Hugh Hamilton
At precisely some time around midnight, Ben awoke to find someone knocking urgently on his door. He hurried out of bed and quickly answered it.
"Hugh! What the hell do you want?"
"Queensland should have an apostrophe!"
The sound of the door clicking violently back into the door-frame was not the response Hugh had expected, and it took him a good deal of motionless minutes before he realised that pursuing the matter further would be unwise.
The next day – Wednesday I believe – they were sitting as they have done so often in their office when a great thud thudded into the door and took great pleasure in startling them; under the current circumstances, this was a welcome relief. Opening the door – the obvious choice of action – they found themselves in the company of another big bag of mail, carefully tied up with string obviously intended for brown paper packages. Ben made a conscious effort to look thoroughly irritated; Hugh nodded indifferently, but was secretly pissed off (I say secretly because he failed to notice the miniscule pause relieving itself atop his head). There was a note attached to the bag, but none dared to inspect it just yet. After Just Yet turned into About Now, Hugh grabbed the piece of paper and brought it to eye-level.
"It's heavy," he said.
"Doesn't look heavy," disagreed Ben.
"But it's a five-pound note," protested Hugh with a smirk.
Ben coughed up a bloody cringe.
"Call me when you get to England," he murmured amid a scowl.
They stood for a few more minutes at the door and looked dolefully at the intimidating bag of mail.
"Wait," began Ben, "what does the note actually say?"
"Let's see." Hugh briefly scanned the neat print. "Six-hundred thousand..." he gasped and trailed off.
No one said anything for another few minutes; he was quite capable of speaking for himself.
"I do like this weather we're having," said Another Few Minutes and left.
"Is this all to the same place?" asked Ben.
"Yes," answered Hugh after looking at the note again. "But we have to return all the other money."
Ben frowned.
"It also states that this is most definitely the last bag of mail," added Hugh.
"Again?"
"Yes..."
A pause.
"Was it too soon?" asked Ben.
"Yes, yes it was," replied Hugh.
"Let's go,"
And they went.
A dozen arduous hours later, they arrived at a busy open area in the city and rested on a green metal bench, where, amid sliding trams and sunken sculptures, they munched on a delightful pair of cucumber sandwiches and watched passers-by pass by. The hot day was mercifully cooled beneath the extensive shadows of tall trees and the brick structures on which they lay were well peopled with workers and the like lunching peacefully. Cars were not permitted here; a pervading sense of contentment floated lazily through every breeze. The tall clock tower was the only reminder of another world.
"So where's this place?" said Ben, licking the last granules of bread from his unchapped lips.
"There, I think." Hugh pointed at a nicely inconspicuous building to the far end of the square.
Approaching with a casual swagger, they were almost utterly shocked to find a school of policemen swimming with watchful eyes around the entrance.
"Oh dear," exclaimed Hugh in riddled fear.
Judging the situation as serious, Ben decided against going into that whole "one of the conditions" thing.
"Be on the look out for two people with a mailbag," advised one of the policemen, then, looking suspiciously behind him, he added: "rather like them."
The "them" in question were soon approached by an eager young participant in state authority.
"Have you seen any people like yourselves around?" he asked. "Possibly with a mailbag."
"No." Ben shook his head. "Have you?"
"No."
The conversation ended there. It started up again a while later with the policeman asking: "What have you got in that mailbag?"
But unfortunately Ben and Hugh were already ascending the cinematic stairs of the large clock tower. Peaking through a small, circular crack in the clock face, they spied an overwhelming group of law on the grey concrete far below. But the real shock came from observing another group of well-armed police actually enter the clock tower; hearing their delicate policeman feet patter rhythmically on the cold metal stairs sent harsh chills up their spines. A course of action was soon decided: they must climb the clock face and get up onto the roof, where escape would be almost possible. Hanging dangerously from the long hand of the clock, they realised with a hint of horror that they were not the best climbers the world has seen. In fact, they could well be the worst.
"This is terrific," sarcasmed Ben as he swung and slipped with every ticking second.
"Yes it is," agreed Hugh, cutting viciously through Ben's pessimism. "All we need to do is wait until the hour."
"Great plan," disagreed Ben.
And so they waited. Unfortunately for them, the police weren't so willing to play along and they expressed this lack of patience with a well-aimed sniper rifle that tore apart the mailbag that Ben and Hugh had foolishly brought with them. Hundreds of violet envelopes shot out of the gaping hole, danced hauntingly in the erratic breeze and littered the ground below. Some spilled their contents of letters and tea-leaves, others of tea-bags and compressed slices of moist chocolate cake — nothing particularly interesting. After the excitement wore off, Ben and Hugh surrendered and, in turn, were arrested.
Just as the trial began to get interesting, a new, highly-convenient law was passed that allowed more then one mail service in the area and our two smugglers were grudgingly let off the hook and returned to society. Society ignored them so they returned penniless (though not entirely dollar-less) to their office and went to sleep.
THE END
Showing posts with label 07 - The Mailwoman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 07 - The Mailwoman. Show all posts
Friday, January 5, 2007
The Mailwoman: Chapter XX
Ben Hansen
Three and a half weeks later, Ben and Hugh staggered back into their office.
"If I never see an envelope or a parcel again, it'll be too soon,"
Hugh murmured.
"What does that mean?" Ben asked. "If you never see an envelope, then
WHAT'S too soon?"
Hugh was spared the indignity of replying to this asinine question by
the soft sound of an envelope being punched through the slot by a
mailman who bore a strange resemblance to the hideous bellboy who had
worked in the Chad hotel Graham Brooks had died in.
"Dear detectives," it read, "Thank you for delivering those letters.
If not for you, I would still be dead. Enclosed is your cheque." And
it was.
"It wasn't all bad then," Hugh said.
"Meh," Ben replied. "I still prefer draughts."
"But we got lots of money, and we got to see a bit of the world."
"Whatever. Just promise me we never have to do it again without at
least knowing why."
"What was wrong with it?"
"Are you kidding?" Ben shot back. ""What was RIGHT with it?"
"Well, we got to go on a river cruise."
"We almost drowned on a leaky raft we built ourselves."
"You got a free first-aid class."
"I had to perform surgery on myself, just because you thought standing
over me with a scalpel would look a bit gay. I'm just lucky the
natives thought we were gods and decided to rescue me before I bled to
death."
"Yes, it'll be some time before I want to sacrifice a goat again."
"But enough about Queensland, let's go to bed."
And they did.
Three and a half weeks later, Ben and Hugh staggered back into their office.
"If I never see an envelope or a parcel again, it'll be too soon,"
Hugh murmured.
"What does that mean?" Ben asked. "If you never see an envelope, then
WHAT'S too soon?"
