A play on words – an excerpt from Oracle in the Mist

Please remember that the children’s books were written as a collaborative project with my children when we were homeschooling in 2008. They were written pre-University and were more a fun thing to do than a serious attempt at literature.

Bobby and David are about to have the adventure of a lifetime but first they must extract information from a whiskey-drinking con-man who will only co-operate if his demands are met:

“Excuse me,” Bobby said quite loudly, as he appeared to be in quite a deep slumber. “I’m sorry to disturb you but I heard you might be able to tell me more about the night of the alien ship sighting back in 1930.”

“Wot’s dat yer sayin’?” came the answer in a hiss.

“I said, I’m sorry to have disturbed you but …”

“Nah, nah, don’t be sorry now lass,” he insisted, rousing himself, “‘ey, it looks like yor in da right place at da right time acause me ol’ Da, God bless ‘im, I’m Samuel Rankin, jus’ ‘appened to be de ol’ geezer ‘o saw dat alien spacecraft. You can mark my words, missy; dat is no word of a lie. ‘E was da one dat paper interviewed, like.” He looked up at Bobby and she was able to see him properly at last. Even though he was toothless and smelt of a vile mixture of whiskey and filth she had a feeling she should listen to what he had to say…

“Or right den,” said the old man but then he began to cough and splutter as if there was a fur ball stuck in his throat. “Aw, would ya look a’ dat? Me ‘ealth isn’ wot it used to be, dats for sure.”

… “Jus’ when I goes ta tell me dory, me blasted t’roat goes an’ closes right up on me, like. Ya jus’ wouldn’ read ’bout it would ya now?”

“Can I get you a drink? Would you like a milkshake?” Bobby offered kindly.

“I was tinkin’ a bottle of whiskey would be more me speed, Lassie.”

… “I’ll get you some whiskey. Is there anything else?” she offered…

“Aw, would ya lass? Der’s a good girl. An’ ol’ codger da likes a me gets a rumblin’ in ‘is tummy, ya know, being breakie time an’ all. Dat would be grand, girlie. I’m tinkin’ a roast beef roll with extra lashin’s of gravy and can ya get me some more ciggies too luv? Marlboro is me fave.”

“Certainly,” said Bobby and the old man continued to do the fur ball cough.

…Bobby returned with what the old man had requested. The children then had to stand by and witness the man eating as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks and then wash each mouthful down with the whiskey… every now and then the old man would look up at the children and mutter a food and whiskey-saturated “yeah, an'” or an “I will tell ya, ‘ang on”.

…”Orrighty den,” the old man finally said, “now where were I?” He opened his new cigarettes and lit one up. “Aw dat’s right… Now where were I?” he said yet again. “Ah yeah, I ‘members now, I do… me poor ol’ Da; dis strange occu’rence ‘appened to ‘im, ya see, an’ den ‘e wos neva da same again.”

The old man looked thoughtfully up to the sky as if he could actually see his father there.

“I’tweren’t acause ‘e’d changed, aw anyting like dat. No i’twas dat all da peoples of dis town changed t’ward ‘im afta da inc’dent. All a sud’en like, no one, not one single person took ‘im seri’us anymore. I canna tink why e’ver. An it drove ‘im mad as ya’d ‘xpect. An’ not one livin’ soul in dis town, you mark my words now, b’lieved ‘im an’ then i’twas like day kinda felt sorry for ‘im or some’in.

But not e’nuff to give ‘im a job or a chance like or ta ‘elp ‘im when da chips were down, which dey were of’en alieve me.

He stopped then and looked up at the sky again. He shook his head and wiped his eyes even though there were no tears there and then lit up another cigarette and blew smoke rings into the sky. He kept shaking his head as if in disbelief and then lit another cigarette from the one in his hand.

“Ahh, me poor ol’ Da,” he said finally, just when Bobby was beginning to think he would never get to the story. “I’m tearin’ up, ya know, jus’ tinkin’ ’bout ‘im. “e was ‘armless too, as ‘armless as dey come. Anyway, I best be off den.” And he took his cigarettes and stood up to leave.

“But,” Bobby said in alarm, “you haven’t told us the story yet!”

“Wot ‘tory’s dat lass?” he asked earnestly.

“The story about what happened to your father on that night in 1930, remember?”

“Aw, didn’ I tell ya dat part yet missy?” he sat scratching his head. “Ya have da forgive me lass, me mind’s not as sharp as it used to be … and,” he took his hand to his throat, clasping it. “It’s jus’ dat me troat’s closin’ up agin, like. It needs summin’ cold an’ wet slidin’ down it like.”

“That’s it! We’re going. Can’t you see there is no story? It’s all a con job,” David said, fuming and he took Bobby’s arm and turned to leave.

“Oh orright, orright, sit down den an’ I’ll tell ya. Gawd, come on Mr Ser’us. Ya can’t blame an’ ol’ codger like me fa tryin’ it on now, can ya?” and he laughed long and hard and slapped his own knee, the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Ya shoulda seen ya face jus’ now lad. Ya look like I’m torturin’ ya or sometin.”

🙂

Disclaimer: Please note that these words in no way reflect the life philosophies of the writer. If the words from the book Oracle in the Mist resemble any persons alive or deceased, it is quite by accident as this is a WORK OF FICTION.

©LMM