living room, and the table got messier and messier with bigger and smaller pellet-like cotton-wool balls. The fur shell got fuller and rounder due to the white balls stuffed into it, the hands and feet gained a chubby shape, and the lifeless fabric gradually transformed into a loveable and charming teddy. All she had left to do now was to seal off the last few openings.

The soft purple ribbon hugged the teddy’s neck and was hooked into a pretty bow behind the half-moon ears. Isabel tweaked the edge of the ribbon with the blade of the scissors to give it a wavy shape. The present was finished, and had turned out just as perfect as she had intended. It was a lively and huggable teddy bear, an always affectionate fluffy mascot for the lonely heart.

Isabel kept admiring her masterpiece with serene exhaustion. She had managed to finish it within the span of a single day, and this was clear proof of her remarkable diligence. She placed the teddy on the window sill, right next to her own favourite; and, softies as they were, the teddies bonded at once.

– For a while this will be your home – Isabel spoke kindly to the new lodger, and switched off the light above the sewing studio left negligently behind on the table.

—

A week later, a red marking appeared in the calendar: the birthday. Isabel jumped out of bed with excitement, as she had been looking forward to her meeting with Robert for a long time. They hadn’t seen each other for ages, and for Isabel every single date was a succulent oasis in the parched desert of her sterile life. She put together a sober picnic basket with the cake, some raspberry cordial, a pot of white chrysanthemums – and the teddy, of course.

– We won’t need anything else – she said.

Her destination was a two-hour bus journey away. Isabel stared at the hills gliding past the large windows, and she noted that the trees had already clad themselves in autumnal bronze. She thought of their latest brief encounter, when she had been too busy to spare time for an intimate conversation, so they’d only greeted each other in passing, over a few kisses and a quick cup of coffee.

– It was a mistake. Every opportunity needs grabbing – she said with regret.

When she got off the bus, a cold autumn wind decided to hide in her hair and behind the buttonholes of her grey coat. She looked up towards the sky and saw heavy clouds marching in front of the weakening sun. Its rays awkwardly caressed Isabel’s face, searching for the last shards of summer in the dimples of her smile.

They would always meet at the same oak tree, on the southern side of the yard. Robert was sitting at his usual place, not far from the tree, on a square-shaped black marble slab. Isabel sped up, swiftly navigating between the multitude of stone crosses and scattered angel statues.

– Magnificent weather. God is trying to please you – she said laughing when she reached the tree.

Robert greeted her with his usual gloomy smile. Isabel put the basket down on the grass. She produced a monogrammed linen handkerchief from the pocket of her coat and carefully wiped the rain off the marble top marked with the name: Robert Z. Lorrens. Isabel tastefully placed the chrysanthemum to one side of the stone slab and laid the teddy on top.

– Happy birthday! I hope you like your present – she said in her cheerful and calm voice.

Robert’s melancholy expression didn’t change in the least.

– As far as I know, orange is one of your favourite colours. And I brought some cake, too.

Isabel eagerly produced a box containing the sliced-up cake from the basket. She put two slices on a white paper plate, added a plastic fork, and placed all this onto the stone slab, right next to the teddy. On a different plate she put a thinner slice for herself and took the raspberry cordial bottle out of the basket. She unbuttoned her coat and sat down on the grass next to Robert.

– Finally, it’s just you and me. Like on that summer afternoon, remember? – she said, scooping her fork with delight into the sour-sweet cake.

– I have so much to tell you, you’ll barely manage to listen to it all, but do let me know if I’m boring you.

A light breeze suddenly started to shuffle some of the large oak leaves about, embracing them and sweeping some fragile ones into the powdery distance. The graveyard was taken over by the primeval and timeless stillness of decay. Isabel watched the sparrows hop about in the dying grass, and listened to their familiar chirping. From time to time, she caressed the head of the teddy sunbathing on the stone, desperately searching for the last refuge of peaceful protection against Robert’s translucent figure.

– We can talk as long as you like – Robert said.

– We’ve got all the time in the world.