Hugh was spared the indignity of replying to this asinine question by
the soft sound of an envelope being punched through the slot by a
mailman who bore a strange resemblance to the hideous bellboy who had
worked in the Chad hotel Graham Brooks had died in.
"Dear detectives," it read, "Thank you for delivering those letters.
If not for you, I would still be dead. Enclosed is your cheque." And
it was.
"It wasn't all bad then," Hugh said.
"Meh," Ben replied. "I still prefer draughts."
"But we got lots of money, and we got to see a bit of the world."
"Whatever. Just promise me we never have to do it again without at
least knowing why."
"What was wrong with it?"
"Are you kidding?" Ben shot back. ""What was RIGHT with it?"
"Well, we got to go on a river cruise."
"We almost drowned on a leaky raft we built ourselves."
"You got a free first-aid class."
"I had to perform surgery on myself, just because you thought standing
over me with a scalpel would look a bit gay. I'm just lucky the
natives thought we were gods and decided to rescue me before I bled to
death."
"Yes, it'll be some time before I want to sacrifice a goat again."
"But enough about Queensland, let's go to bed."
And they did.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XIX
Hugh Hamilton
Another unsightly and discomforting group of hours slid by in a hand-cranked convertible before the two travellers reached their destination. Walking uncertainly down to the river's edge, they questioned a local fishermen on the whereabouts of a house, and he promptly and icily aimed his elbow at a small, almost idyllic little house on a miniature island that lay fifty metres from the shore. After watching a man water-ski behind an eight-person row-boat for about half an hour, they entered the water and waded clumsily to the opposite bank.
"Yes?" said a lightly dressed and depressingly skinny woman as she held open the door.
Ben smiled politely and revealed the envelope.
"Oh," she muttered rudely, snatching the letter from Ben's grasp.
The door shut violently. They shrugged and returned to the river.
Laying down gently on the attractively-yellowed grass, Ben and Hugh let the remains of the sun beat away their dampness. A while later, they were almost surprised to find the face of a now-irrefutably alive woman looking over them.
"Hello," greeted the Mailwoman warmly.
Ben sighed.
"I've got your money," she said, holding up a plain white envelope. "But..."
Ben grimaced.
"What?" asked Hugh.
"Well, I promised this would be the last time..."
Ben scowled.
"And?" Hugh screamed.
"It's just that I have all this other mail I want to deliver and I was wondering..."
"No!" yelled Ben. "No more!"
"Fine, suit yourselves,"
"Wait," said Hugh, "how much if we deliver the rest of the mail?"
"Fifty-thousand, provided you don't take this," she waved the envelope teasingly.
Ben made a grunting noise.
"If this is the absolute last of it," began Hugh, "then we accept."
Ben closed his eyes and stopped listening.
"Great," she nodded excitedly and disappeared behind a boat-house.
Soon she returned, dragging a large brown bag of mail behind her.
"Don't worry, it's all addressed the one place," she reassured, seeing Hugh and Ben's horrified expressions.
And so off they went to Landscape Square.
Another unsightly and discomforting group of hours slid by in a hand-cranked convertible before the two travellers reached their destination. Walking uncertainly down to the river's edge, they questioned a local fishermen on the whereabouts of a house, and he promptly and icily aimed his elbow at a small, almost idyllic little house on a miniature island that lay fifty metres from the shore. After watching a man water-ski behind an eight-person row-boat for about half an hour, they entered the water and waded clumsily to the opposite bank.
"Yes?" said a lightly dressed and depressingly skinny woman as she held open the door.
Ben smiled politely and revealed the envelope.
"Oh," she muttered rudely, snatching the letter from Ben's grasp.
The door shut violently. They shrugged and returned to the river.
Laying down gently on the attractively-yellowed grass, Ben and Hugh let the remains of the sun beat away their dampness. A while later, they were almost surprised to find the face of a now-irrefutably alive woman looking over them.
"Hello," greeted the Mailwoman warmly.
Ben sighed.
"I've got your money," she said, holding up a plain white envelope. "But..."
Ben grimaced.
"What?" asked Hugh.
"Well, I promised this would be the last time..."
Ben scowled.
"And?" Hugh screamed.
"It's just that I have all this other mail I want to deliver and I was wondering..."
"No!" yelled Ben. "No more!"
"Fine, suit yourselves,"
"Wait," said Hugh, "how much if we deliver the rest of the mail?"
"Fifty-thousand, provided you don't take this," she waved the envelope teasingly.
Ben made a grunting noise.
"If this is the absolute last of it," began Hugh, "then we accept."
Ben closed his eyes and stopped listening.
"Great," she nodded excitedly and disappeared behind a boat-house.
Soon she returned, dragging a large brown bag of mail behind her.
"Don't worry, it's all addressed the one place," she reassured, seeing Hugh and Ben's horrified expressions.
And so off they went to Landscape Square.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
The Mailwoman: Chapter XVIII
Ben Hansen
But the details of Hugh's chronological relationship to his parents'
marriage went without further discussion, for the two had a long way
to go if they were to achieve their seven thousand dollars. Even to
Ben, that was a good enough explanation.
They walked for several hours before Hugh thought it wise to open his mouth.
"Why didn't we drive?"
"Because neither of us have our licenses."
"But... don't you have your learner's?"
"Yes, but I only use it to identify myself."
"You mean you don't know how to drive?"
"Something to that effect."
"Damn."
"Yes."
More walking. This time it was Ben's turn to speak first.
"Anna I would walk five hundred miles, anna I would walk five hun -"
"Stop that now or witness the wrath of a small man filled with hate."
Ben shut up.
But the details of Hugh's chronological relationship to his parents'
marriage went without further discussion, for the two had a long way
to go if they were to achieve their seven thousand dollars. Even to
Ben, that was a good enough explanation.
They walked for several hours before Hugh thought it wise to open his mouth.
"Why didn't we drive?"
"Because neither of us have our licenses."
"But... don't you have your learner's?"
"Yes, but I only use it to identify myself."
"You mean you don't know how to drive?"
"Something to that effect."
"Damn."
"Yes."
More walking. This time it was Ben's turn to speak first.
"Anna I would walk five hundred miles, anna I would walk five hun -"
"Stop that now or witness the wrath of a small man filled with hate."
Ben shut up.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XVII
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.
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.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XVI
Ben Hansen
"The conditions -" the butler began.
"Okay, that's it," Ben interrupted. "I have heard far too damn much
about what the conditions are and as far as I can tell there's nothing
in these mysterious bloody letters that pass eerily from corpse to
corpse except letters saying we can't be told anything. Well, I've had
it! You hear me? I refuse to be your pawn any longer. I am more
important than that! I am a rook! Or a bishop! or -"
"A queen," Hugh smirked, deciding he needed a token reference before
Ben used up all the space..
