CHRISTMAS COFFEE TIME STORY Being December, I thought I would upload a magical little yarn. I hope that you enjoy it. ONE GOOD TURN The day was foggy and very cold, and he was shivering as he trudged through the market with his hands deep in the pockets of his old jeans. The thin material of his windcheater was no protection to the freezing weather. It was Christmas Eve, but he had nothing to be joyous about. Hunger and cold did not promote any sense of festivity. Everyone seemed to be laughing, music was playing, and yet he was alone in the midst of it. He could smell hot food and coffee, and his stomach rumbled, as if demanding to be fed. Snow began to fall, and the large white flakes drifted lazily down from out of the grey sky, to quickly cover every surface. Passing a stall that was laden with warm winter clothing, the temptation became too strong to deny. “Thief!” Benny Burton shouted, and took off down the street after the skinny youth who had just nicked a quilted parka from a rail under the canvas roof of his market stall. Benny saw the lad enter an alley. He reached it and stopped. There was no sign of him. And he hadn’t had time to reach the other end of it; therefore the little blighter was hiding, maybe in the skip at the rear of the Mandarin Chinese Restaurant. Benny reached the skip, checked behind it and lifted the lid and peered over the rim to look inside. God! The smell of rotting garbage was revolting. The stink was enough to clear his blocked sinuses. He’d been planning to buy a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea from ‘Busty’ Beryl’s van before the kid had ripped him off, but his appetite had now deserted him. He stepped back, away from the skip. He certainly wasn’t going to get in it to rummage about looking for the thief. “What you do, Benny?” Mickey Woo asked, appearing through a gate with a bin full of chicken carcasses to feed into the gaping maw of the bright yellow skip. “Looking for a thief,” Benny replied. “You think anyone hide in that mess?” Mickey said. Benny shrugged, turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come. His floating kneecap was spiking, making him limp. And the incident had made him livid. Lucky for the light-fingered little tea leaf that he’d given him the slip. He might have gone over the top and hurt him. It was hard enough to make a decent living, without having stock lifted in front of your eyes. But he’d seen the lad before. Next time, he’d collar him. Alan – Al to his few friends – chuckled to himself as the burly guy looked in the skip for him. As if he would have climbed into that. Instead, he’d slipped through the narrow, ground level open window of a cellar and was watching the stall keeper through a gap. Once the man had left, heading back to the market, he glanced around the dingy room. There were old carpets rolled up and leaning against the damp, flaking, whitewashed walls; a few tea chests piled high with odds and ends, and a large, humpbacked rat sitting on the top shelf of a bookcase, staring at him with bright, oil bead eyes. Not one to pass anything up, Al foraged through the boxes. The only thing of interest to him was what appeared to be a metal gravy boat complete with lid. He looked on the bottom for a hallmark, thinking it might be silver, due to it being tarnished almost black. There were symbols, but they seemed to be more like Egyptian hieroglyphs than jewellers’ stamps. He tried to remove the lid, but it wouldn’t budge, and so he used the sleeve of the parka he’d just stolen to rub it clean, but stopped when the gravy boat started to glow and become warm. He tossed it aside, but instead of crashing to the dusty stone floor, the lamp – for that was what it was – hovered in the air, to then right itself and drift slowly down to gently settle on the ground. Al was transfixed. Something seriously spooky was happening. His instinct told him to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. And as he watched, the lamp became so bright that he had to scrunch his eyes almost closed against the glare. A wisp of green smoke emerged from the now golden spout, to curl up towards the ceiling. To Al, it was like the thick tendril of a plant growing towards the sunlight. Mouth hung open, he saw the shape of a figure coalesce and hang in the air not three feet from where he stood. “So you are my new master.” the green apparition stated. Al didn’t reply. He was obviously asleep, dreaming this up. “Cat got your tongue, Master?” “Are you for real?” Al asked. “Absolutely. Are you?” “Of course.” “Good. Let me introduce myself to you and explain the rules. I am Jamel, the genie of the lamp. Who are you? And where is this place?” “I’m Alan. But everyone calls me Al. And this is London.” “What year is it, Master?” “Two thousand and fourteen. And please, call me Al.” “Awesome. It’s been almost a thousand years since I last got out in the fresh air for a while.” “I thought genies were―” “The plural is genii, Mast...er, Al. That’s if any others exist. I’m the only one I’ve ever met. Anyhow, what were you about to say before I so rudely interrupted?” “That I thought genies were made up, like in fairy tales.” “Most fairy tales are based on fact, Al. Same as a lot of legends. I was a drinking buddy of Perseus, Hercules and that crowd. They were nice guys, but always getting into fights with