Terms
The Illiad – An epic Greek poem from antiquite that tells the myth of the Trojan War written by the equally mysterious Homer. Note: I’ve changed this from the audio. It used to refer to Homer’s The Odyssey but I thought that was too specific.
Herakles – The Greek version of Hercules. This is Hercules’s actual name, for some reason in the West we refer to him by his Latin name. But the Greek Hero of 12 Labours fame is called Herakles. Named in honour of the Goddess Hera so she wouldn’t hate him as an illegitimate son of her husband, Zeus. Spoiler alert: That didn’t work out.
Odysseus – Probably one of the most popular heroes to the Ancient Greeks (maybe not as well known now compared to Herakles/Hercules and Achilles). He features in both The Illiad, where he is the projenetor of the Trojan horse idea, and The Odyssey, where he’s the main character and he’s trying to return home to his island kingdom after said Trojan war.
Telly – Television
Chippy – slang for a Fish and Chip shop.
Script
Episode 32 – The statue
Reid’s back. I don’t know. I thought I’d feel relieved, and I do. I’m glad he’s alright, but honestly, I can’t bear to look at him. I see his usual frown, but it’s dotted with scars from the stitches he had; I see his hands as he moves his piece on the chess board and the bandages that slip out from beneath his hoodie. I notice how tired he gets after a few hours, or the way he favours the side of his body that didn’t smash into someone’s windscreen.
I may not have been driving that car, but I feel like I was. I may as well have been the one drunkenly behind the wheel. Every time I look at him, every time I see the stitches, the scars, and the bandages, I can’t breathe.
I prefer it when I hear his voice whilst I’m somewhere deep in the shop looking through a mysterious manuscript or tracing the lines of a painting I swear should be in a museum. I greet him when he comes in, try and plaster a smile on my face and hope he doesn’t notice I’m not as happy to see him as I should be, and then I retreat to the antiques. I’ll get over this though…right?
Another special customer came in this week. I hadn’t been expecting one so soon after the last, and a part of me was worried I’d have some company in my quiet wee nook. The place had just returned to a level of comfortable chaos, unlike what that bloke searching for the rose had left it in.
The lassie that came in wasn’t as confident as the bloke had been. She did the hesitant dance a lot of special customers do, worried they’ve made a mistake, wondering if they can’t just put up with whatever the problem is, questioning their sanity. I don’t think the sight of Reid, Fionn, and Chronos at the counter pretending they weren’t doing anything weird, like playing chess with a cat, helped.
When I emerged from the aisle she saw me, and followed me over to the counter, finally resolved to embrace the crazy. After rummaging around in her bag, she pulled out the pristine white card and I dutifully led her up the stairs where I was told to make tea. We were in for a good one then.
As I was pouring the tea there was more bag searching and eventually, as the last drip left the spout, she pulled out a wee statue of a man. I don’t really know how to describe it. Bronze in colour, it kind of reminded me of a Greek statue, except on a smaller scale. This was no hero of Homer’s The Illiad, no Herakles or Odysseus, but a normal, 21st century lad, even down to the skinny jeans hanging far too low on his hips.
I didn’t really know what to think. Thankfully I wasn’t on tenterhooks for long as the lassie began to explain. Turns out the statue used to be a real bloke. One day she’d come home to find the house empty and only the wee figurine where the real man should’ve been.
You’d think by now I wouldn’t want to laugh at these customers, but I’m always caught by surprise. At least it wasn’t a princess and the frog situation, at least she claimed this statue used to be a real bloke. I was tempted to ask her if she’d tried to kiss it before thinking better of it.
The Madam asked if she could inspect the statue and picked up the copper man by his head. It was only when her eyes were more focused on the lassie that I began to think she was just doing it for show, and that she already knew what was going on.
Placing the statue back gently on the coffee table, the Madam explained that there was nothing she could do. The only person who could reverse the curse was the person who’d cast it in the first place. To me that didn’t sound like something the Madam would say. She can fix anything, or at least any problem that I’ve seen. I go to the cabinet of wonders, pull something mysterious out, and the customers are sent on their way, never to darken the front room again with their weird problems. This was a first. I wondered, and still do, if she was lying, but I don’t think I’ll ever know.
