MINNIE AND BERNARD AND AN OLD, OLD GUN

A simple story about happiness and growing old together

Minnie Blinker was a happy soul.

She lived in a small one-up, one-down cottage at the edge of the Big Forest and she spent most of her day-times either in her neat and orderly vegetable patch with a trowel in her hand or singing jolly songs in her beautiful wavering soprano voice �" or both.

She loved life. Never was a happier soul alive, and that's a fact.

But she had another life, after dark.

She had a male friend in the forest, a little dancing man with twinkle toes and a ready wit called Bernard, and once or twice a week she would visit him and they would laugh together and play old fashioned board games like Ludo, and sometimes maybe mischievously and secretly kiss each other full on the lips under the moon until they dribbled, or dance on his bit of lawn when it rained and in both activities get quite wet.

Getting quite wet didn't matter because afterwards, before she went home, they would take a steaming bath together, and he would admire her smile while she giggled at his round pot belly.

And if the rain persisted and it was much too wet for her to trample back home through the Old Forest in the dark, she would stay the night �" and then the fun would begin.

He would provide her with a hot mug of cocoa and a cheese sandwich and she would luxuriate in his second best armchair, curled up with her feet under her, and he would tell her wild tales of the good old days when he'd been a soldier in the wars and had slaughtered a bestial and cruel enemy by the score. And he would show her mementoes of those good old days, badges from caps rescued from dead or dying soldiers, garments with bullet holes straight through them and stains of enemy blood on white vests and flattened shells with splintered bone still adhering to them.

And he had guns, and he showed her those, too. He showed her how they had been decommissioned because, as he said, guns are bad, bad things.

“I hated it,” muttered Bernard. “But I was under orders, so what could I do?”

“Poor darling,” whispered Minnie.

“I know,” sighed Bernard.

“Let me kiss you again,” breathed Minnie.

“Okay,” he mouthed.

And she kissed him like he knew she would, and so fervent was the kissing that they both dribbled a great deal.

“Better have a good hot bath,” sighed Bernard. “Or you will be damp as you walk home.”

“I'll get undressed,” she smirked. “It's a shame, but needs must...”

“I'll try not to look,” assured Bernard, peeping.

On other occasions they would play together in the garden, little games like leap-frog and British Bulldogs, and after a great deal of rushing about and leaping in the air and screeching with mirth they would collapse on the green grass of his lawn and laugh and laugh and laugh, and then they would take their clothes off and vanish indoors for a nice hot bath.

They grew old together like this, each living in their own homes, and the Big Forest was their playground.

Then, one day, Minnie hopped and skipped her geriatric way through the forest to meet Bernard in his pretty garden, and he wasn't there.

“Bernard!” she called, but there was silence from his little cottage.

She had a key of her own, so she went in.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice, and Minnie almost jumped out of her stockinged shoes because it wasn't Bernard's voice. She spun round and a frowning fat man in the shape of a policeman stood there, dangling some handcuffs from beer-stretched fingers and scowling like the devil.

“I've come to see my Bernard!” she squawked.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I'm Minnie,” she told him, feeling indignant that she was going to have to answer questions put to her by someone she had taken an instant dislike to. “Minnie Blinker,” she added. “Where's my Bernard?”

“We had reports,” growled the policeman. “It seems the man who lives here was up to no good. It seems he's got an arsenal of deadly weapons and signs of murder!”

“You mean his trophies?” poo-pooed Minnie using a superior voice. “He was a soldier in the wars and brought souvenirs home with him. They all did. It was common.”

“Then he should have handed them in!” barked the fat policeman-shaped piece of ugliness. “We can't have ordinary folks with guns and stuff!”

“You've got a gun,” pointed out Minnie. “And I'll bet yours works! Bernard's didn't. It was a memento of when he had to fight for our freedom. He nearly died, you know.”

“I've ordered that he gets shot on sight,” continued the fat ignoramus, “We can't have ordinary folks tearing round the countryside, with guns. It's not allowed.”

“Oh, sod off!” screeched Minnie.

And she grabbed one of Bernard's decommissioned weapons and pointed it at the fat officer, and pulled the trigger.

There was a moment's silence and a little clicking sound as something useless happened in the weapon, and quite without rhyme or reason the fat Officer fell down dead.

Minnie smiled to herself. “Bernard!” she called. “I think he's had a heart-attack. Anyway, it doesn't matter. He can wait. Get your clothes off and let's go and have a bath together. I feel grubby.”

A familiar voice from the cupboard under the stairs chuckled, and said, “Bags me the taps end!”

© Peter Rogerson 26.03.13

Reviews

[roarke]

Mid story, this carnival ride could have gone in any direction.... without a compass, I'm not sure where I ended up, but it was a fun ride none the less. Nice story telling.

[Peter Rogerson]

It was first written several years ago and posted on a now-defunct site and I've rescued it (along with several others) in the unlikely chance that posterity gets interested. So I've forgotten where it ended up....