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03.31.06 Amen
I: Sunday, April 2, 2006: Wessex,
England - a Church
My voice cracks as I strain to keep
up with the rest of the congregation.
Holy, holy,
holy! Lord God Almighty!
early in
the morning our song shall rise to thee;
holy,
holy, holy! merciful and mighty!
God in
three Persons, blessèd Trinity!
We are asked to sit by the Vicar, who smiles at the close of the hymn,
and steps back into the pulpit, his vestments swaying in the light
breeze that blows through the Church on this lovely Spring day.
"Now go out into the world and
remember to thank the Lord for what you have; ask the Lord forgiveness
for the sins you have committed; and pray to the Lord for blessings for
yourself and all in His world. Go in peace! Amen!"
"Amen." I close my
eyes and say a few words to the Lord above.
The organ strikes up as Bach's masterful Air on a G String resonates through
the modest decorum of the building. The procession of the Cross
makes its way down the centre of the aisle as various people start to
chatter amongst themselves.
I close my prayers and turn to James, who nods his head signaling his
readiness to depart. We get up from the pews - I do, gingerly -
and shake hands with various people I've not seen in many months.
It is my first time returning to this small church since being
dismissed from my job at the Estate.
One older lady - close to my age actually - puts an arm on my shoulder.
"Simkins dear where have you
been!"
Helen smiles a smile more pure than one can imagine. I bend down
to embrace her happily.
"It's so lovely to see you
again."
"Madame it has been too long -
you're looking wonderful." And she does. She is
dressed in a dark blue dress with flowers, and a small ivory hat
befitting a church service.
"Thank you dear, I hope you'll
be back here soon! We have so much catching up to do! Will
you come have tea with us?"
I look at James, but know we have far graver things to contend with.
"Not this week dear lady, but I
promise to return sooner than you expect. We'll have tea then."
She looks disappointed. I am sorry. I take her hand in mine
and kiss it gently.
"I promise."
Her smile returns and I am satisfied and renewed. Goodness just
flows out of her.
"God bless until then love."
"Thank you. To you too."
I'll need all the blessings I can muster.
The congregation starts to pour out and James and I reach the Vicar.
"Simkins," he too is
pleased to see me.
We chat briefly and James and I head out into the air. It is
crisp and the smell of English countryside in all its glory mixes with
the bright sunlight to perpetuate this feeling of serenity that sits
within me.
"Where to, James."
"The pub, of course."
II: Sunday, April 2, 2006: Wessex,
England - the Innkeeper's Public House
The pub indeed, to the new public house that has replaced the one
destroyed on my former Master's property - burned to ashes, a symbol of
my relationship with the House of Lancaster. The old innkeeper
will be glad for the business.
We mosey over and find the place busier than I would expect for an
early Sunday afternoon. The Innkeeper still stands behind the
bar, chattering away to what appears to be tourists, as they're
grasping a map in their hands, gesticulating here, there and
everywhere. We enter, and receive a cheerful wave, as he
continues with the tourists.
We take our seats close by and relax.
I enjoy going to church, but sure as hell don't enjoy the
stiff-enough-to-break-your-back wooden pews.
A little liquor should loosen up the knot in my back.
A moment later the tourists exit, with a look becoming baffling
confusion more than clarity. I hope they don't find themselves
wandering about the sheep later...
The Innkeeper finally descends to our table.
"Lads, what can I get you both
on this splendid day."
James speaks up immediately. Apparently he's more eager to drink
than I am.
"Smithwicks, please."
"Just a scotch and water for
me."
He pats my back, doubtless recalling the last time he saw me, when the
Fool knocked me to the floor with a square right fist to the jaw.
"So those paintings came back,"
James leans forward anxiously.
"From Herr Andrös'
studios, yes?"
He nods.
"There's something about
them...I just can't put my finger on it," he thinks long.
Something is awry.
"What was he doing, restoring
them or what not?"
"So says Her Grace, the
Duchess."
I can't hide my loathing.
"Better trust the Devil's word
than hers."
"I'm slowly coming to realize
that. But you must remember Simkins, she is my employer, and my
ultimate loyalty must be to her and him."
I understand. That too was my motto for almost half a century.
"Aye, I know son. Did the
portrait of the Duke and Duchess arrive too?"
"No, not yet."
That doesn't surprise me. James had told me the Duchess had
ordered a portrait of the two done, but this apparently urgent
restoration work on three of the Estate's most valuable paintings gets
done first?
"Some time, take a few pictures
for me, and send them to my email address."
Yes, I, even an old man, have succumbed to having an electronic mail
address.
Our beverages arrive and we raise glasses and toast Her Majesty the
Queen - just because. James mumbles something about Smithwicks
being hard to locate in some bars, but I'm too involved with my scotch
and water to take exact note of his bemoaning.
