The Wonder of You

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The Wonder of You

 

 

 

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A story in nine parts

 

Containing...

 

Me: our narrator and Hero

A naked neighbour

A bearded, naked transvestite  

Tom, an old, occasionally unpleasant, friend

A Jaguar

 Two wicked fat children

A tortoise 

Excrement

Eva Markievicz

Constance Markievicz

&

A Ouija Board

 

 

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 1.

 

At Home

 

In which Our Hero works and enjoys the view from his window

 

 

As usual, I got up early and sat in my dressing gown at the kitchen table: laptop open, coffee and some little biscuits in a yellow saucer. I worked like that every day straight through from 6 ‘til 10 am, compiling reports on domestic electronics components specifications for V.E.M Engineering.

 Then I stopped.

From the kitchen, I could see the back of the neighboring block. The tenants knew how close their block was to mine and usually used curtains or blinds. But the view into the apartment directly across was open. The woman who lived there came up to the window after her shower and, as usual, proceeded to dry herself. 

She had a little white dressing table and with it a stool which she would sometimes use to prop a leg to dry it more easily. She took a long time to do that being very thorough, dabbing the towel patiently up her leg. Then, she took a blue bottle from the dresser and squeezed lotion onto a hand which she spread slowly on her legs, thighs, buttocks, stomach, arms and breasts. Done, she went up to the window, where she stood completely naked for a moment, before drawing the curtains.

She'd done this every day for a few weeks. It was nice how it coincided with the end of my first work session. 

I went down to the cafe.

 

 

 2. 

 

In the Cafe 

 

Our Hero is surprised

 

I sat. I was still thinking about the woman and who she was and if she knew how happy she made me. I'd never really been able to catch her face, but I thought she might be comely in a bland way, with fair hair. I wondered if I might recognize her in the street.

Musing, my tea growing cold, I slowly became conscious that someone was watching me. I looked acoss and saw a man with a huge curly beard, a beard so vast that it completely obscured his face and indeed extended down to cover his entire chest and disappear beneath the table. The hair on his head, meanwhile, was also exaggerated, a giant black curly mop, densely pubic, as were his eyebrows.

He had a glass of beer but it sat there, untouched. I sensed that his energies were entirely taken with watching me. 

Feeling embarrassed by his gaze, I gave a nod.

No response. He continued to watch me sternly from under his thick curly eyebrows, (which reminded me of caterpillars). I gave a little wave. Again, nothing.

He stood up and moved away from the table. I now saw that his beard reached down to his knees, and when he turned that he was wearing nothing at all except little pink pumps on his feet. His small, rather boney backside was hairy too.

I looked across at the waiter but he appeared to be busying himself unnecessarily with some cruets.

The bearded man left.

 

 

3.

 

Tom

 

In which Our Hero makes a telephone call 

 

I called Tom. Tom was the sort of fellow you could call if you wanted to get away from yourself.

"Long time," he said.

"Well, what are you doing?" 

"Work."

 "Really?"

"Well..."

"Let's do something."

"No really, I'm working."

"Christ. What's wrong with you?"

"Piss off," said Tom.

 

 4.

 

A tortoise

 

A tortoise is saved 

 

 Lassitude.

I went down to the park. Great Cypress trees dark velvet green and circles of roses and that boring softness in a sunless mid afternoon of pallid sky.

 On an endless expanse of lawn, two fat children prodded a tortoise with a stick. 

"Stop that," I yelled, rushing across the lawn. The children fled, their fat legs moving with a rapid waddle, so they resembled giant ducks.

 "Bastards, " I shouted. "I know where you live."

The tortoise had retreated into its shell. I looked at it.

"Hello".

 No reply.

 

 

 5.

 

Tom, again

 

In which Tom 'phones Our Hero

 

My cellphone rang: Tom.

"I thought you were working?"

"Fuck off. Let's do something. I'll pick you up"

Somehow, Tom had a car.

 

 

6.

 

Car

 

Tom appears outside the gates of the park

 

Tom calls, "Where are you?"

"I'm here. I'm with a tortoise."

"Come on. I'm waiting. And stop talking crap."

“I'm not talking crap”

“Whatever”

"I don't know what to do with this tortoise."

"Bring it."

"Hmm. It might belong to someone”

“What do I know?”

“Hmm”

"For Christ sake. Come on,”

 Tom had a green Jaguar. I sat beside him, holding the tortoise, still shyly withdrawn.

He looked at the tortoise then raised his eyebrows.

 "Do try to keep the shit on your lap."

“Where are we going?”

“Country. Friends”

 

 

7.

 

Tom drives

 

We leave London; Tom attempts to provoke Our Hero

 

It didn't surprise me that someone as selfish, ill mannered and impatient as Tom would be a poor driver. But he was worse than poor, he was atrocious. I sat, petrified, clutching the tortoise, which steadily shitted on my lap as Tom hooted his way through North London. And it shitted as Tom clipped an old woman's  shopping bag at a zebra crossing and we saw the poor lady scurry after the fruit and cans which  tumbled across the road behind us. And it shitted even more as Tom sped through not just one red light but two.

