Arthur enters the bakery.
You're back, says the baker, surprised.
Give me paper, says Arthur, and I'll give you the poem.
The baker gives Arthur a sheet of white paper.
And a pen, says Arthur.
The baker produces a red one, of the type that all businessmen have.
Arthur writes his poem on the white paper. It looks good in red. He gives it to the baker, who reads it aloud:
The Metaphysics of Windows
( the baker looks mildly disappointed by the title, but continues )
There's blood on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
the babies are begging for jam
give us blood red jam mother
she addresses her birdhead
blood red jam is inside
she arches her sacrificial neck
beats her wing against the locked door
her breast bursts open
blood red jam drips to the floor
stop mother cry the babies
there is jam on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
enough for us all.
That's good, says the baker. I like the way you incorporated the jam. But I was hoping for something less metaphysical.
Too bad, says Arthur. And I think it's worth more than one bun. Can I have another one? That one?
He points to a Belgian bun, with a half glace cherry on top.
Not yet, says the baker. Not till I see that the poem is working.
He sticks it in the front window near the door.
Two girls come along. They stop, read the poem, turn to one another, nod, and come inside.
Nice poem you've put up in the window, says one of the girls. Makes you hungry. We'll have two lattes and two large jam buns.
Certainly ladies, says the baker. Just sit down and make yourselves comfy. I'll bring them over to you.
He looks at Arthur and grins.
But Arthur is staring out of the window at the still bleeding vicar, who is peering intently inside.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Blood Sacrifice
Arthur pulls the knife from his pocket. Twirls it. Sticks it into a bun.
Splurt! Jam squirts out.
That's one pound twenty you owe me, says the baker, taking a brown paper bag from under the counter.
Is that the full price? says Arthur.
Yes it is, says the baker.
Low quality jam, says Arthur, licking the point of his knife.
Pay up, says the baker.
No, says Arthur. But I'll make you an offer. A poem for a bun. You can stick the poem up in your window. It'll bring in the customers.
The baker considers the offer. He needs more customers. Done, he says, bagging the bun.
Arthur takes it and heads for the door.
What about the poem? says the baker.
I'll be back in ten minutes, says Arthur.
He heads down the road to Saint Martin's, eating the bun. It is nicer without any jam.
The church has red sandstone walls, a green slate roof and a charming lead spire. Stained glass windows designed by Burne-Jones. But you can't enter unless it is Sunday. The doors are locked during the week.
Arthur prowls round the outside peering up at the windows.
Looking for something? says someone who looks like a vicar.
The pelican window, says Arthur. But I can't get inside.
Would you like a private viewing? says the vicar.
No thanks, says Arthur. Just show me which window it is.
He doesn't trust vicars. Nor should he.
The vicar looks disappointed. He points towards the east wall, and the five stained glass panels of windows.
There it is,says the vicar. The Pelican in her Piety. See. Representing self sacrifice. She pierces her own breast with her beak to provide nourishment for her young.
Arthur squints at panel. Stained glass windows look dull from outside. He can't pick out the pelican, her babies, or blood. But so what? He gets out his smart phone and snaps in the general direction.
Happy? says the vicar. If you like I can show you a postcard.
He reaches out to grab Arthur, but his fingers close on Arthur's jammy knife.
Ouch! Blood drips onto the grass. The vicar doubles up in pain.
As Arthur walks back to the bakery, a poem forms inside his head.
Splurt! Jam squirts out.
That's one pound twenty you owe me, says the baker, taking a brown paper bag from under the counter.
Is that the full price? says Arthur.
Yes it is, says the baker.
Low quality jam, says Arthur, licking the point of his knife.
Pay up, says the baker.
No, says Arthur. But I'll make you an offer. A poem for a bun. You can stick the poem up in your window. It'll bring in the customers.
The baker considers the offer. He needs more customers. Done, he says, bagging the bun.
Arthur takes it and heads for the door.
What about the poem? says the baker.
I'll be back in ten minutes, says Arthur.
He heads down the road to Saint Martin's, eating the bun. It is nicer without any jam.
