Part 15 (1/2)
”Won't you take it out.”
”Hey some people, I guess you don't get any appreciation.”
”What are you talking about sonny.”
”A tip.”
”What do you mean a tip.”
”Ain't you this guy with his picture in the paper this morning. Well you should give me a tip for bringing a message.”
”Just hold it sonny, I'll read it.”
i Electricity Street 604 Dynamo Owl Street Dear Sir, How dare you attempt to mail me such a thing. Do not refer to me as Junior.
jjj.
P.S. You will hoot before long.
”Now sonny, if I ever see your face again, I'll put it through the floor. Bye bye.”
One finds that the pressures in the world build up and that one unfriendly act begets another. Zoom. Suddenly all dignity is gone. People go in using blows with the shod foot. On the p.r.o.ne figure. Sometimes, even when interpreted as weakness, it's as well to try a certain amount of easy lat.i.tude which can lend a bit of nervous laughter to a situation. Therefore I will scribble one last response showing a vestige of faith in his sense of humour.
Dynamo House Owl Street Dear Fellow and Junior, I thought the incredibility of mailing you an unsolicited piece of a.s.s might amuse you. Toodle oo.
George Smith P.S. I see well in the dark.
”Miss Martin just send off this last letter before packing up.”
”Mr. Smith, it's the News Of The Truth asking for comments, what shall I say, about an air conditioned grave.”
”Say they've got the wrong number.”
”You've got the wrong number, sorry. No. Yes. Mr. Smith. Yes. Mr. Smith, they say they know it's not the wrong number.”
”Tell them it will be soon.”
”Mr. Smith says it will be soon.”
”Now hang up, Miss Martin. Let's get cracking. Find out when pa.s.sengers debark from the S.S. Gnat.i.t. Check on the car, see it's on the way. Pack up my papers, the green files marked go and lock up the yellow files marked caution and the red marked stop. Don't forget the eraser.”
”Please Mr. Smith. I'm already up to my teeth.”
”What's that.”
”I'm trying to do everything.”
”Miss Martin we've got to scram.”
”Give me a chance. One thing at a time. Mr. Smith.”
”Don't be disloyal at a time like this Miss Martin.”
”For G.o.d's sake Mr. Smith I'm not being disloyal. I'm going crazy. There. The phone again.”
”Just say Beetroot Department.”
Miss Martin closing her eyes as she picks up the phone.
These are troubled times.
”h.e.l.lo, Beetroot Department. Who. No. Not here, wrong number. Mr. Smith, it's a message, from JJJ.”
”What is it. Out with it.”
”They're reading it.”
”What, for G.o.d's sake.”
”They say, all of us here have been acquainted with your kind before. And as married men with children we will not stand for this latest sauciness.”
”Tell them wrong number, beet barge disposal unit for dumping in the bay.”
Poor Miss Martin, delivering the message, putting down phone. Pulling out drawers. Collecting papers. Phone ringing again. Marvelous the rapidity of communication. And she says yes mom, I told you mom, chaperoned, yes, just a bunch of young kids, going to the country, games, swimming, tennis, very rich important people mom, 111 never have another chance like this one, she's going to loan me all the clothes I need, mom, please, don't worry, yes, Til ring you, you worry about nothing, you have to trust somebody, do you want me to die without any fun mom, all right, O.K. I'll phone, goodbye mom, I will, I promise, goodbye.
”Mr. Smith, guess you heard that was my mother.”
”Yes, Miss Martin.”
Smith retreating to rear room. Lifting the white shade a mite to peer out at the glistening tiles. For way up at the end of the shaft the sun is s.h.i.+ning and just a ray or two is getting reflected down. I want peace. Candlelight, wine and olives. So many people feel resentment and jealousy. A whiff of spice then, in the window. Out of the warehouse a few buildings away. Cinnamon. Cloves. Bonniface at this second is flatfooting it down the pier stopping momentarily to don roller skates the quicker to nail me at Dynamo House. Ask me if he can stay in my tomb. I say, George, sport, just let me rest up in there.
”Miss Martin the car.”
”Mr. Smith I told him the newspaper kiosk at the corner in five minutes.”
”You genius Miss Martin. You're ready. Good gracious we've had quite a little morning of it. Don't answer that phone. Somehow I know who it is. Out now* Lock the door. Got the files.”
”Yes, Mr. Smith.”
”You're sure now you don't feel awkward coming with me.”
”No, Mr. Smith.”
”Your mother's at ease.”
”No.”
”That's the way with mothers, Miss Martin. They can never cut the ap.r.o.n strings, always afraid someone will take advantage.”
”I know Mr. Smith, it's terrible. I always have to lie.”