I appreciate that this is a little indulgent, but what the heck! I have enjoyed writing it. It does have a point though and the analogies should be obvious.
It is the early 19th Century London; around the time Mr Dickens was penning his first novel, a typical reeking claustrophobic East London Street, the smells invigorated by the mid summer sun (though, only few sad rays are managing to infiltrate the snug fitting structures surrounding the narrow thoroughfare!) and the toing and froing of the transacting population. There stalked Scratch. Scratch the ever watchful, the predatory Scratch, his native essence adding to the insipid malaise seeping into the air. Here he was purposefully anonymous seeking out an opportunity to feed on any open wound.
Scratch the furtive parasite tiptoeing agile through the throng, his gait irregular, never moving in a straight line, his head twisting this way and that, birdlike, wary of every sound, alert to every movement.
In the garb of the previous age (when it was purchased no doubt!) he wore black breetches, stockings and a tailcoat. His head adorns a Tri Corn Hat underneath, a wig. His face is pinched thinly covered with skin almost translucent (excepting the mean lines) exposing the contours of his skull. His nose oversized and slightly hooked, with vast ugly nostrils, a perpetually pursed thin mouth, a large forehead, sporting one single virulent eyebrow along its width, looming over deep set tiny agitating eyes. An insect made man if ever there was one.
Ever attentive he is drawn to a disturbance a little way ahead, careful to conceal his attraction he circles his potential prey, finally crouching unobtrusively towards the fringes of the crowd drawn to witness the commotion. The play unfolding in front of him (he will miss no detail, no nuance) has two actors an imposing red-faced man with full (and appropriate) pork chop side burns, fills a door frame he is warring a blood stained apron enormous forearms, folded, rest on an impressive girth. He is apparently by trade a butcher.
The second part is taken by a slight earnest looking man, if by that you mean commonplace and seemingly decent, of about 30, he is rising awkwardly embarrassed to his feet, following his ruff ejection from the Butchers premises.
“ Sir,” he begins, the earnest man that is, in what is not an uneducated style of speaking “ I have been your loyal customer for as long as I have been married to my wife, who you have known since her youth and yet you deny me a weeks credit on a side of mutton and a half pound of sausages, I have said that I will pay you more than their value on my next payday. My employer will vouch for my reputation and regular income”
The Butcher replies mocking “ Is my sign not impozin’, it stands tall enough, you a lawyers clerk an ‘all you must be able to discern the word, if not let me tell ya, it says “Butcher” and vat means I sells meat not charity, if its charity you want see the Commissioners, be off with ya, I’m tired of this show”
At the conclusion of his speech he squeezes back into the shop, the cheers (and to their credit a few jeers) from the now dispersing audience ringing in his ears. Crestfallen the spurned man slinks away out of sight of everyone, well almost everyone!
The insect has located a carcass and it is not in the obdurate Butchers window, it is currently bowed, troubled, travelling purposelessly. Looking every bit like a lamed animal detached from the heard, out in the open, unaware of its vulnerability.
The Insect does not pounce straight away he follows, skipping, pirouetting seemingly looking everywhere but in the direction of his target, he settles for a moment in one place, then darts to begin his manic dance one again. All the time, forming in his mind, a plan, he thinks the Butcher stupid for missing his chance he will not make the same mistake. Finally, having determined the appropriateness of the location, that is, away from the sight of any human eye, he lands.
He appears it seems from nowhere in front of his victim pausing to paste his own face with his hands, as if washing, making a noise with his lips as they pass over them. He rubs his hands together before raising one of them to stop his distracted quarry in his tracks.
“Hey!” it says brushing Scratches bony hand away from his shoulder twisting away from the unwanted attentions.
“Stay, young man don’t be so hasty”, insists Scratch formulating an approximation of a smile “ I saw your discomfort just now at the hands of that brute of a Butcher” he spits to one side, as he says the word. “I want to help”
Even though repulsed by the appearance of such a creature, the object of the Butchers derision stands (all is now lost!).
