Magical Mystery Cure

By Arty Scott

What is Life without a little magic? Science can be wonderful (Who, given the choice, would want to visit a hospital fifty years ago?) Those people society calls 'messianic' the prophets who roam the earth must first of all be loved, then, in turn,hated. Is that part of their magic? Would we follow or curse them if they hadn't an element of magic in them?

Wally David arrives in Stafford Street and begins his magic on the locals. The animals love him. But how will the humans respond to his talents? Does his magic thrill them or terrify them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493141944

Arty Scott

This is Arty Scott's second published novel. Since retiring, he has taken writing more seriously; seeing things through to a conclusion has not been his strongest trait in the past (sic). But with experience comes wisdom, if we pay attention to the clues. A book – any book – can be the building or the foundation. It's up to us whether we dig or not. But there's only one way to find out if there are spuds under the earth – dig! Dig and be satisfied, my dears, he said.

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Copyright © 2014 by Arty Scott.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2014904300

ISBN:                  Hardcover                        978-1-4931-4195-1

                            Softcover                          978-1-4931-4193-7

                            eBook                               978-1-4931-4194-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/06/2014

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CONTENTS

Golda Goldbloum

Tippy Goldbloum

The Carlyles

Tsuwun Lyn

Gwendolyn Montague-Petiffer

Stafford Street

Alicia

Henry

Sahra

Les And Ben

Ella Mcbain

Sir Norman

Penny Carlyle

Lady

Feldstein

De La Rue

Robert

Loppy Lugs

Lucas

Harry ‘Dingbat’ Parsons

Wally David

Epilogue

It was a time of confusion for us all, I think. For example, I have not been able to discover where Wally David came from because nobody thought to ask him; there was so much going on—so many changes, so many… To begin with, the street was originally called Stratford Road. Officially it still is. Several years ago, however, a man called Stafford Street bought ‘The Castle’ and made it his home. That’s when it changed to Stafford Street. And before we noticed what was happening everyone slipped into the habit of speaking of and writing, Stafford Street.

And his Castle isn’t exactly on Stafford Street, just the gate-house, number twelve, where Lucas the Detective Sergeant lives, and, to one side, the huge granite gate posts topped by crouching white marble apes. The gates were removed during the war. At least, that’s what someone told my wife. The Castle at the end of the four-hundred yard, elm and oak lined drive isn’t really a castle; it is, to quote the estate agent’s blurb—in this instance not lies or euphemisms, ‘A fine Georgian manor house of thirteen beds, with forty-two hectares of land. Stables and outbuildings are invisible from the house, hidden in a fold of hillside to the southwest. Though convenient for…’ This will give you some idea of the luxury that Stafford Street is used to and an idea of his income.

There was a whisper which must have emanated from the Carlyles who live at number fifteen, across the road from the drive, that the first thing Stafford Street did when he purchased the Castle was to build a huge cage for a great ape. They work for him, you see; Penny Carlyle keeps house and cooks while her husband is his chauffeur and butler. The Carlyles had a son named Beau. I don’t know what he does. Probably nothing. The ape is called Henry. And he, like his owner, lived alone.

At that time, we who lived on the street didn’t speak to each other much. It was when Wally David arrived and screwed his brass plaque to a magnificent dark Cyprus outside number thirteen that things started to change.

Wally David

Animal Psychologist

From that day to this, nobody around here spoke of number thirteen: The Surgery, between numbers eleven, where Tsuwun Lyn lives, and fifteen (the Carlyles), is what Wally David’s home came to be called. Though we didn’t know it at the time, the arrival of W. David, Animal Psychologist, would be a time to remember for all of us.

GOLDA GOLDBLOUM

G olda Goldbloum borrowed her husband Lucas’ telescope, the one he used to aid his leering at the lovely Tsuwun Lyn across the street. She watched with excitement the removal lorry disgorge its contents to the house next door; first into the street, then into the empty house across the way. Maybe it was Golda who started to call it The Surgery, because she was thrilled to have a doctor—any kind of doctor—living in Stafford Street.

A Doctor! she exclaimed excitedly to her fat, one-eyed basset—hound, Pasha. Oh, Pasha! A handsome young Doctor—here with us the unloading of a furniture van. She put down the telescope and almost shrieked as she leaned down to haul Pasha up into her arms. The dog appeared to wince and draw back from her strident voice and the splendid bosom into which his two front paws almost disappeared. She could not conceive that there was another animal like her Poopsy Pasha". She spoke to him and treated him as she would Lucas her husband—only with more affection. After all, she reasoned, Pasha did

Pasha was seldom allowed out the front of the house, but he had seen and noted that the bitches were paraded that side, not out the back where he had to, Do your stuff, Sweetie Pie. A rich and pungent smell had reached his nose for several days, even piercing the double—glazed glass of the living room window, to set his hormones a—twitching. Once or twice he had found himself attached to Mister Goldbloum’s leg, and the Master began to dance with him what seemed like rock and roll, sometimes leaping vertically into the air to shake him off. Other times they twirled together round the room like a Whirling Dervish with one leg off the floor. Pasha had the impression that if he let go, his Master would become his assassin, so he held on for as long as he could, howling for his Mistress to come and save him from the wrath of the other leg.