Tom hooted furiously at all other road users but he seemed particularly to dislike cyclists, even more so if they were middle aged men in Lycra. It amused him enormously to drive very closely behind them honking: "Just for a laugh" he muttered,  and when they tumbled onto the tarmac and responded with rage, shouting, he cheered and hooted more.

Eventually we ended up on a highway. With no-one to abuse, and other cars some hundred metres away, Tom turned on me. 

"What are you looking at?"

"A rotten driver."

"Looking, looking, looking. Always looking. I bet you're a voyeur."

"Oh fuck off, Tom."

"A peeper. A lurker"

Of course I am not a voyeur. Or a lurker. But I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Tom's attack, so seemingly random, had unsettled me.

 No! I was no peeper. It was by choice that the neighbor had  disrobed and groomed in my window's easy view. She was surely a conscious, willing actor. That was not peeping. I had a right to work in my kitchen and if she chose to dry herself at the window and I happened to see, why, that was mere serendipity. But I did not mention this incident to Tom, as surely he would use it to advance his malicious humour. I kept silent. 

But, with malign instinct, Tom knew he had touched something and, as we sped along the Highway, I heard a running commentary.

"Take a peep over there!"

or 

"Have a look, Caspasian!"

or

"Is someone lurking behind that bush?"

 But I stayed calm, unprovoked, stroking the cool round tortoise shell, as its excrement accumulated on my trousers.

 

 

 

8.

 

We arrive

 

In which we commune with supernatural forces

 

 We turned off the main road then entered a series of lanes until a sizable granite house, Georgian, appeared: "Lissadell" was written at the entrance.

Parked, now outside the car I stood up, placing the tortoise on the grass and shaking the  excrement off my lap: it fell making a little pile on our host's path. My trousers weren't much stained. I felt grateful to the tortoise whose presence in the face of Tom's obnoxiousness had been calming. I watched with affection as, for the first time, it ventured out of its shell, stumpy legs coming forth and little face greeting the lawn hungrily.

Tom banged the knocker and a servant opened the door. Tom knew his way and I followed him through to the back of the house where two girls in silk kimonos sat by a window, silhouetted in the golden evening light.  There was a settee: we took our places. There were some occasional tables: on one rested a guitar. 

 Both women were beautiful, one with especially slender, nay thin legs which appeared to taper to tiny, oddly split boots: from her hair rose curving horns. Her eyes were dark, doe-like.

"I'm Eva" said one. "I'm Constance." said the other. They spoke with an Irish lilt.

We sat and talked to the girls about politics and the role of women in society, both themes which seemed to exercise them rather. I say "we" as Tom had, with unerring instinct, found some whisky and glasses  and, after pouring liberally, giving us each our share, picked up the guitar.

After a few minutes getting accustomed to the instrument, Tom began to sing, his voice a surprisingly pleasing baritone, his recital slowed and melancholic:

 

When no-one else can understand me

When everything I do is wrong

You give me hope and consolation

You give me strength to carry on

 

 *

 

One of the girls, Constance, I think, had a Ouija board: a great oval  on which were painted the letters of the alphabet, "yes" and "no", a moon, a sun, numerals, and "good bye".

"Maybe your tortoise can help with divinations?" Constance asked me. "Does it have a name?"

"Oh, I don't know. William perhaps?"

The board was unusually large and  we agreed that we could at least give it a try. We put the tortoise on one of the tables. Eva placed seven candles around the edge.

 We decided that the tortoise should be shown some lettuce before, but not fed until it had at least made at least a few, reasonably divinatory movements.

 So, in silence we sat in a ring round the board, holding lettuce in our hands as incentives for William.

 We were not disappointed.

No sooner had he been set down in the centre than he started marching to the letters: we leant in close.

  First it went to T then H then to E and on to I ...

 "Their" yelled Constance.

  But our tortoise continued its journey to N.

"The inn" shouted Eva, and William did a little circle returning to N then on to O.

"The inno" I cried, "the innocent!" and William responded by crawling over to "yes".

And so on, we continued, our tortoise going at full speed and Constance noting with a pencil, until we had the following: 

 

 The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time

 

 And William duly went to "good bye", producing a good sized turd, perfectly spherical, as a full stop.

 We each, gratefully, placed our lettuce leaves on the table. The tortoise began consuming greedily.

 Thus, our evening passed.

I think we all felt moved, though what the prophecy really meant, and if it was indeed a prophecy, was unclear to us. 

"Are we the innocent and the beautiful?" asked Constance and Eva.

"I don't know, " I replied, after a pause.

 "But William does, and here he should remain." 

We all looked in solemn gratitude to the tortoise which had almost finished its lettuce.

9. 

 

We leave

  Tom and I return

 

In a reflective mood, we drove through darkness back to London.

 

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Illustration: acrylic on hardboard, 6.5 x 9 cm, c. 2001 

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Thanks  to W. B. Y.

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Read to: The Cornwall Writers' Circle, 12 May, 2021; Astoria Writers, 16 May, 2021, Albuquerque Cyberscribes 17 May, 2021; Edinburgh Creative Writers Club, 18 May, 2021

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