'An Unfortunate Occurrence'
This is based on a true story. It was a small article in the newspaper of about 50 words or so, but something struck me about it, so I cut it out from the paper and so a month later I decided to write something about.
Harry arrived at the office at 9:17 a.m, twenty seven minutes later than he should have been. “Are they in there?” He said to the receptionist Alice.
“They came in about five minute ago, so it won’t be too bad.” She said.
“Christ…” He said and put his coat behind the desk.
“Harry, how did-”
“The tube was complete chaos. Some idiot causing trouble and waving a knife about. Terrible.”
“You’ve got-”
“Yes, terrible. Is the case file in my office?”
“Harry, please you’ve got-”
“It’s ok, I can see it.” He said and picked up the Johnson’s case file from Alice’s desk. He straightened up his tie and said, “I don’t look too rushed, do I?”
“Harry, listen to me, there’s a-”
“No time for chat, Alice. I’m already half an hour late.”
He walked through the reception to the door with his name upon it and opened it. The Johnsons sat on one side of his desk. “My apologises,” Harry said, “For keeping you waiting so long.” Mr. Johnson stood up and Harry shook his hand. He nodded at Mrs. Johnson.
Harry moved around them to the other side of the desk and sat down in his chair. He felt an uncomfortable pain in his back. He’d had back problems the previous year and it’d kept him off work for a month. He decided to just grin and bear it. “Now,” He said opening the Johnson’s case file, “We’ve spoken with the firms accountants and…”
“Mr. Matthews?” Mrs. Johnson interrupted.
“Yes?”
“Are you… alright?”
“Well… yes… why?”
Mr. Johnson said, “It’s just that,” He looked at his wife and she looked back, “You’ve got a knife in your back…”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve got a knife in your back.” Said Mrs. Johnson, “It’s sticking out.”
“Is there?”
The Johnsons nodded. Harry reached around and touched his back. His fingers moved up the jacket, finding nothing. He turned around and said, “Whereabouts is…”
“Up a bit,” Mrs. Johnson said, “And too the left.”
“Thank you.” He said. He followed Mrs. Johnson’s directions and his fingers brushed against metal. “Oh,” He said, “Have I got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Right… well…”
“Do you,” Mr. Johnson said, “Want me to take it out?”
“Oh no, no that’s alright. I think it’s probably best to get a doctor and, er, call an ambulance. Excuse me.” He said. He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Alice?”
“Yes, Mr. Matthews?” Came a fuzzy voice.
“Could you… call me an ambulance?”
“Of course. Right away.”
“Thank you.” He switched the intercom off. He tried to lean back but felt a sting.
He cleared his throat and looked across at the concerned faces of the Johnson’s. He gave them a reassuring smile.
“How did you…” Mr. Johnson said.
“I’m… not sure replied.” He replied. “There was somebody on the tube this morning with a knife, causing trouble, so I can only suppose… I was in a rush, you see. I don’t like being late, never have done.”
“No?”
“No. Never liked it, so maybe I just… didn’t feel it. Yes.”
Silence hung over the three. Mrs. Johnson drummed her fat fingers on her handbag. Mr Johnson looked at the ceiling.
Mrs. Johnson said, “Would you like us to come back another time?”
“I suppose that if you see Alice you could rearrange another time… how about next Tuesday for you?”
“I’m working Tuesday.” Mr. Johnson said.
“Unfortunately Tuesday’s the best day for me that week, but the week after is a lot better- the week beginning the 20th?”
“We’re free on the Wednesday…” Mrs. Johnson said.
“Yes I think Wednesday should be fine.” Mr. Johnson said.
“Excellent, then if you speak to Alice on the way out she can book your appointment.” Harry smiled then said, “We could always have a quick chat about your situation now if you wanted?”
“Are you… sure?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not.”
“Even with the, erm…” Mr. Johnson said.
“It’s inconvenient, well it is for me, but you two shouldn’t have to be inconvenienced also.”
Mrs. Johnson said, “Well the ambulance won’t be that long…”
“Well it might be good just to give you an o-”
“Mr. Matthews? Are you ok?”
He smiled as reassuringly as he could at them, “Please excuse me,” He said politely, “But I’m going to faint.”
And that he did.
Monday 29 December 2008
Saturday 27 December 2008
Imagist
This is my attempt at Imagisim.
To A Dancer in Paris, 1892
From your audience-
I leave you a note
Under an empty glass
On my table.
To A Dancer in Paris, 1892
From your audience-
I leave you a note
Under an empty glass
On my table.
Friday 21 November 2008
Clear Skies
On Wednesday night I was given the task of writing a script for somebody's media piece, and I gladly took up the challeneg even though I'd only have twenty four hours to write it and I had a cold. The brief for the piece was a delusional man being followed and uses a voice over. This piece is the original, unedited monolgue I wrote at one o'clock in the morning. The piece that filmed was very cut down from what this is.
It’s the bad dreams that keep me awake, but I’m not sure who keeps putting them there. I sleep in gutters and the beds of passing acquaintances who take pity on my shoes. Sun’s too bright for my eyes it burns and turns them into matchsticks. I’m sure that if I could get myself a new face and clean pair of shoes then it sure as hell wouldn’t matter what I’d done or who I’d been and some pretty faced girl would take sympathy and I’d show sad eyes and we’d take off to the low lands.
I feel them after every step I take. As soon as my back turned there’s another one behind me, pointing, staring and watching and they say ‘That’s the boy that turned his back’ and I heard them murmur the name of Judas Iscariot like a curse that’ll go with me to the grave. But they do not know, they never could know the acts these sweet little hands have committed, the sins they have seen. I turn my back, I turn my back on them and their ideals I say ‘I shall not be apart of this revolution, it’s the wrong time of year for it’ but they do not listen and they send their agents after me. The angels of depth and perception would invade my day to day thoughts and implement kinetic nightmares designed to frighten me into submission. But I do not weaken, I do not break- my back is strong and my shoes are dirty but stubborn and I shall wipe them along the floor and make my way through the leaves that Autumn has marked the path with, and I shall follow like the plane on the runway and reach my destination and drop off my dreams so they can collect their luggage and keep their passports.
I need safety. I need a place I can put my hat on my Jack Daniel’s bottle and call it ‘home’. I need a good woman carrying Fruit Pastilles. I need to clean my teeth and eat my vegatables.
All the bright lights and peoples faces make me go a little insane, but then again aren’t we all just that bit crazy? We don’t understand other people because of the simple fact that they are not us and we can never understand as we never do understand ourselves.
They wait behind and they follow me through dark and the light. They wait until I smile then the demons emerge from the sewer grates and dig their claws into my face so I can frown again. They want to take me with them to join their cause, but dear Jesus I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go.
I haven’t eaten since Saturday. My stomach is full of the acid that it makes. It’ll poison me inside out if I don’t get a drink. They feed me drink designed to confuse me so I cannot collect the inheritance that is rightfully mine. Every time I approach money they sniff me out and wonder and wonder if I would dare if I would dare to take that sweet little hand and take the money for my own so I could buy sugar and water and be good for another day. But they do not want me to have such luxuries they want me to wallow in selfishness and unrequited desire.
I hear them say ‘we shall have you’ though I do not want to be apart of anything that would wish me as a member. I do not trust easy membership and gifts handed on plates. I no longer accept food or kindness from strangers for the fear that is was poisoned long ago. The Phantom of the Opera keeps inviting me to tea but I’d rather drink coffee with Casanova, I could learn more from him. He seems so wise in the things that I do not know. Those that are left behind from parties say to me ‘You have changed’ but I cannot tell them I say the same- it is they who are different. It’s those new glasses that make them see things like that. It wasn’t always that way because a long time ago we used to be friends, but time and change and different places have torn us apart and now we are different people, but you cannot see what you have become can you?
I’m sure they’re all spiders in human clothes. Spindly legs, jutting fangs and eyes set to ‘kill’. They watch me as their prey, another victim to devour not my flesh but my soul. They want to drag me inside out take my deepest fears and marinate them in a garlic sauce. A fun feast for all the family. Once they have my soul then I am a puppet on a string and I will dance and write and sing whence they command it of me and I will do it too their order and no longer one of my own.
I think I hear voices, coming from the people who pass me. I hear them judge me and look at me as a circus freak and I want to say ‘I am a freak but I work for no circus’ but they would not understand, the poor fools. They never did get me.
It’s the bad dreams that keep me awake, but I’m not sure who keeps putting them there. I sleep in gutters and the beds of passing acquaintances who take pity on my shoes. Sun’s too bright for my eyes it burns and turns them into matchsticks. I’m sure that if I could get myself a new face and clean pair of shoes then it sure as hell wouldn’t matter what I’d done or who I’d been and some pretty faced girl would take sympathy and I’d show sad eyes and we’d take off to the low lands.
I feel them after every step I take. As soon as my back turned there’s another one behind me, pointing, staring and watching and they say ‘That’s the boy that turned his back’ and I heard them murmur the name of Judas Iscariot like a curse that’ll go with me to the grave. But they do not know, they never could know the acts these sweet little hands have committed, the sins they have seen. I turn my back, I turn my back on them and their ideals I say ‘I shall not be apart of this revolution, it’s the wrong time of year for it’ but they do not listen and they send their agents after me. The angels of depth and perception would invade my day to day thoughts and implement kinetic nightmares designed to frighten me into submission. But I do not weaken, I do not break- my back is strong and my shoes are dirty but stubborn and I shall wipe them along the floor and make my way through the leaves that Autumn has marked the path with, and I shall follow like the plane on the runway and reach my destination and drop off my dreams so they can collect their luggage and keep their passports.
I need safety. I need a place I can put my hat on my Jack Daniel’s bottle and call it ‘home’. I need a good woman carrying Fruit Pastilles. I need to clean my teeth and eat my vegatables.
All the bright lights and peoples faces make me go a little insane, but then again aren’t we all just that bit crazy? We don’t understand other people because of the simple fact that they are not us and we can never understand as we never do understand ourselves.
They wait behind and they follow me through dark and the light. They wait until I smile then the demons emerge from the sewer grates and dig their claws into my face so I can frown again. They want to take me with them to join their cause, but dear Jesus I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go.
I haven’t eaten since Saturday. My stomach is full of the acid that it makes. It’ll poison me inside out if I don’t get a drink. They feed me drink designed to confuse me so I cannot collect the inheritance that is rightfully mine. Every time I approach money they sniff me out and wonder and wonder if I would dare if I would dare to take that sweet little hand and take the money for my own so I could buy sugar and water and be good for another day. But they do not want me to have such luxuries they want me to wallow in selfishness and unrequited desire.
I hear them say ‘we shall have you’ though I do not want to be apart of anything that would wish me as a member. I do not trust easy membership and gifts handed on plates. I no longer accept food or kindness from strangers for the fear that is was poisoned long ago. The Phantom of the Opera keeps inviting me to tea but I’d rather drink coffee with Casanova, I could learn more from him. He seems so wise in the things that I do not know. Those that are left behind from parties say to me ‘You have changed’ but I cannot tell them I say the same- it is they who are different. It’s those new glasses that make them see things like that. It wasn’t always that way because a long time ago we used to be friends, but time and change and different places have torn us apart and now we are different people, but you cannot see what you have become can you?
I’m sure they’re all spiders in human clothes. Spindly legs, jutting fangs and eyes set to ‘kill’. They watch me as their prey, another victim to devour not my flesh but my soul. They want to drag me inside out take my deepest fears and marinate them in a garlic sauce. A fun feast for all the family. Once they have my soul then I am a puppet on a string and I will dance and write and sing whence they command it of me and I will do it too their order and no longer one of my own.
I think I hear voices, coming from the people who pass me. I hear them judge me and look at me as a circus freak and I want to say ‘I am a freak but I work for no circus’ but they would not understand, the poor fools. They never did get me.
Monday 10 November 2008
A Pile Of Autumn Leaves
Library
My silent mentor;
Filled with potential.
Welcoming with arms open
To all is patrons.
Within I began my journey
Mining through rocks
Until I found diamonds.
My Favourite Mistake
I am making my favourite mistakes again.
I’m falling for the same dreams again.
I’ve tried follow a new model this year,
But I’ve become the daydreamer of last year.
I’m making my favourite mistake again,
And it sounds like this-
If only it could be.
October
October is the wettest month,
Raining on all I hold dear-
The heart in my shoes
The principals in my tie
The soul in my hat.
I have seen several cases
Of Autumn-monoxide poisoning.
Its sufferers cry a lot.
October is the wettest month.
Laurel Leaves
I shall wear his laurel leaves.
The leaves fell from his hair
The day you told him to go.
I wish to pick them up,
Place them in my hair,
Not matter if they be brown or green
I wish to wear those old laurel leaves of his.
My silent mentor;
Filled with potential.
Welcoming with arms open
To all is patrons.
Within I began my journey
Mining through rocks
Until I found diamonds.
My Favourite Mistake
I am making my favourite mistakes again.
I’m falling for the same dreams again.
I’ve tried follow a new model this year,
But I’ve become the daydreamer of last year.
I’m making my favourite mistake again,
And it sounds like this-
If only it could be.
October
October is the wettest month,
Raining on all I hold dear-
The heart in my shoes
The principals in my tie
The soul in my hat.
I have seen several cases
Of Autumn-monoxide poisoning.
Its sufferers cry a lot.
October is the wettest month.
Laurel Leaves
I shall wear his laurel leaves.
The leaves fell from his hair
The day you told him to go.
I wish to pick them up,
Place them in my hair,
Not matter if they be brown or green
I wish to wear those old laurel leaves of his.
Friday 7 November 2008
'Tales From The Bus Stop'
…never come on time, always waiting then there’s one bus, two bus, three buses all at once and none of them are the one you want. It’s always the way when it’s cold the bus never come on time and the timetables are liars and can kiss my arse who bloody wrote those things anyway? They never arrive when they say they…
…maybe my appendix will bust on the way and I won’t have too go in I hate French anyway who needs French I‘m never going to France but maybe I could go to France and punch a French person because they don‘t know who I am in France and I could get away with it and they…
…bloody dog…
…table will be there. We like our table it’s a good table and a nice view. Maybe Norman will save it for us. Nice Norman nice Norman with the coffee always makes good coffee. Must get our favourite table. Can’t be spending too much today, what will the daughter say, she’ll say ‘You’ve been buying too many clothes again do you really need that many trousers’ but I always always always find a bargain, I’m good at that. I always find a bargain. I do have too many trousers but there are so many nice ones in Marks and Sparks…
…the wheels on the bus go round and round round and round round and round all day long…
…off at Playschool and I’ll go pick up my money, they better have money I want my money I need my money how else am I going to afford food for the week now that he’s out of work the stupid bastard had to go and light up on site bloody fucking idiot leaves us in the…
…kick the bloody thing if it doesn’t shut up why do they let dogs on bus anyway?…
…murder a curry…
…grrrrrrrrrr… grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… grrr… WOOF! Woof woof…. Grrrrrrrrr… …like my appendix to go BOOM! because I wouldn’t have to go in and I’d get all the attention and I’ll have a cool scar and I can say I got it in a fight. Girls like scars. I think they like scars…
…think of the money think of the money, I’ll get through it okay it’s just another day. Work, work, work all work and no money makes Dan a dull boy. Grin and bear it grim and bear it that’s the way too go, be British- stiff upper moustache and all that. I think I’d be a great man if I didn’t have to work…
…it’s just like the Eiffel Tower though, aint it? I know she wanted to go to Paris but we can’t afford Paris and Blackpool Tower is like the Eiffel Tower, ain’t it? I’m sure she’ll like it. I know she’ll love it. It won’t matter when I propose and she’ll forget about Paris cos it’s the thought that counts, ain’t it?…
…We’re going on the bus we’re going on the bus where the wheels go round and round mummy say and I like the doggie too and I want a doggie and I think we should have a doggie waggy tail doggie doggie…
…too early for a curry…
…tail on the dog goes wag wag wag, wag wag wag, wag wag wag the tail on the dog goes wag wag wag all day long…
….grrrrr…
…here it comes…
…at last…
…bout bloody time…
…isn’t my bus. Better off walking…
This was written for the walk homework for Simon. I think of it as 'Camberwick Green' on speed.