"Yes! A queen! Thank y - I hate you. Nevertheless, I refuse to be used
like this any longer. Either let us know what's going on here or pay
us what you owe us and never call us again! okay?!"
Suddenly, applause burst out from the corner. A single pair of hands
clapped enthusiastically and a mouth attached to said hands by a
collection of veins and organs although none were so obvious as a fine
coating of skin, screeched "Oh, very well done! Bravo!"
The entity moved out of the shadows as the others turned too stare and
revealed itself to be... The crazy dead woman who'd hired them to
begin with.
"The conditions -" the butler began.
"Okay, that's it," Ben interrupted. "I have heard far too damn much
about what the conditions are and as far as I can tell there's nothing
in these mysterious bloody letters that pass eerily from corpse to
corpse except letters saying we can't be told anything. Well, I've had
it! You hear me? I refuse to be your pawn any longer. I am more
important than that! I am a rook! Or a bishop! or -"
"A queen," Hugh smirked, deciding he needed a token reference before
Ben used up all the space..
"Yes! A queen! Thank y - I hate you. Nevertheless, I refuse to be used
like this any longer. Either let us know what's going on here or pay
us what you owe us and never call us again! okay?!"
Suddenly, applause burst out from the corner. A single pair of hands
clapped enthusiastically and a mouth attached to said hands by a
collection of veins and organs although none were so obvious as a fine
coating of skin, screeched "Oh, very well done! Bravo!"
The entity moved out of the shadows as the others turned too stare and
revealed itself to be... The crazy dead woman who'd hired them to
begin with.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XV
Hugh Hamilton
A pause, clad handsomely in silk and satin robes, and puffing a large, curvaceous oak pipe, which coughed rising slivers of dissipating smoke into the arched ceiling. Behind the pause, however, lay the real focus of Ben and Hugh's surprised gaze – and no, it's not another abstract manifestation. It was – or should I say she was – no, actually he was – dreadfully ineffable. But luckily I never intended a description and instead will put you as ease with one, slightly arresting name or, rather, job description: the butler. How he managed this amazing feat of stealth-acrobatics, is, unfortunately, beyond me; I will instead attempt to accurately transcribe his speech.
"So, what have you got for me?" I believe is what he said – give or take a few words.
"I really thought it was going to be that other person," revealed Hugh with a quaint hint of resentment.
The other person walked in at that moment and greeted all concerned with an indecisively blank expression, after which she remembered her original motivation and ignorantly slipped into the kitchen. Something happened after that – I wasn't really paying attention – which had, I think, no real bearing on the narrative but led quite neatly into the next utterance.
"Oh, here's the letter," said Ben, brandishing the uncomplimentary letter as dignifyingly as the violet would allow.
"Are you going to open it?" asked Hugh hopefully.
Not being a fan of the current author, the butler instead decided to wait for the next writer to step in before he replied.
A pause, clad handsomely in silk and satin robes, and puffing a large, curvaceous oak pipe, which coughed rising slivers of dissipating smoke into the arched ceiling. Behind the pause, however, lay the real focus of Ben and Hugh's surprised gaze – and no, it's not another abstract manifestation. It was – or should I say she was – no, actually he was – dreadfully ineffable. But luckily I never intended a description and instead will put you as ease with one, slightly arresting name or, rather, job description: the butler. How he managed this amazing feat of stealth-acrobatics, is, unfortunately, beyond me; I will instead attempt to accurately transcribe his speech.
"So, what have you got for me?" I believe is what he said – give or take a few words.
"I really thought it was going to be that other person," revealed Hugh with a quaint hint of resentment.
The other person walked in at that moment and greeted all concerned with an indecisively blank expression, after which she remembered her original motivation and ignorantly slipped into the kitchen. Something happened after that – I wasn't really paying attention – which had, I think, no real bearing on the narrative but led quite neatly into the next utterance.
"Oh, here's the letter," said Ben, brandishing the uncomplimentary letter as dignifyingly as the violet would allow.
"Are you going to open it?" asked Hugh hopefully.
Not being a fan of the current author, the butler instead decided to wait for the next writer to step in before he replied.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XIV
Ben Hansen
The pause so richly embellished at the end of the last paragraph
became a part of Ben and Hugh history as the first pause to span two
posts. And it continued while the two silently made their way to
Parksville after quietly consulting a map, as they knocked voicelessly
on a muffled door, and as they were inaudibly rushed inside by a
vaguely familiar-looking butler. Hugh opened his mouth at this point,
but with a harsh look from Ben, closed it again.
And finally, the pause was broken by a rich voice that emanated from
the high-backed chair in front of the quintessential fireplace.
"Ah! The mailboys. So good to see you. I trust the place wasn't too
hard to find?"
Hugh, shocked into speech by the narrator's clever use of his name,
replied "Not really."
"Excellent," the chair said, and span around to reveal...
The pause so richly embellished at the end of the last paragraph
became a part of Ben and Hugh history as the first pause to span two
posts. And it continued while the two silently made their way to
Parksville after quietly consulting a map, as they knocked voicelessly
on a muffled door, and as they were inaudibly rushed inside by a
vaguely familiar-looking butler. Hugh opened his mouth at this point,
but with a harsh look from Ben, closed it again.
And finally, the pause was broken by a rich voice that emanated from
the high-backed chair in front of the quintessential fireplace.
"Ah! The mailboys. So good to see you. I trust the place wasn't too
hard to find?"
Hugh, shocked into speech by the narrator's clever use of his name,
replied "Not really."
"Excellent," the chair said, and span around to reveal...
The Mailwoman: Chapter XIII
Hugh Hamilton
The Mailwoman promptly removed her blunt implement and smiled warmly at our pals.
"Here's the letter." She held up another slightly bigger violet envelope and handed it to Ben.
"Where to now?" asked Hugh.
"Oh, just to Parksville," she said with an almost insulting wave of her hand.
The other two nodded as she bade them farewell and slipped away into the day.
"So," began Ben as the door closed, "shall we open it?"
"Somehow I think not," answered Hugh defiantly.
As they took to the streets, they quickly realised that they weren't entirely sure where Parksville was.
"Isn't it that place with all the parks?" wondered Hugh.
"Let's hope so," said Ben.
It has become expected that, when we run out of things to say, we describe, in great detail, the pauses that are spawned from a lack of dialogue; and this time shall be no different, for as Ben and Hugh sauntered towards what they thought was Parksville, a horde of the buggers crept up beside them and played mobile squash.
