Author: Alexander Fawn

He had always been fond of finding bargains in village jumble sales.

Despite being comfortably off, he could never resist them. To his way of thinking, it was amazing what could be picked up for next to nothing. On this occasion, having recently moved into a larger house, he was looking for anything he could use for the study he was setting up in their spare room. It was a large room that had previously been a bedroom. His wife had insisted that he give the walls a coat of paint, but beyond that, he could do whatever he liked. He had a chair, a desk, a bookcase and a filing cabinet already. He now needed something to make the space more personal. He didn’t want anything too modern. No, not at all.

He found something straight away. The cylindrical-shaped flower vase he was looking at would be a nice touch. It had an old-fashioned pattern in sepia, giving it an old-worldly look. It would be ideal for pens and pencils. He bought it.

Pleased with his instant find, he moved on. He now needed to concentrate on the main requirement, something for the room’s back wall. Currently, it was just a large bare area. He soon found a table with wall-hangings and a few small paintings, but nothing large enough to do the job. He was about to move on, when he noticed a large picture covered with a sheet, leaning against the wall behind. He asked the seller, an elderly gentleman, if he could take a look. What he saw when the sheet was removed, literally made his heart leap!

It was an old oil-painting that had seen better days, but had just the right feel of ‘times-gone-by’ that he was after. It was fairly large, just right for his wall. It showed a man and a woman, both dressed in black, with large, white ruffs. He guessed it was a scene from around the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. He bought it for a song and couldn’t be happier.

When he got it home, his wife liked the pencil and pen holder, but didn’t think much of the painting, but she was happy that he was happy. On the following day he spent time putting it up in his new study, just where he wanted it. He stood back admiring it for a while, before calling his wife in. They stood and looked at it together.

What neither of them knew was that some thirty-odd years ago, two thieves, both dressed in police uniforms, entered the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, Massachusetts and left with thirteen pieces of art valued at around half a billion dollars. To this day, none of these have ever been recovered.

One of these pieces was an oil-on-canvas painting, titled ‘A Lady and Gentleman in Black’ by Rembrandt.

In the whole scheme of things, it really is best that they know nothing of that.

The boy stood beside his mother while she made enquiries about the amount of material she needs.

He had been picked up from school and they were on their way home. He was staring at a nearby hanging of bright red curtain material. There was something mesmerizing about the colour. There seemed to be something strangely familiar about it, but he didn’t know what it was. His mother was busy getting advice from the assistant, giving him time to work on it. He took a few steps towards it and ran his finger down the material, but it didn’t help. The material his mum required was being wrapped and soon after they were going through the checkout. He was occasionally looking back, still trying to make out some kind of connection.

It was on the drive home when it came to him. He smothered a snigger as he finally figured it out. It had happened during the morning’s science class. It was the colour of his teacher’s cheeks when he had knocked over a large bottle of flammable liquid that covered the benchtop, then, reaching for the cloth to start mopping it up, had toppled the Bunsen burner on to its side, setting light to everything…

Yes, he thought, it was the exact same colour!

He stood for a long moment with his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

Was he falling off a horse or caught in an avalanche? Was he running for his life? Was he trapped under ice or being mauled by a lion? Was he being held in a cage or struck by lightning? Was he being shot at or trapped in a house fire? Was he being hit by a truck or buried alive? Was he being swallowed in quicksand or drowning out at sea? Was he falling off a cliff or being attacked by rabid dogs? Was he being bitten by a venomous snake or chased by cannibals?

No, not at all.

None of these things were happening…

He was grateful for that.

He decided not to dwell on these things.

Instead, he made himself a fried egg sandwich and listened to Handel’s Zadok the Priest.

His annual leave was confirmed and he had set his mind on going somewhere warm.

The year had been a particularly cold one. He’d spent a number of evenings on the Net, checking out the available flights and accommodation packages. Asia looked good. In fact, he had already decided to spend a week at a particular beach resort. He made notes about the chosen package. The timing was good because he had a work-free day coming up and he could go into town and get it booked. He could probably pick up a brochure at the same time. There were any number of travel agencies in town, but a few weeks back he’d found a glossy leaflet in his junk mail and held on to it. The Ersatz Travel Agency sounded very professional and they had a fifteen-percent-off deal for anyone producing the flyer.

On the day, he got into town early. It was very cold. On his way to the address given, he was thinking about being somewhere warm. As it happened, when he got there, he found the agency literally opening up as he peered through the window. A very nice lady let him in. She looked very smart in her professional uniform. She pointed to a chair in the reception area. “Please take a seat,” she said, before going behind the counter. “I won’t be a moment,” she said, and spent a minute or two setting up her computer before looking up.

She said, “Thank you, sir, for your patience. How can we help you today?”

Getting up, he said, “No problem. I’m here to make a booking…” He took out the leaflet. “I have one of these.”

She took it. “Ah! Very good. A young man will be with you shortly. Please wait there a moment.” She opened a side door and disappeared.

He was dreaming about being somewhere warm again, when he heard the front door open and watched as a number of customers trickled in. They all queued up along the counter.

A couple more, uncomfortable minutes passed, before a young man, rather scruffily dressed, took his place behind the counter.

“What did you want? he began.

Taken aback by the man’s attitude, he said, “Well, as I told the lady, I’d like to make a booking.”

“What sort of booking?”

Frowning, he said, “Em, a travel booking, of course.”

“Of course,” the man repeated. “You’ve probably got something in mind, I suppose.”

“I have, yes.” He started to think about being somewhere warm yet again, as he handed over his notes.”

Reading through it, the young man sniggered. Looking up, he said, “We can’t book this.”

Feeling the anger rising, he said, “Whyever not?”

“Just don’t like the look of it.”

At this, the other looked around, trying to ignore the queue. “There must be someone else I can talk to.”

“No mate. I’m it… and you don’t have to be rude!”

“Me? Rude? I think your behaviour is disgusting. I’ve a good mind to report you!”

The other scoffed, then, raising his voice, he said, “Look here. I’m trying to help you. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here!”

“Listen! How dare you talk to me like that?”

At this point, the side door suddenly swung open and the lady came out. She said, “OK. That’ll do,” in a remarkably calm voice. With a grin, the young man went through and closed it behind him.

Completely confused by all that was happening, the man who had simply wanted to make a booking, looked with a pleading expression as she took her place behind the counter.

“I just wanted to make a booking,” he murmured.

She nodded slowly. “Yes, well, you need to go to a travel agency for that.”

He stepped back and looked around. “This is a travel agency!” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “I saw you switch your computer on. You can book anything you want.”

“Oh! That? No that’s just me logging in to my latest word game.” She put her head to one side. “No, sir,” she said, politely. “This is a Customer Support Training facility.”

“A what?”

“A training facility. It’s the very latest idea. It’s a government funded program designed to train customer support workers when handling rude customers.”

Gobsmacked by the notion, he just stood for a moment, trying hard to take it all in. He felt lost for words. He realised that the idea of being somewhere warm was the only thing that kept him going.

Smiling at the people queuing, she waved her hand and they all trouped out.

“That was stage one,” she said.

“But…” he began, “the Ersatz Travel Agency?”

“Yes. Clever that, really,” she said with a smile. “Ersatz; a German word for something fake or substituted.”

He looked around again. “But… you can’t possibly get away with this! I mean, it has to be illegal to con people into coming here.”

“No. I assure you; the legal people gave the program the green light. There’s no chance of anyone suing.”

“But, your customers… your fake customers, they’re going to get very angry when they find out they’ve been hoodwinked by you people.”

She nodded in agreement. “This is stage two.” She put her palms up.

“Angry, yes, and rude; very rude some of them. That’s the whole point, d’you see? That’s what it’s all about. It’s what we do here. It has to be as realistic as possible. It’s all in the very nature of it; for the training, I mean.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I suppose so, but I’m extremely annoyed about the whole thing.”

She smiled at him, knowingly. “I know you are, but not very rude.”

“I’m not?”

“No. In fact, I think you qualify for one of these.” She reached under the counter and handed him a slip of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A free lunch voucher, valid in the food hall at the local shopping centre.”

He took it with a nod.

She said, “The Minister for Training is normally here to hand these out, but he’s away on holiday this week; somewhere in Asia, I think.”

On his way out into the street, he felt a blast of cold air. Once more, he began thinking about being somewhere warm.

You would have to say, the woman was a constant visitor.

Every day, at the same time, she would come into the cemetery carrying a large bag and take from it her little fold-up stool. At this same grave, with its marble headstone, she would settle down for anything up to an hour. She would talk to him constantly, only taking the occasional breather to pause and look around at what she saw was a lovely and fitting environment for him. Then, there was the sadness. The self-recrimination, the crying and the ongoing guilt. It is not clear what brings this on so regularly during her times there. Perhaps she was in some way responsible for his passing. Maybe, she had seen him off and had managed to get away with it; or there again, maybe she hadn’t.

Meanwhile, there are times when she, the one that constantly listens to these communications, tires of them. She tires of the repetition. Although, she thinks it’s all quite understandable, she knows that the man that the woman comes to visit has fully passed over long ago.

Whereas, she, his old neighbour, on the other hand…hasn’t!

Only he really knows how this could advance his ongoing plan.

There’s been a lot going on up there of late. Weeks, no months of excitement and expectancy, with rallies and marches. There have been campaigns, posters, slogans, speeches and debates. Of cause, there are the polls, so evenly balanced. Which way will it swing? The whole nation up there has been going nuts. He, like millions of others, holds his fiery breath. Preparations are in place should it all go his way. The giant celebratory bell that sits atop the great gateway is made ready to sound…

The outcome of all this frenzy, all this madness could bring him one step closer to furthering his plan. A great boost to his steady progress in converting the world above into a second domain for him to rule.

The results are in…

Let the great bell ring out with the sound of victory!

He sat looking at the paperwork spread over his large desk; it had arrived late.

It had arrived very late. With a sigh, he looked up out of the window. He lifted his reading glasses and peered across at the rocket, sitting on the pad. Some sort of mix-up in Admin, he’d been told. It was so easy to get the calculations wrong. History supported that notion. Nobody likes watching an interplanetary spacecraft blow up before it’s even out of sight. Quite apart from the huge expense involved, nobody really likes it. That’s why it had been decided that when Admin had finished doing what it does to bring it all together, the final check falls to the Senior Launch-Ready Estimates Authenticator. Although he had never understood why they used the word, ‘Senior’, he knew he was getting on a bit, but there was only one authenticator, and that was him!

Glasses back on, he stared down at the paperwork again.

That’s why it was always left to him to do the final check. The weights, volumes, tensile strengths, fuel load, etcetera, etcetera. All of this was now represented by the spreadsheets, graphs, calculations and countless documents scattered across his desk.

He looked at the phone sitting on his distant credenza. No one had called… they wouldn’t dare. These last-minute delays are always avoidable. They should know that. Anyway, they are all well aware of what happened that time when somebody had tried to rush him.

With another sigh, he began to think about biscuits.

There were times when he fancied something with chocolate on it, but not always. In fact, although the vanilla-flavoured wafer things were quite bland, the enjoyment came when you bit into them. That crackling sound you got was something quite special. He closed his eyes and smiled, momentarily. There again, there were always those soft and sugary Anzac biscuits. They were always there!

He bent down, clicked open his briefcase and brought out his thermos. Pushing paperwork out of the way, he set it down. Next came the container with a great variety of biscuits.

She used to give him sandwiches, but these go so much better with coffee…

The girl stood perfectly still before her full-length mirror.

Daylight was gradually sweeping into her bedroom and the bus ride to school was drawing closer by the minute. She had time. Time before she was given a geeing up from her mother. She always made time for the movements. Slowly, her arms were extended to either side. Then, taking only some twenty-odd seconds, a ritual of palms rotating, elbows bending, arms raised above the head, then gradually being lowered in front of her where her fingers were laced for a moment, then pulled apart. All of this, having been repeated so many times, was performed perfectly. She smiled at her reflection, knowing that this short ceremony would ensure her ongoing happiness throughout her day.

There may be those who have grave doubts about the validity of such a thing, but there again… what possible harm could there be in believing that this would bring about the desired effect?

Provided, of course, that the movements were exactly right.

He was an adorable and completely well-behaved dog.

Anyone would have to say that he was absolutely loveable. He didn’t understand what was going on with the cup. After all, he hardly ever barked, and when he did it was only soft and quite easy on the ears. He loves it when people want to pet and stroke him. He was always available if anyone wanted to cuddle him. He was more than willing to curl up and make himself comfortable on any lap that was offered.

It was strange that this woman was offering him pills in a tiny cup. She was being quite insistent.

All he could do was give her a loving lick on her bare arm.

“Enough with the licking, Harry, you’re not a dog. Just take your medication.”

It is fair to say that the boy was mischievous.

He wasn’t much interested in school, but today’s lesson about ambiguity had him paying attention. She gave examples of ambiguous words by writing them up on the blackboard. Then, she gave some examples. She started with the word ‘star’. This could mean a movie star or a star in the sky. Then came the word ‘bulb’. This could mean a light bulb or an onion. There was ‘ruler’, like a king or something to measure things with. ‘Bank’ could mean where money is kept or the side of a river, ‘jam’ could mean jelly or something that gets stuck, ‘ball’ could be where people dance or something you hit with a bat, ‘toast’ could mean someone giving a speech or something you have for breakfast, ‘stories’ could mean something you find in a book or the number of levels in a building, ‘cold’ could mean something you get sick with or the opposite of hot, and a ‘boxer’ could mean a fighter or a breed of dog.

She finished by telling the class that such words can be troublesome. She said that words like these could create problems. She said that they can confuse a person because of them having two or more possible meanings. She explained that their meaning can be vague or unclear, and this can easily lead to misunderstanding, confusion, or sometimes even conflict.

He really liked ambiguous words.

He was going to use them a lot!