The great Winter- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2014

The great winter -(Unfinished)

-War is the winter of the human race….enduring through natural season… unnaturally renewed through the hatred of human hearts until exhaustion takes one opponent, betters him…and then…checkmate!

Everything all around is bound in a frozen mattress of ice and snow. The roads have become unmanageable for all vehicles and even the poor meagre pedestrian cannot wade through the impenetrable layers of the swarthy grey ice. All the people, including the most vigilant of men and women have succumbed to the extreme wintry conditions and many are unwillingly trapped or isolated in their own homes, for fear of the hazardous weather, which is a daunting task to face.

A single house on a hill stood out against the snowy mounds encroaching it. The long Stalagmites bore their icy fingers down from the width of the wooden roof beside the frozen ledge of one of the houses’ fine oriole windows. At the window, you could see the grey and pallid figure of a man sitting still on the edge of the bedroom’s fine double bed beside a wooden bedside lamp, which was glowing faintly while the man reeled through the dense page of his old diaries.

The man was silent as he read old extracts from his diaries, so to reimburse his old emotions and memories from long ago, before the cold winter had arrived. The house itself was a living antique, for it dated back to old Georgian times, its rooms were filled with the old Georgian spirit, with an old marble hearth beside the fireplace and the kitchen which was renovated was an old butlers pantry and storehouse, where cider and game were kept during, hot summers for the varied tastes and amusements of the gentry and their esteemed and privileged guests. An immediate dampness and frosty current of air could be felt circulating through the wooden floored bedrooms and the sound of the radiators clanking could be heard long after the central heating had been switched off.

The house was so still today and while the man sat in the stillness of the old house, only the occasional sound of his vile and displeasing cough could be heard throughout the three floors of this old country house. While he sat, a mist continued to descend through the surrounding countryside and now all the neighbouring homes, which formed in sequence in the little valley facing the window, had vanished behind the devouring mist and snow.

The sound of footsteps could be heard, against the creaking wooden floorboards, which grew louder, until the bedroom door suddenly opened.

In came a woman, covered from head to toe with her wintry regalia, with a duffle coat, a thick woollen scarf, a pair of overalls, a pair of fine padded gloves and a woollen hat. Her coat was covered with melting snowflakes and before she even summoned the man to her attention, she immediately inspected the premises to see if there might perhaps be a little portable heater for convenience.

“Paul, I think I’ll go an light a fire down stairs”, she said almost in a whisper.

“Grand go ahead, I’m just checking over something.”

 “Paul, have we enough firelighters left to last the weekend?”

“I don’t know, check the coal box. I think there should be enough because I purchased some only the other day. There should be enough coal and wood for the moment.”

The man suddenly rose form the bed, proceeded out the bedroom door with his wife down the long and winding old wooden Georgian balustrade, and into the large and spacious living room at the centre of the house. The living room was lavishly decorated and tidied every day and at the centre of the room one could see the use and purpose of the old study with its large pine shelves filled up to the brim with books, on almost every intellectual topic known to man and the old doctors desk which was once long ago used by a doctors son who was studying for his medical examinations at the back of the room. Paul began to empty out the entire contents of his coal box on the hearth of his fireplace, and started to arrange the wood, coal and firelighters into different bundles. Into the wide mouth of the fireplace his placed the stacks of coal and wood with a firelighter resting on top and very diligently he placed the flame over the mound of contents. Slowly but surely the flames grew with flying sparks and they spread until they danced with upwards and omitted out small clouds of black smoke. Paul fanned the smoke back, placed the fireguard over the fireplace and watched his wife approach him with a glass of hot whiskey, which she left by the mantelpiece near the fireplace.

“That’s a good fire”, she said quite content with his efforts to make a fire.

“Lets just leave the doors closed, so that no draughts will circulate through the room”, he said while squatting close by the fire trying to warm his half frozen fingers up.

“Its bitterly cold out, too cold for any human to endure. Hey sit down and drink a warm whiskey it will warm you’re body up. You look anaemic, perhaps those antibiotics have done you no favours”, she said in concern.

“Well I get about two hours sleep each night, I have this heavy chesty cough, a feeling of light-headedness comes during the afternoons, the breathing problems and all my stomach troubles have left me debilitated on occasion.”

“You’re a martyr to you’re stomach. You always seem to be sick.”

“I feel nauseous while we speak. Its funny that the doctors cannot even give me a proper distinct diagnosis of my condition and while all the treatment and the medication have failed, I suffer on with these symptoms which have left me limited to a very bland diet of paltry measures of rice, cooked chicken, vegetables and spelt bread. It’s my diet and it has failed me.”

