Hugh Hamilton
A smartly dressed violinist, whose subtle melodies failed to reach the ears of either of our protagonists, bowed gratefully before The Mailwoman.
"That was marvellous," she enthused. Then, looking over at the three sets of staring eyes added, "Hello, what are you two doing here?"
One of the two answered.
"Delivering your letter."
"Oh yes, of course you are."
Yet another of those famous pauses stole into the room at that moment, mumbling something about a sister and generally trying to clarify various inconsistencies. Though it failed to achieve these goals, it did manage to leave a tender moment of definitive null in its wake.
"That reminds me," said The Mailwoman, "I have another letter for you to deliver."
"No!" screamed Ben, "no more letters, no more violet envelopes, no more chess!"
The Mailwoman kick-started a sly smile.
"This time I'll pay you seven thousand dollars." She let the remark hang in the air for a moment while gaped jaws slung back and forth with bought momentum. "And I promise this will be the last time."
Hugh accepted without even thinking to conspire with Ben and that was that. The other one's wife – also living somewhere in the sprawling modern architecture – followed her often mistakenly famous wife to the door and they both led our Hughs and our Bens out into the midday sun. As they slunk their respective weights along the scorching, barren road, Ben turned to his smaller partner and accused him of being conceived antecedently to matrimony.
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