Author: Alexander Fawn

The two men had always gone on their adventures together.

The fact that one was blind and the other mute had never impeded their friendship. In fact, between them and together, they adequately managed most of life’s difficulties. Their latest adventure is of particular interest here. They were in Greece looking for a cave. Apparently, a place where no locals would dare to venture. When they found it, the blind and the mute entered the cave. As they went deeper into the cavern holding hands, Mute leading Blind of course, they became aware of a strange rustling noise. This, they both heard, naturally. They stood very still, listening to a sound that seemed to be coming closer.

“Can you see what’s making that sound?” Said Blind to Mute.

No answer came, obviously.

“Tap my shoulder if you can see anything,” said Blind.

No tap came. Mute now stood; a column of stone.

Blind stepped forward with an extended arm. To his surprise, he caught hold of a hand. It was quite small and soft.

“Well now,” said Blind, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

She stood stirring the pot; this was her final solution.

It had been a rollercoaster of a day. First there was the big rush to get him to the airport. His usual bad temper, as though she was to blame for him running late. She had driven him there as quickly and as safely as possible. Naturally, he had rushed off without a thank you.

Then there was the item all over the radio on the way home and the television news coverage about his plane coming down not long after take-off. There were no survivors.

She had sat, staring at the screen, sobbing. No more sudden anger. No more slaps followed by profuse apologies. She had curled up on the sofa and let the tears of relief fall.

Then, there was his phone call from the airport.

He had missed his flight and was heading for a taxi. There was the same old anger in his voice.

She returned the small blue bottle to the garden shed then came back and laid the table.

He’d be so pleased; homemade Mulligatawny soup, his favourite.

She looked at the clock and went back to stirring the pot.

As a species they had just about everything going for them.

Their world had plenty of land for farming, the potential for an equal sharing of food was open to them, and there was enough wealth to go around for all. On the face of it, it was idyllic. There was so much that was plentiful, an abundance of everything. There was no need for anyone to worry about anything. However, ‘what could have been’ and ‘what was’, were two completely different things. The former did not allow for the all-pervasive push for more. More land, a great deal about land, more food, and more money. A never-ending striving for a bigger house, a nicer car, more expensive clothes, luxury travel, better quality food, and a better and more prestigious job. The people simply want more. There is no end to it.

Their masters, those who have all of these things and more, find that this endless craving quite naturally brings about a condition that is much to their liking.

This world is not far from home.

They never told anybody about the airport incident.

Why should they? There was really no point, and when you think about it, they did nothing wrong. They were just an innocent couple returning from an overseas holiday. You could say they were mister and misses nobody. That’s not to say they didn’t enjoy their annual break; they did. Taking two weeks out to travel away to somewhere different was a yearly event that they looked forward to. They always brought something home with them; sometimes a trinket or two, sometimes clothes. On this occasion he’d fallen in love with, and had bought, a jacket. It was a subtle shade of green with what he called football buttons. He liked it more than she did, but he had got his way. After a few remarks about its unusual colour he had deliberately bought a red handkerchief to stuff in its pocket. It certainly made him stand out in a crowd and she was fairly understanding, after all, they were on holiday.

Anyway, the incident, it happened just after they landed. They had collected their luggage and were set to go when she needed a toilet. They found one and he sat looking after the cases. It all happened so quickly. She was only just out of sight when it happened. He had picked up a paper someone had left on a seat and had barely read the headlines when the woman appeared. She was attractive, expensively dressed and was carrying a large handbag. To his surprise, she approached casually and stood in front of him. Smiling, she seemed to admire his jacket before taking the seat next him. She sat for a moment or two before she unzipped a piece of his hand luggage, removed a parcel from her handbag and dropped it in.

He was amazed at how quickly she had done the whole thing. It left him in a stunned silence. Then, without turning her head, she whispered, “Tell your people the governor is pleased with the service they provided.” At that, she stood and slowly walked away. He watched her go, gawping. He sat, still trying to take it all in. He peered down. The parcel was a bit bigger than a house brick. He put his hand in and lifted it a little. It was heavy. Something told him it was money, bank notes, lots of them, cash, payment for a service provided. He had time to turn it all over in his mind very carefully before his wife returned.

He saw her strolling back and patted the seat. She sat down, seeing that he had something to say. Quietly, he said, “While you were gone, something absolutely amazing happened.” She turned to look at him. She could see he was serious. He then recounted the incident as precisely as he could, before suggesting that they leave without delay.

When he’d finished, she said, “Shouldn’t we report it or something?”