weird creatures, and doing crazy stuff.” “So you weren’t always a genie?” “Heavens, no. I was a hardworking fisherman. But I upset a sorcerer with a warped sense of humour. He changed me into a genie and made me a prisoner of this lamp. I only get out when someone rubs it.” “What were the rules you were going to tell me, Jamel?” “Oh, yes. You get the standard three wishes, Al. But you can’t wish for immortality, to have someone killed, or to have a princess fall in love with you. And there’s no doubling up. It’s no use wishing to be taller and have a bigger...you know…You have to be specific. One or the other. My advice is to take your time, think it through, and be sure that what you wish for is what you really want. A mountain of diamonds, a really neat palace, and a never-emptying glass of a favourite tipple used to be the top three on wish lists.” “Sounds good.” “Think about it. The diamonds could have bought them the palace and all the booze they could drink. They wasted two wishes. Get it?” “Yeah, Jamel. How long have I got to mull it over?” “I’m in no hurry. I can do a bit of sightseeing while I’m out of the lamp. But look after it, Al. If someone else gets their hands on it, you lose out. When you’re ready to make your first wish, just rub it, and I’ll hot foot it back to wherever you are. With a blinding flash and a loud bang, Jamel became human. He was no longer green, and had legs instead of a wispy tail. “What do you think, Al?” Jamel asked. “That the turban and baggy pants have got to go. You need to get some threads that don’t make you look as if you’re on your way to a fancy dress party.” Jamel conjured up a few different outfits, and Al gave him the OK in a suit and tie and black loafers. While his new-found friend hit the town, Al tucked the lamp in a pocket of his recently acquired parka and made his way back to the condemned block of high-rise flats that he and others were using as a squat. He sat down on the stained and mold-covered mattress and gave a great deal of thought to how best he could use the three wishes. After a while he fell asleep with a headache, after considering a thousand different ways to become rich and happy. The cooing of a fat pigeon perched on the snow-covered sill outside the broken window woke Al. He checked that the lamp was still wrapped in his jacket, sure for a moment that he had dreamed the whole episode. Holding the magical lamp in both hands, he rubbed it, and after a few seconds a curling column of green smoke drifted out from the spout and metamorphosed into Jamel. The modern dress was gone, replaced by a bejeweled turban and a tunic spun from gold thread. “Had a good time?” Al asked. “Wicked,” Jamel answered. “I met a girl at a club in Chelsea, and we danced the night away. Well, most of it. What we did with the rest of our time together is none of your business. But it beats being in an oil lamp. I need to be found and released more often.” “I’ve got an idea for a wish. But I thought we could talk it through, to make sure it all works out right,” Al said. Jamel clicked his fingers and a steaming mug of coffee appeared next to Al. “Hey, I didn’t wish for that,” Al said. “Gratis,” Jamel said. “You look as though you need it. Is this where you live, or keep pigs?” “S’just temporary accommodation.” Al chose not to go into detail; of how he had been orphaned when his parents were killed in a head-on car crash exactly three years ago to the day. And that he had subsequently done a runner from council care. “Before I make my wishes, can I give one away to someone else?” “Sorry, Al. No can do. They’re non-transferable.” Al thought about it. “Okay,” he said. “If I wished to go back in time three years and one day, without losing the memory of what had followed, could you swing that as one wish?” Jamel twiddled the pointy, black beard on his chin as he considered the request. “Yes, that seems to be in order.” And if I choose not to make my other wishes until then, I take it you’d have to come back with me?” “Of course.” Picking up the lamp, Al said, “Very well. My first and second wish combined, is that you return me as previously stated, with a list of all winning lotto lines for the past three years.” There was a burst of pure white light. Al felt that he was in the wall of a tornado, being spun round at a dizzying speed. A second later he was back in time, at home in his bedroom, and could hear his mother downstairs in the kitchen, singing along to a Ronan Keating tune on the radio. “Do you know what your final wish will be?” Jamel asked from where he hovered in front of a wall covered in football posters. Al grinned. “Yes. My third wish is that you should decide where and when and how you want to be. Can you do that?” “Yes, Al. I shall decide to be back as I was before being imprisoned in the lamp. Thank you for my freedom.” “You’re welcome. One good turn deserves another.” In the next instant Jamel faded away, as did the magic lamp. Al was in control of the future. Or at least a very important part of it. He planned to sabotage the car, thus preventing the accident that had killed his mum and dad. He would then ensure that with the winning Lotto numbers, his family and friends would be rich beyond their wildest dreams. ©MICHAEL KERR
Posted on: Mon, 01 Dec 2014 12:58:37 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015