An old man in a ditch – Part III
Posted on January 31st, 2009 by Richard Catto 1,440 views
This is a short work of fiction by Richard Catto.
Despite my fears, I was not left to rot in jail. Officer Pete and a serving woman came in bearing a tray with sandwiches and coffee on it. She placed a plastic wrapped sandwich and a polysterene cup of hot coffee outside my cell then they left. I reached through and managed, with some difficulty and some spilling of coffee, to retrieve them through the bars. I felt like a monkey in a cage. All I needed was a “do not feed the animals” sign and little children pulling faces and poking sticks at me to complete my zoo experience.
I chewed the tasteless polony sandwich slowly and consumed the harsh jail house coffee brand with some distaste. They must contract to an especially tasteless Jail House caterer because I had never tasted such awful food and coffee before. Even my German Shepherd would have turned its nose up at this filth. Well, not really. Barry would eat anything I tossed at him and then look back up at me with big begging eyes and a wagging tail. I missed him now.
I had just choked back my first half of the polony sandwich and was contemplating whether to eat the second half or save it for later when Officer Pete came back in. He unlocked the cell door and beckoned me out. He did not cuff me.
“Sir, the coroner is releasing you but before you go we have some personal information for you. Please follow me.”
Intrigued, I followed Officer Pete upstairs and down the passage from the Coroner’s office into a small neat office with a comfortable leather couch. “Please wait here, sir.” said Officer Pete and he went out. I sat down on the luxurious leather couch and closed my eyes for a moment. I felt a sense of peace come over me. I opened my eyes and looked up at a short cheerful man who was going bald so that he looked like a monk. Father Patrick O’Neal smiled and said, “Bless you, my son.” I stood up and said, “Hello, Father, what is this all about?”
Father O’Neal waved me back down and sat down beside me on the couch. He said, “I have some rather sad news for you, my son.” He paused waiting for my reaction. “Go on”, I said, dreading what he was about to tell me. Father O’Neal pursed his lips and said, “Did you not know the man you found today in the ditch on Soddom’s Hill?” “No”, I replied, “I’ve never seen him before in my life.” “Ah”, said Father O’Neal, “that makes this a particularly hard bit of news to convey to you then.” He paused again, then looking me in the eye he went on, “It seems that from DNA testing done today, that the man you found and who is now deceased was your father.”
For the second time in one day, I was thunderstruck. The first words out of my mouth were, “But that can’t be! My father is alive and well and living with my mother today!” Father O’Neal said, “The DNA tests were done three times in a row to ensure no mistakes were made. According to the laboratory technicians, there is a 99.999% chance that the man you tried to help today was your biological father.” I felt a little dizzy. The room began to swim, and then turn and then I must have blacked out.
When I came to, the first hazy image I saw appeared to be that of a blonde angel’s face hovering just above mine. She smiled at me, her red lips making a sweet small bow. “Oh, there you are”, she purred. Nurse Angela Weston swept a moistened towel over my face to help revive me. However, I wasn’t ready to face reality yet. I closed my eyes and drifted back off to sleep. I dreamed I was running up Soddom’s Hill and an old homeless man was calling after me, but I didn’t want him to catch me. “I am your father!” he kept calling, and I yelled back, “No, it’s impossible! Get away from me you dirty old man!”
To be continued…
Tags: fiction, Short story, writing
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An old man in a ditch – Part II
Posted on January 31st, 2009 by Richard Catto 1,348 views
This is a short work of fiction by Richard Catto.
The Coroner’s office was small and stuffy. He was a big man with a florid look about him, the kind of man who was always sweating and chewing something. I noticed a spittoon in the corner and shuddered. Everything about this place and this man revolted me.
“Are you the next-of-kin of the deceased?” he asked me. He spoke with a Southern twang. “No, sir, I don’t even know his name.” I replied, hoping that this would all soon be over and he would tell me I could go home.
“And you are the anonymous caller who called this in, this morning?” “Yes, I am.” I replied.
“You said he had been ‘robbed’” he paused. “Yes” I interjected. “Are you sure that’s what he said?” “I’m fairly sure”, I said, “it was difficult to make out what he was saying, to be honest.” “I see. Do you mind if we take a DNA sample from you?”
“A DNA sample!” I exclaimed. “Why would you need that?” “It’s just routine, sir.” He produced a cotton swab and opened his cavernous mouth wide, indicating that I should do the same. I complied. Anything to get this over with. He swabbed the inside of my mouth and then screwed it back into its plastic sheath. “Betsy!” he hollered into the next room, “Can you come get this sample and take it to the lab?” Betsy bustled in with matronly efficiency, shot me a brief sympathetic look, and then bustled right out again with my DNA in her possession.
