Harvey O'Leary Verse-Virtual 2014 July

July 2014

Harvey O’Leary was born in Cork, Ireland. Since graduating from University College Cork, he has lived in London, working as a teacher and educational manager. He has published articles and poetry, and a play, Closing Time, which he co-authored, was staged at the Battersea Arts Centre, London. He published his first novel Nidiya and The Children of The Revolution in 2010.

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Ed. Note: I am pleased to publish here one of Harvey O'Leary's Zeno and Lu stories. There are fifteen stories in the series
of which this is the first. No, it's not a poem. But -- hey -- I'm the EDITOR: if I can't break the rules, who can? --FF
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The Reward

The cat’s head was released and fell forward, like that of a strangled turkey.

- Is this your cat? asked Zeno standing on the doorstep.
His partner, a boy, pointed at the animal while holding up a laminated notice fringed with torn sellotape. It showed a picture of the cat with the words:

‘Tabby’
Missing
Reward
Contact….

The owner put her hand to her mouth. Was this true? Had Tabby been found eventually after having gone missing – and having been missed – for four and a half days?
- Tabby, she exclaimed and, stepping forward, held out her arms.
The cat was sitting erect in the crook of Zeno’s arm. His free hand was holding it by the scruff of its neck. Its eyes were closed.
The owner’s hands reached out to claim her prize back. Simultaneously, the cat’s head was released and fell forward, like that of a strangled turkey.
The owner withdrew in horror.
- It’s beginning to smell, said Zeno matter-of-factly. Can we still claim the reward?
He pushed the animal’s lifeless body into its owner’s hands.
- Tabby, Tabby, she said, grieving.
- It’s dead, said Zeno.
The woman held the cat at arms’ length. She looked at the boy and then at the dwarf.
- Clear off, the pair of you, or I’ll call the police.
She retreated into the house, closing the door behind her.
The boy and Zeno looked at the door.
- I wonder if we can persuade her to give us the reward, said Zeno.
He stepped forward and pushed open the flap of the letter box.
- Excuse me, can we have the reward? he asked.
- Clear off or I’ll phone the police, she said.
- But we found it in the condition it’s now in. We are not responsible for its death. We have never pretended that it was anything other than dead.
- It is not It. It is She, protested the woman.
- It doesn’t matter, said Zeno. We are entitled to our reward.
The woman didn’t respond.
- If you are not prepared to give us a reward, said Zeno, then we want the cat back.
- You are not getting her back, said the woman.
- In that case, said Zeno, we are going to the police, and we will claim that you stole her from us. The boy is crying.
- You go to whomever you wish. The fact of the matter is that the cat is mine. I have the papers to prove it.
- And you are going to give us nothing?
- Nothing, said the woman. In fact, let me call the police. You can wait until they arrive, if you wish, and then we can settle the matter once and for all.
- That won’t be necessary. We are going. You have broken the heart of a little boy.
- Good, said the woman, and I hope you are disappointed as well. Distraught, even. I don’t like little boys. I don’t like dwarves. And I don’t like people who try to claim a reward for the return of an animal that isn’t alive.
- We didn’t know it wasn’t alive until its head fell.
- Her head. Her head fell. That’s all I have to say, now clear off.
- If that’s all you have to say, we are leaving.
- Good. Go. I hope I will never set eyes on the pair of you again.
- The feeling is mutual.
- At least that is something we have in common.

The woman waited in the hallway, preparing for the next round in her battle with these two reprobates but in vain for it appeared that Zeno and the boy had departed.
She was going to go to the front door, carefully fit the free end of the metal chain into the brass -plated slide, open the door wide enough to check that they had indeed gone until, that is, she realised she was holding a dead cat.
Suddenly, it struck her that the cat was truly dead and she was holding in her hands its mortal remains. She found this truly repugnant. She wanted to relieve herself of this corpse as quickly as possible, so she went to the dining room and placed the animal on the table, a family heirloom, and left the room.

