George's Umbrella

George had been waiting at the bus stop for some time when the shower started but he had come prepared, he knew it was going to rain, his mother had told him so as he left the house.

“Just a few errands to run today, George,” she said, “Mind you get them all done before you come home.”

“Yes, mother.”  George always did what his mother told him.

He unfurled his umbrella.  It was a big umbrella, not one of those collapsible ones that you can buy at the convenience store which barely keeps your head dry.  This was a proper umbrella.

George looked up and down the road.  The road was straight and he could see a long way in both directions but there was no sign of a bus.  There was no sign of a car or a motorcycle, not even a lorry nor a fire engine.  The road was deserted. 

“It could be a long wait,” thought George but he knew a bus would come eventually, his mother had told him so.

The shower soon turned to rain and the rain into heavy rain.  His mother told him that he would catch a cold if his hair got wet so he held his umbrella a little closer to his head.  It was getting cold.  His feet were cold.  He looked down.  He was standing in a puddle.  Water was creeping over the top of his highly polished shoes and seeping down slowly into his long, grey socks.  He remembered the day he was in a hurry and tried to go out without cleaning his shoes.  “And where do you think you’re going?” his mother said sternly.  It was not really a question.  George laughed to himself.  That was the last time he went out without polishing his shoes.

He looked up from his reverie and noticed an old woman walking along the road towards him.  She had a kindly face and was wearing sensible boots so had yet to share George’s discomfort.  She came right up to him. 

“This storm is set for the day.  You should go home while you can.”  The woman spoke to him gently but there was urgency in her voice.  “You will catch your death of cold if you stay here.  Why don’t you walk with me?”

George smiled.  So long as he kept his hair dry he would not catch cold and that was a fact.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured the woman.  He still had errands to run and mother told him not to go home until he had finished them all.  It was only rain, there was no reason to change his itinerary.   The woman gave him one more look and shrugged her shoulders before hurrying on her way.  

George watched the woman splash her way down the road but soon lost interest.  He looked back to see if the bus was coming but the road remained deserted.  Feeling increasingly uncomfortable George looked round to see if there was somewhere else he could stand but it was already too late.  Wherever he looked there was water.  There was nowhere dry to stand, not even a piece of higher ground.  He resigned himself to having cold, wet feet.  He made a note to himself that when he got home he would have to take good care to dry his shoes properly.

A tree branch floated past, a rubbish bin, plastic bottles, a broken umbrella, a sofa and then, what was that, yes it was a puppy.  The puppy was paddling furiously and struggling to keep its head above water.  George watched as it came towards him.  He could reach out and pull it to safety but he remembered that his mother had told him that nature was cruel.  “You just have to let nature take its course, George, don’t get involved.”  George watched, fascinated by the struggling puppy, wondering how much longer it could stay afloat, wondering how it felt as its head went under and the water filled its ears and its nose and stung its eyes.  But as with most things, he soon lost interest.

The storm clouds had gathered to consider their next move.  It was still morning but it was growing dark and the rain continued to beat relentlessly on George’s umbrella.  He would probably describe it as a deluge rather than rain but that was not really his main worry at that moment.  By now the water was up to his waist and he held onto the bus stop to prevent himself from being sucked into the torrent.  He could feel the power as cold, wet fingers wrapped themselves around his waist and tried to pull him away, whispering, “Come with me, come with me”.  He felt afraid but he knew that the bus would be along soon, his mother was never wrong.  Even so he wished he could be somewhere else.  He remembered summer holidays by the seaside, playing on the beach, digging the hole in the sand to bury his long-lost brother, wading out into the sea and feeling the power of the water as it too tried to drag him from the land, resisting the voices in his head telling him that it was perfectly safe.

“Ahoy there!”  He heard a voice call out above the noise of the rain and the rushing water.  He looked round to see what it was.

“Ahoy there!”  He heard the voice again.  Through the gloom someone in a rowing boat manoeuvred towards him.  As the boat came closer the someone turned into a man in a yellow cape and sou’wester.  The man threw a rope around the bus stop and brought the boat to a halt.

“Jump in!” he shouted above the noise.

“No, I’m fine,” said George, although he knew he wasn’t.

“You can’t stay here,” shouted the man, “It’s far too dangerous.”

George remembered that his mother had told him never to accept lifts from strangers.

“Thank you,” shouted George, “But the bus will be along soon.”

“BUS????  This is a river, a bus won’t get along here for days.”

“I’ll be fine,” repeated George, “Please go away.”

The man looked at him pitifully, “It’s your last chance,” he said.

“Good bye,” said George firmly.

The man untied his boat and floated off down the river.  As it moved into the distance George saw the man lift something from the water and heard the faint sound of a puppy yapping gratefully.  But George did not feel anything.  Whether the puppy lived or died was no concern of his.

The water was up to his chest and George was struggling to hold onto the bus stop while keeping his hair dry with the umbrella.  The seriousness of the situation was only too apparent.  He was cold and he was scared but his mother would not be happy if he went home without completing his errands.  But how could he get home?  Maybe he should have climbed into the boat.  His mother need never have found out that he had disobeyed her but it was too late now.

A figure in black drifted into sight.  George could not make out whether it was a man or woman.  It called out to him but for a moment the voice was muffled by the raging water.  George looked across but did say anything.

“What a day!” shouted the figure in a surprisingly upbeat tone.

George continued to look but said nothing.

“Don’t worry,” called the figure, “I’ll be seeing you very soon.”  

By now George was barely able to keep his head above the water and was losing his grip on the bus stop.  The water splashed against his face.  It went in his ears and up his nose and stung his eyes.  He stood on tiptoe, prolonging the inevitable, taking in a few last gulps of air.  For a fleeting moment he wondered if the rain might stop in time to save him but he knew the end would come for him very soon.  Finally he let go of the umbrella and reached inside his coat to check that the butcher’s knife his mother had given him that morning was still there.  “The woman at the post office will just have to wait,” he thought.  George no longer felt scared, he felt sad, he felt disappointed.  He knew he had failed in his task and that mother would be very angry. 

The umbrella bobbed up to the surface to meet the chaos of newspapers, boxes, furniture and all manner of other detritus that swirled around and around in the raging torrent.  For a few moments the umbrella pirouetted gently in a small patch of calm water before it danced round faster and faster until finally moving forward to the very edge of the maelstrom.  Would it have the courage to go those extra few centimetres?  The umbrella hesitated a moment and then started to gather speed as it joined the river’s race down the road into the darkness, destroying all in its path.