AUTUMN OF THE SOUL Tuesday, Dec 4 2007

When Alan Jeffries walked into the nursing home to see his father he saw the most horrific thing he’d ever seen in his life. For there, in the corner, Percival Jeffries rested one hand on his walking stick and held seventy five year old Rita Madden in his other arm. With a slight shake of the body, he struggled to control his deep cough and spittle whilst his and Rita’s lips met in what can only be described as an awkward but definitely passionate kiss.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing,’ said Alan, a successful, if pompous businessman, totally different from his devil-may-care father.
Percival released his grip on Rita, hobbled round on his stick, and said: ‘I really should have given those sex lessons, shouldn’t I’
‘Don’t be disgusting, father. This is revolting.’
Rita Madden tutted. ‘Tell it how it is, son, don’t hold back. ‘
‘I’m not your son,’ said Alan. Then, turning to his father: ‘And at times I wish I wasn’t yours.’
Percival offered a dismissive gesture, hobbled round once more on his stick and, placing his arm once more around Rita, they hobbled into the day room.

‘I’m telling you, Mary, it was disgusting,’ said Alan when he arrived home.
Mary Jeffries, Alan’s wife, sat on the settee taking it all in. ‘And he really kissed her?’
‘He did. And … and … oh God! there were tongues!’
Both Alan and Mary winced at this. Eventually, Mary said: ‘So what are we going to do?’
‘Well,’ said Alan, ‘it’s got to stop. That’s for sure.’
Further thought followed. Both Alan and Mary sat in silence.
Alan had always been embarrassed by his father, even when his mother was alive. He never found evidence that his father was a philanderer, but he certainly enjoyed surrounding himself with women. And on top of that he smoked, drank and gambled. Indeed, that is why Alan rebelled at an early age, deciding that he would be the total opposite, becoming not only pompous, but prudish, reliable and a pillar of the community.
‘Very good, Alan,’ Percival used to say. ‘But when do you live?’
Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Alan said: ‘Well, Mary, there’s only one option.’
‘What’s that dear?’
‘We’ll have to move him.’

While his son was deciding his fate, Percival Jeffries sat comfortably on the settee in the day room, offering snarls to any foggies who disturbed him. He indulged in much practice. Coming up for air, Rita Madden said: ‘So what are you going to do about your son?’
Percival smiled. ‘I think he’s too old for a good hiding.’
‘No, I’m serious,’ said Rita. ‘He could get awkward.’
‘Not as awkward as that doctor,’ said Percival.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He won’t let me have Viagra.’
Rita moved her hand down. ‘Do you really need it?’ she said. Percival felt a stirring, but it was a long way from better days. But as it was, Viagra was not to be the most important issue for Percival Jeffries and Rita Madden, for two days later Alan walked into the nursing home and told his father, force¬fully, that another room had been booked for him at another home.
‘Well I’m not going,’ said Percival.
‘Then you’ll be on the streets,’ replied Alan, ‘because I’m not going to pay any more if you don’t move.’

Maybe it was his age. But Percival eventually gave in. He knew he had little choice; little energy to fight his son like this. But as he sat all alone in his new room in his new
nursing home, he doubted the old spark would keep him breathing much longer. How can a man live without happiness, he thought to himself. My son has gone and killed me.
It was Mary who visited him a couple of days later. ‘You look a bit peeky,’ she said.
Percival looked at his daughter-in-law. ‘And how would you feel if you could never see Alan again?’
Mary thought long and hard about that. Finally, she decided Percival was making too much of all this.
‘I’m not,’ said Percival. ‘Who the hell does he think he is, taking me away from Rita like that?’
‘But Dad, you reach an age when you really must grow up, you know?’
‘So only kids fall in love?’
Mary felt she had to say yes; for when you do grow up with the man you used to love, you realise it was maybe only a childish fancy anyway.
‘Well he’s killing me,’ said Percival. ‘And you’re his accomplice. ‘

Percival’s words just wouldn’t go out of Mary’s head over the following days. She went about her life as if in a daze. Oh, she did everything she had to do. Did the housework, the shopping, took care of busy Alan’s every whim. But her mind simply hadn’t been on it.
At forty five, Mary Jeffries had retained much of her good looks of old. Even her body had remained compliant with what her mind wanted. And it was predictable that, going through life, other men had noticed her. The latest was Rod, a distant friend and colleague of Alan’s. He had often pestered her to sleep with him – as had the others – but she had always remained true to Alan.
He wasn’t a bad sort, she was sure. He had never hit her; never failed to provide for her; never even ignored her ¬except …
Well, passion was not a thing Alan did. Maybe that was part of his rebellion against his father.
Yes, his father. Oh, dear Percival. Always full of life. Although joking. Always …
Mary decided that when you’re forty five and you’re jealous of a man approaching eighty, something just had to be done.

She exited Rod’s flat in a dream. She had been taken to places she had never been before, and never intended to be denied such pleasures again. Indeed, she never knew that her body could react in that way, be so stimulated, so ecstatic, and, let’s face it, so gymnastic. And then she began to think about Percival.

She had planned it well. She had found them a place miles away from Alan. But as always, Percival had to do something that was not part of the plan – such as visiting his son.
‘But I hadn’t planned for that,’ said Mary as she drove.
‘Maybe that’s your problem,’ said Percival. ‘Planning takes the fun out of life.’
And as Mary waited in the car with Rita, she could imagine the fun Percival was having. And when he returned, Mary drove them off for their new life knowing that her fun had just begun.
As for Alan, he had never really had any fun. And tied to the back of his dining chair, he certainly wasn’t having fun at that moment.
Of course, he could have had fun – could have discovered his soul at any time during life. And now, facing the crisis of being imprisoned in his own home, those niggling things of life made sure fun would still not invade him. Rather, all he thought about at that moment is what damage his father could do with his credit cards before he got himself free and cancelled them.

© Anthony North, July 2003