The Mailwoman promptly removed her blunt implement and smiled warmly at our pals.
"Here's the letter." She held up another slightly bigger violet envelope and handed it to Ben.
"Where to now?" asked Hugh.
"Oh, just to Parksville," she said with an almost insulting wave of her hand.
The other two nodded as she bade them farewell and slipped away into the day.
"So," began Ben as the door closed, "shall we open it?"
"Somehow I think not," answered Hugh defiantly.
As they took to the streets, they quickly realised that they weren't entirely sure where Parksville was.
"Isn't it that place with all the parks?" wondered Hugh.
"Let's hope so," said Ben.
It has become expected that, when we run out of things to say, we describe, in great detail, the pauses that are spawned from a lack of dialogue; and this time shall be no different, for as Ben and Hugh sauntered towards what they thought was Parksville, a horde of the buggers crept up beside them and played mobile squash.
The Mailwoman: Chapter XII
Ben Hansen
Unfortunately, Ben had to go see Ben Folds after returning from
Brisben. It took four hours to clean the Ben references out of the
office, and another three for Ben to get his kicks. Also
unfortunately, he got his kicks from an angry young lady.
"That's the last time I ask if anybody wants a piggy-back so they can
see the stage better," Ben said, nursing his crotch.
"You never said that did you?" Hugh replied.
"No," was Ben's answer.
Hugh came to, Ben gently shaking him awake.
"You fell asleep," Ben anticipated Hugh's first question of "Wha' Happen?"
"Ah... Hem," Huh murmured, followed by "So what's our next step?"
"Probably to find ol' Whatserface so she can give us a new letter to deliver."
"Why's she making us deliver these?"
"One of her conditions -"
"Yeah, but why?"
"I dunno. Probably 'cos she's a sadist. Any idea where she is?"
"Yeah, she's flagellating herself behind you."
Unfortunately, Ben had to go see Ben Folds after returning from
Brisben. It took four hours to clean the Ben references out of the
office, and another three for Ben to get his kicks. Also
unfortunately, he got his kicks from an angry young lady.
"That's the last time I ask if anybody wants a piggy-back so they can
see the stage better," Ben said, nursing his crotch.
"You never said that did you?" Hugh replied.
"No," was Ben's answer.
Hugh came to, Ben gently shaking him awake.
"You fell asleep," Ben anticipated Hugh's first question of "Wha' Happen?"
"Ah... Hem," Huh murmured, followed by "So what's our next step?"
"Probably to find ol' Whatserface so she can give us a new letter to deliver."
"Why's she making us deliver these?"
"One of her conditions -"
"Yeah, but why?"
"I dunno. Probably 'cos she's a sadist. Any idea where she is?"
"Yeah, she's flagellating herself behind you."
The Mailwoman: Chapter XI
Hugh Hamilton
Sliding a bony finger beneath the glued fold, Ben succeeded in unhinging the letter and pulling out a disappointingly formal piece of off-white paper.
"What's it say? What's it say?" cried Hugh impatiently.
Ben increased the suspense for a moment then began:
"Dear boys,
Having proved your unreliability by opening this letter, I regret to inform that I will be suspending your pay until further notice. You do, of course, remember the conditions of our contract. Seeing as this is your first time working for me, I will remove some of the slack and give you an opportunity to return to my good books by delivering a second piece of mail for me, this time in your local area. We'll discuss details at Graham's funeral on Friday – I'll be wearing black. Yours truly, The Mailwoman."
And so, after dispensing with the usual questions of how, why and how again, the pair rushed off to the airport and flagged down a low-flying plane. A journey devoid of interest followed and they were soon back in the place where they seem to be a lot and making preparations for bed. But the long flight had exhausted them and neither could be bothered leaving the office.
Friday awoke for them, much to Ben's surprise, at 7:00 am.
"Why the heck did you set the alarm for 7!" screamed Ben.
"Grounded For Life is on at 8," answered Hugh calmly.
"Grounded For Life? You woke me up for a generic American sitcom?"
"Hey, it is not generic – I'll admit it took a few episodes to find its feet but after that it was a definite cut-above."
Ben expressed his indignation with a menacing scowl as Hugh began making coffee.
Eventually, the time reached that of Graham's funeral and a cool, foggy morning saw our inappropriately dressed friends hunched on a vivid green lawn as an oak coffin was lowered into a coffin-shaped hole. Trying to simulate smoke rings with his breath, Hugh missed most of what the small priest was saying and he tried to make up for it by nodding intermittently whenever he caught another's eye. Ben, on the other hand, was busy studying a ladybug on a yellowed leaf that was trying desperately to do something or rather and didn't even bother to look up when the priest spoke. The Mailwoman eventually filled them in about what to do and they headed for home with solemnly indifferent expressions. As they passed a bus stop, something caught Hugh's eye.
"You know what we should do?" he said with a grin.
"No," replied Ben bluntly.
"I think we should see ‘Kiss My Brass’."
"The Bette Midler show?"
"Yes, how 'bout it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's Bette Midler."
"Come on..."
"No."
"It'll be fun."
"It'll be ninety-dollars."
"You've got to spoil yourself sometimes."
"Well I'm not spoiling my evening."
"Come on..."
"No... Alright."
And so it was settled. They met at the relevant time and entered the theatre for a rousing three hours of entertainment.
"That was divine," pointed out Ben.
"No it wasn't, that was Bette Midler," giggled Hugh.
Another night passed before they were back in their office and prepared to do some actual work.
Sliding a bony finger beneath the glued fold, Ben succeeded in unhinging the letter and pulling out a disappointingly formal piece of off-white paper.
"What's it say? What's it say?" cried Hugh impatiently.
Ben increased the suspense for a moment then began:
"Dear boys,
Having proved your unreliability by opening this letter, I regret to inform that I will be suspending your pay until further notice. You do, of course, remember the conditions of our contract. Seeing as this is your first time working for me, I will remove some of the slack and give you an opportunity to return to my good books by delivering a second piece of mail for me, this time in your local area. We'll discuss details at Graham's funeral on Friday – I'll be wearing black. Yours truly, The Mailwoman."
And so, after dispensing with the usual questions of how, why and how again, the pair rushed off to the airport and flagged down a low-flying plane. A journey devoid of interest followed and they were soon back in the place where they seem to be a lot and making preparations for bed. But the long flight had exhausted them and neither could be bothered leaving the office.
Friday awoke for them, much to Ben's surprise, at 7:00 am.
"Why the heck did you set the alarm for 7!" screamed Ben.
"Grounded For Life is on at 8," answered Hugh calmly.
"Grounded For Life? You woke me up for a generic American sitcom?"