…maybe my appendix will bust on the way and I won’t have too go in I hate French anyway who needs French I‘m never going to France but maybe I could go to France and punch a French person because they don‘t know who I am in France and I could get away with it and they…
…bloody dog…
…table will be there. We like our table it’s a good table and a nice view. Maybe Norman will save it for us. Nice Norman nice Norman with the coffee always makes good coffee. Must get our favourite table. Can’t be spending too much today, what will the daughter say, she’ll say ‘You’ve been buying too many clothes again do you really need that many trousers’ but I always always always find a bargain, I’m good at that. I always find a bargain. I do have too many trousers but there are so many nice ones in Marks and Sparks…
…the wheels on the bus go round and round round and round round and round all day long…
…off at Playschool and I’ll go pick up my money, they better have money I want my money I need my money how else am I going to afford food for the week now that he’s out of work the stupid bastard had to go and light up on site bloody fucking idiot leaves us in the…
…kick the bloody thing if it doesn’t shut up why do they let dogs on bus anyway?…
…murder a curry…
…grrrrrrrrrr… grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… grrr… WOOF! Woof woof…. Grrrrrrrrr… …like my appendix to go BOOM! because I wouldn’t have to go in and I’d get all the attention and I’ll have a cool scar and I can say I got it in a fight. Girls like scars. I think they like scars…
…think of the money think of the money, I’ll get through it okay it’s just another day. Work, work, work all work and no money makes Dan a dull boy. Grin and bear it grim and bear it that’s the way too go, be British- stiff upper moustache and all that. I think I’d be a great man if I didn’t have to work…
…it’s just like the Eiffel Tower though, aint it? I know she wanted to go to Paris but we can’t afford Paris and Blackpool Tower is like the Eiffel Tower, ain’t it? I’m sure she’ll like it. I know she’ll love it. It won’t matter when I propose and she’ll forget about Paris cos it’s the thought that counts, ain’t it?…
…We’re going on the bus we’re going on the bus where the wheels go round and round mummy say and I like the doggie too and I want a doggie and I think we should have a doggie waggy tail doggie doggie…
…too early for a curry…
…tail on the dog goes wag wag wag, wag wag wag, wag wag wag the tail on the dog goes wag wag wag all day long…
….grrrrr…
…here it comes…
…at last…
…bout bloody time…
…isn’t my bus. Better off walking…
This was written for the walk homework for Simon. I think of it as 'Camberwick Green' on speed.
Sunday 12 October 2008
Poem
Written for Simon's lesson.
Slow sunlight.
The dawn chorus
Of birds and kettles sing.
While others dream
In riddles
I keep my eyes open,
Listen to the slumber
Of the street;
A peaceful pause,
Sheltered from the storm.
Slow sunlight.
The dawn chorus
Of birds and kettles sing.
While others dream
In riddles
I keep my eyes open,
Listen to the slumber
Of the street;
A peaceful pause,
Sheltered from the storm.
Thursday 9 October 2008
'No Bloody Angel'
This was written in Johanthen's lesson on Wednesday morning. It's been edited and revisied.
‘You’re no bloody angel!’ Jack’s last words rumbled through Carole’s mind along with the sound of the train in the distance. ‘No bloody angel’, she mused to herself and she supposed that he was right. Then again, she thought, Jack didn’t even know half of what was going on, and he’d hate her even more if he knew the full story.
The train appeared on the horizon, so she stood up and carried her three suitcases forward to the platform. Two suitcases full of clothes, one full of money. That suitcase she kept closest to her.
The thought of the money had her smile. The amount was enough for her to live comfortable and quietly in the countryside for years to come, or until she got bored of the countryside and returned to London. She felt a little sorry for Jack, though- he’d be rather upset when he returned home to find the little pink note she’d written for him, and then her and the money gone. ‘No money and no girl’, she thought, ‘Poor Jack.’
In the brief moment before the train crawled to a stop at the platform, she thought that Jack Redgrave hadn’t been all that bad. He was probably the nicest guy she’d stolen money from. She thought he had been charming when he wanted to be. ‘Oh well’, she said, ‘I’ve got my retirement money now’, and carried suitcases to the train. Carole flashed a smile at the fat little porter and he came scuttling over to help her carry her luggage onto the train.
The words ‘You’re no bloody angel!’ returned to her mind as she watched the fat little porter step back onto the platform, having just dragged her suitcases onto the train and put them in the luggage rack for her. Carole stepped into her first class compartment, shut the door and then sat down on the green, cushioned seats. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag, took out a cigarette and lit it. As she inhaled the smoke she remembered she’d taken the packet of cigarettes out of Jack’s coat pocket before he’d left after their little row. The cigarettes were just something else to add to the list of things she’d taken from him. She guessed that the cigarettes would probably the last thing on his mind to worry about, after all he’d have just enough money left to be able to buy a new packet. She exhaled and imagined the smoke coming from her mouth like it would from a dragon.
‘No bloody angel’, she said, ‘Probably the only time you ever got me right, Jack.’. She smiled at her reflection in the window.
‘You’re no bloody angel!’ Jack’s last words rumbled through Carole’s mind along with the sound of the train in the distance. ‘No bloody angel’, she mused to herself and she supposed that he was right. Then again, she thought, Jack didn’t even know half of what was going on, and he’d hate her even more if he knew the full story.
The train appeared on the horizon, so she stood up and carried her three suitcases forward to the platform. Two suitcases full of clothes, one full of money. That suitcase she kept closest to her.
The thought of the money had her smile. The amount was enough for her to live comfortable and quietly in the countryside for years to come, or until she got bored of the countryside and returned to London. She felt a little sorry for Jack, though- he’d be rather upset when he returned home to find the little pink note she’d written for him, and then her and the money gone. ‘No money and no girl’, she thought, ‘Poor Jack.’
In the brief moment before the train crawled to a stop at the platform, she thought that Jack Redgrave hadn’t been all that bad. He was probably the nicest guy she’d stolen money from. She thought he had been charming when he wanted to be. ‘Oh well’, she said, ‘I’ve got my retirement money now’, and carried suitcases to the train. Carole flashed a smile at the fat little porter and he came scuttling over to help her carry her luggage onto the train.
The words ‘You’re no bloody angel!’ returned to her mind as she watched the fat little porter step back onto the platform, having just dragged her suitcases onto the train and put them in the luggage rack for her. Carole stepped into her first class compartment, shut the door and then sat down on the green, cushioned seats. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag, took out a cigarette and lit it. As she inhaled the smoke she remembered she’d taken the packet of cigarettes out of Jack’s coat pocket before he’d left after their little row. The cigarettes were just something else to add to the list of things she’d taken from him. She guessed that the cigarettes would probably the last thing on his mind to worry about, after all he’d have just enough money left to be able to buy a new packet. She exhaled and imagined the smoke coming from her mouth like it would from a dragon.
‘No bloody angel’, she said, ‘Probably the only time you ever got me right, Jack.’. She smiled at her reflection in the window.
Sunday 28 September 2008
My Back Pages
In a bored moment I began to ponder over influences- all artists have them. One thing I have always loved is finding out who my influences are influenced by and then searching those people out. Plus I wanted to answer the question- what's my most major influence, what can I trace back to being the 'first cause' for want of a better statement.
Two influences I've discovered in the last 9 months or so are two people who work in different fields but with quite similar common themes- Raymond Chandler and Edward Hopper- an author and a painter. I've always loved detective stories. Murder mysteries and whodunnits have always been a great joy to me. The hero of Chandler's book is Phillip Marlowe, the classic archetype of the Private Eye. A lone mora
l hero in an immoral world. Great stuff. As the books were mostly written in the 40's they have that wonderful fashion of the time- hats, ties and big coats, and the same period was when Edward Hopper was painting. I love all of his paintings- they have such a strong sense of narrative in them it really seems as if there's a story going on. Hopper has inspired many other writers as well as myself.
l hero in an immoral world. Great stuff. As the books were mostly written in the 40's they have that wonderful fashion of the time- hats, ties and big coats, and the same period was when Edward Hopper was painting. I love all of his paintings- they have such a strong sense of narrative in them it really seems as if there's a story going on. Hopper has inspired many other writers as well as myself.Over the summer I discovered the wonderful writer that is Leo Tolstoy. I read 'War and Peace' and 'Anna Karenina' back to back and loved both very much. He really has a true insight into human nature and the tickings of the human mind, plus his prose is just magnificent. 'War and Peace' is not a book to read- it is a book to be lived, balancing the big scale drama of war with the human drama of it's characters.
Keeping with the idea of introspection and melancholy is David Bowie, or specifically Berlin Bowie. In 1976 and 77, Bowie escaped from America and returned to Europe to kick his cocaine habit and give his career a new direction. 1977 brought about two classic albums- Low and "Heroes". Both albums contain soundscapes that really invoke a true sense of place, and the sparse lyrics reveal in their simplicity Bowie's depression and lethargy over his break from his drug abuse. Bowie spent most of this period in Berlin, and lets the spirit of the city wash over both albums.
At 17 I discovered two of the finest songwriters to have picked up a guitar- Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. Dylan is the master of voices flitting brilliantly from protest singer, finger wagging at those in power, spurned lover, reborn Christian and above all rock's first ever poet. His most poetic album 'Blonde on Blonde' is only a recent discovery but it contains some beautiful prose. Cohen is the King of Melancholy and nobody can challenge that title. He speaks of love, romance and sex in quasi-mystical terms, bringing an almost religified view to them, as best done in the monumental 'Hallelujah'. Once you've listened to Leonard Cohen nothing else seems that depressing any more.
And once again to depression with three excellent poets- Edgar Allen Poe, William Blake and Dylan Thomas. Three men responsible for (or guilty of) getting me into poetry. Their words combined with an excellent English Lit teacher opened up my mind to poetry.
Then a return to songwriters two whom I discovered around the same time at 16- John Lennon and Roger Waters. Both members of famous bands- The Beatles and Pink Floyd. Waters wrote all the lyrics to the classic album 'Dark Side of the Moon', the first time he'd written all the lyrics of an album for Pink Floyd. The lyrics were born out of his frustration with modern life- time, money, war, mortality and all those sort of things. He wrote the wonderful line: "Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way". Other albums he's done are also excellent, but 'Dark Side of the Moon' is undoubtedly his magnum opus. John Lennon is one of the most iconic performers of all time. 'Imagine' is an athem for a generation and his work in the Beatles is very avant garde- he changed the face of rock and roll, but he wouldn't have devolped as he did if it wasn't for... Bob Dylan who encourage his more personal style of writing. And Roger Waters calls Lennon his favourite lyricist.
And at 13 I discovered two writers who I always say formed the foundation of my writing- William Shakespeare and Stephen King. Two very different writers but I learnt one thing from both of them- to have no mercy with my characters. I am not at all squemish about having my characters meet grisly fates. In a way they both deal with the themes of death and religion (if you look closely enough that is.
I always said that Shakespeare and King were my foundation but it was only today that I realised a very important influence to me that I rarely acknowledge, but it's effect on me still lasts till today, and probably will last for many more years too come. What made my favourite genres detective stories, mystery and horror? It can only be...
Monday 1 September 2008
'The Perfect Hostess'
'Room In New York' by Edward Hopper'The Perfect Hostess'
He could not love a stranger, and that’s all that she was too him now, no different from the faceless people that walked along the sidewalk below him. It was the memory of her he was in love with- as she had been before, when he had first known her in their early years, but the illness became apparent.
Larry sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. It was a relief to be home- the old familiar room, the same wallpaper and carpet that had always been there- none of that had changed and he was glad for familiarity of it all. It was a great sense of comfort after the repetitive bleakness of hospital walls.
Light notes of music covered the silence of the room. Larry knew she was at the piano, pressing the one same note over and over. They’d brought it 6 months ago, with the paycheck from her last cinematic appearance. Alice gladly told people she was teaching herself the piano and would take singing lessons too. She always told people with such pride that she was going to be musical, Larry had his doubts and it proved true when she abandoned it within weeks. She pleaded with Larry to get rid of it, but it’d been so much trouble getting the damned thing up the stairs to their apartment they were keeping it.
Larry leaned forward and picked up the newspaper on the table. It was from a couple of days ago, ‘Has it been that long since either of us were here?’ He thought. Maybe two months since he was last here? He’d been in New York for three days but never visited the apartment- he’d gone straight to the hospital to see Alice. He looked up from the newspaper over to her. She was wearing her red dress, the one she’d been wearing when they took her into the hospital last Thursday. It was crumpled and messy, but Larry was not surprised with all the fight she had put up with the nurses and everyone else.
Larry thought back to when they first met- before she was ill, he liked too think, but he suspected that she may have been ill for a lot longer but he had not noticed. Perhaps he passed it off as moodiness, or that all actresses behaved like this- they were used to top treatment. It was backstage of the theatre they first met, Larry gone to greet the cast, and he secretly hoped he would get to meet Alice.
Larry knew of Alice Rains before he had met her, most had- she was the biggest box office draw in America in 1946. Larry had seen her in three or four films before they met, he always did have a soft spot for her. She’d told him years later that she moved from movies to Broadway because she’d wanted to be a real actress, see what it was like to really be put under pressure and sustain a character for a lengthy period of time. His second play went to Broadway, something he was very proud of, and he was equally pleased when he found out that Alice Rains would star. He’d wanted to go and watch the rehearsals but he was working in L.A, working on a script for a romantic comedy for the studio. He rushed through his work as quickly as he could, and managed to be free to go and see his play open on Broadway. After the show the director had brought Larry backstage to meet and greet with most of the actors who all seemed to put on a welcoming greeting, but Larry guessed their true feelings didn’t amount to much. As the director leading him down the hallway they came to Alice’s dressing room.
The first image Larry saw of her was her reflection in the mirror. She was facing away from him, but her reflection seemed to look straight into him. Larry thought she looked better in the flesh than in the movies- her dark, velvet eyes, porcelain skin and raven black hair. She had a dark beauty like no other. She spun around in the chair and greeted Larry so courteously he could not fail to fall for her charm.
She was married then, when they first meet, but she left her husband soon after. Larry guessed she’d been looking for an excuse and Larry entered right on his cue. They both alternated between New York and L.A. depending on their work- most of the time moving together, thought there were often periods where they would be separated for weeks and months at a time. They wrote each other long letters- Larry kept all of hers in his desk in New York, Alice assured him she had kept the love letters he sent her, but Larry had no idea where she kept them. The letters rambled on for pages about their burning desire to see each other again, the large chunk of them that was missing, and so on and so. The one Larry had treasured most of all went along these lines-
“Oh, Larry-kin, oh dear the days are far too long and every time I close my eyes I find you are here with me and you hold me in those loving arms of yours to take me away and protecting from all the nasty people here. Then when I wake up and she you’re not here I cry to myself because it’s only a dream, but I count the days till I finish here and I can come back to you and we can be together again… much love and tears and kissing, your Alice from Wonderland”
Those two years were the happiest Larry could remember. They had only argued once when he had called her to say he was going to stop in New York a couple of extra days. She screamed down the phone at him, screaming that he did not love her and that he was going to leave her for some woman with loose morals, or worse- a dancer. Larry did his best to reassure her. When he finally got to L.A three days later he was told she was ill and would not see him. Then a day later she appeared at his hotel and threw herself into his arms, and they had made love soon after as if the last days were a fiction.
Larry thought she had always seemed happier at her home in L.A. He’d take her back tomorrow morning. He knew she’d be happier there, as she used to be, Larry thought- it was a last attempt. The house in L.A. was 5 times the size of the New York apartment and Alice loved throwing parties for everybody and anybody in the movie industry. Alice was always the perfect hostess, making sure each and every person in the room felt her presence and she was in total control.
There had been one time, with two older British actors when her perfect hostess act slipped. The actors were both invited to one of Alice’s parties, except one had told the other that it was a fancy dress ball as a practical joke. So, the one actor turned up dressed as a harlequin, much to his embarrassment when he realized the joke. He’d seen the lighter side of it, but Alice did not. Her face froze in shock, and when it melted she stormed up to the harlequin, ripped off his mask and ordered him and his wife from the house. They thought she was joking, but Alice had surprising strength when she was angry and virtually pushed them outside and refused them entry. Once they’d gone Alice had run upstairs, Larry followed and then returned five minutes later and informed the guests that Alice had a headache.
Over the years Larry had heard those that she was working with complaining about her, that she could one day be screaming and shouting at people, then deathly silent and still and sometimes perfectly charming. She was mostly charming to people whenever shooting began, but soon Larry would hear reports of problems. In the early years that’s all they were to Larry- reports of unhappiness, she kept that side of nature hidden from him for the most part, but in the last 18 months he’d seen the other side to her, the one only talked about it bitter terms by co-stars and directors. Larry began to fear her a little, and pandered to her whims more and more afraid of an outburst. One night when she had ripped into him for coming home later she had threatened to kill herself, so Larry had taken all the pills in the house and flushed them down the toilet. The next morning Larry awoke from the sofa to hear Alice laughing hysterically, and he found her laughing at the empty medicine cabinet.
It was three months ago, just when the summer of ‘54 had started than Larry nervously told Alice he’d been contracted to go to L.A. to work on the script for MGM. Alice had politely smiled and told him that was fine, she’d come to see him just as soon as her play finished in a few months time. Larry had breathed a sigh of relief and left two weeks later. They written each other long letters as they normally did and ran up long telephone bills, but Larry was began to feel like an actor. He was just repeating things he’d said to her years ago just to keep on her good side- he loved her good side. That side of her was the woman he’d fallen in love, the other side of her scared him. Once arriving at the studio office he was told he would be co-writing the script. Larry was put aback at this as he had never written with anyone before, and even more shocked was he when he learnt it was to be a woman he was to work with. He knew that it was her novel he was meant to be adapting, but he did not expect to be adapting it with the author herself. When they first meet, she nervously shook his hand and said that would have written the script herself but she just “Had no darned idea how to do it.” She had laughed a little with a Southern twang to it.
