Grave Consequences
‘Look at
them! All gathered around the gaping
grave, waiting for the last words from the priest so they can drop their
flowers on me and escape to the expensive restaurant where they’ve booked a special
luncheon.
Daughter-number-two
smiles because her idle boyfriend squeezes her arse. And look!
She turns to him and twiddles his balls.
She knows her not-so-dear old dad was loaded and expects to fare
well. When my will is read on Tuesday,
her arse squeezer will probably leave for greener pastures. Maybe then she’ll spend more time with her
two kids.
My wife doesn’t
look too distressed and her lover looks positively expectant – another one who’ll
soon be hitting the road.
You must admire
the job my brother’s doing. He arranged
and paid for everything after we watched my wife tell him she was too
distraught to do so. ‘He deserves a good
send off but I’m not up to it yet, David,’ He was the one who put his hand in
his pocket when everyone else said it was too commercial a thing to do for
one’s own. Anyone would think there was
snob value in not arranging the funeral of a supposed loved one. Brother David will be generously rewarded on
Tuesday.
My lover of four
years, don’t pull a face, Gabriella, has had the sense not to attend the event
as she would have been vilified. She’d
do well not to go to the reading of the will, either. She’s been well endowed – is well endowed. Come on, that was funny.
Daughter-number-one
is there with her long-time partner, Cynthia and their daughter. She’ll do okay too, but, like Gabrielle,
should avoid the reading.
First-son looks depressed. He knows that, after having four businesses
subsidised until inevitable bankruptcy, he has already received and wasted his
inheritance. How did he think he could
run businesses with unappreciated and underpaid staff while he vacationed half
the year?
Second-son looks
pleased with life. He knows he’ll no
longer have to beg for money from me to maintain his stable of polo
ponies. Come Tuesday, he’ll have to find
another generous benefactor.
The three
grandkids are visibly upset but they’ll be okay. My will leaves the bulk of the estate to them
and is so watertight adults won’t be able to get near the money. If they think they can charge the estate for
raising the kids, they’ll be disappointed.
Just to make sure, I’ve appointed my lawyers as administrators of the
children’s trusts until they attain the age of thirty-five. Hopefully they’ll be sensible by then.
So, Saint Peter,
do you think it’s possible they could all start to love and care for each
other? Will they subdue their greed and
forget the hurt?’
He raised a bushy
eyebrow. ‘It’s not likely is it? Why would they suddenly undergo a change in
character?’
‘I don’t
know. It’s out of my control now. So, are you going to invite me in?’
‘Mmm, we’re not
sure yet. You’ve left a mess back there. Those who can take care of themselves are
given the bulk of your estate, while those incapable of handling their affairs
and are most in need of help are left with nothing.’
‘And for this
you’re going to deny me entry?’
‘It’s possible,
yes.’
‘You can’t be
serious! I’ve already been waiting in
this minimalistic heavenly green room for days.
Will it help if I go back and sort things out?
‘How? Your body is at least partially decomposed by
now.’
‘What about
reincarnation?’
‘You have to be
literally reborn into a baby just conceived.
I don’t see how that could suit your purposes.’
‘Come on! Help me out here. You point out how things might be if I don’t
intervene and then deny me the opportunity to sort it out.’
‘You should have
taken care of that while you were in human form. We can’t have people travelling back and
forth like they’re on some public transport system.’
‘Bollocks. What about going back as a ghost?’
‘Well, it has
been done. The trouble is so-called
rational humans don’t believe in ghosts, so the effective value is almost
always negative. People explain away
such visions as childish fantasy, aged rambling, alcohol, drugs, eccentricity,
or declaring the witness is mentally unbalanced. It’d be difficult to break down those
barriers.’
‘So, what, I’ve
just got to stay here?’
‘For a while, at
least.’
‘How long a
while?’
‘Oh, I suppose
matters will have been cleared up in thirty years or so.’
‘Thirty years! What am I going to do here for thirty years?’
‘The magazines
are recycled every month. There’ll be
others passing through who you can converse with.’
‘Any of them
likely to be on as long a waiting list as me?’
‘Oh yes,
many. Look at that group over there;
they’re waiting to welcome you to their exclusive society. Murderers, thieves, adulterers; you’ll fit
right in.’
‘This is
ridiculous! Aren’t there any options?’
‘There’s one, but
I’d think carefully before taking it, if I were you.’
When a youngster, Peter
Lingard told his mother many fantastic tales of intrepid adventures enjoyed by
him and his friends. She always said,
‘Go tell it to the Marines’. When he asked
why, she said, ‘They’ve been everywhere and done everything, so they’ll want to
hear about what you’ve been up to’. Of
course, Peter joined the Royal Marines as soon as he was old enough and now has
a seemingly inexhaustible supply of tales to tell. He has had 300+ stories and poems published,
as well as having many pieces aired on Radio NAG, Queensland and 4RPH,
Brisbane. Professional actors have
performed some of his doggerel and he has appeared as a guest on Southern FM’s
program ‘Write Now’ to read and discuss his work. He recited and chatted about some of his
poems on 3CR’s ‘Spoken Word’ and had a monthly spot on 3WBC (94.1FM) to read
his tales. His novel, Boswell's Fairies,
is to be launched on 14th October and can be purchased on his website;
peterlingard.com
Tags:
Short Fiction