In the kitchen she tried to busy herself with the washing up, scraping the deep brown marks in the insides of cups until they had been completely removed and, while careful not to cut her fingers, rubbing the steel blade of kitchen knives until they shone like polished mirrors. But it was no good. She couldn’t get the thought of the cat on the table out of her mind.

She returned to the dining room. The cat was still there, its head hanging over the side of the table. She couldn’t just leave it like that. She lifted its head and tucked it into its body while with her other hand she pushed the hind quarters forward so the legs came to rest close to the back of the head. The cat now looked as if it was curled up in a basket, asleep. It would have to stay in this position until the following morning when she would bury it.

She looked at the dining room window. At around this time every night she would open the window to allow the cat escape. Despite what had happened, it didn’t seem right that it should remain closed. She would open it one more time.

111

Upstairs, she went about her normal routine before retiring to bed.
She lay in the dark, her eyes closed, thinking of the cat. She opened her eyes. There was a basket in the corner of the room where it normally slept. She would go downstairs and fetch the cat. It would spend one last night in its basket.
She switched on the light.

At the foot of the bed stood Zeno and the boy. The boy was holding the cat under his arm
- What the Hell are you doing here? she said.
They didn’t respond.
- I should never have opened the window, she said. I presume that is how you got into the house.
- Yes, with difficulty, said Zeno. The boy almost got stuck.
- Indeed, said the woman.
They stared at each other without saying anything. The boy took the cat in his other arm.
- What are you doing back here? said the woman at last.
- We have come to collect our reward.
- Your reward? said the woman. We have had this conversation before, and I have made my feelings perfectly clear to you. You will not receive a reward for the return of a missing animal that is dead.
- This outcome is not acceptable to either of us, said Zeno.
- I am very sorry that you feel this way, but the fact of the matter is that the cat dead is of no use to me whatsoever.
Zeno didn’t appear to understand.
- Look at it this way, said the woman. What if you had returned a priceless vase to me in a bag in a hundred pieces? Would you expect me to say, Thank you, thank you, the vase is now of no functional, monetary or sentimental value to me but such is my gratitude for its return, even in the state in which it has been returned, that I want to reward you. Here is 500 euros.
- We will take 200, said Zeno.
- You misunderstand my point, said the woman. The cat is of no use to me, whatsoever. In fact, in its present state, it is nothing but a source of, at best, inconvenience and, at worst, grief. You have to remember that I have had this cat ever since it was a kitten. It has given me up to this point nothing but joy and companionship. Now to see it dead troubles me greatly. I wish you had never returned it to me. I could have continued to have imagined it still alive, free in the world, although I believe it was happy with me as its mistress and this house as its home. Now, my abiding memory of it will be this limp dead creature and you two reprobates standing at my bedside.
- We are not reprobates. We are responsible citizens, said Zeno. It would have been easy for us to walk by, to pass the cat, lying on the pavement, asleep, as we thought, but instead, at our great inconvenience, we carried it all the way to this house and we haven’t received a cent by way of compensation.
- At great inconvenience? asked the woman.
- At great inconvenience, said Zeno, and at some discomfort. The boy’s arms ache.
- Ask him to put it down, said the woman. A dead cat weighs heavier than a cat that is alive.
- He will not put it down until we have received our reward.
- I have said it once. I have said it twice. I will say it one more time. You will not receive a reward for a pet animal that is no longer alive. The reward was for Tabby. Tabby has ceased to exist. Ergo,no reward. Nor will you receive compensation for the time and trouble it has taken you to return the cat. I cannot believe that you had anything better to do with your time than by spending that time returning a dead animal to its rightful owner.
- If that is your final word than we really have no alternative, said Zeno.
- No alternative? questioned the woman.
The boy shifted the cat to his other arm.
- We will continue to stand here at the foot of your bed until we have received our rightful reward and compensation.
That child is on the point of collapse, said the woman.
Zeno turned to the boy.
- He is not going to collapse. We are both going to continue to stand here until we have received what is due to us.
- Not only, said the woman, are you in possession of a stolen animal but you are being cruel to a child. I am going to call the police.
- Meow, said the cat.
The three people in the room stared at the cat. It raised its head and opened its eyes.
Zeno immediately took possession of the animal.
- I believe we are now in a very different negotiating position, he said.
- Indeed, said the woman.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
- Can I have the cat back? said the woman.
- Not before we discuss the matter of a reward and compensation.
- Compensation? said the woman.
- Injury to person and hurt feelings, said Zeno.
He looked at the boy, who began to weep.
- We have, said Zeno, had the burden and responsibility of this animal for almost an entire day. We have suffered physical injury attempting to enter this property in order to return the animal. And we have been called reprobates and been threatened with the police. I believe a compensation payment along with a reward is in order.
- You must be joking, said the woman. But, to humour me, tell me what payment you believe you are entitled to.
- 1000 euros, said the boy.
- He speaks, said the woman.
- Yes, 1000 euros, said Zeno.
- That is a ridiculous amount, said the woman. I didn’t pay a fraction of that for Tabby.
Zeno stroked the cat’s head.
- Tabby has appreciated in value since you bought her.
- You reckon? said the woman.
- Yes, said Zeno. Think of the years of love and companionship ahead of you. It is a small price to pay.
The cat struggled from under the arm of Zeno, but was restrained.
- Look, it wants to be with me, said the woman. 1000 euros is a ridiculous amount. A poor woman like me couldn’t possibly afford it. I am going to call the police. They will sort it out.
- We will be gone before they arrive, said Zeno, and you will never see the cat again.
The woman looked at the cat.
- I want the cat back, she said, but I cannot possibly afford 1000 euros.
- Pay in kind, said the boy.
- What? said the woman. What do you mean by pay in kind?
- There are a number of objects in this room, said Zeno, which collectively would be worth 1000 euros. We can come to some kind of arrangement.