"Hey, it is not generic – I'll admit it took a few episodes to find its feet but after that it was a definite cut-above."
Ben expressed his indignation with a menacing scowl as Hugh began making coffee.
Eventually, the time reached that of Graham's funeral and a cool, foggy morning saw our inappropriately dressed friends hunched on a vivid green lawn as an oak coffin was lowered into a coffin-shaped hole. Trying to simulate smoke rings with his breath, Hugh missed most of what the small priest was saying and he tried to make up for it by nodding intermittently whenever he caught another's eye. Ben, on the other hand, was busy studying a ladybug on a yellowed leaf that was trying desperately to do something or rather and didn't even bother to look up when the priest spoke. The Mailwoman eventually filled them in about what to do and they headed for home with solemnly indifferent expressions. As they passed a bus stop, something caught Hugh's eye.
"You know what we should do?" he said with a grin.
"No," replied Ben bluntly.
"I think we should see ‘Kiss My Brass’."
"The Bette Midler show?"
"Yes, how 'bout it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's Bette Midler."
"Come on..."
"No."
"It'll be fun."
"It'll be ninety-dollars."
"You've got to spoil yourself sometimes."
"Well I'm not spoiling my evening."
"Come on..."
"No... Alright."
And so it was settled. They met at the relevant time and entered the theatre for a rousing three hours of entertainment.
"That was divine," pointed out Ben.
"No it wasn't, that was Bette Midler," giggled Hugh.
Another night passed before they were back in their office and prepared to do some actual work.
The Mailwoman: Chapter X
Ben Hansen
Three hours later, they stumbled back into the hotel.
"You could have said that you couldn't ride a bike," Hugh said.
"No time," Ben panted, nursing a sprained ankle.
"Well, now we'll never find that bellboy."
"True, but then again we can find out what was in that letter."
"But one of the conditions -"
"Who's going to tell?"
"The corpse?"
Fortunately, it only took three minutes to place a call and get
Graham's body wheeled out on a stretcher, telling the paramedics the
conditions of their employment all the way.
"Now, to the letter, Johnny!" Ben screeched, one index finger pointing
wildly at the ceiling.
"Leave me out of this," said Johnny.
And they did.
Three hours later, they stumbled back into the hotel.
"You could have said that you couldn't ride a bike," Hugh said.
"No time," Ben panted, nursing a sprained ankle.
"Well, now we'll never find that bellboy."
"True, but then again we can find out what was in that letter."
"But one of the conditions -"
"Who's going to tell?"
"The corpse?"
Fortunately, it only took three minutes to place a call and get
Graham's body wheeled out on a stretcher, telling the paramedics the
conditions of their employment all the way.
"Now, to the letter, Johnny!" Ben screeched, one index finger pointing
wildly at the ceiling.
"Leave me out of this," said Johnny.
And they did.
The Mailwoman: Chapter IX
Hugh Hamilton
After they had finished their delicious meal, they decided to inspect the body of Graham, who had been obediently waiting for their attention.
"Your turn for the full-body examination?" asked Ben casually.
"One of the conditions of me being poisoned is that neither of you give me a full-body search," interjected Graham before quietly dropping dead again.
"How about we just focus on discovering the identity of the perpetrator instead?" suggested Hugh.
"Works for me," agreed Ben.
"And me," said Graham.
As he began to die for the third time, Ben and Hugh started to inspect – from a safe distance – the offending food.
"It certainly looks like food," noted Hugh, sparking a beautifully crafted glare from Ben.
A now-familiar pause from the great clan of Silence rode in atop a handsome steed and dismounted carefully at the feet of Hugh's lips. After setting up camp and building a small fire, he began making arrangements to contact his second in command when Ben finally decided on what to do next.
"Let us question the bellboy," he said, excited at the sense of authority he conjured.
"Makes sense," nodded Hugh.
Suddenly, a sound that was reminiscent of a jeep starting up on a dusty plain in Chad was heard from somewhere outside.
"I wonder where that bellboy is going in such a hurry," wondered Hugh as he gazed out the window.
"Bugger," cursed Ben.
Gathering together the recent events into their heads to form a coherent picture, Ben and Hugh rushed out the door and began descending the stairs. Their carefully constructed rush was soon interrupted by a door of sorts that stood menacingly as a divide between them and the street outside. A memory cue was set off in their heads and it burst spectacularly against the starry skull walls as they slipped beneath the door-frame into the wavering heat. A trail of dust marked their target's path and they followed as best they could on the unsteady bicycles they stole from two impoverished little boys.
After they had finished their delicious meal, they decided to inspect the body of Graham, who had been obediently waiting for their attention.
"Your turn for the full-body examination?" asked Ben casually.
"One of the conditions of me being poisoned is that neither of you give me a full-body search," interjected Graham before quietly dropping dead again.
"How about we just focus on discovering the identity of the perpetrator instead?" suggested Hugh.
"Works for me," agreed Ben.
"And me," said Graham.
As he began to die for the third time, Ben and Hugh started to inspect – from a safe distance – the offending food.
"It certainly looks like food," noted Hugh, sparking a beautifully crafted glare from Ben.
A now-familiar pause from the great clan of Silence rode in atop a handsome steed and dismounted carefully at the feet of Hugh's lips. After setting up camp and building a small fire, he began making arrangements to contact his second in command when Ben finally decided on what to do next.
"Let us question the bellboy," he said, excited at the sense of authority he conjured.
"Makes sense," nodded Hugh.
Suddenly, a sound that was reminiscent of a jeep starting up on a dusty plain in Chad was heard from somewhere outside.
"I wonder where that bellboy is going in such a hurry," wondered Hugh as he gazed out the window.
"Bugger," cursed Ben.
Gathering together the recent events into their heads to form a coherent picture, Ben and Hugh rushed out the door and began descending the stairs. Their carefully constructed rush was soon interrupted by a door of sorts that stood menacingly as a divide between them and the street outside. A memory cue was set off in their heads and it burst spectacularly against the starry skull walls as they slipped beneath the door-frame into the wavering heat. A trail of dust marked their target's path and they followed as best they could on the unsteady bicycles they stole from two impoverished little boys.
The Mailwoman: Chapter VIII
Ben Hansen
Hugh hid under the bed. Ben, slightly more highly-strung, dove out the
window before realising they were on the third floor. The crash could
be heard for miles.
Fortunately, the aggressive knock had been made by the grotesque fist
of an incredibly violent and depressed bellboy, Graham having made an
order for food service slightly earlier.
"Please, join me in my meal," he said after Ben had come back in and
Hugh was brushing off the myriad hordes of spiders that had been
building a new culture under the bed. "As you can see, I ordered for
three."
"How did you know we would be eating with you?"
