The Ladder

John was feeling very disgruntled. For the second time in less than two weeks, Mike, the odd-job man, had let him down. He had been due to arrive at 10 o'clock this morning to clear out the gutter at the back of the house. The damp patch on the wall of John's bedroom was increasing in size since the week of heavy rain, and water had been pouring down the wall outside the window from the blocked gutter.

Life had begun to be a trial for John. His arthritic joints gave him severe discomfort when he tried to sleep. His fingers had become stiff and unwilling to respond to the messages his  brain sent. There had been many glasses and plates which slipped out of his hands and ended up smashed on the floor. Since his heart condition had deteriorated, he had been advised not to drive, and he felt like a prisoner in his own house. No more trips to the fishmonger by the quayside, or the little cafe where he had met two of his old mates for a chat on Tuesdays.

His daughter, Marion, had done her best to set up help for him. She taught him how to upload his shopping list on line to the local supermarket and his goods were delivered once a week to the door. He enjoyed chatting to the delivery man as he brought in the purchases and left them on the kitchen table. Marion popped in after work on a Wednesday evening and brought a cooked dinner to share. She came on Saturdays for an hour or two and did some cleaning and washing for John. He was always pleased to see her, but resented having become so dependent on her.

John finished his bowl of soup and threw out the crumbs from the bread for the birds. He could feel his frustration building up and whatever he tried to put his mind to, nothing helped. The messages he had left for Mike had gone unanswered. He knew what he was about to do was foolish, and that Marion would be upset, but his mind was made up.

He went out to the shed first and got a small hand trowel which he put in his back pocket.  He opened the back door of the garage and moved some boxes until he found the old ladder laying along the side wall. He began to pull it out, stopping every few minutes to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow. Finally, he had the ladder outside, extended it to its full length, and leaned it comfortably up against the back wall of the house.

With steely determination he grasped the sides of the ladder and painfully lifted his right leg to the first rung, then the left leg to the second rung. He gripped the ladder so firmly that his hands were icy white, and moved as if in slow motion. He stopped for a few minutes to catch his breath and the heavy discomfort in his chest eased a little.

 He had reached the fifth rung now, and he felt more confident about the task. As he put his foot on the sixth rung, the sun came out from between the clouds and he felt its warmth on his back. He was at the level of his bedroom window, and he brushed away a few leaves from the windowsill. The heat from the sun was penetrating through his old jacket and his body began to feel strangely lighter. The ladder no longer swayed with his movement. His previously white contorted fingers now held the ladder effortlessly.

He looked upwards and the glare from the sun almost blinded him. He could not see the edge of the roof. He continued to climb, his heart pumping with the anticipation of success now. He felt the freedom of youth for a delicious moment as he climbed further into the sun.

Marion was worried when she could get no reply from her father's phone. She rushed over to the house after work, let herself in and immediately saw that the back door was open. She found him, lifeless, in a crumpled heap on the lawn, with the golden leaves from the cherry tree already settling on his body. The ladder had mysteriously disappeared.

 

 

 

CPNov 2013