Her name was Hermione, she was six years younger than Larry and had bright, red hair. Larry had thought her novel was certainly an interesting one, but he’d planned to take a different direction with it, so he thought this would pose a problem. The first days working together was an awful experience, neither of them was sure of each other and had no idea what to do. It was on the fourth day when Larry had had enough and suggested they just go and get some lunch because he couldn’t work anymore, nervously Hermione had agreed. Because Larry distrusted the studio canteen they had driven to a little restaurant not too far away. It was over this lunch that Larry had happened to mention a play by Chekhov that was an influence to him and Hermione agreed with him. Before they knew it they had spent hours talking about books and poetry and had wasted most of the afternoon they should have spent writing. When they came into work the next day everything seemed to click, the reluctance and nerves had gone- the ice had broken, and the script was written in a short space of time. In between writing they would discuss plays and books and find they had very similar taste. Hermione asked Larry what Alice Rains was like and with a fake smile he said “Wonderful”.
One week before Alice was due to visit, Larry and Hermione kissed. They had had a few drinks to celebrate the completion of the third and final draft of their script. It had been a mutual kiss, neither dominated, neither took a back seat- it was mutual. That night Larry was so wrapped up in guilt he had forgotten to call Alice.
The next day Hermione apologized to Larry for what had happened. Larry tried to do the same but found he could not. He gave Hermione his New York address and number so that they could keep in contact. She kissed him on the check, and Larry held her for a few seconds imagining what it would be like to wake up one morning and see her face on the pillow beside him. He said nothing though.
When he got back to his hotel the receptionist said there was a call for him and it was urgent. “Larry, it’s Peter,” Said the voice on the other end of the phone, “It’s Alice- she’s had some kind of breakdown. You better come back to New York. We’re going to try and get her to hospital.”
Larry was told later on that the evening before Alice had been late coming to the theatre for the evening performance, most of the cast believed she would not turn up at all. When she did turn up she was in a red dress and spoke to no one. She went into her dressing room and locked the door. They’d waited as long as they could before the show began but there was no response, so an understudy went on instead. It was during the interval that the cast backstage heard screaming from her dressing and the sound of smashing glass. Some on from the crew broke down the door and Alice was sitting in a pool of broken glass from all the mirrors, cuts up and down her arms and across her face. She was screaming wildly. With surprising strength she had run past them all and out into the street. She had run into the road and was almost hit by a taxicab. The shows director, Peter, was an old friend of theirs, and followed her back to the apartment, he said without irony that she’d left a trail of bloody handprints on the stairwell for him too follow. He’d spent most of the night trying to get her to take some sedatives or go to the hospital, but she refused. While she was calm he had bandaged her arms but minutes later she tore them off. In the early morning when she was out of the room he called from an ambulance to pick her up. It took three ex-marines to get her into the back of the ambulance, and another 2 to hold her down on the journey to the hospital.
Larry got there the next day and she was as bad as ever. She didn’t seem to recognise him and scratched his face. He stayed in the hospital the whole time, sleeping in a visitor’s room. It was the opinions of the doctors and nurses that if she were to stay in hospital any longer she would have to be sectioned then put into a sanatorium. When she calmed down she asked sweetly for Larry to talk to her. She told him that all the doctors frightened her and that she didn’t want to stay in there anymore. Larry looked into her eyes and saw the old sparkle and charm that he knew so well. He kissed her forehead and told her they’d leave straight away. They were about to leave and she threw another fit, the doctors once again sedated her. While the doctors sedated her she threw Larry a glance that pierced him as if she was saying ‘Et tu, Brutus?’
That evening while she was calm Larry smuggled her out of the hospital and back to the apartment. And there they were. Tomorrow, he’d take her back to L.A, and hoped she’d be happier there, as she always seemed to be. She kept playing the same note on the piano- over and over. Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Larry?” She spoke softly.
“Yes?”
With eyes fixed on the piano she said, “Do you love me?”
“Oh, Larry-kin, oh dear the days are far too long and every time I close my eyes I find you are here with me and you hold me in those loving arms of yours to take me away and protecting from all the nasty people here. Then when I wake up and she you’re not here I cry to myself because it’s only a dream, but I count the days till I finish here and I can come back to you and we can be together again… much love and tears and kissing, your Alice from Wonderland”
Those two years were the happiest Larry could remember. They had only argued once when he had called her to say he was going to stop in New York a couple of extra days. She screamed down the phone at him, screaming that he did not love her and that he was going to leave her for some woman with loose morals, or worse- a dancer. Larry did his best to reassure her. When he finally got to L.A three days later he was told she was ill and would not see him. Then a day later she appeared at his hotel and threw herself into his arms, and they had made love soon after as if the last days were a fiction.
Larry thought she had always seemed happier at her home in L.A. He’d take her back tomorrow morning. He knew she’d be happier there, as she used to be, Larry thought- it was a last attempt. The house in L.A. was 5 times the size of the New York apartment and Alice loved throwing parties for everybody and anybody in the movie industry. Alice was always the perfect hostess, making sure each and every person in the room felt her presence and she was in total control.
There had been one time, with two older British actors when her perfect hostess act slipped. The actors were both invited to one of Alice’s parties, except one had told the other that it was a fancy dress ball as a practical joke. So, the one actor turned up dressed as a harlequin, much to his embarrassment when he realized the joke. He’d seen the lighter side of it, but Alice did not. Her face froze in shock, and when it melted she stormed up to the harlequin, ripped off his mask and ordered him and his wife from the house. They thought she was joking, but Alice had surprising strength when she was angry and virtually pushed them outside and refused them entry. Once they’d gone Alice had run upstairs, Larry followed and then returned five minutes later and informed the guests that Alice had a headache.
Over the years Larry had heard those that she was working with complaining about her, that she could one day be screaming and shouting at people, then deathly silent and still and sometimes perfectly charming. She was mostly charming to people whenever shooting began, but soon Larry would hear reports of problems. In the early years that’s all they were to Larry- reports of unhappiness, she kept that side of nature hidden from him for the most part, but in the last 18 months he’d seen the other side to her, the one only talked about it bitter terms by co-stars and directors. Larry began to fear her a little, and pandered to her whims more and more afraid of an outburst. One night when she had ripped into him for coming home later she had threatened to kill herself, so Larry had taken all the pills in the house and flushed them down the toilet. The next morning Larry awoke from the sofa to hear Alice laughing hysterically, and he found her laughing at the empty medicine cabinet.
It was three months ago, just when the summer of ‘54 had started than Larry nervously told Alice he’d been contracted to go to L.A. to work on the script for MGM. Alice had politely smiled and told him that was fine, she’d come to see him just as soon as her play finished in a few months time. Larry had breathed a sigh of relief and left two weeks later. They written each other long letters as they normally did and ran up long telephone bills, but Larry was began to feel like an actor. He was just repeating things he’d said to her years ago just to keep on her good side- he loved her good side. That side of her was the woman he’d fallen in love, the other side of her scared him. Once arriving at the studio office he was told he would be co-writing the script. Larry was put aback at this as he had never written with anyone before, and even more shocked was he when he learnt it was to be a woman he was to work with. He knew that it was her novel he was meant to be adapting, but he did not expect to be adapting it with the author herself. When they first meet, she nervously shook his hand and said that would have written the script herself but she just “Had no darned idea how to do it.” She had laughed a little with a Southern twang to it.
Her name was Hermione, she was six years younger than Larry and had bright, red hair. Larry had thought her novel was certainly an interesting one, but he’d planned to take a different direction with it, so he thought this would pose a problem. The first days working together was an awful experience, neither of them was sure of each other and had no idea what to do. It was on the fourth day when Larry had had enough and suggested they just go and get some lunch because he couldn’t work anymore, nervously Hermione had agreed. Because Larry distrusted the studio canteen they had driven to a little restaurant not too far away. It was over this lunch that Larry had happened to mention a play by Chekhov that was an influence to him and Hermione agreed with him. Before they knew it they had spent hours talking about books and poetry and had wasted most of the afternoon they should have spent writing. When they came into work the next day everything seemed to click, the reluctance and nerves had gone- the ice had broken, and the script was written in a short space of time. In between writing they would discuss plays and books and find they had very similar taste. Hermione asked Larry what Alice Rains was like and with a fake smile he said “Wonderful”.
One week before Alice was due to visit, Larry and Hermione kissed. They had had a few drinks to celebrate the completion of the third and final draft of their script. It had been a mutual kiss, neither dominated, neither took a back seat- it was mutual. That night Larry was so wrapped up in guilt he had forgotten to call Alice.
The next day Hermione apologized to Larry for what had happened. Larry tried to do the same but found he could not. He gave Hermione his New York address and number so that they could keep in contact. She kissed him on the check, and Larry held her for a few seconds imagining what it would be like to wake up one morning and see her face on the pillow beside him. He said nothing though.
When he got back to his hotel the receptionist said there was a call for him and it was urgent. “Larry, it’s Peter,” Said the voice on the other end of the phone, “It’s Alice- she’s had some kind of breakdown. You better come back to New York. We’re going to try and get her to hospital.”
Larry was told later on that the evening before Alice had been late coming to the theatre for the evening performance, most of the cast believed she would not turn up at all. When she did turn up she was in a red dress and spoke to no one. She went into her dressing room and locked the door. They’d waited as long as they could before the show began but there was no response, so an understudy went on instead. It was during the interval that the cast backstage heard screaming from her dressing and the sound of smashing glass. Some on from the crew broke down the door and Alice was sitting in a pool of broken glass from all the mirrors, cuts up and down her arms and across her face. She was screaming wildly. With surprising strength she had run past them all and out into the street. She had run into the road and was almost hit by a taxicab. The shows director, Peter, was an old friend of theirs, and followed her back to the apartment, he said without irony that she’d left a trail of bloody handprints on the stairwell for him too follow. He’d spent most of the night trying to get her to take some sedatives or go to the hospital, but she refused. While she was calm he had bandaged her arms but minutes later she tore them off. In the early morning when she was out of the room he called from an ambulance to pick her up. It took three ex-marines to get her into the back of the ambulance, and another 2 to hold her down on the journey to the hospital.
Larry got there the next day and she was as bad as ever. She didn’t seem to recognise him and scratched his face. He stayed in the hospital the whole time, sleeping in a visitor’s room. It was the opinions of the doctors and nurses that if she were to stay in hospital any longer she would have to be sectioned then put into a sanatorium. When she calmed down she asked sweetly for Larry to talk to her. She told him that all the doctors frightened her and that she didn’t want to stay in there anymore. Larry looked into her eyes and saw the old sparkle and charm that he knew so well. He kissed her forehead and told her they’d leave straight away. They were about to leave and she threw another fit, the doctors once again sedated her. While the doctors sedated her she threw Larry a glance that pierced him as if she was saying ‘Et tu, Brutus?’
That evening while she was calm Larry smuggled her out of the hospital and back to the apartment. And there they were. Tomorrow, he’d take her back to L.A, and hoped she’d be happier there, as she always seemed to be. She kept playing the same note on the piano- over and over. Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Larry?” She spoke softly.
“Yes?”
With eyes fixed on the piano she said, “Do you love me?”
Larry swallowed hard and looked out the window to the night sky, though it was marred by her reflection. “Yes, my darling,” He said, “Of course I do.”
Friday 29 August 2008
'The Lonely Death Of A Spy'
There was once a man (Leonard could not remember if he had known this man personally or it was a tale an old friend had told him years ago) who had read every play by William Shakespeare, bar one- ‘As You Like It’. The reason for this was thus- the man held Shakespeare in such high regard and loved his plays he wanted ‘As You Like It’ to be the last thing he read before he died. Leonard had thought it would have been amusing if that the man had been hit by a car or shot because he’d go into the afterlife knowing he had missed one play out. Leonard had no patience for waiting till his deathbed to read something, so he had read Tolstoy’s ‘Anna Karenina’ practically once or twice a year. As he sat in his North London flat he read- it truly would be the last book before he died, he knew that for certain. He just wanted to read it one more time before he took his life.
Leonard first picked up ‘Anna Karenina’ while he studied at Cambridge in the late 20’s; he had forgotten the years that he had attended, it felt like centuries ago in a very different planet. He knew it was before MI5 had approached him that was for certain. A particularly favourite tutor of his had recommended that he read it, and following his mentor’s advice he did. Upon first reading he had absorbed Tolstoy’s evocative prose loving each and every sentence contained within. Leonard praised the book as ‘the perfect novel’ to all friends and family he came in contact with over the next year. Even when he was stationed in France during the war he had purchased a French translation to read and read it he did.
Languages were something of a speciality to Leonard- his Mother had been French and had taught him the tongue from an early age. In school he had developed a taste for German; so it was not a difficult choice for Leonard when asked what he wanted to study at Cambridge. It was his excellence in languages that made MI5 approach him to work for them, and because Leonard had not given much thought to life after Cambridge he gratefully accepted.
The MI5 were very encouraging and Leonard felt quite contented working for and with them. His language skills were thought of very highly, and one high ranking member told Leonard that he would make ‘the best spy I’ve seen in all my years’, this compliment was one Leonard had never forgotten. Even in his forced retirement, he would take himself back to that moment.
Within a few years with MI5 the shadow of war was beginning to loom large over the world. As soon as war was announced Leonard requested that he was stationed in France as his French was fluent and he could pass himself off as a born Frenchman with little difficultly. Leonard was also concerned about the family that still were living France from his Mother’s side. Even though Leonard saw himself as nothing less than British, he felt a certain attachment to the land that bore his Mother’s family. The officials declined his requested and he was sent straight into Germany. He served only three missions in Germany, with only one being successful- the failure of the other two Leonard put down to the inadequacy of others. But once France was invaded and occupied Leonard begged his superior to be transferred to France and this time his requested was granted. Leonard was flown into France, taking nothing of his former self with him. Leonard Carter was left in Britain, he was now Jean-Luc Beineix. Upon getting himself a job working in the dock, he used his money to buy a copy of ‘Anna Karenina’- a French version. He had considered learning Russian to read it in its original language, but whilst been stationed in France he thought it not the wisest idea he’d even had.
‘Anna Karenina’ had been a common denominator all his life- no matter what age or era Tolstoy’s novel would be along with Leonard. As his Cambridge friends grew older began to find women to settle down with, Leonard felt a strange sadness settle upon him. He knew what kind of woman he would like to marry, but he had yet to find her. It was to be a woman very much like Kitty. Leonard had fallen in love with Kitty upon the first reading of ‘Anna Karenina’ and she became the bar he judged other women and girls by. For a large part of his life he had not found another like her- lively, full of laughter and grace, devoted and loving to her husband. That was what Leonard wished for in a wife.
There was a time in France he thought he had found a woman close to Kitty. Eloise (‘Or was it Estelle?’ Leonard mused, ‘It began with an ‘E’ I remember that much) had been working for the résistance as had Leonard, but barely three months into their relationship she had been caught by the Germans and executed after days of torture. The officials wanted to bring Leonard back to Britain, but Leonard had insisted he wished to carry on his duty in France. He knew the girl would have told the Germans nothing, and he had been right.
After the war he was happy to have been stationed in Berlin after a brief return to England. He felt happier out in the field doing something. Over the years in Berlin he had done much to aid the government- he had broken many circles and stings by the KGB and had trained several pupils and protégées, though he had heard nothing from any of them since his ‘retirement’ 6 years ago.
His ‘retirement’ was brought about by a woman by the name of Lillian. She had been a nightclub singer and sometimes prostitute whose company Leonard had paid for whilst in Berlin. He had been with her for a large section of the 50’s. Despite knowing she saw other men Leonard felt quite attached to her, despite the large age gap between them. Leonard knew she was not beautiful, but she was certainly an attractive young thing, with blonde always in a fashionable way. He liked talking to her. He often told her about his life, his Cambridge years, his parents who passed away, his role in the war years, and because she spoke only broken English he would reveal more intimate details of his life to her, believing she did not understand him. It was in 1957 when he was taken aside by a colleague and discreetly told that information had been leaked to the KGB about British spies resulting in several names of British spies been sold for high prices- and the name ‘Leonard Carter’ had been one of them. The colleague put a hand on Leonard’s shoulder and offered condolence, but his cover had been blown and he was no longer welcome in Berlin. “Sorry old chap,” the colleague had said rather unsympathetically, “That’s how it goes I’m afraid.” Leonard had never liked the man anyway, Leonard thought him far too young to be working such a high priority position.
Leonard had only even told one person in Berlin his real name- and that had been Lillian. She had sold his name to the Germans as if that’s all he was to her- a collection of letters.
He managed to stay in Berlin for an extra week much to the upset of his superiors. He had wanted to find Lillian, ask why she had down what she had down. He had waited outside her apartment building, watching her bring a new man in every night, even two some nights. He never spoke to her and she never knew he was there. She appeared in dreams sometimes, normally laughing at him. Once he dreamt he was chasing her laughter through a hall of mirrors, only for him to be chased around by a clown. It was only when he reached a dead end he realized the clown was just his reflection.
His superiors had convinced him that his retirement was a well-deserved one, although a little early. Leonard began to believe it too after a while. He settled into a small house in London. He had great plans for his garden, but after several months back trouble prevented him from doing too much bending up and down so his plans for the garden were crushed. He lived in that house for only a year or two more, watching the garden get overgrown.
