Boxes(Barry Doughty) Boxes
It was Sunday morning and the rain had not let up for weeks. As I sat staring out at the lake that, only a week ago, was my front lawn, I let Greta’s spiteful words jab at me. Yes, jab, was an apt description. Every sentence she uttered felt like I was being prodded with the devil’s pitchfork. Okay, this time I suppose I deserved it, but if it hadn’t been this, it would have been something else. It’s the way things have become since our short time as man and wife.
“You fool!” she said. “You may as well have put it on a horse, whatever made you think you could beat this character Ivan Vesparoff at chess?”
“I’ve beaten him before! Three times,” I said smugly.
“Of course you did, that’s how he gets idiots to gamble for money against him.”
“I did it for Carla! You heard what the specialist said. She’ll lose her sight. She needs that operation. How else could I help her pay for it?”
“I don’t know! She’s your daughter, you figure it out, but don’t expect me to help; she’s never liked me, and the feeling is mutual. Five thousand gone with a move on a chessboard, I can’t believe your mentality, or mine for that matter, for marrying such a fool. It’s no wonder your first wife left you, though why it took her so long to realise what an idiot she married I’ll never know.”
“That’s not why she left me, and you know it! It was you. You planned it. You made sure she caught us in…well you know, you planned for her to walk in on us that day.”
“Rubbish!” Greta said, “But if that were true, I must have been out of my mind.”
“Anyway, I’ve got to get the money somehow,” I said. “I’ll sell the house!”
“No, you bloody well won’t! This place is half mine now, and there is no way you’ll get me to sign any such agreement.” Said Greta.
“But be reasonable, you know what the hospital said. Besides, you have no claim on this house. You’ve put nothing into it.”
“I’ve put up with you for the past eighteen months, in my book it’s enough. The law is on my side, so get over it.
It’s too bad about your daughter, but that’s life. I just hope you’ve left enough in your account to get her a white stick.
When you drive over to Glanbourne to visit her tonight, you had better put her in the picture. No point keeping her hopes up. Oh and before you go, chop some more firewood and get some sandbags up against the front door. The water was only an inch from the threshold when I last looked.”

