Death Comes for the Poets by Matthew Sweeney

Author:Matthew Sweeney [Matthew Sweeney and John Hartley Williams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780956892072
Publisher: Muswell Press
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14: The Wellest Dude

Horace Venables stood gesticulating at the counter of Hampstead police station. The woman constable was very patient with him.

“How can you be sure this is a death threat, sir?”

“Haven’t you been reading the newspapers? Poets are being murdered up and down the country? Some of your colleagues must be investigating this. I’m a poet, and I’m next.”

“How can you be so certain, sir?”

“Look, look, this message was left on my answerphone. It’s in Spanish, but this is the translation. See!”

He pushed forward a piece of paper on which he had transcribed: ‘Death comes knocking with a ring that has no stone on it and is on no finger.’

“Yes, I see. Why do you think it is a death threat?”

“Isn’t it obvious. Death is going to come knocking for me!”

“Yes sir. It’s not actually, er, obvious, sir, if I may say so. I can understand your anxiety, sir, with these homicides going on. Give me your details and I will contact the investigating officer who will get in touch with you.”

“But I need protection now!”

“I assure you, sir, we’ll send someone round as soon as we can.”

She smiled and Venables, feeling rejected, scurried out into Rosslyn Hill. What was the point of trying to explain? If you couldn’t see it now, you never would.

It was still raining, although it had eased up in the time he’d been in the station. Then he noticed the street had been blocked by police cars with their blue lights flashing, and an ambulance, and two policemen were putting red and white tape across the road. He saw in the gutter a crushed motorcycle helmet and a pool of blood. Immediately he felt a mounting panic begin to overwhelm him. He couldn’t breathe. His heart accelerated. He felt he was falling from a dizzying height; he felt he was dying. He looked around for someone to help him but everybody was focussed on the scene of the accident. He had to get to hospital, and luckily the Royal Free Hospital was just down the hill. He tried to go one way but his legs took him the other. Concentrate, he told himself. Get to a doctor. You know the way. Hurry. Finally, he staggered in through the glass doors of Casualty and went straight to the nurse at the desk.

“I’m having a heart attack.”

“Do you have chest pains?”

“Yes, yes. Do something quickly.”

“Sit over there and I’ll call a doctor.”

He tried to sit down but was immediately on his feet again, holding his chest. He paced around, aware of people staring at him. A young man in a green shift came over to take his name and address but Venables could hardly give the information. Then a doctor in a white coat arrived, a stethoscope hanging from his neck.

“If you come into this cubicle, Mr Venables, I’ll examine you.”

The doctor listened to his heart and took his blood pressure, then shook his head.

“You’re not having a heart attack, Mr Venables. It’s a panic attack.

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