A Little Fiction – Excerpt from Another Unfinished Novel

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Photo by Janko Ferlic on Pexels.com

‘Are you absolutely certain you know what you are doing?’ said Dinah, aware, for the first time, that she was gripping the seat rather more firmly than was strictly necessary. Shaw thought for a moment. He raised his eyes to the sky, without moving his head and breathed in sharply.
‘Certain is a very strong word,’ he said. ‘Can we ever truly be certain? I’m not sure…’
‘But you have a pretty good idea, right?’
‘I have a good idea of what I’m doing,’ he said after a pause that was just a beat too long for Dinah’s liking. ‘Only by dint of the fact that I am doing it. Whatever it is that I am doing, I know that I am doing it. Whether I’m doing it correctly, well, that’s a whole different bucket of frogs. Besides,’ he ploughed on, having gained the kind of momentum that, like the Queen Mary at full steam, meant that stopping was both protracted and cumbersome. ‘There are no prizes for doing things right.’
‘I think you’ll find there are,’ said Dinah.
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Shaw after a pause for reflection, ‘but not necessarily the kind of prize that we would like…’
Dinah pushed hard on a brake that did not exist on her side of the footwell. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she squawked, aware that any prize, however fanciful, would be preferable to an untimely death. ‘Do you think we could possibly stick to the right side of the road?’
Shaw peered exaggeratedly into the distance. ‘Well yes,’ he replied when, eventually, he was happy that his point had been made. ‘Which side would that be?’
‘Just choose one that doesn’t have vehicles hurtling towards us,’ she shrieked, attempting to fold herself into the glove compartment.
‘I mean,’ continued Shaw, ‘it’s all subjective, isn’t it? There is no right or wrong is there? Only opinion…’
Dinah swallowed hard. ‘I would really rather like it if you went along with the majority view. At least,’ she said, ‘until you manage to drop below a hundred miles an hour.’
Shaw glanced down at the dashboard dials. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s what that is… What’s that flashing?’
‘I think it is a tiny piece of the car’s AI that has managed to retain its sanity and is questioning why you are still in third gear.’
Shaw gazed questioningly at the gearstick. ‘It’s not automatic?’ he asked. Dinah shook her head in answer, as a rigor-like grimace fused itself to her face. Shaw, uncertain of how to approach the gear change, lifted his foot slightly from the accelerator and the car began to slow a little. Dinah peered out from between her knees. ‘Where are we going anyway?’ she asked, hampered only by the fact that her tongue had become welded to the roof of her mouth.
‘I’m, not certain,’ said Shaw. ‘I normally decide that when I get there.’
‘So, how do you know when you’ve arrived?’ She persisted.
‘Well, if I wasn’t there, I’d be somewhere else, wouldn’t I?’ Shaw looked at her as if it was, just possibly, the most stupid question he had ever been asked.
Dinah blushed slightly; embarrassed but affronted and, therefore defiant. ‘So, what if you arrive somewhere that you’re not meant to be?’ she asked.
‘Not meant to be?’ Shaw, again, looked confused. ‘Where you are,’ he said, ‘is where you are meant to be – although not,’ he paused for effect, ‘not necessarily where you had aimed to be.’
‘But how then,’ Dinah groped on, ‘do you know that you will find what you’re looking for?’
‘Looking for?’ Shaw, himself, looked alarmed now. ‘Who actually ever knows what they’re looking for?’
‘But your advert,’ said Dinah, hunting through her pockets for the scrap of paper. ‘It says that you specialise in finding things: missing people, missing pets…’
‘I do,’ he protested. ‘Although what I find is not always what I thought I was looking for.’
‘But how do you know what’s lost?’
‘We’re all lost,’ he answered. ‘Somehow…’
Dinah eased herself back into her seat, happy, for the first time, that the car was travelling at a reasonable speed and roughly in the same direction as all the other vehicles. This was without question the weirdest job interview she had ever been on and, having assumed some kind of self-control, she decided that it was time to get a grip on the conversation. ‘So,’ she began, ‘if you don’t know where you’re going or how you’re going to get there, why do you even need an assistant?’
‘To assist me,’ he replied, deliberately trying to inflect an unsaid ‘Doh!’ into the words.
‘To do what?’ she persisted.
‘Whatever I’m doing.’
Dinah realised that she was on a road to nowhere and tried a new tack. ‘What’s the rate of pay?’ she asked.
‘Pay?’ Shaw was shocked. ‘What for?’
‘You advertised for an assistant.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but not an employee.’
‘You expect somebody to assist you for free?’
‘Only for as long as they want to.’ He passed her a mint which she unwrapped and placed in her mouth, deep in thought.
‘Erm, I thought,’ he said, only a little petulantly, ‘that you would unwrap that for me.’
‘Oh,’ she mumbled, fishing the sweet out of her mouth. ‘Do you want it?’
He looked at it in her hand, glistening with saliva, and was tempted, but, ‘No,’ he replied. ‘It’s fine.’
Dinah, meanwhile, had made a decision. She realised that somehow, via a process she did not fully understand, she had, herself, found something for which she did not realise she was searching. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I’ll be your assistant.’
‘Good,’ said Shaw, now taking the half-sucked sweet from her and popping it into his own mouth. ‘But, in future, you’ll have to be a bit more careful with the mints…’

