12 April 2008
230
Chapter 3
"Ere' wot are ya doin' with those things, you'll cut yourself ya will," Mrs. Egduf's voice awoke me from me reverie, "Ock! Looks like ya already did Ducky, ere' let me av a look-see."
She had taken the big shiny spatula out of me hand and returned it to the box, shutting the lid like she had just completed a Veto Competition.
"Let's just put these up where you won't hurt yersel." She said as she took the box over to an old chest of drawers in the hall.
She came back and began mopping me up with her dirty hanky before I realised what she was spitting on and wiping me bloody face with. I grabbed at it until I got it away from her and pulled. That slapped me off-balance from me sitting position, and me head hit the floor with a hard bang. I now hurt from me nose, me bum and now the back of me flat head. Me howling didn't last long as I realised me hand was stuck to the hanky. I thought it was all me own blood and her spit, but no, no, it was her snot that stuck me hand hard and fast. I jumped up like a snake had bitten me feeling decidedly . . . squeamish.
She got a mop and bucket full of dirty water and was mopping up the blood while I waved me hand furiously trying to dislodge the hanky from me palm.
"Yer really shouldn't be dancing around there Squeamish Sweety, you're giddin blood all ovr' the place," she said following me around the room with the wet dirty mop.
I stopped long enough to point at the dirty hanky like I was saying, "THIS!" But she ignored me pointing hand and the offending other hand, and came up close to me face examining me nose with her eyes.
"Wowey, wow, wow," she muttered, "ya done yersel a number on yer nose. Was ya trying for a nose job?"
I wanted to hit her, but I refrained. What a smart arse she could be at the most dire of times. I did think to meself if only I had a sharp spatula, but that thought left me when the sound of a commotion from the street below began filtering up thought the grime of the filthy window. We looked at each other in question and then went over to look out. We couldn't see a bloody thing! I took me hand with the glued hanky and started rubbing a circle of grime off the window. There in the street below was a young lad of eleven (the very same age I was when traumatised) hawking chocolate Easter bunnies.
We both ran for the door at the same time getting wedged together in the opening. She elbowed me in me ribs and I took on another part of me body screaming with pain. She squeezed out first with me hot on her heels. The sound of our footfalls on the old rickety steps sounded like a herd of thundering elephants, and this scared the bejesus out of the cockroaches feasting on the chocie bits on the floor. They scurried in one direction, mice in another and we had a clear path to the front door of the shop. Only I had caught up to her with me long-legged stride and once again we were wedged in a door frame, me cursing at her, she cursing at me.
We were fixed good, and me only recourse was to lubricate the door jab on me side, so with hanky in hand I spread a good mixture of snot on the frame and shot out first. I almost fell into the small crowd assembled, but people started to move away. I wondered if it was the fish smell or the long line of snot dripping from me shirt sleeve. Mrs. Egduf found her way beside me, oblivious to the looks we were getting.
"Step roight up liedies an gents sugared Easter bunnies fer sale ere'! The most sweet chocie you'll ever eat in awl of Lundun town an they go down smoooth. Anyone want to troy one?" The little nipper hawked, holding up one such chocolate bunny.
Both of us shouted, me, me, me at the same time. The young scamp came to the edge of the stage and then fell a step backwards as if he smelled something awful. He looked at Mrs. Edguf and then at me. "All roight then," he mumbled and before me horrified eyes, he took the chocolate bunny in his two grimy hands and with a snap, severed the head from the body. I jumped back with an intake of breath that broke the silence. He handed the body to me companion and me the head with the ears. I couldn't hold on to it, I was so unnerved and squeamish me hands shook and me eyes took in the horror of a body-less bunny. I dropped the head on the ground, the dead eyes staring up at me as if saying, "Eat me!" I stepped back and looked to Mrs Egduf for sympathy, but she had cannibalised the headless bunny body and all that was left was the feet and tail.
I stumbled back into the shop wiping me face with the hanky, forgetting it was snot, grime and blood-soaked. I sat down at a table inside the window and cried like a girl. YES I DID!