Scratch continues, forming his words carefully and slowly so that the young man has to listen attentively to get their gist, “ Much as I try to fight it, I find that I cannot ignore my philanthropic nature, it’s a curse, I know, but I cannot resist the urge to help a body in trouble” (strange use of words “body “ perhaps he is really finding it difficult to hold back his baser urges!).
“Can I confirm with you that you find yourself a little short of money, only temporarily mind, and wish to draw down a trifle in advance of your comfortable salary due in a weeks time?”
“Yes, exactly that” says our naïve dupe “ An unforeseen expense has completely thrown out my careful budgeting, my wife relies on my competency in this area and knows nothing of the difficulty and she must not know her constitution will not bear it, I am in a word desperate”
“Desperate eh!” says Scratch desperate himself to hide his glee! “Don’t despair (although, don’t doubt he will in due course), it is our fate to meet up, yours to have your rescuer witness your plight, mine to meet up with a worthy cause to indulge my generosity (mode point this!). Can ask how much you need, now don’t hold back my purse is deep? ” Yes, very deep indeed generally too deep for any of its contents ever to see the light of day.
“Half a crown, will see me right, Sir”
“Would another six pence on top make absolutely certain?” enquired the Philanthropic Insect
“ Sir that is more than generous and will ease my concerns”
“ No, no tis my destiny, I am but the conduit “ the humble Insect insisted “even though I am at the mercy of my liberal character, I must show some responsibility to you and your future, There are, therefore conditions, that I must impose if I am to conduct myself with integrity”
Scratch, with due solemnity continues “However, if I am to assist you at all, I wish to know a little more about your situation. Are you prepared to tell me your name and the amount of your weekly wage?”
Eager to show his trust Tom Finch says quickly “ Tom Finch and nearly 9 shillings and soon to rise on the anniversary of my employment”
“ Not at all bad Tom for a lawyers clerk you must be well thought of, my name is Scratch”
“Now then is your rent paid up to date and have you any savings?”
Tom replied slightly less eagerly as he is gaining in confidence in the well-meaning Gent (Gent!!) “ In the two years of occupation of Penn Street I have been most prompt with payment. As for the second part of your enquiry I am afraid I can be less forthright, we have alas very little set aside and that has its hat and coat on too”
Scratch, rubbed his elbows together a very strange and alarming action, he is doing a similar thing now with his knees. Tom in such raptures with his Saviour hardly notices and if he did he would persuade himself that it was an endearing eccentricity.
The “Eccentric” having performed these tricks cocks his head to one side and closes his eyes in a feign gesture of consideration. “ These are my terms, you must bring with you, to my business premises tomorrow, your rent book and evidence of your employ. On sight of these the money is yours in an instant. I will require payment a week from that date with addition of half as much again. This you understand is not for my gain, although, a little is for my risk, no it is that I feel am obliged to teach you the lesson of prudence and the consequence if in recklessness it is ignored”
The business end of the conversation continues “Having been through this small inconvenience I am prepared, under these terms, to offer to help in the same way should, and I doubt it will, the same misfortune befall you again, but not infinitely, mind, for your own good the arrangement will terminate after say four transactions. One other thing I require of you and in order to sate my incessant cravings to help, you must tell all of your friends, family and colleagues of the availability of the service I have to offer. Please shake hands on it”
Tom offers his hand, greedily accepted by Scratch who shakes it enthusiastically.
Tom Finch expresses his thanks and says “On my honour”
Scratch hands over his calling card, Tom examines the address “ Aye, I know of this road it leads down to the Marshelea”
Scratch now abstracted says “ I believe it does, no mind”
They part, the earnest man striding now positive towards a destination, the Insect anxiously surveys the area he is uneasy at being in one location for this length of time, he is now flitting away restless, looking, looking the hunger to suck blood unabated, constantly tormenting him.
For those of you unaware the Marshalea was an infamous Debtors prison. Tomorrow Tom will literally tread on the “Road to Ruin”. Who would have thought nearly 200 years later people are still intent on travelling down the same path.
Steve Townend: a mobile world 