by Stan Mason
She opened her eyes slowly, raising her hand to shied them from the light. ‘What time is it?’
‘Way past getting-up time. We both overslept. Why didn’t you come to bed last night?’
‘I did but you were twisting and turning. You needed a good night’s sleep. I suppose you’re off to Consolidated Stores for another load.’
‘Not this morning. I’ll go later. I might be able to get a load to Manchester or Newcastle and come back here tomorrow.’
‘Manchester?’ she questioned. In her mind there was only one thought... he wanted to go there to spend another night in the arms of that woman he knew. He yawned and stretched himself For the first time she noticed how much weight he had gained. He was becoming a dismal worried middle-aged man with a paunch. ’Tell me honestly,’ she persisted. ’Are you going to see that woman again?’
He screwed up his face in an act of frustration. ’How many times do I have to tell you there is no other woman!’ he snapped angrily. ’No other woman!’
’You can tell me that a million times, Jim, but I smelled her perfume on you. Of that there’s no doubt. I know full well what you’re up to!’
‘I’ve got enough on my plate without you yammering on about some woman,’ he retorted irately. ‘Pack it in! I’m getting fed up with arguments in this house and I’m not going to take any more! Can you get that through your thick head!’
‘You can’t bluster your way out of this. Jim. It’s the truth! You can’t have two women in your life and get away with it! Not as far as I’m concerned!’
‘Well then you bugger off!’ he shouted rudely. ‘Go on... bugger off!’ He drew back his arm and threw his mug against the wall smashing it to pieces, causing the remains of the tea it contained to run down the wall in streaks.
His wife was appalled by his actions and she stared at the wall in disbelief. ‘You stupid bastard!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, ruining my home! Look at the wallpaper... you’ve stained it for good!’
‘Well it won’t be your home for much longer,’ he riposted sharply. ‘Not when the bank gets its hands on it! So a drop of tea on the wall won’t make the slightest bit of difference!’
He stormed out of the room in a temper and made for the front door,.
His wife followed him to the doorway. ‘Where are you going now?’ she demanded.
‘That’s my business!’ he snapped. ‘’m not going out to find a woman if that’s what you think!’ He paused to stare at her for a moment. ‘What do you think I am at my time of life... a bloody male stud? I’m a truck driver, for God’s sake! A man with a dying business. I’ve got no time for women... especially if they’re like you!’
He left quickly after his final disparaging remark, slamming the door behind him. Women were the bitter end! They were all nice and lovely when romance was in the air or if one could afford the luxuries and trivia they fancied. But when the chips were down, after some years of marriage, there were few willing to knuckle down to understand or care about a man and his problems. They just didn’t want to know! Well he would leave her to the comfort of her travel books and her fanciful dreams and return home on some other occasion when she might be in a better mood.
In the meantime, he was off to find some peace and quiet. As a result of his anger, he had no idea of what he intended to do. He climbed into the cabin of his truck and set off at random in a southerly direction. After driving for half-an-hour, he reached th countryside, passing road signs which signified that a charity fair was taking place nearby. He drove the vehicle into a field reserved for parking and alighted hoping to find something to cheer him up. It was too early in the day for the fair to be in action and he found himself alone. The ferris-wheel towered over everything from its location in the centre of the field with the wind whistling lightly through its empty cradles. The other rides were still and quiet resting rigidly in a kind of mechanical hibernation. Purdy closed his eyes momentarily, experiencing the nauseating effect of the ferris-wheel turning incessantly, and the impact of the dodgem cars as he imagined them crashing against each other. Then he opened them to witness the miscellany of stalls which lent themselves towards less active events, embellished by bright pelmet boards and multi-coloured signs. Everything was quiet now and it all looked ordinary in the cold light of day. The spectrum of glorious-coloured lights, which had been tested earlier in the day, were now switched off. The cold blind bulbs waited patiently for the next surge of power required to enable them to renew their onslaught against the shadows of the night, starting when the light began to fail. The silence which prevailed on the dull morning seemed to strain the air like a hangover as the music machines sat mutely, appearing to have choked on the cacophony of sound which had broken most acceptable decibel barriers of the human ear only the night before. All the side shows were tightly secured with large wooden boards to prevent vandals from inflicting serious damage and causing disruption to the pleasure of visitors to the fair.
