Affairs were getting desperate. Howard's entire
collection of attire consisted of what he was
wearing and what lay festering in a black bin-bag.
Urgent action was required. His attempts to
persuade Gallie and Karen to wash his clobber
again had failed. He even considered venturing
to the local laundrette. But in the end he took
what he considered to be the only sensible option,
to get his mother to do it. Besides, a trip
home would ensure a square meal or two; his
recent nutrient intake was lacking. With an
overflowing black bag of smelly clothes secured
in the back of his Maxi, he motored to his hometown
of Exfield.
After his customary altercation with the foul-mouthed
boys in the street (The gang had kicked their
football into the house, narrowly missing both
he and the large lounge window) Howard stepped
through the porch into his house and was greeted
by his parents.
On the couple of occasions he had deigned to
ring his parents he had always found little
ways to squeeze Gallie into the conversation.
Now she was smitten with Dominic, he mentioned
her rarely, if at all. This was not to say
he did not think of her, he was infatuated as
usual. But instead he spoke of Greg, Karen,
Steve and Jacintha.
Then came the phonecall. His mother answered,
said "
yes" a few times with
escalating panic, and replaced the receiver.
Her face was ashen.
'Someone died?' asked Howard's father idly.
'No. Nothing like that. It's worse than that,'
said his mother.
Howard's father suddenly became serious.
'Oh my God! Tell me it ain't true!'
'Yes, I am afraid it
is.'
A drawn-out groan exhaled from his father's
lungs.
'Truth be told, I am not best pleased!'
Howard bit his lip and observed his father sympathetically.
'So when's Granny invited herself over?'
'Soon. She's on her way,' responded his mother
in sheepishly apologetic tones.
Howard's father resembled a man who had been
informed he was about to have his leg sawn off
in the fashion favoured of medieval surgeons.
'Son, pop over to the sideboard and fetch us
a brandy. There's a good chap.'
Howard assented. He poured a generous one for
his father, another for his mother and finally
a third for his own use.
'To undead relatives!' toasted Howard with a
wry smile.
'Its all right for
some,' lamented his
father. '
You, son, can scuttle off back
to university. For
me there's no respite
from the horror!'
After an agonised interval, a discordant growl
of an engine - perhaps unmuffled by an exhaust
- was heard from outside. Howard peered nervously
from the window. A haggard old hag clambered
nimbly out of the Ford Anglia she had forsaken
a significant distance from the curb. The errant
boys, who earlier had so defiantly withstood
Howard's wrath, grabbed their football and fled,
daring to look back only when safely halfway
down the street.
Seconds later Howard's grandmother entered the
lounge. Granny Grail was a visage of wild, wispy
grey hair, hooked nose, thrusting chin and malevolent
eyes like rips in her withered face. These latter
she directed at Howard and his father with pointed
alacrity. Her dry skin crumpled up like a concertina
and the wrinkles were not glad. She sat on the
sofa next to Howard's mother.
Granny Grail scowled at the polite - even cordial
- welcome Howard's mother presented her.
'Grack!' barked Granny Grail unpleasantly. 'My
poor bones feel the worse for the seeing of
ye, oh foul son-in-law! And
ye,
wastrel grandson! I don't mind telling thee,
daughter, you married unwise, with truth did
I foretell thy devilish omen!'
For all his fear of his grandmother, Howard
secretly admired her delectation for straight
talking. He suspected she knew perfectly well
that she was foisting herself on hosts about
as willing to entertain her as a caterpillar
might be gladdened to play host to the voracious
offspring of a parasitic wasp. But then she
seemed to obtain great sustenance in the discomfiture
of others.
'Very glad to see you,' groaned Howard's father.
'
Very glad. Very glad
indeed.
Will you be staying with us for long if I may
know the truth?'
'Grack!
Aye!' came the enthusiastic reply.
'Oh really?' Howard's father stammered. 'I must
say I am, erm,
stimulated by the prospect!
I do hope that nothing unexpected comes up to
drag me away at short notice. I do pray that
no untimely interruption might keep me from
the pleasure of your company!'
Howard's father slipped out of the room, saying
that he had to make a quick phone call.
'Daughter! Why e'er did ye betroth
him?'
scolded Granny Grail.
'I do wish you two would make friends, I really
do,' pleaded Howard's cowed mother.
Howard's father was an unassuming middle manager
who worked at the Tax Office. He once told Howard
that he treated Granny Grail like a problem
he encountered at work: he took evasive action
until the torment had somehow gone away. So
Howard wasn't surprised when his father abruptly
announced that to his great regret had no choice
but to leave for Scotland for an unexpected
'
emergency fishing' expedition.
