THE UNCLES

Every time somebody did something right they were allocated an uncle. This uncle was summoned by all parties witnessing the deed. All present voiced as one that word, Uncle. Then of course it was the job of the deliverer who was all ears to such proclamations to make it to the store-room, pick out an uncle from the many who crowded the floor space therein and about-turn. Now all debts were paid and this is how the uncles found their way into the homes and lives of the lucky ones.


But sometimes these uncles had to wait many years. A life-time almost to be collected out of the crowded living space of their shared home where none belonged in their own right and one was very much like another. How different from the refined homes that they were delivered into. Their positions of honour; the unlimited attention that was served on to them knew no bounds. For here they were unique. Even rarefied and what is more they reflected in their very presence the goodness of their host and so the utmost care had to be taken of them.

Is it not surprising that in the circumstances their deliverance into the very heart of this warm feathered nest, so very different from what they had known before, made a few of them opt to become a little grabbing in nature? And to be sure when this happened all confusion was let out. For when the reflected figure of ones own goodness turns around then all manner of meaning changes. Floods occur and borders perish.

It was in one particular household that this breakdown in the nature of things was most extreme. There sat Uncle, surrounded by a family, lavished upon, spoilt and billowed up with countless cushions all sewed tight with impeccable stitching and laced around the edges. Then was served one dish after another faster than it is possible to consume so that an assortment of fine foods grew up and grew up before Uncle and as it did so many cushions and still more had to be placed underneath him so that he could keep pace with the food. Finally as his head neared the ceiling he begun to snore and all those down below skirting the edges of that fine fellow; their one and only Uncle, begun to clap and whisper admiring comments. They were talking about Uncle. Who else?

Uncle could do no wrong. Is it any wonder that he tired? Yet no, it was simply not taken in and that was that. He could do no wrong and because of this over time Uncle seemed to acquire a mad, bad way which was like a secret friend to him in the midst of all that niceness. And yet the laughter and the clapping, the pats and the puddings continued. Uncle could do no wrong. He was left alone with his mad, bad side who so it seemed no one recognised. And this is really the crux of it. For in effect he emphasized what might not have been so bad after all. He gave his personality what we might call an edge and he used this edge to cut into conversations which fell away like dry cake on his touch and never seemed to nourish his true sentiments.


One after another he ripped apart the cushions spreading fist-fulls of soft duck-feather to the still air, covering the dining table with a fleece of white which was to him like a black shroud. But to the others it was a party trick for which he was much applauded. This caused him to go a little further in his activities and with the flick of the finger he had overturned the table and the food slid in a heap on to the creamy carpet. The people jumped up and over-turned the chairs in counter-balance. Maddening, thought Uncle.

Uncle was beginning to feel disturbed by the ripples that seemed to ensue every time he did a single thing as if the very bricks that surrounded him were made of cloth and he could make no impact on it. The softness of his world left him blanketed on the verge of oblivion.

He felt alone and he reflected for the first time on the gathering Uncles whom he had left behind in that strange storage space from his past.

“Well” said Uncle, “Of all the countries I have visited home is where you want it to be”

So saying he grabbed his fallen mountains of edibles which right now he could not get a hold of as something digestible and took off in a different kind of way through walls and people which now he could not see. For he had a vision. A vision of a bare room filled with people just like himself. Caught between good and bad.

Uncle walked in. But what was this? He was not the only one returning. Other figures converged along with him each carrying their own special bounties. Much laughter commenced as mouths moved in unison eating and talking in fits and starts.

Then the time came when it was time to put aside the outfits which of late seemed so out of place. Uncle was no more. Just a collection of ordinary people getting on with things as only they knew how.


As for the people in the households they had to find a different currency to mark the presence of their best qualities. In the absence of Uncle they began to recognise one another.