“Are you going to sit down?”

“I will rest my weary torso in time. I don’t want any whiskey; you know that my stomach can’t take it; its like petrol going through me.”

“Well, just sit down, make you’re self comfortable and relax and I’ll go and get the warm woollen blanket out from the bedroom.”

“Thank you, Linda, he said in great appreciation and admiration for her kindness.”

After awhile he went into a fit of coughing and sat snivelling and shivering with his arms fixed on either side of the armchair, which he moved considerably, in close proximity of the fireguard.

His wife came into the room carrying a warm winters wrap with several thick cotton duvets and a pillow, which she carried and dropped twice while she tried to juggle and balance the entire load all at once. She immediately threw the load down in a heap on floor beside the sofa and inquired on whether or not he would like some water or a hot water bottle for his cold feet. He immediately shook his head, folded his arms and lay his feet to press against an arm of the sofa and closed his eyes as he began to drift off into a semi-conscious state of sleep and sickness.

The afternoon reveille of the postman sliding his mail into the narrow shaft of the hallway letterbox was immediately followed by the alarming call of a neighbouring dog that typically followed the postman on his errands and his route while the postman tried with all his energy to fight off the dog and his irritating display of curiosity. The dog’s behaviour was merely a playful bluff and not an act of aggression. On every pathway down in the town itself, deep trenches of snow were set aside by a bunch of townsmen who shovelled tirelessly through dawn until the late afternoon, working for little pay in regard for the public schemes that were deployed across the country.

The workers looked wretched and gaunt, frozen solid, almost like living snowmen at the icy tracks of the main road, which twisted on for another mile into the heart of the old town. From Paul’s house, you could gaze down on the entire labyrinth of the town. You could see the smoke rising up from each chimney pot, the vans slowly careering and meandering through the icy divides in the roads and one could see the frozen spire of St. Matthew’s Church and hear the bell ring out, when it was midday or six o’clock so to summon the congregation to attend. Over time the mist had begun to shift, when the black clouds had finally parted.

                                                                                                       Paul began to stir on the sofa; he kicked his legs back and forth trying with hope to stretch his legs, for he was too tall for the sofa, which could not accommodate his precise stature. Paul opened his eyes momentarily and began to shift himself. He threw off the wrap and the duvets and straightened out his back and sat himself up in a firm position. He glanced over at the fireplace to see that the fire had gone out and only a faint wisp of smoke now floated in its place. Paul slowly moved over towards his old desk which was positioned beside the fine collection of miscellaneous articles and newspapers which he had collected and built up over the years and had left in his study as fine “specimen” for his work. Paul clattered around for a few minutes, rummaging through his belongings, which were all untidily dumped on the carpet beside his desk. Out of a small plastic case Paul produced some blank paper, a fountain pen and small leather cased diary out of the mess of papers and arranged them all in fine order on his desk.

His eyes were focused completely on the paper, the pen which slid and glided across the paper in a smooth meticulous fashion and the diary which he opened, cross referenced and read occasionally aloud in a brief mutter to himself.

Today’s entry read as follows,

January 15^th, it is the coldest day in the coldest month, in the coldest year in memory.

I have written several articles for my colleagues at the Evening post. My reports are up to scratch. I have been following every news update faithfully, have studied, sourced and referenced my work, almost in perfection. I have been wrestling with my health lately, so that has slowed me down. I find that my muscles ache when I strain myself with the writing, the bending and the leaning forward against the desk and the studious fashion of sourcing every report for the editor. The work has indeed grinded to a halt. I know that journalists all over the British Isles will be busy as bees with the big headlines that have affected every person living on our planet.

I know that temperatures will rise eventually and that my temporary illness will have to be dealt with for I must go to the office and start my report.

He scanned and reeled back over several pages of his diary and then folded and slipped the piece of paper before him into his diary, like a bookmark to highlight something of paramount importance to his work. With his right hand he clutched an old newspaper from over a month ago, as he bent down on his right hand side to try and pick it up for examination.

The paper read.

Meltdown.

