The Unreality of Jonas

The cat purred loudly as it wrapped itself around Jonas’ feet. He bent down and scratched it behind the ears, the cat purred louder and jumped up onto the crisp white sheets of his bed. The springs squeaked as he shifted to give the cat room.

“Is this your cat, Simon?” he said.

Simon stood across the stark, white, room from where Jonas sat. He stared impassively at the cat; his face devoid of any expression.

“Oh, okay. Do you know its name?”

Simon continued to stare at the cat, arms folded across his chest. He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling, Jonas followed his gaze to the brown patch marring the white paint.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, just a small leak. It only gets bad during storms, can’t afford to get it fixed ‘til the inheritance comes through.”

The cat stretched beside him, Jonas rubbed the grey fur of its belly and was rewarded with yet more loud purring.

There was a sharp click, Jonas looked toward the door, there was a face smiling in at him through the window. He had always thought it funny that his bedroom had a window in the door, but not one to outside, ‘Saves on curtains, I suppose,’ he thought. His staff could always just check if he needed anything too, a new book, a mug of cocoa. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more sensible it seemed, why have a window in a room where you slept. He was right, this was the proper way to have a bedroom, everyone else was wrong.

“You ready to come to breakfast, Mr Jonas?”

“Ah, Rosemary, how lovely to see you.” She smiled at him, her rosy cheeks lifting, deepening the lines around her eyes.

“What have you got there, Mr Jonas?”

“Cat,” he said, scratching its belly again, “no idea where it came from. It’s not yours, is it?”

“That’s nice, well we better get going. You don’t want your breakfast to get cold.” She reached out a hand to help him up. Her dark blue uniform was faded and fraying at the cuff.

He touched the worn edge of fabric, “Oh, this will never do. I must get you a new one of these, when the inheritance comes through.”

“Quite so,” she replied, hauling him to his feet.

“Be any day now, or at least that’s what the lawyers say anyhow.”

“Indeed, but we must be getting along.” Rosemary turned towards the door.

“Damn lawyers, bleed every penny from me.” He looked across the room, “Coming Simon?”

“The cat’s name?” Rosemary asked, as she stood patiently in the hall waiting for him.

“Gosh what a coincidence, Simon. The cat’s called Simon too.”

He strode from the room, shoulders back, chest out. ‘Always walk almost as if you are marching,’ Archie used to say. ‘That way everyone will think you are a man of purpose.’ Good advice, one of the many leftovers from his army days. He stroked his moustache, thinking of those halcyon times.

His fingers brushed against the rough stubble on his chin, “Good Lord, Rosemary, I’ve not been shaved yet. There’s no way I can go to breakfast without shaving, it would be unseemly.”

“Oh, no need to worry about that, we’ll get you sorted after breakfast. The other guests won’t mind.”

“We’ve got guests?” He ran his fingers through his curly hair, trying to tease out the tangles. “Got to look presentable,” he said, finally resorting to squashing his greying hair flat. “Why do we always seem to have guests?”

“Come on now Mr Jonas, you like the guests.” She steered him through the double doors of the dining room.

“Gosh, there must be a lot staying if we’ve had to put out all these tables.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Now you take a seat and I’ll bring your breakfast over to you.”

Leaving her, he strode off through the room to an empty table by the window. He pulled out two chairs and waited for Simon to join him.

A thin, blond woman threaded her way through the tables. She moved to sit in one of the chairs.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jonas said, “but Simon is sitting there.” She looked around, brow furrowed.

“What?” she said.

“Simon is sitting there. There are lots of other tables available for the guests.”

“Oh.” She smiled, turning and threading her way through the tables once more.

“Do sit down, old chap,” Jonas said. “Bit simple that one, I hope she doesn’t put off any of the other guests; that would never do. I mean look at her, not even dressed for breakfast, still in her nightgown.”

Simon turned, his impassive gaze falling on the lady as she flitted from table to table. Her feet were bare, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stepped on dropped beans and bits of egg. She wore a long blue night gown, it was pretty enough with a white lace trim, but entirely inappropriate for breakfast. Jonas looked across at his friend, black suit, white shirt, bow tie, there was a man who knew how to dress, even for the simplest of meals.

Rosemary returned sliding a tray with a plate of bacon, eggs and beans in front of him. She placed a small paper cup beside it.

“Ah, my vitamins,” he said, picking up the cup. “Got to keep in tip-top shape.” He washed them down with his orange juice, handing the cup back to Rosemary. “Not freshly squeezed this morning, is there something wrong with the chef?”

“I’ll mention it to him.” She smiled at Jonas.

“Oh, not to worry,” he said. “It’s more the opinion of the other guests I’m concerned about.”

“Thank you, Mr Jonas.” She turned to leave.

“What about Simon?”

She turned back, ducking down to look under the table, “I’ll be back with something for him in a minute.”

“What are you doing?” Jonas said, bending to look under the table with her.

She stood up again, her face a mask of patience. “Now you eat up, Mr Jonas, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stared at her back, as she headed to the kitchen doors. “Terribly sorry about that, old chap, you can’t get the staff these days. There’ll be a lot of changes around here when the inheritance comes through.” He picked up his knife and fork, waving them at his food, “Do you mind if I…”

Simon waved his hand absently, his blank expression never wavering.

“Thank you, old chap. As Archie used to say, ‘Never let good food go to waste.’ You remember Archie, don’t you?”

Simon continued to watch on as Jonas finished his breakfast, wiping the plate clean with a slice of rubbery toast.

“Not bad, but then again not good, pretty much like every day at Sandhurst.”

“All done, Mr Jonas?”

He jumped spilling the last of his tea. “Good Lord, Rosemary, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

She chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Time to go, your show’ll be starting in a few minutes.”

He stood, looking at the empty table in front of Simon. “You don’t mind, do you, old chap, it’s just…”

Simon waved his hand absently, a faint smile briefly breaking on his blank face.

Jonas stumbled slightly and Rosemary took his hand, guiding him through the tables, his feet dragged on the floor as he shuffled along. The rubber soles of his slippers squeaking on the sticky vinyl flooring. He glanced back, Simon was sitting there, still, impassive, his crisp black dinner suit at odds with the surroundings.

The door swung closed cutting him off from his old friend, the snick of the mechanism reminded him of a bullet whizzing past, making him duck. He took the three paces across the hall quickly, crouched down, fearful that the next round might be for him. He shouldered the door and spilled into the large room opposite. Most of the guests were there already, some looking at the beautiful morning out of the windows, others gathered around tables playing board games, or sat in high backed armchairs arranged around large televisions. It was to one of these chairs that Rosemary led Jonas. His arms were now heavy and limp, matching the dragging of his feet on the mottled brown carpet.

He sat down and she arranged a tartan rug over his knees, tucking it in around his pyjamas. “Did I ever tell you about Simon?”

“The cat?” she said.

“My friend…he didn’t come back…” He looked out of the window. “Sniper,” he added quietly.

She looked into his eyes, one hand laid gently on his wrinkled cheek, “I’m sorry to hear that, dear, I really am.” Her eyes moistened and she turned away dabbing them with a handkerchief.

The cat jumped on to his lap, he scratched it behind its ears, “Ah, Simon,” he said. It turned around several times before curling up on the blanket. He watched it for a few moments before leaning back into the chair. One hand resting on the cat’s warm fur, his eyes slowly closed.