The Coroner, indicated a chair, and said, “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me what all happened this morning?” I recounted the events methodically and he nodded and scratched on a notepad. “Do you know how he died”, I asked. The Coroner shook his head. “Can I go now?” I asked optimistically. Again he shook his head. He poked his head out the door, “Pete, can you get in here?” A police officer entered the room with cuffs in his hand. “Read him his rights”, the coroner said. “What the hell is going on here!” I demanded to know. Officer Pete, spun me around and pinned me to the wall, “Just stay calm, sir” he warned me, and I relaxed in his grip to show him that I posed him no threat. He cuffed me and mirandized me.
As I was being led away, I asked what I was being charged with. “I’m not at liberty to disclose that.” Officer Pete intoned. I was led downstairs and locked up in a spartan cell surrounded on three sides by thick yellow painted bars. Behind me was a yellow painted brick wall. There were three identical cells all in a row. A corridor ran the length of them, with a dirty scuffed melamine floor, that had dark stains on it which was probably dried blood and vomit and god knows what else. I was the only incarceree.
I put my head in my hands and contemplated the pitiful state of my existence. This morning, I had been free, on my way home to have breakfast after a long night shift at the Internet Cafe where I worked three nights a week. I realised I had not eaten. My stomach growled acidicly. I wondered if I would get anything to eat. There was no-one to ask. I was all alone down here and I did not know when I would see anyone again. I wondered if they would just forget about me and I would just wither away and die alone, cold, hungry and miserable in this wretched cell. “I should have just walked on”, I kept telling myself, “Why did I have to get involved in this?”
To be continued
Tags: fiction, Short story, writing
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An old man in a ditch – Part I
Posted on January 31st, 2009 by Richard Catto 1,370 views
This is a short work of fiction by Richard Catto.
This is a story about an old man I hardly met in a ditch one day.
It all started on a rainy day in August. I was walking up Soddom’s Hill when I saw an old man lying in a ditch. I hesitated for a second, before deciding to take a closer look. I felt a little apprehensive as I contemplated what to do. What if he were dead? I didn’t want to get all caught up in something that had nothing to do with me and would just inconvenience and unnecessarily delay me.
I nudged the old man with my toe, and with enormous relief discovered that he was alive, because he gave a loud grunt. However, ironically, far from my troubles being over, they had only just begun, although I had no idea at the time what lay ahead of me.
The old man did not wake up immediately. From the smell of him I realised he had probably fallen down dead drunk. I was about to walk on, when he groaned deeply. I asked him, “Are you alright, sir?” and received a very incoherent reply. I caught the word “robbed”, which pricked my interest. “Did you say that someone robbed you, sir?”, I asked. “Yes!” came the more affirmative answer.
I decided to call the police and let them deal with the matter. With hindsight, I would never have made that call.
“Hello, is this 911 emergency?”
“Yes, sir”, came the reply, “how can I assist you?”
“I’d like to report that an old man is lying in a ditch on Soddom’s Hill saying that he has been robbed. Can you send someone round to take care of him? I think he might need to go to hospital.”
I ended the call, knowing that they would want to ask me a million and one other questions, none of which I was in the mood to answer. I decided to leave. I had done my bit and I wanted to get on with my life. However, at that point of decision, the old man groaned again and said rather weakly, “help me”.
How could I just walk away from someone who so obviously needed help, I asked myself? “What do you need me to do for you, sir?”, I asked the old man. He just groaned again and slumped back exhausted. I decided to use my initiative and see if I could drag him out of the ditch.
He was heavy and he stunk, that sweet, crisp stench of someone who has not bathed in a very long time. His leathered face told me that he was homeless. I wondered what he could have been robbed of.
I got my arms underneath his armpits and wrinkled my nose against the rankness of his odour. In the distance, I heard a faint siren and wondered if that was the promised help. I began to drag him out of the ditch, but it was slippery from the rain and I made very little progress. I stood up sweating. At the bottom of the hill I caught a flash of red lights and I decided to leave the man and see if it was an ambulance. It was. I stood by the side of the road waiting for them to arrive.
They screeched up and two paramedics alighted freshly from the vehicle.
“Are you the man who called 911 about a man in a ditch, sir?” a beefy medic asked me.
“I am”, I said, “he’s still lying there. I tried to get him out, but he’s too heavy for me.”
The medics tumbled down the short slope and began to examine the man.
