Unboxing the siblings

Once the fumes and dust and tempers had settled, my queen carried me downstairs to the basement and placed me in a corner of the soon-to-be craft studio. From that position, I could survey the empty space and imagine twenty different possibilities of how she’d fill it. As soon as I looked down, I decided the floor was a godsend. Painted cement! No tiles that would crack when hammers and staple guns plummeted onto them. No wooden parquet which her soldering iron could burn holes into. And no flammable carpet. This floor might have been the most Queen-Kami-proof surface I’d seen in my life. (Needless to say, I’d be proven wrong in a few months.)

Queen Kami turned three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, muttered something I couldn’t make out and scurried up the stairs. Five minutes later, she returned with Hubby in tow.

“I want to put your steel garage shelves against that far wall. And we should hide them behind a curtain. We’ll need a rod or a cable for that.” And she typed away at some long list on her phone.

Hubby rolled his eyes.

“And you can have one shelf for your tools. You know, so your study next door can stay neat.” The queen was feeling very magnanimous.

Hubby promptly went next door to admire the impressive wall-to-wall shelves he’d installed before the queen and I had arrived in Berin, and before he’d contracted his tennis elbow. He swore his injury was from screw-driving and Allen-keying the bedroom cupboards, but, hmm, those shelves, those shelves ...

“Ah, Nirbe,” whispered Queen Kami, “we’re going to rustle up the most magnificent creations down here. I can’t wait for tomorrow.” The container was due to arrive the next day.

That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. Mostly because her royal Kamikazeness had plugged me in — to test the cellar sockets — and left my light burning. Oh yes, I now had a working little light bulb. (After initially making do with Lastborn’s study lamp). The Queen had gone to the cool craft shop and returned with all manner of ingenious German sewing goodies — and a light bulb. By morning, my burning light had made me all hot and bothered, but I was soooo looking forward to reuniting with my family..

Off-loading

It was late afternoon when the Spedition guys charged into the house with furniture, boxes, boxes and more boxes. Queen Kami later told me they were from Saxony. All I know is they mumbled in some strange dialect, and they were mega-strong. Maybe the mothers in that part of Germany fed their boys spinach from birth. The variety Popeye liked to gulp down to inflate his biceps.

After about twenty minutes of upstairs stomping, the ploof, ploof, ploofs started heading downstairs. The soon-to-be studio door was open, and from my lonesome corner, I could see halfway up the flight of stairs. Two blue-bagged feet appeared on stair number six. What on earth? Blue cloth baggies over shoes? Ploof! One blue bag stepped down onto stair number five. Aha, that's what I was seeing. Anti-scratch covers to protect our silly, sensitive floors and stairs.

When the feet hit stair number three, I caught my first glimpse of arms. There were no violently bulging muscles, but what I did witness almost blew my brand-new lightbulb. Hubby’s dark wood two-metre by one-metre desk (as heavy as half an upright piano) came floating down the stairs. It was propped up on the diagonally tilted spine of one solitary grey-haired human — I kid you not. He had mastered the Obelix method down to a tee. Afther he reached the bottom, he masterfully manoevred his load through the study door. The antique bookcase (with leaded-glass doors) came down next. On the back of Obelix junior. Then there was a flurry of Obelixes, rushing in and out of the studio, depositing a deconstructed table, heaps of metal shelves and a gazillion boxes all around me. And all of a sudden, all the scurrying stopped. No more blue-cloth-bagged feet. At least, I didn’t hear any non-scratch steps. By that time, my view had become obstructed. I was surrounded, imprisoned by stacks of boxes, and feeling even more claustrophobic than when I’d been up in the plane’s overhead locker. And my light was still burning hot and bright.

The siblings speak up

When darkness descended on the house (except for my constricted circle of light), I heard a muffled voice. “Aibren, Brinane, and Nabirne, are you here? Are you all okay?” That voice belonged to Nerina, my oldest sister.

“Hey, big sis, I’m in the box right next to you.” That sounded like Nabirne. He’s my overlocker-brother.

