The Most Selfish Man in All of Stretford
Roger didn’t consider himself a selfish man, and if the accusation were ever put to him, he could offer three items in his defense:
1. He did not covet. This was a simple fact, for while it was true that once a thing became Roger’s he was loath to part with it, he did not go about desiring every single thing he saw.
2. What he did want, would benefit others. For example: what Roger wanted most in the world was for Ruud van Nistelrooy to stay with Man U and get some bloody time on the field. Now who didn’t want that?
3. Roger took good care of his family. And if he did so to purchase silence from his wife, he still took care of them, and that, Roger would say, was the important thing.
One Sunday afternoon when he’d much rather be watching the match, Roger was instead following his family on an afternoon of taking in the garage sales—Roger thought of it as following, because he always seemed to be lagging behind his wife who sprinted from place to place like a rogue sow surrounded by a swarm of screaming piglets. Roger disliked shopping, because, as we have already said, he did not covet and would rather have his money than nearly anything it could be exchanged for, apart from the aforementioned silence.
Today Roger was buying that silence with his presence as well as his pounds, by carting the wife and fam to several outdoor sales that the wife had tracked down via notices in the Saturday paper. And even though he was the only man in England not watching the match, even though he’d already peeled away a week’s worth of wages on the contents of a dozen attics that would only go to fill their own attic nearer to bursting, he knew that these efforts would gain him only a day or two of peace at most. Around mid-week, he knew, the wife would invent some other thing to need desperately, and the silence would end. Roger was doing his best to keep a few pounds stashed away against that inevitable assault.
Then Roger found himself inexplicably drawn to a hideous object on display at an otherwise unremarkable garage sale at a large and impressive manor house. There, among the dusty lamps, wretched curios and ragged furniture, was the severed foot of an animal.
The foot was small, and seemed brittle. The three long claws of the prominent toes curled inwards against the palm as if the thing were still trying to make a fist long after being killed. No sooner had Roger picked the foot up than the withered old -- he guessed ‘proprietor’ would be the word, even though this wasn’t a proper shop-- rustled towards him in a cloud of attic dust and trailing cobwebs.
“Three wishes and three dooms the claw does hold!” the old man said, leering at Roger from one eye set above a grin featuring three dying teeth.
Roger didn’t want the foot, really, but the man’s sales pitch intrigued him. He decided to have a little fun. “That’s not very many,” he said. “Three wishes, I mean.”
“And three dooms,” reminded the old man.
“Yes, three of each, I get it. It’s still not very much. No matter how you slice it. And dooms? I know what wishes are, but what’s a doom, and why would a man like me pay out his hard-earned money to buy such things?”
“Each wish brings with it a doom,” the old man said. “The spirit that rules the paw exacts a terrible toll for each boon he grants.”
“I get it, Roger said, holding the foot up for a closer look. “It’s one of those monkey’s paw-type deals. But why’s the toes so long?”
“Well,” the old man began, a note of embarrassment sounding in his voice, “it’s the foot of a three-toed sloth.”
Roger frowned. “So it’s not even off a proper monkey?” He set the thing back down and wiped his hands on his trousers with an air of disgust. “Are you trying to pass a sloth foot off as a monkey’s paw? That’s criminal, that is.”
“But it will grant wishes!” the old man exclaimed. “And dooms! It will bring you happiness and despair as few men have ever known!”
“How much?” Roger asked.
“Two pounds,” the old man said.
“I’ll give you five pee.”
“Sold!” the old man cried, and he thrust the wretched thing into Roger’s startled hand. He yelled so loudly that Roger’s wife, a full three tables away across the lawn, heard the shout and fired off a glare at Roger that all but took his head off at the neck.
Roger had made the offer more or less as a joke, but now he could see he was stuck with the deal and he regretfully dug around in his trouser pockets for the coins while the wife shot fire from her eyes at him.
“I’m getting an early start on the dooms, thanks to you,” Roger said as he counted out the pence into the old man’s hands.
“That’s what you think,” the old man said. “Wait until you start making wishes on that bastard.”
“Why wait?” Roger said, “I wish I had my five pee back.”
No sooner had the words left Roger’s mouth than the skies—cloudy as was usual in Manchester- were ripped open by a bolt of lighting that bisected the old man with a million volts of pure power.
