Village Squire, 1978-06, Page 24Crazy
Glady
A short story by Adrian Vos
Mrs. Gladstone is angry. The photographer is there. The table
is set up outside, for better light, but her little darling refuses to
sit down long enough for the picture to be taken. It is 1923 and it
is not every day that an itinerant photographer turns up. Her
little darling is her dog of uncertain parentage and the only
companion she has. The photographer insists that he must sit
absolutely still for at least three seconds, but whatever she tries,
he won't stay on the table for even one second.
With tears in her eyes from sheer frustration, she is ready to
give up, when little Arthur, the neighbour's boy, comes running
around the corner, loudly hooting his imaginary train whistle.
His train comes to an abrupt halt when he spies the strange man
with the box and the black cloth. Shy and curious he sidles up to
Mrs. Gladstone and shoves his little pudgy hand into her thin
and dry one. "What's going on here?" he seems to ask silently,
for he is much too shy to open his mouth in the presence of
strangers. The eyes, in a head that is still round and chubby from
his three years' old baby fat, see everything in a glance. The
table" in the unaccustomed place, the dog running away, the
camera, the old spare figure of Mrs. Gladstone and the
photographer in his shabby coat.
Suddenly she makes a decision. If that darn dog won't sit still,
she is sure that Arthur will, and without further delay he feels
himself picked up and placed on the table in front of the brown
box with the black cloth.
The stranger says: "Now watch the little hole carefully and
there will be a birdie coming out of it."
He only half believes it, but one never knows, so he keeps
looking while the man ducks under the black cloth. When he
comes out from under it he says, "watch careful now," and takes
a sort of small lid from the opening. But however hard Arthur
look's, he sees no bird come out. Then the man put the lid back on
and says that the bird has flown, but Arthur is sure that no bird
came out and that his eyes never wavered and figures that it is
one more time that an adult is pulling his leg.
When the strange man in the shabby coat has gone, little
Arthur helps Mrs. Gladstone to put the table back into the
kitchen again. That is hard work, and now that there are no
longer strange people around, he chats without ceasing. After
she gives him a candy he goes back into his train and hoots his
way out of Mrs. Gladstone's kitchen. Fondly she looks after him.
She loves that boy. He is all she has, for her own children have
all grown up and seldom visit with her any more and her husband
has passed away such a long time ago, that she only dimly
remembers what he looked like. The youth from the
neighbourhood calls her names, such as "crazy Glady" and that
upsets her more than anything. So much so that she often runs
PG. 22. VILLAGE SQUIRE/JUNE 1978.
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