"One of the conditions -" et cetera.
It was a good meal, all things considered, but it was slightly ruined
by Graham falling dead halfway through the second course.
"He's been poisoned!" Hugh shrieked, as it was his turn to make a
dramatic observation. Ben spat out the mouthful he was chewing, but
after he realised he'd already be dead if his food had been poisoned
too, he put it back in.
Hugh hid under the bed. Ben, slightly more highly-strung, dove out the
window before realising they were on the third floor. The crash could
be heard for miles.
Fortunately, the aggressive knock had been made by the grotesque fist
of an incredibly violent and depressed bellboy, Graham having made an
order for food service slightly earlier.
"Please, join me in my meal," he said after Ben had come back in and
Hugh was brushing off the myriad hordes of spiders that had been
building a new culture under the bed. "As you can see, I ordered for
three."
"How did you know we would be eating with you?"
"One of the conditions -" et cetera.
It was a good meal, all things considered, but it was slightly ruined
by Graham falling dead halfway through the second course.
"He's been poisoned!" Hugh shrieked, as it was his turn to make a
dramatic observation. Ben spat out the mouthful he was chewing, but
after he realised he'd already be dead if his food had been poisoned
too, he put it back in.
The Mailwoman: Chapter VII
Hugh Hamilton
"Graham Brooks," said Ben with an unmistakable hint of placidity.
Our two protagonists nodded quietly to themselves, not knowing how to react to the revelation.
"Where?" asked Hugh eventually.
Ben studied the envelope again.
"Oddly enough, he seems to be at 'Le Meridien Chari'," he said.
They began nodding again.
"That was that place you mentioned before, wasn't it?" questioned Hugh, shooing the pause out the door.
"Yes, that it was."
After overcoming a second horde of pauses, the two decided to head off to the hotel. The journey itself was, bar a few street-shootings, relatively uneventful and they made not near enough bones to prevent them from arriving at the comparatively classy front doors (I say comparatively because theirs didn't have any) of the hotel in which, they suspected, their mail recipient lay.
"I'm glad the police have such power here," commented Hugh as they entered.
"Yes," agreed Ben, "if you shoot all the criminals, there'll be no crime."
But enough of these ignorant Chadian judgements; there is still important work to be done. Pausing to admire the warmly lit room, Hugh and Ben sauntered arrogantly up to the desk and took no pleasure in being authoritatively turned down by the man behind it in regards to where a Mr Brooks resided. Glum-faced and gloomy, they slumped down on the warm plush chairs and sulked for as long as it took for them to come up with a better idea.
"So we climb up those highly-convenient drain pipes and slip into Graham's room?" said Ben without conviction as they stared up at the elaborately windowed hotel wall.
"Pretty much," confirmed Hugh.
"Might I ask how we find out which room Graham's in?"
"You might, but that would ruin the trial and error brilliance of the plan."
Ben sighed and followed Hugh up the drainpipe.
"Hello, is you name Graham?" asked Hugh cheerfully.
Startled to find two leering men question her femininity from behind a second storey window, the woman hurriedly closed the curtains and began phoning the police.
"I'm beginning to see the flaws in your plan," said Ben coldly as they shifted over to the next window.
"Yes, it's a very well-grounded plan isn't it?" replied Hugh as he peered through the glass.
Ben sighed.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh again.
"Bang!" replied the shotgun of an American tourist as two dangerously young girls massaged his scalp.
Hugh and Ben deemed further interrogation unnecessary and moved on to the next window. A few storeys later, Hugh and Ben found themselves still depressingly Graham-less.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh for the 42nd time.
A man wearing a t-shirt which stated: "Hello, my name is Graham" looked up startled from his thick non-fiction history of the Middle-East.
"Why yes, that is my name," answered Graham. "Do come in."
He opened the window and led Ben and Hugh into his friendly and highly welcoming room just as a group of well-armed policemen pulled up outside.
"Now, what is it you boys want?" asked the elderly man from beneath a comprehensively mouth-hiding moustache.
"Well," began Ben, "we want to give you this letter."
He handed Graham the violet envelope.
"Ah, I see." Graham seemed to recognise the envelope and he placed it down his desk.
"Aren't you going to open it?" asked a disappointed Hugh.
"No, one of the conditions of me receiving this letter is that the deliverers must not view its contents."
Hugh failed to hide his frown.
"Don't be like that," said Graham. "Look, I'd like to show you something."
He hurried over to one of his bags and plucked a beautifully archaic book from therein.
"Here," he said, handing Hugh the book.
"'The Post: How To Live And Die By The Mail'," quoted Hugh. "Uh, thanks."
Suddenly, an aggressive knock shook the door hinges.
"Oh dear," said Ben gloomily.
"One of the conditions of you receiving that book is that neither of you call me 'dear'," stated Graham as Hugh and Ben panicked in circles around the room.
"Graham Brooks," said Ben with an unmistakable hint of placidity.
Our two protagonists nodded quietly to themselves, not knowing how to react to the revelation.
"Where?" asked Hugh eventually.
Ben studied the envelope again.
"Oddly enough, he seems to be at 'Le Meridien Chari'," he said.
They began nodding again.
"That was that place you mentioned before, wasn't it?" questioned Hugh, shooing the pause out the door.
"Yes, that it was."
After overcoming a second horde of pauses, the two decided to head off to the hotel. The journey itself was, bar a few street-shootings, relatively uneventful and they made not near enough bones to prevent them from arriving at the comparatively classy front doors (I say comparatively because theirs didn't have any) of the hotel in which, they suspected, their mail recipient lay.
"I'm glad the police have such power here," commented Hugh as they entered.
"Yes," agreed Ben, "if you shoot all the criminals, there'll be no crime."
But enough of these ignorant Chadian judgements; there is still important work to be done. Pausing to admire the warmly lit room, Hugh and Ben sauntered arrogantly up to the desk and took no pleasure in being authoritatively turned down by the man behind it in regards to where a Mr Brooks resided. Glum-faced and gloomy, they slumped down on the warm plush chairs and sulked for as long as it took for them to come up with a better idea.
"So we climb up those highly-convenient drain pipes and slip into Graham's room?" said Ben without conviction as they stared up at the elaborately windowed hotel wall.
"Pretty much," confirmed Hugh.
"Might I ask how we find out which room Graham's in?"
"You might, but that would ruin the trial and error brilliance of the plan."
Ben sighed and followed Hugh up the drainpipe.
"Hello, is you name Graham?" asked Hugh cheerfully.
Startled to find two leering men question her femininity from behind a second storey window, the woman hurriedly closed the curtains and began phoning the police.
"I'm beginning to see the flaws in your plan," said Ben coldly as they shifted over to the next window.