He tired to find his old Cambridge pals, but many had died in the war or could no longer remember him. All the friends he had in MI5 were forced to keep their distant- if the enemy knew Leonard was a spy they want to know who he mixed with in case his old friends were also spies. Leonard was aware a young chap tailed him for a while. It became quite a game for Leonard to see if he could still outwit a young man at his own game. Soon the tail grew bored by it and left Leonard alone.
Despite large funds of money, Leonard elected to move into a more modest accommodation. A little apartment, like the one Lillian had owned, was what he was after. He eventually found one in the north of London and settled down there. He had tired to buy himself some company one early night, but had been laughed at for being ‘a dirty old man’ by the women he had though provided that service. Leonard was not disheartened though- he wanted company for old times sake, he didn’t think his back was up to it these days.
In was in 1963 that with no friends, no job nor family Leonard did not want to carry on suffering of isolation from the rest of the world. He no longer recognized music on the radio- it was all guitars now and raving about these ‘Beetles’ (whom Leonard was surprised to discover were a group of young men, not women). He had decided enough was enough and that he did not want to spend the rest of his years wasting them. So he took out his shoelaces to form a noose as he had been taught by the MI5 in case of capture and it was likely British secrets were to be revealed. He was about to stick his head though when he looked across at his book shelf- ‘Anna Karenina’ seemed to look at him. He removed the makeshift noose and picked the worn copy up. It had been with him many years now, there was a brandy stain on page 54, and page 203 had been torn a little. He poured himself a brandy, pulled up his armchair, sat down and began to read…
Leonard first picked up ‘Anna Karenina’ while he studied at Cambridge in the late 20’s; he had forgotten the years that he had attended, it felt like centuries ago in a very different planet. He knew it was before MI5 had approached him that was for certain. A particularly favourite tutor of his had recommended that he read it, and following his mentor’s advice he did. Upon first reading he had absorbed Tolstoy’s evocative prose loving each and every sentence contained within. Leonard praised the book as ‘the perfect novel’ to all friends and family he came in contact with over the next year. Even when he was stationed in France during the war he had purchased a French translation to read and read it he did.
Languages were something of a speciality to Leonard- his Mother had been French and had taught him the tongue from an early age. In school he had developed a taste for German; so it was not a difficult choice for Leonard when asked what he wanted to study at Cambridge. It was his excellence in languages that made MI5 approach him to work for them, and because Leonard had not given much thought to life after Cambridge he gratefully accepted.
The MI5 were very encouraging and Leonard felt quite contented working for and with them. His language skills were thought of very highly, and one high ranking member told Leonard that he would make ‘the best spy I’ve seen in all my years’, this compliment was one Leonard had never forgotten. Even in his forced retirement, he would take himself back to that moment.
Within a few years with MI5 the shadow of war was beginning to loom large over the world. As soon as war was announced Leonard requested that he was stationed in France as his French was fluent and he could pass himself off as a born Frenchman with little difficultly. Leonard was also concerned about the family that still were living France from his Mother’s side. Even though Leonard saw himself as nothing less than British, he felt a certain attachment to the land that bore his Mother’s family. The officials declined his requested and he was sent straight into Germany. He served only three missions in Germany, with only one being successful- the failure of the other two Leonard put down to the inadequacy of others. But once France was invaded and occupied Leonard begged his superior to be transferred to France and this time his requested was granted. Leonard was flown into France, taking nothing of his former self with him. Leonard Carter was left in Britain, he was now Jean-Luc Beineix. Upon getting himself a job working in the dock, he used his money to buy a copy of ‘Anna Karenina’- a French version. He had considered learning Russian to read it in its original language, but whilst been stationed in France he thought it not the wisest idea he’d even had.
‘Anna Karenina’ had been a common denominator all his life- no matter what age or era Tolstoy’s novel would be along with Leonard. As his Cambridge friends grew older began to find women to settle down with, Leonard felt a strange sadness settle upon him. He knew what kind of woman he would like to marry, but he had yet to find her. It was to be a woman very much like Kitty. Leonard had fallen in love with Kitty upon the first reading of ‘Anna Karenina’ and she became the bar he judged other women and girls by. For a large part of his life he had not found another like her- lively, full of laughter and grace, devoted and loving to her husband. That was what Leonard wished for in a wife.
There was a time in France he thought he had found a woman close to Kitty. Eloise (‘Or was it Estelle?’ Leonard mused, ‘It began with an ‘E’ I remember that much) had been working for the résistance as had Leonard, but barely three months into their relationship she had been caught by the Germans and executed after days of torture. The officials wanted to bring Leonard back to Britain, but Leonard had insisted he wished to carry on his duty in France. He knew the girl would have told the Germans nothing, and he had been right.
After the war he was happy to have been stationed in Berlin after a brief return to England. He felt happier out in the field doing something. Over the years in Berlin he had done much to aid the government- he had broken many circles and stings by the KGB and had trained several pupils and protégées, though he had heard nothing from any of them since his ‘retirement’ 6 years ago.
His ‘retirement’ was brought about by a woman by the name of Lillian. She had been a nightclub singer and sometimes prostitute whose company Leonard had paid for whilst in Berlin. He had been with her for a large section of the 50’s. Despite knowing she saw other men Leonard felt quite attached to her, despite the large age gap between them. Leonard knew she was not beautiful, but she was certainly an attractive young thing, with blonde always in a fashionable way. He liked talking to her. He often told her about his life, his Cambridge years, his parents who passed away, his role in the war years, and because she spoke only broken English he would reveal more intimate details of his life to her, believing she did not understand him. It was in 1957 when he was taken aside by a colleague and discreetly told that information had been leaked to the KGB about British spies resulting in several names of British spies been sold for high prices- and the name ‘Leonard Carter’ had been one of them. The colleague put a hand on Leonard’s shoulder and offered condolence, but his cover had been blown and he was no longer welcome in Berlin. “Sorry old chap,” the colleague had said rather unsympathetically, “That’s how it goes I’m afraid.” Leonard had never liked the man anyway, Leonard thought him far too young to be working such a high priority position.
Leonard had only even told one person in Berlin his real name- and that had been Lillian. She had sold his name to the Germans as if that’s all he was to her- a collection of letters.
He managed to stay in Berlin for an extra week much to the upset of his superiors. He had wanted to find Lillian, ask why she had down what she had down. He had waited outside her apartment building, watching her bring a new man in every night, even two some nights. He never spoke to her and she never knew he was there. She appeared in dreams sometimes, normally laughing at him. Once he dreamt he was chasing her laughter through a hall of mirrors, only for him to be chased around by a clown. It was only when he reached a dead end he realized the clown was just his reflection.
His superiors had convinced him that his retirement was a well-deserved one, although a little early. Leonard began to believe it too after a while. He settled into a small house in London. He had great plans for his garden, but after several months back trouble prevented him from doing too much bending up and down so his plans for the garden were crushed. He lived in that house for only a year or two more, watching the garden get overgrown.
He tired to find his old Cambridge pals, but many had died in the war or could no longer remember him. All the friends he had in MI5 were forced to keep their distant- if the enemy knew Leonard was a spy they want to know who he mixed with in case his old friends were also spies. Leonard was aware a young chap tailed him for a while. It became quite a game for Leonard to see if he could still outwit a young man at his own game. Soon the tail grew bored by it and left Leonard alone.
Despite large funds of money, Leonard elected to move into a more modest accommodation. A little apartment, like the one Lillian had owned, was what he was after. He eventually found one in the north of London and settled down there. He had tired to buy himself some company one early night, but had been laughed at for being ‘a dirty old man’ by the women he had though provided that service. Leonard was not disheartened though- he wanted company for old times sake, he didn’t think his back was up to it these days.
In was in 1963 that with no friends, no job nor family Leonard did not want to carry on suffering of isolation from the rest of the world. He no longer recognized music on the radio- it was all guitars now and raving about these ‘Beetles’ (whom Leonard was surprised to discover were a group of young men, not women). He had decided enough was enough and that he did not want to spend the rest of his years wasting them. So he took out his shoelaces to form a noose as he had been taught by the MI5 in case of capture and it was likely British secrets were to be revealed. He was about to stick his head though when he looked across at his book shelf- ‘Anna Karenina’ seemed to look at him. He removed the makeshift noose and picked the worn copy up. It had been with him many years now, there was a brandy stain on page 54, and page 203 had been torn a little. He poured himself a brandy, pulled up his armchair, sat down and began to read…
Monday 18 August 2008
'The Watchmaker'
No man can create time, he can only create instruments to track it, and to be able to create something complex enough to track time was a gift, a gift the watchmaker was proud to possess. Taking apart an aged clock, gently lifting the face to reveal the intricacies within never failed to amaze the watchmaker- that man could create something so pure and as perfect as a keeper of time.
In the workshop of his Father’s shop, the watchmaker would sit surrounded by keepers of time, each second hand of each and every clock and watch moving in exact synchronisation creating a small hum of cogs turning. The watchmaker smiled- it was so perfect and pristine.
The clock before him was running half a second slow. It had been out in the main area of his Father’s shop for sale, but the watchmaker could not let the clock be sold when it did not run at exact time- that would be cheating the customer, and that would be wrong. It was 8 seconds past midday and his Father had left the shop to purchase sandwiches for their precisely 20 minute lunch break. They would then start work again, and then take a tea break at 3:15. They would resume work at 3:30 then at 5:00 close the shop for the night and be home for 5:47. The watchmaker and his Father ran their lives by the ticking of their clocks.
As the watchmaker made the second hand move forward he caught something- something that was not meant to be in a clock. He set the clock down and picked a pair of tweezers and leaned over the clock and extracted the alien object. The watchmaker was confused; he turned around to hold the object up to the lamp.
It was a hair. A long, very fine strand of golden hair.
The watchmaker looked at it in confusion- he himself had not blonde in his hair and his Father’s hair had been grey for many years now. How had this golden hair got caught in a clock that the watchmaker himself had built over a year ago?
He delicately lifted the hair from the tweezers and placed it in the palm of his pale hand. It just lay there. Perhaps, the watchmaker wondered, that it had belonged to a customer with an interest in the clock, but had not purchased it. Or perhaps this customer, possibly female, had lifted the clock up to hear the ticking (the watchmaker himself had the habit of listening to the rhythm of a clock) and a stray hair had been caught inside the mechanics of it. The watchmaker wondered then if this woman had noticed the clock was half a second out then perhaps she decided not to purchase it.
The watchmaker was about to dispose of the hair when an image rose in his mind- the owner of the hair, a woman, with blonde hair perfectly styled and with sparkling blue eyes. The watchmaker liked this image, especially when he coupled it with the idea that this woman had showed an interest in clocks, much an interest the watchmaker shared. He did not realize he was smiling.
The watchmaker sat at his bench, but his mind had long flown away from the shop to this owner of the golden strand of hair. He wondered that if this woman had not been too offended by the clock that was half a second slow that she may indeed return to his Father’s shop to inspect the clocks and watches once again. Then perhaps she would notice the watchmaker sitting in the light of his workshop, composing another clock, then she may approach the watchmaker- a conversation would begin. About clocks? Most likely. He would say something deep and interesting about the nature of man been able to keep time, and she would be wowed be his poetic philosophical nature. They would speak of their past- the woman would tell the watchmaker of a bad past relationship she had barely escaped from, and (up until this point) believed she would never love again. The watchmaker would be flattered and casually ask her if she would accompany him to dinner this Friday. She would smile and say ‘of course’. No, the watchmaker had a better idea- she would say ‘No, I’m sorry’, then watchmaker would be dejected but then she would say: ‘I should have made myself clear, I’m busy Friday but free Saturday instead’? The watchmaker smiled.
Each day for the following weeks, the watchmaker moved his chair a little closer to the door that connected him to the shop, in the hope his daydream woman would enter. Each time the little bell above the door tinkled the watchmaker jumped up and looked into the shop to see with disappointment that it was not who he was looking for.
His hands became shaky. He felt like nerves and excitement were fighting it out in the pit of his stomach. His watch making was become increasingly sloppy. His Father had to HAVE WORDS with him, something that had not happened in many years. The watchmaker kept his head bowed so not to reveal the deep shame on his face- as his Father said watch making was an absolute gift that was given to very few, and to produce substandard pieces of work was to cheat the customer. “Do you want to cheat the customer?” His voice boomed.
“No, Father.” Came the quiet response. The watchmaker wanted to tell his Father that he struggled to work to his normal standard because he was in love. Yes, he admitted he was in love. He could not admit to the Father that he had finally found love- he would not understand.
The watchmaker had kept the strand of fine gold hair wrapped in a handkerchief which he kept in his shirts drawer at home. Late at night he would often take it out and caress the hair and continue his dream of life with it’s owner. By now they were to be married, at first Father had not consented by once he saw that the young couple were truly in love he caved in, much to their delight and they celebrated with a bottle of red wine.
Vienna or Switzerland? The watchmaker pondered on a rainy Tuesday. Which would be the preferred honeymoon destination? They would have to bring Father along too, if he could bear to shut the shop. Then again, the watchmaker thought it be better if they just stayed in Britain. He’d never flown before and after all he’d heard about plane crashes and such and such it might not be such a good idea. An early death was not one he had planned, but he was trying not too think of that- he wanted to go through their life in a logical order.
It was on a Friday, when Father had left to purchase sandwiches for lunch that the watchmaker had been left in charge of the shop. There was the tinkling of the bell, and the watchmaker felt his heat stop for a moment and he knew it was her.
She was about 10 years older than he thought. And perhaps she had more weight on her than he had thought, and her eyes were green, not blue, but still- it was her. She came to the counter and told the watchmaker than she had come to collect her clock she’d sent in for repairs. The watchmaker took the repairs slip from her and found her clock, and gently handed it over to her. She thanked him and left.
The watchmaker sighed. He had forgotten to ask her name.
In the workshop of his Father’s shop, the watchmaker would sit surrounded by keepers of time, each second hand of each and every clock and watch moving in exact synchronisation creating a small hum of cogs turning. The watchmaker smiled- it was so perfect and pristine.
The clock before him was running half a second slow. It had been out in the main area of his Father’s shop for sale, but the watchmaker could not let the clock be sold when it did not run at exact time- that would be cheating the customer, and that would be wrong. It was 8 seconds past midday and his Father had left the shop to purchase sandwiches for their precisely 20 minute lunch break. They would then start work again, and then take a tea break at 3:15. They would resume work at 3:30 then at 5:00 close the shop for the night and be home for 5:47. The watchmaker and his Father ran their lives by the ticking of their clocks.
As the watchmaker made the second hand move forward he caught something- something that was not meant to be in a clock. He set the clock down and picked a pair of tweezers and leaned over the clock and extracted the alien object. The watchmaker was confused; he turned around to hold the object up to the lamp.
It was a hair. A long, very fine strand of golden hair.
The watchmaker looked at it in confusion- he himself had not blonde in his hair and his Father’s hair had been grey for many years now. How had this golden hair got caught in a clock that the watchmaker himself had built over a year ago?
He delicately lifted the hair from the tweezers and placed it in the palm of his pale hand. It just lay there. Perhaps, the watchmaker wondered, that it had belonged to a customer with an interest in the clock, but had not purchased it. Or perhaps this customer, possibly female, had lifted the clock up to hear the ticking (the watchmaker himself had the habit of listening to the rhythm of a clock) and a stray hair had been caught inside the mechanics of it. The watchmaker wondered then if this woman had noticed the clock was half a second out then perhaps she decided not to purchase it.
The watchmaker was about to dispose of the hair when an image rose in his mind- the owner of the hair, a woman, with blonde hair perfectly styled and with sparkling blue eyes. The watchmaker liked this image, especially when he coupled it with the idea that this woman had showed an interest in clocks, much an interest the watchmaker shared. He did not realize he was smiling.
The watchmaker sat at his bench, but his mind had long flown away from the shop to this owner of the golden strand of hair. He wondered that if this woman had not been too offended by the clock that was half a second slow that she may indeed return to his Father’s shop to inspect the clocks and watches once again. Then perhaps she would notice the watchmaker sitting in the light of his workshop, composing another clock, then she may approach the watchmaker- a conversation would begin. About clocks? Most likely. He would say something deep and interesting about the nature of man been able to keep time, and she would be wowed be his poetic philosophical nature. They would speak of their past- the woman would tell the watchmaker of a bad past relationship she had barely escaped from, and (up until this point) believed she would never love again. The watchmaker would be flattered and casually ask her if she would accompany him to dinner this Friday. She would smile and say ‘of course’. No, the watchmaker had a better idea- she would say ‘No, I’m sorry’, then watchmaker would be dejected but then she would say: ‘I should have made myself clear, I’m busy Friday but free Saturday instead’? The watchmaker smiled.
Each day for the following weeks, the watchmaker moved his chair a little closer to the door that connected him to the shop, in the hope his daydream woman would enter. Each time the little bell above the door tinkled the watchmaker jumped up and looked into the shop to see with disappointment that it was not who he was looking for.