Outside I could hear the muffled voice of Mrs. Egduf, "Ock! That is not a real sugared bunny THAT young sir is a sugar substitute bunny!"
The crowd started jeering at the young scamp on the stage, when from inside the caravan from which the stage rolled out, a tall handsome man in a purple suit decorated with coloured Easter eggs patterned all over it, stepped out and held up a large good looking hand for silence.
"Ave you gota no brain?" The man said to Mrs Egduf in a broken accent. "Each ofa da boonies has shoegar in dem. No substituta."
"Nah, ya can't fool me, I own the House of Fudge Pancakes roight here in front of ya and I know sugar substitute when I tasteses it." Mrs. E fired back.
What a feisty thing she was. It was getting interesting out there and I forgot me mourning of the dead bunny head and went to stand in the doorway to watch. I did notice as soon as I appeared everyone started sniffing the air and drawing back like I had some sort of disease. No matter, I was getting used to that reaction.
"Tell me wot is in those bunnies." Mrs. E said pointing to the boxes displayed on the stage.
"Wella I wheel do justa dat," the tall handsome man said, "Datsa easy," and he proceeded to list the usual suspects of ingredients, but when he came to the sugar, Mrs. E stepped up.
"Nope, try again," she challenged, hands on hips standing as tall as her 4 feet would allow.
"Likea I say, boonies withouta shoegar substituta. What's a dis?" He said looking down at the bunny head in an attempt to get the focus off his listing of ingredients. The Italian stepped off the stage and stood looking down at the head. He picked it up holding it up for the crowd to see.
"Eara you go," he said slowly waving it in front of Mrs. E's upturned face. "Take a gooda look. Eacha da boonies isa solid milka chocolota."
Mrs. E was staring off into space mesmerised by the bunny head. Why he's hypnotising her I thought suddenly alarmed. The Italian leaned forward to place the severed head in her outstretched hand. I ran forward and snatched it before it reached her dirty hand and as I did she snapped out of the trance.
I held up the head (and it was the hardest thing I ever did).
"If Mrs. Egduf says THIS is made from sugar substitute, it IS made from sugar substitute." I stood proud to defend her opinion.
"Ok nowa you gotta me," the Italian leaned toward me face to whisper, "So you and me shoulda be doina lettle busy ness eh?"
"What?" I stepped back confused.
He stepped forward again right in me face.
"I saida you anda me shoulda do busy ness." And then he whispered even lower, "I ah recognisa you."
"You do?" I said as me hand lowered the bunny head to me side dropping it.
"I do indeeda. YOU are datta squeamishie person froma sumplacea ova dere." He waved his elegant hand in the general direction of me stepfather's home on the other side of London.
I was found out! I did not want anyone to know I was back. Mrs. E was one thing, but this guy was quite another. I squinted hard at him trying to recognisa, I mean recognise him. But I did not. So I did the next best thing I could before he opened his bigga mouth, I invited him up to me new digs for a wee bit o' chat.
A FEW MINUTES LATER
"So you know me do you?" I said walking over to a chest of drawers that had been in the back stairwell.
"Yes, I do," he said in perfect English.
I spun around stunned. I recognised the voice, but I couldn't quite place it.
"Ah ha! So you are not an Italian chocolatier. I thought so!" I declared, one finger pointed heavenward in true flourish style.
"Um, no I'm not. I am younger than you, you will remember me from an Easter in Hyde Park about 14 years ago. I was the handsome lad with the pretty nanny who tried to keep you from the Easter egg hunt because you weren't eleven like you said you were, you were more like 17! But your step-daddy because of his bully rank, pulled it on all us kiddies and let you in."
Okay, I was starting to remember. Yeah, there was this handsome dark-haired child with the pretty nanny who was holding his lollipop while he had a hissy-fit that it was his last year to participate at eleven years old and that I was way over eleven and faster than all the other kids at hunting up coloured eggs. The pretty nanny chimed in saying that every year I had collected all the eggs and the little ones went home crying.
"I am Eamon Gnolevilotgniogton," he said pulling me from remembrance, "Do you remember me now?"
