They found a grave in the woods today.
A mound, mossy with time.
What lies beneath is anyone’s guess.
Had there been a crime?
–
They asked the hag who lived in the shack,
Familiar with what she knows.
While her cat rubbed against her leg,
She tapped the side of her nose.
The curate looked into the church before locking up for the night.
He could see a light coming from the back of the building. He went through to the sacristy, where he found the priest sobbing gently.
The young curate was shocked and concerned. “Are you alright?” he asked the old priest.
“No. Not alright. Not at all!” he replied, lifting the goblet to his lips. After taking a sip he ruminated on the idea that at the end of the day he liked to think that he was being thanked for all his trouble and his unwavering devotion to his holy duties. He licked his lips.
The curate frowned and asked, “Father, please tell me, what has happened?”
The old holy man dabbed at his eyes, and said, “The funeral was this afternoon. There was nobody there to pay their respects. He was homeless, a man who had lost his way.”
The curate frowned. “But I’m sure you did what you could to give him a decent burial.”
The priest shook his head. “I failed him. He came here just a few days ago, but I couldn’t save him, he wouldn’t allow me to give him absolution. He died out there in one of the pews, cradled in my arms. Today he leaves us along with all his sins. I tried so hard to get him to denounce the devil and all his evil works. He simply refused. It was very upsetting.”
“Why did he do that?”
After a great sigh, the priest replied, “With his dying breath he whispered that he couldn’t be sure where he was going to end up, and until he knew, he didn’t want to upset anybody. It was very upsetting,” he repeated.
“Yes, I’m sure it was,” said the curate, “but I’m surprised to find you back here drinking wine.”
“Oh! No. It’s only water. I just wanted to sit quietly for a while and sip a little water.”
The other lifted the goblet and sniffed. “If I’m not mistaken… that’s a Sauvignon Blanc.”
“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed the priest. He looked up. “He’s done it again!”
It was all in the binary nature of things…
His world could come crashing down. Either issue could see things go badly for him. Either one could bring about such major changes in his life. Either one would determine how his future would pan out. As a student in his final year a great deal depended on how well he had gone with the final exams. He was about to get the results. As a young man having recently experienced severe indigestion and heartburn, with his doctor saying it was either stomach cancer or an ulcer, and having had an upper endoscopy to check for cancer. He was about to get the results.
The binary was in play.
The binary nature of it was crucial. It was all about the two alternatives. The on and the off, the yes and the no, the positive and the negative.
They are not necessarily apposed.
The young man considered the upcoming events. On the following day, he would undergo both events within the same hour.
He would be looking at the university’s notice board, where the exam results are displayed.
He would be praying for a positive result.
Soon after…
He would be sitting in the surgery, waiting to see the doctor to get the test results.
He prayed for a negative result.
He woke to a strange noise vibrating through his bedroom.
He was fast asleep when it started and he really didn’t like it when anything interrupted his night’s sleep. It was something he felt more than most. He scowled when he saw the clock said three. It sounded like a low flying airplane, very low. Not something normally heard where he lived. It was getting gradually louder. Was he safe in the house? He got up and put on a dressing gown. It was forecast to be a cold night. On his way down stairs, the sound seemed to lessen. It was now more like a lawnmower. Surely, nobody would be cutting grass in the early hours of the morning! By the time he opened the back door the noise had quietened down even more. Now it was something like an electric razor humming away.
He strolled out into the middle of the back lawn where he stood still and listened. It was still going, but softer somehow. He had the impression that it was the trees he could hear. They were all making a whistling noise, despite the fact that there was barely any wind. Yet, there it was, it was like somebody was talking in whispers. He thought he could make out some of the words. There was something about ‘landing’. He looked up into a clear night sky with a great spread of stars. He thought one of them moved… He was getting cold and he was sick of the whole thing. On his way back inside he thought about the new pills he started yesterday. When he got in he went straight to the bathroom. He picked up the bottle and checked the label.
He knew that taking certain medications can cause problems for some people. He looked at the ingredients. He read through them carefully. He knew that some of these could have side effects. These rotten pills had made him delusional. Sometimes, a change in some medications can do that. He would ring for an appointment first thing in the morning. Looking at the clock he saw that wasn’t far away.
