The Birthday Treat
Flash Fiction
(A Gentleman of the Road)
‘Do you visit us only once every year then?’ I asked the client.
‘Aye,’ he said, and elaborated.
He was a gentleman of the road, who played his violin on the Telfer underpass, slept rough and ate one meal a day. But once a year, on his birthday he wanted some sex. He saw me looking at his suit and smiled. That’s my sister Lilias, was his explanation.
Once a year he went to her in Costorphine, in his rags, had a hot bath, and changed into the suit she got made for him a couple of years ago, and which still fitted him. Then she gave him money so he could visit our Sauna.
He was articulate, possibly educated. According to urban legends there are many an academic who have lost their marbles, left wives and families to become gentlemen of the road. I wondered what was his history.
‘So you used to be a musician?’ I asked.
‘I still am a musician, that’s how I earn my crust.’ He smiled. His aptitude for music had been obvious from an early age, and Mum did everything in her power to nurture it. He had secured a place at the RSAMD, but a week before he was due to start a voice started telling him that the building would collapse and kill him if he went in there.
As a rule, he started suddenly, I am pretty taciturn, do not feel the need to chat, but Lilias and her kids never stop asking questions, you see. So I let myself go. Tomorrow it’s gonna be back to normal.
I asked about the sister.
It’s funny how he arrives at Hillview Crescent and Lilias would hug him and kiss him, his greasy smelly tramp’s outfit notwithstanding. She would run a nice hot bath for him and scrub his back. She would have gotten his freshly pressed birthday things ready, white shirt and a new tie. Then they would drink a toast, with the boy Alex and the girl Catriona. The youngsters adored him; when Alex was six he used to say that when he grew up he’d follow in Uncle Jimmy’s footsteps and become a gentleman of the road. Then for one night every year he’d sleep in a nice warm bed with fresh sheets under a duvet.
Her dentist husband Gerrard tactfully stays away.
I’ll tell you one thing, lassie, he says, People in this city are quite generous too. He makes enough to afford one good meal every day. One does not really need two meals, he says. It’s not sour grapes.
‘So you see, I don’t have enough left to drink,’ he says without any resentment. This had more or less forced him to give up the drink, which was a blessing. When he made rather more than he needed he stopped working, and found that he had the time to do things he liked.
Such as? I asked.
Oh there are so many things in tis city, he said, art galleries … they lift their noses but have never barred him entrance … he loved public gardens, listening to bagpipe music on Princes Street. He loves railway stations … I love all those things, he explains. And he just loves walking among the crowds. And once a year he visited a Sauna and had some sex.
Not a bad life, he says.
We did the business, after which he explained that he now needed to go back to Hillview Crescent to change into his working clothes.
See you same time same place next year