The blast knocked Roger back a dozen meters, where his trajectory was interrupted by his own minivan. Roger struck so hard that he dented the side panel and set the alarm to ringing. He blacked out for a time, but then came to -- ears ringing, sloth-paw in one hand, five warm but still spendable pence in the other.
#
The kids were at school, the wife at the market, and Roger on the sofa, watching the television and dulling his concussion with beer when the spirit of the paw appeared.
“How did you enjoy the first doom?” the spirit asked.
“It’s not too bad, really.” Roger said. “I mean, as far as dooms go. All I got was a hard knock and a week off. And I got my five pee back.” To Roger, that really seemed the most important thing.
“Ah, but do you not see the terrible fate that awaits you? See how the paw destroyed the old man? The curse of the paw?”
“I guess,” Roger said. “But then, the shape he was in, maybe it came as a relief, with the one eye and the three teeth, I mean”
“He was blown apart!” the spirit said, getting excited. “The same doom awaits you!”
“Being blown apart, you mean?” Roger asked.
“Something like that, something terrible.” Roger turned his attention back to the television.
There was a long pause. “How about the dent in the minivan?” the spirit asked after the silence had grown past awkward.
“Popped right out,” Roger said without turning to face the spirit.
“Well, you got off easy this time,” the spirit said, “but the next doom will tear your very world apart.”
“Well that’s not much incentive to keep wishing then, is it?” replied Roger.
“You will,” the spirit said with complete confidence. “You people always want something else.”
Roger pulled another beer from the tub near the couch and thought a moment. The Red Devils were top of the league, having put a scoreless Arsenal to bed in yesterday’s match. “I can’t think of anything,” he said.
“How about a new house?” the spirit suggested. “You can’t be happy with this crummy flat.”
Actually, Roger was, but the wife wasn’t, and if she wasn’t happy, he may as well be living under a bridge for all the pleasure she allowed him.
“Yeah, all right. A new house, then.”
The spirit cackled and disappeared just as the doorbell rang. Roger hauled his aching body off of the sofa to see what new doom his latest wish had brought.
To be concluded 2/21/2017
1. He did not covet. This was a simple fact, for while it was true that once a thing became Roger’s he was loath to part with it, he did not go about desiring every single thing he saw.
2. What he did want, would benefit others. For example: what Roger wanted most in the world was for Ruud van Nistelrooy to stay with Man U and get some bloody time on the field. Now who didn’t want that?
3. Roger took good care of his family. And if he did so to purchase silence from his wife, he still took care of them, and that, Roger would say, was the important thing.
One Sunday afternoon when he’d much rather be watching the match, Roger was instead following his family on an afternoon of taking in the garage sales—Roger thought of it as following, because he always seemed to be lagging behind his wife who sprinted from place to place like a rogue sow surrounded by a swarm of screaming piglets. Roger disliked shopping, because, as we have already said, he did not covet and would rather have his money than nearly anything it could be exchanged for, apart from the aforementioned silence.
Today Roger was buying that silence with his presence as well as his pounds, by carting the wife and fam to several outdoor sales that the wife had tracked down via notices in the Saturday paper. And even though he was the only man in England not watching the match, even though he’d already peeled away a week’s worth of wages on the contents of a dozen attics that would only go to fill their own attic nearer to bursting, he knew that these efforts would gain him only a day or two of peace at most. Around mid-week, he knew, the wife would invent some other thing to need desperately, and the silence would end. Roger was doing his best to keep a few pounds stashed away against that inevitable assault.
Then Roger found himself inexplicably drawn to a hideous object on display at an otherwise unremarkable garage sale at a large and impressive manor house. There, among the dusty lamps, wretched curios and ragged furniture, was the severed foot of an animal.
The foot was small, and seemed brittle. The three long claws of the prominent toes curled inwards against the palm as if the thing were still trying to make a fist long after being killed. No sooner had Roger picked the foot up than the withered old -- he guessed ‘proprietor’ would be the word, even though this wasn’t a proper shop-- rustled towards him in a cloud of attic dust and trailing cobwebs.
“Three wishes and three dooms the claw does hold!” the old man said, leering at Roger from one eye set above a grin featuring three dying teeth.
