1....”Excuse me, is your girlfriend feeling unwell?”
“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“Stop me if it’s none of my business, but she seems to
have a... It appears that her... I mean to say...”
“Dribble it out man. What’s wrong with her?”
“Her head is made from blue marble.”
“What? Nonsense! Wait a moment, so it is. Somebody
must have stolen the original and substituted this lifelike replica. Who would
do a thing like that? Why didn’t I notice anything?”
“Gangs of pickfaces roam the subways. They target a
victim and make a replica head from whatever materials they feel comfortable
with. Heads which are already loose can be swapped in seconds. I bet your
girlfriend had a heavy skull on a slender neck?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t particularly valuable.”
“To the right people it might be...”
“That sounds rather ominous. Please explain.”
“The gangs export them to China. I read about it in
the paper. Huge demand for heads over there. They use them for ornamental
purposes. It’s just not safe to take a lady out.”
“Good job I didn’t like her very much. But I promised
her father to get her home in one piece before midnight.”
“Will he notice that her head isn’t real?”
“Absolutely. He’s obsessed with details. Besides, she
sings for him in the parlour after supper. It’s a family tradition. I’d better
confess and face the music, or lack of it.”
“Rather you than me. What will he do?”
“I shudder to think. He’s very protective. He works in
the foundry. Perhaps he’ll boil my ankles over a red-hot girder. Why do
relationships always have to be so complicated?”
“I asked myself the same question when my wife left
me. The ceiling was falling down and she was fed up with getting plaster in her
hair, so she just walked out. Packed a suitcase and went, without saying
goodbye. She was run over by a steamroller.”
“That’s life, I guess. But what shall I do?”
“Maybe I can help. I’m used to dealing with vengeful
fathers. It’ll cost you, though. I’m not a charity.”
“I’m willing to pay. What’s the price?”
“The girl. I collect females like her.”
“I’m not sure. She might not want to go with you. She’s
very choosy with her affections. You are bald and ugly.”
“With a blue marble head how will she tell the
difference? Come on, it’s either that or facing the father alone. If you’re
worried about how I’ll treat her, put your mind at rest.”
“Well I’d like to know. It’s only natural.”
“Of course. She will be assisting my religious
studies. I’m turning my house into a temple. It’s a sacred task I have lined
up, nothing odd. Think of her as a foundation of spirituality.”
“I can’t argue with that. Let’s shake hands on the
deal.”
“That’s more like it. You won’t regret this. I’m a
professional and always guarantee my work. Wait and see. I bet if you have
trouble with a father in the future you’ll seek me out.”
“I don’t intend losing another girlfriend’s head!”
“I think you’ll find most women have loose ones these
days. Perhaps you’ll get lucky and meet a divorcee. They tend to use glue. But
nothing is really secure on the subway any more.”
“The next stop is mine. You’d better follow.”
“The stop belongs to the railway, but I know what you
mean. Shall I take your girlfriend’s arm to help her down?”
“She’s not yours yet. Come on, let’s jump off here.”
“We’re right behind you... Not that way, dear... You
have a complex and exquisite network of veins, like a map of an antediluvian
city ruled by intelligent reptiles... Mind the gap...”
2....”Well that was a cheap trick to play on me!”
“Not at all. I fulfilled my side of the bargain. You
have little to fear from that father now. A successful mission.”
“You replaced his head with a mahogany one!”
“Some people are never satisfied. I’m a pickface, but
I work alone. You should have realised that when I talked so knowledgeably
about China and the export market. But I’m only able to carve heads from
hardwood. A marble head is quite beyond my ability.”
“Do you make a habit of this? How many commuters have
you deceived? I ought to inform the transport police.”
“Don’t be churlish. Just give me your girl.”
“I guess you deserve her. But I feel nervous. Why do
business-deals always have to be so complicated?”
“I often ask myself that question when I’m sitting at
home, burning incense to the deity who lives in my broom-cupboard. He lurks
behind the buckets and refuses to come out.”
“Heavens! I thought dry-rot was bad enough. What sort
of god is he? Does he answer prayers or hurl lightning?”
“Neither, I’m afraid. I think he might be one of the Old
Ones, left behind during the last ice-age. At night he plays the washboard
with his gnarled fingers. I’m sure this music is what made the ceiling fall
down. He lives on spiders and detergent.”
“Sounds like Baby Jesus to me. Is he swaddled?”
“No, completely naked. When my temple to him is
finished, I believe he’ll be more approachable. I’ve chosen the Dorian style of
architecture for his sanctum, because it represents the last period when the Old
Ones openly interacted with humanity.”
“And the girl is a sacrifice to him?”
“Oh dear, no. I need her to hold the roof up. I’ve got
a dozen with blue marble heads lining the lounge. When there’s enough of them
to take the weight, I’ll knock the walls down.”
“Hey presto! An instant temple!”
“That’s the idea. He’s far too small a god to digest a
whole female in one go. For sacrifices I rely on my wife.”
“I thought you said she left you?”
“She did. But I rushed out after the steamroller and
peeled her off the asphalt in a single flapping sheet. I rolled her up under my
arm and stored her in the downstairs toilet.”
“You sentimental old fool. How touching!”
“Whenever he gets frisky and starts playing his damned
washboard, I tear off a required length and feed it to him on a pole. My wife
doubles up as a blanket on cold nights. I think I prefer her after the
accident. But she’s getting shorter every month.”
“This is my stop. I’ll take my leave of you here. But
I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid. I’m also a pickface.”
“I should have known! You have fingers like chisels.”
“I specialise in brass heads. I made a switch when you
looked away. Now you shan’t finish your temple.”
“You swapped her blue marble head for a brass one?
That’s breach of contract. Give it back this instant!”
“You misunderstand. I can’t blame you, considering
what your brains have to sit in. It’s your head I picked.”
“So you have! That’s really brassed me off. You’d
better return it. How will I ever enter an ironmonger’s without losing face?
You’ve ruined me. Come back here for a good polishing!”
“Sorry, I have to deliver a parcel to China. But look
on the bright side. You’ll be able to fry mushrooms on your cheeks. Haven’t you
wanted to do that for years? It’s not all doom.”
“What will my god say? He’ll be absolutely livid.”
“But mine will be enraptured. I’ve also got a
broom-cupboard with a resident deity. He’s the last of the Older Ones,
who are much older than the Old Ones. Apart from the Oldest Ones they’re
the oldest Ones of all. He plays the spoons all evening. I suppose
diabolism and skiffle must be connected somewhere along the line.”
“It’s not fair! I’m a widower!”
“So am I. My wife was a steamroller. She blamed
herself for rolling over a pedestrian and committed suicide.”
“But what about my temple? It was so ambitious.”
“I’ve decided to adopt your idea for my house. Perhaps
it will keep my god away from his blasted spoons. He’s bigger than yours so I’ll
have to build a larger temple. He’ll need a higher roof and girls just aren’t
tall enough. Let me think it over.”
3....”Excuse me, is your boyfriend feeling unwell?”
“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“Stop me if it’s none of my business, but he seems to
have a... It appears that his... I mean to say...”
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