His hands became shaky. He felt like nerves and excitement were fighting it out in the pit of his stomach. His watch making was become increasingly sloppy. His Father had to HAVE WORDS with him, something that had not happened in many years. The watchmaker kept his head bowed so not to reveal the deep shame on his face- as his Father said watch making was an absolute gift that was given to very few, and to produce substandard pieces of work was to cheat the customer. “Do you want to cheat the customer?” His voice boomed.
“No, Father.” Came the quiet response. The watchmaker wanted to tell his Father that he struggled to work to his normal standard because he was in love. Yes, he admitted he was in love. He could not admit to the Father that he had finally found love- he would not understand.
The watchmaker had kept the strand of fine gold hair wrapped in a handkerchief which he kept in his shirts drawer at home. Late at night he would often take it out and caress the hair and continue his dream of life with it’s owner. By now they were to be married, at first Father had not consented by once he saw that the young couple were truly in love he caved in, much to their delight and they celebrated with a bottle of red wine.
Vienna or Switzerland? The watchmaker pondered on a rainy Tuesday. Which would be the preferred honeymoon destination? They would have to bring Father along too, if he could bear to shut the shop. Then again, the watchmaker thought it be better if they just stayed in Britain. He’d never flown before and after all he’d heard about plane crashes and such and such it might not be such a good idea. An early death was not one he had planned, but he was trying not too think of that- he wanted to go through their life in a logical order.
It was on a Friday, when Father had left to purchase sandwiches for lunch that the watchmaker had been left in charge of the shop. There was the tinkling of the bell, and the watchmaker felt his heat stop for a moment and he knew it was her.
She was about 10 years older than he thought. And perhaps she had more weight on her than he had thought, and her eyes were green, not blue, but still- it was her. She came to the counter and told the watchmaker than she had come to collect her clock she’d sent in for repairs. The watchmaker took the repairs slip from her and found her clock, and gently handed it over to her. She thanked him and left.
The watchmaker sighed. He had forgotten to ask her name.
'Out Of Time'
“You wanna talk?” She said as I began to put my undergarments back on. “Some guys they wanna talk.” She carried on, “They wanna talk and tell you ‘bout their lives and all their problems and about their wives giving them trouble.” I slipped my trousers on as she spoke, “Then some guys just want to do their business and be gone.” She paused, bite her lip and asked- “Are you the talking type, mister?”
“Nup.” I replied and lit a cigar.
“Oh God, open the window, mister. I can’t stand the smell of those things.” She order me, and after a pause I did as told. It was still light outside and I could see my horse tied up down stairs. It’d be about 15 minutes before Jack and company arrived. It wouldn’t take them too much trouble to find me. The town was pretty much without face or character, just waiting for the wind of the civil war to blow through and tear it apart.
She stayed within the sheets of the bed, just watching me. Her crimson hair tumbled prettily around her pale shoulders. The girl hadn’t been cheap, but I figured that if it going to be my woman before I die it might as well be a good one. I can’t remember if she said her name was Lily or Rosemary, but I might have got her confused with another one of the girls in the building. The madam told me that she was 21, but I think she was only 17. It didn’t matter. I’d enjoyed it.
“Mister?” She asked, “You want me to go?”
I shrugged.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Nup.” I picked up my gun holster and slipped it on. I wasn’t planning on using it when Jack and company found me. They’ll be expecting me to surprise them and surprise them I will- by not fighting back.
“I hate those things.” She announced, “Guns, not the holsters that is. My pappy got himself killed with one. He was working on the farm and then men came all in black and ridin’ on black horses and- blam.” She sighed, “And that was the end of Pa.” I nodded. Probably hired killers. I done one or two jobs like that myself in the past. Never liked killing farmers. They always had families. When I killed Fred I did not feel bad- he had deserved it. The one time I don’t feel guilty is the time it comes back to haunt me.
“You ever killed a man, mister?” She asked.
“Noah.”
“What?”
“My name aint ‘Mister’. It’s Noah.”
She opened her mouth and let out a long ‘Oh’. Then her eyebrows narrowed and she said, “Like the Bible guy?”
“Yeah. Just like the Bible guy.”
“I used to go to church. I liked all the singing.” She frowned, “They don’t let me in church anymore, not since Mrs. De Winter took me in after Mama died. She died about a year after Pa. My brother, Billy went off to join the army, then my sister Fran got married to a nice man.” She paused, “She died too. So did that baby of hers. She never got to see it. I think… Mister Noah, that I might be cursed when it comes to family. They all seem to die. You got any family?”
“Nup.” Jack and company had made sure of that. Trying to spurn me into action but instead I just ran away- like a coward. But now I’m going let them catch me. I’d had enough of running.
“Where you going, Mister Noah?”
“What?”
“I mean, after here. Nobody wants to stay in this town. Not even me.”
I let out a small smile along my cracked face, “Somewhere I haven’t been before.”
“Like an adventure?”
“You could say that.” I stubbed out the cigar and threw the butt out of the window. “You mind if I have another?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I like talkin’ to you. You don’t say too much.” She smiled, “I’m not going to stay in this town forever you know. No, not me.” She leaned forward, “I’ll tell you a secret, Mister Noah-” And she in an almost whisper, “I’m gonna run my own farm.”
Crazy girl. No one would ever let some ex-whore run a farm. “Cute dream.” I said.
“No, I know how to do it. When my pappy was alive I used to help on our farm. I cold do all the stuff the boys could do and then some.” She folded her arms across her chest, “Hell I could run a farm with my eyes closed and arms behind my back.”
“’Course.”
“I am very serious about all this. All I need’s the money, that’s all, and I reckon I’m almost half way there from what Mrs. De Winter gives me.”
“Money aint everything.” I said and I meant it. If it weren’t for the damned money I wouldn’t be here waiting for Jack and company to find me- waiting for them to kill me. My family would still be here. I wouldn’t have had to run for 5 years. Did the money make it worth it? No it did not. In five years I spent maybe three hundred dollars out of the ten thousand I had stolen. I could not spent it or else it would leave a trail for them to find, but now I did not care and I had spent a little of the money for them to follow me. They could have it for all I cared.
I looked out of the window down the street and I could see a group on the horizon riding up. It had to be them, who else would stumble into this little town than Jack and company? My time was up. I turned and looked and the girl on the bed, and I said. “Get out.”
“What?” She said surprised.
“Get your clothes on and get out.”
There was hurt across her face at my suddenness, she slowly got out of the bed and picked up her clothes, she looked at me and said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”
“I changed my mind.”
She began to put some of her clothes back on but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Poor little girl. As I watched her return to her clothes I began to get an idea, I figured it might be worth it. She was about to leave when I said, “Wait.” She turned back to me and I picked up my jacket from the floor and pulled on a little grey bag. It was filled with notes and gold that I had stole. “Here.” I said and tossed it towards her.
She took it in her hand and looked back up at me and said, “Mister?”
I looked out the window and saw that Jack and company were in town now. I looked back at the girl and said, “Just get going.”
Her little hands felt the bag and she realized what was in it, “Mister Noah-” A grin spread across her face, and I cut her off.
“Talk to no one. Just get out. Hell, take my horse. It’s the grey one outside.”
“But-”
“Don’t ask questions. Go find your farm.”
There was a smile on her face so wide it could have covered Texas. She opened the door, and stepped into the corridor, taking one last look at me then shutting the door.
I guessed she’d probably pass Jack and company on the way down stairs. I found it pretty funny that they’d pass the girl and she’d be carrying all the money they were after- the money I killed Fred and wounded Jack for. At least somebody’d be actually using the money now.
Every step I heard on the stairs I was convinced it was theirs. Death was coming towards me, but I wouldn’t fight. I’d had enough running for my life, I’d make my peace with God. Or the Devil, whichever of them’s got a hold of my ass. I’d be waiting right here to see Jack again, see if he’s still got the crazy look in his eye. Doesn’t matter now- I don’t have the money. Joke’s on you, boys. Ha.
“Nup.” I replied and lit a cigar.
“Oh God, open the window, mister. I can’t stand the smell of those things.” She order me, and after a pause I did as told. It was still light outside and I could see my horse tied up down stairs. It’d be about 15 minutes before Jack and company arrived. It wouldn’t take them too much trouble to find me. The town was pretty much without face or character, just waiting for the wind of the civil war to blow through and tear it apart.
She stayed within the sheets of the bed, just watching me. Her crimson hair tumbled prettily around her pale shoulders. The girl hadn’t been cheap, but I figured that if it going to be my woman before I die it might as well be a good one. I can’t remember if she said her name was Lily or Rosemary, but I might have got her confused with another one of the girls in the building. The madam told me that she was 21, but I think she was only 17. It didn’t matter. I’d enjoyed it.
“Mister?” She asked, “You want me to go?”
I shrugged.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Nup.” I picked up my gun holster and slipped it on. I wasn’t planning on using it when Jack and company found me. They’ll be expecting me to surprise them and surprise them I will- by not fighting back.
“I hate those things.” She announced, “Guns, not the holsters that is. My pappy got himself killed with one. He was working on the farm and then men came all in black and ridin’ on black horses and- blam.” She sighed, “And that was the end of Pa.” I nodded. Probably hired killers. I done one or two jobs like that myself in the past. Never liked killing farmers. They always had families. When I killed Fred I did not feel bad- he had deserved it. The one time I don’t feel guilty is the time it comes back to haunt me.
“You ever killed a man, mister?” She asked.
“Noah.”
“What?”
“My name aint ‘Mister’. It’s Noah.”
She opened her mouth and let out a long ‘Oh’. Then her eyebrows narrowed and she said, “Like the Bible guy?”
“Yeah. Just like the Bible guy.”
“I used to go to church. I liked all the singing.” She frowned, “They don’t let me in church anymore, not since Mrs. De Winter took me in after Mama died. She died about a year after Pa. My brother, Billy went off to join the army, then my sister Fran got married to a nice man.” She paused, “She died too. So did that baby of hers. She never got to see it. I think… Mister Noah, that I might be cursed when it comes to family. They all seem to die. You got any family?”
“Nup.” Jack and company had made sure of that. Trying to spurn me into action but instead I just ran away- like a coward. But now I’m going let them catch me. I’d had enough of running.
“Where you going, Mister Noah?”
“What?”
“I mean, after here. Nobody wants to stay in this town. Not even me.”
I let out a small smile along my cracked face, “Somewhere I haven’t been before.”
“Like an adventure?”
“You could say that.” I stubbed out the cigar and threw the butt out of the window. “You mind if I have another?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I like talkin’ to you. You don’t say too much.” She smiled, “I’m not going to stay in this town forever you know. No, not me.” She leaned forward, “I’ll tell you a secret, Mister Noah-” And she in an almost whisper, “I’m gonna run my own farm.”
Crazy girl. No one would ever let some ex-whore run a farm. “Cute dream.” I said.
“No, I know how to do it. When my pappy was alive I used to help on our farm. I cold do all the stuff the boys could do and then some.” She folded her arms across her chest, “Hell I could run a farm with my eyes closed and arms behind my back.”
“’Course.”
“I am very serious about all this. All I need’s the money, that’s all, and I reckon I’m almost half way there from what Mrs. De Winter gives me.”
“Money aint everything.” I said and I meant it. If it weren’t for the damned money I wouldn’t be here waiting for Jack and company to find me- waiting for them to kill me. My family would still be here. I wouldn’t have had to run for 5 years. Did the money make it worth it? No it did not. In five years I spent maybe three hundred dollars out of the ten thousand I had stolen. I could not spent it or else it would leave a trail for them to find, but now I did not care and I had spent a little of the money for them to follow me. They could have it for all I cared.
I looked out of the window down the street and I could see a group on the horizon riding up. It had to be them, who else would stumble into this little town than Jack and company? My time was up. I turned and looked and the girl on the bed, and I said. “Get out.”
“What?” She said surprised.
“Get your clothes on and get out.”
There was hurt across her face at my suddenness, she slowly got out of the bed and picked up her clothes, she looked at me and said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”
“I changed my mind.”
She began to put some of her clothes back on but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Poor little girl. As I watched her return to her clothes I began to get an idea, I figured it might be worth it. She was about to leave when I said, “Wait.” She turned back to me and I picked up my jacket from the floor and pulled on a little grey bag. It was filled with notes and gold that I had stole. “Here.” I said and tossed it towards her.
She took it in her hand and looked back up at me and said, “Mister?”
I looked out the window and saw that Jack and company were in town now. I looked back at the girl and said, “Just get going.”
Her little hands felt the bag and she realized what was in it, “Mister Noah-” A grin spread across her face, and I cut her off.
“Talk to no one. Just get out. Hell, take my horse. It’s the grey one outside.”
“But-”
“Don’t ask questions. Go find your farm.”
There was a smile on her face so wide it could have covered Texas. She opened the door, and stepped into the corridor, taking one last look at me then shutting the door.
I guessed she’d probably pass Jack and company on the way down stairs. I found it pretty funny that they’d pass the girl and she’d be carrying all the money they were after- the money I killed Fred and wounded Jack for. At least somebody’d be actually using the money now.
Every step I heard on the stairs I was convinced it was theirs. Death was coming towards me, but I wouldn’t fight. I’d had enough running for my life, I’d make my peace with God. Or the Devil, whichever of them’s got a hold of my ass. I’d be waiting right here to see Jack again, see if he’s still got the crazy look in his eye. Doesn’t matter now- I don’t have the money. Joke’s on you, boys. Ha.
Friday 8 August 2008
I Love Blonde On Blonde
I love 'Blonde On Blonde' by Bob Dylan- it truly is an exceptional album.
You get some albums that are a collection of great songs, but those sort of albums are most likely to fit snugly into a play list and be shuffled into other music, but a 'great' album has a sound to it that is distinctly that album and I think 'Blonde on Blonde' fits this category. Even Bob Dy;an himself has said the album is the closest he's ever got to the 'thin, wild mercury sound' that his music makes in his head. It's no surprise the next album he released was a stripped down, quieter affair- after two previous albums Dylan finally gets the electric guitar/harmonica/organ combination just right.
The songs themselves are mostly brilliant, listen to this (or listen to it as you read the rest of this review)- 'I Want You', a song that always makes my toes tap.
I love that jangly guitar sound. 'Blonde on Blonde' contains several classic songs, opening with the infectious 'Rainy Day Women #12 &35', but from that raucous opening the songs get increasingly sober to the quiet and reflective final track 'Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands' (which I shall discuss later). There's the classic 'Just Like A Woman', and lesser known but still great songs like 'Temporary Like Achilles' There's a clear blues-y influence on a lot of tracks like 'Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat' and 'Pledging My Time', and these slot perfectly against the more poetic songs 'Visions of Johanna' and 'Stuck Inside A Mobile With Those Memphis Blues Again'.
Speaking of poetry- Dylan once again proves he is the poet laureate of the 60's. The lyrics to this album are among the finest and strongest in his career, often the lyrics aren't straight forward at all but cryptic and highly symbolic, but retaining his sly humour. The final track on the album is the epic 'Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands' which clocking in at 11:32 took up a whole side of an LP upon it's initial release. This has to be one of the most beautiful and unconventional love songs ever recorded, it takes my breath away each time I hear it. Even though the lyrics are symbolic references to the relationship with his wife, Sara, the listener can tell this is a heart-felt affair. The affection that appears in his voice is unmistakably.
You get some albums that are a collection of great songs, but those sort of albums are most likely to fit snugly into a play list and be shuffled into other music, but a 'great' album has a sound to it that is distinctly that album and I think 'Blonde on Blonde' fits this category. Even Bob Dy;an himself has said the album is the closest he's ever got to the 'thin, wild mercury sound' that his music makes in his head. It's no surprise the next album he released was a stripped down, quieter affair- after two previous albums Dylan finally gets the electric guitar/harmonica/organ combination just right.
The songs themselves are mostly brilliant, listen to this (or listen to it as you read the rest of this review)- 'I Want You', a song that always makes my toes tap.
I love that jangly guitar sound. 'Blonde on Blonde' contains several classic songs, opening with the infectious 'Rainy Day Women #12 &35', but from that raucous opening the songs get increasingly sober to the quiet and reflective final track 'Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands' (which I shall discuss later). There's the classic 'Just Like A Woman', and lesser known but still great songs like 'Temporary Like Achilles' There's a clear blues-y influence on a lot of tracks like 'Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat' and 'Pledging My Time', and these slot perfectly against the more poetic songs 'Visions of Johanna' and 'Stuck Inside A Mobile With Those Memphis Blues Again'.
Speaking of poetry- Dylan once again proves he is the poet laureate of the 60's. The lyrics to this album are among the finest and strongest in his career, often the lyrics aren't straight forward at all but cryptic and highly symbolic, but retaining his sly humour. The final track on the album is the epic 'Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands' which clocking in at 11:32 took up a whole side of an LP upon it's initial release. This has to be one of the most beautiful and unconventional love songs ever recorded, it takes my breath away each time I hear it. Even though the lyrics are symbolic references to the relationship with his wife, Sara, the listener can tell this is a heart-felt affair. The affection that appears in his voice is unmistakably.
