Chapter 3
Chapter 3
``It was a dark when we got to Belgium, it chilled us like an uncooked frozen bag of peas. It was then we saw on the horizon, the basket of pain that we couldn't explain.`` Nicola Roberts from `A tale of two jungles - a pursuit of the soul`
``Well, I might have known...`` Began Chapman.
``What, what is this, young man?`` She asked in astoundmentation of the intrusion.
``This, Mrs Eleanor Rigby, THIS, is the time for being`` ``profound!``.
Had Chapman time earlier to type cast this piece into a gothic horror genre a pipe organ would by now be playing a grand diminished chord and be drowned out by a clap of thunder but this was June and all the pipe organs had migrated south for the season.
The room was dusty and very dark. Only a couple of small windows let through light between the slats of the closed shutters. It reminded Chapman of the bellfry at Winstanley Parish Church of St. Jesus the Martyr but that wasn't important to the story.
Eleanor Rigby sat in a set of prisoner's clothes - blueish grey with black arrows pointing upwards in a rocking chair in the farthest corner of the room. She looked well old but not in the way that old people are old, more old in the way that King Arthur is old - preserved in a moment in time, kept alive only by legend and tuna chunks.
Chapman wondered what to say to the old woman but his thoughts were disturbed mid-think by a sneeze coming from a grand old mahogany wardrobe on the far wall.
``This is an old house`` she explained ``one has to grow accustomed to sneezing furniture.``
``That was no Thomas Chippendale sneeze!`` Chapman declared grandly ``That was the sneeze of a clergyman!``
He had heard men of the cloth sneeze before. Vicars, Priests, Canons, they all sneezed the same. That sickening expellation of the nasal cavity. It made Chapman want to punch something, but this was a profound time in his life and his wits thought better of it. He marched across the room to the old wardrobe and pulled open the door while saying ``A-HA!``. He knew it ``I knew it!``.
There stood before him was the vicar he had dreadded. Dressed in a black hassock, bible in one hand, fist in the other waiting to pounce on Chapman. ``Father Mackenzie I presume...``
``My child, your reverie at the exposition of myneself dost noth astound even to my very self. T'is a vagabond's tale that to which explains thusly why I am myself to be unto found into this very house in such a maner as this.`` No one knew why Father Mackenzie spoke in such an irritating way but he was a vicar and and as a vicar he was accustomed to people not arguing with him. Not really understanding what the vicar had just said, Chapman took a step back to allow the man out of the wardrobe and into the room.
A short silence ensued which was broken by Eleanor Rigby beconing the two men to be seated before her, ``Please be seated before me`` she beconed. ``You, young man are the first visitor we have had since forever. Perhaps before we ask why it is you are here, we should regail you for no good reason with the dramatic and lengthy tale of our story.``
``Perhaps`` responded Chapman with what he hoped was a nonchelant sneer but actually came out as a dirty old man coming onto a waitress type of embarassing comment.
``Our tale begins the very village that we are in at the moment in a time that was ages ago. I had just been released from prison for the crime of Grand Carbohydrate Treason. I was lucky to escape with my life but luckily I knew enough legal speak to plead my case in court. The judge, he declared to me `Dear Eleanor Rigby, where did you hear of such astounding legal terminology. You will be free in six months!!`. Imagine my surprise.
``But on returning home to my beloved Birmingham, I was shunned like a Zolo coal miner standing in the shade in 1980s South Africa. People would walk on the other side of the street from me, thinking their carbohydrates were not safe around me. I overheard rumours of me molesting pasta shapes, kinking spaghettii. It was a bad time. The only person I had to turn to was Father Mackenzie.
``He was the only one who could help me now. Indeed, he helped me fake my own death. Performed the ceremony and everything he did - not that any body came.``
``nobody was saved`` The vicar added softly.
``So I've been living here ever since. Father Mackenzie pops in every now and then with fresh tins of fish and the occasional Mr Kipling's French Fancies. In my day I remember there being pink ones in the box...`` Father Mackenzie looked sheepish like a ewe who'd chew through a screw to stew you anew. ``And this is where I've been ever since, like a tacky parody of Miss Haversham.`` She looked around the room as it holding back a tear and quickly changed the subject ``So, young man, now that I've shared my mostly plagerised tale with you, who are you and why are you here?``
``Well`` Chapman began ``I too have a long and melodramatic tale to regail you with but it's getting dark now so my chase will be cut straight to. I'm a bank robber and I need a place to sleep. I remember this place when I was young and thought `why not`. And the name's Chapman... Man of chaps.``
``Very well Chapman, you must sleep in the lounge, Father Mackenzie will escourt you there. Bon nuit.``
``Later``.
He was lead down the stairs by the vicar. While it was the time to be profound, Chapman thought about Hyunkw and what he'd say to the boy if he were here. He resolved to make his next stop Hyunkw's house and catch up with the boy. He thought about all the things that had happened that day - waking up gagging by a doiley sucked to the back of his throat, driving his car safely, finding out Birmingham had become urbanised and meeting Eleanor Rigby. It was a big day but all he could think about was if Hyunkw was there he'd have laughed so much it would have felt like the sun was shining just on them for one lone moment. It was a heartening thought but a really gay one so he coughed as deeply as he could do without looking out of place and was left to his devices by the vicar.
He grabbed the photo out of his holdel and issued a single tear from his left tear duct like when a cash machine judders the cash card out really slowly instead of jutting it out like it should.