That same evening on a deserted country road…

“I was on my way over to Glanbourne to see my daughter, officer.” The youngest of the two policemen shone his torch on the cardboard box that was lying in the ditch beside my car.
“Not the best of routes to take sir! Not if this is your real address,” said the sergeant, shining his torch over his notebook.”
“I can assure you it is,” I said haughtily.
“Why didn’t you stick to the main road?”
“I’ve already told you. It was because of the truck. The white pickup truck! One of his boxes fell off the back. I stopped and picked it up. Then I tried to catch him. I almost did but then he turned off down this country lane. I wanted to return his lost box; you can understand that can’t you? I was annoyed when he turned down this road if one can call it a road. As you can see, it’s little more than a mud track and I’d spent an hour today cleaning the car. I was in two minds not to bother, but that’s the trouble with being honest. I just had to get his box back to him. Anyway, I was guessing that he knew the road and that maybe he was a farmer, but he seemed to be hitting as many potholes as me. I thought to myself, he’s going to lose those other two boxes if he doesn’t slow up. Why do I always have to be so helpful, my wife is always telling me not to get involved. Well, that’s me I guess; I just can’t help doing people a good turn.”
“Do you always talk so fast sir?” The sergeant said as he scribbled in his notebook.
“Yes, I suppose I do.”
“So where is the box you picked up? Is that the one we found you struggling with? That one lying in that ditch?”
“No! The first box is in the boot of my car.”
“Mind if we have a look, sir?
“Sure! Good idea, it might have his address on it.”
“George! Get this gentleman’s keys from the ignition and open the boot would you? Yes, carry on sir, you were saying?”
“Yes, okay. So then, I hit the horn, but it didn’t help. He just drove even faster. Maybe he thought I was the police,”
“Why do you think that would bother him sir?” he asked as the boot of my car sprang open.
“I don’t know, maybe the answer is in the box.” The constable pulled open a flap of the cardboard box and quickly stepped back.
“I think you’d better take a look, Sarge,” he said, turning his head away from the box like it emitted a bad smell. The sergeant and I stepped forward and peered into it.
“Oh my God,” I said. “No wonder he picked up speed. Now we know why, don’t we? That truck driver thought I was the police. Yes, my car looks a bit like a police car, and no doubt in his mirror he could easily have made that assumption. Yes, that must have been it, he thought I was the police, and with it getting dark, he thought he’d try to lose me. That’s why he drove so fast. I bet he didn’t know he’d dropped that box.”
“No sir! I bet he didn’t,” the sergeant said. “So, how come we found you stopped here on the road?”
“Well like I said I was trying to catch him. Then I remembered we had to drive up this steep hill. The idiot, I thought, He doesn’t know I’m only trying to do him a favour. If he doesn’t slow down, he’ll lose the other two boxes. You see, his tailgate was just hanging down so there was nothing to stop the boxes from sliding off the back. We were halfway up this hill when I saw the last two boxes sliding to the back of his truck. I started blasting on the horn again but it made no difference. Then it happened, he must have hit a big pothole because the two remaining boxes bounced off the back of his truck. Well, I had no choice. I had to stop. One box was right across the road. The other one bounced in that ditch. By the time I’d stopped and got out of the car, his rear lights were just disappearing over the crest of this hill up ahead. Anyway, I thought maybe the boxes would have an address on them, so I dragged the first one into the back seat of my car. It was quite heavy but I managed to heave it up into the back seat. I had just started to drag the last one out of the ditch when I saw your car lights. Come to think of it, why would a police car be on this muddy out-of-the-way track?”
“Ah, well, you see Sir we got a phone call from a farmer Brennan. It seems he could see your headlights from his farmhouse over yonder. He said your headlights were stationary on this road.”
“Why would he do that? I mean it seems a feeble excuse to call the police.”
“Ah, well he’s had a few sheep go missing in the past, and unless you’re a farmer there’s not much reason to take this track. Anyway, it was a good job he did.” With that, the Sergeant turned and called to the younger constable who had just opened the cardboard box in the ditch. “What’s in that one, George?” George shone his torch in the box.
“Legs Sarge. I’d say female if the shoes are anything to go by.” Without emotion, the sergeant turned back to me,
You said you saw the truck’s rear lights disappear over this hill just up ahead?”
“Yes that’s right, white pickup truck it was. Oh, but he’ll be miles away by now.”
“Hmm. Did you say you hadn’t been along this road before sir?”
“No! I said I was not that familiar with it. I used it once to get to Glanbourne when there was a road diversion, but that was a couple of years ago.”
“And you came along it tonight because…?”
“I told you, to chase the pick-up. Have you not been listening? I was trying to return the first box that fell off the back of the bloody pickup truck!”
“Now calm down sir. Let’s you and I take a little walk, Sir, shall we? Just to the top of the rise; you never know, we might see this truck stopped at a farm down in the valley.”
“Well, my daughter will be wondering where I’ve got to…”
“Oh, this won’t take long sir.”
“But that van will be long gone by now, Sergeant.”
“I thought you said it was a pickup, Sir, but yes, you’re probably right sir, he’d be long gone. Oh, George!” the sergeant called to his partner, “Have a look in that last box in the back seat of this gentleman’s car, would you? Think I know what might be in it! We’re just taking a stroll to the top of this hill.”
“Right-o Sarge.” Moments later as we were almost to the brow of the hill, the sergeant turned to me saying,
“Do you know what I think sir?”
“What?”
“When you said you were dragging that box out of the ditch? I think you were dragging it in the ditch.” With that, we reached the brow of the hill. We stopped and the sergeant said,
“Would you look at that sir? Doesn’t that make a pretty sight?” I followed the sergeant’s gaze, and for the second time that weekend, I felt that I was staring at a disastrous Checkmate. At the bottom of the hill, the track disappeared into a huge lake. Moonlight reflected off its surface creating the picturesque scene that the sergeant had remarked on.
“It’s been like that for nearly a week now, Sir.” said the sergeant. “I don’t think one could drive a tractor through there, let alone a pickup truck. It’ll be at least another week before we even see grass. Now tell me again, Sir, about the three boxes.”

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