There was, of course, a catch. For me, at least. Madam Norna explained that she could find whoever was responsible and see if they’d consider releasing the man from his current diminutive state. And by she, she meant me. Not that it was obvious at the time. Happily, the customer nodded her agreement, but my boss was careful to say that there were no guarantees, the person might insist on the curse being maintained, and there was nothing anyone could do if that were the case.
Pessimism wasn’t a word this lassie knew well, and the Madam’s sinister warning went in one ear and out the other. She left the copper man on the coffee table and went on her way. For a few minutes I was allowed to ponder how the Madam would find this person who could turn people into statues. You’d think I’d learn.
Before I could ask how the Madam would find them, she handed me the statue and began writing on a piece of paper. I don’t know why but holding this copper man felt weird. Could he feel everything? What if I dropped him? If the copper got dented, what did that mean for him?
It looked like I was about to find out. My boss handed me a list of addresses fanned out across the town. She said they were the places where people who were capable of this kind of thing lived, and that I’d have to find out which one it was. There were three addresses, and it was about to become a long afternoon.
I didn’t dare to put the statue in my pocket; so, keeping it in my hand I went downstairs armed with addresses and thankful it wasn’t pissing it down outside. As I got my jacket Reid asked where I was going. I showed the three of them the copper man, stopped Chronos from swiping it onto the floor, and told them what was going on. Fionn and Reid offered to join me and immediately I refused. I didn’t mean to be waspish; I didn’t mean for my refusal to sound as sharp as it did.
I didn’t always need babysitters, or people to fret about. What if this person turned them into statues? I wouldn’t be able to do anything, again. There was a strange silence as I left the shop on my way to these addresses, and I was glad to leave. They’d understand, I was only doing it for their own good. They were safe in the shop.
I took the bus to the first address, although it wasn’t that far I probably should’ve walked. It was in the part of the town where the arts students usually hung out. I don’t know many, but whenever our paths crossed, they’d always suggest going for lunch at one of the hipster cafes, or drinks at the newest kombucha wine bar. Don’t ask, I’ve no clue. It’s a nice looking part of town, with red brick buildings and cobbled alleyways. I think it’s one of the oldest parts. There’s graffiti on some walls, and art on others. More second-hand shops than anywhere else, and all the bars have pretentious names.
The address I’d crumpled in my pocket stated the flat number and I gingerly pressed the buzzer on the door. Expecting to have to make up some lie about delivering food, I was surprised when the door lock clicked. Taking a few good glances around me I pulled the door open and began the hike up the stone stairs to the second floor. The door was large, painted midnight blue, and had a single brass knocker above the peep hole. Before I could knock the door flung open to reveal a lanky strawberry blonde lad whose shirt was a few sizes too big, and jeans a few sizes too small. He looked about to say something in greeting, but as his eyes grazed across mine his features fell and he simply uttered a disappointed “oh”.
Friendliness turned into hostility as he demanded to know what I wanted. I would’ve pulled out the statue there and then, but these doors weren’t as soundproof as they looked, I knew from experience. So, I just told the truth, that I was from the shop, assuming that if the Madam had his address then that knowledge had to flow the other way too. His features softened and he shooed me in like I was a stray cat looking to be fed.
Honestly, it was tidier than I’d assumed. Given this part of town, every time I’ve been in someone’s flat around there it’s been an absolute bomb site. This one was organised chaos. There were paintings on the wall, some a bit stranger than I’d have liked to see. There was no telly, and the sofa looked a wee bit worse for wear, but the large sash windows and high ceilings gave the place an airiness that I envied in my wee sardine tin of a flat.
I pulled out the statue and showed it to him, saying the Madam had sent me in his direction. Carefully the lad took it from my hands and inspected it, the grooves of the torso, the expression on the face, the shape of the legs. He practically tossed it back at me and huffed moodily. He was insulted the Madam thought him capable of such shoddy work. Besides, he only turned people he wanted to paint into statues, and whoever my statue was wasn’t worth the canvas.