Purdy strolled over the field taking in the silence as he passed the time of day in its idlest fashion. As he neared the perimeter, he spotted a fortune-teller dressed in Arab garments topped by a large blue turban on his head.
‘What time does the fair start?’ he enquired catching up with the man.
‘Later this afternoon,’ came the answer. ‘About four o’clock. It’s all in aid of charity. But if you want your fortune told I’ll do it for you now.’
A slight smile appeared at the truck driver’s mouth. Fortune-telling was an entertainment for young girls and stupid women... not for men. He had never had his fortune told to him in his life. In any case, all fortune-tellers were charlatans. They simply made it all up just to make some money.
‘I don’t think so,’ he returned with an element of amusement.
‘It’s all for charity,’ repeated the fortune-teller. ‘Com on, I’ll do it for you now!’ He disappeared into the tent expecting the driver to follow him inside.
Purdy looked around the field to check that no one could see him and then considered the invitation. ‘What the hell!’ he muttered to himself. If he ever needed his fortune told, now was the time!
Inside the tent the light was dim. A black cloth had been draped all around the tent covered with paper moons, pentacles, stars and other occult signs pinned to it to heighten the image and to create an aura of authenticity. In the centre there was a small table on which had been placed a crystal ball resting on a velvet cloth. Two chairs had been installed, opposite each other, for the fortune-teller and his clients.
‘I hope you’re not going to charge me for this,’ said Purdy sceptically, still with the hint of amusement in his voice. In his youth he had taunted your women who had queued up waiting to have their fortunes told. The had wanted to know whether they would meet a young handsome man... or a rich one... whether they would marry them... and how many children they would have. The truck driver was less than interested in such domestic matters. He wanted to know what destiny held for him over the next few months... nothing more. In his opinion, to delve into the future could be dangers and extremely unlucky. It could lead him to make decisions about his future that he would never have taken had he remained ignorant of what was to come. Of course, he thought to himself, it’s all rubbish really! Just a fun thing to make money for a good cause.
‘There’s no charge,’ returned the man. ‘It’s all for charity. It’s up to you what you want to give. Donations have been as small as a small coin of the realm to a ten pound note. It’s entirely up to you. Now if you’ll kindly take a seat we’ll begin.’ The two men sat opposite each other while the fortune-teller stared hard at the crystal ball. He paused after a while to adjust his turban which began to slip off his head causing some degree of amusement for his client. Then he focussed his attention on the oracle and his eyes opened widely. ‘You are a married man wh
o’s not in total harmony with his wife.’
‘Is that what it says in the crystal ball?’ asked Purdy with contempt, for a statement of that kind would have fitted over ninety per cent of middle-aged men.
‘No,’ retorted the fortune-teller, ‘it’s a sense I feel in this tent.’
‘You mean you noticed I’m wearing a wedding ring on the fourth finger of my left hand to prove I’m married. And at my age, having been married for many years, it’s certain that couples often fight with each other.’
‘Sir! Riposted the prophet angry at the truck driver’s interruptions. ‘We do not practice onychomancy here! And you’re not helping by interrupting the rites!’
‘Onychomancy! What’s that?’
‘It’s the superstition of prognostication by finger rings. We don’t practice that here.’ He stretched his fingers out and moved them over the crystal ball several times. ‘It’s cloudy at the moment,’ he informed his client, lowering his voice to engender a sense of spiritual feeling. ‘Everything’s in a mist. We shall have to wait until the cloud clears before I can reveal anything to you.’
