Sentence The Twohundredandsecond
Closing the door behind him, shutting out the brabble of the city, Major Thomas Gilbert, King's Own Scottish Borderers, Retired, hung his walking stick and hat on their respective pegs inside the narrow hall cupboard and, albeit with that slight tremulous gait which – for those with the knowledge – identified him as a child sufferer from Polio, though he had overcome many obstacles since those years of his childhood, first in The Cowgate, with his consumptive Mother and devout Sister, Snowball, then here, in Ramsay Garden, informally adopted, together with Snowball, by The Widow MacCaroon (though even now, in his Eightythird year, he still thought of and referred to her as Mama) not long after the tragic deaths of her beloved Daughter and Husband, Pansy and Mickey, an irreplaceable loss, yet she had room in her heart and her home for the crippled boy, 'Wee Tam' and his older Sister, welcomed them unhesitatingly when their poor blighted Mother left this life of sorrow and – he still firmly believed, despite so many experiences pointing to the contrary – found herself at peace in the arms of the God she had fervently prayed to every night, yes, even in the sordid stew of The Cowgate, surrounded by Prostitution, Opium Dens, thieves and murderers, where married women were abused day and night, and widowed mothers like herself regarded as fair game for any brute to use; how Tam and his sister had longed to push a knife blade into those stinking brutes, to spare their mother the pain and abuse she suffered, but Snowball, ever the cooler mind, had stayed his hand, for what would become of their mother if they were hanged or jailed, for it was their begging and cunning that put bread on the table and purchased the occasional jug of Porter which was her only medication, and in his sitting-room, with it's large inviting fireplace, cleaned out and made up that morning by the Romanian girl. Marta, who came in daily – funded by the Council's Social Services, augmented by his Pension – his Apartment was rented from a Charity providing homes for ex-servicemen as close as possible to their childhood memories (should they wish that) and Tam had succeeded a Lieutenant-Colonel of The Black Watch whose childhood had been spent in Army Camps across the Empire and the only place he ever considered home was Edinburgh Castle, where he had been Christened; Tam sat and unbuckled the calliper he was obliged to wear now, unlaced his immaculately polished boots, removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, before stretching out
in the most luxurious item he possessed: an Electric Chair! he always laughed wnen he saw the reaction of new acquaintances at this piece of information – it was not an execution chair, but one which helped maintain his life: upholstered in a nacre-like tortoiseshell fabric, which for all it's apparent smooth sheen, was soft and comforting; the controls allowed him to vary the angle of recline, the variety and strength of a range of massage programmes and localised heat, which always eased the ache in his legs and lower back – next best thing to being submerged in a steaming hot bath, or – and the thought was unbidden, but all the stronger for that – in Dolores' bed: his nostrils filled with her scent, his ears with her heavily-accented voice murmuring a story of her early life in
Budapest, his eyes swimming with her beauty, his body thrilling with her touch, always in the right place at the right moment, and his taste-buds. always satisfied but always greedily asking for more, from her deep kisses: “call me Dolores, like dey do in der Stories,” had been her first words to him and he asked her to tell him the stories and her fund seemed inexhaustible – twice or occasionally thrice a week for twenty-odd years and no repeats, by his reckoning topped 2,500 easily which knocked the 1,001 of the Arabian Nights into a Cocked Hat, and he chuckled at the image; a glance at his watch told him he had time for a small glass of Highland Park, before bed, and another day tomorrow, “Goodnight, Mama,” he called to the building and fancied it brought him by return vibration: “Goodnight, Wee Tam”!
Closing the door behind him, shutting out the brabble of the city, Major Thomas Gilbert, King's Own Scottish Borderers, Retired, hung his walking stick and hat on their respective pegs inside the narrow hall cupboard and, albeit with that slight tremulous gait which – for those with the knowledge – identified him as a child sufferer from Polio, though he had overcome many obstacles since those years of his childhood, first in The Cowgate, with his consumptive Mother and devout Sister, Snowball, then here, in Ramsay Garden, informally adopted, together with Snowball, by The Widow MacCaroon (though even now, in his Eightythird year, he still thought of and referred to her as Mama) not long after the tragic deaths of her beloved Daughter and Husband, Pansy and Mickey, an irreplaceable loss, yet she had room in her heart and her home for the crippled boy, 'Wee Tam' and his older Sister, welcomed them unhesitatingly when their poor blighted Mother left this life of sorrow and – he still firmly believed, despite so many experiences pointing to the contrary – found herself at peace in the arms of the God she had fervently prayed to every night, yes, even in the sordid stew of The Cowgate, surrounded by Prostitution, Opium Dens, thieves and murderers, where married women were abused day and night, and widowed mothers like herself regarded as fair game for any brute to use; how Tam and his sister had longed to push a knife blade into those stinking brutes, to spare their mother the pain and abuse she suffered, but Snowball, ever the cooler mind, had stayed his hand, for what would become of their mother if they were hanged or jailed, for it was their begging and cunning that put bread on the table and purchased the occasional jug of Porter which was her only medication, and in his sitting-room, with it's large inviting fireplace, cleaned out and made up that morning by the Romanian girl. Marta, who came in daily – funded by the Council's Social Services, augmented by his Pension – his Apartment was rented from a Charity providing homes for ex-servicemen as close as possible to their childhood memories (should they wish that) and Tam had succeeded a Lieutenant-Colonel of The Black Watch whose childhood had been spent in Army Camps across the Empire and the only place he ever considered home was Edinburgh Castle, where he had been Christened; Tam sat and unbuckled the calliper he was obliged to wear now, unlaced his immaculately polished boots, removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, before stretching out
in the most luxurious item he possessed: an Electric Chair! he always laughed wnen he saw the reaction of new acquaintances at this piece of information – it was not an execution chair, but one which helped maintain his life: upholstered in a nacre-like tortoiseshell fabric, which for all it's apparent smooth sheen, was soft and comforting; the controls allowed him to vary the angle of recline, the variety and strength of a range of massage programmes and localised heat, which always eased the ache in his legs and lower back – next best thing to being submerged in a steaming hot bath, or – and the thought was unbidden, but all the stronger for that – in Dolores' bed: his nostrils filled with her scent, his ears with her heavily-accented voice murmuring a story of her early life in
Budapest, his eyes swimming with her beauty, his body thrilling with her touch, always in the right place at the right moment, and his taste-buds. always satisfied but always greedily asking for more, from her deep kisses: “call me Dolores, like dey do in der Stories,” had been her first words to him and he asked her to tell him the stories and her fund seemed inexhaustible – twice or occasionally thrice a week for twenty-odd years and no repeats, by his reckoning topped 2,500 easily which knocked the 1,001 of the Arabian Nights into a Cocked Hat, and he chuckled at the image; a glance at his watch told him he had time for a small glass of Highland Park, before bed, and another day tomorrow, “Goodnight, Mama,” he called to the building and fancied it brought him by return vibration: “Goodnight, Wee Tam”!
Comments
Post a Comment