Travelling First Class was Geoffrey’s Friday treat. Wide seats, leg room, trolley service and away from the noisy clatter of his daily Second Class commute.
He settled into his chair and dropped the armrest. It did not squeak. Luxury.
The woman sitting opposite him was well dressed; had curt, efficient hair and wore reading glasses. She busied herself tapping the keys of her laptop. He looked at her.
She was definitely an Iliad.
Geoffrey fished in his suitcase for his copy, found it and laid it on the table. The woman glanced up from her screen and looked at the cover of the book.
Job done he thought to himself.
He carried Homer’s epic along with Joyce’s Ulysses, Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and PG Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Worster on every train journey.
He chose one of the books as reading material after assessing the intellectual capacity of his fellow travellers. Slightly egotistical of course, but the kind of quiet, clever game Geoffrey enjoyed playing against the world. Even if the world was unaware of its involvement.
In common with the past three years, he opened the poem at the same page. The woman looked up again. He was pleased.
The Guard approached, “Tickets please.” Geoffrey handed his ticket over. It was duly clipped.
“Short Platform at Stonehouse, alight from the front two carriages.”
“Thanks.”
He set The Iliad down and leafed through the pages of the Daily Telegraph until he found the cryptic crossword. Today’s was set by “Alacrity”.
A worthy opponent he mused.
The crossword was completed quickly; the clues, puns and red herrings holding no fear or confusion. Several of the words however, bore no relation to their correct spelling.
“Bohemian” was furnished with two H’s; P popped up unexpectedly in “Valedictory”; thus forcing “Occasion” to house a D.
Geoffrey’s intellectual elasticity had overcome Alacrity yet again. Being incorrect was irrelevant. It was the speedy completion that mattered. That and the silent but unmistakable appreciation of those around him, at his speed of thought, wit and intelligence.
There was a quiet, studied satisfaction to be had in these daily deceptions. They gave Geoffrey an element of control against the daily mediocrity he saw everywhere.
He folded the paper neatly and placed it on the table. Next to the Iliad. Lovely tables in First Class. Roomy.
He had appeared on Mastermind once. It was to be his defining moment. Televisual proof to the world of his extraordinary talent. But he had finished last in his heat, scoring only nine points, the lowest score recorded that series. A smug Librarian from Ayr had won and progressed to the quarter finals.
It still rankled with him that the Librarian’s specialist subject was “British Birds Of Prey”. Why, there were only four of them to his knowledge.
He had challenged a question surrounding Cuckoos, arguing that Cuckoos were not Birds of Prey and therefore the question favoured his opponent (“That Jock Bastard,” as Geoffrey thought of him). The recording was stopped and he was ticked off by the presenter Magnus Magnusson. The edit seamlessly covered over the fracas.
His topic, “The History of The British Toll Road 1608 to 1965” had so many more facts to learn. Many of which he had not. Unfortunately.
Despite lengthy correspondence with the BBC over the iniquity of the “Cuckoo Question”, Geoffrey was not granted a place the following series. He had boycotted The Antiques Roadshow ever since.
“That bastard Magnusson,” he muttered to himself.
It was about this time that the rages had begun. At first they were quiet, unassuming squalls of anger, that flickered momentarily then abated, like a struck match in a gale.
But now the rages gnawed at him ceaselessly, crippling his emotive resonance. He felt it was right to be angry. His duty. Someone had to be angry with all the idiocy at large these days. At everything.
Yet he hemmed the anger in. Never displayed it.
The trolley arrived. Geoffrey pondered over tea or coffee and a choice of stem ginger or shortbread biscuits. He chose coffee and stem ginger. It was Friday after all. Push the boat out a bit.
“Finished with the paper?” the woman opposite asked.
“Sorry?”
“The paper, finished with it?”
“Yes, yes, by all means,” he handed her the Telegraph.
“Thanks. I had trouble with the Crossword this morning. Alacrity is such a devilish setter of clues. As you finished it in no time, I was wondering if I could check your answers to see where I went wrong.”
“Certainly.”
He raised the armrest, stood, gathered up the Iliad, placed it in his briefcase and walked to the end of the Carriage. The toilet was unoccupied. He locked the door behind him and sat down.
Only twenty minutes to Stonehouse and a short walk home. With luck he wouldn’t see her again.
I often lock myself in the bathroom after I feel I have been outsmarted in the game of life by my unaware they are playing a game opponents but then I remember I live alone and locking the bathroom door is a bit of an overreaction because there is no need to close the bathroom door when you live alone. I have much in common with Geoffrey except my copy of the Iliad is in Latin and I know that knowing a dead language is so much more pretentious even though I have forgotten more than I remember.
This was a brilliant story and I use ‘brilliant’ the way British people use ‘brilliant’ and not the way Americans use ‘brilliant’ because I am sure there must be a difference even though I am more sure that I don’t know what the difference is. Well done, sir!
Thanks Sandy – glad you enjoyed it – Brilliant! I was in two minds about whether to spell his name Jeffrey or Geoffrey – funny what nonsense we put our minds to. Best wishes.
I tried reading the Heart of Darkness once. But I got bored when I realised Marlon wasn’t in it.
It’s a good read – espically that bit when the helicopters come a chopperin’ in first thing in the morning.
I think the only Homer I know is that Spider Pig song.
Insanely jealous of your writing chops as always GFB.
Cheers Ape – Ulysses was on Radio 4 yesterday for 5 and a half hours – the abridged version!
Reminds me of that strange 80’s cartoon Ulysses 31 that I watched as a young ape. I think it may have deviated somewhat from the original version.
“It is the 31st century, Ulysses killed the giant Cyclops when he rescued the children and his son Telemachus. But the ancient Gods of Olympus are angry and threaten a terrible revenge…”
You chose wisely…Geoffrey is so much more pretentious than Jeffery. This character fascinates me. I would definitely read more. Perhaps there will be a book about him someday?
Thanks Michelle – very kind of you – his surname is Jodhpur. I am thinking about doing more with him. Will see how it pans out! Best wishes
“The woman sitting opposite him was well dressed; had curt, efficient hair and wore reading glasses. She busied herself tapping the keys of her laptop. He looked at her.
“She was definitely an Iliad.”
Ha!
That being said, I once read the online profile of a man, who wrote, “Excusez-oui” (instead of “moi”), said he had the muscles of “pop eye” (as in the unfortunate guy with the thyroid problem), and also proudly stated that he had the “per verbal broad shoulders of a football player” (proverbial).
That is a man worth hanging on to!
That was brilliant!
Hahaha – highly entertaining
Next time, our weary traveler needs this … http://www.bestbathroombooks.com/
Thanks!
Heart of Darkness is a fantastic book. More’s the pity poor pretentious Geoffrey will never read it.
Oh, the humanity!
Agreed – I love a spot of Conrad – Glad you enjoyed it.