Michael
and the Chink in the Wall ©
By
Michael Casey
Michael
was all alone in the house, he was abandoned, left all alone with
just the mice for company. He was the kitchen boy in the Master’s
house, he’d fetch and carry and be allowed to sleep in a corner,
just like a dog, but a dog would at least have a basket. He was
actually the Master’s son, but when the pantry maid had died in
labour, Michael was kept in the kitchen, the Master agreeing not to
send him to the Workhouse, a promise he kept as the maid died before
him.
Being
the eldest, Michael should have inherited the house and the fortune,
but he had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The non
bastard children were in fact very ugly, but the Master had married
for a fortune, and not for love. Meanwhile Michael slowly rotted in
the kitchen, while snotty noses enjoyed their Victorian life.
Michael
would sit and dream on the cold flagstones, just shadows on the wall
for company. Sometimes one of Charles Dickens’ stories would
appear wrapped up with carrots or turnips. Michael loved Charles
Dickens his stories were so good, what with the cliff-hangers, one
day Charles Dickens would be famous. The cook just laughed, but she
enjoyed listening to Michael reading out the stories while peeled the
spuds. That was the only reason she had taught Michael to read, so
she could entertain her, she had in fact invented Radio, minus the
radio that is, Listen with Mother if you like.
Every
night the staff went to the attic to sleep while Michael shivered in
a corner, it was a slow death of the spirit apart from Charles
Dickens. Michael had to try and fall asleep before the kitchen fire
went out, or he would not sleep at all, the cold being so bone
chillingly cold.
There
was a chink in the wall from the house next door and this was
Michael’s tv, without the tv that is. For in the next house
everybody was always happy and gay, the servants laughed and even
danced. They had a good Master, their fire was always on, the Master
liked a warm house, he had made his fortune in India so he liked a
warm house.
If
Michael squeezed himself against the chink in the wall he could hear
the singing and smell the cooking, he could pretend he was with them
in the warmth of company and of real warm. There was actually a bit
of heat coming from that chink in the wall, Michael loved that house
and that kitchen, it was so full of life and joy.
At
night Michael fell asleep mumbling the songs that he’d heard from
the next door household. In the middle of the night he’d regularly
awake, his toes numb with cold, his bum freezing too. So he’d get
up and stamp around. Only shadows for company, the one candle in a
jar his only illumination. Michael would hold the jar and press it
against his body for warmth.
Even
the shadows on the wall had pity on him, they would dance about and
form faces of people dancing and talking, trying to amuse and console
Michael. The very stones cried for him, shadows of tears fell.
Michael loved their company in his daily Dark Night of the Soul, a
shadow is great company if you have no friends, if you have to decide
whether to burn Charles Dickens for warmth or save him so he can warm
your soul. Such a choice, warmth of the spirit or warmth of the body.
The
same shadows came night after night, they were in fact peopled by
stories from Charles Dickens, if your body is so cold, then all that
is left is the spark of soul. Or distant smells and laughter coming
through the chink in the wall. So your imagination sees things in the
dark, you see what you want to see in the cold and dark. You see
Hope. You see Love. You see Laughter. You see dancing shadows.
The
cook gave Michael a sweet, it was covered in muck and feathers, she’d
found it in the street when she’d been to the butchers, a few weeks
previously. She had only just remembered it. It was a present for
being such a good boy. It was also a goodbye, Michael would be 9 next
week so the Master had decided to let Michael find his own way in the
world. Michael would have to leave.
The
Master was going to buy a puppy for his legitimate children, Alpha
the dog would need a space in the kitchen, Michael would have to
leave to make room for Alpha the dog. A dog is a man’s, a Master’s
best friend after all. The promise to the pantry maid had been kept,
9 years Michael had squatted, now he was man enough to find his own
way in the world.
The
Master ordered that Michael be locked in overnight and then in the
morning when Alpha arrived Michael would be shown the door. Michael
stuffed all the Charles Dickens in his pockets, he’s freeze one
last night, but Charles Dickens would be part of his new life
whatever and wherever that may be.
The
walls wept, if only Michael could squeeze through the crack in the
wall, if only he could sing and dance with the neighbours, they were
having a Christmas Eve celebration. Michael fell asleep dreaming that
very same dream. He was dancing and drinking punch, the maids all
gave him a dance and a peck on the cheek. They all loved him, he was
not the bastard son, unwanted and thrown out to make room for a dog.
Michael
danced and laughed all night long, he was so happy, a much loved
member of the family. He was smiling in his sleep, clutching Charles
Dickens in his hands. That was how they found him in the morning,
curled up like a dog, but with a smile on his face, and Charles
Dickens’ new story in his hand A Christmas Carol. Michael had died
happy in his sleep. But how he got next door through a locked door
nobody would ever know, not even the stones would tell. Sometimes all
the love you need is a chink in the wall.
*******I wrote this 4 years ago, I hope it touches you this Christmas
I've written over 2000 stories, will I become the new Dickens?
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