'I am Granny Next,' she replied, just not yours. When did you find out?'
'I got my sentencing from the Gryphon just now.'
Now that I knew, she seemed more familiar to me than ever before. I even noticed the small scar on her chin from the charge of the Armoured Brigade way back in '72, and the well-healed scar above her eye.
'Why did I never realise?' I asked her in confusion. 'My real grandmothers are both dead - and I always knew that.'
The tired old woman smiled again.
'You don't have Aornis in your head without learning a few tricks, my dear. My time with you has not been wasted. Our husband would not have survived without it and Aornis could have erased everything when we were living in Caversham Heights. Where is he, by the way?'
'He's looking after the boy Friday outside.'
'Ah!'
She looked into my eyes for a moment, then said:
'Will you tell him I love him?'
'Of course.'
'Well, now that you know who I am, I think it's time to go. I did find the ten most boring classics - and I've almost finished the last.'
'I thought you had to have an "epiphanic moment" before you departed? A last exciting resolution to your life?'
'This is it, young Thursday. But it's not mine, it's ours. Now, pick up that copy of The Faerie Queene. I am one hundred and ten and it is well past my out-time.'
I looked across at the table and picked up the book. I had never read the end - nor even past page forty. It was that dull.
'Don't you have to read it?' I asked.
'Me, you, what's the difference?' She giggled, something that turned into a weak cough that wouldn't stop until I had leaned her gently upright.
'Thank you, my dear!' she gasped when the fit had passed. 'There is only a paragraph to go. The page is marked.'
I opened the book but didn't want to read the text. My eyes filled with tears and I looked at the old woman, only to be met by a soft smile.
'It is time,' she said simply, 'but I envy you — you have so many wonderful years ahead of you! Read, please.'
I wiped away my tears and had a sudden thought.
'But if I read this now,' I began slowly, 'then when I am one hundred and ten years old I will already have read it, and then I'd be - you know - just before the last sentence before I - that is, the younger me—' I paused, thinking about the seemingly impossible paradox.
'Dear Thursday!' said the old woman kindly. 'Always so linearl It does work, believe me. Things are just so much weirder than we can know. You'll find out in due course, as I did.'
She smiled benignly and I opened the book.
'Is there anything you need to tell me?'
She smiled again.
'No, my dear. Some things are best left unsaid. You and Landen will have a wonderful time together, mark my words. Read on, young Thursday!'
There was a ripple and my father was standing on the other side of the bed.
'Dad!' said the old woman. 'Thank you for coming!'
'I wouldn't miss it, o daughter my daughter,' he said softly, bending down to kiss her on the forehead and hold her hand. 'I've brought a few people with me.'
And there he was, the young man whom I had seen with Lavoisier at my wedding party. He laid a hand on hers and kissed her.
'Friday!' said the old woman. 'How old are your children at the moment?'
'Here, Mum. Ask them yourself!'
And there they were, next to Friday's wife, who he had yet to meet. She was a one-year-old somewhere, with no idea of her future, either. There were two children with her. Two grandchildren of mine who had yet to be even thought of, let alone born. I continued reading The Faerie Queene, slowly pacing myself as more people rippled in to see the old woman before she left.
'Tuesday!' said the old woman as another person appeared. It was my daughter. We'd vaguely talked about her but that was all - and here she was, a sprightly sixty-year-old. She had brought her children too, and one of them had brought hers.
In all, I think I saw twenty-eight descendants of mine that afternoon, all of them sombre, and only one of them yet born. When they had said their goodbyes and rippled from sight, other visitors appeared to see her. There was Emperor and Empress Zhark, and Mr and Mrs Bradshaw, who were never to age at all. The Cheshire Cat came too, and several Miss Havishams, as well as a delegation of lobsters from the distant future, a large man smoking a cigar and several other people who rippled in and out in a polite manner. I carried on reading, holding her other hand as the fire of life slowly faded from her tired body. By the time I had started on the final verse of The Faerie Queene her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. The last of the guests had gone and only my father and I were left.
