Read Online The Grace in Older Women by Jonathan Gash - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Gash
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tell the old sod
Paulinus to get a move on, bring the very best produce. This isn't some casual
caller, this is the mighty Genseric before whom empires tremble, so quick about
it. Frightened slaves scatter and sprint.
Enter Paulinus with a basket of fruit, stoops down, offering it.
King Genseric says hey, this looks the best. Says ta. He leans down - looks
into the old man's eyes . . .
Shriek! Horror! The
nightmare's gone real! Mighty tyrant Genseric is a blubbering wreck. Well,
you can imagine. Consternation, guards pouring in, the princess hysterical, the
Vandal prince thundering out Who's done what to Dad? while soldiers and slaves
mill about, during which saintly old Paulinus, kneeling with his trug, wonders,
what the hell happened, I miss something here? Then the princess howls, 'What's
in that frigging basket? That old slave sent Daddy demented! Execute him!'
Happy ending for once. Paulinus is leapt on and, knee-deep in
shackles and assorted ironmongery, admits all: ex-governor, Roman consul, etc,
etc. King Genseric, badly shaken, goes phew with relief, recovers his cool,
orders Paulinus freed, and sent home with a galley-load of freed slaves. It's
back to St Felix's shrine. When kindly old Paulinus eventually passed on,
people of every stripe followed his coffin weeping, 'even Jews and Infidels'
adds Gregory the Great -among, presumably, the few surviving Christians.
See what I mean? Portents. If you're a king of mighty armies like
Genseric the Vandal, I suppose you can escape blame by munificent gestures. But
somebody like me's for it. Maybe subconsciously I was trying to shun this
portent, knowing it would be fatal, but I still didn't have the sense to tell Juliana
Witherspoon a deafening no.
'Look, miss,' I said to her blinding torch. 'I kip naked, so wait
outside, please.'
'No, thank you.' She stood like a sentry, feet together. 'I fear
you may evade your duty, Love joy. I shall wait.'
Narked, I struggled to sit up. You can't be angry at a woman when
lying down. I've often tried. 'I didn't invite you - '
'Your reprehensible behaviour in avoiding my requests have
eradicated your rights, Lovejoy,' she had the gall to say.
'That's bloody convenient,' I shot back. I'd never get to sleep
now. 'What time is it?'
Ten to six. We have a journey ahead.'
Six o'clock on a cold rainy morning, and her bloke's antique due
to be stolen. Why the hurry, unless he lived on the Isle of Mull? Another lip
chew. It was worth a gnaw. I could see that.
She stepped to the door, raised her lamp, saw the shambles of
decrepit furniture and old clothes between the divan and the door, and nodded.
Her conclusion: nobody could reach the back door without a hang-glider.
'I shall switch off the light,' she pronounced firmly. ‘You will
please dress. My car is in the lane.'
'That'll ruin my reputation.' My drollery fell flat. The place
went dark. I groped for my things. It's as if my mind gets mad about things but
the person I am simply does as it's told. It narks me. I wish one or other of
me would make things easier, because one day both of me's going to come a
cropper. I dressed quickly, because a naked man looks stupid; it's naked women
look brilliant.
‘I’m death until I've swigged my morning tea.'
The torch lit the cottage. She tried to smooth her face, but the
light caught her in mid-hate.
'Why so . . .' She coloured, tried to end in a way that wouldn't
offend her mam. ‘So unkempt , Love
joy?'
'I haven't time for housework.' I was double nasty. 'Birds keep
barging in and molesting me in bed so I'm worn out.'
'That will do,' she said sternly, and watched as I got some
crumbs, a morsel of cheese and laid it by the porch.
'Bluetits and my robin,' I explained.
'Lock the door, Lovejoy.' I'd never met a lass like her for giving
orders - well, actually I have, but I meant today.
