A cautionary tale for adult persons as to why one should not accept denominationally unstable wishes from strange fairies in forests. Written and scrawled by yours truly and read by John Rayment.
Archive for the ‘short stories’ Category
Little Gestures
Thursday 27th September, 2007I’m going to tell you a secret.
It’s a very big secret…
…
… Although I probably shouldn’t.
You see, if someone tells you a secret, you shouldn’t tell anyone else. Ever. Even if you’re bursting to tell someone, as I am bursting to tell you now. The only reason I’m telling you is… well, I’ll tell you that later too.
Okay, here’s my secret.
I’m going to tell you about the Little-Gestures. Have you heard of them before? I didn’t think so. Hardly anyone has. But there’s a reason for this. And I’m going to tell you that now too.
The Little-Gestures are a family of tiny tiny faeries who live in Highgate Wood in North London. No one knows how long they’ve lived there, but I would imagine it is a very long time. If you want to work out how long, take Wendy Richard and multiply her by twelve, then keep adding six for every time Jim Davidson isn’t funny.
I did say it was a very long time.
Everyone knows faeries live in woods. A few even rent on Hampstead Heath. But the Little-Gestures aren’t just any old family of faeries. We’re not talking about the Heaving-Crackpipes of Clapham Common here, and I’m sure you’ve heard of them. No, what makes the Little-Gestures special is that they are so very tiny, it’s almost impossible to see them. As if this wasn’t enough, they also love dressing up. They’re always looking around them for things to mimic, dressing up as everything and anything they see. Some people say this is because they have been dressing up for so long that they have lost their own sense of self.
But this is why no one’s ever heard of them. They dress up as what they see, but the Little-Gestures live in a wood, so they only ever appear as a stick, or a leaf, or a pebble. People don’t want to know about things that they can’t see right in front of them. People don’t want to look at something and have to constantly think about if it really is what they think it is or just what it looks like. So they just walk on and accept that the stick they pass is just a stick, or the leaf is nothing more than a leaf. Most of the time they don’t even notice there’s a stick or leaf there in the first place.
But, like all feel-good films, the Little-Gestures turn their disability into an advantage. Though they are the smallest of the faeries, they are also the most powerful. You see, whomever finds the Little-Gestures, disguised amidst the many trees, fallen leaves and blades of grass in all of Highgate Wood – for Highgate Wood is a very big place – is granted three wishes.
‘What’s so special about that?’ you’re probably asking. ‘Everyone knows faeries grant wishes. The Bleedin-Marvellae in the New Forest even throw in a free air freshener these days. It’s in the shape of a Christmas tree.’ And you’d be right to point that out. Everyone knows faeries indeed grant wishes, and usually three (though both evil and student faeries are only licensed to grant two and a half, but those are stories for another time. Literally).
The Little-Gestures grant wishes in a way that no other faerie can, and if any other faerie says they do then take down their license number and report them to Faerie Trading Standards immediately.
The Little-Gestures return to you things that are lost. Not things lost down the back of the sofa or left on a bus, mind. Things you would think have disappeared forever. Things that are gone for all time. And nearly all of the time, they are things that you didn’t even know you had lost.
You know when their magic works because you feel it. As soon as it happens, you just know. Some people burst into spontaneous laughter. Some will suddenly want to jump around the place, or dance, or sing. Other people cry. There’s no way of knowing how you’ll react when it happens. You just know that it has, and then you know that you fit with everything around you and, like a wood or a forest, that all things are connected in ways we only grow out of realising. Time has no meaning when the magic of a Little-Gesture touches you.
And I felt it in the 24 hours after I found them. Quite by chance, I was sitting having a cigarette, looking at the leaves, and thinking ‘goodness, it really is a very long time since I last had a shave,’ when I just happened to look down from the bench to my right.
There they were.
They were in disguise of course, but I’ll tell you about that later. I’ll also then briefly mention the other thing I saw, and why that’s related to me telling you something that’s supposed to be a secret.
But there, as I say, they were – the Little-Gesture family, smiling up at me from their innocent and rather expertly designed costumes. They didn’t say anything, but they didn’t have to, and I soon left and went back home not realising I’d found anything special that day until much later.
It was Brother Little-Gesture who gave me back something I thought I’d never see again.
It looks a lot like something someone stole from me once, or simply threw away because they didn’t think it was important to send back to me when I trusted them to. I’ve put a picture of it here, though what was given back to me was far more than just a picture, of course. I laughed when I saw it, just earlier, and then I felt like crying. Then I looked at the picture closer, as the Little-Gesture’s letter had told me to, and suddenly I didn’t know if the girl in the picture was laughing or crying either.
