An Umbrella for James

An umbrella for James

Humfrey was holding court as usual. The self elected representative of everything absurd he had positioned himself atop the middle of a large rock from where he made pronouncements regarding the movement of the sun, moon and all things astronomical.

"I have measured these things since time eternal." He offered to everyone and no one at the same time.

We passed by him, as we did every Saturday morning when we went to the markets in town.

"And I have invented a balloon to take us beyond the distant precipices. Sets of them, I have measured out enough duplets." I heard him say, but I didn't know what duplets were. I had only recently discovered the joy of balloons, of blowing them up and letting them go and watching them whirr about until they fell airless to the ground.

And as Humfrey continued to talk, my father pausing as he usually did to listen to Humfrey's strange accent and high pitched voice, it began to rain. There was a murmur then among the small crowd who had gathered to listen to the ravings of Humfrey and as the rain began to tumble they dispersed heading for the shelter of the market stalls.

My father walked away too. But I was still stuck on the idea of balloons and precipices, not knowing the relationship between the two and remained looking at Humfrey as he continued to talk loudly to a crowd of one, me.

"Some think the earth is round." He said staring directly at me. I blinked back at him, the rain growing heavier. "It is flat young master, just like the ground on which you stand."

I looked at my feet, standing on the now muddy dirt track that led to the stalls of vegetables and hens.

"James." My father called to me. "Come on James, you'll get wet."

By this time Humfrey had produced an umbrella from somewhere deep in his large coat and was attempting to open it. He had become silent as he stared at the dark clouds above. But the umbrella was totally uncooperative and I watched him struggle with it and then ran to join my father who was looking at some fat blue tailed wheatens. "Good layers. Good hennies" their owner was saying.

Just then there was a clap of thunder and an enormous bolt of lighting thudded out of the sky and hit the rock where Humfrey was standing fair in the middle, but Humfrey was nowhere to be seen. I thought I saw various colours shoot into the air.

My father completed the purchase of the blue tailed wheaten and put it in a hessian bag. It had stopped raining and we started for home. As we went passed the rock where Humfrey had been I noticed his umbrella lying unopened on the ground. In the sky one hundred yards above the rock floated Humfrey clutching desperately to a festival of balloons.

I tugged at my father's sleeve, trying to get him to look in the sky. Trying to get him to help Humfrey who was rapidly disappearing to the West. "Father, father." I yelled, but when he finally did look, Humfrey was nowhere to be seen. Gone.

The next week on our way to the market I paused alongside the rock. Humfrey's umbrella was still there, and so was Humfrey. I stared in disbelief. He was in full cry. The King and Country were in peril he insisted, and the crowd mocked and laughed.

"You might as well fly to the moon." Someone yelled at him.

"I have" said Humfrey. And I knew he had.