Mark walks slowly towards the bridge. The spot is two kilometres out of town. Near his house, conveniently enough. People rarely visit the bridge except to travel eastward or to die.
This is it. The moment is here at last.
He stops for a moment and straightens his uniform. He inspects himself. He is proud of his appearance, even at a time like this. His trousers and shirt look pressed, his shoes are polished, and his hair is brushed. If he is going to face death, he will do it whilst looking good, damn it.
It is customary in situations like this to dress well and be on time. Wilson would definitely do the same, and Mark would be damned if he was going to lose face by being late. Roberto, his second, was probably already there. Roberto often said, “Call me whatever you like, just don’t call me late for dinner.”
Mark wonders who Wilson’s second could possibly be. Wilson is the man who steals from anyone ,whenever he can. He is the man who treats young ladies so poorly. The cad. Who would possibly agree to be Wilson’s second? Mark’s low opinion of Wilson is what lead to this whole business in the first place. Mark was relaxing at the Tavern and this cocky idiot, Wilson, was full of piss and vinegar. Wilson was being very rude and Mark told him what he thought of him. Mark hated being slapped in the face. It is customary to do so, to initiate the duel, but the act made him red with anger and embarrassment. Then, he was being asked to choose weapons and nominate a second. Pistols would be the weapons, obviously. We aren’t in the Middle Ages, after all. Roberto was his first choice for his second, and Roberto, good friend that he is, was happy to oblige.
Mark isn’t scared of Wilson as such, but he knows what he is capable of and he doesn’t really want to die. Naturally, he will face him standing tall and ready; but he sure as hell doesn’t want to go before his time. His grandfather went out in a blaze of glory, a duel, and if it was good enough for his father’s father, it was good enough for him. He hasn’t told his mother, she will understand. As for his sweetheart, Mark just thinks of her and sighs. Just another reason to win this thing.
Mark trudges on. There is honour to be won today! Wilson will pay for what he has done. He wants to kill me. We shall see about that.
Mark draws closer to the bridge. He sees Roberto and Wilson, standing about at a distance from one another. Roberto doesn’t like Wilson much either. He sees him as a contemptible boor, not fit to lick the boot of the town drunk.
“Roberto.”
“Mark.”
The pair greet while Wilson sneers. Roberto turns to Wilson.
“No second, I see.”
Wilson winks at Mark then sneers at Roberto. He wordlessly reaches into his jacket and pulls out his pistol. Roberto gasps and looks over at Mark.
BANG!
Roberto looks visibly shocked as he falls to the ground. Mark rushes to his fallen friend.
“Not so fast. Leave him for now.”
Mark can barely bring himself to even look at Wilson. He addresses him through gritted teeth.
“You utter bastard.”
“He will live. Now we can talk without that fool around. I have decided that pistols are unfitting for our duel. Swords will do.”
“How DARE you? You challenge me to a duel. Then, you arrive here unaccompanied and SHOOT my second. Who in blazes do you think you are? How can you raise your head in polite society again?”
“Hahahaha. This will be a contest for the ages.”
Wilson grandly extends his hand skywards.
“See those storm clouds gathering over yonder? Truly a great omen. I have waited long for this moment. The slaying of my nemesis will be a grand occasion. What say you?”
“You must be mad! How am I your nemesis? We almost never speak.”
“Exactly! Your smugness! How it rouses me. You think you are better than me. Well, we shall see about that. Now, the swords.”
Wilson points his pistol at Mark, and then motions towards a long container a few metres away. Mark raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.
“Pick up the swords or be shot.”
“I don’t think so, Wilson. I demand that you explain yourself.”
“Hahahahaha. It’s very simple. I have hated you, detested you, reviled you, for so long; and I wish to kill you in a duel with my sword. What don’t you understand? There are two swords in that box over there. Pick it up and let’s begin!”
“I don’t pretend to understand what it is that you are talking about, but we are men of action. If it’s duel you want, it’s a duel you’ll have. I do this for Roberto.”
Mark strides confidently towards the box. He stoops down and picks it up. He walks back to Wilson and throws the box at his feet.
“There you go, you villain.”
Wilson reaches down and opens the box. Two short swords lay there, side by side. He picks one up and throws it at Mark. Mark deftly catches it by the handle and swings it about menacingly, with flourishes.
“Wilson, you bounder. Are you ready?”
“Naturally,” Wilson smiles devilishly and looks Mark up and down.
In a flash, Wilson slashes at Mark in a downward arc. By way of parry, Mark bashes the blade aside and front-kicks his foe in the chest. Wilson staggers back and attempts to regain his composure. Mark presses his advantage and steps swiftly forward, thrusting his weapon at Wilson. Wilson steels his sword in between himself and Mark. The sword harmlessly glances away. Both men stand their ground and stare at one another.
“You are no slouch with a sword, sir.”
“Wilson , you bounder. What’s your game? Get on with it.”
“This is how duels are fought, sir. Where is the sense of dramatic tension if you don’t stop to chat every few blows?”
“I’ll say it again, you are very unbalanced. Stop calling me sir. You are by far the most ungentlemanly character I’ve ever come across and it offends me when you address me as an equal. I loathe you.”
“Hahahahaha!”
“Stop that, you cackling loon.”
“Hahahaha!”
Wilson springs into action and Mark isn’t far behind. Swords clash with gusto and remain pressed together. The two men lock eyes. Mark stares fiercely at Wilson. The dislike emanating from his eyes is tangible. Wilson can feel the red-hot glow of Mark’s disdain, he revels in it.
“Feeling alright, Mark?”
“Shut up!”
“Now, now, Mark. Manners! We can’t have you losing your temper, now can we?”
Mark attempts the same front kick as before. Wilson is ready for it this time, and he leans in to the blow. Wilson grabs Mark’s boot and tries to topple him over backwards. Mark unsuccessfully tries to swing his sword, but the very threat of being chopped in the side of the head is enough to make Wilson release his grasp and leap back. Mark steps wordlessly forward and presses the tip of his sword to Wilson’s throat. He gloats over him.
“To the death, Mark?”
“But of course, sir. It’s the way duels are fought.”
“Very well.”
Mark looks as if to plunge the blade into Wilson’s neck. He deliberates for a moment too long and has his sword dashed away by Wilson’s. Mark’s jaw drops and he goes wide-eyed as Wilson shoves him in the middle of his chest. Mark falls. Wilson raises his sword high above Mark and prepares to swing. Then, from behind him, Roberto stands.
“Drop the sword.”
“No, no, no, no, no. You are supposed to be dead. You have to stay over there where I shot you.”
“I had a bulletproof vest.”
“They didn't have them in those days. You guys always cheat this isn’t fair.”
“It’s one of those metal things around my torso. Like in Back To The Future Three, you know?”
“No, no, NO!”
A voice sings out from across the bridge. It’s Wilson’s mother.
“Come on Jeremy, time for tea!”
Wilson turns to the two boys.
“I’m not coming back, you guys suck.”
Wilson walks off towards his mother’s voice.
“Hey Mark, he’ll be back. He hasn’t got any other friends.”
“Yeah.”
Never could leave your childhood behind.. Cute ending..
ReplyDelete