The church has red sandstone walls, a green slate roof and a charming lead spire. Stained glass windows designed by Burne-Jones. But you can't enter unless it is Sunday. The doors are locked during the week.
Arthur prowls round the outside peering up at the windows.
Looking for something? says someone who looks like a vicar.
The pelican window, says Arthur. But I can't get inside.
Would you like a private viewing? says the vicar.
No thanks, says Arthur. Just show me which window it is.
He doesn't trust vicars. Nor should he.
The vicar looks disappointed. He points towards the east wall, and the five stained glass panels of windows.
There it is,says the vicar. The Pelican in her Piety. See. Representing self sacrifice. She pierces her own breast with her beak to provide nourishment for her young.
Arthur squints at panel. Stained glass windows look dull from outside. He can't pick out the pelican, her babies, or blood. But so what? He gets out his smart phone and snaps in the general direction.
Happy? says the vicar. If you like I can show you a postcard.
He reaches out to grab Arthur, but his fingers close on Arthur's jammy knife.
Ouch! Blood drips onto the grass. The vicar doubles up in pain.
As Arthur walks back to the bakery, a poem forms inside his head.
Monday, September 9, 2013
An Equivocal Dream
Arthur still has not made it into Brampton. He has been asleep.
.........
The moon shines brightly over the forest. He stops under a tree, leans his bicycle against the tree trunk. The bike topples over, he smells a strange smell. Picks up a grey yellow-edged fungus, sniffs it and throws it away.
Falls asleep in the damp grass and dreams an equivocal dream.
He is at a child's party, his party. Today he is four. He sits at one end of a large wooden table, on a balcony overlooking a steep leafy garden. On the table is popcorn and cake.
At the table are five friends and his sister. Her forehead is bandaged with a white bandage that covers her eyebrows. The day before, she ran into a brick.
The cake is decorated with black bats and purple icing. The icing has cascaded over the cake like purple lava and the bats have slid down the sides. There are four black candles which someone has lit with a lighter.
The children are singing. He blows out the candles, makes a wish.
I wish I could marry my sister. He says it. That is his wish.
..........
Arthur wakes up. His head is spinning. He can still smell the fungus on his fingers. Birthday wishes are circling like sharks.
..........
He cycles into Brampton. Where will he find this Pelican? What did Gaius even mean?
Forgetting that he has a smart phone, he stops at a bakery to ask.
Oh yes, says the baker. That'll be the windows. At Saint Martin's. It's just down the road.
Thanks, says Arthur, not yet turning to leave.
He is hungry. He is in a bakery, with change in his pocket.
And a knife. Old habits die hard.
.........
The moon shines brightly over the forest. He stops under a tree, leans his bicycle against the tree trunk. The bike topples over, he smells a strange smell. Picks up a grey yellow-edged fungus, sniffs it and throws it away.
Falls asleep in the damp grass and dreams an equivocal dream.
He is at a child's party, his party. Today he is four. He sits at one end of a large wooden table, on a balcony overlooking a steep leafy garden. On the table is popcorn and cake.
At the table are five friends and his sister. Her forehead is bandaged with a white bandage that covers her eyebrows. The day before, she ran into a brick.
The cake is decorated with black bats and purple icing. The icing has cascaded over the cake like purple lava and the bats have slid down the sides. There are four black candles which someone has lit with a lighter.
The children are singing. He blows out the candles, makes a wish.
I wish I could marry my sister. He says it. That is his wish.
..........
Arthur wakes up. His head is spinning. He can still smell the fungus on his fingers. Birthday wishes are circling like sharks.
..........
He cycles into Brampton. Where will he find this Pelican? What did Gaius even mean?
Forgetting that he has a smart phone, he stops at a bakery to ask.
Oh yes, says the baker. That'll be the windows. At Saint Martin's. It's just down the road.
Thanks, says Arthur, not yet turning to leave.
He is hungry. He is in a bakery, with change in his pocket.
And a knife. Old habits die hard.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The Pelican In Her Piety
Arthur has been lucky. He has not been spotted by the store detective.
The store detective is in the ladies hosiery department, keeping a suspicious eye on David. Why is a gentleman of his age peering so intently at the little lacy socks?