Mother Little-Gesture gave me something that made me cry a lot. I was happy, but I was sad. I felt loved and I felt lonely. And I was crying, through all of it. I didn’t know I could feel so much at once, and I certainly hadn’t in a very long time. Because that was exactly what Mother Little Gesture returned to me.
And Father Little-Gesture’s gift was probably the most mysterious of it all. His magic came before the other two, and yet after them, and at the same time, all weaving in and out of one another. They didn’t happen in order, and yet they did. Time has no meaning to the Little-Gestures, the most powerful of all.
I can’t really describe what Father Little-Gesture returned to me, because it’s a part of myself I didn’t even know was there, let alone one I had lost. I only know that he gave back to me words to go after other words when before I would have just put a stop; concepts such as tomorrow, or next week, when I was used to comprehending only days or hours; the will to get up, wash and dress rather than just crawl deeper into the duvet and spend another few hours unconscious.
And now I’ll tell you why I’m letting you know all this, when I’m supposed to be keeping it a secret.
I think the Little-Gestures are quite lonely. There seem so few of them now – just a handful huddled together for warmth in a huge wood in a huge city in an endless world. Now that winter is coming I think we will see fewer and fewer of them. There are beasts that feed on them, greedily, indifferently, and walk away once they’ve gobbled them up without looking back even once. I think I saw one the other day when I found them – ugly wild creatures that disguise themselves as a branch, or a log or a stone just as the Little-Gestures can. I took a photo of what I thought was one watching them. It resembled a skull, waiting to take advantage of their selfless presence for its own endless gain, but it just looked like a log in the photo. You can only see through their simpler magic at the time, their deceptions, because time has no meaning.
We must look out for the Little-Gestures, because they love to make us happy – they love to remind us of things we thought we no longer had and would never return. And they do. They really do.
When I saw them they were disguised as mushrooms. They’ve probably got new disguises now – new costumes and appearances. If you ever see them, you’ll know them because they look like anything else – unremarkable, unnoticeable in the wide spinning world, yet with the power to make it all, and us, far better from their presence.
One Man and His Dog
Sunday 9th April, 2006Once upon a time, there was a man called Bill.
Bill had a dog, and it was called Jeremy. The dog didn’t have a name when he got it. He didn’t give it the name Jeremy – someone else did. Jeremy wasn’t a very unusual looking dog. In fact, he looked a lot like any dog anyone else would own. He was the kind of dog you would see if you walked down the street and there was a man there in a raincoat, walking their dog in the park, or a mummy and a daddy trailing their dog on a lead behind them while they took their children for a walk.
But Bill had a terrible secret. Bill hated Jeremy. This made Bill feel bad, because it’s a terrible thing to hate someone, but it’s especially terrible to hate someone you’re supposed to look after. You must be thinking, “poor Jeremy! Imagine having an owner who hated you!” Whenever Bill felt angry towards Jeremy, it only made him feel angry with himself afterwards. Then he would say to himself that he didn’t want a dog in the first place. He hated looking after his dog. He hated feeding him. He got irritated with the way he would always dribble on the carpet or tread mud everywhere, and he hated clearing up after him whenever he made a mess. And Jeremy did make a mess a lot of the time. But that’s what dogs do. It’s not their fault.
The biggest reason for Bill why he hated his dog so much was because everyone else loved him. Jeremy the dog couldn’t do anything wrong as far as they could see. Sometimes Bill would go over to see one of his friends, and they would sit down and have a nice cup of tea or watch television or eat their dinner together. Jeremy would always be very well behaved. He would sit by Bill’s feet and fall asleep, not making a noise. He would be very quiet. But in the end, Jeremy would always wake up, and he would be excited because he was somewhere he had never been before, and he would want to play. Sometimes he would leap onto Bill’s friends and lick their faces and make them play with him. Bill’s friends would always laugh it off. They said they didn’t mind. “It’s fine,” the would say to Bill. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just having a bit of fun.” And then they would love Jeremy all the more – the silly excitable dog who didn’t know what he was doing.
And the more they loved Jeremy, the more Bill hated him. Sometimes Bill thought that the only reason they would invite him over for a nice cup of tea, or to watch television or to eat dinner was so that they could see Jeremy again. Maybe they just liked Jeremy because he made them laugh. As far as Bill was concerned, Jeremy ruined everything. He would always ruin everything. Sometimes Bill would be about to say something important, and Jeremy would wake up and want to have fun with whoever he was with.