"Now what about this Paulus
fellow."
James' face takes on a disturbed look.
"He's over all the time.
Always. He's just a bloody financial advisor and he's always on
the phone to the Duchess. How do I know?"
Good question.
"I stole the bastard's cell
phone one afternoon and went through all his call lists and
numbers. Man he was frantic looking for that thing, when suddenly
he found it conveniently hiding under his chair in the Grand Library."
He pauses before taking a sip, looking coy as his eyes shift behind his
glasses.
"Can't imagine how that happened."
James, you sneaky bastard.
"And what did you find, Holmes?"
James snickers. He was always one to like the wry humour.
"I found that in one day, he
had called Her Grace's phone no less than fifteen times. Fifteen fucking
times," he
reiterated in a whisper.
Emphasis on the fucking part of their relationship.
I would not doubt that the deceiver is also a whore.
"I also overheard his chatting
about some off-shore company called "Le Courage." He's mentioned
very high sums of money when dealing with it."
"All of the Duke's money."
"Of course. I tried
Googling the company online, and found nothing. Not one word
about it."
"I wonder if the Fool ever
checks his financial reports he gets from this Paulus fellow."
James shrugs.
"The mail has been piling up
all addressed to the Duke, and Paulus has kept telling me he's going to
send it all off to the Duke sooner than later. But he hasn't."
She's robbing him blind and he has not a damn clue.
I will pray for him. And myself. It's coming.
III: Sunday, April 2, 2006:
New York City, New York - streets of New York
"I'm robbing the idiot blind babe
and he hasn't a damn clue," she giggles.
"I'm sure the good chaps at
Citibank won't appreciate your dishonesty," I remark.
"Hey if he fucking wants to be
a bank teller perhaps he should check the transactions he performs more
closely."
Apparently some poor loser at Citibank added an extra "zero" to one of
Marissah's deposits, giving her $10 000 instead of $1000. They'll
probably figure it out in some audit down the road, but for now, she
savouring their stupidity.
I too feel extremely stupid for having missed Edward's birthday a few
weeks ago. That is for not being there. He cried for like
an hour, so I've been told by Stephanie's niece, who is my only
connection to my ex-wife now.
I let out a sigh as we drive through Manhattan's busy streets preparing
to fly to Las Vegas for a quick two day jaunt before "Outrage."
"What, what is it," as
she applies lipstick to her already very crimson lips. "You're not sighing over Edward
still are you? Or complaining about your wasted wine after meeting with
jerk off prime Andrews?"
"Yes, yes I am over missing out
on my little boy's birthday." I turn to her. "Next year we'll have to be in
London or at least in the UK so that I can see him. I'm an idiot
for missing out in the first place," I shake my head, angered at
myself.
"Robert let it go for Christ's
sake it's just one day, shit. Besides, if we have a brat of our
own you can spoil his ass instead."
What? We? Have a child?
I glance over.
"That's a first. You want
to finally bare me another child?"
Sure, if I can murder that
little son of a bitch you call "son" right now.
"Maybe sweetie, I've been
thinking more about it."
So have Paulus and I. I don't know how easy pulling off a murder
would be. I've never done it! But he's only a child, it
can't be that hard, can it?
"Be a good boy and kick
Curtis' ass and fulfill your part of your bargain when you asked to
re-marry me."
I may not hardly love the loser, but I do care about his in-ring
success. After all, it's I
who's seeing him to the ring, it's I
whose name will go down in history as manager of one of the
greatest wrestlers in history - even if he's a piece of shit in every
other way. He better not let me down. I do NOT accept
failure.
"You know I will. I
sensed a lot when I went to that gym - shit you should have seen that
place," his voice turns decidedly disgusted.
"From what you've told me
about it I'm glad I didn't. I would have puked."
"Indeed," he un-blithely
responds. "But he's not
ready for me. I cast insult upon insult at him, taunted him, and
I got nothing. He probably thinks he's too cool for those, that
he can brush them off," he waves his hand in the air taking it
off the steering wheel for a moment, gesturing a brushing motion.
"I think it's more than
that. He doesn't know how to respond. He knows I am
intellectually superior, physically superior - mentally superior."
His lips form into a smile.
"I know it. He knows
it. It's just a matter of taking him."
"When you do make sure you
actually make him bleed, 'kay babe? I nearly fucking broke my
nails digging them into that asshole James' forehead. But it was
worth it."
A chill runs up my spine thinking of piercing his skin and seeing him
wince in a sub-conscious state, knowing that blood was escaping him.
I take heed of my wife's words.
Whatever she wants, she gets.
And whatever I want, I get.
I want the OLW Title.
And not Andrews, not Phoenix, not Curtis will stop me.
So I shall have it. Amen.
I am become Death
The Destroyer
of Worlds
