Batch 2, story 1
SATURDAY: Right, I've had enough of the noise. How can one compose when the place vibrates with it? It all came to a head at five in the morning when I was seated on the lavatory waiting for my daily inspiration. The whole east side of this house is a soundbox for that rookery. Then Farmer George's crop-sprayer started up, and that was it for Saturday.
SUNDAY: Eileen George came round.
'How's work?' she said.
'I need peace,' I said.
'You mean world peace?'
'It'll do,' I said.
MONDAY: News headlines: 'Peace talks broken down again.' Tell me about
it. It's an impasse. The last time I arranged to have the trees lopped
to three foot, the blasted conservationists had a Protection order slapped
on them. Then when I had the builders round to brick up all my east windows,
lo and behold, there was that smirking Council jobsworth with his clipboard,
saying we'd been listed.
'It's your fault for having your house built by that guy who designed the opera
house.'
'I wanted acoustics,' I said.
'You gottem,' he said.
TUESDAY: Eileen came in my kitchen with something blue. She put it on
the table, under the sunbeam. It went bluer.
'What's that old jug for?'
'Present.'
'Very kind, but it's not my birthday.'
'It's been in my family since 1939. There's a story to it.'
'Oh, go on then. Distract me from the constipation.'
'My granddad won it at poker in lieu of a fifty-pound i.o.u. He was told it
was a wishing jug.
Well that cheered me up a bit.
'Don't laugh, there's more. You put water in it and wish for peace. No, no,
give it back, wait. There's a snag.'
'Go on.'
'It only works once.'
'So?'
'There's a price.'
'?'
'A member of your family dies. That's the deal. Are you listening? Granny tried
to sell it on, but everyone had heard the story. There was a war on, and they
had two boys in France, and one in North Africa.'
'So what did they do?'
'Prayed for war and dumped it in the shed. I just dug it out for you.'
'Ah yes. Ive got no family.'
WEDNESDAY: Noise. It's rook soup out there. Jug still on the table. Now the sun's gone, it's a dull, plain little thing, all faded round the middle. I gave her a bottle of wine for it. I've been diddled. Peace: what I would give for it.
THURSDAY: Goodness only knows what happened today. I put water in the
jug, didn't I, just to see. I looked in, and just then the crop-sprayer
started up again - how long does it take to spray one field? Well, the
jug didn't work yet, did it? Then I thought I'd take it in the sun, just
to see that blue glow again.
As you look, the colours make rings: the cobalt rim of the jug, then the faded
bit halfway down, then the water - lapping, colourless - and something else.
So there was I, sitting on the birdpooey grass sweating already, in all that
engine-noise and monoquat-stink blowing onto my vegetable patch, and me boggling
into the blue. Alright,the jug got hot, but that was the sun. It twisted and
bubbled; it was like holding a plastic bag with an excited rat in it. There
were eyes with blue irises in the water: reflections I suppose.
Then all went quiet. Rooks shut up, sprayer stopped. George repairing. Wind
still. When you are not used to silence, it feels like fingers poking into
your ears. The fingers poked and poked. No traffic, no dogs barking. I lay
down on the grass and heard it growing. And I heard the feet of all those rooks
on the branches and in their nests, and their squabs crunching the heads off
field voles.
FRIDAY: Finished the symphony. Rooks all on the window sill, but at least they've shut up. The bubbles on the jug look like blue irises and a halcyon killing a fish and looking at me. Made lemonade in the jug. Best ever. Did not open the post today: hospital letter came. It can wait. Looked in the mirror and gave myself a hug. I don't need a family, I have me. I am my family.
Copyright © 2003 LS
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