Golda stepped out into the warmth of the summer sun before she released her canine captive. She skipped down the side of her neat front lawn, her long hair bouncing, caught up into a pony tail with an elastic band low down between her shoulder-blades. The shoulder straps of her brassier performed heroically; Golda was a bonny woman, though she did not like her husband to mention such things, even in the intimacy of their own bedroom. As she bent to hook the lead to Pasha’s collar they both spotted the open gate. She screamed tightly, and her panic was the ox goad (or Basset goad) which spurred the half crazed animal down the path and out towards the road.

It is my belief that Tsuwun Lyn, who lived opposite, at number eleven, was the wealthiest woman in the street at that time; although it has to be remembered that we residents seldom had anything to do with each other at the time, and I don’t think anyone had the slightest idea what she did to earn a dollar. She was driving her Porche towards her home, number eleven, next door to the Surgery, when she spotted Golda coming out of her front door and noticed on her left hand side the furniture piled in the lony and sitting waiting on the pavement for someone to move it inside the house. Her new neighbour had arrived.

Tsuwun slowed to see what she could learn. While her attention was drawn, quite naturally, to the contents of the van for a moment, there was a bump. From the corner of her vision she thought an animal had tried to vault her car, then something landed on the roof of her sports car. As she braked, her ears caught the sound of a scream emanating from Golda’s throat. Glancing up as she braked, Tsuwun watched a brown and white lump slide down the windscreen and settle, motionless on the bright white bonnet of her car.

Wally David stopped at the gate of his new home. His mouth dropped open as the dog slipped from the roof to the bonnet of the gleaming car. It lay agonizingly still as a screaming woman bore down on him from the other side of the road. He stared at Misses Goldbloum as she sped closer like a crazed wildebeest Pasha! Pasha, darling. Speak to Mummy. The driver opened the car door and swung her long and superbly tanned legs out for him to see. Wally’s eyes closed for a moment as he blinked. Golda fell across the bonnet, yelling at Tsuwun to, Do something! The girl shrugged her shoulders, lifting her short dress even higher, exposing more thigh to Wally’s amazed gaze. He shuddered.

Before he had time to retreat into his new sanctuary, Wally watched in terror as Golda rushed around the car and came for him, arms in the air, with the intensity of a rutting stag. Doctor, oh, Doctor. Please help me.

Are you sick? he asked her slowly.

NOT ME! Pasha. She pointed urgently.

He looked up in the direction of her outstretched arm. Tsuwun was leaning against the car with her back to him, and there was nothing about the length or shape of her legs that was left to his imagination; twin, tight dimples smiled sweetly at him from the backs of her brown knees. But she looks fine to me. he insisted, nervously.

Misses Goldbloum looked up painfully through her water-filled eyes. Not HER! Pasha. My Poopsy. She grunted with exasperation, pulling at his arm, dragging him away from the safety of his home. As he stumbled closer, Wally noticed that there was no blood. Hoping that the dog was already dead he managed to take his eyes off the girl’s legs. Golda took his face between her plump hands and begged him,

Please save him, Doctor. I’ll die—I’ll just die if anything… Her thoughts stabbed her into a wail of pure misery: AAARGH!

But you don’t understand. I’m not a…

Tsuwun Lyn had moved to his side, a slender chocolate-sweet hand rested on his ann and the darkness of her eyes troubled him as, unblinking, they begged him to listen to her words: You not animal doctor, but you can do somet’ing.

He noticed the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. Golda wrenched his face back to her own and something in his neck made a sickening, crunching sound. Oh, please, Doctor.

Wally stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white coat. His fingers twitched with anxiety. He was trapped. The removal men had stopped work to see how the drama would progress. And when he lifted up his arms to refuse, on ethical grounds, he pulled a stethoscope out of his pocket, as though he were acceding to their wishes.

You good man, Tsuwun smiled. You will have good karma.

God bless you, Doctor. Golda got behind him and pushed Wally towards the car.

The dog lay motionless while Wally prayed that it was dead. He closed his eyes and slid his hands underneath the warm fur at each end of the animal. As he hauled Pasha up and closer, Wally straightened and the middle of the dog flopped into a U-shape, slipped from between his hands and slapped down onto the grass verge. The Women shrieked and the attentive workers sucked in air through puckered lips. Golda kicked out at him as Wally muttered, He’s heavy, isn’t he?

Need stretcher, Tsuwun realised. She pointed to a coffee table waiting to be installed in its new home. There.

The men needed no explanation or permission; they rushed it to the kerb. Put ’im on ’ere, one of them offered generously as he turned the table upside down.

Wally bit his lip. He needed time to get himself together. I’ll go and get things ready. His voice was deep and calm as he turned and strode down his path to the front door. He entered at a run and slid to the phone, ready to dial 999. He listened for a full minute before recognising that the line wasn’t connected. He was trapped.

Tsuwun trotted in ahead of the men carrying the dog. The click of her high heels stopped. Why phone? Her face wore a puzzled expression.

