Fran Jan, unicorn(a)sun-spot.com
One of my favorite restaurants to frequent features as décor a wide range
of antiques (some of which I recognize, and some I do not), as well as a
large collection of portraits (none of whom I recognize). Quite a mood this
decor creates, and for someone of ripe imagination, perhaps too much mood.
It never fails that when I visit this restaurant, my thoughts run rampant.
And so I thought I might let you in on just what those thoughts are…
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Enough Rope and You Hang Yourself (from the Sunday Afternoon Rocking series)
The old woman sniffed and pursed her lips, whispering loudly to the
distinguished gentleman with the goatee next to her, “He is HANGING here
because he deserves to be! That is why!”
Dark beady eyes across the way suddenly stopped their perusal of the dining
room and darted quickly and with purpose to focus on the old woman. She
squirmed a bit and tugged at her bonnet. The subject of the woman’s mockery
leaned forward with purpose, and fierce eyebrows quivered with the anger
expressed in his deliberate and deadly voice.
“Hush your mouth, you old fool! You would not be hanging around here either
if anyone wanted you in his or her home! Emma, you know good and well you
were NEVER allowed to grace a decent respectable home in your entire lifetime.”
There was a high titter, and a hand abruptly dropped its hanky to fall out
of reach. The skinny sallow faced woman gracing the far dark corners of the
room clapped her hand over her thin lips to stifle its sound.
The first “lady” (though apparently the other characters of this menagerie
held that appraisal in doubt), stood up abruptly and curled her fingers
tightly about the bottom of the frame that held her. Her knuckles gleamed
like sharp deadly teeth in the gloom of the darkened room.
“George Harold! You tell me what is worse! A lady of profession or a thief
and a murderer??? At least I earned my living! You, George Harold Jones,
stole yours…and then proceeded to make the matter worse. And if you ask me
it is the devil’s due that you hung then, and hang now, and will hang for
all of eternity!!!! What is more, had I had any children, I am sure I would
have found a home with one of them, which you, George, did not! They even
changed their name after your escapade did they not??? Didn’t claim to know
you, and that you deserved as well!
And as for YOU, Annie Louise, you have no right to sit over there in the
corner listening in on everyone’s conversations and giggling. You know good
and well you are keeping company with the rest of us misfits for a very
good reason, and we all know what it is. Shall I tell them all what you
did, Annie? Shall I now? Cut your OWN throat you did. So mean to your only
daughter she could not bear to have you in her sight, and pitched you out
with the garbage. You brought your fate upon yourself, where as I, on the
other hand, was not loved or unwanted! I simply did not have children!”
“My my!”, sneered George Harold, a nasty smirk upon his mustachioed face,
“You doooo go on, my dear lady ‘of profession'. Since you think I am such a
villain, perhaps I should just ply my own trade upon you. Maybe I could
take that kerchief around you shoulders and simply squeeze it very tightly
around your scrawny little neck. Eh, Emma?”
Emma squirmed and yanked the kerchief off her shoulders.
George grinned, enjoying her discomfort and the gasps of the shocked
company about them. “Perhaps,” he continued with relish, “I could rip your
head off…tear it off with purpose and let the pieces drift to the floor!”
There was a collective gasp and a squeal from more than a few of the
ladies. Emma sank out of sight leaving behind only the plush velvet chair
she had sat in.
George raised one shaggy eyebrow and glanced to his left. “After all,
Edward, you would know all about missing body parts, wouldn’t you? A fit of
temper on the part of your own nephew is the very reason you sit there with
one arm and half your chest missing!”
Edward blinked and glanced down at the missing half of his body. He tugged
at his tie and sat up a bit straighter to make presentable what was left of
him.
Greatly enjoying an appreciative audience, George strained his neck and
leaned forward to peer about the room.
They were a motley crew, the lot of them. The sniveling child over there
hiding behind a mother’s skirts…the mother herself cowering behind her
bearded husband. They best keep their own thoughts silent, thought George.
They had not much to brag about either. Sold to the highest bidder to pay
taxes, they were.
And Queen Mary over there, with her head tilted and her nose in the air,
always refusing to take part in the nightly conversations, thinking she was
too good for the rest of them. Well he knew Queen Mary’s story too, and
knew she was so blasted ugly she had been relegated to rooms where no
visitor would ever discover the family secret…an ugly grandmother. Not
allowed to be seen, that one was. And he knew how she had been passed
between first one relation and then the other, until each of them tired of
keeping up the pretense of wanting the old hag, kinship or not, around.
He turned his gaze to Philip, the distinguished gentleman to Emma’s side.
Thus far, he had kept his own counsel. But then, that was exactly the
reason he was a part of the gathering. His silence. So silent he was
rarely, if ever, noticed, not then and not now. So silent no one knew who
he was, not then and not now. Yup. Silent to the bone, pun intended.