"Yes, it's a very well-grounded plan isn't it?" replied Hugh as he peered through the glass.
Ben sighed.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh again.
"Bang!" replied the shotgun of an American tourist as two dangerously young girls massaged his scalp.
Hugh and Ben deemed further interrogation unnecessary and moved on to the next window. A few storeys later, Hugh and Ben found themselves still depressingly Graham-less.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh for the 42nd time.
A man wearing a t-shirt which stated: "Hello, my name is Graham" looked up startled from his thick non-fiction history of the Middle-East.
"Why yes, that is my name," answered Graham. "Do come in."
He opened the window and led Ben and Hugh into his friendly and highly welcoming room just as a group of well-armed policemen pulled up outside.
"Now, what is it you boys want?" asked the elderly man from beneath a comprehensively mouth-hiding moustache.
"Well," began Ben, "we want to give you this letter."
He handed Graham the violet envelope.
"Ah, I see." Graham seemed to recognise the envelope and he placed it down his desk.
"Aren't you going to open it?" asked a disappointed Hugh.
"No, one of the conditions of me receiving this letter is that the deliverers must not view its contents."
Hugh failed to hide his frown.
"Don't be like that," said Graham. "Look, I'd like to show you something."
He hurried over to one of his bags and plucked a beautifully archaic book from therein.
"Here," he said, handing Hugh the book.
"'The Post: How To Live And Die By The Mail'," quoted Hugh. "Uh, thanks."
Suddenly, an aggressive knock shook the door hinges.
"Oh dear," said Ben gloomily.
"One of the conditions of you receiving that book is that neither of you call me 'dear'," stated Graham as Hugh and Ben panicked in circles around the room.
The Mailwoman: Chapter VI
Ben Hansen
And so they staggered into their room, Hugh wondering why the porter
refused to take their bags as well as why they packed so much when
they were going to leave as soon as the letter had been delivered, and
Ben saying many things to the aforementioned porter in a loud voice
along the lines of "You do things like this here? What a country!"
"Shut up," Hugh muttered in a rare moment of table turning, but he
could barely even breathe under the small mountain of bags on his back
so the words went unheard.
"Wow! Do you know what they call bananas here?" Ben asked Hugh as he
tipped the sour-faced attendant who promptly dropped his liveried
trousers to give them the old brown-eye salute before waddling off.
"Bananas! What a country!"
"What are you talking about?" Hugh asked.
"This country! and what a country it is!"
"Could you possibly stop? You sound like a demented American tourist."
"That was the idea," Ben moped. But he stopped.
A short nap and a long lunch later, the protagonists pondered their next move.
"As I see it, we have one obvious step to make," said Ben in a pompous
Sherlock Holmes voice.
"And wha' would tha' 'un be, guvnor?" asked Hugh, who had chosen Tiny
Tim for the moment.
"Elementary, my dear..." Ben began, then eyed Hugh. "How would you
feel about changing your name to Hamill?" he asked, dropping the
accent.
"I'd be 'appier as 'Amilton, sah, why?"
"Because there's no decent way to reduce or expand any part of your
name to two syllables."
"There must bae, guvnor, give ih' a go."
"No. Could you give up the accent? If I don't get to have a voice, you
shouldn't either."
"Yeah, all right," replied Hugh, dropping the
cockney-slash-retarded-slash-unknown-Kadath-slash-god-only-knows-what-else
inflection. "Anyway, you were saying we have only one clear option?"
"Yes. We want to find where this person lives and deliver the letter, right?"
"Spoken like a pro."
"Well, why not look up where the person lives?"
"Because we don't know their name."
"You mean the one written on the front of this?" Ben asked, waving the
envelope meaningfully.
"Uh, yeah, all right. Why did whatsherface put the address on the
envelope when she was going to get it delivered?"
"Probably so the messenger boys would know who to give it to. Now,"
Ben said, beginning to bend his arm at the elbow, "Let's see who this
is bound for."
And so they staggered into their room, Hugh wondering why the porter
refused to take their bags as well as why they packed so much when
they were going to leave as soon as the letter had been delivered, and
Ben saying many things to the aforementioned porter in a loud voice
along the lines of "You do things like this here? What a country!"
"Shut up," Hugh muttered in a rare moment of table turning, but he
could barely even breathe under the small mountain of bags on his back
so the words went unheard.
"Wow! Do you know what they call bananas here?" Ben asked Hugh as he
tipped the sour-faced attendant who promptly dropped his liveried
trousers to give them the old brown-eye salute before waddling off.
"Bananas! What a country!"
"What are you talking about?" Hugh asked.
"This country! and what a country it is!"
"Could you possibly stop? You sound like a demented American tourist."
"That was the idea," Ben moped. But he stopped.
A short nap and a long lunch later, the protagonists pondered their next move.
"As I see it, we have one obvious step to make," said Ben in a pompous
Sherlock Holmes voice.
"And wha' would tha' 'un be, guvnor?" asked Hugh, who had chosen Tiny
Tim for the moment.
"Elementary, my dear..." Ben began, then eyed Hugh. "How would you
feel about changing your name to Hamill?" he asked, dropping the
accent.
"I'd be 'appier as 'Amilton, sah, why?"
"Because there's no decent way to reduce or expand any part of your
name to two syllables."
"There must bae, guvnor, give ih' a go."
"No. Could you give up the accent? If I don't get to have a voice, you
shouldn't either."
"Yeah, all right," replied Hugh, dropping the
cockney-slash-retarded-slash-unknown-Kadath-slash-god-only-knows-what-else
inflection. "Anyway, you were saying we have only one clear option?"
"Yes. We want to find where this person lives and deliver the letter, right?"
"Spoken like a pro."
"Well, why not look up where the person lives?"
"Because we don't know their name."
"You mean the one written on the front of this?" Ben asked, waving the
envelope meaningfully.
"Uh, yeah, all right. Why did whatsherface put the address on the
envelope when she was going to get it delivered?"
"Probably so the messenger boys would know who to give it to. Now,"
Ben said, beginning to bend his arm at the elbow, "Let's see who this
is bound for."
The Mailwoman: Chapter V
Hugh Hamilton
"Agreed — do you have anything in mind?" asked Hugh.
"I've heard 'Le Meridien Chari' is quite good."
"Hmm. That sounds expensive and French."
"How much have we got, anyway?"
"About 9806 Central African Francs," replied Hugh with an uncharacteristic accuracy.
The punishing N'Djamena weather — peaking at 45°C — soon saw them take refuge in the first hotel they came across.
"How much a night?" asked Hugh as Ben attempted French with a bemused employee.
"By my calculations," began Ben, "not much."