Arthur likes the feeling of his new shorts. They rustle. That means they will dry quickly when his knees bleed.
He retrieves his bike. Wheels it down the footpath until he sees a phone shop. Enters the phone shop. Buys a smart phone. So what if he has spent one of his gold coins? The new Arthur knows that money is for spending. And anyway, there was plenty of change.
Now to head for London. He consults his smart phone for an app. Ah yes, here is a route for cycling from Edinburgh to London. First stop Brampton.
He stops to buy himself some snacks.
At last he is on his way to Brampton. It should take him about three days to get to London.
The orange shorts rustle rhythmically as he pedals down the road.
.........
Shush, shush, go the orange shorts.
It is getting dark in the country. Arthur can see the moon.
What was that Rosie said about Sweezus? He tweets descriptions of the moon.
It strikes Arthur that now he has a smart phone he too can be a tweeter.
He stops under a roadside tree. He downloads the Twitter app. No, this is stupid. All he really wants to do is talk to someone. Someone who is smart enough to understand him but isn't quite as clever. Sweezus would be ideal, if he only had his number.
.......
Ring ring! The phone rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up the phone.
Man! says Sweezus. Pffft! This phone is covered in DUST! Hello, this is Velosophy, can I help you?
It's me, says Arthur. Arthur. I've got a phone now.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Next time call my mobile. Where are you? In the city? Come on over. I could use some help.
I'm in Scotland, says Arthur. On my way to London.
Fuck, says Sweezus. I know someone who won't be happy.
Who? says Arthur.
Gaius, says Sweezus. He's here now. I'll put him on.
Arthur! says the voice of Gaius Plinius Secundus. Where are you now?
On my way to Brampton, says Arthur. On a bicycle.
Brampton in Cumbria? says Gaius. Goodness me! I thought you might be nearer. You are no use to me there. But wait, on the other hand, do you have a camera?
Yes, says Arthur. I've just bought myself a smart phone.
Excellent, says Gaius. You won't regret it. Now just do this for me will you, Arthur. When you get to Brampton, be sure and take a picture of the Pelican In Her Piety.
The phone crackles gently, and cuts out.
The store detective is in the ladies hosiery department, keeping a suspicious eye on David. Why is a gentleman of his age peering so intently at the little lacy socks?
Arthur likes the feeling of his new shorts. They rustle. That means they will dry quickly when his knees bleed.
He retrieves his bike. Wheels it down the footpath until he sees a phone shop. Enters the phone shop. Buys a smart phone. So what if he has spent one of his gold coins? The new Arthur knows that money is for spending. And anyway, there was plenty of change.
Now to head for London. He consults his smart phone for an app. Ah yes, here is a route for cycling from Edinburgh to London. First stop Brampton.
He stops to buy himself some snacks.
At last he is on his way to Brampton. It should take him about three days to get to London.
The orange shorts rustle rhythmically as he pedals down the road.
.........
Shush, shush, go the orange shorts.
It is getting dark in the country. Arthur can see the moon.
What was that Rosie said about Sweezus? He tweets descriptions of the moon.
It strikes Arthur that now he has a smart phone he too can be a tweeter.
He stops under a roadside tree. He downloads the Twitter app. No, this is stupid. All he really wants to do is talk to someone. Someone who is smart enough to understand him but isn't quite as clever. Sweezus would be ideal, if he only had his number.
.......
Ring ring! The phone rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up the phone.
Man! says Sweezus. Pffft! This phone is covered in DUST! Hello, this is Velosophy, can I help you?
It's me, says Arthur. Arthur. I've got a phone now.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Next time call my mobile. Where are you? In the city? Come on over. I could use some help.
I'm in Scotland, says Arthur. On my way to London.
Fuck, says Sweezus. I know someone who won't be happy.
Who? says Arthur.
Gaius, says Sweezus. He's here now. I'll put him on.
Arthur! says the voice of Gaius Plinius Secundus. Where are you now?
On my way to Brampton, says Arthur. On a bicycle.
