Enquiry
By
John
Riminton.
Alone,
aware, mind ranging through the thoughts that haunt the night.
How
else to reconcile the ways that people meet and interact?
For
what else is there?
The
shop, the club, the tourist launch, the school, the bank, the
residential home
arise
from people meeting one another.
The
skills are honed by life – some never gained
Destroyed
by power, greed or selfish trait.
And
who am I?
I
am a link between two generations
A
factor in the thoughts of other lives.
Who
else is more?
Winter.
by
John Riminton.
They huddled over the small
electric heater watching a repeat of an old British comedy on the
telly. Outside sleety rain lashing against the windows, audible
through the thin curtains that had been drawn to hide the grey
dreariness.
They had bought the little house
late in the 1960s, before insulation had become a recognised building
feature and it leaked heat. When George had retired five years
previously , after some thirty years as a cabinet maker with the
local furniture manufacturer, they had, on advice, used most of their
savings to pay off the final instalments of the mortgage so that they
now depended on their benefits.
George had used his skills to
maintain the house well and there was a small garden in which George
had delighted in growing their own vegetables - he was especially
proud of his success with runner beans - but since his stroke, that
had not been possible. Now he seldom went into the garden for the
sight of the work waiting to be done left him depressed. It had only
been a minor stroke - his speech was not noticably impaired and he
could look after himself and their affairs - such as they were - but
he had lost confidence in his balance and the weakness in his right
side made it impossible for him to control the tools.
Peggy had always been rather
frail, uninterested in outside work, although she had contributed to
their finances for many years by working in the local "Collectibles"
shop, now closed as a result of the recession. They had had one
child, a son Peter, who had emigrated to Australia, got a job with a
contracting firm, married happily and given them two grand-children.
In a recent phone call, he had told them that he had been made
redundant, leaving his future very uncertain except to say that they
did not expect to return to New Zealand. George and Peggy pored over
the annual photographs of the two children, usually shown playing on
some sun-drenched beach, with a growing sense of unreality that these
children were there a a result of their love and an unspoken grief at
the unlikelihood that they would ever hug them or be able to play a
part in their lives.
Peggy often looked back on the
happy years when they had hitched up their caravan for the annual
holiday. Peter had always groused that it would be boring, but
almost invariably they had found that he quickly made friends with
other kids in the various camping grounds and groused equally about
going home. For her part, she most remembered standing hand-in-hand
with George contemplating a moonlit cove or sparkling forest stream.
Those had been good years. They had expected to continue with the
caravan travel into their retirement, but the stroke had changed all
that and they had swopped the large car and the van for a little
run-about that Peggy could manage. The registration letters were ASB
so they called it "A Shopping Basket", but there were times
when the registration and the insurance made it look like a luxury
that they could no longer afford.
Their lives were filled with
little things - the Sunday paper and one of the womens' magazines.
George pottered, usually, at the end of the day unable to remember
how he had filled in his time. They watched a lot of TV on their old
telly and that was another worry. Peggy had heard that next year, or
was it the year after? the TV signals would change and that their old
set would be useless and fit only for the dump. Neither of them
really understood the technical details, but the prospect of buying a
new set or going without TV hung like a darker cloud in a grey
future.
Truth to tell, their wills to
live really hung on the need for each of them to look after the
other. Peggy could not imagine a life without George while, for
George, the habits of a lifetime could not be set aside because of
the stroke. They had often discussed the options - widowhood,
sheltered care, separation - but nothing mitigated the bleakness of
these prospects and so they tried, not always successfully, to put
these thoughts out of mind. Spring daffodils were the focus of their
hopes.
As the programme ended and the
ads came on, Peggy got up to make a cup of tea. Outside, the sleet
continued to lash against the window.
© Copyright Act 1994
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