"Beep beep beep beep."
"Ha ha, goodbye. Goodbye."
Smith ducking into the inhuman stream. Entering Dynamo House. So many have wives and little ones. Like the lonely have themselves. I've just the strength to climb these stairs. Ugliness brings taunts and jeers from passersby. Elegance invites assault from strangers. Old friendships promote beeps.
As a crap
Can lead
To crutches.
16
Miss Martin sitting at her desk in room 604. Looking up with apprehensive eyes. A tiny smile at the corner of her lips as Smith cleared his throat and said a forceful good morning. In the corner a canvas container stiffly against the wall. Four mornings it's rested there, and while Miss Martin was out purchasing wiener and crumb cake for lunch yesterday I sneaked to take a look and swallowed peering down a narrow bore barrel.
Seems for no reason at all I go beep. But the presence of a lethal instrument makes one tense at any sudden sound in the front office. Miss Martin's been making rapid visits to the water closet feeling sick. Once staying there two hours. Perhaps say a little word before she starts to read her newspaper.
"Miss Martin, the rifle."
"Yes."
"I note it has a hair trigger."
"Yes."
"I know we're a little informal here nowadays."
"You left the files in the woods Mr. Smith. Not me. Don't start blaming me."
"Nothing to do with the files. I like to be easy. Informal."
"If you don't want me around anymore, Mr. Smith say so. Don't think I like all this tension too."
"I'm talking about that gun there."
"What about it."
"That's what I want to know. Miss Martin."
"Well what do you want to know. Mr. Smith."
"Don't be abrupt Miss Martin."
"Look I'm not going to shoot you with the rifle if that's what you're scared of."
"I'm not scared."
"Well what are you asking then."
"Why you have it."
"Don't you know. I'm on a rifle team. I told you. Guess you didn't hear me with all the beer cans banging back there."
Long hard moments. Miss Martin who was putting on fat belligerently, staring into Smith's reasonably honest globes. What harm a few beers. In the office. When one is commander in chief. Big cheese in this two personal outfit. Once ruled a regiment, Miss Martin. Howitzers shelling those positions I figured out in my little wooden shack well behind the lines. A flash focus of the enemy in a field glass. And whamo. But in peace time I take a beer or two while I stare down the clause of a contract and the rebellious beam from my secretary's eye. Morning is no moment for a showdown. Wait till the day wears on. Dim the sparkle in her cheeks. Now apple red. Make a lot of money, gladly lose a lot of friends. Once poor and popular. Now rich and reptile.
"Any letters."
"One registered I signed for. Two threats. And one bill."
"What's the bill."
"Mr. Brandy, funeral director, embalmer-"
"What is it."
"Don't shout. I'm just telling you. What it says here, for the afternoon and evening hire and misuse and additional damages of one hearse."
"O.K. enough, what's the registered one."
Miss Martin with her little efficient opener. Pulling out the paper. From here I can see a black letter head. Miss Martin silently reading.
"What is it, Miss Martin."
"I think you better read this yourself Mr. Smith. Mailman said they've been trying to deliver this for days in Golf Street."
Smith with a thumping heart. Holding the stiff unrelenting paper in such small delicate hands.
Sun Shine & Son
Bicuspid House
Paradise Square
Of This Instrumental.
Mr. George Smith
3 3 Golf Street
And new of Room 604
Dynamo House
Dear Sir,
On a Wednesday of the ipth ultimo, at 3.34 P.M. (approx.) o'clock at Battery Station of the Rapid Transit system of this city you made an unprovoked and savage attack upon our client, Mr. Harry Halitoid which resulted in a knockment into the tracks of the said system where there was a sustainment of considerable head and body injury.
Therefore and in view of the heretofore we furthermore establish that our client who is positioned as a master Boiler Watcher at a prominent hospital where many wealthy people have been treated has been unable to preside at work for two weeks, during which the hospital steam has been making unfamiliar pounding noises in the pipes upsetting the inmates and our client himself has been under the care of doctors and night nurses, one of whom is a specialist in soft foods. The upper incisors as well as one canine and one bicuspid are missing from our client's jaw, obliging him to eat slops. Although two teeth were recovered which were knocked from said mandible our client has suffered much mental cruelty and disspirit when he has attempted to smile while having to tour important personages around the boilers.
By way of damages we are asking a sum to offset the physical and mental distress endured by our client as well as making good the suit of clothes which suffered spoilment in the tracks, plus a further stipulated monthly payment as our client is now forced to go through the rest of his life with an unfriendly outlook.
Failing to reach a satisfactory agreement with you regarding restitution and arrangements we advise you that we have been instructed by our client, who has desisted to press charges, to take immediate steps.
Yours truly (very)
Sun Shine & Son.
Smith leaning against the doorjamb. Brood over all die many folk who have skidded on the snake oil. Strange how when passing by the sign across the hall of The Institution Of Higher Graduation, one wanted to crash through the door and land inside begging on one's knees for a scroll.
Smith disappearing into the back room. Returning four minutes later with a paper. Putting it before Miss Martin.
Ward 17
Blockhouse II
Island of the
Criminal Lunatic
Day-light Saving Time
Sun Shine & Son
Bicuspid House
Paradise Square.
Dear Sirs,
I am indifferent to the ultimo. But while here at the institution I have made many good friends, some of whom are often discharged as cured. Upon requiring further communication from me, one of these absolutely cured formerly violent lunatic criminals will deliver my further reprisals by hand.
Yours sincerely,
I. Belt (Warder)
Dictated by George Smith and
signed in his absence.P.S. While dictating, a roving committee of armed warders on a show of hands have elected to discharge me as cured, further reoccurring lapses to be dealt with at an out clinic.P.P.S. Respectfully hoping you are not a cavity in the tooth where you live.
Miss Martin standing. Trembling with Smith's letter in her hand. Her mouth opening, then closing.
'What's the matter, Miss Martin."
One hand reaching across her brow, Miss Martin slowly back stepped to the shiny horse hair sofa. Sitting bent forward on the edge, hand now dropping across her eyes. Smith in waistcoat, sleeves rolled up. Lifting the left foot on top of the right. Ruin a good shine. Feel stark naked with my battle ribbons and medals pinned to my skin.
Everything is the matter/1
"Is it the letter."
Miss Martin shaking her head. Hair swinging out from her ears. Which I felt and kissed and whispered round. These last weeks such a strain. As she comes late to work. In the back room I lurk desperately to find something for her to do. She's changed since the night of Pomfret Manor. Looking so matronly sitting there on the horsehair.
"Can I get you a pill, Miss Martin, Goodness."
Smith rushing forward as Miss Martin gently keeled over on her side and lay breathing heavily, slightly snorting through the nose. Some terrible instinct comes and you want to jump right on top of her. That in her sorrow and sadness one might take her from behind. Her breasts have got so big. Milk ice cold from a cow. Go through the rest of my life now by mute card or beep. Miss Tomson, who could walk across the town in two tall strides. Tonight I'll go haunting terminals, and lobbies for you. One swat on one jaw on a station platform. And a hook goes fishing in my assets.