Monday, October 31, 2005

Ad Absurdum

Still snickering in my sleeve, I went to check on my mother-in-law, the babies, and make coffee.
Meanwhile, my husband was across the street in the thick of things.
When they brought down the suspect, my husband voiced his desire to prune the suspect's anatomy with a pair of dull pinking shears. You know, that type of thing.
They put my husband in a police car and told him to cool down.
He started to laugh.
He asked them if they really, really wanted him to take out the suspect permanently.
He pointed to the floor.
Next to his feet, loaded and unsecured, lay a riot gun - a Bushmaster or something like.
Oh, they said, and suggested he might like to go home instead.

Now there were two of us in a state of suppressed hilarity.

My mother-in-law sat in the living room, perfectly composed now, her hands in her lap. She was not particularly amused, but her equilibrium was restored. The Police Had Been Called. While it was distasteful to have them rummaging in the shrubbery and tooling around one's bedroom, they Would Take Care of Things.
Then a Detective Sergeant arrived. He was everything I could have asked for to round things off.
Weary, cynical, somewhere in his fifties, he wore a grubby, tan, rumbled raincoat. He had purple circles under chill gray eyes. His voice was a clipped, cold, just-the-facts-ma'am monotone. If I told you his real name you would think I made it up - so I will make up a name and call him Det.Sgt. Honey. His manner on arrival was a re-print of every fictional detective I had ever read. I was delighted.
We learned later he was a former member of the London metro police, a balistics expert, and had an MC that he had acquired in some dry, noisy place called El Alamein, but that night he was a stereotype come to life.
He looked at my mother-in-law, with her curly gray hair, her flowered flannelette pyjamas, her pink quilted housecoat, and the blue and white knitted booties from some church bazaar. He knew at once she was past president of the Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire and gave bridge parties every Thursday afternoon. It was equally obvious he didn't meet too many like her in Cabbagetown.
Me, he wasn't so sure of. The choked giggles, I suppose.
He addressed her as "Ma'am."He asked her a number of questions.
Penetrating, keen questions such as:
"What did the Objects sound like when they hit the side of the house?"
Gravely she replied, " They sounded like Objects hitting the side of the house."
This exchange was apparently completely satisfactory to them both.

The denoument tomorrow...

8 comments:

Bonnie Calhoun said...

Bernita.....YOU'RE KILLING ME! This is worse than reading a suspense novel. At least I can stay up until 5 AM and finish the darn thing! Bleary eyed or not, at least I get the end....Auuuggghhhh!

Bonnie Calhoun said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
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