Jack by Bob Baynes
Jack DeAth was someone you really don’t want to know. He revelled in the discomfort of others and was a menace to his family. Now 27 years old, when he wasn’t tormenting Alfred, his younger brother, he was busy fomenting trouble wherever he could. Both boys had been brought up as staunch Catholics, Jack surprisingly not objecting, probably, people thought, because he could go to confession and be absolved of his many sins.
His mother died when he was 15. It came as a surprise to everyone and it was never discovered how she managed to accidentally swallow the fatal dose of cyanide which she kept in her greenhouse. Jack went to confession quite a lot following her death.
Alfred on the other hand was always a sickly child, born blind and developed haemophilia in his early teens. His father was very protective, and did what he could to keep him out of the clutches of his brother. Unfortunately his father died when the brakes failed on his car. It was a mystery how a well maintained car with a dual hydraulic braking system suffered such a catastrophic failure only 3 days after it was serviced and MOT’d, but as Jack philosophically reflected, shit happens. The DCI in charge of the case could find no evidence of foul play, but he made it known to Jack that his card was marked.
The family was comfortably off, Jack’s father being a successful author of detective stories. So there was the question of the will, with only the two boys as beneficiaries. Jack really didn’t want to share the inheritance. Alfred’s birthday was coming up, so Jack thought that was a good opportunity. He went out to John Lewis and bought a large 3 dimensional cheese grater which he wrapped in festive paper. On Alfred’s birthday Jack gave him the cheese grater saying it was the latest braille Wilbur Smith book. Alfred liked Wilbur Smith. Jack went out and Alfred opened his present and started reading avidly. Annoyed because he couldn’t make sense of the words, he read faster and faster……
Jack came home to find his brother lying in a pool of blood. Despite his dark and evil doings he felt apprehensive. A vision of the priest in his dog collar came into his mind, and he set off to the cathedral to confess. He found himself in a queue behind a young mother with a baby in a push chair. Eventually his turn came round and in the confessional he told the horrified priest of his latest dastardly deed. Father Eamon O’Malley had heard his previous confessions, and strongly advised Jack to give himself up to the police – confidentiality only went so far.
Jack was taking no chances, the turbulent priest must go. He dashed out of the confessional, and saw the young mother had parked her pram by the first row of pews. There, in the tray underneath was a pile of nappies. No one was looking. He grabbed one, soaked it in the font, dashed round to the priest’s side of the confessional, and wrapped it tightly round Father O’Malley’s head.
When Father O’Malley had stopped twitching, Jack left the cathedral unobserved and went home to plan……………………….
(to be continued)
Very much enjoyed this – if enjoyed is the right word. The cheese grater trick was evil genius, loved ‘he read faster and faster”. Looking forward to the next episode!
From Simon: I enjoyed this little black comedy. Perhaps because I’ve just finished reading a biography of Graham Greene, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Catholic practice of confession and absolution of sins. And that’s well used to comic effect in this story. The tone of voice in the piece is just right. A throwaway line like ‘Jack went to confession quite a lot following her death’ is all the more effective for its casualness. As is the awful sentence: ‘On Alfred’s birthday Jack gave him the cheese grater saying it was the latest braille Wilbur Smith book.’ What was once called ‘sick humour’ needs a detached style of narration, which is exactly what it gets here. If the readers begin to get emotionally involved in the action, then they become aware of the true ghastliness of what is going on. And I love the ‘(to be continued)’ at the end, with its suggestion that Jack’s murderous career has only just begun. The piece’s tone of voice made me think of Harry Graham’s lines:
‘Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes;
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven’t the heart to poke poor Billy.’