I would not recommend this though, as a starting point to Bob Dylan and his work. To a none Dylan fan unused to his work it's likely to come off as a strange and confusing record. I'd tell a beginner to start elsewhere and build up to 'Blonde on Blonde', but once you reach it you can appreciate what a stunning album it is.
Masterpiece? Perhaps.
Thursday 3 July 2008
A Joker and Two Dylan's (Things I'm Looking Forward To This Summer)
1. Getting to see Heath Ledger's performance in 'The Dark Knight'. I know that after his death there was even more hype about his performance as the Joker, but the week before he died I got caught up in the hype from the trailers- it looks like a terrific performance and I told several people on different occasions that I was looking forward to it. Sadly it will be marred by his death this year. The tragedy is that it looked set to elevate him from being a popular actor to a respected one.
2. The aspect of going on holiday that I'm looking forward to most is going to see Dylan Thomas' boathouse (going to Wales, see) and I'm a big fan of his. Though I've yet to see the movie released about him 'The Edge of Love' mostly because I hate the fact the advertising and marketing is all about Keira Knightly and Sienna Miller and that fact the former sings in it, rather than it been a biopic of a genius.
3. Speaking of Dylan's- the film 'I'm Not There' is released on to DVD, a film about Bob Dylan (with the genius idea of having 6 actors portray different version of Dylan) and I didn't get to see it in the cinema (damn university taking up my cinema going time!) so I very, very much looking forward to it!
That's all I can think of right now...
2. The aspect of going on holiday that I'm looking forward to most is going to see Dylan Thomas' boathouse (going to Wales, see) and I'm a big fan of his. Though I've yet to see the movie released about him 'The Edge of Love' mostly because I hate the fact the advertising and marketing is all about Keira Knightly and Sienna Miller and that fact the former sings in it, rather than it been a biopic of a genius.
3. Speaking of Dylan's- the film 'I'm Not There' is released on to DVD, a film about Bob Dylan (with the genius idea of having 6 actors portray different version of Dylan) and I didn't get to see it in the cinema (damn university taking up my cinema going time!) so I very, very much looking forward to it!
That's all I can think of right now...
Monday 30 June 2008
Book Listy Thingy
Apparently most people have only read 6 out of the 100 top books (a great shame). So here's mine- bold one are ones I've read, italics means I want to read them and underlined means I love said book.
1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (I do know the opening line off by heart though0
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien (Only read some of it)
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (Now that I've read it all it's offically my favourite book I've ever read)
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy (Reading this at the moment and very much enjoying it)
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (I've read 3 of the books all the way through and started but never finished the other 4)
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (Why is this seperate to the Chronicles of Narnia?)
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres (I want to read it after meeting the author)
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving (Started it but never finished)
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert (Did start reading it during my GCSEs, but it wasvery hard to juggle bewteen the two so I gave up)
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon (I think this might be the only book on the list I've never heard of!)
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens (Did start reading it once but it was during A Level revision, not a good mix)
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (Currently been turned into a movie by Peter Jackson)
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (Started it but never finished it)
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell (That's two book I've not heard of before...)
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (I did start reading it but didn't finish it, even though I really was enjoying it)
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams (Bright eyes, burning like fire...)
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare (My favourite play ever!)
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
23/100
I'm a bit disappointed by that, I'd thought it'd be more! If I included books I've started and not finished then it'd be 37, which looks better.
1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier (I do know the opening line off by heart though0
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien (Only read some of it)
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (Now that I've read it all it's offically my favourite book I've ever read)
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy (Reading this at the moment and very much enjoying it)
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (I've read 3 of the books all the way through and started but never finished the other 4)
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (Why is this seperate to the Chronicles of Narnia?)
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres (I want to read it after meeting the author)
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving (Started it but never finished)
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert (Did start reading it during my GCSEs, but it wasvery hard to juggle bewteen the two so I gave up)
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon (I think this might be the only book on the list I've never heard of!)
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens (Did start reading it once but it was during A Level revision, not a good mix)
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold (Currently been turned into a movie by Peter Jackson)
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas (Started it but never finished it)
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell (That's two book I've not heard of before...)
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (I did start reading it but didn't finish it, even though I really was enjoying it)
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams (Bright eyes, burning like fire...)
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare (My favourite play ever!)
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo
23/100
I'm a bit disappointed by that, I'd thought it'd be more! If I included books I've started and not finished then it'd be 37, which looks better.
Monday 26 May 2008
Stolen Character Questions...
Once again I've been impressed by what someone else has found... and then stolen it.
Write down twelve of your own characters and then answer the questions - NO LOOKING AT THE QUESTIONS BEFORE ANSWERING!! GOT IT? GOOD!
1- Jack Redgrave
50's P.I, narrator of 'Wild Is The Wind' (which just so happens to be available to read on this blog!)
2- Lady Katherine Ferrers
Heroine of my play 'Stand+Deliver!', a noblewomen who turns to a life of crime. (That's a comedy for me)
3- Charles Bennett
Main character of my play 'Berlin', a young and naive man working for MI5.
4- Roger Waters
Drug addled and psychotic detective from my play 'Within'.
5- Bethany Allen
Femme fatale from 'Wild is the Wind'.
6- Matthew Bellamy
Double crossing CIA from 'Berlin'
7- Thomas Ferrers
Kate's drip of a husband from 'Stand+Deliver!'
8- Samuel Coleridge
Charming con man from 'Within'
9- Gordon Magnus
Veteran MI5 agent and expert chess player from 'Berlin'
10- Satan
Old Lucifer himself from my attempt at radio writing 'In My Dark Life'
11- Russell Faraday
Head of a West End gang from 'Wild is the Wind'
12- James Barker
Scriptwriter and selfish git from an untitled play
#1. Who would make a better college prof.? 6 (Matthew Bellamy) or 11 (Russell Faraday)?
Well, I'd say Bellamy most likely though I think he'd be nervous about speaking before people. Russell just wouldn't see the benefit in education.
#2. Do you think 2 ( Lady Katherine Ferrers) is hot?
Well, actually I've seen her. It' the only character on the list (apart from her husband... and possibly Satan) who was a real life person and there is a painting of her I've seen several times. But as I wrote I imagined her as looking like Diana Rigg circa 1969. So yes indeed- she is hot.
#3. 12 (James Barker) sends 8 (Samuel Coleridge) out on a mission. What is it? Does it succeed?
I don't think James would get involved with any real, important missions. He'd probably ask Coleridge very nicely to get him a cup of tea. Coleridge would probably smile, take James' money and run.
#4. What is or would be 9’s (Gordon Magnus) favorite book?
The complete works of Shakespeare. Magnus has an obsession with the Bard.
#5. Would it make more sense for 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) to swear fealty to 6 (Matthew Bellamy), or the other way around?
That's interesting... if it were Kate when she becomes a criminal, she'd make Bellamy swear to her. If before it'd be more likely she'd swear to him, but I think that if the price was right Bellamy would swear to anyone.
#6. For some reason, 5 (Bethany Allen) is looking for a roommate. Should (s)he share a studio apartment with 9 (Gordon Magnus) or with 10 (Satan)?
I must admit that I'm greatly amused by the idea of having the Lord of the Flies for a room mate. Actually Beth probably would move in with Satan and sell her soul to further her career.
#7. 2 (Lady Kathering Ferrers), 7 (Thomas Ferrers), and 12 (James Barker) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?
James would go round to the Ferrers country house (as the Ferrers are married), but it'd be a terribly boring evening. James would be shy, Thomas would be dull and Kate would be dreaming of being somewhere.
#8. 3 (Charles Bennett) challenges 10 (Satan) to a duel. What happens?
For a start only God or Jesus could beat Satan in a duel. Charles would never dream of challenging anyone to a duel!
#9. If 1 (Jack Redgrave) stole 8’s (Samuel Coleridge) most precious possession, how would she/he get it back?
Ooooo that would be a meeting... cocky Jack versus manipulative Coleridge. Coleridge would probably got to Jack asking for help with something, and knock him out while he's not looking.
#10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7 (Thomas) and 12 (James Barker) both attain what they most desire.
'A Quiet Life By Way Of Winning An Oscar'
#11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 (Roger Waters) and 1 (Jack Redgrave) to work together?
Well, as Jack used to be a policeman and Waters is one, Waters probably would the antagonist.
#12. If 7 (Thomas Ferrers) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?
It'd be bloody boring. He'd just sit quietly not waning anything.
#13. If you could command 3 (Charles Bennett) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?
Probably spying on people... well he is a spy!
#14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11 (Russell Faraday)?
No...
#15. If 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) had to choose sides between 4 (Roger Waters) and 5 (Bethany Allen), which would it be?
I think she'd choose Beth because she leads her own life.
#16. What might 10 (Satan) shout while charging into battle?
A sound that kills people.
#17. If you chose a song to represent 8 (Samuel Coleridge), which song would you choose?
'I Want It All'- Queen
#18. 1 (Jack Redgrave), 6 (Matthew Bellamy), and 12 (James Barker) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?
Jack would only let somebody else eat the last pancake if he got something in return. Bellamy would probably steal it when no one was looking.
#19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) to use on 10 (Satan)?
Quite how one would chat up the Prince of Darkness I don't know.
#20. What would 5 (Bethany Allen) most likely be arrested for?
Murder. But she'd convince the police she was innocent.
#21. What is 6’s (Matthew Bellamy) secret?
That he's selling CIA secrets to the KGB which has jeopardised missions and caused the death of three of his friends.
#22. If 11 (Russell Faraday) and 9 (Gordon Magnus) were racing to a destination, who would get there first?
Magnus would never run, but Faraday would clearly cheat to win anyway.
#23. If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 (Thomas Ferrers) or 8 (Samuel Coleridge)?
Well, Thomas would be an absolute coward and run hearing a cat miaow, and Coleridge would probably be the one to make it a bad neighbour. I'd say Coleridge as people would be scared of him.
#24. 1 (Jack Redgrave) and 9 (Gordon Magnus) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4’s (Roger Waters) sinister secret organization. 11 (Russell Faraday) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that he is actually a spy for 4 (Roger Waters). Meanwhile, 4 (Roger Waters) has kidnapped 12 (James Barker) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5 (Bethany Allen), they seek out 3 (Charles Bennett), who gives them what they need to complete their quest. What title would you give this fic?
I...have....no....idea....
Write down twelve of your own characters and then answer the questions - NO LOOKING AT THE QUESTIONS BEFORE ANSWERING!! GOT IT? GOOD!
1- Jack Redgrave
50's P.I, narrator of 'Wild Is The Wind' (which just so happens to be available to read on this blog!)
2- Lady Katherine Ferrers
Heroine of my play 'Stand+Deliver!', a noblewomen who turns to a life of crime. (That's a comedy for me)
3- Charles Bennett
Main character of my play 'Berlin', a young and naive man working for MI5.
4- Roger Waters
Drug addled and psychotic detective from my play 'Within'.
5- Bethany Allen
Femme fatale from 'Wild is the Wind'.
6- Matthew Bellamy
Double crossing CIA from 'Berlin'
7- Thomas Ferrers
Kate's drip of a husband from 'Stand+Deliver!'
8- Samuel Coleridge
Charming con man from 'Within'
9- Gordon Magnus
Veteran MI5 agent and expert chess player from 'Berlin'
10- Satan
Old Lucifer himself from my attempt at radio writing 'In My Dark Life'
11- Russell Faraday
Head of a West End gang from 'Wild is the Wind'
12- James Barker
Scriptwriter and selfish git from an untitled play
#1. Who would make a better college prof.? 6 (Matthew Bellamy) or 11 (Russell Faraday)?
Well, I'd say Bellamy most likely though I think he'd be nervous about speaking before people. Russell just wouldn't see the benefit in education.
#2. Do you think 2 ( Lady Katherine Ferrers) is hot?
Well, actually I've seen her. It' the only character on the list (apart from her husband... and possibly Satan) who was a real life person and there is a painting of her I've seen several times. But as I wrote I imagined her as looking like Diana Rigg circa 1969. So yes indeed- she is hot.
#3. 12 (James Barker) sends 8 (Samuel Coleridge) out on a mission. What is it? Does it succeed?
I don't think James would get involved with any real, important missions. He'd probably ask Coleridge very nicely to get him a cup of tea. Coleridge would probably smile, take James' money and run.
#4. What is or would be 9’s (Gordon Magnus) favorite book?
The complete works of Shakespeare. Magnus has an obsession with the Bard.
#5. Would it make more sense for 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) to swear fealty to 6 (Matthew Bellamy), or the other way around?
That's interesting... if it were Kate when she becomes a criminal, she'd make Bellamy swear to her. If before it'd be more likely she'd swear to him, but I think that if the price was right Bellamy would swear to anyone.
#6. For some reason, 5 (Bethany Allen) is looking for a roommate. Should (s)he share a studio apartment with 9 (Gordon Magnus) or with 10 (Satan)?
I must admit that I'm greatly amused by the idea of having the Lord of the Flies for a room mate. Actually Beth probably would move in with Satan and sell her soul to further her career.
#7. 2 (Lady Kathering Ferrers), 7 (Thomas Ferrers), and 12 (James Barker) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?
James would go round to the Ferrers country house (as the Ferrers are married), but it'd be a terribly boring evening. James would be shy, Thomas would be dull and Kate would be dreaming of being somewhere.
#8. 3 (Charles Bennett) challenges 10 (Satan) to a duel. What happens?
For a start only God or Jesus could beat Satan in a duel. Charles would never dream of challenging anyone to a duel!
#9. If 1 (Jack Redgrave) stole 8’s (Samuel Coleridge) most precious possession, how would she/he get it back?
Ooooo that would be a meeting... cocky Jack versus manipulative Coleridge. Coleridge would probably got to Jack asking for help with something, and knock him out while he's not looking.
#10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7 (Thomas) and 12 (James Barker) both attain what they most desire.
'A Quiet Life By Way Of Winning An Oscar'
#11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4 (Roger Waters) and 1 (Jack Redgrave) to work together?
Well, as Jack used to be a policeman and Waters is one, Waters probably would the antagonist.
#12. If 7 (Thomas Ferrers) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?
It'd be bloody boring. He'd just sit quietly not waning anything.
#13. If you could command 3 (Charles Bennett) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?
Probably spying on people... well he is a spy!
#14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11 (Russell Faraday)?
No...
#15. If 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) had to choose sides between 4 (Roger Waters) and 5 (Bethany Allen), which would it be?
I think she'd choose Beth because she leads her own life.
#16. What might 10 (Satan) shout while charging into battle?
A sound that kills people.
#17. If you chose a song to represent 8 (Samuel Coleridge), which song would you choose?
'I Want It All'- Queen
#18. 1 (Jack Redgrave), 6 (Matthew Bellamy), and 12 (James Barker) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?
Jack would only let somebody else eat the last pancake if he got something in return. Bellamy would probably steal it when no one was looking.
#19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2 (Lady Katherine Ferrers) to use on 10 (Satan)?
Quite how one would chat up the Prince of Darkness I don't know.
#20. What would 5 (Bethany Allen) most likely be arrested for?
Murder. But she'd convince the police she was innocent.
#21. What is 6’s (Matthew Bellamy) secret?
That he's selling CIA secrets to the KGB which has jeopardised missions and caused the death of three of his friends.
#22. If 11 (Russell Faraday) and 9 (Gordon Magnus) were racing to a destination, who would get there first?
Magnus would never run, but Faraday would clearly cheat to win anyway.
#23. If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7 (Thomas Ferrers) or 8 (Samuel Coleridge)?
Well, Thomas would be an absolute coward and run hearing a cat miaow, and Coleridge would probably be the one to make it a bad neighbour. I'd say Coleridge as people would be scared of him.
#24. 1 (Jack Redgrave) and 9 (Gordon Magnus) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4’s (Roger Waters) sinister secret organization. 11 (Russell Faraday) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that he is actually a spy for 4 (Roger Waters). Meanwhile, 4 (Roger Waters) has kidnapped 12 (James Barker) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5 (Bethany Allen), they seek out 3 (Charles Bennett), who gives them what they need to complete their quest. What title would you give this fic?
I...have....no....idea....
Saturday 24 May 2008
'Wild Is The Wind'- Part 3
The final part of 'Wild Is The Wind'. It's the end of this mystery, but I get the feeling that Jack Redgrave will find another case to solve.
I decided it’d be good manners to go to Bruce Watson’s funeral. I was sure if I paid my condolences and explained my situation, a family member might be willing to cover the bill of my services for him. But as the taxi drove me to the funeral, I realised that they might not be too happy that the person I had been paid to look for actually killed Bruce. As I had dusted down funeral suit and had it dry cleaned for no mere sum and paid for the taxi I decided I‘d have to sit through the funeral..
The funeral was a quiet affair, only about ten or twelve people were in attendance. There was one mourner I was very surprised to see, and that was Russell Faraday. He styled himself as a ‘gentleman gangster’, but he was nothing more than a West End hoodlum. I had run into him on occasion before, and knowing his reputation I was very curious to know what on earth he was doing at this funeral.