"Why yes, yes I do," I said, "you're the handsome twit with the long last name!"
He sneered back at me.
"You're real name is Gabriel O. Navillus, your mother's maiden name was Mildred Ddot and YOU have changed her name backwards for your own use, trying to throw people off. But I recognised you, Sweety Todd when my boy tried to hand you the chocolate bunny head, you got squeamish. What more proof did I need?"
Not to be outdone, I stepped closer to him and said, "Matter-of-fact, YOU'RE the ONE who tried to trip me on the street a few years after the Hyde Park Easter egg hunt, and you tripped me MOTHER instead, causing her to fall down and hit her noggin' on the curb! Talk about kicking someone to the curb, YOU DID THAT!"
"Ummm yes, BUT," he took a step closer to me, "YOU'RE the ONE that killed her!"
I stepped back and gasped, holding me hand to me nose, the dirty hanky stuck to it still. Me eyes began to water from the smell, but I tried me mightiest to look like a woman about to swoon, sniffing her scented hanky to keep from letting the vapours take hold. I looked behind me, I had no swooning couch and I wasn't a woman, so this wasn't working. I stepped back and leaned my sore bum against the chest of drawers just outside the hall, me countenance looking horrified back at his handsome sneering face.
"Yes, YOU'RE the ONE that stole the culinary utensils from Monkey Wards and got CAUGHT. You botched up a single robbery and your mother paid for it. DEATH BY CHOCOLATE!" He stepped closer to me and I felt me legs becoming like rubber. I put one hand behind me to steady me stance when I felt the box, yes, me trinket box of old. It was cracked open a hair. I ran me fingers inside it feeling the cold icy metal. I gripped one of the spatulas and with the speed of a whippet hound, I slashed Eamon's neck. The blue blood came spurting out, and I watched his bejewelled handsome hands (the most handsome hands I had ever seen on a man) clutch his handsome throat as he fell to his good-looking knees and finally fell dead upon me floor, still looking good.
"Well, now you've gone and done it." A voice said from behind me.
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
Chapter 3
"Ere' wot are ya doin' with those things, you'll cut yourself ya will," Mrs. Egduf's voice awoke me from me reverie, "Ock! Looks like ya already did Ducky, ere' let me av a look-see."
She had taken the big shiny spatula out of me hand and returned it to the box, shutting the lid like she had just completed a Veto Competition.
"Let's just put these up where you won't hurt yersel." She said as she took the box over to an old chest of drawers in the hall.
She came back and began mopping me up with her dirty hanky before I realised what she was spitting on and wiping me bloody face with. I grabbed at it until I got it away from her and pulled. That slapped me off-balance from me sitting position, and me head hit the floor with a hard bang. I now hurt from me nose, me bum and now the back of me flat head. Me howling didn't last long as I realised me hand was stuck to the hanky. I thought it was all me own blood and her spit, but no, no, it was her snot that stuck me hand hard and fast. I jumped up like a snake had bitten me feeling decidedly . . . squeamish.
She got a mop and bucket full of dirty water and was mopping up the blood while I waved me hand furiously trying to dislodge the hanky from me palm.
"Yer really shouldn't be dancing around there Squeamish Sweety, you're giddin blood all ovr' the place," she said following me around the room with the wet dirty mop.
I stopped long enough to point at the dirty hanky like I was saying, "THIS!" But she ignored me pointing hand and the offending other hand, and came up close to me face examining me nose with her eyes.
"Wowey, wow, wow," she muttered, "ya done yersel a number on yer nose. Was ya trying for a nose job?"
I wanted to hit her, but I refrained. What a smart arse she could be at the most dire of times. I did think to meself if only I had a sharp spatula, but that thought left me when the sound of a commotion from the street below began filtering up thought the grime of the filthy window. We looked at each other in question and then went over to look out. We couldn't see a bloody thing! I took me hand with the glued hanky and started rubbing a circle of grime off the window. There in the street below was a young lad of eleven (the very same age I was when traumatised) hawking chocolate Easter bunnies.
