'A Piece Of Cord

[David Weaver]

‘A PIECE OF CORD’​

David Weaver. ©​

I’ve met some beautiful women in my time but Mrs Widderson wasn’t one of them. She was what you’d call a bit of a character, with a quick wit that bubbled out of her short dumpling shaped body.
Her features were plain with hair that reminded me of a mohair rug; all wild and woolly. She was always happy though, no matter what time of day or place you met her. This good nature rubbed off on those with whom she came into contact, for how can you dislike someone whose jokes are always funnier than your own.
‘If life throws you a raw deal.’ she would say, ‘throw back plenty of laughter with a little bit of love and it will all work out for you in the end, you’ll see.’
Mrs Widderson, despite her name, never married. More surprising was the son she had when she was sixteen, the result of a frantic liaison with a young soldier on leave from the war. He died on the Kakoda Track not knowing he had fathered her child.
Andy, her son, was born mentally disabled but the terrible shock to the young girl soon passed into insignificants, when he gave her his first smile. Her young heart melted with the love she felt for him and all the pain she had suffered from the loss of the soldier slowly drifted away into a cloud of contentment.
In some ways she was quite lucky; although both her parents were dead she’d been left with a small inheritance not a great amount but enough to keep them comfortable. She spent her time making him happy, while he repaid her with a love so trusting it was a pleasure to watch them together.
She bought him many toys to play with, but his concentration level was such he couldn't stay focussed for long with anything too complicated. He’d wander off into a little world of his own seemingly quite contented with his own company.
On one particular day, Mrs Widderson was tying up some tomato plants in the garden and when finished she handed a long piece of unused cord to Andy who tried to tie it around his arm, then wrapped it around his waist in a butterfly knot, becoming totally absorbed.
She watched him in disbelief, for the first time in his life he was concentrating on a specific task. From that day onwards Andy went nowhere without his piece of cord.
More years passed and I watched this kind woman, with her devoted son, passing through the lives of many people. Scattering words of encouragement, like confetti in a churchyard, as she went along the way.
She was what you’d call a competent country cook, and her masterpieces donated to the Old Peoples Home was the talk of all who were lucky enough to sample them.
On my regular visits to her little cottage, I tasted the recipe’s that were taken from a tattered old book once belonging to her Grandmother, a ferocious old Scottish woman by all accounts. Afterwards I would share her gift of love in the tiny bedroom overlooking the lake.
I still remember fondly the hours I sat with Andy, tying the piece of cord with him, we didn’t manage many knots but we talked and laughed a lot.
In her early fifties she went to see her doctor for some medical tests, as continuing abdominal pains were causing her some concern. The result of these were devastating, to say the least, for the test proved positive and a malignant growth had been detected and she was given six months to live.
When she telephoned to ask if I would come to see her, I had no idea there was a problem. Perhaps I was too busy thinking about the apple pie that would surely be waiting for me, with sweetness of our love- making to follow.
I arrived at the cottage and she opened the door for me. Her manner was as usual cheery, as I contentedly slipped into my usual seat at the head of the table; taking in the scene of the baking meat pies for the old folk’s home, whilst savouring the smells of pure heaven.
Andy was sitting on the floor playing with his piece of cord, the whole scene making me feel as comfortable as only really belonging can.
After the meal we had a cup of coffee and a plate of sticky toffee pudding, as she explained her tragic dilemma. I listened with a sense of hopelessness and foreboding, eventually nodded towards Andy; an unasked question, regarding his future, on my lips.
Mrs Widderson explained that she had made plans for his future and that everything was taken care of. I said how sorry I was for her sad life, when she suddenly turned to me and spoke the words of a very brave woman. Words I’ve never forgotten.
She looked at me fondly, and without the slightest trace of self pity said, ‘I’ve had the love of two good men. My son has been devoted to me and I've been able to help many people along the way so there is nothing at all to feel sad about."
Later that evening, I walked home feeling a little ashamed of my selfish life, wondering about the fairness of it all. It then suddenly struck me, why she had invited me around to see her. It was in the hope of me taking responsibility for Andy, and I’d failed her. Thinking about it though I was not about to make that sacrifice. Home cooking and the need for physical satisfaction is a small sacrifice for a man who want’s to remain free without the encumbrance of people like Andy, a future mill-stone around my neck
The next day, the bitter Southern Wind blew down the valley from the mountains, bringing to Mullockgoolie a rare fall of snow. Andy stood on the front lawn seeing snowflakes for the first time, like tiny goose-feathers drifting gently earthwards; only to melt when they hit the ground to be lost forever. He tilted his face skywards and felt the chill on his warm skin; a child sensation against the body of a man.
That afternoon, Mrs Widderson took him to a Walt Disney film he wanted to see, and afterwards they had a meal at the ‘Drover's Dog’, his favourite eating place. She then took him home and read a story to him from his favourite book ‘The Big Friendly Giant’. He laughed, as always, at the antics of Sophie and the Queen of England.
Later, sitting in the loneliness of night with his head resting on her shoulder she took the piece of cord from his hand and tied it tightly around his neck. Andy made no sound but slipped quietly into his death, a trusting smile still on his face.
She nursed his body all night, not wishing to leave him alone his lifeless form surrounded by love. It was done, and now all she had to do was wait until her time arrived, hopefully sooner than later.
The ringing telephone woke her with a start, for she’d drifted off into a restless sleep. She placed Andy's lifeless head gently on a cushion and lifted the receiver. It was the voice of her doctor excitedly saying.
‘Its marvellous news, there's been a terrible mistake, your test was mixed up with someone else's and the cancer was not malignant after all; I'm so happy for you.’

END​