Brampton in Cumbria? says Gaius. Goodness me! I thought you might be nearer. You are no use to me there. But wait, on the other hand, do you have a camera?
Yes, says Arthur. I've just bought myself a smart phone.
Excellent, says Gaius. You won't regret it. Now just do this for me will you, Arthur. When you get to Brampton, be sure and take a picture of the Pelican In Her Piety.
The phone crackles gently, and cuts out.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
The Harrods Of The North
It is late afternoon, in Edinburgh. Arthur is sitting on a bench in the Princes Street Gardens, listening to the trickle of the water in Ross fountain. His bicycle is beside him. Rosie is not far away, hidden by a tree.
He kicks a stone . Rubs his knee. Jingles the gold coins in his pocket.
He gets up and heads towards the big department store across the road, leaving the bicycle.
Rosie follows him.
Here comes another fellow, cutting through the Gardens. He is in a hurry. It is David.
He mutters to himself, Sockets, sockets. He heads towards the big department store across the road.
David enters Jenners. Looks around. It is a magnificent store, the Harrods of the North. They must sell sockets here.
He scans the counters and the racks. Where might one find sockets? Glances at his watch. Decides he'd better ask for information.
Arthur is in Jenners, wondering where to buy a mobile phone. He thinks he might do better in a phone shop.
He is distracted by the colourful racks of clothes.
Arthur sees a pair of orange shorts like those that Sweezus wears. The ones that Sweezus borrowed once from Surfing-With-Whales, and kept, except that his weren't orange. Arthur picks the shorts up from the rack and goes to find a change room.
Rosie can't follow him in there.
She sits down on a chair outside the change room, looking at her reflection in a mirror. She has a creamy yellow smear on her chin. She tries to lick it, but only makes it worse.
She catches sight of David in the mirror.
David! she cries. Aren't you flying home this evening?
Yes, says David. I am in a tearing hurry. Mother has entrusted me with an errand. Where in this enormous Aladdin's cave would you think one might find sockets?
Sockets? says Rosie. This isn't where I'd come. You want a hardware.
Mother specified she wanted sockets from Jenners, says David. Size eight, whatever that might mean. I am not mechanical.
You're sure that she said sockets? says Rosie. Not sockettes?
Sockets, sockettes, says David. What's the difference? French pronunciation?
No, you silly, says Rosie. Your mother wants sockettes. Here I'll show you where to get them. They sell all sorts of them in Jenners. What colour would your mother like?
She leads David off towards the ladies hosiery department.
Seconds later Arthur emerges from the change room, in bright new shorts.
He has left his old shorts hanging on a hook inside the change rooms, with the bandages and red thread poking though the pockets. He has only kept the gold coins and the knife.
The new Arthur smiles at his reflection. Now to get a phone. Then he will ride his bicycle up to London, and repossess the shoe horn. It's a plan.
He kicks a stone . Rubs his knee. Jingles the gold coins in his pocket.
He gets up and heads towards the big department store across the road, leaving the bicycle.
Rosie follows him.
Here comes another fellow, cutting through the Gardens. He is in a hurry. It is David.
He mutters to himself, Sockets, sockets. He heads towards the big department store across the road.
David enters Jenners. Looks around. It is a magnificent store, the Harrods of the North. They must sell sockets here.
He scans the counters and the racks. Where might one find sockets? Glances at his watch. Decides he'd better ask for information.
Arthur is in Jenners, wondering where to buy a mobile phone. He thinks he might do better in a phone shop.
He is distracted by the colourful racks of clothes.
Arthur sees a pair of orange shorts like those that Sweezus wears. The ones that Sweezus borrowed once from Surfing-With-Whales, and kept, except that his weren't orange. Arthur picks the shorts up from the rack and goes to find a change room.
Rosie can't follow him in there.
She sits down on a chair outside the change room, looking at her reflection in a mirror. She has a creamy yellow smear on her chin. She tries to lick it, but only makes it worse.
She catches sight of David in the mirror.
David! she cries. Aren't you flying home this evening?
Yes, says David. I am in a tearing hurry. Mother has entrusted me with an errand. Where in this enormous Aladdin's cave would you think one might find sockets?
