Monday, 7 May 2007

CLIP CLOP - Kevin Ireland

When a dozen of my neighbours had almost simultaneous heart attacks and passed away a they sat on their sun porches or lay prone on their lawns beneath beach umbrellas, the police asked me a lot of weird questions at several interviews.

The next day a spokesman kept telling radio and television news that the police were following useful leads in pursuance of their inquiries, but they never let out the details of what perplexed them most, and the one thing they kept harping about every time they called. Had I noticed some sort of deer or pig in the vicinity? Any small animal with small cloven hooves?

At some stage I said irritably that I thought it was a funny question to keep on asking, but Detective-Sergeant Laverty told me that there was nothing bloody funny about it. There happened to be these strange hoof marks around the bodies, on the carpets and on the lawns of every house in the neighbourhood, and it fact the last thing he'd call it is funny.

I had to believe him, because he glared at me and his eyes went red and steamy. 'Take a look at his ankles,' he said to the young policewoman who was standing just behind him, then he turned and strode off down the path.

The police woman shrugged and half-grinned at me. "You sure know how to get his goat, don't you?' she said.

'Am I really meant to roll down my socks and show you my ankles' I asked.

'Oh, that's just him talking,' she said, shaking her head. I'm used to it".

'Just as well you don't have to,' I replied. 'My feet are pretty sweaty.'

The policewoman pulled a face and went away, and shortly afterwards Laverty and the policewoman and five or six other investigators were also found horribly dead.

Of course there was pandemonium. A helicopter flew overhead and there were police cars and vans everywhere. I heard someone say 'they' were going to call in the army - so I headed off to the club for a quiet game of bowls. Most of the midweek regulars were there. And, heck, the place was even more peaceful than usual, because everyone there was stone dead too.

I knew there would be no point in hanging about, but I'm a creature of regular habit and couldn't think of anywhere to go, so I just ambled up the road past a church group who were raising money with a sausage sizzle outside the supermarket. I stopped to sniff the breeze, and I thought how the sausages were giving off a delicious burnt-offering smell, before I noticed that this was because the women running the stall were slumped over and the sausages were on fire. Thinking I might get help, I peered in though the supermarket window. There was no movement. Everyone inside was lying on the floor or lolling over a cash register. They all looked as if they'd had seizures.

Then I remember a political meeting that was being held that afternoon in the community hall. It had been called by a prominent government politician, to explain future cutbacks for pensioners and suchlike. I'll go there, I thought, because I was beginning to feel like really speaking my mind, the way things were going.

Clip, clop, clip, my feet went as I trotted down the street. They clacked and clattered as though I was whacking the pavement with little horny hammers.

Ireland, Kevin, 'Clip Clop', in The third Century New Zealand Short Short Stories, edited by Graeme Lay.

1 comment:

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