Читать книгу Helping the Polonskys - Khaleel Muhammad - Страница 7

Mr Polonsky’s problem

SOMETHING heavy crashed against the hospital walls beside Mr Polonsky. C-rash! The awful sound was followed by a scream and half a dozen nurses pleading, ‘Calm down, Mrs Polonsky! Calm down!’

A frazzled Dr Duffin pushed the door open and ran out into the hallway, barely escaping an expensive-looking glass paperweight which zoomed past his head and shattered against the opposite wall. ‘Mrs Polonsky, please! This is completely unacceptable behaviour!’ he shrieked as he closed the door behind him.

Now in the hallway, Dr Duffin turned to face a short, elderly gentleman in his seventies with a badly fitted toupee and a cracked, weatherbeaten face, who was leaning against a mahogany walking cane, his features set in a sarcastic smirk.

‘See? See? I told you she wouldn’t take the news well!’ he said, rolling his eyes smugly.

‘Mr Polonsky, you must talk to your wife!’ said the doctor, straightening his lab coat and tie. ‘These tests are routine and …’

Suddenly the door burst open and the old man’s wife, Mrs Polonsky, surged into the hallway. She stumbled out trying to escape the grasp of the nurses who were desperately trying to restrain her. The woman, in her late seventies, had frizzled black hair that was turning white at the temples. After escaping the pack of nurses, she hurtled towards her terrified husband.

‘It’s your fault! It’s all your fault, Shimon!’ she shouted. Without her dentures, Mrs Polonsky’s gums, with their remaining canine teeth, looked like dull, slime-covered fangs. Before he could react, she clamped her bony fingers around his throat.

‘It’s your fault I have to stay here for two weeks – your fault!’ Her hands began to close tightly around his thin wrinkled neck. ‘When I get home, you had better make sure that house is spotless, Shimon! SPOTLESS!’

Suddenly the nurses and Dr Duffin were standing over him, laughing hysterically. They began to grow taller and taller, their bodies becoming thinner and drawn-out. Their features became distorted. The medical team pointed long bony fingers in Mr Polonksy’s face as they screamed, ‘Make sure that house is spotless, Shimon! Make sure that house is spotless! Make sure that house is spotless, Shimon! Make sure that house is spotless!’

Mr Polonsky awoke with a start. This was the worst nightmare yet! In the dim light of his bedroom he mopped his perspiring brow with the back of his hand, and glanced at the clock. It was 4am.

Ah, Alexandra, he thought to himself, what am I going to do? You leave the clinic in a few days, but the state of the house? Ach! he sighed heavily and moved towards the door. Walking to the balcony overlooking the lobby, Mr Polonsky shuddered. The place was a total shambles!

Mrs Gates, their long-serving and long-suffering housemaid, had finally had enough of Mrs Polonsky’s appalling temper. Since then, the house had fallen into near ruin. This was hardly surprising, since there were six bedrooms occupied mainly by 10 cats and 15 budgerigars, as well as a garden overrun by 2 Billy goats and – at last count – 8 long-haired rabbits, all of whom needed feeding and grooming. Word must have got out to the local animal kingdom, because 5 dogs of assorted types from various houses nearby frequently sneaked into the house to hang out there too.

And, of course, there was Helga.

With his bad knee joints and arthritic hands, it was all Shimon Polonsky could do just to feed the animals. Alexandra would have a fit if she saw the state of the house. She would no doubt call him an ‘alter kocker’ – a Yiddish word for an old man past his prime. To make things worse, her unfortunate reputation and appallingly bad temper were enough to ensure that no one was prepared to lend him a hand. Mr Polonsky had called in a professional cleaning company from another town, but when the cleaners came along to look over the place they were attacked by the horde of dogs and goats, and one man had the seat of his pants bitten off! Unsurprisingly, they never came back.

He had to find a solution, he had to … or else. But who would be silly enough to help him?

‘Aha!’ he cried as an inspirational idea struck him. ‘That’s it!’

He shuffled back excitedly into his bedroom and sat down behind his ancient typewriter. He put in a sheet of paper and began to type.

Cheap cleaners wanted …

No, that wouldn’t do. Try again.

Cleaners wanted – urgent! Long hours and little pay but at least I’ll not be nagged to death by my wife!

No, no! No point in being that honest.

Mr Polonsky put in a new sheet of paper and started again.

URGENT!

Cleaners wanted! Great opportunity for extra pocket money.

Only responsible, tidy children with permission from parents need apply. Report at 261 North Row at 10 a.m. on Saturday, May 3rd for immediate start.

Mr Polonsky leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bald head in his hands. A smug grin lined his face. Surely this was the answer. If he placed an ad in Violet’s corner shop right outside the local secondary school that evening, some ‘goody goodies’ would turn up the following day and all his problems would be over. And if the brats make a mess of the job? Mr Polonsky thought, well, I’ll just blame the whole thing on them! Perfect! His grin turned into a chuckle as he went back to bed. For the first time in two weeks Mr Polonsky slept soundly until morning.