Read Online Gelignite by William Marshall - Free Book Online

BANG! BANG! BANG! The postman said, 'I can't wait around here, I've got work to do!' He looked at Mr Wong's eyes. They seemed very worried. The postman wasn't a hard man. He said, 'It's for you. It's got your name on it.' He took the letter and turned it over to show Mr Wong his name in the strange letters. He said, 'See?'
    Mr Wong said, 'No.'
    ' Wong .'
    Mr Wong said, 'It's not me.' He had troubles enough of his own without opening anyone else's. He said, 'It's the wrong Wong.' He nodded. He turned to go back to his chestnuts and an undisturbed life. He was glad that was over. The nail guns fired a volley or two, then the hardiest went POW! POW!
    The postman stopped him. He handed the letter back. Mr Wong refused to take it. The postman said, 'Wong Tung Shing, right? That's you, isn't it? Street Vendor Number 5817, corner Yellowthread Street and Canton Street, Hong Bay.' He said, That's you, right? That's your location.' He warned Mr Wong. 'Don't tell me it isn't I've seen you there every day for years.' He said with the power of his uniform and his Government job with a pension attached to it, 'That's you!' He pushed the letter into Mr Wong's hands and crushed the corners of the stamp.
    Mr Wong said, 'It isn't mine!' He tried to give it back.
    'It's yours!' The postman shoved his shoulder to move him along.
    'Well, I can't read it!'
    'That's not my problem!'
    Mr Wong said, 'You read it to me!'
    The postman looked at him. His mouth said in silent horror at the suggestion that he should demean his position, 'Haw!' He told Mr Wong in a scandalised voice, 'I'm not employed to read letters to illiterates!'
    'I'm not illiterate! I don't read English! That doesn't make me illiterate!' He demanded from the postman, 'Do you read Arabic?'
    'Of course not!'
    'Well, I do!'
    The postman paused. He asked, 'Do you?'
    Mr Wong said, 'Well—no.' He asked quietly, 'Would you mind reading it for me?'
    The postman glanced at his watch. He hesitated. He took the envelope back and gazed at it. He said quietly, 'Look, I'm sure it isn't bad news.' He indicated the handwritten address, 'It isn't from the Government.' He said, 'The Government wouldn't employ anyone with such bad handwriting. And they're always written on a typewriter.' He said, 'They always have a return address to the Government Office.' Mr Wong looked impressed. The postman added, 'And they never have a stamp on them because Government letters don't need one.' He said with the final crushing deductive powers of a Sherlock Holmes, 'So it isn't from the Government.'
    Mr Wong said, 'Oh . . .' So that was what it took to get a Government job. Mr Wong said humbly, 'I'm very impressed.' (The postman made a deprecating move of his head.) He could see why a man like this wouldn't have the time to stop to read other people's letters. He said, 'I'll take the letter to a letter-writer at the Post Office.' He said firmly to show he had taken the point, 'It's their business to read letters in other languages, not yours.'
    The postman wasn't a hard man. He said, 'Nor yours either.' He said, 'You've got your own business to think of. You haven't the time to run about learning languages you never use.' He smiled and hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder.
    Mr Wong nodded. There was a letter-writer he knew vaguely in Wyang Street just outside the Post Office who wasn't such a bad sort. And there was always the indisputable fact that letter-writers would probably read letters (as opposed to writing them) for a discount. He said decisively to the postman, 'I'll take it to a letter-writer.'
    The postman nodded. That was the ticket. Mr Wong smiled and went to close up his chestnut stall. The postman thought he would be all right for a few hot chestnuts from now on. He hoisted his bag and went on his way. The story that had gone around was that Leung's shop had been blasted by a gas explosion from a leaking pipe in the basement.
    The postman smiled. No one had told him he was in the bomb-delivering