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BIRDS
(WRITTEN FOR THEATRICAL PRODUCTION 'ASHTRAYS 2007' IN AID OF CANCER RESEARCH UK CHARITY)
It is daytime in an ordinary working men's cafe. At one of the formica tables meant for four persons, just a middle-aged man is seated. He has managed to spread himself over most of the table top with ashtray, mug, plate, unfolded newspaper and a large paper bag on which he rests a protective hand. A woman of similar age carrying a cup and saucer is walking between the other, all occupied, tables and spots his one. Staring at the man occupying the seat, the woman asks, "Is it alright if I sit down?"
The man looks up in surprise. "Of course," he hesitates, "Sorry."
He shuffles his effects around and the woman sits down gingerly opposite.
The man suddenly rustles the paper bag and says, "I'm just off to feed the birds. Rain or shine, every day, I used to come with my wife."
"Oh?"
"Not now, of course. She died a while back. Cooking dinner one minute and then pow! Down she went. Sudden like. No warning. I heard a crash and found her."
The woman politely says, "Oh. I'm sorry. Illness was it? Your wife, heart or something?"
"No, baked beans. A large tin fell off the shelf overhead and hit her on the head. Instantly fatal, the Coroner said. But the tin was OK, just dented. That was one good thing."
The woman, amazed, says "The tin was alright? Just the tin?"
The man smiles in recollection. "Funny thing. She was cooking chips . They went on the floor, too. But she'd already had hers, so to speak. I couldn't use them afterwards. I had to go to the chippie. Such a waste."
"Your poor wife."
"Well, it's not all waste really. After the inquest and so on, I asked if I could have her body back. A friend of mine runs a meat pie factory. I had him put her through the mincer."
Unsure if she really had heard this, the woman repeats, "Through the mincer, your wife, surely not?"
"It's alright, it was an industrial sized one. Didn't hurt it. Then I packed her in paper bags and put them in the freezer. I take out two bags a week and defrost them then bring them down here to feed the birds with. Better than cremation. She always liked feeding the birds."
The woman turns away and begins to choke. With her eyes streaming tears and a hankie pressed hard to her mouth, she leaves the bench and hurries away in the direction from which she came.
A second woman enters the cafe. She is much younger than the man, probably by a good twenty five to thirty years. When she speaks, we hear that her English is good but her accent is heavy and Eastern European in its intonation.
"Hello, dear. You have been waiting long? They were so busy in the travel agents but the girl she gave me some lovely brochures for second honeymoon. I tell her, my first, my husband's second! She laugh! Many short breaks ideal for celebration. You look when we get home."
The man smiles, gets up and begins to collect his things off the table.
The new woman asks, "Who was that woman you talking to? You know her?"
"No, she just came and sat down but she didn't stay long. Funny woman, I thought. Didn't look well at all. She suddenly rushed off."
And the second woman says, "Well, never mind her. Let's go home, sweetie."
"Ah," says the man, "with all this talk of holidays, you did remember to get the baked beans, didn't you, large size?"
His spouse nods and they link arms to wander off together down life's unpredictable path.
THE END
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