I’m thinking of doing away with myself, Mortimer. It seems, of late, that I cannot escape the bothersome pandemonium of ungoverned children. My coworkers, I have observed, have adopted the vulgar custom of bringing their newborn offspring to work. Why one should think that anybody would have the slightest interest in his or her progeny is beyond my powers of comprehension. And yet, I am continually astonished as I observe these half-wits parading their children about as if they were a pair of Dapple-Grays of unimpeachable heredity. Ironically, I once considered The Firm to be a safe haven from the auditory rigors of home, as Maria and I have a recent addition of our own. This, of course, you know. The three months, in which we have become fully acquainted with the staggering vocal capacity of this being, have been tedious at best. There can be no doubt of the child’s maternal lineage. I have graciously suggested the sound proofing of the nursery but received only cold stares by way of response. Due to the abhorrent condition of my nerves, it was lately recommended that we take a brief holiday at our country estate. This, along with the restorative power of eighteen-year-old scotch, had nearly set me right again. It was then that I learned of the impending visit of certain members of Maria’s family. The plot was discovered by my man and promptly brought to my attention. Apparently, invitations had been sent and accepted even before our departure from Towne. I questioned Maria severely on this point and asked her what she meant by this attempt on my life. She proceeded to burst into tears, as per her usual modus operandi, and I could get no further explanation from her. It was, of course, too late to break any engagement, given the circumstances, but I meant to make it as brief a stay as possible. I quickly ordered that a quantity of sulfur be purchased from the local apothecary and deposited in carefully measured doses in the fireplace of every guestroom in the house. This supply was to be conveniently refreshed at opportune moments throughout the day for the duration of the visit. In this way, I meant to insure a hasty departure. Immediately upon arrival, Maria’s mother and cousins conducted a thorough examination of the infant despite its atypical condition of peaceful repose (this much to the disappointment of the child’s nurse). Upon the commencement of this unsolicited prodding and its accompanying barrage of asinine cooing, the infant immediately burst into the most bloodcurdling, stentorian rage I have ever witnessed. Needless to say, my nerves were immediately shattered, and I was obliged to retire to my study for a curative tonic. For three days, the Gorgons fondled and petted that poor infant until it had fainted from sheer exhaustion and lost its voice from over use. Finally, our guests departed, citing “a queer aroma” as the cause of their discomfort. Three days were more than my nerves could tolerate, however, and I determined that my only logical recourse was instant death. As I contemplated the means of my demise, one matter still plagued me. I was incensed at the treatment we had received at the hands of these repugnant harpies, so lately come to afflict us. All laws of sanctity and good sense had been violated with indifference, and I felt some measure of recompense was due them. Yet what would be the appropriate channel for my most swift and terrible revenge? As Stevenson once said, “The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing”, for that very night at the local public house, I chanced to make the acquaintance of a man who is the breeder and trainer of a very unique type of parrot. So acute are this bird’s powers of vocal imitation, so uncanny its ability to mimic both pitch and timbre, that it is nearly indistinguishable from the genuine article. I instantaneously struck a bargain with this man for a number of the birds, and set about interrogating him for exhaustive details of successful care and training. The birds arrived next day and were settled into a room I had prepared for them next to the nursery. According to my strict instructions, the nurse was to leave the intervening door ajar at all times. Within the week, my wildest hopes were realized, for the birds were as receptive as foretold. Further, I have been successful in instructing these creatures to begin their performance at the onset of the slightest disturbance. Night or day, whether their cages be covered or not, and at the drop of a single human hair upon the floor, they are faithful to respond to their cue. I am even now altering my last will and testament with the inclusion of precise instructions for the transfer of the birds to the offending members along with the expression of my wishes that each be “treasured always and kept with them wherever they might go”. They cannot, in good taste, deny a man’s last wish without suffering the consequences of their society. And so, with my plans in place, I have procured the instrument of my release from an ancient Hindu sage, knowledgeable in the arcane arts. He has provided me with a cordial of venoms whose malignant properties are ten times those of the world’s deadliest viper, thus instigating seizures so volatile that my very bones will be compressed to powder. I must bid you farewell now, my friend, but with the assurance that you, alone, will not taste the wine of my bitter vengeance. Adieu and adieu.
© Jeremy Hogue and Letters To Mortimer, 2009.