I didn’t have time to ask any more questions as the knocker on the door went and the guest who he’d been expecting was waiting on the other side. Just like an unwanted cat, now I’d had my tuna I was kicked back onto the streets. I didn’t really know whether to be disgruntled. It was a bit concerning that he turned people into statues just to paint them, and I wondered if the same fate awaited the guest I’d slid past on the way out.
Each to their own. I went to the next address, which wasn’t that far away. Another flat in another building on takeaway road. You know the ones, it’s a straight road, a mile or so, and every shop front is either an Indian or Chinese takeaway, with the occasional chippy smattered in for good measure. I shouldn’t be so casual; Gillespie’s does the best chips in town. I’d definitely pop in after I’d been rejected by this next statue creating stranger.
The flat this time was on the top floor, with a grand view of the tenements across the street, and not much further. At least you didn’t have upstairs neighbours, except for the pigeons. I used the previous tactic of telling the woman who answered the buzzer that I was from the shop and she let me through.
After refusing tea, she had me sit down beside her cat on the sofa, and I half expected the ginger tabby to start talking to me. Normal cats are so dull now. Once more I removed the statue from my bag and put it on the table between us, beside the pile of magazines. I expected her, like the previous lad, to pick it up and inspect it. Instead, she took one glance at it and leaned back, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
The lassie confirmed that it was her handiwork, and then voiced her surprise that the customer had been clever enough to find the shop and the Madam in the first place. Then, looking me dead in the eyes, asked what I wanted her to do about it. Realising there was something I was missing I instead asked her who the man was to her, and why she’d turned him to copper.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand why people are so eager to talk about their misdeeds. We weren’t even in the shop. Uncrossing her legs and leaning forwards, she prodded the statue carelessly, causing it to rock on its black stand. It was simple, she told me, he was her brother, and he’d lost a bet, so she’d turned him into a statue. He’d agreed to the terms of the bet, so he knew what he was getting himself into.
Stroking her ego, I congratulated her on such a triumph, whilst trying to hide the horror from my features. I don’t have siblings, but I wasn’t aware things could get so vicious. I then began the sob story that his wife, the customer, was the one who wanted him turned back because she was missing him. I don’t think I expected this woman to give in immediately, but the last thing I’d expected her to do was laugh. One of those deep, throaty chuckles that makes you think you know a lot less than you think you do.
The woman confessed that her brother didn’t have a wife, but his husband had helped her turn him into a statue. Ok, so I knew a lot less than I thought I did. Who the fuck was the customer?
I was a bit slow in getting there, but the customer was the one the copper man had been cheating on his husband with. And that was about as far as I wanted to know. The husband and sister had got their heads together and turned this man into a statue as revenge and had purposely left it somewhere for his mistress to find. Fair enough, but what was I supposed to tell the customer? His sister didn’t care, a bet was a bet.
I picked up the statue and left the flat, heading back towards the shop, not really knowing which way was up. There was nothing I could do. The Madam said only the person who turned him into copper could turn him back, and she refused. Maybe in time she’ll change her mind, but right now, I doubted it.
I told the Madam what’d happened, convinced she already knew, and when the customer came back a day or two later, my boss let me be the one to tell her. I didn’t make tea, and I laid out the facts, trying as hard as I could to emulate Madam Norna’s calm, silky voice. I don’t think it worked. The lassie left in tears; statue clutched tightly in her hands like rosary beads.
I don’t know what to make of this one. I’ll never be jealous of my pals with brothers and sisters though. What a nightmare that must’ve been growing up. Your brother steals your Barbies so you turn him into a Christmas tree decoration. I don’t think some people realise how lucky they have it when the worst thing that happens in a sibling fight is one of you gets a wedgie. Should I have felt sympathy for the customer? I’m starting to realise that’s not a requirement of this job, or of being the Madam. But I do wonder if the Madam told the truth, that she couldn’t reverse what had happened, or she thought the lesson was better learnt the hard way.