He was just about to describe in great detail, complete with all manner of
colorful adjectives, other steps he could take to permanently silence the
mouthy Emma. He was just about to warn other of the company that dared to
poke fun of his not so recent demise, or make a pun of the fact that “once
hung, always hung”. He was just about to describe with great relish what
could happen if one of them found their way into the garbage disposal in
the kitchen, or managed to find his or her way into the dishwasher. It
occurred to him what a nasty situation could arise if one of them just
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, namely Cook’s
microwave. He was just about to set off such a stew of gasps and screams
and squeals that undoubtedly the motion detector would be set off by the
simple vibrations resounding from the walls…when the inevitable happened.
“HUSH!” screamed Emma imperatively, hastily rising from her hiding place,
and straightening the scarf about her neck, “They’re back!”
Immediately twenty-five people resumed their places, their attitudes, their
demeanors. Their faces straightened into dignified solemnity, and their
poses resumed a rigid and most proper posture. Darkness disappeared from
even Annie’s corner, as bright lights suddenly snapped on and glared
overhead. There was a collective blink as they all adjusted to the change,
but Lisa did not notice.
Lisa swept through the dining room, thrusting a pile of remarkably fresh
tablecloths toward the unremarkable Kenny. Indeed the only thing remarkable
about Kenny was the fact that he often stopped in front of a portrait as he
cleared away the dirty dishes, or dropped the clanking dirty silverware
into his tray. And more than a few times, he had stolen a quick look about
to see that no one was listening, and whispered to the portrait, “And who
might you be? Where did you live? What is a nice girl like you doing
hanging around a place like this?” (Emma particularly liked that young man!)
Of course he never received an answer but it did not keep him from
wondering. And this morning, despite the fact that his manager was far more
interested in getting the restaurant opened than in dwelling on
philosophical thoughts, Kenny let his wondering spill.
“Ya ever wonder why it is these folks are in here?”, he asked, gesturing
toward the walls.
Lisa continued folding napkins into neat fancy little caps on table 12.
“Some of them are quite ugly, aren’t they?” (George resisted an urge to
glance toward “Queen Mary” and snicker). “But they do add a certain
ambiance of the past to the place. People like the feel of an ‘old home’
when they come here. Draws customers.”
Kenny checked the salt and peppershakers on table 10, taking care that each
lid was on tight. Now and then some jokester would loosen them, and an
unsuspecting patron would wind up with a plateful of salt, which never
failed to cut into the tips, and consequently Kenny’s cut of the same.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “That is not what I mean…I mean wonder why
they were not kept in their families? I mean, it seems most folks would be
tickled to have portraits of their own ancestors! Just makes you
wonder…that is all. How these folks got separated from their families.”
Lisa reached for another napkin and checked her watch. “Maybe they did not
get separated, maybe they got pitched out. Maybe they were so mean no one
wanted them around.”
Emma came near to chortling then, and took the risk of sending a triumphant
glance toward Annie. Annie tossed her head indignantly and then froze,
hoping desperately that her movement had not been detected. It had not.
“Yeah,” replied Kenny, snapping open another snowy white tablecloth, “Maybe
we have a horse thief or a murderer or something hanging around here!”
Lisa, realizing they were well on schedule and would open without any
delay, took the time to joke. She laughed, “Maybe we do, maybe we do. Kind
of a give em enough rope and they hang themselves…for eternity!”
Kenny hooted at the pun. Emma could not help it and burst into wild
laughter. A titter here, a giggle there, and soon the whole room was
laughing! A crash accompanied the chorus of laughter.
Kenny and Lisa each dropped a napkin and stared at one another.
“What on earth was THAT???”
Kenny turned wildly in a circle as he surveyed the room, and then it dawned
upon him. “LOOK!”, he exclaimed, pointing from wall to wall. On the face of
every once stern dignified forgotten ancestor was a knowing smile, or a
mischevious smile, sometimes a virtual grin. Emma's face was frozen in an
absolute guffaw exposing the flaw she had tried so long to keep secret,
that of missing teeth. Yes, all the portraits seemed suddenly quite merry.
All except one, that is.
George's space was empty. His frame rested at the foot of a claw footed
table. Kenny reached for it and shuddered as he held it up. George was not
happy. Kenny placed the portrait carefully back on the wall, taking care it
was straight and noting that the glass had not broken. "Easy old boy,"
Kenny whispered, "You may be gone, but you aren't forgotten. We'll keep you
hanging around."
George’s normally dignified detached air was quite changed, more so even
than the demeanors of his like company. George's countenance bore no smile,
and far from that of a calmly collected middle aged man of the late 1800’s,
was now drawn into a perpetual fierce scowl.
They had gone and hung him again…for eternity.
Copyright ©2002JanPhilpot
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