by John Patrick
The months past and no more was said about the stories. Then one day Morris announced there was to be a party. This was to be in lieu of the wedding celebration they never had. Their marriage had been hurried affair, coming just a few weeks after Monica and Elvis had moved from Bolton to London, both keen to make it official before the other could back out. There had been no time for invitations but Morris had promised a celebration at a later date to make up for it. Now, he was being true to his word and had invited his extended family to the house for a party. Monica, on the other hand, had no intention of letting her family know where she was living and had no London friends, so it was to be a one sided affair.
Monica and Elvis were nervous. Monica had been meaning to clean the house for days. Now it was the day of the party she was dashing around trying to quickly remove the worst of the mess and shouting at Elvis to help. Morris meanwhile continued to repair televisions in his shop. He promised he'd be home at least an hour before anyone arrived. Monica and Elvis put on their best clothes, Monica smoothed down her son's hair and they were as ready as they were going to be.
Elvis had been trying to picture Morris's family. All he really knew about Morris was that he mended televisions for a living, loved model trains and was Jewish. Not that he really said much about his faith; he made the odd comment to Monica about Elvis's lack of religion and his 'spiritual malnutrition' and there were a couple of ornaments that looked kind of Jewish, but that was about it. Morris didn't seem to ever visit the synagogue, Elvis had never seen anything resembling a Rabbi at the house and his voice didn't even sound Jewish. But Elvis had seen Jewish families in the movies and knew what to expect from the party. He knew there would be old men in black hats and long beards chanting from dusty, leather-clad books and women gossiping and telling him what he was doing wrong in his life. His biggest fear though was that they might try and force him to be Jewish. Ever since he'd heard they were coming he'd been waking in a cold sweat, a recurring nightmare where Monica and Morris held him down in a room full of people whilst a man in long black coat and hat performed circumcision with a pair of rusty scissors. And as Elvis didn't fully understand what circumcision meant, it was more than just a little skin that was snipped off each time.
Two o'clock arrived and so did the guests. Morris was still at the shop.
Monica was flustered. She stood behind the settee and flapped at Elvis to answer the door. 'Wait, wait! Come back here.' She pulled Elvis back, licked her hand and smoothed down his hair again. 'Be polite, say please and thank you.'
Elvis opened the door. There was nobody in Orthodox dress, no old books, but there was a long black beard. The facial hair belonged to a man dressed in a worn leather jacket, oily jeans and big black boots, his straggly hair and beard poking out from under his paratrooper helmet. Behind him a woman in matching outfit was struggling to climb out of a motorbike side-car. It must be a mistake. But just as Elvis was about to ask what he wanted, a horn tooted and into the drive came a 1950's Rolls Royce, followed by a battered, green Land Rover and a Volkswagen Kombi van. The doors opened and people flooded out. They were all shapes and sizes, young and old. Their attire ranged from nun's habits to crisp pin-striped suits to dirty blue overalls.
'Oh shit!' thought Elvis 'We're supposed to be in fancy dress!'
A shiny new Subaru Imprezza tried to squeeze into the drive too but there was no room. He blasted his poly-tone horn but nobody was paying attention, they were all pouring past Elvis into the house. The Subaru driver screamed his engine and drove his gold alloy wheels on to the edge of the garden and squeezed in alongside the VW. An ageing overweight man in a long black overcoat and balding head had to almost climb into the bush to get out. He swore and kicked the Kombi on his way to the house.
'Good afternoon.' Elvis said, with his best manners 'I'm really sorry I didn't know this was fancy dress. Who are you supposed to be?'
'Is that supposed to be funny? I don't like cheeky brats!' the man growled, then dropped his overcoat into Elvis's arms and marched into the house.
More vehicles arrived, a battered transit van, then an ice cream truck and a large silver Audi.
Morris's family weren't as Monica or Elvis had expected. They chattered to each other excitedly, they ate and drank everything that they could lay a hand on and within minutes the house was in chaos. Children ran and screamed from room to room, people sang and danced, tunes flowed from harmonicas and fiddles. They played cards on the floor and rolled dice for money. It made Monica's head spin. She took a large tumbler and a bottle of white wine and sat in the living room. She seemed to be invisible, so why not? Finally Morris returned home. He was engulfed with hugs and embraces and the music and dancing became even more vibrant.
Elvis took around some nibbles and snacks but no sooner had he offered the plate to the first few people and it was empty again. After half a dozen attempts he decided to let people help themselves. He sat at the end of a settee and chewed on a sandwich. A woman's hand gripped his wrist.