"Let's hope so."
They hauled their baggage — sans co-ordination — up the rickety stairs and into their overly-humble room.
"Nice," said Ben without reason. "Anyway, what were we doing?"
"Ah, I believe we're delivering this letter." Hugh held up the small envelope to cue Ben's memory.
"Oh, right," remembered Ben. "I sure hope you have the malaria tablets."
"Me too," said Hugh, dangling a dead mosquito threateningly above his mouth before deciding against eating it.
"Agreed — do you have anything in mind?" asked Hugh.
"I've heard 'Le Meridien Chari' is quite good."
"Hmm. That sounds expensive and French."
"How much have we got, anyway?"
"About 9806 Central African Francs," replied Hugh with an uncharacteristic accuracy.
The punishing N'Djamena weather — peaking at 45°C — soon saw them take refuge in the first hotel they came across.
"How much a night?" asked Hugh as Ben attempted French with a bemused employee.
"By my calculations," began Ben, "not much."
"Let's hope so."
They hauled their baggage — sans co-ordination — up the rickety stairs and into their overly-humble room.
"Nice," said Ben without reason. "Anyway, what were we doing?"
"Ah, I believe we're delivering this letter." Hugh held up the small envelope to cue Ben's memory.
"Oh, right," remembered Ben. "I sure hope you have the malaria tablets."
"Me too," said Hugh, dangling a dead mosquito threateningly above his mouth before deciding against eating it.
The Mailwoman: Chapter IV
Ben Hansen
"Anyways, let's be off," was Ben's first statement for the paragraph.
And off they went.
Several hours later, Ben and Hugh stumbled out of a conveniently
narrated plane and onto the sunny plains of Chad.
"Wow, that was unusually fast," Hugh muttered.
"Give me a break, I'm tired," was Ben's response.
This summoned odd looks from Hugh as well as several bypassers.
"I mean... Oh, who cares, let's just go to a hotel."
"Anyways, let's be off," was Ben's first statement for the paragraph.
And off they went.
Several hours later, Ben and Hugh stumbled out of a conveniently
narrated plane and onto the sunny plains of Chad.
"Wow, that was unusually fast," Hugh muttered.
"Give me a break, I'm tired," was Ben's response.
This summoned odd looks from Hugh as well as several bypassers.
"I mean... Oh, who cares, let's just go to a hotel."
The Mailwoman: Chapter III
Hugh Hamilton
"Now to see what's in the envelope."
Hugh rubbed his hands eagerly and was about to open it when, much to his surprise, the supposedly dead lady threw open the door.
"I said don't open it!" she boomed.
"Alright," agreed Hugh, "but just out of interest, why are you pretending to be dead?"
"It's a long story."
"Then edit it," said the one on the right.
She sighed.
"I wasn't pretending to be dead, that was my almost-identical twin."
"Ah, and was she dead?" asked Ben.
"She smelled like it, but I'm not sure."
"May we ask why you sent your possibly dead sister to give us instructions?" they asked.
"It's a tax thing."
"Ah ha, Mr. Wilson," sung Hugh.
Ben, true to form, glared at his plot-undoing partner.
"Anyway, now that I've finished back-peddling for your little friend, I'll be on my way."
She left without another word — though Ben did offer twice.
"Now to see what's in the envelope."
Hugh rubbed his hands eagerly and was about to open it when, much to his surprise, the supposedly dead lady threw open the door.
"I said don't open it!" she boomed.
"Alright," agreed Hugh, "but just out of interest, why are you pretending to be dead?"
"It's a long story."
"Then edit it," said the one on the right.
She sighed.
"I wasn't pretending to be dead, that was my almost-identical twin."
"Ah, and was she dead?" asked Ben.
"She smelled like it, but I'm not sure."
"May we ask why you sent your possibly dead sister to give us instructions?" they asked.
"It's a tax thing."
"Ah ha, Mr. Wilson," sung Hugh.
Ben, true to form, glared at his plot-undoing partner.
"Anyway, now that I've finished back-peddling for your little friend, I'll be on my way."
She left without another word — though Ben did offer twice.
The Mailwoman: Chapter II
Ben Hansen
"And some money for a plane," Ben replied.
Three days later, the lady turned up - dead. She was quite smelly by
the time she knocked on the door.
"Heyo," said Ben, picking his nose with glee.
"Sweet jesus, that smells horrible," was Hugh's welcome.
"So, how'd you die?" Ben asked casually, blowing his nose in an
unsubtle effort to explain why he couldn't smell her with mime.
"I'm sorry, but one of the conditions of me hiring you is not to find out."
"Fair enough," Ben said, gently closing the bathroom door while Hugh
retched into the toilet. "Oh, by the way, where did yo want that
letter sent?"
"A place in Chad," the late client replied, and gave Ben the address in
a way that defies narrative ability.
"Well, I never saw that coming."
"Ask about the tickets!" Hugh called between vomits from the next room.
"Oh yeah, can we have some money for the plane?"
"No," she replied, as she gave him some money for the plane.
"Uh... yes," Ben said, shooting a dirty glance at the narrator who was
becoming annoying. "Just one other thing... Can we have the letter?"
"Certainly!" the corpse replied, handing him a violet envelope. "And
now I must go."
Ben watched her leave, and said "Okay, she's dearly departed."
"That was terrible," Hugh said, entering the room once more and wiping
his mouth.
"Whatever. Africa, here we come!"
"And some money for a plane," Ben replied.
Three days later, the lady turned up - dead. She was quite smelly by
the time she knocked on the door.
"Heyo," said Ben, picking his nose with glee.
"Sweet jesus, that smells horrible," was Hugh's welcome.
"So, how'd you die?" Ben asked casually, blowing his nose in an
unsubtle effort to explain why he couldn't smell her with mime.
"I'm sorry, but one of the conditions of me hiring you is not to find out."
"Fair enough," Ben said, gently closing the bathroom door while Hugh
retched into the toilet. "Oh, by the way, where did yo want that
letter sent?"
"A place in Chad," the late client replied, and gave Ben the address in
a way that defies narrative ability.
"Well, I never saw that coming."
"Ask about the tickets!" Hugh called between vomits from the next room.
"Oh yeah, can we have some money for the plane?"
"No," she replied, as she gave him some money for the plane.
"Uh... yes," Ben said, shooting a dirty glance at the narrator who was
becoming annoying. "Just one other thing... Can we have the letter?"
"Certainly!" the corpse replied, handing him a violet envelope. "And
now I must go."
Ben watched her leave, and said "Okay, she's dearly departed."
"That was terrible," Hugh said, entering the room once more and wiping
his mouth.
"Whatever. Africa, here we come!"
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