But do you know the real reason that Bill hated Jeremy? I don’t think even Bill knew what it was. Do you remember I said that someone else gave Bill’s dog the name Jeremy? Well, this someone else used to live with Bill. She was a lady, and Bill loved her very much. She thought it was strange that Bill would have a dog and not give it a name, so she gave Bill’s dog a name. She called it Jeremy. She said the name Jeremy was a funny name for a dog, and Bill agreed, and then they would both laugh about it.
You see, Bill was not the kind of person who would laugh a lot. Sometimes he would pretend to, like when he was round with his friends drinking tea, or watching television or eating dinner. Even though he didn’t feel like laughing, it was easier to pretend to laugh with his friends, because otherwise his friends might feel bad. They might even think that he didn’t really like them. But this person made Bill laugh a lot. They laughed together everyday, and it was always all about just her and him and their dog they called Jeremy. They would take Jeremy out for walks together, or play with him at home, feeding him and stroking him, and doing all the things you do with a dog you love. Bill was happier than he had ever been in his life.
But one day, Bill woke up all alone. His lady friend was gone. She wasn’t in his house – all that was there were just her things and Jeremy, asleep in his basket.
As soon as Jeremy woke up he started leaping about Bill as he had always done, wanting more fun like they always had when she was there. But Bill didn’t want to have fun. Bill was upset because she wasn’t there. So when Jeremy didn’t stop jumping and leaping onto him, Bill would become very cross with him. But Jeremy wouldn’t understand. Jeremy was just a dog.
The days would go by, and still she did not come home. Bill missed her very much. Sometimes he was so upset he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He knew that he still loved her, but he was so confused because she wasn’t there – because she had just disappeared – that he thought that she didn’t love him. Wouldn’t you think that too? I think that most people would. He thought that she might come back – that she had just gone out to the shops to buy some tea, or something for dinner, or something for Jeremy to eat or play with.
Because he thought this, he kept all of her things where they were. He thought that she would be cross with him or upset if she came back and found out that he’d put all her things away. Wouldn’t you be cross if you went out to the shops and came back to find that someone had put all your things away while you were gone? I think that most people would. This is certainly what Bill thought. Bill was a very thoughtful person. She had always told him that he thought too much. So this is why he thought he should leave everything exactly where it was, so she wouldn’t be cross with him or upset when she came back.
But she never did come back.
So Bill started to feel very angry that he was all alone and didn’t know why. But he wasn’t sure who he was angry with. He couldn’t hate her because he loved her so much. So for a long time Bill hated himself instead. He thought that it was his fault she had disappeared, and so there must be something wrong with him. He thought that he had made her go away. Bill thought he must be a very bad man indeed to make someone want to go away like that. In his head he thought about everything he had said to her before he last saw her. He thought about what he had said so much that he would even dream about it at night. He thought he must have said something to make her go away, and he got more angry at himself because he couldn’t think of what it was. But you can’t stay angry at yourself for very long. You can’t hate yourself forever, because you can’t really live if you really hate yourself.
So Bill started to hate Jeremy, because he couldn’t hate her and he couldn’t hate himself. Isn’t that unfair? Isn’t that sad? “Poor Jeremy,” you must be thinking – “it’s a terrible thing to be hated so unfairly by the person you belong to.” But, maybe, some of you are thinking “Poor Bill” too. Bill hates his dog because he let someone else give it a name they could share together, forever. And then that person disappeared, and Bill couldn’t share the name with anyone anymore. Now Bill is just lonely. Everyday the mere mention of Jeremy’s name, and in time everything about the dog himself, would remind Bill of someone else. Someone who had made him feel whole and complete. Someone who was now gone.
Bill still takes Jeremy out for walks. He plays with him and lets him have his fun. He brushes his hair when it needs brushing and feeds him when he needs to eat. But Bill doesn’t enjoy any of it. It’s just something that he has to do now. It’s just something that needs to be done. And he gets angry at Jeremy for wanting to play when Bill doesn’t want to play anymore, or jumping on his friends because Bill thinks that dogs should only do those things in their own homes. They shouldn’t do them with just anyone, anywhere.
Sometimes Bill also thinks that Jeremy knows that he hates him, and that he is ashamed of him. That maybe Jeremy knows he wishes he wasn’t there. Sometimes he thinks that Jeremy hates him too because of it. He thinks that Jeremy too is wishing that she will come back, so Jeremy can have someone to play with him who really loves him. When this happens, Bill gets scared that there will never be anyone else who he can share Jeremy with. He gets frightened that it will just be the two of them, forced to stay together in Bill’s little house, with all her things still left all around it, hating each other more and more, and forced to stay together only by the bitter growing space between them.
It is a very sad and terrible thing to hate your own dog.