“And I think I’m on top of you, Nabirne.” Oops! That did not sound good at all. The voice belonged to Brinane. She was the heaviest sibling and had been confined to the biggest box. I hoped Nabirne would be okay under her.

Then Aibren’s voice came through. “I don’t think I’m anywhere near you guys. And I’m on my side. I’m sure my oil is leaking. And where’s Nirbe?”

Aww, my favourite sis, the one who almost looks like my twin. She’d evidently been missing me.

“Hey guys, I’m right here,” I shouted. “Can’t wait to see you. I hope Queen Kami unpacks you all tomorrow.”

Nope!

For two days, there was plenty of action upstairs. Rip, rip, plonk! “Eek, look what I found!” Her royal Kamikazeness said that at least fifty times. She’s a maximalist and finds immense joy in being reunited with her stuff.

Only Lastborn ventured downstairs to do one hasty inspection of the cellar. She stuck her nose into the studio, but my electronic “free-me-please” signals did not penetrate her fourteen-year-old skull. She did an about-turn and headed back up. No other movement! Except for me squirming in the heat of my light bulb.

The big reveal

On Day three, Hubby descended into his study to unpack his three million books.

After a loud bout of book-depositing, his socked feet shuffled into the studio, where he paced around for five seconds. “Honey,” he called, “I’m missing two boxes. I can’t find them in all this chaos down here. When on earth are you going to sort out your studio?”

Queen Kami stormed down the stairs.

“Wait. Don't touch anything. Give me an hour, and I'll find them for you.” She's a control freak. Have I told you that?

She herded Hubby back upstairs and returned with her coffee. Definitely coffee. I heard the slurping sounds. Then, plonk! The mug landed on a box near me. Scrape, heave, sigh. “Urgh! Let me see. Haberdashery. Stencils and paint. More paint. Fabric A. Fabric B. Wait, wait, wait! What's peeking out there? Aha! Books!” Obelix Junior must have been colour-blind to miss Queen Kami's brilliant coded system, which clearly indicated where each box needed to end up.

She rearranged boxes till she could drag out book box number one. Five minutes later, she found number two.

While Hubby unpacked his last books, Queen Kami dragged all non-machine-containing boxes to one side of the room to create enough space for a table. Then she hauled my siblings (still boxed) closer. Brinane was no longer on top of Nabirne, thank goodness. But the top of Nabirne's box looked a bit dented.

Hubby was summoned to assemble his bespoke wooden table. It would always be known as his table. He’d repurposed American Pine shipping-crate wood (which he’d gotten from a friend) and made the masterpiece himself. The table top lay on its head and, in light of Hubby’s tennis elbow, the queen wielded the spanner while he held the U-shaped legs in place. Then the two of them flipped the table upright (with much grunting and conflicting opinions) and pushed it against the wall. Three sides were ready to receive the workforce.

“Are you sure we can't fit the table in somewhere upstairs, Honey?” Hubby was visibly repulsed by the thought of his pride and joy being downgraded from breakfast table to sweat-shop surface.

Queen Kami didn’t even answer. Hubby’s masterpiece was square and fat. Too fat for the space upstairs. A rectangular table was earmarked for that dining area. Hubby would get over it. She turned around, lifted me out of my corner and found a suitable position on the table. This entailed a bit of shifting around to find a level spot. The table had a few pretty valleys where Hubby had needed to sand away the worst snags. Queen Kami had loved this feature back in the breakfast-table days.

Hubby silently watched her negotiate me around the valleys. Then he departed for next door to admire his neat study.

Rip, rip, rip! Queen Kami attacked the nearest box, and messy bundles of box tape landed beside the table.

Plonk!

Nerina! My heart did a happy somersault. I'd almost forgotten what she looked like. Three months, that's how long we'd been separated!