I finished the verse and my sentence was complete. Twenty years of gingham and ten boring books. I closed the volume and laid it on the bed next to her. Already her face had drained of colour, and her mouth was partly open. I was alerted by a quiet sniffle near me. I had never seen my father cry before but now large tears rolled silently down his cheeks. He thanked me and departed, leaving me alone with the woman in the bed, the nurse discreetly waiting at the door. I felt sad in that I had lost a valued companion, but no great sense of grief. After all, I was still very much alive. I had learned from my own father's death many years ago that the end of one's life and dying are two very different things indeed, and took solace in that.
'Are you okay?' asked Landen when I got back to the car. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost!'
'Several,' I replied. 'I think I just saw my whole life pass in front of my eyes.'
'Do I feature?'
'Quite a lot, Land.'
'I had my life flash in front of me once,' he said. 'Trouble is, I blinked and missed all the good bits.'
'It will need more than a blink,' I told him, nuzzling his ear. 'How's the little man?'
'Tired after a lot of pointing.'
I looked into the back seat. Friday was spark out and snoring.
Landen started the car and pulled out of the parking space.
'Who was the old woman, by the way?' he asked as we turned into the main road. 'You never did tell me.'
I thought for a moment.
'Someone who knew me really well and turned up when it mattered.'
'I have someone like that,' said Landen, 'and if she's feeling up to it, I'd like to take her out for dinner. Where do you fancy?1
I thought of the old woman in the bed, dressed in gingham, hanging on for the last verse, and all the people who had come to see her off. Life, I decided, would be good, and more than that, unusual.
'If I'm with you,' I told him tenderly, 'SmileyBurger is the Ritz.'
Credits
My great thanks to Maggy and Stewart Roberts for the illustrations in this book.
My thanks to Mari Roberts for huge quantities of research on everything from the Danes to Hamlet to conflict resolution and the piano gag, and for companionship, and love.
Mr Shgakespeafe's quotes and Hamlet kindly supplied by Shakespeare (William) Inc.
Lorem Ipsum usage suggested by Swaim & Rogan.
For the purposes of this narrative, it should be noted that Zeffirelli's excellent version of Hamlet starring Mel Gibson and Glenn Close was made in 1987, not 1991 as previously thought.
My grateful thanks to John Sutherland and Cedric Watts for their 'Puzzles in Literature' series, which continues to amuse and delight, and to Nome Epstein for her excellent Friendly Shakespeare, which is every bit as the title suggests. Also to the Reduced Shakespeare Company for much-needed Bard-related tomfoolery in times of stress.
Pulp Western research by Gillian Taylor, author of Darrow's Word and many others. Interweb: http://www.gillian-f-taylor.co.uk.
My grateful thanks to Landen Parke-Laine for agreeing to undertake a guest first-person appearance at short notice.
No penguins were killed or pianos destroyed in order to write this book.
The pengu
in meal on page 147 and the piano incident on page 314 were merely fictional narrative devices and have no basis in fact.
My apologies to Danish people everywhere for the fictional slur undertaken in the pages of this book. I would like to point out that this was for satirical purposes only, and I like Denmark a lot, especially rollmops, bacon, Lego, Bang & Olufsen, the Faeroes, Karen Blixen — and, of course, Hamlet, the greatest Dane of all.
Mandatory toast information, as required by current toast legislation: Bread was originated in a Panasonic SD2O6 bread-maker, sliced with an Ikea bread knife on a home-made bread board and toasted in a Dualit model 3CBGB. Spread was Utterly Butterly and Seville marmalade was home made.
The appearances of Zhark in this book and the use of his name and exploits were monitored and approved by Zhark Enterprises, Inc., and we gratefully acknowledge the emperor's help and assistance in the making of this novel.
This book was constructed wholly within the Socialist Republic of Wales.
A Fforde/Hodder/Penguin production.
1. 'Oh, how I wish my worthless body would melt into a liquid and then evaporate.'
2. 'Or that God had not decreed suicide a complete no-no.'
3. 'Oh God, oh God! How tired, stale and boring life seems to me.'
4. 'Oh, damn and double blast! I feel like a garden that's left to seed and overtaken by all those really annoying weeds, like Japanese knotweed or nettles, both of which can be destroyed by using a recommended herbicide, available from Jekyll Garden Centres.
Footnoterphone simultaneous translation sponsored by Jekyll Garden Centres.
Jasper Fforde, Something Rotten
(Series: Thursday Next # 4)
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