``It was a dark when we got to Belgium, it chilled us like an uncooked frozen bag of peas. It was then we saw on the horizon, the basket of pain that we couldn't explain.`` Nicola Roberts from `A tale of two jungles - a pursuit of the soul`
``Well, I might have known...`` Began Chapman.
``What, what is this, young man?`` She asked in astoundmentation of the intrusion.
``This, Mrs Eleanor Rigby, THIS, is the time for being``
Had Chapman time earlier to type cast this piece into a gothic horror genre a pipe organ would by now be playing a grand diminished chord and be drowned out by a clap of thunder but this was June and all the pipe organs had migrated south for the season.
The room was dusty and very dark. Only a couple of small windows let through light between the slats of the closed shutters. It reminded Chapman of the bellfry at Winstanley Parish Church of St. Jesus the Martyr but that wasn't important to the story.
Eleanor Rigby sat in a set of prisoner's clothes - blueish grey with black arrows pointing upwards in a rocking chair in the farthest corner of the room. She looked well old but not in the way that old people are old, more old in the way that King Arthur is old - preserved in a moment in time, kept alive only by legend and tuna chunks.
Chapman wondered what to say to the old woman but his thoughts were disturbed mid-think by a sneeze coming from a grand old mahogany wardrobe on the far wall.
``This is an old house`` she explained ``one has to grow accustomed to sneezing furniture.``
``That was no Thomas Chippendale sneeze!`` Chapman declared grandly ``That was the sneeze of a clergyman!``
He had heard men of the cloth sneeze before. Vicars, Priests, Canons, they all sneezed the same. That sickening expellation of the nasal cavity. It made Chapman want to punch something, but this was a profound time in his life and his wits thought better of it. He marched across the room to the old wardrobe and pulled open the door while saying ``A-HA!``. He knew it ``I knew it!``.
There stood before him was the vicar he had dreadded. Dressed in a black hassock, bible in one hand, fist in the other waiting to pounce on Chapman. ``Father Mackenzie I presume...``
``My child, your reverie at the exposition of myneself dost noth astound even to my very self. T'is a vagabond's tale that to which explains thusly why I am myself to be unto found into this very house in such a maner as this.`` No one knew why Father Mackenzie spoke in such an irritating way but he was a vicar and and as a vicar he was accustomed to people not arguing with him. Not really understanding what the vicar had just said, Chapman took a step back to allow the man out of the wardrobe and into the room.
A short silence ensued which was broken by Eleanor Rigby beconing the two men to be seated before her, ``Please be seated before me`` she beconed. ``You, young man are the first visitor we have had since forever. Perhaps before we ask why it is you are here, we should regail you for no good reason with the dramatic and lengthy tale of our story.``
``Perhaps`` responded Chapman with what he hoped was a nonchelant sneer but actually came out as a dirty old man coming onto a waitress type of embarassing comment.
``Our tale begins the very village that we are in at the moment in a time that was ages ago. I had just been released from prison for the crime of Grand Carbohydrate Treason. I was lucky to escape with my life but luckily I knew enough legal speak to plead my case in court. The judge, he declared to me `Dear Eleanor Rigby, where did you hear of such astounding legal terminology. You will be free in six months!!`. Imagine my surprise.
``But on returning home to my beloved Birmingham, I was shunned like a Zolo coal miner standing in the shade in 1980s South Africa. People would walk on the other side of the street from me, thinking their carbohydrates were not safe around me. I overheard rumours of me molesting pasta shapes, kinking spaghettii. It was a bad time. The only person I had to turn to was Father Mackenzie.
``He was the only one who could help me now. Indeed, he helped me fake my own death. Performed the ceremony and everything he did - not that any body came.``
``nobody was saved`` The vicar added softly.
``So I've been living here ever since. Father Mackenzie pops in every now and then with fresh tins of fish and the occasional Mr Kipling's French Fancies. In my day I remember there being pink ones in the box...`` Father Mackenzie looked sheepish like a ewe who'd chew through a screw to stew you anew. ``And this is where I've been ever since, like a tacky parody of Miss Haversham.`` She looked around the room as it holding back a tear and quickly changed the subject ``So, young man, now that I've shared my mostly plagerised tale with you, who are you and why are you here?``
``Well`` Chapman began ``I too have a long and melodramatic tale to regail you with but it's getting dark now so my chase will be cut straight to. I'm a bank robber and I need a place to sleep. I remember this place when I was young and thought `why not`. And the name's Chapman... Man of chaps.``
``Very well Chapman, you must sleep in the lounge, Father Mackenzie will escourt you there. Bon nuit.``
``Later``.
He was lead down the stairs by the vicar. While it was the time to be profound, Chapman thought about Hyunkw and what he'd say to the boy if he were here. He resolved to make his next stop Hyunkw's house and catch up with the boy. He thought about all the things that had happened that day - waking up gagging by a doiley sucked to the back of his throat, driving his car safely, finding out Birmingham had become urbanised and meeting Eleanor Rigby. It was a big day but all he could think about was if Hyunkw was there he'd have laughed so much it would have felt like the sun was shining just on them for one lone moment. It was a heartening thought but a really gay one so he coughed as deeply as he could do without looking out of place and was left to his devices by the vicar.
He grabbed the photo out of his holdel and issued a single tear from his left tear duct like when a cash machine judders the cash card out really slowly instead of jutting it out like it should.
posted by Ben F. Foster Esq. (c) @ 2:56 AM
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