Script – Scots
Reid’s back. I dinnae know, I thought I’d feel relieved, and I do. I’m glad he’s alright, but honestly, I canne bear tae look at him. I see his usual frown, but it’s dotted wi’ scars frae the stitches he had; I see his hands as he moves his piece on the chess board and the bandages that slip oot frae beneath his hoodie. I notice how tired he gets after a few hours, or the way he favours the side ae his body that didnae smash intae someone’s windscreen.
I may no’ have been driving that car, but I feel like I was. I may as well have been the one drunkenly behind the wheel. Every time I look at him, every time I see the stitches, the scars, and the bandages, I cannae breathe.
I prefer it when I hear his voice whilst I’m somewhere deep in the shop lookin’ through a mysterious manuscript or tracing the lines ae a painting I swear should be in a museum. I greet him when he comes in, try and plaster a smile on my face and hope he doesnae notice I’m no’ as happy tae see him as I should be, and then I retreat to the antiques. I’ll get over this though…right?
Another special customer came in this week. I hadnae been expecting one so soon after the last, and a part ae me was worried I’d have some company in ma quiet wee nook. The place had just returned tae a level ae comfortable chaos, unlike what that bloke searchin’ fae the rose had left it in.
The lassie that came in wasnae as confident as the bloke had been. She did the hesitant dance a lot ae special customers do, worried they’ve made a mistake, wonderin’ if they cannae just put up wi’ whitever the problem is, questionin’ their sanity. I dinnae ‘hink the sight ae Reid, Fionn, and Chronos at the counter pretendin’ they werenae doin’ anything weird, like playin’ chess wi a cat, helped.
When I emerged frae the aisle she saw me, and followed me over tae the counter, finally resolved tae embrace the crazy. After rummaging roond in her bag she pulled oot the pristine white card and I dutifully led her up the stairs where I was told tae make tea. We were in fae a good one then.
As I was pourin’ the tea there was more bag searching and eventually, as the last drip ae tea left the spout, she pulled oot a wee statue ae a man. I dinnae really know how tae describe it. Bronze in colour, it kindae reminded me ae a Greek statue, except on a smaller scale. This was no hero ae Homer’s The Illiad, no Herakles or Odysseus, but a normal, 21st century lad, even doon tae the skinny jeans hangin’ far too low on his hips.
I didnae really know whit tae think. Thankfully I wasnae on tenterhooks fae long as the lassie began tae explain. Turns oot the statue used tae be a real bloke. One day she’d come home tae find the hoose empty and only the wee figurine where the real man shouldae been.
You’d think by noo I wouldnae want tae laugh at these customers, but I’m always caught by surprise. At least it wasnae a princess and the frog situation, at least she claimed this statue used tae be a real bloke. I was tempted tae ask her if she’d tried tae kiss it before thinkin’ better ae it.
The Madam asked if she could inspect the statue, and picked up the copper man by his heid. It was only when her eyes were more focused on the lassie that I began tae think she was just doin’ it fae show, and that she already knew whit was goin on.
Placing the statue back gently on the coffee table, the Madam explained that there was nothin’ she could do. The only person who could reverse the curse was the person who’d cast it in the first place. Tae me that didnae sound like somethin’ the Madam would say. She can fix anything, or at least any problem that I’ve seen. I go tae the cabinet ae wonders, pull somethin’ mysterious oot, and the customers are sent on their way, never tae darken the front room again wi’ their weird problems. This was a first. I wondered, and still do, if she was lyin’, but I dinnae think I’ll ever know.
There was, of course, a catch. Fae me, at least. Madam Norna explained that she could find whoever was responsible and see if they’d consider releasing the man frae his current diminutive state. And by she, she meant me. No that it was obvious at the time. Happily, the customer nodded her agreement, but ma boss was careful tae say that there were no guarantees, the person might insist on the curse bein’ maintained, and there was nothin’ anyone could do if that were the case.
Pessimism wasnae a word this lassie knew well, and the Madam’s sinister warnin’ went in one ear and oot the other. She left the copper man on the coffee table and went on her way. Fae a few minutes I was allowed tae ponder how the Madam would find this person who could turn people intae statues. You’d think I’d learn.