Nerina is a Gen X model. Like Queen Kami herself. In fact, Nerina had sewn many of Queen Kami’s toddler outfits back in the day when the Queen Mother had wielded the now-faded black pedal. Nerina had no computer and no LCD screen. Instead, she had a metal lever that could slide into one of three (or maybe four) stitch selection slots (almost like a car’s gear lever) and a power switch. Halfway was on, and if you pushed it all the way, her retro lightbulb turned on. Her aged metal casing had probably started out as cream-coloured, but since I’d known her she had a lovely yellow tinge. And I was seriously jealous of her ancient green carrier case. Queen Kami shoved that under the table, against the wall.

Next, Aibren got hauled out. She could easily be mistaken for my twin, but I can do more fancy stitches (which the queen never uses — she's not one for twirls and curls). One other cool feature I have is my needle threader, the deal clincher, according to Queen Kami. At that time, it usually took her at least five attempts to get that darn thread through the eye of most needles. She would later resort to a magnifying glass with a built-in LED light. Very nifty. But with Brinane and me, she could use the needle-threader. Ta-daah!

I digress. This is not supposed to be about me. Back to Aibren. She was the first fabric-transformation slave that the Queen had bought with her own, hard-earned money. There’d been a brief period in Queen Kami’s student days when she’d had the use of a cheap contraption (of a less superior species). But that one had sadly failed the heavy-duty blanket-coat test. Back then, there was this fad where female students cut up cheap (but surprisingly thick) blankets and made warm, not-quite-woollen coats to bestow on their boyfriends. I was dreading the day that the queen would put me, or any of my siblings, through that kind of heavy-duty test.

Next, Nabirne appeared on the table. My overlocker-brother, remember? He'd joined the royal slave-force at the same time as Aibren, back when Firstborn was a baby. He's a Millennial (like Abren and Firstborn). I think I'm also a Millennial (just missed the Gen-Z threshold).

Nabirne got plonked onto the other end of the table. Queen Kami had to re-shape his slightly distorted thread-contraption (that wire thingy with little loops to guide thread from four different rolls through their allocated tension plates and a bunch of other little interior pathways till they pop out somewhere near the two needles). He’s a complicated fellow to thread. Queen Kami would need her headlamp and magnifying glass. The headlamp was necessary because she didn’t yet own the nifty LED-lamp magnifying glass. But all her tools and small gadgets were still in one of the gazillion unpacked boxes. Nabirne’s respite would be extended by a few days.

Eventually, Brinane surfaced. As you might have noticed, all of our names are anagrams of our species name, with some letters removed. Except for Brinane. She needs all seven letters to carry the multitude of her features. I mean, she even has an embroidery attachment. That part was still in a separate box that Queen Kami had somehow managed to lose in the chaos on the other side of the room. Brinane had been bequeathed to her royal Kamikazeness by the Queen Mother when she upgraded to a newer model. The Queen Mother could rustle up all manner of complicated crafts and liked to regularly import new blood into her own slave force.

“Argh, Brinane,” sighed Queen Kami. “The table is already cluttered with all your siblings. Let's put you on the floor against this wall. Then I can easily grab you whenever I need to do the complicated stuff.” She stood back and eyed the table. “Actually, no. Let's put Aibren down there for now. I think I do need you right from the start.” And she switched out the two machines.

Getting connected

I was waiting for Queen Kami to pluck out her blade and amputate my siblings’ South African power apendages (as she did with mine, before transplanting a new German one). But what do you know, Hubby appeared in the door, carrying a multi-plug extension. It had five sockets of the Motherland variety, and he’d cut off the end plug and attached a German one. The man was (and still is) a genius!

We all got plugged in. The siblings into the converted multi-plug thingy and my German power apendage went straight into a wall socket. Then Queen Kami allowed Hubby to switch us all on to test his system. And, voila! Four little light bulbs lit up our cozy sweat-shop table and one lit up a table leg. Aibren was on the floor, remember? Fortunately, Hubby then remembered to switch off all the machines. Queen Kami winked at all of us and walked out with him.

And in the next few weeks, you’ll hear about all the fun and games we had down in that Berlin basement.

Toodles.

Your faithful fabric-transformation friend,

Nirbe.