If you have enjoyed Dinah and Shaw, their little story now has a part two and a part three

A Little Fiction – The Gold Coin

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Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

The old man placed the single gold coin onto the scales and peered myopically at the needle in the centre of the balance. ‘Doesn’t weigh enough,’ he said, glancing down over the rim of his glasses. ‘It’s not heavy enough for a sovereign.’
‘It’s not a sovereign,’ replied the man on the other side of the meshed metal grille.
‘I know that,’ said the old man. ‘I told you, it doesn’t weigh enough… and it weighs too much for a half sovereign.’
‘It’s not one of those either.’
‘I know that,’ sighed the old man, pushing the wire frame of his glasses back along the bridge of his nose. ‘I told you, it weighs too much.’ The old man shifted slightly in his seat and studied the man who had presented him with the unfamiliar gold coin. He was small. He was fidgety, nervous thought the old man. Better watch him.
The small man removed his hat and scratched his head. He was even smaller without the head gear. ‘Well,’ he asked, staring up, his eye line below the height of the counter. ‘Will you buy it?’
‘I don’t know. What is it?’
‘It’s a punt Éireannach.’
‘A what? A punt? They never made gold punts.’
The little man stared down at the floor, grappling with his thoughts. After a few moments he looked straight up at the man with the scales. He sighed deeply. ‘Leprechaun gold,’ he said. ‘It’s Leprechaun gold. From the end of a rainbow.’
The pawn broker readjusted his glasses and carefully studied the elvin man on the other side of the screen. He was even smaller than a more casual glance had led him to believe. Child sized. But he had a beard and long grey hair. He looked like an ageing cherub in a green twill suit. The uncle spoke slowly, as if to a child. ‘Leprechaun gold you say? From the end of a rainbow, you say?’
‘You musta seen it,’ said the little fellow. ‘The rainbow. You musta seen it yesterday.’
‘I saw the rainbow,’ replied the shopkeeper. ‘You’re saying that this gold coin came from the end of it?’
The dwarf nodded so violently that his hat flew from his head. He picked it up, dusted it and wedged it back in place, pulling it down firmly to his ears.
‘So, it is actually yours?’ asked the pawn broker.
‘I told you, it’s Leprechaun gold.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m a Leprechaun, hence it is mine.’
‘Is it not,’ enquired the dealer, leaning forward slightly in order to more closely observe the lovat Lillipution on the other side of the counter. ‘Is it not the property of whomever finds the end of the rainbow. Is that not what it is there for?’
‘Human myth,’ said the homoncule. ‘Leprechaun gold belongs to Leprechauns.’
‘So how come you’ve only got one coin? If it’s gold from the rainbow’s end, it comes in pots, doesn’t it?’
‘It was a small rainbow. I’m a lone worker. Don’t have the resources to deal with the big jobs. Have to leave those to the big boys – as it were…’
‘So you’re telling me that Leprechauns don’t put the gold at the end of the rainbows?’
The Leprechaun answered with nothing more than a derisive snort.
‘So who does put the gold there then?’
‘Ah,’ said the Leprechaun. ‘That’s the mystery, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Well of course not. Nobody knows.’
‘So you can’t possibly know who it actually belongs to.’
‘Well I found it.’
‘I went to London,’ said the old man in the chair. ‘And I found Buckingham Palace. Doesn’t mean I own it.’
The Leprechaun looked at him long and hard. Tension pulled so tight on the muscles of his forehead that his hat fell down over his eyes. ‘Ah feckit,’ he said. ‘D’youse want to buy it or not?’
‘I’ll give you fifty Euro,’ said the man.
‘Fifty Euro,’ spluttered the pygmy. ‘Fifty feckin’ Euro? It’s worth twice that.’
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘Fifty Euros? You’d rob a feckin’ Leprechaun.’
‘But you’re not actually a Leprechaun at all, are you?’
The little man pulled himself up to his full height, which allowed him to see just over the counter top. He seethed with impotent rage. ‘I want cash mind,’ he said at last.
The man counted out the notes and slid them under the grille, from where the emerald-hued elf snatched them and stashed them under his hat. ‘Not a feckin’ Leprechaun,’ he said, turning to leave. ‘I wish you good day sir.’ And with a ‘Pop!’ he disappeared. As did the coin in the pawnbroker’s scales…