Zeno pointed at various items in the room, which the boy fetched and placed on the bed. For each item, Zeno proposed a price. If the woman said Ridiculous, outrageous, it was returned to its place. If she said I’ll give you….. a price was eventually agreed upon. Before long, her bed was covered with pieces of jewellery, small items of furniture, and bric-a-brac of sentimental value, items which were now owned by the boy and Zeno.

- One final item, said Zeno, a pillow case to carry our possessions, and that should take the total value to 1000 euros.
- In the chest of drawers, said the woman. The top one.
- The boy filled the pillow case with as many of the items as possible.
- I would like my cat back now, said the woman.
Zeno placed the cat at the end of the bed.
She didn’t move.
- Puss, puss, said the woman anxiously.
- Maybe she has forgotten who you are, said Zeno.
- Nonsense, said her owner. Cats have a wonderful memory.
- Puss, puss, she repeated, and held out her hand.
- Shall I fetch a saucer of milk, said Zeno.
- That won’t be necessary, said the woman. She hasn’t forgotten who I am. Now, I think you and your accomplice better leave, don’t you?
- Yes, we will go, said Zeno. We have accomplished our mission. We have returned a pet animal to its rightful owner and we have received our reward.It is time for us to leave.

The boy left the room carrying the heavy sack of goods on his back, while Zeno followed him, balancing several picture canvases on his head. Outside the room, Zeno checked his balance, before closing the door behind him.

The cat had curled into a ball at the foot of the bed.
- Go to sleep, the woman said. I will speak to you in the morning.
She looked around the room one last time before switching off the light.
Gone were the ornaments and the gilt-edged photograph frames, the china vase on the mantelpiece and her collection of souvenirs from around the world. Gone too, from the wall facing the bed, was a series of paintings that told the story of the Titanic, and whose removal, even in the dim glow from her bedside lamp, revealed panels of fresh and vibrant wallpaper.