"FULL MOON 2000 (6) - COPE (H_B_B_ McGhee)" - читать интересную книгу автора (McGhee H B B)
FULL MOON 2000 (6) - COPE (H.B.B. McGhee)
COPE
H.B.B. McGhee
Could you spare me a few minutes while I tell you about Cope?
Thank you.
I met Cope at the Institution; we shared a room. Cope wasn't his real
name. To be honest, I don't even know if he had one. He found it very
difficult to string together cohesive sentences, but soon after I got
there, he regarded me very seriously with those big orange eyes of his,
and in faltering English stated, "there's - no - hope - if - you - can't -
cope."
He'd use the word 'cope' to convey his many different moods. If he was
angry and frustrated there would be a short sharp 'cope', if he was happy
and contented there would be a long slow 'c-o-o-o-pe'; a questioning
'cope?' if there was something he didn't understand.
It used to either annoy or bemuse the staff to hear all these different
'cope' noises coming from our room and I would often join him in the
longer 'copes'. My favourite one of his was when he started off very
quickly, 'Cope, I said cope, I said cope, I said cope, I said cope' then
he slowed down to a long low 'cope' until it dissolved in a peal of
laughter. The staff really didn't like us doing that one.
Well, apart from Mr Fodder that is, he was in charge; nothing ever
fazed him. He walked round all day with a sanctimonious look on his face,
a Bible under his arm. But we knew the truth; at night we'd hear the
moans, screams and sobs of the children who were taken to his room under
the cover of darkness. This was something which disturbed Cope very much,
and he'd issue long plaintive 'c-o-o-o-o-pes' in sympathy with their
plight.
Cope loved the flora and fauna of the countryside so much; it was such
a tragedy that he should be kept in this sterile room that had no windows.
Yet for hours he would joyously pore over books on wildlife, 'coping' with
joy at the pleasure the pictures gave him.
I had no idea that Cope was so ill, even when I first met him; he hid
it very well. One morning I woke up to find him gone. I finally found a
'friendly' member of staff who said he'd been transferred to a special
hospital.
It was not that long after Cope's departure that I heard Mr Fodder had
been killed by one of the children. No details were ever released, but I
suspect it was a current or past victim who got his revenge.
I was released shortly after that. In a well intentioned, but misguided
act, one of the staff gave me Fodder's Bible as a parting gift.
I managed to track down the hospital they had taken Cope to, but I was
too late; he had died and the body had been removed.
Further enquiries led me to his final resting place. It may seem
barbaric to us that the body is left out for scavengers to devour, but I
know that Cope found our practice of leaving the body to rot in the ground
or burning it and grinding up the bones, to be quite bizarre.
I was pleased with the spot that had been chosen; a large flat granite
rock by the side of a lake with the forest behind it. I wonder if he had
chosen it himself, I know he would have adored it here.
There was nothing left of his body, even the smallest of the bones had
been taken, but I felt his soul was still here and I said a short prayer
for him.
I still had the Bible in my bag, but felt it was tainted and instead of
placing it where Cope's body had laid, I tore it apart and then set light
to the pages. As they burnt, I let out one last long low mournful
'c-o-o-o-pe'.
It may have been a trick of the wind, or an echo from the distant
hills, but I felt I could hear him reply in a similar mode. I allowed
myself a little smile, brushed a tear from my eye, nodded solemnly down at
the granite stone, took in the beauty of the surroundings for a few
minutes, then turned and made my way to my new home.
Rest in peace, dear friend.
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FULL MOON 2000 (6) - COPE (H.B.B. McGhee)
COPE
H.B.B. McGhee
Could you spare me a few minutes while I tell you about Cope?
Thank you.
I met Cope at the Institution; we shared a room. Cope wasn't his real
name. To be honest, I don't even know if he had one. He found it very
difficult to string together cohesive sentences, but soon after I got
there, he regarded me very seriously with those big orange eyes of his,
and in faltering English stated, "there's - no - hope - if - you - can't -
cope."
He'd use the word 'cope' to convey his many different moods. If he was
angry and frustrated there would be a short sharp 'cope', if he was happy
and contented there would be a long slow 'c-o-o-o-pe'; a questioning
'cope?' if there was something he didn't understand.
It used to either annoy or bemuse the staff to hear all these different
'cope' noises coming from our room and I would often join him in the
longer 'copes'. My favourite one of his was when he started off very
quickly, 'Cope, I said cope, I said cope, I said cope, I said cope' then
he slowed down to a long low 'cope' until it dissolved in a peal of
laughter. The staff really didn't like us doing that one.
Well, apart from Mr Fodder that is, he was in charge; nothing ever
fazed him. He walked round all day with a sanctimonious look on his face,
a Bible under his arm. But we knew the truth; at night we'd hear the
moans, screams and sobs of the children who were taken to his room under
the cover of darkness. This was something which disturbed Cope very much,
and he'd issue long plaintive 'c-o-o-o-o-pes' in sympathy with their
plight.
Cope loved the flora and fauna of the countryside so much; it was such
a tragedy that he should be kept in this sterile room that had no windows.
Yet for hours he would joyously pore over books on wildlife, 'coping' with
joy at the pleasure the pictures gave him.
I had no idea that Cope was so ill, even when I first met him; he hid
it very well. One morning I woke up to find him gone. I finally found a
'friendly' member of staff who said he'd been transferred to a special
hospital.
It was not that long after Cope's departure that I heard Mr Fodder had
been killed by one of the children. No details were ever released, but I
suspect it was a current or past victim who got his revenge.
I was released shortly after that. In a well intentioned, but misguided
act, one of the staff gave me Fodder's Bible as a parting gift.
I managed to track down the hospital they had taken Cope to, but I was
too late; he had died and the body had been removed.
Further enquiries led me to his final resting place. It may seem
barbaric to us that the body is left out for scavengers to devour, but I
know that Cope found our practice of leaving the body to rot in the ground
or burning it and grinding up the bones, to be quite bizarre.
I was pleased with the spot that had been chosen; a large flat granite
rock by the side of a lake with the forest behind it. I wonder if he had
chosen it himself, I know he would have adored it here.
There was nothing left of his body, even the smallest of the bones had
been taken, but I felt his soul was still here and I said a short prayer
for him.
I still had the Bible in my bag, but felt it was tainted and instead of
placing it where Cope's body had laid, I tore it apart and then set light
to the pages. As they burnt, I let out one last long low mournful
'c-o-o-o-pe'.
It may have been a trick of the wind, or an echo from the distant
hills, but I felt I could hear him reply in a similar mode. I allowed
myself a little smile, brushed a tear from my eye, nodded solemnly down at
the granite stone, took in the beauty of the surroundings for a few
minutes, then turned and made my way to my new home.
Rest in peace, dear friend.
GO TO
THE CONTENTS PAGE
|
|