Purdy felt very foolish sitting in the fortune-teller’s tent with the man who obviously was playing out a charade for charity. He was probably employed as a clerk with the Local Authority undertaking mundane clerical duties during the week but had been encouraged to help out the cause at the fete. After all, no one really took any notice of the predictions of fortune-tellers. They wer all too bizarre! He looked around at the stars and pentacles and moons in a bored fashion feeling like a complete idiot but, now that he was there, he would listen to whatever the man had to say. It would always be good. They were never allowed to tell people bad things that might happen to them.
The soothsayer suddenly began to doubt the wisdom of inviting the stranger into his tent. Generally clients were immature girls or women seeking domestic trivia. He would conjure up an imaginary situation relating to good-looking boyfriends, husbands, lovers, marriage, children a home, travel or money. Their laughter would ring in his ears as they left the tent and told their friends the predictions. ’Four children!’ some of the would say in amusement. ’Four children and my husband will look like a film star with blue eyes and fair hair. We’re going to own a big house and live happily ever after!’ It was easy... so easy! Except on this occasion. The man in front of him was very different. What could he say to him? Clearly he was a truck driver for he had seen him park his lorry at the other end of the field. Surface information was unhelpful for Purdy was unshaven and dressed in his overalls. It was obvious from the man’s face that he was going through a bad time. The bloodshot eyes, the haggard expression and the bags under his eyes gave the game away. The crystal gazer feared that his client could become rather ugly if he said something untoward or offered information which might seem offensive. It was only for charity after all! Then he realised that he was alone in the fairground with a stranger and was unable to secure any help if he was attacked. So he stared at the crystal ball intently, waving his hands in front of it as though he could clear the mist by physical means. After a while, his face lit up as his eyes fixed momentarily to glance at the truck driver.
‘It’s clearing!’ he told him with an edge of excitement in his voice. ‘It’s actually clearing!’
‘What can you see?’ asked Purdy looking at the man sceptically.
‘I see the image of you quite clearly.’ He seemed quite surprised because he could actually see the picture as though watching a television screen. ‘You’re driving a large lorry along the road. I can even read the registration number.’
The truck drive raised his eyes to the roof in a bored fashion as though seeming help from a higher authority to relieve his frustration. It was patently clear that the man had read the number on his lorry the moment he entered the field. There was no mystery in this kind of augury. ‘Do get n with it!’ he muttered impatiently, regretting having to agreed to the session. An urge came over him to place something in the charity box as a token and leave the tent, but the tone of the man’s voice made him hesitate.
‘You’re driving along a road. Not a main road. There are houses and bungalows on each side. It’s dark and drizzling... no, it’s snowing. You can’t see very much in your headlights. There’s a dog running across the road. Your lorry swerves... it skids to the far side. I can see two people on the pavement. Oh, my God! Your lorry has hit the one nearest the kerb and thrown them into the middle of the road. It’s all yellow. They’re wearing yellow. I think I just saw you kill someone in a road accident. But is it in the past or the future?’
‘What do you mean by that damn-fool question?’ demanded Purdy, his heart beating like a steam hammer.
‘I saw it all in the crystal ball. It was there!’
That’s why you’re a fortune-teller. You make up stories to frighten people.’
‘You don’t get the point,’ bellowed the man with fear as he turned a deathly shade of pale. ‘I’m an accountant. I don’t know anything about fortune-telling. I’m just helping out the charity. I’m a fake with no powers at all. Yet I could see it all in the crystal ball as though it was really happening. You must have killed someone. I think I’d like you to leave... please!’
‘Let me see that crystal ball!’ insisted the truck driver irately, moving his hands towards it.
A that moment, the fortune-teller got to his fee in panic knocking the table forward accidentally. The crystal ball rolled out of the reach of the truck driver’s hand and fell to the floor, rolling with the slope of the field out of the canvas tent. They raced outside to see it disappear down the slope as though it had a mind of its own and they chased after it. However it continued to race ahead of them until it reached some dense undergrowth beside a stream,
‘I want that crystal ball!’ shouted Purdy as though his life depended on it. ‘I want it!’