'No locks. Women keep battering in and molesting me - '
'Stop it, Lovejoy!' She went nuclear. I blundered into her on the
path. 'Your duty is
Paulinus to get a move on, bring the very best produce. This isn't some casual
caller, this is the mighty Genseric before whom empires tremble, so quick about
it. Frightened slaves scatter and sprint.
Enter Paulinus with a basket of fruit, stoops down, offering it.
King Genseric says hey, this looks the best. Says ta. He leans down - looks
into the old man's eyes . . .
Shriek! Horror! The
nightmare's gone real! Mighty tyrant Genseric is a blubbering wreck. Well,
you can imagine. Consternation, guards pouring in, the princess hysterical, the
Vandal prince thundering out Who's done what to Dad? while soldiers and slaves
mill about, during which saintly old Paulinus, kneeling with his trug, wonders,
what the hell happened, I miss something here? Then the princess howls, 'What's
in that frigging basket? That old slave sent Daddy demented! Execute him!'
Happy ending for once. Paulinus is leapt on and, knee-deep in
shackles and assorted ironmongery, admits all: ex-governor, Roman consul, etc,
etc. King Genseric, badly shaken, goes phew with relief, recovers his cool,
orders Paulinus freed, and sent home with a galley-load of freed slaves. It's
back to St Felix's shrine. When kindly old Paulinus eventually passed on,
people of every stripe followed his coffin weeping, 'even Jews and Infidels'
adds Gregory the Great -among, presumably, the few surviving Christians.
See what I mean? Portents. If you're a king of mighty armies like
Genseric the Vandal, I suppose you can escape blame by munificent gestures. But
somebody like me's for it. Maybe subconsciously I was trying to shun this
portent, knowing it would be fatal, but I still didn't have the sense to tell Juliana
Witherspoon a deafening no.
'Look, miss,' I said to her blinding torch. 'I kip naked, so wait
outside, please.'
'No, thank you.' She stood like a sentry, feet together. 'I fear
you may evade your duty, Love joy. I shall wait.'
Narked, I struggled to sit up. You can't be angry at a woman when
lying down. I've often tried. 'I didn't invite you - '
'Your reprehensible behaviour in avoiding my requests have
eradicated your rights, Lovejoy,' she had the gall to say.
'That's bloody convenient,' I shot back. I'd never get to sleep
now. 'What time is it?'
Ten to six. We have a journey ahead.'
Six o'clock on a cold rainy morning, and her bloke's antique due
to be stolen. Why the hurry, unless he lived on the Isle of Mull? Another lip
chew. It was worth a gnaw. I could see that.
She stepped to the door, raised her lamp, saw the shambles of
decrepit furniture and old clothes between the divan and the door, and nodded.
Her conclusion: nobody could reach the back door without a hang-glider.
'I shall switch off the light,' she pronounced firmly. ‘You will
please dress. My car is in the lane.'
'That'll ruin my reputation.' My drollery fell flat. The place
went dark. I groped for my things. It's as if my mind gets mad about things but
the person I am simply does as it's told. It narks me. I wish one or other of
me would make things easier, because one day both of me's going to come a
cropper. I dressed quickly, because a naked man looks stupid; it's naked women
look brilliant.
‘I’m death until I've swigged my morning tea.'
The torch lit the cottage. She tried to smooth her face, but the
light caught her in mid-hate.
'Why so . . .' She coloured, tried to end in a way that wouldn't
offend her mam. ‘So unkempt , Love
joy?'
'I haven't time for housework.' I was double nasty. 'Birds keep
barging in and molesting me in bed so I'm worn out.'
'That will do,' she said sternly, and watched as I got some
crumbs, a morsel of cheese and laid it by the porch.
'Bluetits and my robin,' I explained.
'Lock the door, Lovejoy.' I'd never met a lass like her for giving
orders - well, actually I have, but I meant today.
'No locks. Women keep battering in and molesting me - '
'Stop it, Lovejoy!' She went nuclear. I blundered into her on the
path. 'Your duty is
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