Altered Ego’s

 

Maurice stood at the corner gazing idly at the traffic as it poured out of the narrow opening on his left. Two lines of continuous movement emerged from the tight confines of the old narrow street and through its ancient arch which in times long ago guarded the town. After that it reached the relative freedom of the widening road junction where it spread to three rows before the traffic lights brought traffic to a halt. Soon the green light invited drivers young and old to the open road ahead. At this a blur of sound and movement ensued as each vehicle stayed close to the one in front as if by some invisible binding. Being close was necessary to beat the guillotine blade which would fall when the traffic lights changed again, ready to chop off the emerging jet of hazy colour in its tracks.

        As he watched Maurice half closed his eyes and imagined a stream of striped toothpaste emerging from an unseen giant tube, before splitting into its separate colours as it emerged through the archway. Mysteriously and with never-ending certainty, it divided into three lanes, as each car prepared to negotiate its path. Turn left, turn right, or go straight on.

Then, as the lights changed from green to red the blade falls, the surge stops and for a time the traffic is stilled., Then without warning the lights change again whereupon the lead cars speed away seemingly anxious to rid itself of the car behind. The car behind however being equally keen to stay close moves forward. So too the one behind, and the one behind that while those further back are just as keen to keep up lest they are caught when the guillotine falls once more. Once past the point of no return the stream hurriedly snakes away to their various destinations.

        At this point the drivers of the last vehicles to get through relax their grips on their steering wheel, and the tenseness in their body eases, glad that this time they had made it. Those whose whiskers were cut of by the blade however are now cursing their misfortune and the loss of two hundred and forty seconds of their lives before that giant hand once again squeezes the tube.

        Maurice had stood at this junction and at many similar ones lots of times, and the look of bemused pleasure on his face never leaves him.

        “Je suis stupèfie; pardon; it never ceases to amaze me." he said to a group of passing youths, who were on their way home from school, intent any minute now to chance their lives at the crossing.

        They all ignored him as if he were not there, this curious Frenchman, just as they did when he called out a few moments later, "It’s OK to cross now children."

        "Ce qui elles savant?" he said out loud, but this time his words were intended only for his own ears, beneath his rather fancy hat. “But what do they know?” he said more quietly, with a smile and a little wave of his hand.

The youngsters decided to charge, late as it happened for the lights were changing as they made their move and three lanes of roaring engines and squealing tires were hurtling towards them.

        Maurice smiled. He knew they would make it and pulling out a piece of paper from his inside pocket he gave it a quick glance. As the last youth scrambled to safety, he smiled again.

        "Non” he muttered, folding the paper and returning it to its place of safety "No teenagers on my list, just a young man and a young lady, and only in their twenties I see!”

        Many people were around him as he chatted to himself, but none of them seemed to notice this slightly odd looking, well dressed though very old fashioned, middle aged man; nor indeed his slightly odd behaviour. At least no-one showed any particular interest; rather like the way that no-one bothers any more at people apparently talking to themselves using mobile phones.

        "Only fourteen seconds." he said " I wonder who the other side have sent?" He paused a moment as he recalled "Yes that's right, last time I was on this pitch it was one of Lincoln’s generals, and his trainee, a Bosnian rebel.”

        He stood up straight, 'Two seconds!” he muttered, just as the imaginary guillotine fell to make its cut in the traffic which was still being squeezed remorselessly through the ancient gateway.

        Maurice looked on impassively as one car, after the front one had stopped, squeezed out at speed from the right hand lane into the no-man's-land in the centre of the junction desperately trying to catch up its predecessors. At the same time, the first driver in the waiting queue on the right made her move. Perhaps a little to quickly Maurice observed, and smiled. “No doubt she is anxious to get home. Perhaps she will be meeting a young man.” He smiled again. “So romantic, so young, so pretty.”

Inevitably they hit in the middle, and as they were both driving with their foot down, their impact was spectacular, and decidedly messy.

        Maurice stepped forward at once, and as he did so he saw from the other side of the road his old adversary General Nathan Spencer, coming to join him at the crash scene.

        The other man raised his hat in greeting. "Good evening Maurice," he said "how are you today?"

        "Mon Ami," Maurice replied, Acomment ally-vous.” and managed a little bow without actually stopping, not wanting 'his friend' to gain an advantage, "I see you are on your own today."

        "Yes, yes, these are busy times, and there never seems to be enough of us, what with cut backs and, well you know how it is.”

        They reached the two crashed cars together, and simultaneously reached in and pulled out the dazed and somewhat surprised occupants, taking them to the side of the road, some little distance from the two intermingled and decidedly crumpled cars..

        The young man, Maurice’s charge, was angry, ignoring for a moment the helping hand.

        "Did you see that? The silly bitch, look what she’s done to my car.”

        By this time the 'silly bitch' was out and was equally vocal.