Roger didn’t want the foot, really, but the man’s sales pitch intrigued him. He decided to have a little fun. “That’s not very many,” he said. “Three wishes, I mean.”
“And three dooms,” reminded the old man.
“Yes, three of each, I get it. It’s still not very much. No matter how you slice it. And dooms? I know what wishes are, but what’s a doom, and why would a man like me pay out his hard-earned money to buy such things?”
“Each wish brings with it a doom,” the old man said. “The spirit that rules the paw exacts a terrible toll for each boon he grants.”
“I get it, Roger said, holding the foot up for a closer look. “It’s one of those monkey’s paw-type deals. But why’s the toes so long?”
“Well,” the old man began, a note of embarrassment sounding in his voice, “it’s the foot of a three-toed sloth.”
Roger frowned. “So it’s not even off a proper monkey?” He set the thing back down and wiped his hands on his trousers with an air of disgust. “Are you trying to pass a sloth foot off as a monkey’s paw? That’s criminal, that is.”
“But it will grant wishes!” the old man exclaimed. “And dooms! It will bring you happiness and despair as few men have ever known!”
“How much?” Roger asked.
“Two pounds,” the old man said.
“I’ll give you five pee.”
“Sold!” the old man cried, and he thrust the wretched thing into Roger’s startled hand. He yelled so loudly that Roger’s wife, a full three tables away across the lawn, heard the shout and fired off a glare at Roger that all but took his head off at the neck.
Roger had made the offer more or less as a joke, but now he could see he was stuck with the deal and he regretfully dug around in his trouser pockets for the coins while the wife shot fire from her eyes at him.
“I’m getting an early start on the dooms, thanks to you,” Roger said as he counted out the pence into the old man’s hands.
“That’s what you think,” the old man said. “Wait until you start making wishes on that bastard.”
“Why wait?” Roger said, “I wish I had my five pee back.”
No sooner had the words left Roger’s mouth than the skies—cloudy as was usual in Manchester- were ripped open by a bolt of lighting that bisected the old man with a million volts of pure power.
The blast knocked Roger back a dozen meters, where his trajectory was interrupted by his own minivan. Roger struck so hard that he dented the side panel and set the alarm to ringing. He blacked out for a time, but then came to -- ears ringing, sloth-paw in one hand, five warm but still spendable pence in the other.
#
The kids were at school, the wife at the market, and Roger on the sofa, watching the television and dulling his concussion with beer when the spirit of the paw appeared.
“How did you enjoy the first doom?” the spirit asked.
“It’s not too bad, really.” Roger said. “I mean, as far as dooms go. All I got was a hard knock and a week off. And I got my five pee back.” To Roger, that really seemed the most important thing.
“Ah, but do you not see the terrible fate that awaits you? See how the paw destroyed the old man? The curse of the paw?”
“I guess,” Roger said. “But then, the shape he was in, maybe it came as a relief, with the one eye and the three teeth, I mean”
“He was blown apart!” the spirit said, getting excited. “The same doom awaits you!”
“Being blown apart, you mean?” Roger asked.
“Something like that, something terrible.” Roger turned his attention back to the television.
There was a long pause. “How about the dent in the minivan?” the spirit asked after the silence had grown past awkward.
“Popped right out,” Roger said without turning to face the spirit.
“Well, you got off easy this time,” the spirit said, “but the next doom will tear your very world apart.”
“Well that’s not much incentive to keep wishing then, is it?” replied Roger.
“You will,” the spirit said with complete confidence. “You people always want something else.”
Roger pulled another beer from the tub near the couch and thought a moment. The Red Devils were top of the league, having put a scoreless Arsenal to bed in yesterday’s match. “I can’t think of anything,” he said.
“How about a new house?” the spirit suggested. “You can’t be happy with this crummy flat.”
Actually, Roger was, but the wife wasn’t, and if she wasn’t happy, he may as well be living under a bridge for all the pleasure she allowed him.
“Yeah, all right. A new house, then.”
The spirit cackled and disappeared just as the doorbell rang. Roger hauled his aching body off of the sofa to see what new doom his latest wish had brought.
To be concluded 2/21/2017
No comments have been added yet.