I waited till it was over, and I noticed him ducked around the back of the church for a crafty cigarette. His heavies were waiting in the car, so I thought I’d go and say ‘hello’. He was a well dressed man, that could be said. Always in the finest of suits, with his hair slicked over with brylcreem, and probably his moustache too.
“Hello, Russell.” I announced.
He jumped, then grinned. “Jack Redgrave. Still playing Humphrey Bogart?”
“Still playing James Cagney?”
He laughed aloud loud, and carried on talking in a thick London accent, “You’re real funny. You’re a real funny guy, Jack. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Not as I often as I’d like.” I took out a cigarette, and Russell lit it for me with his silver Zippo lighter.
“What brings you here?” He asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m paying my respects. You?”
“Same.” I took a drag of the cigarette, “I did a job for the guy.”
“He pay you?”
I shook my head, “Never did. Said he would, though.”
“Yeah, unreliable git. He owned me money too. Said he’d pay me as soon as he got outta jail. Sod’s law I only learn he’s outta jail when I find out he’s dead.”
“Tough luck.”
“Tell me about it.” He stroked his moustache. “He owned me a lot of money. Buried it before he went to jail.”
“From the robberies?”
“Yeah. Couple years ago now.”
I nodded, “More brawn than brains that guy.”
“Nah, he weren’t like that all the time. You know the only person he said he’d tell where the money was, was the bird he was seeing. Then she went and shot him!” He laughed loudly, a dirty laugh. “I hear you’re friendly with his bird?”
I shook my head, “Not anymore.”
“Shame. Bet Bruce didn’t even get a chance to tell her when the dough was hidden.”
“Don’t think they did much talking.”
He told a drag of his smoke and said, “Yeah. Read about in the paper. They fight, then blam.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
He sighed, “All that money, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Just rotting away somewhere. Think most of the family are hoping it’ll turn up in his will.”
I raised at eyebrow, “And you’re not expecting it too?”
He shook his head, “Nah, ‘course not. No guy would ever put his buried treasure in his will.”
“Maybe he left a treasure map.”
Russell laughed out loud again, “You always make me laugh, I tell ya.” He then asked, “I always wanted to know- are you having fun being a private eye than you were as one of the pigs?”
“Being a pig pays better.”
He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on a gravestone. “Oh well, see you around, Jackie-boy.”
It took me a while to figure it out. It was after the funeral, I was back in my office, drinking a cup of tea and doing the cryptic crossword when it all began to make sense. Something Sylvester had said had stuck in my mind, I thought nothing of it at first, but the more I sat and thought the more it made sense. It was just like one of the cryptic clues in the crossword, of course I hadn’t understood it at first, you never do, but once I did… I leaped out of my chair, grabbed my hat and my coat and went out.
I knew who would hold all the answers, so I tailed them for a while. I began to doubt myself and what I’d worked out, but as soon as night time came it all began to fall into place. The one I was tailing hailed a taxi, so I got one as well, and in true Hollywood style I told the driver to “Follow that car!” He had a laugh, then realised I was serious. The taxi drove out of London to a wood. When the other taxi stopped, so did ours. The person I was tailing got out and the taxi went. I paid the driver and he went off. I began to walk through the woods, I could see they knew were they were going. Once they found what they were looking for I stopped and lurked in the shadows of the trees.
When they got what they wanted, I thought it would be time to show myself. I strolled along as casually as I could, but they didn’t notice me. Loudly I said, “Of all the gin joints in all the world…” They turned around and shone a torch into my face, “You had to walk into mine.” I grinned. “Hello, Bethany.”
“Jack? What the hell are you doing here?” She said in her familiar drawl.
“Oh, you know, just taking a stroll.” On the floor before her was a spade, a large hole in the earth, and a brown, dirt covered suitcase. “So, what brings you here?”
“Jack, I…”
I waved my hand, “It was clever. I’ve got to admit that, Beth. Real clever. Would have been perfect if I didn’t get in the way, right?”
As she spoke, her right hand was reaching into her coat pocket, “Jack, I have no idea what…”
“Beth, please. I know you’ve got that gun in your pocket.” Her eyes widened, I knew I was right. She took her hand out of her pocket. I continued- “You wanted Bruce Watson to find you, didn’t you? Because you knew he’d tell you were the money from the robberies was. It was you who sent the letter tipping him off.”
“And I knew you’d never tell Bruce where I was.” Her lip curled, “Guess you did like me.”
“So,” I said, “You knew he’d got a temper on him. You knew he’d cause a fuss. So, nobody’s going to doubt that a violent criminal would be carrying a gun on him. It was only today I realised that it was a .22, which gets called a ‘woman’s gun’. So no self-respecting criminal would be caught dead carrying one.” I paused and then added, “But poor Bruce was caught dead with one. After all, does a man that size really need to carry a gun to be threatening? So, you waited for him to show, and when he does you get him to tell you where the money is. I don’t know how you got him to tell you, but maybe he did love you. But as soon as he did…” I turned my fingers into a gun shape and made a popping noise. “Exit Bruce.”
She licked her lips and said, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to get this money? All the years I spent waiting for him to get out of jail…” She started to get louder, “I gave up on it, that’s why I stopped writing to him. Then you go and tell me that he’s out and he’s looking for me! It was my chance to get the money, Jack! Thousand of pounds!”
I put my hands up in defence, “Ok, ok! I just came to talk to you, Beth… because you do know that Bruce owes me money?”
“What?”
“He never paid me to look for you.”
“But you didn’t look for me!”
“That’s not the point, Beth. I’d like my pay, if that’s alright with you.” I took a step towards the suitcase and she quickly pulled out the .22 from her coat pocket.
“And what makes you think I’m just going to hand the money over?”
I raised my hands again, “Whoa, I’m not asking for all of it! Just 50-50!” The gun clicked as she took the safety off, “Ok, just as much as Bruce owned me…”
“I could just kill you.” She snarled.
I grinned, “After all the fun times we had together?”
“I’m warning you, Jack…”
“And I’m warning you- I‘ve got friends.”
Her brow furrowed, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“That in the event of my death, a couple letters will be sent. First to my old mate Sylvester Hartnell, you remember him, don’t you? The proper detective who questioned you? It’ll tell him all about you killing Bruce and me… he’ll be able to match the bullets from the gun.” She looked nervously down at her gun. Of course there was no letter. It’s just a good thing to say when somebody’s pointing a gun at you. I carried on, “And they’ll be another one sent to Russell Faraday.”
Puzzled, she asked, “Russell Faraday?”
“Yeah. He’s looking for Bruce’s money as well. The money Bruce owes him from the robberies.”
She shook her head, “Bruce wasn’t working for Russell Faraday.”
“I spoke to Faraday…”
“No, Bruce told me everything. He didn’t say a word about Faraday.”
I began to lower my hands, “Then how did Russell Faraday know Bruce had buried the money?” There was a pause, and at the same time we both looked down the suitcase. I made a step towards it, but she made a ‘Ah!’ noise and I stopped. “Ok, ok!” I said. Still, keeping one eye on me, she kneeled down and began to open the suitcase. With her free hand, she opened first the left catch, then the right one and lifted the lid.
There was money alright. Lots of it. Only trouble was it was money from the board game Monopoly. I dropped my hands and let out a loud laugh. Got to hand it to the guy for having a good sense of humour. There was a note on top of the coloured paper money, Beth picked it up, stood up and read it out loud in a disdaining voice, “I got to Bruce first- ha ha ha, love Russell.”
I chuckled, “Oh that crafty devil.” Beth glared at me. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s quite funny.” She just shook her head. Russell Faraday had probably heard the rumour that Bruce had hidden some money, waited till he got out, got the information off him by hook or by crook. It explained why he probably turned up to the funeral- see who else was interested in the money. Crafty devil. “We’ve both been had.” I nodded my head towards the way out of the woods, “Come on, let’s get going, I’ll get you a cup of tea, my shout.” Beth just said nothing. “Something stronger instead?”
She began to shake her head, then walked up to me and hissed, “Go to hell, Jack.” She turned and began to walk away from me. I watched her go. I took off my hat and scratched my head.
“Women.” I sighed.
FIN
David Bowie- 'Wild Is The Wind'
I decided it’d be good manners to go to Bruce Watson’s funeral. I was sure if I paid my condolences and explained my situation, a family member might be willing to cover the bill of my services for him. But as the taxi drove me to the funeral, I realised that they might not be too happy that the person I had been paid to look for actually killed Bruce. As I had dusted down funeral suit and had it dry cleaned for no mere sum and paid for the taxi I decided I‘d have to sit through the funeral..
The funeral was a quiet affair, only about ten or twelve people were in attendance. There was one mourner I was very surprised to see, and that was Russell Faraday. He styled himself as a ‘gentleman gangster’, but he was nothing more than a West End hoodlum. I had run into him on occasion before, and knowing his reputation I was very curious to know what on earth he was doing at this funeral.
I waited till it was over, and I noticed him ducked around the back of the church for a crafty cigarette. His heavies were waiting in the car, so I thought I’d go and say ‘hello’. He was a well dressed man, that could be said. Always in the finest of suits, with his hair slicked over with brylcreem, and probably his moustache too.
“Hello, Russell.” I announced.
He jumped, then grinned. “Jack Redgrave. Still playing Humphrey Bogart?”
“Still playing James Cagney?”
He laughed aloud loud, and carried on talking in a thick London accent, “You’re real funny. You’re a real funny guy, Jack. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Not as I often as I’d like.” I took out a cigarette, and Russell lit it for me with his silver Zippo lighter.
“What brings you here?” He asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I’m paying my respects. You?”
“Same.” I took a drag of the cigarette, “I did a job for the guy.”
“He pay you?”
I shook my head, “Never did. Said he would, though.”
“Yeah, unreliable git. He owned me money too. Said he’d pay me as soon as he got outta jail. Sod’s law I only learn he’s outta jail when I find out he’s dead.”
“Tough luck.”
“Tell me about it.” He stroked his moustache. “He owned me a lot of money. Buried it before he went to jail.”
“From the robberies?”
“Yeah. Couple years ago now.”
I nodded, “More brawn than brains that guy.”
“Nah, he weren’t like that all the time. You know the only person he said he’d tell where the money was, was the bird he was seeing. Then she went and shot him!” He laughed loudly, a dirty laugh. “I hear you’re friendly with his bird?”
I shook my head, “Not anymore.”
“Shame. Bet Bruce didn’t even get a chance to tell her when the dough was hidden.”
“Don’t think they did much talking.”
He told a drag of his smoke and said, “Yeah. Read about in the paper. They fight, then blam.”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
He sighed, “All that money, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Just rotting away somewhere. Think most of the family are hoping it’ll turn up in his will.”
I raised at eyebrow, “And you’re not expecting it too?”
He shook his head, “Nah, ‘course not. No guy would ever put his buried treasure in his will.”
“Maybe he left a treasure map.”
Russell laughed out loud again, “You always make me laugh, I tell ya.” He then asked, “I always wanted to know- are you having fun being a private eye than you were as one of the pigs?”
“Being a pig pays better.”
He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on a gravestone. “Oh well, see you around, Jackie-boy.”
It took me a while to figure it out. It was after the funeral, I was back in my office, drinking a cup of tea and doing the cryptic crossword when it all began to make sense. Something Sylvester had said had stuck in my mind, I thought nothing of it at first, but the more I sat and thought the more it made sense. It was just like one of the cryptic clues in the crossword, of course I hadn’t understood it at first, you never do, but once I did… I leaped out of my chair, grabbed my hat and my coat and went out.
I knew who would hold all the answers, so I tailed them for a while. I began to doubt myself and what I’d worked out, but as soon as night time came it all began to fall into place. The one I was tailing hailed a taxi, so I got one as well, and in true Hollywood style I told the driver to “Follow that car!” He had a laugh, then realised I was serious. The taxi drove out of London to a wood. When the other taxi stopped, so did ours. The person I was tailing got out and the taxi went. I paid the driver and he went off. I began to walk through the woods, I could see they knew were they were going. Once they found what they were looking for I stopped and lurked in the shadows of the trees.
When they got what they wanted, I thought it would be time to show myself. I strolled along as casually as I could, but they didn’t notice me. Loudly I said, “Of all the gin joints in all the world…” They turned around and shone a torch into my face, “You had to walk into mine.” I grinned. “Hello, Bethany.”
“Jack? What the hell are you doing here?” She said in her familiar drawl.
“Oh, you know, just taking a stroll.” On the floor before her was a spade, a large hole in the earth, and a brown, dirt covered suitcase. “So, what brings you here?”
“Jack, I…”
I waved my hand, “It was clever. I’ve got to admit that, Beth. Real clever. Would have been perfect if I didn’t get in the way, right?”
As she spoke, her right hand was reaching into her coat pocket, “Jack, I have no idea what…”
“Beth, please. I know you’ve got that gun in your pocket.” Her eyes widened, I knew I was right. She took her hand out of her pocket. I continued- “You wanted Bruce Watson to find you, didn’t you? Because you knew he’d tell you were the money from the robberies was. It was you who sent the letter tipping him off.”
“And I knew you’d never tell Bruce where I was.” Her lip curled, “Guess you did like me.”
“So,” I said, “You knew he’d got a temper on him. You knew he’d cause a fuss. So, nobody’s going to doubt that a violent criminal would be carrying a gun on him. It was only today I realised that it was a .22, which gets called a ‘woman’s gun’. So no self-respecting criminal would be caught dead carrying one.” I paused and then added, “But poor Bruce was caught dead with one. After all, does a man that size really need to carry a gun to be threatening? So, you waited for him to show, and when he does you get him to tell you where the money is. I don’t know how you got him to tell you, but maybe he did love you. But as soon as he did…” I turned my fingers into a gun shape and made a popping noise. “Exit Bruce.”
She licked her lips and said, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to get this money? All the years I spent waiting for him to get out of jail…” She started to get louder, “I gave up on it, that’s why I stopped writing to him. Then you go and tell me that he’s out and he’s looking for me! It was my chance to get the money, Jack! Thousand of pounds!”
I put my hands up in defence, “Ok, ok! I just came to talk to you, Beth… because you do know that Bruce owes me money?”
“What?”
“He never paid me to look for you.”
“But you didn’t look for me!”
“That’s not the point, Beth. I’d like my pay, if that’s alright with you.” I took a step towards the suitcase and she quickly pulled out the .22 from her coat pocket.
“And what makes you think I’m just going to hand the money over?”
I raised my hands again, “Whoa, I’m not asking for all of it! Just 50-50!” The gun clicked as she took the safety off, “Ok, just as much as Bruce owned me…”
“I could just kill you.” She snarled.
I grinned, “After all the fun times we had together?”
“I’m warning you, Jack…”
“And I’m warning you- I‘ve got friends.”
Her brow furrowed, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“That in the event of my death, a couple letters will be sent. First to my old mate Sylvester Hartnell, you remember him, don’t you? The proper detective who questioned you? It’ll tell him all about you killing Bruce and me… he’ll be able to match the bullets from the gun.” She looked nervously down at her gun. Of course there was no letter. It’s just a good thing to say when somebody’s pointing a gun at you. I carried on, “And they’ll be another one sent to Russell Faraday.”
Puzzled, she asked, “Russell Faraday?”
“Yeah. He’s looking for Bruce’s money as well. The money Bruce owes him from the robberies.”
She shook her head, “Bruce wasn’t working for Russell Faraday.”
“I spoke to Faraday…”
“No, Bruce told me everything. He didn’t say a word about Faraday.”
I began to lower my hands, “Then how did Russell Faraday know Bruce had buried the money?” There was a pause, and at the same time we both looked down the suitcase. I made a step towards it, but she made a ‘Ah!’ noise and I stopped. “Ok, ok!” I said. Still, keeping one eye on me, she kneeled down and began to open the suitcase. With her free hand, she opened first the left catch, then the right one and lifted the lid.
There was money alright. Lots of it. Only trouble was it was money from the board game Monopoly. I dropped my hands and let out a loud laugh. Got to hand it to the guy for having a good sense of humour. There was a note on top of the coloured paper money, Beth picked it up, stood up and read it out loud in a disdaining voice, “I got to Bruce first- ha ha ha, love Russell.”
I chuckled, “Oh that crafty devil.” Beth glared at me. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s quite funny.” She just shook her head. Russell Faraday had probably heard the rumour that Bruce had hidden some money, waited till he got out, got the information off him by hook or by crook. It explained why he probably turned up to the funeral- see who else was interested in the money. Crafty devil. “We’ve both been had.” I nodded my head towards the way out of the woods, “Come on, let’s get going, I’ll get you a cup of tea, my shout.” Beth just said nothing. “Something stronger instead?”
She began to shake her head, then walked up to me and hissed, “Go to hell, Jack.” She turned and began to walk away from me. I watched her go. I took off my hat and scratched my head.
“Women.” I sighed.
FIN
David Bowie- 'Wild Is The Wind'
Tuesday 20 May 2008
'Wild Is The Wind'- Part 2
As I started to write the conclusion to 'Wild Is The Wind' I realized that it wouldn't be just this part, there'd have to be one more to get everything in. I'll wait either a couple of days before putting the final part up.