'I hope you said grace young man!'
Elvis looked to his right. The hand belonged to a freckle-faced nun who was was frowning sternly at him.
'God expects manners!'
Elvis looked around. There were people eating and drinking all around him, children throwing food at each other and half cleared plates and glasses crammed onto every available surface, but nobody giving up prayers in thanks.
'Come, we'll say grace together.' She fell to her knees and clasped her hands together before her chest.
Elvis looked on with some embarrassment.
'Come on boy'. The nun grabbed his arm and pulled Elvis down onto his knees alongside her. 'Dear God, for what this child of yours is about to receive, please make him eternally grateful, amen.' She turned to Elvis 'Now you eat, boy. Perhaps if you prayed more often then God might see fit to fix that cripple leg of yours.'
Elvis put the sandwich down. His appetite was gone.
'Eat it. Waste is a sin boy! There's people starving in Africa you know.'
Elvis wanted to ask how finishing his sandwich in London would help the starving in Africa, but he thought better of it. 'It needs... some salt' he explained. 'I'll go get some.'
Elvis went to the kitchen, dodging past rampaging children and a man working up a frenzy on his fiddle. He dropped his plate on the table and headed for the stairs. He'd had enough of this bedlam; it was time to go hide somewhere quiet. He headed for his bedroom, only to find it occupied by a group of seven and eight year old girls. They took one look at him and burst into fits of giggles. Elvis snatched his iPod from his desk and headed for the attic. He eased open the wooden hatch and was about to throw it open when he spied a circle of people sitting in the middle of the floor. They were sat on old boxes, crates and paint cans. The only person standing was the large man who'd arrived in the Subaru. He was sweating, red faced and clearly agitated.
'We will not fail, not this time!' he snarled. 'William, you've got to be more careful!'
A woman in motorbike leathers made a fake coughing sound and nodded towards Elvis. The conversation ceased and all heads span around to look at him. Elvis dropped the cover back down and started back down the stairs.
Morris chased after him. 'Elvis, wait! Come back!' he called down the stairs. 'Come meet my family!'
Morris introduced everyone in the circle in turn. There were eight of them in total, including Morris and his elderly assistant from the shop. He prefixed each name with 'your Aunt X' or your 'your Uncle Y' but somehow it didn't seem like meeting new family. Each person in the circle nodded, a couple shook hands. At the end of the introductions there was silence. They seemed to be looking at him as if he were a farm beast at auction.
''E don't look very strong. What's 'e like at carryin'?' asked an overweight woman in a purple ball gown.
Morris grimaced. 'Times have changed, there's not much carrying to be done here.'
'But 'e's lame. What you get a lame one for?' she went on.
Morri
s scowled at the woman.
The red faced man from the Subaru nudged her in the back with his knee and she went quiet. 'It's getting late... Morris.' he pointed out. 'Very nice to meet the young boy but we must get on.'
'Yes, of course.' said Morris. 'Elvis, go check on your mother and the other guests for me. Offer round a few snacks, there's a good boy.'
'But I've already...'
'Thank you young man.' The man from the Subaru walked across and held open the hatch.
Elvis made his way back downstairs.
By ten to midnight, Monica was snoring on the settee with two drained wine bottles at her side. Children lay sleeping across the floor and the dance music had slowed to a quiet drone on the harmonica. Morris announced the end of the party and parents carried their sleeping children back out to the vehicles. Elvis found the heavy black overcoat and returned it to the man from the Subaru. He took the coat without acknowledgement. He was busy saying goodbye to Morris.
'Now you won't forget, will you? I must be able to rely on you.'
'Yes, of course you can Bishop.' reassured Morris, 'Of course you can.'
The next day, after much paracetamol, Monica asked Morris how he came to have such a disparate family.
Morris shrugged. 'Free spirits Monica, they do what they want.'
'But they don't even look like you, or each other come to that. And why aren't they Jewish? How's that? Were you adopted?'
'You know you can't tell just by looking Monica.'
'Well, no... I suppose not.'
'What about those men dressed with the big white sheets and cloths on their heads? Were they Jewish?' asked Elvis.
Morris just smiled.
'And what about the nuns?' Elvis continued.
'No, Morris is right' interrupted Monica 'they were probably Jewish nuns. We shouldn't make assumptions Elvis.'
Morris smiled again. 'Those TV's won't fix themselves.' He picked up his coat and left.
Chapter 5
