Jesse Ball - The Village on Horseback - Prose and Verse, 2003-2008

— Do I have a key? the doorman asked the coatroom attendant.

— Yes, of course, he has a key. He’s the doorman.

Both continued their giggling.

— Listen, said Carr. I need to get through that door.

He grabbed the doorman roughly and started to shake him. The man was very weak and small, and was hauled nearly off his feet.

— All right, all right, said the man. Here’s the key.

He gave the key to Carr.

Carr put the key into the lock and turned it. The doorman, loosed from Carr’s grip, ran down the hall.

— You’ll get it for this, he said.

Carr remembered his coat. He started back for it.

No, he thought. They’ll think I’m weak if all I’m worried about is my coat. And also, he thought, that man is a coatroom attendant. They must have some sort of code by which they never let anything bad happen to coats. Otherwise, on what might their pride be based? He decided to rely upon this coatroom attendant’s code, and he went on through the door.

On the other side was a broad, curving, interior staircase. To the left a broad hall that passed by him and went off a ways to the right, just past a wide fireplace.

Where to go? thought Carr.

A girl in a maid’s uniform was carrying folded sheets.

— Oh my, she said.

— Where is the Judge?

— I couldn’t say, she said. But no one can go around unaccompanied in this house.

She dropped the sheets and ran to the wall. There was a bell-pull there. Carr caught her just in time, pulling her back. He had caught the back of her dress and it tore open. She lunged again for the bell-pull and it tore the rest of the way. He was forced to grab her about the waist.

Laughter came then from the stairs.

Carr spun around, still holding the girl, who now clung to him just in her underwear and torn-off dress.

On the stairs stood the Judge’s wife and also three servant-men.

— You have quite an appetite, said the Judge’s wife.

Carr let the girl go. She clung to him now all the same.

— What are you doing? he said. Get off me.

— First you assault me, she said, and now that you’ve ruined my virtue you want to get rid of me. I won’t have it.

She held on tight. The girl was a bit too much for Carr.

— Get off me, he said, and shook her off.

— That’s no way to treat her, said one of the servants.

— What’s the big idea? said another.

— I just came to speak to the Judge.

Everyone began to laugh.

— A fellow like you, speak to the Judge!

A more ridiculous statement they had never heard.

— What’s the idea in coming here? said the Judge’s wife.

To the servants, then:

— Throw him out.

She turned and went back up the stairs. The servants came down towards him.

Carr picked up a poker from the fireplace.

The servants eyed him warily.

— I’m going up. You can’t stop me.

And then his arms were caught up from behind. Someone had snuck up on him. The servants came up and took the poker from his hand. One slugged him in the stomach. He keeled over. They struck him a few more times and he blacked out. Then, he was lifted hand and foot and taken back out the front where they threw him unceremoniously on the ground.

Yes, that’s where he was, mouth all full of dirt.

The servants had gone back inside.

Carr ran up the steps and into the house. He ran past the coatroom attendant and into the house proper. He ran up the front stairs and searched through the rooms on the upper floor. There were many rooms of every size and description. People were in some, and they shrieked and made horrified noises as he burst in and out. He ran and ran down the hall, which went on for perhaps one or two miles. He was continually forced to stop, heaving and gasping for air, before running on again. Behind him, in the distance, he could make out pursuit.

I must look quite a horror, he thought, covered in dirt and running about.

At the end of the hall was another stair. Up that stair he went and found himself in the countryside. It was a broad glad day and there was singing of birds in the air. A party of young men were coming along the crest of a hill. He went to meet them.

— We’ve just come back from the war, they said.

— The war is over, they said.

— Come and sit with us.

There were proud young women with them, and all were wrapped up in chains of flowers and summer grasses.

Over and over they kept saying it, it gave them such joy on their mouths to say it, the war is over, the war is over.

Carr laid on his back and it was then he remembered about his coat. He had forgotten it. He was on his way to, on his way. .

He was standing again outside the mansion. The door was locked.

A cab pulled up. A slot in the house’s front door slid open. The coatroom attendant stuck his head through.

— That’s your cab, he said. Best to leave now. Here’s your coat.

He stuffed the coat through the narrow slot. Carr took it. It was not the same coat at all. This was a coat he had lost once when changing trains, at least ten years before. This coat was far too small for him.

— Thank you, said Carr.

— Don’t thank me, said the coatroom attendant. I’m not your friend.

The slot slid shut.

Was he outside Lubeck’s house? Lubeck’s mother was there, shepherding her children about. He could see her through the window. Then she saw him.

He was inside, and looking at her.

— Oh, this won’t do, she said. You’re such a mess. Come children.

So all the children took Carr to a great, castiron bathtub and together they all bathed him and washed him, and when he got out a fresh set of Lubeck’s clothing was sitting there waiting for him. He put the clothing on. It was a rather nice pinstripe suit. The children gamboled and danced around him.

— Now you are clean and we shall talk, said Lubeck’s mother.

Lubeck’s stepfather was also present.

— It’s much better to gather yourself before important conversations, he said. It just won’t do for you to go about like a filthy animal. We don’t live in caves, you know. Not anymore.

Carr explained what had happened to him.

Both were horrified. Around them danced and sang the uncomprehending little children.

— The man must be shot! resolved Lubeck’s stepfather. I will go and be your second tomorrow.

— Thank you, said Carr.

— But this business at the house, said Lubeck’s mother. And this business with the Judge’s wife. Why did you take her up to your room and have-to-do with her?

Carr shifted uncomfortably.

— I just felt so guilty, he said. I didn’t know what to do.

— Is that what you do when you don’t know what to do?

Lubeck’s mother and stepfather exchanged a look.

— What about this servant girl, asked Lubeck’s stepfather. What did she look like with her clothes off?

— Stop it, you, said Lubeck’s mother. That’s about enough of that.

They walked Carr to the door, patting him on the shoulder and back and commiserating with him. They all felt very keenly the loss of Lubeck and Brennan. To be fair, they were not so sad about Harp.

— Treacherous cur, said Lubeck’s stepfather. We should never have let him in the house.

The funeral was to be the following Tuesday.

— I hope to see you there, said Lubeck’s mother. Brennan’s family is going to travel the whole way, which will take from now until then and they will stay here for a few days and then return. You are welcome to come and stay here if you like. It is better in such times as these to be around other people.

Tonight, Carr told them, he thought he would rather be alone.

— That’s all very well, said Lubeck’s stepfather. We are all alone in the face of uncomprehending death.