He had just settled back into bed, when coloured flashes began to light up his bedroom. Reluctantly, he got up and went to the window. What he saw was a small flying saucer sitting in the centre of the back lawn. It was no bigger than a family car, with lights alternating around its rim. Next to it stood a tiny figure. It was waving!
He chuckled, waved back, closed the curtains really tight and went back to bed.
The farmer was sick of trespassers stealing his crop.
He would occasionally find a clearing in his field with the ashes of a fire. It happened again today. His potatoes were being dug up, roasted and probably eaten right there on his land. He decided that it had to be happening overnight. That night he stayed up, watching from an upper window. Around midnight he saw the faint glow. He made his way to the field and found the fire burning with someone roasting a potato on the end of a stick. Moving closer and crouching behind bushes he could see the perpetrator. He was surprised to find that it was a young lad, no older than twelve. He looked scruffy and dirty. He was obviously a homeless urchin. There were three potatoes on the ground next to where the boy sat, cross-legged. They looked cooked and the boy was preparing the forth.
The farmer hesitated. He continued to look on while the boy remove the last potato from his stick and drop it to the ground. He picked up one that was already cooked and began eating it greedily. With a degree of reluctance, the farmer was about to make his presence known when a stray dog approached slowly sniffing the air. It was extremely thin and looked in worse condition than the boy. The small fire was beginning to burn down. The dog moved forward and the boy picked up a potato and held it out. It was obvious that the boy didn’t know the dog; the farmer could hear him asking the dog if he had a name. The dog sidled up to the boy and took what it was offered between his teeth and backed off slightly to eat. The boy looked down at the remaining two potatoes and picked one up. No sooner had he began eating, the dog was back making soft whining noises.
The farmer stayed silently looking on with interest as the boy looked down at the last potato, then, after a brief pause, held it out for the dog.
The farmer went home to bed.
They met in the cafeteria at the top of the department store.
It had become a regular thing since the son had left home a year ago to move into a shared house with friends. He worked in town and would catch up with his father when the old man came into town, about once a month. It had been their habit to catch up this way for lunch. The younger man always had reservations about their meetings on account of his father’s continual harping on about how he should seriously consider finding a nice girl to marry and settle down with. He often wondered whether this prying and prodding was because of him being left on his own since his wife died. Perhaps he had nothing better to do. They hadn’t been sitting long when it started.
The father said, “So, how are you doing, now? Met anyone special?”
The other suppressed a sigh and said, “Well, I met this guy recently who’s promised to look at the problem I’ve been having with my laptop.”
The father winced. “No. I meant someone nice… you know.”
“He is nice.”
“Come on, you know what I mean. A nice girl is what I meant.”
The son felt it all starting up again, but thought before he spoke. He knew his father meant well. He was getting on, of course. His concern about his personal love life was probably reasonable, although he found it annoying. “I’ve had a couple of dates; nothing serious,” he said, hoping that would satisfy him.
“I just think that being in your mid-twenties, you should, you know, look to your future.”
“OK, dad.” He picked up the menu. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“You should. What about that nice girl from the library.”
“Dad! I told you, she’s engaged… I did tell you.”
“Oh! Right. Yes, I believe you did.”
“I did, yes.”
“Nothing on the horizon then?”
The son felt a swell of impatience and anger building, then he gave a heavy sigh. “OK. I guess I should tell you. There is this woman…”
The father brightened. “Really! Go on.”
“She’s well over sixty.”
“Over sixty?”
“Yes, and she’s pretty desperate for a man.”
“Desperate?”
“Yep. I gave her your number. Look, I’m hungry, can we order?”
There was one boy at her school that she had never liked.
He was forever playing practical jokes. She didn’t think that any of his pranks were funny, in fact, the opposite. In her opinion, all his tricks were stupid, with some of them being quite dangerous, like a book being balanced on top of a door so that it falls when someone walks through. He would hide lunch boxes, put plastic spiders under books on school desks, lock all of the toilet doors from the inside then climb out, leaving them all showing they were engaged. At least he got into trouble for that one. Generally, she would just keep away from him. That worked until the day she walked straight into one of his pranks.