There followed a dreadful silence, a hiatus that Wally knew he must terminate. A frien… colleague… for advice. Sweat was starting to boil out of his brain pan onto his brow.

Where we put him?

In there. He pointed to a doorway, though he could not remember what was beyond it.

Behind Golda, four men arrived carrying their grizzly burden. You don’t mind if we watch, do you, Guv? We can hold the poor bugger still if he starts to thrash around wiv’ pain, you know Golda’s wail puzzled the man. He had meant to be helpful.

Tsuwun decided to move things along. From the kitchen doorway she called, Here is table. Come. She found a roll of kitchen paper, abandoned by the previous tenant in a moment of generous forethought and spread it out in strips on the kitchen table. When the dog was settled the only one missing was Wally. Tsuwun left the room and returned, leading him by the elbow. We ready, Doctor.

Suddenly his love of medicine vanished. His only wish was to live in total obscurity. His fantasies had gone totally wrong. Wally wanted only to run away from the nightmare that surrounded him. He turned in the direction of the hall and freedom then shrank back as a dark figure filled the doorway. The police had arrived.

The newcomer removed his dark blue cap and spoke quietly. Good morning, Sir. Everything all right? Need any help from the law’? The Porche, he gestured towards the open front door, was blocking the road. I’ve moved it for now. It’s okay.

Wally was trapped. From the corner of his eye he saw Tsuwun’s dark eyes peering up at him. No, thank you. He returned to the table and the constable stepped up closer with the others. As Wally leaned forward the other seven people in the room also pressed in to get a better view. For a second he considered fainting but it seemed worse than a cliche—even to Wally. He cleared his throat as he laid a hand tenderly on Pasha’s flank. To the policeman he explained, A little accident. That’s all. Nothing for you to worry about. The quality of light had changed. His seven fascinated attendants congregating eagerly round the table had shut out the light and Pasha lay in the darkness of their collective shadow.

Once more Tsuwun saw the problem and took charge as Wally paused. No good! Come… Out. She started to shove them all out into the hall. Doctor not see.

Quite right, miss. The policeman followed her lead and moved to take charge of the withdrawal. All the best, Guv’, a young lad called over his shoulder. See his hands? asked one of his colleagues. Couldn’t be in better hands, a third removal man decided generously.

The workmen left him feeling no better despite their confidence and good wishes. Golda clutched his arm. I must stay. I must. Wally David wanted to step from the room himself and wander in front of the nearest train as it thundered passed. The whole world was in a cruel conspiracy to humiliate him. This was misery. This was hell.

Suddenly there was silence as the kitchen door closed. He took a deep breath and placed the end of the stethoscope over Pasha’s chest cavity. Tsuwun reached up to his neck and smiled as she lifted the other end of the instrument;. stretching wide the ear plugs, she slipped them into place. Oh, yes. Thank you, miss.

No p’oblem, she observed brightly.

To his delight the animal’s heart thumped pleasantly and regularly. He’s alive.

Thank you, God. Golda lifted her arms dramatically, as though she were Charlton Heston playing Moses in a movie. Wally felt her hand come to rest lightly in the small of his back and looked down at her thick, black hair parted in the middle. Her face turned up to his. There was a tear of joy glistening in the pinkness of her eye, as though he had performed a miracle.

Wally grew more confident. He ran his fingers along the spine feeling for irregularities; then the ribcage; he felt the abdomen, gently searching for swelling or abrasions. Pasha’s legs felt straight and strong, the skull, though limp, was not swollen or bleeding. In short, there seemed to be nothing wrong with Pasha at all. Wally lifted the tail and peered at the anus, nodding as he did so; no blood. He opened one canine eye then the other. Wally pulled back the loose lips; there was no blood nor any broken teeth. The gums were not bleached or reddened.

Is my Pasha going to die, Doctor? she nearly choked on the words, holding a soggy handkerchief close to her dishevelled bosom. We Jews, she nodded and sniffed heartily, we Jews are always ready for death.

No. He reported calmly. I don’t think Pasha will die.

All life is vanity. Golda quoted her favourite: King Solomon, ignoring Wally’s confidence. I will see him in heaven when I go.

Tsuwun reached across the table and shook the plump arm as though she were waking a child from sleep. He not die. Listen to Doctor.

Golda Goldbloum’s mouth fell open a little as comprehension flooded her mind. Oh! Then hope: You think not? Doctor. You think you can save him? I’ll pay anything… Well, my husband… she stalled. Well, he can pay for the treatment.

Hope, which had also stolen away from Wally, returned in the form of a suggestion: I’m going to try something you may not have seen before, he announced boldly, his voice dropping in pitch to the calm sophistication of a walnut whip, straight from the fridge. All I want you to do is to sit here. He took Golda by the elbow and pushed her down into a wicker chair beside the back door. His voice was now an oral balm. Tsuwun watched as he stroked her abundant hair, straightening it over her shoulders as he continued, All I want you to do is to sit here and relax. Can you do that? Relief was already washing over Golda. She sighed. The