'Truth be told, I'll take my chances with the
bitter cold and the Loch Ness Monster, anything
but that
harridan!' had been his parting
words, when he thought he was safely out of
Granny Grail's earshot.
It wasn't clear to Howard whether the pungent
reek of herbs hitched a ride on Granny Grail's
poisonous breath or evaporated from her leathery
hide.
Granny Grail's croaky voice spat as bitterly
as rattlesnake venom, however her eyes were
more meaningfully emotional than any reptile's,
for they brimmed with seething hatred.
'Your father be wretched! He'd leave me all
alone to be starved to death. He'd be planting
my poor bones in already-digged grave before
my final breath hath breathed!'
'It's already digged? Where is that? In the
garden?'
'Ask thy foul father, child! He's the
ruin
of your poor mother. Before she met
him
she was a
respectable girl. Alas! Forsakes
me she did! Leave me and betroth
him
she did! Her reputation is all a-wreck, what
with being
betrothed to a
taxman!
Grack! The shame! O gods spare a poor mortal
dread shame!'
'I know. I feel it myself sometimes, Granny.'
'Grack! 'Twould be better ye not admit ye got
a father!'
'I do that already,' said Howard.
Granny Grail ranted about how she had lost her
husband, a Captain of the Marines, forty-four
years before. The widow told everyone who would
listen that the Captain had been lost heroically
in action against the Germans. The truth was
rumoured to be more prosaic, her unfortunate
husband had not fought in the War but had nevertheless
found his way into an early grave. Willingly,
said the unkind.
Anxious to change the subject, Howard told his
malevolent grandmother about Jacintha, excluding
the mention of his intimacy with her at Donovan
Hall. He explained how Jacintha seemed so unhappy
with her life.
'Grack! Don't hinder the prophecies of the ancient
ones or be tanned till thee hollers, Master
Howard! Make haste from the path of the accursed
one, for Jacintha, she is accursed! For she
holds to her heart - death!'
'Eh?' sighed Howard, wearily.
'
Death! She be punished for sins of
a life passed. Was an evil harlot! Must sacrifice
her soul for she be displeased of the ancient
spirits ones.'
'What did
you do in a previous life,
Granny? You must have incensed a fair few gods
and delighted all the devils?'
'
Grack! Hold thy foul tongue, child!
For ye knows not grave matters ye speaks.'
'And you hold
both your tongues,' muttered
Howard under his breath.
His grandmother scowled. Her eyes blinked.
Howard didn't doubt she could taste the air.
***
*****
***
That night Howard found himself on a rowdy pub-crawl
with mates in his hometown. The morning after
he awoke at his parents' house. Insanely hungover,
he staggered downstairs and found himself face
to face with gruesome sight of Granny Grail.
He could never quite get used to the experience
of encountering Granny Grail, even when he felt
well. Upon such times he felt as if stony fingers
drummed the Danse Macabre upon his spine.
'Ye be poisoned by sour black brews!'
'Uuurgh,' grunted Howard miserably.
He looked with a weary but critical eye at the
tumbler Granny Grail thrust into his hand. It
contained what looked like a jade orb dissolving
in a pool of black serum. She told him it would
cure his hangover. Desperate to avoid conflict,
he obediently threw his head back and swallowed
the mixture. He coughed and spluttered: the
medicine tasted like acid and burned his oesophagus.
He opened the fridge door, pulled out a box
of orange juice and drank from the carton until
the acrid taste was faded to more tolerable
levels. Hot bitterness lingered on his palate.
'Bloody hell!
Shit!' he croaked.
The wiry old crone grumbled and plugged the
kettle into the mains with the wariness of one
truly distrustful of the magics of electricity.
The ascending growl of the kettle filled the
pause in the conversation.
'Granny, can you predict what will happen a
while from now? Can you tell the future?'
'Grack! To tell futures, 'tis simple: 'tis pasts.'
Howard realised he felt
much better.
His head was clearing and the foul nausea had
lifted from his stomach. He was impressed.
'I have a matter that requires the application
of great skill, skill so great that I fear even
you will be unable to help me. I'm in need
of your black art.'
''Twill cost ye, 'twill cost ye dear,' replied
the ancestor, sucking air through the brown,
peggy ruins of her teeth.
'Don't you want to put your evil to good use,
just for the pleasure of it? Listen; remember
I told you about Gallie, the girl I live with?'
'Ah, yes, Gallie, the woman who lives in thy
house in Redater.'
'Gallie, yes. That's peculiar, I don't think
I ever told you her name,' said Howard.
'To be a seer, child. To see that others see
but nothing-'
'Not too long ago they would have burned you
as a witch.'