There was a small circle of kids in the playground, all standing around laughing, with him in the middle telling them something. As she approached, others were gathering around to see what was going on. When she got closer, a couple of her classmates let her through. The boy was pointing at the flower he wore, asking her if she thought it was pretty. As she moved forward to look at it, a jet of water hit her in the face. Naturally, there was a great burst of laughter, with her left wiping her face and feeling a rage she had never felt before. The teasing that followed meant that it took a long time before the anger that was burning inside her began to fade. It was an incident that would stay with her forever.
It was a couple of years after leaving school that she heard what had happened to him. Although the news was really sad, she found it hard to supress the feeling that some sort of justice had been served. It had been an accident at his home. The story she heard was that he was playing a practical joke on his parents late one night when it happened. He was prowling around, covered by a white sheet, making ghostly noises on the upper landing of their home. When his father got up to investigate, they had collided and the prankster had tumbled down the stairs.
When the invitations were sent out, indicating that it would be an open casket funeral, she called in at the town’s joke shop and purchased a squirt flower. On the day, she pinned it to her blouse, under her jacket.
As she took her turn to walk passed the coffin, she leant forward and whispered, “Goodbye.”
Only she knew that she could have.
Only she knew that she didn’t.
Machines that function day and night
Rely on pieces out of sight.
–
Axles turning, most unseen,
Pins and spacers in between.
–
Cogs and gears keeping pace,
Matching wheels in tight embrace.
–
Pinioned arms that rise and fall.
Cranks and pivots, moving all.
–
Working parts in constant play,
With squirts of oil along the way.
–
Cranks and chains and lights that blink.
Moving parts that interlink.
–
Various items stop and start,
Each playing its appointed part.
–
So many kinds may be found,
Both with and without sound.
–
A cylinder here, a sprocket there,
Clips and couplings everywhere.
–
Belts and bearings, seals and springs.
Shafts and pulleys and cabled things.
–
Clutches, drives, cams and keys.
Splines and brakes, yes, all of these.
–
Machines that function night and day,
Such clever workings, you might say.
He sat looking at the clock, becoming more annoyed by the minute; she was late.
Her weekly visits usually happened a lot earlier in the evening. This had always worked out well with his favourite late night program. It started at eleven. The television was on, but muted. Another eight minutes and it would start. Surely, she was aware of how inconvenient this was! Mind you, he thought, when the personal video recorder packed up six months ago he didn’t replace it or try to have it fixed. If that was still around he could have recorded his show. There again, under normal circumstances he didn’t need one. These definitely weren’t normal circumstances. Where the hell was she? He checked the time again; two minutes to go. If only he still had that recorder. He began to ruminate on the machine and what it did. It was used to capture things. Things that you found precious…
He became teary. Slowly, his anger dissipated. After all, when it came right down to it, it was a question of values wasn’t it? What was more important, seeing his regular show or enjoying her regular visits, despite them being very short? Mentally, he chided himself for being so selfish.
He was thinking about this when a shimmering began to appear in the armchair next to his. Moments later she was there, looking as lovely as ever, despite her years. She turned to him, looking terribly worried.
“I’m so sorry!” she said, placing her hand over her mouth.
At first, he said nothing. He didn’t know what to say.
She went on. “Sorry, dear. I had trouble crossing over from the other side. I don’t know why.”
He just sat looking at her for a while, before giving her a loving smile as the shimmering returned.
“Don’t give it a second thought. You know how much I love you. Please feel free to visit anytime you like,” he said.
Tomorrow, I’ll go out and buy a new recorder, he thought.
He just wanted to leave and make a life for himself.
He was their only child and he loved his parents, but this was something he had to do. In a way, he’d been thinking about it for a number of months and certainly planning it for a couple of weeks. The message he left was brief, but he wanted them to understand, and for that reason he was careful with what he wrote. It was a simple note and read: ‘I love you both. But I need to make a life for myself. Please don’t look for me. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be OK.’ He stuck it in a prominent position on the wall above the chest of drawers where his collection of sports trophies were displayed.
His leaving had left them in a state of bewilderment.
Almost twenty years had passed before his old room was being updated and the furniture was moved around. They found the note where it had dropped down behind the chest of drawers where his collection of sports trophies used to be displayed. It was a small piece of paper with a few fading lines on one side and a little pink blob on the other.
There is a case for wondering whether finding it at the time he left would have actually made any difference one way or the other.
Anyway, in practical terms, the only thing of value to come out of the finding of it was the certain knowledge that Pink-tac really wasn’t as good as Blu Tack.