Sockets? says Rosie. This isn't where I'd come. You want a hardware.
Mother specified she wanted sockets from Jenners, says David. Size eight, whatever that might mean. I am not mechanical.
You're sure that she said sockets? says Rosie. Not sockettes?
Sockets, sockettes, says David. What's the difference? French pronunciation?
No, you silly, says Rosie. Your mother wants sockettes. Here I'll show you where to get them. They sell all sorts of them in Jenners. What colour would your mother like?
She leads David off towards the ladies hosiery department.
Seconds later Arthur emerges from the change room, in bright new shorts.
He has left his old shorts hanging on a hook inside the change rooms, with the bandages and red thread poking though the pockets. He has only kept the gold coins and the knife.
The new Arthur smiles at his reflection. Now to get a phone. Then he will ride his bicycle up to London, and repossess the shoe horn. It's a plan.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Flux And Sockets; Duty Calls
The baguettes have all been eaten and the coffee drunk. An elegaic silence falls upon the party.
I suppose we should be going, says David.
Good! So you're done with Scotland, says Vello. It's none too soon for me.
I meant the cafe, says David. Not the country. But you're right, my friend. We can't stay here for ever. We must go home. Duty calls.
Have you heard from Sweezie lately? says Belle et Bonne.
Not a peep, says Vello. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten he's supposed to be in charge.
Is that Sweezus you're talking about? asks Rosie. Sweezus the tweeter?
No, says Vello. It's the Sweezus who works for us. He's written a few articles for our magazine Velosophy.
It might be your Sweezus the tweeter, Rosie, says Belle et Bonne. Papa has no idea.
Sweezus is cool, says Rosie. He tweets amazing things about he moon. I'm a follower.
Good for you, says Belle et Bonne. Can't say I am.
Nor me, says Arthur. What's a tweeter?
Don't you know? says Rosie. Oh I forgot. You haven't even got a mobile phone.
Arthur is piqued. He gets up to leave.
He will go back to the park where he has left his bicycle, sit on a park bench and observe people. He will then obtain by one means or another, a mobile phone. That is his plan.
See you around, says Arthur. Off he goes.
............
Go after him Ageless, whispers Belle et Bonne. He might get into trouble.
No, says Ageless. I have a tummy ache.
He crawls into Belle's backpack.
Get out, Ageless! says Kobo. You stink of crab.
..........
Back at the hotel, Vello and David are packing.
Belle comes into their room.
You might want to get an earlier flight, says Belle et Bonne. I've just heard from Sweezie. Everything's gone cactus at the office. Unni's run away. David, what's the matter?
He's just heard from Katherine, says Vello.
Bad news? says Belle.
No, not bad news, says David. Mother wants some sockets. I cannot for the life of me think why.
I suppose we should be going, says David.
Good! So you're done with Scotland, says Vello. It's none too soon for me.
I meant the cafe, says David. Not the country. But you're right, my friend. We can't stay here for ever. We must go home. Duty calls.
Have you heard from Sweezie lately? says Belle et Bonne.
Not a peep, says Vello. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten he's supposed to be in charge.
Is that Sweezus you're talking about? asks Rosie. Sweezus the tweeter?
No, says Vello. It's the Sweezus who works for us. He's written a few articles for our magazine Velosophy.
It might be your Sweezus the tweeter, Rosie, says Belle et Bonne. Papa has no idea.
Sweezus is cool, says Rosie. He tweets amazing things about he moon. I'm a follower.
Good for you, says Belle et Bonne. Can't say I am.
Nor me, says Arthur. What's a tweeter?
Don't you know? says Rosie. Oh I forgot. You haven't even got a mobile phone.
Arthur is piqued. He gets up to leave.
He will go back to the park where he has left his bicycle, sit on a park bench and observe people. He will then obtain by one means or another, a mobile phone. That is his plan.
See you around, says Arthur. Off he goes.
............
Go after him Ageless, whispers Belle et Bonne. He might get into trouble.
No, says Ageless. I have a tummy ache.
He crawls into Belle's backpack.
Get out, Ageless! says Kobo. You stink of crab.