'Grack! Alas they
did, first time. Did
burned poor cat Moggie too. My Moggie Macabre.'
'You had a cat called
Moggie Macabre?'
gasped Howard, wide eyed.
'Back in fifteenth century, aye. Fine beast,
black as a black rose at moonless night.'
'Well, he visits my digs in Redater in case
you're interested.'
'Mock not me, child, for thy hide be wailed
with bamboo,' castigated Granny Grail. 'Now,
what be thy quandary?'
Howard explained his wistful desire that Gallie
and Dominic should fall out of love.
'Grack! Alas cannot help ye, child. My powers
be withered, my herbs be dear. My widow's pension
extends not to magics!'
'One hundred notes should cover it,' said Howard.
'Make it ten score and come the second full
moon potions be concocted from herbs of ancient
ones. Twill make lovers smash down love and
kill desires. 'Tis powerful! Use herbs well
- abuse them with folly and treachery as sees
fit, it be all the same.'
Howard smiled. Gallie would dump Dominic. She
would be his after all!
'Why can't I have the potion sooner?'
'Tsk! Youth! Always wants everything at once.
Treachery will see fools hanged by the neck
'til Death grips tight in mortal claw. Patience,
child: the worstest come to he that waits.'
***
*****
***
A winter's sun cast a cold glare over Redater.
Howard awoke relatively early but had no intention
of attending any lectures. Furthering his academic
career would have to wait until his new goal
was achieved: to end Gallie's romance with his
former friend Dominic. Granny Grail's love-wrecking
herbs had still not arrived and he suspected
that every passing day cemented the relationship
between the lovers. He felt he had to act quickly;
to delay further was to court failure. So he
devised a plan. He would act as peacemaker between
Dominic and
Sue: Dominic's pretty ex.
Might Sue be the solvent to dissolve the glue
fixing Gallie and Dominic? Might Sue be the
acid to etch away the bonds of their romance?
Howard preferred to couch the problem in such
chemical terms; he felt more comfortable framing
his object as riddle of emotion-free atoms.
His mission to selfishly destroy Gallie and
Dominic's loving relationship would expose his
conscience to unease. But to him, guilt was
a necessary hazard. It seemed better to win
Gallie and learn to live with guilt than to
lead a life empty of guilt but also empty of
Gallie's love.
Through arts of subterfuge he had discovered
enough about Sue to locate her. He entered
the university's School of Literature building
and before long he was waiting outside her lecture
room. When Sue emerged from her lecture, amidst
the bustle of students, Howard was taken with
her appearance. Whilst only dressed in jeans
and a white pullover and adorned sparingly with
makeup, Dominic's ex was still an exotic looking
girl. Her curly blonde hair was tied up into
a knot, which added yet more charm to her beauty.
Sue was waling alone. Howard shadowed her down
a couple of corridors before finally mustering
the courage to engage her in conversation.
Introducing himself as Dominic's friend, he
was agreeably surprised to find Sue open and
friendly to his intrusion. He told her Dominic
was unwell. To Sue's enquiries, he hinted that
Dominic missed her so extremely that he was
contemplating an unthinkable act of self-harm.
Sue looked staggered and upset at this tiding.
Howard went on to say that another woman was
courting Dominic. Dominic hadn't fended off
this woman's advances, on the grounds that his
judgement was obviously impaired by the depression
brought about by his split with Sue herself.
Indeed, he added, Dominic's seeming acceptance
of the other woman's flirtations was merely
another sign of his depression: a rebound reaction
to his loss of his dear Sue. Howard sensed
a reaction in Sue that he hopefully interpreted
as jealously. He appealed to her to try to
patch things up with Dominic, or at the very
least to arrange to meet him to settle and soothe
his mental state. He also told her that Dominic's
mood swings meant that he might actually appear
quite cheerful at times but that mostly he suffered
dark and dismal depressions, but didn't like
to talk about them. Finally he requested that
Sue use great discretion, as out of the humbleness
of his heart, for Howard did not wish Dominic
to learn about this kind favour.
'Oh he is miserable,' concluded Howard. 'He
is such a brave fellow. He hides his misery
behind a veil of cheer. He is such a great
actor he doesn't even know he's acting. That's
how much he hides the truth from himself.'
Sue's eyes were earnest and admiring.
'Thanks
so much for going to so much
trouble to tell me, you're
so nice to
care so much about poor Dom. I kinda miss
him now we're not... I might go and see him. I
can't make any promises though.'
Thanking Sue for her magnanimity, Howard allowed
his hopes to rise, just a little. Gallie would
be his yet!
 | | | | |
| From: |
Bobby Joe Ensworth Brown | Subject: | 2001-10-30 21:11:55 |
| | | | |
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