Well I have to say this topic stumped me (hence the lateness) so in the end I decided to post a story I wrote a few years back, on the grounds that it was vaguely biblical.

I warn you, it’s a long one.

Enjoy!

It was the year of our lord two thousand and five, and I was dining in the Savoy. This is not in itself, worthy of much distinction, after all I am much given to dining in general and in the Savoy in particular. Indeed it was a affectation of mine to dine there at least once a fortnight and in two thousand and five I must have done so several dozen times. Nor was my fellow diner of much distinction, I do indeed dine with Hubert Cunningham on  many an occasion and have been steadily doing so for some years.

Of Mr Cunningham himself, what can be said? Well much, although it lessons not the enigma of the man. The Cunningham was a large, burly man of indeterminate age, one could place him anywhere between twenty five and forty five quite easily, indeed he once claimed to have partaken of the philosopher’s stone and to in fact be two thousand, five hundred and thirty three years old. And it is such claims that distinguish  our dear Hubert from the everyday man, that and his curious affectation of never paying for anything. If a man could have only one aim in live, mine would be to get the esteemed Mr Cunningham to pick up the cheque.

At this particular juncture we were well into the main course, indeed I was preparing to broach the subject of payment, not to mention the three Guineas I was already owed by my companion, I had decided to do so early, lest he decide to slip away. “… my dear Hubert, it has been a most wonderful experience dining with you here today.”

“Has been?” Came the immediate response “I would vouch it has much yet to be, and to become.” His ruddy face fixed broke into a benevolent smile. “There is much ‘being’ left in the dining experience, do not yet confine it to having ‘been’”

“A point well made” I acquiesced, “but it is something pertinent to this experience that I wish to bring up”

“Pertinent?”

“Most pertinent”

“Ah, I see, well I thought that would be forthcoming,” He replied, somewhat deflated, “I had thought to bring it up myself  in fact.”

I prepared myself for excuses, pleadings and designations, I was resolved, I would not pay for this meal, and there were still the three guineas to consider.

“It does after all,” continued the Cunningham, “Concern why I invited you here today”

My memory was somewhat hazy, due to imbibing some somewhat inferior champagne, but nonetheless it indicated that it was he, not I that was upon the receiving end of the invitation. I was about to raise that fact when he made onward ploughings.

“Tell me, old friend,” spake Hubert, leaning forward, in a low voice he continued, “why do you think we are here?”

A puzzling question indeed, I felt I needed some clarification. “Do you mean in a cerebral, spiritual, or philosophical sense?” I queried. “Or do you refer to why we are here, now, drinking inferior champagne?”

Cunningham’s great brow knotted. “In both senses admittedly, but let us concern ourselves with the former, as it has more… dramatic portent.”

I nodded thoughtfully, although this did not necessarily indicate a thoughtfulness on my part, for I often use it as a substitute for speech, when I had nothing substantial or witty to say.

“To whit,” continued he, “Religious matters”

This surprised me somewhat.

“You look somewhat surprised” said the Cunningham, a master of deduction as ever, “after all, I am not a religious man.”

I felt the need for a rebuttal. “You did once claim to be on first name terms with God”

“A trifling boast,” Hubert dismissed airily “doubtless I had imbibed too freely of the amber nectar at the time”

“It was ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning.”

“Almost certainly then. But it is of water rather than wine that I wish to talk to you of now”

This piqued my interest.

“My tale seems to pique your interest.” My companion unnervingly spotted “also my doing this seems to unnerve you”

“Very much so,” I replied, hiding my annoyance.

“There is no need to be annoyed,” said he, “The secret is knowing when to stop, you can’t keep a running gag going indefinitely” said he, concealing his amusement.

“You seem amused,” said I

“No am not,” he replied sharply, “And to my tale, it takes place in the most delightful little café in Stratford”

“What were you doing in Stratford?” I ventured.

