Mouroir

The Man with the Head

There was a man, whether from Japhet or from Novgorod I do now know; and he was very sad. Pee — too — wee! Pee — too — wee! The man said out of sadness there where he sat by the window and watched thick blue rain falling from the sky so much so that all the blueness had fallen from heaven and the pee — too — wee he groaned again dejectedly for there was no gaol in his county. That is why he was so sad. There were old people and there was no prison to put them in; there were fat people and clever people and people with glasses and knotty veins and half-dead people and some all humid with cancer and property owners and people with skirts and corns and real people and nowhere a gaol to lock them up. There weren’t any black people in his country but nevertheless not even the smallest or cheapest little old gaol or boop or slammer or calabuso or ballon or clink or taule or cooler wherever and however to keep them separated. Pee — too — wee the man sighed and from pure desperation put his hands to his face and stated pulling. He tugged and pulled and suddenly his face gave way and quite coolly remained sitting in his hands, shivering. The man laid the face in his lap and the two of them stared at their mutual lameness. Pee — too — wee! Squeaked the man at his wits’ end as he doesn’t quite know what else to say. And wee — too — pee his crocked face answers all plucky. Who are you to pee — wee — too me? asks the man very angry highly upset all of a sudden the hell in. I shall curse thee — I’ll say “dammit” to you. And also dammit and buggerit and fie and whoreson and forsooth and without munching my words a powerful mammit. The man didn’t know all that many curses and the others which he did know he dared not employ for if he started sounding off and got himself arrested for private disturbance of the peace there would have been no gaol to punish him. Now I am properly right up to the nostrils in the whatsit, the man thinks. And who — pee — too taunts his face with the thick blue tears in the eyes. Just you wait a little while, my china, said the man as he put his face on the table most careful not to crumple the eyelashes, I’ll show you who the master is around here the cock on the dunghill; and through the window he climbed out into the rain with the intention of going to the shop owner across the road to buy a cocked mirror with which to confront the cocky face. But when he had his back turned the face immediately saw its chance and took the gap moving from the table to the floor through the front door over the veranda down the street ears in the neck. The shopkeeper asked the man and who do I have the honour to be serving? and the man became as red as blood with anger because he had since long been a faithful customer. And mirror I do have, the shopkeeper murmured thoughtfully, but oh my dear they seem to be all empty. Thereupon the shopkeeper happened to look through his shop window and clapped his hands and started crowing with the giggles — that is to say that the hand-clapping frightened the laughter-crow in his belly to life — and he shrieked whose face is running there then? First the man wanted to curse but he reconsidered remembering that he had already packed out all his usable curses in the house across the street; so he jumped up and started running down his face huffing and puffing. In front the face runs and then the man follows and they run and run and run; only, it is more difficult for the face to move because the man is not bothered by running tears in the eyes. Well, my friends, had there been, as it behoves a proper country, gaols down there, these events would never have taken place. And if I’d known whether the man hailed from Japhet or from Novgorod or perhaps from Windverlaat, I just might have been in the position to complete the story to all our satisfaction.

They’re probably still running now pee — too — wee wu — wu — sho.