Chino-American relations have finally dissolved after months of the proposed peace talks came finally and abruptly to a bitter end. The Beijing Conference, which lasted several days, included Secretary Xhao himself, several of China’s party ministers including Mr Lee Jin kuk Minister for foreign affairs and the Minister for social affairs Mr. Jinn wyodon. All such members of the Chinese government had met with the President of The United States for peace talks, to reach a conciliatory agreement on issues such as China’s growing expansionism, the annexation of Taiwan into the Chinese Republic, the condemned attack and invasion of Myanmar and the growth and proliferation of Chinese arms. China’s expansion has excelled with her rapid control over the manufacturing industry; her recent wealth from the oil deposits in China’s northern provinces and of course her investments and her control of many valuable and critical oil companies in Africa.

The Chinese military machine has grown on the national plans for collective farming and has trebled its expenditure plans over the past five years for its own mass mobilisation. China plans to strike west, to colonise new lands and conquer new territories, as the old superpowers wrestle with economic recession, threats of homegrown terrorism, and a complete failure to initiate a thoroughly sustainable national defence network. History itself has many turns in its sequence of diversions in power and authority and today is just another confirmation to the world, and the anxious faces in the west, that the dawn of Chinese power has arrived and that the western powers have failed to act, either in means for peaceful terms or for national security and defence and this is the reason for the complete demise and the dying voice of democracy. The question is whether or not war will come between America and China.

Paul’s silent observations were interrupted as his wife came through the living room door clutching several plastic bags of groceries. She was a dainty girl of 25, who practically ran the show round the house, ever since her husband had retreated into his days and months of sickness and she was the mother of his child. The child rested quietly in his cot up in the back bedroom with a throat infection and neither Paul nor his wife would make much commotion in the living room in fear of waking their son from his precious sleep

“Any success”, at all she inquired as she simply nodded politely to the paper he was writing.

“No I haven’t started the report yet. I can’t concentrate at all. I’ve just spent my time musing over these old newspaper articles.”

“Well, don’t worry because I will cook you’re lunch.”

“When did you get out?”

“Over an hour ago, I went out in the land rover, drove slowly.”

“What’s it like out there?”

“The snow and the frost are beginning to melt. I think those workmen must have cleared the main road.”

“By the way, what have you bought in the shops?”

“Got some Vegetables for you, thought I’d make you up a nice broth on a cold day. There are turkey slices in the fridge for sandwiches.”

Paul stood facing winter’s snowy mouth of death, cold and hardship as he gazed out from the Dormeer window, lost and yet filled to the brim with bubbling thoughts, feelings, sensations that had slept long slumbers and were now coming into full season in his mind.

“Will there be a winter of war…is this the whole summation of mankind? Are these our rulers? Do they really represent us! What sort of game is this? This club of members meeting in mansions to make the latest move on the chess board, lives everywhere of people, wherever they dwell and draw breath, the diplomacy is smashed in time, the treaty torn. Why do we moan and yet not see beyond the veil?”

“What are you trying to say Paul?”

“What sort of men can give such a horrible conclusion on life? The one’s that believe life was just a breath and nothing more, how can we be bought and sold by the cheapness of the rulers of this age, who try to dull our heads with figures, images and subtleties and take us away from the real matter at hand!”

Paul’s cheeks went red, as a long repressed frustration flew up and out of him, refusing to be silenced and it did not have to be composed, for it simply poured out like a river of passion and rage, long withdrawn and now in full pitch.

“I don’t understand Paul what you’re trying to say?”

“When can we live and not be ruled by the bad news of the press! They simply want to scare us into submission!”

“Where did you get that Idea from Paul?” Said Linda with a rather perplexed look on her face

“One empire after another…one has to live in the world…but one must never become the world or embrace all its bullshit! The two leaders played chess this afternoon don’t you understand, the American leader lost, it was Checkmate for the Chinaman and with that the American conceded, laughed and handed him the “keys to Myanamar”.

“How do you know all this Paul?”

“Because I have a contact with Reuters, I have my names, my creditable sources of information and my profession of course, all of which has made me what I am. Now the time has come for me to concede, I will leave this line of business. I no longer want to be a journalist, a man who hunts hot gossip like a hound running with a pack or a cow just following other cows, mooing until it goes right over the cliff!”

“Are the broadcasts merely lies? They speak of possibilities and yet you state that it has been solved by a game of chess?”

“Yes! Its going to be dealt with in a very shrewd and cunning manner, stringed out through broadcasts beamed out to a billion televisions, promoted by a thousand celebrities. Hitler was handed Czechoslovakia by the appeasing powers, against the wishes of the people who were breathless and didn’t croak loud enough for a noise to be made! But you do not understand there will no be peace for men who put their faith in politics, no peace for such, our revolution is not political but spiritual.”