Read Online A Cleansing of Souls by Stuart Ayris - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stuart Ayris
Ads: Link
school.
When the telephone rang, he would let it ring and ring just to hear a different sound. And when he did finally answer it, it was never for him. He had given up answering the door entirely.
George had lost so much when he had lost his job – confidence, motivation, self-esteem, and human contact. Mutual friends of himself and Elaine would bury him deep beneath excuses and embarrassment. He was alone and ostracized. And he had never been so scared in all his life. Each day, he would hear on the radio or sometimes read in newspapers that he was now one of a large group of people who were a burden to society, who wanted something for nothing, who were undermining the infrastructure of the country and that measures would have to be put in place to streamline the system that so magnanimously supported him.
Ah, sir. If you could only live my life for a while, I would show you my very soul. And then may you weep.
This initial period of despondency had eventually given way to a rush of enthusiasm. He would get another job. He knew it. He was still over twenty years away from retirement age. And he had a skill to offer, a specialised craft.
So, George had visited the job centre every day, scanned the ever-decreasing Careers Section in the local newspapers and even put a card in the window of the local shop advertising himself, somewhat modestly, as an ‘odd-job man’. There had been some posts for which he had applied to which his experience and abilities were eminently suited. He would write lengthy applications detailing his career, his skills and his virtues. Time after time, he would make a single spelling mistake and screw up the whole letter before starting again. It had to be perfect. And he would wait like a child for the postman to come each morning.
But gradually, ever so slowly, one basic truth began to sink and embed itself into George’s heart – he had actually ceased to exist outside of his family unit. It had been a long process but the final confirmation came to him in a sudden flash, followed almost by relief. He was no more. He had faded to nothing in this forsaken world. Gone.
Nobody returned his telephone calls. Bright young voices asked for his name and then promptly forgot it. Letters he wrote, so many letters, received no reply. He became confused as he tried to make sense of it all. What had he done wrong? For what was he being punished? He had never harmed anybody, never even insulted anybody. He was a kind and gentle man, thoughtful and hardworking. He had never taken a day off sick, had always been on time, and had always done whatever was asked of him. As such, he was an easy victim of the fabled Market, pure and simple, a casualty of an economic situation. He was the price paid for another man’s mistake.
As time wore on, the creative stimulus that had fuelled George’s being was replaced by a hefty void. And it was within this void that this quiet, gentle man lived out his days.
Elaine’s hands had been full during her husband’s early months of unemployment. Her tired eyes and restless nights were due as much to the broken man who lay awake beside her as to the broken sleep of Little Norman. But although he kept her awake, Elaine was unable to think one bad thought about her new baby. He was beyond joy. There were, of course, some days when he would just not stop crying and George would be sitting there in that bloody armchair as another bloody Open University tutor lectured backwards through a ragged beard. At these times, Elaine would become angry and miserable. And she would just stand and wonder at the lines on her face, feeling them with her fingertips. But then, just at the darkest moment, Little Norman would stop crying. He would look at his mother and smile, perhaps giggle, chuckle in a way you wouldn’t believe. Elaine would cling to him with raw hands and clutch him to her shoulder as if trying to absorb him into herself. And he in
When the telephone rang, he would let it ring and ring just to hear a different sound. And when he did finally answer it, it was never for him. He had given up answering the door entirely.
George had lost so much when he had lost his job – confidence, motivation, self-esteem, and human contact. Mutual friends of himself and Elaine would bury him deep beneath excuses and embarrassment. He was alone and ostracized. And he had never been so scared in all his life. Each day, he would hear on the radio or sometimes read in newspapers that he was now one of a large group of people who were a burden to society, who wanted something for nothing, who were undermining the infrastructure of the country and that measures would have to be put in place to streamline the system that so magnanimously supported him.
Ah, sir. If you could only live my life for a while, I would show you my very soul. And then may you weep.
This initial period of despondency had eventually given way to a rush of enthusiasm. He would get another job. He knew it. He was still over twenty years away from retirement age. And he had a skill to offer, a specialised craft.
So, George had visited the job centre every day, scanned the ever-decreasing Careers Section in the local newspapers and even put a card in the window of the local shop advertising himself, somewhat modestly, as an ‘odd-job man’. There had been some posts for which he had applied to which his experience and abilities were eminently suited. He would write lengthy applications detailing his career, his skills and his virtues. Time after time, he would make a single spelling mistake and screw up the whole letter before starting again. It had to be perfect. And he would wait like a child for the postman to come each morning.
But gradually, ever so slowly, one basic truth began to sink and embed itself into George’s heart – he had actually ceased to exist outside of his family unit. It had been a long process but the final confirmation came to him in a sudden flash, followed almost by relief. He was no more. He had faded to nothing in this forsaken world. Gone.
Nobody returned his telephone calls. Bright young voices asked for his name and then promptly forgot it. Letters he wrote, so many letters, received no reply. He became confused as he tried to make sense of it all. What had he done wrong? For what was he being punished? He had never harmed anybody, never even insulted anybody. He was a kind and gentle man, thoughtful and hardworking. He had never taken a day off sick, had always been on time, and had always done whatever was asked of him. As such, he was an easy victim of the fabled Market, pure and simple, a casualty of an economic situation. He was the price paid for another man’s mistake.
As time wore on, the creative stimulus that had fuelled George’s being was replaced by a hefty void. And it was within this void that this quiet, gentle man lived out his days.
Elaine’s hands had been full during her husband’s early months of unemployment. Her tired eyes and restless nights were due as much to the broken man who lay awake beside her as to the broken sleep of Little Norman. But although he kept her awake, Elaine was unable to think one bad thought about her new baby. He was beyond joy. There were, of course, some days when he would just not stop crying and George would be sitting there in that bloody armchair as another bloody Open University tutor lectured backwards through a ragged beard. At these times, Elaine would become angry and miserable. And she would just stand and wonder at the lines on her face, feeling them with her fingertips. But then, just at the darkest moment, Little Norman would stop crying. He would look at his mother and smile, perhaps giggle, chuckle in a way you wouldn’t believe. Elaine would cling to him with raw hands and clutch him to her shoulder as if trying to absorb him into herself. And he in
Similar Books
