Edward Kane and The Voice of the Spider. Chapter 12: Tiny Shards of Green Glass
Here’s a question: when a blind person is hit over the head with a bottle, do they see stars? Perhaps it depends on what is meant by the words ‘seeing’ and ‘stars’. Scientists tell us that a blow to the head can cause significant pressure on the eyes, especially the light-sensitive cells at the back of the eye. The bang on the head can activate those cells and the brain reads their activation as flashes, spots and stars.
So – in answer to the question about seeing stars – some blind people do and some don’t. Depends if some of those cells are still working in there.
But that day, on leaving that illegal drinking house, Horse definitely saw stars. This was on account of being hit over the head with a bottle. A large green bottle. The oversized Irish bar bully had lain in wait for the Englishman and had hidden in the shadows. Horse had barely come out of the front door when the blow came down. Once the stars had faded into the sky of Horse’s brain, he was conscious of Big Brendan standing over him. The bottle had broken and was jagged in his hands. He leered down at Horse: ‘Where’s your five pound now, ye English gowl? Horse had just enough time to register that he had been called a word he had never heard before. Must be Irish… Then he passed out.
****
‘I’m worried about my man, Horse.’
Kane and Collins were having their morning coffee. Collins mock-frowned: ‘I seem to have heard that somewhere before.’
Kane shook a resigned head: ‘I looked in the kitchen sink today. Nothing but tiny shards of green glass…’
‘Green grass?’
‘Green glass. I asked my man what it was all about and he said that he had recently washed his hair.’
The friend sat in silence for a time. Then Collins volunteered: ‘Well, I admit, that would be a very unusual form of dandruff…’
Silence again. Broken by Kane: ‘And I then noticed that he appeared to be wearing a poultice.’
‘A poultice?’
‘A bread poultice. On his head.’
Collins sat back in his chair: ‘My word, Edward, you do lead an interesting life…’
In a conversation apparently stuttering with non-sequiturs, Collins decided to change the subject: ‘How goes your “little spider” case? Which judge did you draw, again?’
‘Minto.’
‘And when is the final hearing?’
Kane groaned: ‘Tomorrow.’
Collins nodded: ‘He’s a decent chap, Minto. Very bright. Perhaps too bright. While Counsel, they say that he would often come up with things that no-one else had thought of. Get the feeling sometimes that he’d like to be presenting the case himself, instead of sitting up there bored.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘As I suggested, Edward, were you able to mix those ingredients in your case and serve them up to his lordship as a sweet offering.’
‘I did – but I’m afraid he spat it out.’
Collins had a sly smile on his face: ‘Ah, well, my friend, as is well known – de minimis non curat lex.
Kane frowned: ‘Your meaning?’
Collins grinned: ‘I suppose a free translation might be: “The Law doesn’t like trifles.”.’
Kane raised a humorous fist: ‘Collins – would we be still be friends if I punched you in the face this minute?’
Collins raised his hands in fake defence: ‘Of course. But I fear you would be expelled from the Faculty of Advocates and be required to find another occupation.’ A cheeky grin: ‘In fact, I understand that there is a situation vacant at Lady Carmunnock’s Glassworks Factory. The position of Foreman. Apparently, you can punch anyone you like there – as long as you have bred them first.’ Kane put his palm in his face and shook his head. Collins pressed on: ‘I believe that the position also comes with its own spacious accommodation. Enough for an Advocate and a Cockney manservant. No doubt, more commodious than your current lodgings.’ He leaned forward: ‘Do not despair, Edward. Here is the thing. You were entrusted with this case. You worked hard. You did your best. It was an impossible situation. No-one could have done any better. This is your job, Edward, not your life.’
Kane was visibly upset now: ‘I fear for the child, Peggy, Collins. In a matter of days, she will be put out onto the streets.’
Collins narrowed his eyes: ‘As I understand it, Edward, it was her father was relieved of his position – not the girl. She will still earn a wage at the factory – meagre as it is. They will not be entirely destitute.’
Kane sipped from his coffee. ‘There is that.’
Collins continued: ‘And one day – six or seven years from now – she can be married, and thus, outwith the father’s control. The Patria Potestas will fly off.’
Kane nodded: ‘And she will become the possession of her husband.’
Collins gave a resigned smile: ‘And one can only hope that the husband is not as free with his fists as the father. More coffee?’
Tomorrow in The Scotsman: No Return on That Investment
Edward Kane and Mr Horse: Volume II of the Collected Short Stories. Available from Amazon and Kindle