        "Don’t you dare call me a silly bitch! You jumped the lights, are you insane?"

         "What do you mean, I jumped the lights, it was you! Your lights were still at red when you set off"

        “Your lights had changed to red when you went through, and I’ve got a date.” she added rather ineffectually.

        "I did not, I was on the amber - you shot off far too soon - just look at the mess; and how am I going to get home now?”

       "Well I hope ...  her protest tailing off to sigh. “What a mess.” she added, her eyes filling up.

        By this time Maurice and Nathan had come together, and were quietly watching the little pantomime.

        "It's always the same" Nathan observed, smiling.

        "Ah' wee," agreed Maurice," It's a new age - ils nesont pas civilises.” he said, slipping once more, as he was apt to do, into his natural language, before repeating his words in English.. “People aren't civilised any more."

Maurice and Nathan were sworn enemies, being emissaries from the two opposite camps, but they had been coming together like this for so many years that they had long ago stopped acting like it.

        "You're right, people should learn how to behave, show a little decorum, behave like us don't you think?"

        "I sometimes wonder where it will end my friend ... vous le croire - but oh dear, just listen to them."

        "You’re right” the General said again, “and we haven’t got to the crunch yet."

        He burst out laughing and Maurice smiled politely.

        "I’m sorry Maurice, I say it every tine but it still breaks me up."

        "Maurice gave the smallest of bows, a little gesture to his 'friend', waiting patiently as he acknowledged the joke he had heard so many times before. He reflected for a moment on Nathan’s colourful past. He had come from poor farming stock. but in the war of independence he had found an outlet for the roughneck aspect in his character, and he had risen quickly through the ranks.

        "Just listen to them and they still haven't noticed." he said, still chuckling.

        "And as soon as I can I’ll be calling the police.” the young man was shouting, “I’ll not let you get away with this."

        "I'm not getting away with anyt ..."

        There she stopped in mid sentence as they heard the familiar sound of an ambulance, and then saw it swinging around the corner. At the same time they saw the people. So busy had they been shouting at each other that they had not noticed the large number of people who had collected around the two cars, both bearing much evidence of the crash, both embedded one within the other, as if in some abstract mating ritual.

        Neither had they noticed the arrival of the policeman, who was doing his best to keep the traffic moving to avoid gridlock.

        Both of the young drivers stopped shouting, aware that something was a little odd, yet not quite being able to put their finger on it. It was the man who spoke first.

        "No one has been to see us, to ask how we are, or spoken to these gentlemen who helped us out of the cars; and I wonder who sent for the ambulance?"

        "Yes it is very odd.” she agreed, not quite as confident as he, for she was thinking of something else.

        Turning back to the young man she exclaimed. “We have been very rude,” she said. “Neither of us has said thank you to these two kind men for helping us. We might have been hurt."

        She gave the two saviours a big smile, and said "Thank you gentlemen, that was very gallant of you.”

        "A pleasure my dear." answered the American, “General Nathaniel William Brown, Maam. Always willing to help a damsel in distress - and a gentleman as well." he added, turning a little to face the young man.

         "Ma cherri mademoiselle," said the French man, “Maurice Cordellier; I am delighted to be of service.” melting at her smile, as only a Frenchman can. “So beautiful and so handsome,” he mouthed almost silently, as he placed the gentlest of kisses on the back of the young ladies hand, followed swiftly with a little bow to the young man.

        The young lady looked at the young man, noticing, perhaps for the first time that he was actually quite good looking and smart.

        "How are you anyway, are you hurt?" she asked.

        "No, not a bit; how about you?"

        She smiled as he asked, as he in turn noticed that his 'victim' was in fact a very pretty young lady who he would have been preferred to have met in more agreeable circumstances.

        “Not a scratch as far as I can tell.” she answered, still smiling.

At least they had stopped shouting at each other. The two ‘saviours allowed each other a knowing look!

        "We both seem to have been very lucky not to have been hurt, when you look at the cars." the young man said, “Not that you could see much of them, what with all the people standing about.” he added.

        There were lots of bystanders, and quite a few policemen now. More ambulance men - another one had turned up now - as had a fire engine with half a dozen firemen who were trying to force their way into the cars.

There was no doubting that the ‘victims’ were very puzzled. “I can't understand what is going on,” the young man said. “Surely they saw us getting out of the cars, and another thing,” he lowered his voice a little,                   “what about these two characters; don’t you think that they’re a bit weird?”

        “I must admit they do look a bit odd ... how come we didn’t notice before?”

        The young man spoke up. “I don’t know but I’m jolly well going to find out.” He turned to face Maurice and Nathan.

        “What’s with you guys; is it some kind of fancy dress?” he called out,       “What’s the deal?”

