strong – physically as well as mentally – and you have a certain curiosity mixed with a raw, almost evangelical faith. I remember how you scrutinised the paintings and sculpture in this same office, when you first started. I remember how you looked at me as I completed the jigsaw puzzle, probably wondering what on earth a man such as myself would find entertaining about simple jigsaw puzzles.” Shank smiled at Paul, knowingly, a smile too close for Paul’s comfort. “Violet may not be perfect. She is prone to sudden, sometimes violent, mood swings, a secret preference for the violent outcome. But I think you could tame a lot of the wildness in her, bring out the potential, which I failed to do.” Shank reached for a bottle of water, pawing it with both gloves, gulping the liquid down greedily.
Momentarily confused, Paul continued listening absorbedly, speechless, yet still susceptible to the infinite discharge of sounds parading from the mouth of Shank. Aparcel of intenseness sat in his lungs and tried to choke off rational thought, as if punishing him for not speaking when he had the chance.
Shank continued before Paul had time to recover. “Let me say that she is by no stretch of the imagination the prettiest flower in the garden. That I know. But even weeds have their place in the clay. Is that correct, Mister Goodman?”
A burning sensation had taken root in the base of Paul’s brain, slowly turning out the lights in his skull. He realised that if he didn’t speak now, the darkness would render him speechless.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mister Shank, but I do not have any strong feelings for Violet. I don’t know where you obtained your information, but it is wrong.”
Paul had amazed himself. Where the hell had he grown the balls to talk to the almighty Shank in such a manner?
Sweat trickled down Paul’s spine, pooling between his buttocks. He badly wanted to scratch his arse, but thought better of it. Shank could mistake it as an insult.
Shank nodded, slowly, as if reflecting upon this terrible piece of news and for some inexplicable reason a tinge of remorse touched Paul, as if he had terribly wronged this man who had given him a job and entertained the thought that he, Paul Goodman, was suitable for his daughter, bringing with it the comforts of money and respectability, regardless of how dodgy that respectability may become in the long run.
“There is no fool like an old fool, Mister Goodman. I should never have assumed anything on face value. No doubt, I read the signs wrong and have been punished for not doing my homework on such an important matter. I thank you foryour honesty. Other men would simply have lied to keep in with me. More my loss now.” Shank slowly removed the gloves, placing them on a nail above his head.
“Mister Shank. I do have … feelings, but they …” Paul could feel his face burn. He hated it when his face betrayed him. “Well … they are for … Geordie …”
Shank appeared dumbfounded while he ran a hand over the smooth surface of his baldy head. “Geordie? Geordie, Mister Goodman …? But she is … she is broken, not whole, and I doubt she would be shaped correctly to carry a baby, or make a man happy in bed.”
Paul’s skin seemed on fire. He didn’t think such words were appropriate. Shank gave the impression of discussing one of the cows out in the sheds, not a human being, certainly not his daughter.
“I didn’t say I wanted to marry Geordie, Mister Shank, just that I have … feelings for her. I doubt if she even likes me, barely tolerates me, if I’m to be honest.”
“Likes you? She would love you to death, Mister Shank! Love you to death … God, how she would love you! I never … I mean … Geordie? Well, isn’t that a development? Geordie, Geordie, Geordie …” Shank continued saying her name, a mantra for all to hear. “I never thought the day would come when someone would have feelings for Geordie. Tell me it’s not pity,
Momentarily confused, Paul continued listening absorbedly, speechless, yet still susceptible to the infinite discharge of sounds parading from the mouth of Shank. Aparcel of intenseness sat in his lungs and tried to choke off rational thought, as if punishing him for not speaking when he had the chance.
Shank continued before Paul had time to recover. “Let me say that she is by no stretch of the imagination the prettiest flower in the garden. That I know. But even weeds have their place in the clay. Is that correct, Mister Goodman?”
A burning sensation had taken root in the base of Paul’s brain, slowly turning out the lights in his skull. He realised that if he didn’t speak now, the darkness would render him speechless.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mister Shank, but I do not have any strong feelings for Violet. I don’t know where you obtained your information, but it is wrong.”
Paul had amazed himself. Where the hell had he grown the balls to talk to the almighty Shank in such a manner?
Sweat trickled down Paul’s spine, pooling between his buttocks. He badly wanted to scratch his arse, but thought better of it. Shank could mistake it as an insult.
Shank nodded, slowly, as if reflecting upon this terrible piece of news and for some inexplicable reason a tinge of remorse touched Paul, as if he had terribly wronged this man who had given him a job and entertained the thought that he, Paul Goodman, was suitable for his daughter, bringing with it the comforts of money and respectability, regardless of how dodgy that respectability may become in the long run.
“There is no fool like an old fool, Mister Goodman. I should never have assumed anything on face value. No doubt, I read the signs wrong and have been punished for not doing my homework on such an important matter. I thank you foryour honesty. Other men would simply have lied to keep in with me. More my loss now.” Shank slowly removed the gloves, placing them on a nail above his head.
“Mister Shank. I do have … feelings, but they …” Paul could feel his face burn. He hated it when his face betrayed him. “Well … they are for … Geordie …”
Shank appeared dumbfounded while he ran a hand over the smooth surface of his baldy head. “Geordie? Geordie, Mister Goodman …? But she is … she is broken, not whole, and I doubt she would be shaped correctly to carry a baby, or make a man happy in bed.”
Paul’s skin seemed on fire. He didn’t think such words were appropriate. Shank gave the impression of discussing one of the cows out in the sheds, not a human being, certainly not his daughter.
“I didn’t say I wanted to marry Geordie, Mister Shank, just that I have … feelings for her. I doubt if she even likes me, barely tolerates me, if I’m to be honest.”
“Likes you? She would love you to death, Mister Shank! Love you to death … God, how she would love you! I never … I mean … Geordie? Well, isn’t that a development? Geordie, Geordie, Geordie …” Shank continued saying her name, a mantra for all to hear. “I never thought the day would come when someone would have feelings for Geordie. Tell me it’s not pity,
Similar Books
