Dog Day Afternoon by Winthrop Murray
27 May 2021 { General Fiction }
The room was perfectly square with blue floral wallpaper, the sort of wallpaper you only usually find six layers down when refurbishing an old house. The air was smoky and to say it smelled of a teenager's trainers would be insulting to teenagers... and trainers. In the corner was a grandfather clock, almost completely unadorned with a plain white clock face. There was a single painting hanging on one wall, a faded image of yachts on a stormy sea, the blandest type of painting which two minutes after observing you would be unable to recall. On another wall there was a very old mirror, so old in fact that it had virtually given up reflecting. The room was tired, rather ugly and pretty unwelcoming, the afore mentioned adornments did little to improve its appearance, rather like putting a pair of earrings on a troll. The single light bulb hanging from the high ceiling had a fabric shade with tassels and a thick layer of dust. The light cast dramatic shadows on the seven faces seated around the large wooden table, engrossed in a very serious game of cards. The shadows played with their appearance, delicate noses became elongated and bulbous, refined ears became elephantine and other relatively soft features were harshened, turning them into grotesque caricatures. Ordinary, pleasant enough faces were transformed into Nosferatu's siblings.
Miss Chavim was the first to speak. "When I used to play cards with the Maharajah he found it simply impossible to read my poker face."
Miss Chavim was a faded beauty, she still had her slim figure and thick hair though the grey was bleeding through and her gait was getting more unsteady every day. She had travelled all over the world, from Turkmenistan to Jaipur, from Timbuktu to Heaton Norris. She was a terrible name dropper, taking every opportunity to mention famous actors and celebrities that she claimed to have known. The other card players were younger and for the most part they had never heard of these celebrities, but no one was ever interested enough to question her further. She was usually dripping in diamonds, never one to miss a chance to flaunt her supposed wealth; they could be fake but again no one could conjure up enough interest to find out.
"The Maharaja had the most beautiful colonial house in the mountains, near Darjeeling. Do you know he asked me several times to marry him? I said..."
"Oh for God's sake, will you just stop prattling on and play the card, see" interrupted Sammy in his best Humphrey Bogart voice. "We don't need no dumb broad holding up the game, see." He actually looked more like Winston Churchill and even smoked a cigar, although it was a slim panatela rather than one of those big fat cigars rolled on the thighs of a dusky maiden in Havana.
"Yes do get on with it ducky, I feel like it’s Christmas Eve an I've been sat 'ere since Whit Week Walks!” added Mo. She was the female version of Sammy, she also looked a little like Winston Churchill, though more feminine as her jowls were less well defined.
Miss Chavin finally played her card and there was a communal sigh of relief as the game could continue.
"Why do yer think they've shoved uth all in 'ere?" said Gordon, one of the twins.
"Oh heaven only knows" said Miss C glancing upwards "they never tell us a thing. Did no one hear anything that could explain it all?”
“No“ said Geoff the other twin “our two had a row last night, I could hear shouting and banging but I couldn't make out any words. Then they said ‘bugger all’ this morning, it was all total silence and hard stares over the Frosties.”
Gordon and Geoff were the youngest card players, they were twins but not identical. Geoff had a small scar across his neck and Gordon was perhaps a little heftier but facially they were pretty similar. They both appeared bright and healthy but unfortunately they were lacking in common sense and constantly found themselves in some sort of trouble.
“There mustht be a reathon why they've locked uth all in here, there are theven of usth, come on now we’ve all got earsth, thurely one of uth mutht know?” said Gordon, inadvertently quoting Bob Dylan.
The Colonel suddenly cleared his throat. Everyone fell respectfully silent expecting him to say something profound, but no. He closed his mouth again, broke wind with orchestral clarity, scratched his ear but remained shtum. The Colonel was getting pretty old now, he used to tell incredible stories of his life in the army but lately when he tried to talk, his words would just trail off leaving the story hanging in mid air. A most frustrating conversationalist.
The game continued apace until it was Miss C’s turn again, while waiting, they took the opportunity to resurrect the conversation.
"Well we must have been here for hours, does anyone know the time?” said Delilah, as she slurped from her bottle of Mackeson.
“There's a clock in the corner, see”
“Yes I know but it’s stopped haven't you noticed?”
“Well I know it’s way past dinner time coz my stomach's rumbling summat rotten.” added Mo. “Anyway, I'm getting a bit worried now; they've never left us this long before do you think something’s happened?”
No one seemed to notice that as they talked Sammy passed Mo a card under the table; it was the ace of clubs and gave her the hand she needed for a full house. Mo adjusted her cards and exclaimed "I win", placing them face up on the table. There was a shared groan and everyone began gathering in the cards ready to start the next game.
“What’s that?” said Geoff “I heard something.” Everyone ran to the door, wagging their tails and barking excitedly as their smiling owners walked through the door, reeking of gin and beer.
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