He looked around and sighed. “What’s the point? Who’re we going to tell?” He shook his head slowly. “The only way any of this doesn’t go badly for us, is if we get out of here without anything else happening. D’you see what I mean? We should accept what has happened and just go.”

At that moment, she surprised herself with how tolerant she was being, first the jacket and now this! “OK,” she said, “if you think that’s best.”

“I do, but we need to move slowly, you know, normal, nothing unusual, just picking up our luggage and leaving the airport.”

As bartenders go, he was very popular.

Always willing to stop and talk. To pause just long enough when the place was busy and to share a drink and a chat when it was quiet. Naturally, being located across the street from the football stadium, those that regularly visited the pub had a predictable preference for talking football. Discussing the way a game went, how it should have gone, or the good judgement or otherwise of a particular referee. There always seemed to be a great deal to talk about, regarding the sport itself, the players, the team managers and owners, the rules, the price of admission, and so on. The bartender was always there with a knowledgeable contribution. He would dissect games with the best of them. He knew all of the teams, along with the names of most of the players within them. He knew the names of the coaches and the managers, along with their histories. It’s fair to say that he did very well for tips.

After closing time each evening, when he and the pub owner had cleared away, he left for home, taking his secret with him. It was safe.

No one would ever think to ask if he actually liked football.

He sits on the front porch, taking in the sounds of the neighbourhood.

In his rocker, with eyes closed, he swivels his head to take in any new sound that the world has to offer. He can hear a magpie’s song, the cry of other birds, and through the trees he hears the whistling of the wind. There is the buzz of an occasional fly, the drone of a highflying airliner, occasional voices from the street, the yapping of distant dogs and the jangle of wind chimes. He strains to hear the crackle of a backyard bonfire and the distant hum of vehicles.

He isn’t blind, he just enjoys listening.

The detective’s flagging career was noticed by his fellow officers.

He was beginning to wonder if he should have stayed in uniform. It wasn’t a bad life and generally speaking he received a lot more respect out on the street. He was considering requesting a transfer back to uniform when the golden opportunity to turn it all around fell into his lap. The station had been buzzing with a case for a number of months. Four serial killings and a task force of detectives put together to solve it. Of course, he hadn’t been asked. Meanwhile, he’d been given a robbery to investigate. The break-in took place only a couple of blocks from his apartment. He was there, questioning neighbours when he met the man that would boost his career.

At first, he didn’t want to answer the door, but the detective heard noises coming from inside so he persevered. Eventually, a very nervous man opened up and the detective went in and began asking his questions regarding the robbery. He answered all these, but he was obviously hiding something. The detective looked around and figured the man was an illegal immigrant. When confronted with questions about his nationality and status the man broke down. The detective said he had no choice, he would have to report it. It was then that the man asked if he could do a deal. If the policeman let him stay under the radar he could provide him with valuable information about the killer. So, after negotiations and assurances were given the man came up with a full report on the man committing the murders.

It turned out that he knew the killer quite well, he thought he was a bad man. He went on to provide the killer’s name and address, some of his movements on the nights the crimes were committed and the location of at least one of the bodies. The detective said he was grateful for the information, saying that he’d keep his name out of his report. He also said that he would see if permanent residency could be arranged and that he’d be in touch in the next few days. The man was delighted with the idea and would wait for his call.

Back at the station, over a couple of days the detective became something of a celebrity. The reports he handed in were written to show that he had done a lot of digging and following up of clues. With the information he gave to the task force the criminal was charged and being held in custody. The detective let a couple of days go by before he contacted his informer. He arranged to meet him on the following evening on a local building site where they could meet privately. He told him that he’d kept his name out of the reports and had made some progress with arranging his permanent residency. He would bring papers for him to sign.

The detective knew only too well that should his witness ever talk about the part he played in the affair, his newfound status would soon vanish. However, this would never happen. The fact that the man was about to have a city skyscraper built on top of him would put paid to that.

It was just a small piece of metal, lost among the pebbles on the front drive.

It was aware of a break. Only just aware, as it now took on a new and most separate life, and whatever its old life was, it was gone. Being hidden by earth and stones it was not likely to move around very much. Having thought that, the tiny item wondered why such a notion should occur to it. Maybe it had once been a part of something that moved. It knew it was small, not quite square and made of metal. Not that it really mattered now; what it was or what it had been. It would just lie here now, getting used to its new existence; although, it was curious…

Time passed, as time is apt to do, even for an apparently irrelevant bit of something. The day was losing its sun and there were comings and goings at the house. At the front door, looking out, the man called over his shoulder, “Is the lad home?” The woman inside, busy unpacking her weekend shopping replied. “No. Still out on his bike. He said he wouldn’t be late.”