        “What’s the deal?” General Brown repeated, standing up straight with full military bearing, sounding not a little displeased “I’ll tell you what the deal is ... “

        But he was interrupted by his friend Maurice.

        “Calme vous-même Nathan, don’t upset yourself, I am sure our young friend did not mean to offend you.” Then he turned and looked at the young man. “But what is this ‘robe de fantasize’, this how you say, ‘fancy dress’?” He brushed the suede jacket, and straightened a couple of feathers in his hat. “My dress; it is not fancy!”

        Now it was the General’s turn to interrupt.“It’s something that came in after us Maurice, I’ll tell you later.” Nathan whispered to his French friend.

Now he addressed the young couple. “In my day I cut quite a dash, I can tell you. I wore my uniform with pride until a cursed Confederate fighter put a musket ball through my chest. It was never the same after that.” he indicated with his finger where a feeble attempt at darning had been made.

Standing upright, still proud, he waited for a response, but the couple, nonplussed, could think of none.

        “And I do not think I am the least bit weird.” said the Frenchman. “I was a chef de mode; always admired and welcome at court.”

        “Until they cut your head off.” Nathan interjected, with a big smile.

        “That was something of a disadvantage I will grant you; but I did get the  blood off.”

        “That’s enough.” the young man said, then turned to the girl. “I can’t stand any more of this, either they’re nuts or we’re on candid camera. I'm going to have a word with that policeman ... my name is John by the way - are you coming with me?”

        "Yes, I'll come too, and my name is Jane."

      Nathan gave Maurice a shrug; Maurice responded with a slightly strained smile for they knew that despite all their experience, all their years as escorts, they were coming to the part they liked least of all.

        John and Jane reached the people surrounding their cars and were surprised at something they hadn't noticed it before.

        The noise. People shouting. Some kind of machine whirring. A ‘big’ noise from the fire engine, though just what it was wasn't clear.

        They tried to get through but they didn't seem to be able to make any of the people move, and with all the noise the policeman didn't seem to hear them calling.

        Suddenly there was a shout. "Clear the way, lets have some room here." A policeman was calling as two medics emerged from Jane’s car, its top now cut open like a corned beef tin. They were carrying a stretcher bearing the body of a very attractive blonde young lady.

        "About twenty I would say; wonder who she is?" one of the medics said.

        "Nice looking lass too, well at least she was, before this. Until we find out, put her down as Jane Doe."

        The two shocked observers followed the stretcher as the medics put the body in the ambulance, and they heard one of them say quietly “Here you are John Doe, some company for you.”

        The cold silent face of the young man on the opposite side of the ambulance made no response.

      John and Jane turned away from the crowd not quite believing what they had just seen. Silently they walked back to where Maurice and Nathan were waiting patiently for them. Neither of them could speak; dismayed at what they had discovered, and fearful as to its outcome.

        Maurice, ever the gentleman held out his hand to Jane.  "IIf only,” he seemed stuck for the right words. “Un autre manêre, If only there was another way." he said, while Nathan patted John gently on the shoulder.

        "It's always a shock, and I've seen plenty." he said in an accent which was of the federal south. "It never gets any easier."

        "What do we do now?" it was John who asked, dazed and bewildered, but it could have been either of them.

        "Oh,' that's the easy bit, now that we've got ‘that’ over with." Nathan said in an unhurried casual kind of way, and gestured towards the wrecks.   “we'll take you on from here to where you have to go.”

        "Will we be going together?" Jane asked, a little frightened, taking hold of John's hand.

        "No, I'm afraid that won't be possible." said Nathan firmly, in a sudden change of tone, one which seemed slightly uncaring.

        "Why not?" asked John abruptly, wanting to support Jane, to whom he was beginning to take a bit of a fancy.

        "Puits que vois voyes; le problème est." the Frenchman paused. He had never quite enjoyed being the bringer of bad news, "The problem is you see, that you are not going to the same place."

        “But why?” their two voices mingled as one.

        “Will you tell them Maurice?” asked Nathan.

        “I thought perhaps you would tell them Nathan.”

        "I think it's your turn."

        “OK, I’ll tell them if I must.” Maurice said, then he turned to face the two petrified youngsters. “It’s like this you see," he paused, tried to find the right way to tell the two young people.

        Impatiently Nathan cut in, tired of the Frenchman's dithering. "Kids, kids, listen up. We've been acting as guides for those who have come to grief for longer than we may care to remember. So let's face it: ya didn't make it, OK!"

        Not a word was uttered by his audience of two, waiting, unable to move while Nathan continued. He was different to the cultured Frenchman, that touch of cruelty in his genes coming to the fore. "So here’s the deal - one of you is going up; and the other is going down.”

        Just then the ambulance pulled away taking the bodies of John and Jane to the morgue. Maurice and Nathan wished each other farewell then commenced their journey escorting their charges to a totally unexpected destination.

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