Before I could ask how the Madam would find them, she handed me the statue and began writing on a piece ae paper. I dinnae know why but holdin’ this copper man felt weird. Could he feel everythin? What if a dropped him? If the copper got dented, whit did that mean fae him?
It looked like I was aboot tae find oot. Ma boss handed me a list ae addresses fanned oot across the town. She said they were the places where people who were capable ae this kind ae thing lived, and that I’d have tae find oot which one it was. There were three addresses, and it was aboot tae become a long afternoon.
I didnae dare tae put the statue in ma pocket so keeping it in ma hand I went doonstairs armed wi’ addresses and thankful it wasnae pissin’ it doon ootside. As I got my jacket Reid asked where I was goin’. I showed the three ae them the copper man, stopped Chronos frae swipin’ it ontae the floor, and told them whit was goin’ on. Fionn and Reid offered tae join me and immediately I refused. I didnae mean tae be waspish, I didnae mean fae me refusal tae sound as sharp as it did.
I didnae always need babysitters, or people tae fret aboot. Whit if this person turned them intae statues? I wouldnae be able tae do anything, again. There was a strange silence as I left the shop on ma way tae these addresses, and I was glad tae leave. They’d understand, I was only doin’ it fae their own good. They were safe in the shop.
I took the bus tae the first address, although it wasnae that far I probably shouldae walked. It was in the part ae the town where the arts students usually hung oot. I dinnae know many, but whenever our paths crossed they’d always suggest goin’ fae lunch at one ae the hipster cafes, or drinks at the newest kombucha wine bar. Dinnae ask, I’ve no clue. It’s a nice lookin’ part ae town, wi red brick buildings and cobbled alleyways. I think it’s one ae the oldest parts. There’s graffiti on some walls, and art on others. More second-hand shops than anywhere else, and all the bars have pretentious names.
The address I’d crumpled in ma pocket stated the flat number and I gingerly pressed the buzzer on the door. Expectin’ tae have tae make up some lie aboot deliverin’ food, I was surprised when the door lock clicked. Takin’ a few good glances roond me I pulled the door open and began the hike up the stone stairs tae the second floor. The door was large, painted midnight blue, and had a single brass knocker above the peep hole. Before I could knock the door flung open tae reveal a lanky strawberry blonde lad who’s shirt was a few sizes too big, jeans a few sizes too small. He looked aboot tae say somethin’ in greetin’, but as his eyes grazed across mine his features fell and he simply uttered a disappointed “oh”.
Friendliness turned intae hostility as he demanded tae know whit I wanted. I wouldae pulled oot the statue there and then, but these doors werenae as soundproof as they looked, I knew frae experience. So I just told the truth, that I was frae the shop, assumin’ that if the Madam had his address, then that knowledge had tae flow the other way too. His features softened and he shooed me in like I was a stray cat lookin’ tae be fed.
Honestly, it was tidier than I’d assumed. Given this part ae town, every time I’ve been in someone’s flat roond there it’s been an absolute bomb site. This one was organised chaos. There were paintings on the wall, some a bit stranger than I’d have liked tae see. There was no tele, and the sofa looked a wee bit worse fae wear, but the large sash windaes and high ceilings gave the place an airiness that I envied in ma wee sardine tin ae a flat.
I pulled oot the statue and showed it tae him, sayin’ the Madam had sent me in his direction. Carefully the lad took it frae ma hands and inspected it, the grooves ae the torso, the expression on the face, the shape ae the legs. He practically tossed it back at me and huffed moodily. He was insulted the Madam thought him capable ae such shoddy work. Besides, he only turned people he wanted tae paint intae statues, and whoever my statue was wasnae worth the canvas.
I didnae have time tae ask anymore questions as the knocker on the door went and the guest who he’d been expectin’ was waitin’ on the other side. Just like an unwanted cat, noo I’d had ma tuna I was kicked back ontae the streets. I didnae really know whether tae be disgruntled. It was a bit concernin’ that he turned people intae statues just tae paint them, and I wondered if the same fate awaited the guest I’d slid past on the way oot.