After a few minutes, the medics called up, “Sir, did you know this man?” I said, “No. What do you mean by ‘did’?” “Well, I’m afraid, sir, that’s he’s dead.”
I was thunderstruck. Not a few moments ago he had been alive, and now he was dead? “That can’t be”, I said, “he was alive just a few moments ago.” “Sir, he’s not breathing and he has no pulse. I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do for him now, except transport him to the morgue. You’ll have to come along to make a full report.” declared the medic.
My worst fears had come true. I was now embroiled in the saga of the death of a total stranger. I felt suddenly that my life had spun out of control. Events had overtaken me and I was not sure where this was all leading to. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I obediently climbed in the back of the ambulance with one of the medics and sat back to endure the drive to the County Coroner’s office.
To be continued…
Tags: fiction, Short story, writing
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Vernon Frost Level 1 transformational weekend workshop – Feb 20 – 22 2009
Posted on January 28th, 2009 by Richard Catto 2,582 views
A transformational level 1 weekend workshop with Vernon Frost
There is a growing interest in alternative approaches to health and wellness that accommodate spiritual perspectives and practices. All too often attention is given only to one level of awareness ignoring the interconnecting relationship between the mind, body, and spirit, and the impact on wellness for the whole person. This antiquated view can cause a deficiency in life force, increase dissatisfaction with life, and contribute to a loss of spirit.
Vernon has decided to introduce the Level 1, 2, 3, and 4 workshops to South Africa and will be running the first one at the end of February (see dates below). He has been teaching these levels with life-changing results in Europe and the UK for the last few years.
Whether you are one of the growing numbers of people who engage in a spiritual practice or you are just beginning the journey to spiritual awareness, this workshop will support you in finding resolution to personal challenges and provide you with tools to live a more productive and creative life.
This weekend workshop is a journey into the spiritual aspects of recovery for emotional, physical, and spiritual issues. Each workshop combines different spiritual practices to bring insight into critical life issues.
By bringing together the healing elements of conventional wisdom and spirituality, you are better able to change from a state of discomfort to a state of increased self awareness and healing.
- Are you searching for information that will support personal development and growth on intuitive and spiritual levels?
- Are you searching for a greater understanding of the challenges you face on a daily basis?
- Do you desire to turn personal conflict into meaningful growth?
- Is it necessary to wait for an alarm signal in order to question the meaning of life?
During the workshop we release our emotional burdens such as pain, regret, misery, anger – which are only accumulations of energy, in a comfortable and elegant way.
- You will discover your pure, powerful, loving and peaceful being and insights into your life vision.
- Learn powerful techniques to discover and rid yourself of the emotional patterns that limit and constrict your self-image and happiness.
- Experience powerful guided meditations.
- Improve your psychic and intuitive abilities.
- Learn techniques on how to really relax and release stress.
- You will raise your level of awareness and perception.
- You will learn how to be one with your body, mind and soul
Vernon Frost is a worldwide renowned international transformational coach, spiritual teacher and metaphysician. His workshops on esoteric principles, healing, past-life regression and personal transformation have changed the lives of thousands of people.
The workshop space created by Vernon’s deep knowledge and experience is the best foundation for personal discovery and a powerful space for healing.
DATES
Friday, February 20 2009 19h00 – 22h30
Saturday, February 21 2009 09h00 – 18h00
Sunday, February 22 209 09h00 – 18h00
VENUE
Cape Town – to be announced.
COST
R1800
There is a R200 discount for early booking and payment before February 10 2009
BOOKING ESSENTIAL as numbers are limited
Please contact Di Williams on 083 627 7417 or email di@vernonfrost.co.za
Tags: Vernon Frost
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Who is responsible for this toddler’s death?
Posted on January 6th, 2009 by Richard Catto 3,778 views
On Friday, January 02 2009, a Soweto mother, Siphokazi Gontsi, was walking with her sister Zandile in Nyanga when she was accosted by two muggers who demanded her cell phone. She refused to hand it over, and in the struggle that ensued, she was pushed into the road by her attackers and the blanket holding her two year old baby daughter, Akhanya, to her back unwound and her child fell into the road where it was ridden over by a bus, killing it instantly.
Golden Arrow has suspended the bus driver who rode over the little girl and has said that disciplinary actions will be taken against him after their investigation has been completed.
Is this fair?
Was the bus driver really responsible for this tragedy? Shouldn’t the full blame rather be placed on the two muggers whose criminal behaviour led directly to the death of an innocent young child?
Source:
Bus driver suspended after toddler’s death
Tags: Crime, Golden Arrow, Nyanga
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