Part 2: Holy Mary, Mother of Godfrey
She sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. It was glossy long and sleek, flowing around her shoulders like silky fluid. She had beautiful hair, everyone said so. She knew it was true; for she could detect sincerity in a voice as vividly as she could smell dog-shit on a shoe.
That was the problem with dog-shit, unless it was fresh you couldn’t smell it coming. Tread on it… break the crust, and you could smell it alright - the stench would assault your senses for the rest of the day.
She remembered slipping on some dog-shit, before she had Godfrey. She was walking through the park with her cane, proud, independent… vulnerable. She’d trod on the package of canine waste with her leading foot and slipped awkwardly. She came down with an appalling crash and had managed to roll in the shit. It was in her hair, on her blouse… she felt embarrassed, hurt, frightened and alone. A man rushed across to help her up. Old she assumed for his breath was short. She could smell the whiskey and cigarettes above the dog-mess. Then she felt his hands, filthier than the dog-shit they were upon her, all over her, grabbing her breasts her arse… squeezing hard.
She screamed it loud, twice. The violating hands retreated, the humiliation remained.
‘I was just helping her up, she’d fallen… helping her that’s all – Look at her, she’s a Bloody Nutter!’… ‘All covered in shit she is – don’t go near her, don’t try to help her - she’ll scream rape or murder or something!’
She could hear the pathetic, evil creature extricating himself with a barrage of vile lies as he retreated. Obviously there were onlookers now.
The onlookers remained so. She could hear hushed voices and footsteps passing close – but nobody came near… the despicable sex-pest’s depraved warnings ringing in their ears – who could really blame them?
She clutched at her throat feverously searching for the comfort of her beloved crucifix. To her horror she found that it was gone, it had left her when she needed it most. She dropped tentatively to her haunches and then to her knees combing the ground with both hands for the gold-cross and her white-stick. Tears streamed down her face as she fought to control the hysteria that was pushing to overtake her sobbing.
She couldn’t locate the crucifix or the stick but found the dog-shit straight away – palm down, she felt the nauseating crap squelch between her fingers. Anger overtook the self-pity.
‘Can somebody please help me’ she pleaded, her chest heaving between sobs.
Footsteps came close and her cane was quickly pushed into her non-shitty hand.
‘Here you go luv – it’s your stick’ a woman said harshly, almost reluctantly.
There was no compassion in the voice and Mary heard a taint of disgust within the tone. Nobody likes a Nutter.
‘My crucifix… I’ve lost it. Can you see it? Is it there… a gold gross?’
‘There’s nothing here!’ Mary heard uncaring curtness within the reply.
She stood and while orientating herself said shakily, ‘Thanks…’
The darkness did not reply.
The old man was puffing heavily, but he’d put a safe distance between himself and the scene of the incident. He felt nauseous, his head spun. Why had he done that? He wanted to help her, he genuinely did… but the urge to touch her, to feel her flesh… it overcame him.
He didn’t even know why he had gone to the park in the first place. He shuddered at thought of getting caught – the scandal would ruin him. He slowly unclenched his fist to reveal the gold crucifix and broken necklace chain. He had no idea how it got there, it wasn’t that kind of jewellery he was grabbing for. For a second he considered returning the trinket to it's distraught owner, but quickly dismissed the idea as being too risky – even if he could summon the courage to face the girl again.
He tossed the crucifix into the shrubs, hoping that his feeling of guilt and shame would follow. As he rested, took a breather, the shame did subside as the exciting heady tingle rose within him again. He recalled the way that her firm breast yielded under his grip, the hard round contour of her arse… the lust drove every rational thought from his head. A blind girl in distress, helpless and at his mercy… her delicious vulnerability made him dizzy with desire. He made sure that the coat covered his erection and then quickly retrieved the discarded jewellery, stuffing it into in his pocket – he knew that it would help him retrieve those feelings later.
That was the day Mary had attempted suicide. She'd believed that it was only way that she could cleanse the filth from her body. The dog excrement came off in the shower and the washing machine but the filthy handprints were indelible. She shuddered violently, involuntarily.
But that was all before Godfrey, she felt him curl closer to her leg; he sensed the distress that remembering the pervert incident had caused and he was reassuring her of his presence. He yawned and her gentle hand came down to his head, fingers feeling for the region behind his ears. Thump, thump, thump she heard his happy tail beating the carpet in appreciation.
‘There’s a new bloke starting at work today Godfrey. They say that it’s a Solider-boy with his face burnt-off. He’s the latest addition to the company freak-show.’
Thump, thump, thump.
‘We’ve all got to be nice apparently – treat him just as if he were normal.’
‘That’s what they must have said about us when we started there.’
Thump, thump, thump.
‘How do you do that? Treat him as normal? Ask him politely where his face has gone? Ask him, did it hurt?’
Thump, thump, thump.
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