‘It was like looking at a television screen and watching a programme,’ confessed the fortune-teller, panting and puffing with the effort. ‘I could see it all as though I had psychic powers!’
They searched through the undergrowth feverishly trying to find it but, despite their joint efforts, the crystal ball remained elusive.
‘t must have fallen in the stream and floated away,’ suggested the fortune-teller. ‘Perhaps it has a mind of its own and doesn’t want to be found.’
‘What you need is another crystal ball to find out where this one’s got to,’ muttered the truck driver with an element of amusement. ‘Fortune-tellers! Huh! Stupid bastards!’
He gave up the hunt and walked back to his vehicle where he climbed into the cabin and rested his head. The flash of yellow raced across his mind again and he felt rage building up inside him. He was no longer capable of freeing himself from the woman. She had appeared to him, spoken to him, and created an image in his mind so that he witnessed a flash of yellow whenever she wanted him to see it. Now she was getting through to him by other means such as the crystal ball of a fake fortune-teller. Her intimidation from beyond the grave was becoming a serious matter and he didn’t know how to counter it. He drove home where his wife stared at him gloomily but failed to speak.
‘I see!’ he began bitterly. ‘We’re not speaking now. What chance do we have if you’re never going to speak to me?’
‘What do you expect me to do?’ she retorted. ‘Dive into yur arms like a lovesick maid? You’ve already told me you’ve got no time for women... especially if they’re anything like me!’
He flapped his arms like a wounded seal and twisted his face as though in pain. ‘I said that in the heat of the moment. I didn’t mean it.’
‘You’re running very close to the wind, Jim Purdy!’ she reproached. ‘You’re a doomed man, clutching at straws, lashing out to the only person willing to help you. Take care you don’t end up your days alone!’
‘Is that some kind of threa
t?’
‘It’s a warning. you’re in no position to start throwing mugs of tea around and shouting at me as though I’m just a housekeeper. I’m your wife and I expect to be treated with respect. If you’ve got another woman in Manchester, it’s best you go and live with her. And good luck to the both of you!’
If human-beings could flare their nostrils and shoot flames through them like a dragon, the truck driver would have done so there and then. ‘Listen, woman!’ he shouted. ‘I don’t tell you how to lead your life and I don’t expect you to tell me how to run mine! Is that understood?’
‘The only thing I understand is that you don’t understand,’ she riposted sharply. ‘It’s nothing new between us but this time it may be important enough to count.’
He threw his hands into the air and walked out of the house. She stared out of the window as he went towards the garage and brought out a hammer. Gently, he began to knock out the dent caused when he struck the special policeman on the motorway. When he had finished, he rubbed down the paintwork with an abrasive cloth and then repainted the area. No one would ever believe it had been dented. Then he heard Jennifer’s voice echoing in his ear. ‘You might have thought about running me down but you already did that! You already did that! You already did that! You already did that!’ Her words kept reverberating in his head and he released a scream holding his hands over his ears. He collapsed to the ground as a flash of yellow crossed his mind again. She wouldn’t leave him alone... not for a day... not for an hour... not for a minute... not for a second!
Chapter Nine
For over two hundred years, the church of St. Michael’s had been open to anyone seeking sanction, solitude, silence or prayer. After a series of wilful robberies in which valuable candlesticks and artefacts had been stolen, and the perpetration of damage to the stained-glass windows, the walls and the altar, the door was firmly locked at night. Additionally, a large padlock secured a thick metal chain interwoven around the bars of the wrought-iron gate at the main entrance to prevent mindless vandals the opportunity to desecrate graves in the cemetery. Civilisation had arrived at a point where nothing was sacred and it was not possible to use the church at a time when it was most needed as they had to be barred and locked when unattended by the clergy.