We both ran for the door at the same time getting wedged together in the opening. She elbowed me in me ribs and I took on another part of me body screaming with pain. She squeezed out first with me hot on her heels. The sound of our footfalls on the old rickety steps sounded like a herd of thundering elephants, and this scared the bejesus out of the cockroaches feasting on the chocie bits on the floor. They scurried in one direction, mice in another and we had a clear path to the front door of the shop. Only I had caught up to her with me long-legged stride and once again we were wedged in a door frame, me cursing at her, she cursing at me.
We were fixed good, and me only recourse was to lubricate the door jab on me side, so with hanky in hand I spread a good mixture of snot on the frame and shot out first. I almost fell into the small crowd assembled, but people started to move away. I wondered if it was the fish smell or the long line of snot dripping from me shirt sleeve. Mrs. Egduf found her way beside me, oblivious to the looks we were getting.
"Step roight up liedies an gents sugared Easter bunnies fer sale ere'! The most sweet chocie you'll ever eat in awl of Lundun town an they go down smoooth. Anyone want to troy one?" The little nipper hawked, holding up one such chocolate bunny.
Both of us shouted, me, me, me at the same time. The young scamp came to the edge of the stage and then fell a step backwards as if he smelled something awful. He looked at Mrs. Edguf and then at me. "All roight then," he mumbled and before me horrified eyes, he took the chocolate bunny in his two grimy hands and with a snap, severed the head from the body. I jumped back with an intake of breath that broke the silence. He handed the body to me companion and me the head with the ears. I couldn't hold on to it, I was so unnerved and squeamish me hands shook and me eyes took in the horror of a body-less bunny. I dropped the head on the ground, the dead eyes staring up at me as if saying, "Eat me!" I stepped back and looked to Mrs Egduf for sympathy, but she had cannibalised the headless bunny body and all that was left was the feet and tail.
I stumbled back into the shop wiping me face with the hanky, forgetting it was snot, grime and blood-soaked. I sat down at a table inside the window and cried like a girl. YES I DID!
Outside I could hear the muffled voice of Mrs. Egduf, "Ock! That is not a real sugared bunny THAT young sir is a sugar substitute bunny!"
The crowd started jeering at the young scamp on the stage, when from inside the caravan from which the stage rolled out, a tall handsome man in a purple suit decorated with coloured Easter eggs patterned all over it, stepped out and held up a large good looking hand for silence.
"Ave you gota no brain?" The man said to Mrs Egduf in a broken accent. "Each ofa da boonies has shoegar in dem. No substituta."
"Nah, ya can't fool me, I own the House of Fudge Pancakes roight here in front of ya and I know sugar substitute when I tasteses it." Mrs. E fired back.
What a feisty thing she was. It was getting interesting out there and I forgot me mourning of the dead bunny head and went to stand in the doorway to watch. I did notice as soon as I appeared everyone started sniffing the air and drawing back like I had some sort of disease. No matter, I was getting used to that reaction.
"Tell me wot is in those bunnies." Mrs. E said pointing to the boxes displayed on the stage.
"Wella I wheel do justa dat," the tall handsome man said, "Datsa easy," and he proceeded to list the usual suspects of ingredients, but when he came to the sugar, Mrs. E stepped up.
"Nope, try again," she challenged, hands on hips standing as tall as her 4 feet would allow.
"Likea I say, boonies withouta shoegar substituta. What's a dis?" He said looking down at the bunny head in an attempt to get the focus off his listing of ingredients. The Italian stepped off the stage and stood looking down at the head. He picked it up holding it up for the crowd to see.
"Eara you go," he said slowly waving it in front of Mrs. E's upturned face. "Take a gooda look. Eacha da boonies isa solid milka chocolota."
Mrs. E was staring off into space mesmerised by the bunny head. Why he's hypnotising her I thought suddenly alarmed. The Italian leaned forward to place the severed head in her outstretched hand. I ran forward and snatched it before it reached her dirty hand and as I did she snapped out of the trance.
I held up the head (and it was the hardest thing I ever did).