None of this was of any interest to the piece of broken metal. In fact, the mere fact that it was just lying on the ground with little prospect of moving was taking on an annoying aspect regarding its current situation.

A short time later the boy returned, bringing with him a sound. A repetitive clicking, becoming louder as he approached. For the tiny piece on the ground this brought about a revelation. In an instant it realised that it was a metal tooth broken off the bike’s chain cog. It was thrilled with the newly found knowledge of where it came from, but at the same time saddened by the thought that it had been separated.

The boy knocked and his father came out. “My bike isn’t working properly,” was his glum greeting. His father looked the bike over. “There’s your problem’ he said, pointing to where the tooth was missing. “Can we fix it?” said the boy. His father shook his head. “Not really son, it’s pretty old. I think we need to get you a new bike, don’t you?” The boy clapped and grinned. His father went on. “We’ll take it to the recycling plant and buy you a new one at the same time.

The bike itself, being the larger of the two things separated, and with a greater sense of discovery, wondered where the other part was. It began taking in the other’s presence. Fortunately it was close. It could be managed…

When the time came, the bike was wheeled out to the front of the house where the utility vehicle sat. Quite naturally, it happened that the front tyre ran over the broken tooth, snagging it in its tread. Hence, it was all loaded into the back of the vehicle. They were happily together again.

Needless to say, the humans involved knew absolutely nothing of any of this. This sort of thing had always been, and will continue to be, totally beyond their understanding. There is little doubt that they will remain forever utterly oblivious to such things.

It had been exactly six years ago, six happy years since that moment.

Although she may not have said it in so many words, she was aware of the fact that life’s vacillations were inevitable. Back then, it had been a strange time for her. A time when she had uttered that terrible curse while staring into her bathroom mirror, wishing him dead. Then, days later, the police report, with the witness’s statement that showed how it had been that precise moment that the truck and ended his rotten life. It had marked the end of his violence, the end of hiding the evidence of his brutality. It had been a beginning. A fresh start. She had been forty when it happened. Since then she had enjoyed her new life; living alone. Being very much her own person. The intervening years had been good.

Now, with all the anguish behind her, more and more, she felt that it was time to let a new partner into her life. Someone special. No violence or brutality, but someone considerate and loving. The simply stated logic of her thoughts had surprised her, but naivety would play no part in what she was about to do. She would take hold of the unknowable, and use it. She would make a wish, a very private one. She needed her fortunes to move from curse to blessing, and for this she needed a wish.

Looking back, as she often did, there must have been something really special about that moment. Just knowing that was enough. There was no need for her to understand it. It seemed strange to think that such knowledge was irrelevant, but it was. She knew the time to the exact minute. The instant that she had cursed and the moment he had died. Now, staring up at the clock, it would be that very moment again… when she would make her wish.

She had excused herself to take a call.

He sat at the table wondering how long she would be. He knew that their regular time together was limited. She had finished her drink. He had hardly touched his. It was as though there was a chance that the activity of drinking could lead to him missing something. Missing time with her. She was beautiful and these brief encounters allowed hardly enough time to fully appreciate the fact. He stared at the napkin with her lipstick on it. He wanted to pick it up and kiss it. He also noticed the scratch mark on the edge of the wooden table. It was almost a letter ‘s’. He tried to think of someone he knew whose name began with an ‘s’. He couldn’t. He felt sure she wouldn’t be long.

He looked up at the ceiling and saw an air vent with tiny square holes in it. He wondered whether there were any spiders living in there; and did they come out at night looking for food? A woman appeared, entering from the other side of the room. It wasn’t her, but she wouldn’t be long. She would want to get back to him as soon as possible, he knew that.

He was wondering what she would say if he suggested they make a change and go out to a restaurant sometime. He was thinking this when he caught sight of the paint that was peeling on the side of the nearby tea trolley. He couldn’t help wondering why it was peeling in that one particular spot. He couldn’t see any reason for it. Not knowing that, bothered him, but his attention was quickly grabbed when he saw her returning, closing down her phone as she approached. His heart leapt and his face lit up.

She returned his smile as she stood at the table. Then, nodding, she picked up his papier-mâché frog and said, “That’s very nice, Tommy.” Putting it down, she picked up his folder and put it in her case. With another smile, she said “I have to go now, but I’ll see you again next week.”

He watched her go.

The man in the white jacket and trousers stepped forward. “OK, let’s get you back to your room.”