..........
Back at the hotel, Vello and David are packing.
Belle comes into their room.
You might want to get an earlier flight, says Belle et Bonne. I've just heard from Sweezie. Everything's gone cactus at the office. Unni's run away. David, what's the matter?
He's just heard from Katherine, says Vello.
Bad news? says Belle.
No, not bad news, says David. Mother wants some sockets. I cannot for the life of me think why.
Monday, September 2, 2013
The Meowter And His Queen
Ageless, here you are! says Belle et Bonne. I thought you'd drowned or something. Look who's turned up!
Bah! says Ageless. It's him! Shape shifter, ravisher of my beloved, expert on otters, half eater of fine books.
You mistake me, says Hideo. I am none of those, except an expert on otters. I have returned the book. Why don't you sit down and have a sandwich.
Ageless looks at the plate of mixed baguettes, now much depleted.
Is there a fish one? he says, sniffing and poking at each one in an unhygenic manner.
I've eaten the fish one, says Hideo.
That confirms my suspicion, says Ageless.
What suspicion? says Hideo.
Otters eat fish, says Ageless.
They also like shellfish, says Hideo. What of it?
Is that a threat? says Ageless.
This one is crab, says Belle et Bonne quickly, thrusting it at Ageless. You might enjoy it.
It's not about the sandwich, says Ageless darkly. This is about his credentials. But I will have the crab one.
He starts picking at the filling with his pincers.
Arthur likes the idea of credentials. He decides to test Hideo.
What's a male otter called? says Arthur.
A meowter, says Hideo.
Vello roars with laughter. A meowter!
David shakes his head.
A dog, says David. That's what we used to call them
A meowter, insists Hideo. And the female is a queen.
That's ridiculous, says Rosie. A meowter! She gets out her smart phone. Taps away. Her eyes open wide.
He's right, says Rosie. If you can believe Wikipedia.
You can, says Hideo. I wrote that article myself, being an expert. Well, thank you for the salmon and cream cheese sandwich. I must be on my way.
He leaves, leaving a mystery behind him.
I had another question, says Ageless. But I forgot to ask him.
What was it? says Belle et Bonne.
What did he do to Kobo in the darkness of the backpack while he was an otter? says Ageless. She said he came upon her from behind. You all know what that means.
No. No one knows what that means, when the victim is a fossilised clam.
Bah! says Ageless. It's him! Shape shifter, ravisher of my beloved, expert on otters, half eater of fine books.
You mistake me, says Hideo. I am none of those, except an expert on otters. I have returned the book. Why don't you sit down and have a sandwich.
Ageless looks at the plate of mixed baguettes, now much depleted.
Is there a fish one? he says, sniffing and poking at each one in an unhygenic manner.
I've eaten the fish one, says Hideo.
That confirms my suspicion, says Ageless.
What suspicion? says Hideo.
Otters eat fish, says Ageless.
They also like shellfish, says Hideo. What of it?
Is that a threat? says Ageless.
This one is crab, says Belle et Bonne quickly, thrusting it at Ageless. You might enjoy it.
It's not about the sandwich, says Ageless darkly. This is about his credentials. But I will have the crab one.
He starts picking at the filling with his pincers.
Arthur likes the idea of credentials. He decides to test Hideo.
What's a male otter called? says Arthur.
A meowter, says Hideo.
Vello roars with laughter. A meowter!
David shakes his head.
A dog, says David. That's what we used to call them
A meowter, insists Hideo. And the female is a queen.
That's ridiculous, says Rosie. A meowter! She gets out her smart phone. Taps away. Her eyes open wide.
He's right, says Rosie. If you can believe Wikipedia.
You can, says Hideo. I wrote that article myself, being an expert. Well, thank you for the salmon and cream cheese sandwich. I must be on my way.
He leaves, leaving a mystery behind him.
I had another question, says Ageless. But I forgot to ask him.
What was it? says Belle et Bonne.
What did he do to Kobo in the darkness of the backpack while he was an otter? says Ageless. She said he came upon her from behind. You all know what that means.
No. No one knows what that means, when the victim is a fossilised clam.
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