Each tae their own. I went tae the next address, which wasnae that far away. Another flat in another building on takeaway road. Ye know the ones, it’s a straight road, a mile or so, and every shop front is either an Indian or Chinese takeaway, wi the occasional chippy smattered in fae good measure. I shouldnae be so casual, Gillespie’s does the best chips in town. I’d definitely pop in after I’d been rejected by this next statue creating stranger.
The flat this time was on the top floor, wi’ a grand view ae the tenements across the street, and no much further. At least ye didnae have upstairs neighbours, except fae the pigeons. I used the previous tactic ae tellin’ the woman who answered the buzzer that I was frae the shop and she let me through.
After refusin’ tea she had me sit doon beside her cat on the sofa, and I half expected the ginger tabby tae start talkin’ tae me. Normal cats are so dull noo. Once more I removed the statue frae ma bag and put it on the table between us, beside the pile ae’ magazines. I expected her, like the previous lad, tae pick it up and inspect it. Instead, she took one glance at it and leaned back, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
The lassie confirmed that it was her handiwork, and then voiced her surprise that the customer had been clever enough tae find the shop and the Madam in the first place. Then, lookin’ me dead in the eyes, asked whit I wanted her tae do aboot it. Realisin’ there was somethin’ I was missin’ I instead asked her who the man was tae her, and why she’d turned him tae copper.
I dinnae think I’ll ever understand why people are so eager tae talk aboot their misdeeds. We werenae even in the shop. Uncrossin’ her legs and leanin’ forwards, she prodded the statue carelessly, causin’ it tae rock on its black stand. It was simple, she told me, he was her brother, and he’d lost a bet, so she’d turned him intae a statue. He’d agreed tae the terms ae the bet, so he knew whit he was gettin’ himself intae.
Strokin’ her ego, I congratulated her on such a triumph, whilst tryin’ tae hide the horror frae ma features. I dinnae have siblings, but I wasnae aware things could get so vicious. I then began the sob story that his wife, the customer, was the one who wanted him turned back because she was missin’ him. I dinnae think I expected this woman tae give in immediately, but the last thing I’d expected her tae do was laugh. One ae those deep, throaty chuckles that makes ye think you know a lot less than you think you dae.
The woman confessed that her brother didnae have a wife, but his husband had helped her turn him intae a statue. Ok, so I knew a lot less than I thought I did. Who the fuck was the customer?
I was a bit slow in getting’ there, but the customer was the one the copper man had been cheatin’ on his husband wi’. And that was aboot as far as I wanted tae know. The husband and sister had got their heids together and turned this man intae a statue as revenge, and had purposely left it somewhere fae his mistress tae find. Fair enough, but whit was I supposed tae tell the customer? His sister didnae care, a bet was a bet.
I picked up the statue and left the flat, headin’ back towards the shop, no really knowin’ which way was up. There was nothin’ I could do. The Madam said only the person who turned him intae copper could turn him back, and she refused. Maybe in time she’ll change her mind, but right noo, I doubted it.
I told the Madam what’d happened, convinced she already knew, and when the customer came back a day or two later, ma boss let me be the one tae tell her. I didnae make tea, and I laid oot the facts, tryin’ as hard as I could tae emulate Madam Norna’s calm, silky voice. I dinnae ‘hink it worked. The lassie left in tears, statue clutched tightly in her hands like rosary beads.
I dinnae know whit tae make ae this one. I’ll never be jealous ae ma pals wi brothers and sisters though. What a nightmare that mustae been growin’ up. Your brother steals your barbies so you turn him intae a Christmas tree decoration. I dinnae think some people realise how lucky they have it when the worst ‘hing that happens in a sibling fight is one ae ye gets a wedgie. Should I have felt sympathy fae the customer? I’m startin’ tae realise that’s no a requirement ae this job, or ae bein’ the Madam. But I do wonder if the Madam told the truth, that she couldnae reverse whit had happened, or she thought the lesson was better learnt the hard way.