I spent the next two weeks doing The Times cryptic crossword each day. By the end of two weeks, I was getting pretty good at it. You eventually learn how the guy who writes the questions thinks, you can see the methods he uses. So, as I was doing 19 across there was a loud knock on my door, and I guessed that it could only belong to one person.
“Come on in.” I called, and as expected Bruce Watson came in, ducking to avoid hitting his head. I stood up and shook his hand.
“Hello, Bruce. Drink?”
“No. I don’t want one.” He spoke quickly, as if he had somewhere more important to be.
“Well…” I motioned for him to sit down, which he promptly did. I took a deep breathe and got my act ready. “You must understand, Bruce, looking for someone who’s been gone out of your life for a long time is a difficult task. She isn’t fresh in people‘s minds. Anything could have happened, right?” I was met with stony silence. Not a muscle of his face moved. He just sat, holding his cap in his hands. I cleared my throat and continued, “I think there’s the possibility of a trail in Scotland, but I can’t be too sure. If you want me to find out, you’ll have to hire my services for another week. Or, you could go up there and investigate yourself.”
There was a long silence. He just sat, staring at me as if I’d just come out of a flying saucer. “Bruce?” I asked, “Everything alright?”
Again there was a long silence and he said, “You’re lying.”
I froze, then smiled and said, “Pardon?”
“She’s here in London.”
I did a fake laugh and said, “If she was I would know.”
“I got a letter.” He said. His giant hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a yellowish envelope. He opened it and took out a piece of paper.
“What does it say, Bruce?” I asked.
He began to read it aloud, slowly, being very careful with the words, “Kiki is alive and well and in London. Go to the Victory Club tonight.”
I shook my head, “The Victory Club is only down the road, I’ve been there a couple times. I’ve never seen or heard of the girl you’re looking for. When did you get the letter?”
“This morning.”
“Do you know who sent it?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“So it hasn’t been signed or…”
He cut in, “I’m not thick, you know.”
“Ok. Ok. Just… let me look at the envelope.”
He looked at me strangely, and reluctantly passed it over to me. I checked the postmark- it was London. Somebody had to know about Beth and Bruce other than me. And if Bruce knew that she was in London… I had to tell her somehow.
I smiled as best as I could and passed in back to Bruce, “Don’t get your hopes up. It looks like a fake.”
“It does?” He said
“Sure. I can spot them a mile off. I mean, whoever sent it gives no evidence, and if your… Kiki was working at the Victory Club down the road I would have known about it!”
Just by looking at the great brute you could see the cogs in his heads working. “So… they’re probably lying to me?”
“Absolutely. Now, about payments for my services…”
“I can pay you.” He said quickly.
“Well that’s great. Cheque or cash would be wonderful.” I leaned back on my chair, and when he failed to respond I became worried. “You can pay me, Bruce?”
“Sure. Just give me a week.”
I groaned. There’s always a catch, “I generally do expect money up front…”
“I’ll get it too you, ok?” He almost shouted.
I raised my hands in defence. “Fine. Fine. I’ll give you a week, ok? But if I don’t get my money… I’ll have to go to the police.” That got him.
“I’ll get your money, I will. I swear.”
I stood up. “Be sure you do, Mr. Watson.” It felt good to have power over such a big guy. I said my goodbyes and opened the door for him. As soon as he had gone I returned to my desk. I had to let Beth know that somebody knew about her, but I had no idea where she lived. Some flat somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure, she never invited me around there. The only place I knew she’d be would be the Victory Club. It was only a matter of time before it opened. I decided to carry on with the crossword until the time came.
At half 9 I turned up at the stage door of the Victory Club, but I was too late. It looked as though somebody knocked it down with a battering ram. I went through the gap where the door used to be, and I saw Bill, sprawled on the floor. I kneeled down to check on him. He was still alive, which was a good thing, but he’d been knocked out for the count. He’d have a nasty bruise where he’d been thumped when he woke up tomorrow morning. There was a shriek, and then that awful sound of a gun going off. It was like a small crack of thunder. I ran down the corridor, knowing exactly where the sound had come from.
I went into Beth’s dressing room, unsurprised at the sight before me. Beth stood shaking on one side of the room and on the other Bruce Watson sat on the floor, with a bullet shot just below his right eye. He was as dead as Hitler. The gun was in the middle, a little .22. Beth turned and looked at me, her eyes welling with tears. She ran to me, and I held her as tightly as I could.
It didn’t take too long for the police to turn up. The manager had rung them. Thankfully the patrons of the Club hadn’t heard the gunshot over the noise of the jazz band, so they had no idea that the body with a bullet in it’s brain was lying only a few feet away. The manager, Jenkins, had gotten me and Beth some stiff drinks which we downed in silence. We worked our way through a pack of cigarettes until the police turned up. It was lucky as Sylvester Hartnell was in charge of the case, he was a guy I used to work with. I went outside when they questioned Beth. As soon as it was finished, Sylvester came outside and joined me. He was a small man, and his hair was going a bit grey now, but he had much life in him.
“Hello, Jack.” He said.
“Hello, Syl. How’s things?”
“Not too bad, Jack. Not too bad. Me and Doreen are expecting another little one.”
“Congratulations. It’ll be your third, right?”
“Yeah.”
I asked, “How old’s your eldest now? 5?
“Six.” He replied.
“Time flies, hey?”
“It sure does, Jack. You know I should be asking you official questions right now?”
I offered him a cigarette, which he took. “That what I always liked about you, Syl. You’ve always got time for an old friend.”
He laughed and said, “Well I can take a good guess why you were here tonight. It’s was always the blondes with you wasn’t it?”
I smirked, “Not always.”
“Ah, I know you too well, Jack. So- you and her?”
I shook my head, “Oh, no. No.” I then added, “Well, we did once, but that was a while ago now. I was flavour of the month of all of five minutes.”
“And yet you still never gave up?”
I shrugged, “Flavours of the month can come back in fashion.”
He smiled, “You never change.” He sighed, “Well, Bruce Watson’s dead as anything.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “He stormed in, argued, they fought, she got the gun and fired a shot off.”
“Got it in one.”
“The gun was a .22, right?”
He smiled. “Your eyes are as sharp as ever. Yeah, it was a .22, a woman’s gun really, but it as probably all the poor bugger could afford.”
“What‘s going to happen to Beth?”
“If a bull like Bruce Watson stormed in with a gun, I’d probably want to shoot him as well” He paused and added, “But what I’d like to know, Jack, is why you told him where she was?”
“I didn’t. He got an anonymous letter telling him where to find her. I did my best to convince him it was a fake.”
He shook his head. “Not good enough though.”
“Clearly.” I took my final drag on the cigarette and tossed it to the floor. “What was Bruce Watson in jail for?”
“Armed robbery. He was in a gang, they robbed 5 or 6 Post Offices in a week. He’s the first of the gang to be let out, only because he snitched on the others.”
“Couldn’t imagine him planning a robbery.”
“He was just the muscle.”
“No surprise there.” I said.
Sylvester gave me a funny look and asked, “Did you know that Bruce Watson didn’t have a penny to his name when he came out of jail?”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I said glumly, “I wondered why he didn’t pay me.”
“Well, the money from the robberies was never recovered. Rumour was that only Bruce knew where it was.”
“And now nobody’ll ever know.”
“Exactly.” A police offer called something to Sylvester, so he patted me on the back and said “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Jack.”
“Sure, Syl.”
“Stay out of trouble!”
I smirked, “When have I ever got in trouble?”
“Goodbye, Jack. You ought to visit sometime.”
“Maybe I will.” I said. I watched him walk away to confer with the other police officers, then turned around and went back inside of the Victory Club. I went to Beth’s dressing room, and saw her sitting on the sofa, staring into space, a drink in her hand. I stuck my head around the door and said, “You want me to call you a taxi?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s alright.”
I took a couple of steps into the room, and took off my fedora. “I’m sorry, Beth.”
“I just can’t believe you told him I was here.”
“No! I wouldn’t! I didn’t!”
She never once looked up at me. She just stared at the wall. “Well, how come he turned up here?”
“He got a letter from somebody.”
She raise her eyebrows and said quietly, “You really expect me to believe that, Jack?”
I kneeled down next to her and tried to take hold of her hand, but she moved it away. “Beth, I would never do anything to harm you.”
“Go away, Jack.”
“Bethany, please…”
She shook her head, “No. I just hope the money he gave you was worth it.”
“I wouldn’t put money before you.”
“Just get out, Jack. Before I call somebody to get rid of you.”
I bowed my head in defeat. There would be no convincing her. I stood up and hung there for a few moments, “Well… be seeing you, then.”
She responded by taking a sip from her glass. I put my hat on and left her alone.
I spent the next two weeks doing The Times cryptic crossword each day. By the end of two weeks, I was getting pretty good at it. You eventually learn how the guy who writes the questions thinks, you can see the methods he uses. So, as I was doing 19 across there was a loud knock on my door, and I guessed that it could only belong to one person.
“Come on in.” I called, and as expected Bruce Watson came in, ducking to avoid hitting his head. I stood up and shook his hand.
“Hello, Bruce. Drink?”
“No. I don’t want one.” He spoke quickly, as if he had somewhere more important to be.
“Well…” I motioned for him to sit down, which he promptly did. I took a deep breathe and got my act ready. “You must understand, Bruce, looking for someone who’s been gone out of your life for a long time is a difficult task. She isn’t fresh in people‘s minds. Anything could have happened, right?” I was met with stony silence. Not a muscle of his face moved. He just sat, holding his cap in his hands. I cleared my throat and continued, “I think there’s the possibility of a trail in Scotland, but I can’t be too sure. If you want me to find out, you’ll have to hire my services for another week. Or, you could go up there and investigate yourself.”
There was a long silence. He just sat, staring at me as if I’d just come out of a flying saucer. “Bruce?” I asked, “Everything alright?”
Again there was a long silence and he said, “You’re lying.”
I froze, then smiled and said, “Pardon?”
“She’s here in London.”
I did a fake laugh and said, “If she was I would know.”
“I got a letter.” He said. His giant hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a yellowish envelope. He opened it and took out a piece of paper.
“What does it say, Bruce?” I asked.
He began to read it aloud, slowly, being very careful with the words, “Kiki is alive and well and in London. Go to the Victory Club tonight.”
I shook my head, “The Victory Club is only down the road, I’ve been there a couple times. I’ve never seen or heard of the girl you’re looking for. When did you get the letter?”
“This morning.”
“Do you know who sent it?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“So it hasn’t been signed or…”
He cut in, “I’m not thick, you know.”
“Ok. Ok. Just… let me look at the envelope.”
He looked at me strangely, and reluctantly passed it over to me. I checked the postmark- it was London. Somebody had to know about Beth and Bruce other than me. And if Bruce knew that she was in London… I had to tell her somehow.
I smiled as best as I could and passed in back to Bruce, “Don’t get your hopes up. It looks like a fake.”
“It does?” He said
“Sure. I can spot them a mile off. I mean, whoever sent it gives no evidence, and if your… Kiki was working at the Victory Club down the road I would have known about it!”
Just by looking at the great brute you could see the cogs in his heads working. “So… they’re probably lying to me?”
“Absolutely. Now, about payments for my services…”
“I can pay you.” He said quickly.
“Well that’s great. Cheque or cash would be wonderful.” I leaned back on my chair, and when he failed to respond I became worried. “You can pay me, Bruce?”
“Sure. Just give me a week.”
I groaned. There’s always a catch, “I generally do expect money up front…”
“I’ll get it too you, ok?” He almost shouted.
I raised my hands in defence. “Fine. Fine. I’ll give you a week, ok? But if I don’t get my money… I’ll have to go to the police.” That got him.
“I’ll get your money, I will. I swear.”
I stood up. “Be sure you do, Mr. Watson.” It felt good to have power over such a big guy. I said my goodbyes and opened the door for him. As soon as he had gone I returned to my desk. I had to let Beth know that somebody knew about her, but I had no idea where she lived. Some flat somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure, she never invited me around there. The only place I knew she’d be would be the Victory Club. It was only a matter of time before it opened. I decided to carry on with the crossword until the time came.
At half 9 I turned up at the stage door of the Victory Club, but I was too late. It looked as though somebody knocked it down with a battering ram. I went through the gap where the door used to be, and I saw Bill, sprawled on the floor. I kneeled down to check on him. He was still alive, which was a good thing, but he’d been knocked out for the count. He’d have a nasty bruise where he’d been thumped when he woke up tomorrow morning. There was a shriek, and then that awful sound of a gun going off. It was like a small crack of thunder. I ran down the corridor, knowing exactly where the sound had come from.
I went into Beth’s dressing room, unsurprised at the sight before me. Beth stood shaking on one side of the room and on the other Bruce Watson sat on the floor, with a bullet shot just below his right eye. He was as dead as Hitler. The gun was in the middle, a little .22. Beth turned and looked at me, her eyes welling with tears. She ran to me, and I held her as tightly as I could.
It didn’t take too long for the police to turn up. The manager had rung them. Thankfully the patrons of the Club hadn’t heard the gunshot over the noise of the jazz band, so they had no idea that the body with a bullet in it’s brain was lying only a few feet away. The manager, Jenkins, had gotten me and Beth some stiff drinks which we downed in silence. We worked our way through a pack of cigarettes until the police turned up. It was lucky as Sylvester Hartnell was in charge of the case, he was a guy I used to work with. I went outside when they questioned Beth. As soon as it was finished, Sylvester came outside and joined me. He was a small man, and his hair was going a bit grey now, but he had much life in him.
“Hello, Jack.” He said.
“Hello, Syl. How’s things?”
“Not too bad, Jack. Not too bad. Me and Doreen are expecting another little one.”
“Congratulations. It’ll be your third, right?”
“Yeah.”
I asked, “How old’s your eldest now? 5?
“Six.” He replied.
“Time flies, hey?”
“It sure does, Jack. You know I should be asking you official questions right now?”
I offered him a cigarette, which he took. “That what I always liked about you, Syl. You’ve always got time for an old friend.”
He laughed and said, “Well I can take a good guess why you were here tonight. It’s was always the blondes with you wasn’t it?”
I smirked, “Not always.”
“Ah, I know you too well, Jack. So- you and her?”
I shook my head, “Oh, no. No.” I then added, “Well, we did once, but that was a while ago now. I was flavour of the month of all of five minutes.”
“And yet you still never gave up?”
I shrugged, “Flavours of the month can come back in fashion.”
He smiled, “You never change.” He sighed, “Well, Bruce Watson’s dead as anything.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “He stormed in, argued, they fought, she got the gun and fired a shot off.”
“Got it in one.”
“The gun was a .22, right?”
He smiled. “Your eyes are as sharp as ever. Yeah, it was a .22, a woman’s gun really, but it as probably all the poor bugger could afford.”
“What‘s going to happen to Beth?”
“If a bull like Bruce Watson stormed in with a gun, I’d probably want to shoot him as well” He paused and added, “But what I’d like to know, Jack, is why you told him where she was?”
“I didn’t. He got an anonymous letter telling him where to find her. I did my best to convince him it was a fake.”
He shook his head. “Not good enough though.”
“Clearly.” I took my final drag on the cigarette and tossed it to the floor. “What was Bruce Watson in jail for?”
“Armed robbery. He was in a gang, they robbed 5 or 6 Post Offices in a week. He’s the first of the gang to be let out, only because he snitched on the others.”
“Couldn’t imagine him planning a robbery.”
“He was just the muscle.”
“No surprise there.” I said.
Sylvester gave me a funny look and asked, “Did you know that Bruce Watson didn’t have a penny to his name when he came out of jail?”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I said glumly, “I wondered why he didn’t pay me.”
“Well, the money from the robberies was never recovered. Rumour was that only Bruce knew where it was.”
“And now nobody’ll ever know.”
“Exactly.” A police offer called something to Sylvester, so he patted me on the back and said “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Jack.”
“Sure, Syl.”
“Stay out of trouble!”
I smirked, “When have I ever got in trouble?”
“Goodbye, Jack. You ought to visit sometime.”
“Maybe I will.” I said. I watched him walk away to confer with the other police officers, then turned around and went back inside of the Victory Club. I went to Beth’s dressing room, and saw her sitting on the sofa, staring into space, a drink in her hand. I stuck my head around the door and said, “You want me to call you a taxi?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s alright.”
I took a couple of steps into the room, and took off my fedora. “I’m sorry, Beth.”
“I just can’t believe you told him I was here.”
“No! I wouldn’t! I didn’t!”
She never once looked up at me. She just stared at the wall. “Well, how come he turned up here?”
“He got a letter from somebody.”
She raise her eyebrows and said quietly, “You really expect me to believe that, Jack?”
I kneeled down next to her and tried to take hold of her hand, but she moved it away. “Beth, I would never do anything to harm you.”
“Go away, Jack.”
“Bethany, please…”
She shook her head, “No. I just hope the money he gave you was worth it.”
“I wouldn’t put money before you.”
“Just get out, Jack. Before I call somebody to get rid of you.”
I bowed my head in defeat. There would be no convincing her. I stood up and hung there for a few moments, “Well… be seeing you, then.”
She responded by taking a sip from her glass. I put my hat on and left her alone.
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