"If Mrs. Egduf says THIS is made from sugar substitute, it IS made from sugar substitute." I stood proud to defend her opinion.
"Ok nowa you gotta me," the Italian leaned toward me face to whisper, "So you and me shoulda be doina lettle busy ness eh?"
"What?" I stepped back confused.
He stepped forward again right in me face.
"I saida you anda me shoulda do busy ness." And then he whispered even lower, "I ah recognisa you."
"You do?" I said as me hand lowered the bunny head to me side dropping it.
"I do indeeda. YOU are datta squeamishie person froma sumplacea ova dere." He waved his elegant hand in the general direction of me stepfather's home on the other side of London.
I was found out! I did not want anyone to know I was back. Mrs. E was one thing, but this guy was quite another. I squinted hard at him trying to recognisa, I mean recognise him. But I did not. So I did the next best thing I could before he opened his bigga mouth, I invited him up to me new digs for a wee bit o' chat.
A FEW MINUTES LATER
"So you know me do you?" I said walking over to a chest of drawers that had been in the back stairwell.
"Yes, I do," he said in perfect English.
I spun around stunned. I recognised the voice, but I couldn't quite place it.
"Ah ha! So you are not an Italian chocolatier. I thought so!" I declared, one finger pointed heavenward in true flourish style.
"Um, no I'm not. I am younger than you, you will remember me from an Easter in Hyde Park about 14 years ago. I was the handsome lad with the pretty nanny who tried to keep you from the Easter egg hunt because you weren't eleven like you said you were, you were more like 17! But your step-daddy because of his bully rank, pulled it on all us kiddies and let you in."
Okay, I was starting to remember. Yeah, there was this handsome dark-haired child with the pretty nanny who was holding his lollipop while he had a hissy-fit that it was his last year to participate at eleven years old and that I was way over eleven and faster than all the other kids at hunting up coloured eggs. The pretty nanny chimed in saying that every year I had collected all the eggs and the little ones went home crying.
"I am Eamon Gnolevilotgniogton," he said pulling me from remembrance, "Do you remember me now?"
"Why yes, yes I do," I said, "you're the handsome twit with the long last name!"
He sneered back at me.
"You're real name is Gabriel O. Navillus, your mother's maiden name was Mildred Ddot and YOU have changed her name backwards for your own use, trying to throw people off. But I recognised you, Sweety Todd when my boy tried to hand you the chocolate bunny head, you got squeamish. What more proof did I need?"
Not to be outdone, I stepped closer to him and said, "Matter-of-fact, YOU'RE the ONE who tried to trip me on the street a few years after the Hyde Park Easter egg hunt, and you tripped me MOTHER instead, causing her to fall down and hit her noggin' on the curb! Talk about kicking someone to the curb, YOU DID THAT!"
"Ummm yes, BUT," he took a step closer to me, "YOU'RE the ONE that killed her!"
I stepped back and gasped, holding me hand to me nose, the dirty hanky stuck to it still. Me eyes began to water from the smell, but I tried me mightiest to look like a woman about to swoon, sniffing her scented hanky to keep from letting the vapours take hold. I looked behind me, I had no swooning couch and I wasn't a woman, so this wasn't working. I stepped back and leaned my sore bum against the chest of drawers just outside the hall, me countenance looking horrified back at his handsome sneering face.
"Yes, YOU'RE the ONE that stole the culinary utensils from Monkey Wards and got CAUGHT. You botched up a single robbery and your mother paid for it. DEATH BY CHOCOLATE!" He stepped closer to me and I felt me legs becoming like rubber. I put one hand behind me to steady me stance when I felt the box, yes, me trinket box of old. It was cracked open a hair. I ran me fingers inside it feeling the cold icy metal. I gripped one of the spatulas and with the speed of a whippet hound, I slashed Eamon's neck. The blue blood came spurting out, and I watched his bejewelled handsome hands (the most handsome hands I had ever seen on a man) clutch his handsome throat as he fell to his good-looking knees and finally fell dead upon me floor, still looking good.
"Well, now you've gone and done it." A voice said from behind me.
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment