The Fly

A crisp warm english morning sun shone on Mr.Pimpernel's bald head . It was Tuesday and Mr.P had his spirits soaring like kites on the summer skies. Clear summer skies ?Not quite, he spotted some dark clouds smudge the clear skies.His thick lips wilted into a deep frown and his head swung in grouse.It was nine and Sethu had not yet arrived .Sethu was employed to dress MR.Pimpernel on his special days.Mr P was sweating with anticipation . Tuesdays were Mr.P's grand days , the day he stepped out of his house , the day he wore his best clothes on ,the day his shoes shone bright. Yes there were Sundays too , but they were a dull white and they did not enthuse him and reminded him of his old age and that death was imminent .The picture of God brought in goodness , angels and candles and white robes and sent shivers down his bent back .He shook thoughts of the weather and sundays away and continued to shake it now pained with Sethu and his frown grew so limp it seemed inline with his drooping moustache !He vowed to tell that truant off this time .

Half past nine and Sethu rushed into the door,toppling over Mr.P's boots. He bathed Mr.P,dressed him tidy and escorted him on to the Taxi cab by ten.The cab wound around tortuous roads and reached the Trafalgar square,and was festooned in a confetti of confusion and celebration.Mr.P looked out at the various colours and people drenched with merriment and sighed at the delay.The black smudges of clouds poured in dull grey sheets unceremoniously and the regale rally broke to huddle under the roofs of buildings.Black umbrellas opened up to the skies and the greys and blacks wiped out all the colour. The car waded through people,water and slush and camberedalong till it reached the busier roads .People streaked across with serious faces and grim thoughts. The car screeched to stop next to a cafe with people discussing money , business and shares .The smell of fresh coffee and market trends pecked his senses .He brushed past the steaming conversations and proceeded to climb a flight of heavy wooden stairs.The flight ended in the entrance to 'Lutdwig and Charles firm '.
Mr.P retired from the firm two years back and he liked to pay frequent visits to scale the happenings around. He cloaked the stand with his coat and hat and walked into a passage that led him to the Manager's room .He knocked but did not wait for an answer and cracked the door open and peered into the new decor the room adorned.Everything had changed about the room.Mr.P's eyes gradually screened the changes.The walls were a bright yellow and the venetian blinds carried the Londonscape and opened into the window of another building .The burled mahogany desk had been moved out and found in its place an everyday pale pine desk .The floor was parqueted with yew and the Bukhara carpets removed.Potted creepers climbed at the corners and a huge Urn replaced the corner table usually containing a clutter of newspapers.A short knock interrupted Mr.P's scan and was followed by a staccato of Lila's stillettos.She placed a cup of steaming coffee and added that Mr.Griffith would be in shortly.Mr.P sipped his coffee and settled back to complete his scan.Everything about the room was new. Everything, save the wooden 8x4 photo frame ,containing a picture of his son.
Griffith sniffed into the room,his nose was pink with cold.He sat down at his chair and pinged for another coffee to be brought in . An exchange of pleasantries followed and Mr.P got comfortable in the new chair.An hour passed on discussions about the staff and business and other things that mattered .The clock announced one and Mr.P got up to leave .He paused at the door and added "My son and wife had been to the Kensel Green Cemetery last week " and hurried out.


Griffith fell silent and his head rested on the back of his chair . He looked at the ceiling fan.Memories of Carl came rushing in with every tear. He looked at the photograph and sighed .His mind rolled through those wonderful years.They had all flocked around to see the pictures of Carl graduating from business school.Lutdwig and Charles would be his to reign.Griffith had his dreams and Carl's goals fixed .
Griffith ordered for another coffee and turned to walk towards the blinds turning them shut and open and shut again .He opened the windows and let some incessant chatter in,to break his thoughts . Thoughts like these were hard to shut out . He turned around and walked towards his desk and sat down .A fly sat at the lip of his cup . He shooed it away .His thoughts flew back to the day the letter had arrived from the Army . Carl was called to fight at the front .Griffith was gripped with fear. He dipped his head down and stirred with his spoon . The fly sat back on his cup . He caught it with the Tribune .It landed next to the ink pot on his table.He put it into the pot and watched it. It struggled and swam with all its might .He picked it out of the pot and placed it on the table. The fly flapped its wings hard in a pool of blue ink.Everything had happened so quickly, the newspapers screamed of wars disaster.He'd pin his ears to the radio and have Lila call to find out if there was any news about Carl. He remembered screening through he newspapers,tears welled up in his eyes.He put the blue fly back into the pot . It fought and swam , its wings were heavy with the ink and its tiny legs too weak to swim.It made tiny ripples as it tried harder to swim.A minute passed in effort and the ripples died down .


Griffith tore a bit off the tribune, fished out the fly and threw it into his bin and placed the photo frame back .

- Ranjani