“Why, watching Shakespeare dear boy, for that is all anyone ever does in Stratford”

“Dash and baulder” said I, “Surely someone must do something else, the residents perhaps.”

“Actors” said the Cunningham sagely. “Regardless, it is the café that concerns us.”

“What was it called?” I questioned.

“I see not how that matters,” Cunningham glowered.

“Neither do I, I was merely stuck for something to say”

“Then say nothing.” he said sternly. “That is the best practice, nod thoughtfully if you must, you have such a talent for it.”

I nodded. Thoughtfully.

“Better” came Hubert’s approving reply “The café was called the Menagerie, as it happens, the owners tried to find a hip, French word for café, not knowing, it seems, that the hip French word for café is… café.”

I nodded thoughtfully once more.

“Regardless, the afternoon threatened rain, so I took shelter there, and ordered a glass of their finest white wine, and dish of rainbow trout, as is my wont”

“Which you no doubt, did not pay for.”

“My dear friend, merely because I have been caught fiscally short once or thrice in your company does not mean that penniless”

“I have no doubt you have money;” I replied “you merely choose not to use it.”

“Returning to the subject at hand,” Hubert continued, hastily papering over the cracks of his financial irregularities, “I had ordered wine, as I have said, white of course.”

“Of course, only solicitors and the unemployed have red wine with fish.”

“But of course, and the wine arrived at my table, as did the now ever present basket of complementary bread”

More thoughtful noddings ensued.

“I was somewhat the worse for hunger, having sat through some hours of King Lear before hand, so I reached for the basket, and, as our uncultured cousins across the Atlantic are wont to say, began to ‘tuck in’”

I nodded, thoughtfully as ever, but with clearly degrading interest in the tale. Thankfully the Cunningham seemed not to notice.

“Indeed, so ravenous was my hunger, that I had consumed two whole rolls of bread before I sampled my wine”

“Fascinating.” said I.

“I believe I preferred the nodding,” came the reply, “even if your interest was clearly degrading”

The nodding resumed.

“Regardless, I sipped my wine, as any civilised person would, and then promptly ejected it from my mouth in a fashion which, though uncivilised, I am given to understand is the traditional method when you have been surprised mid beverage, so to speak.”

Another thoughtful nod conveyed my respect for such traditions.

“Of course I summoned the waiter, for it was not the wine I had ordered.”

“A substandard vintage?” I interjected.

“Nothing so simple.” replied he. “For it was not wine at all”

I nodded with thoughtful surprise.

“As I have said, I summoned the waiter, and challenged him most vocally.”

I suppressed sympathy for the waiter, the sight of the Cunningham waxing wroth is not one I would wish on any man.

“’Good sir,’ I said.” he said .“’One has heard of insalubrious establishments ‘watering down’ their beverages, but this, dear man take not only the biscuit of proverb; but the proverbial cup of tea, saucer and small fairy cake as well!’” The towering range diminished somewhat as the Cunningham ceased to quote directly. “He tried to assure me that they had sent the wine as ordered, but I insisted he taste it, after which he was forced to admit that there  had been some mix up, and I had been served water instead.”

I nodded, thoughtfully sorrowful.

“While the minion scurried to fetch more wine, I sampled again of the bread rolls, consuming two more thereof.”

I went to nod again (thoughtfully of course), but the Cunningham had already continued.

“While it may not seem so, at this time, believe me, the number of rolls consumed will soon become important.” He assured me. “Regardless, the lackey returned, whereupon he stammered a cretinous apology, it seemed every bottle of wine in the place had gone off, although he hesitated before the ‘off’.”

“No doubt the staff had been imbibing”

“As thought I, at the time. The underling was sent forth, to bring a cup of tea, I distraught at the lack of alcohol and the continued absence of my fish, partook of the bread again.”

I nodded, conveying at once the mandatory thoughtfulness, a mournful sympathy for his ruined meal, and a faint ray of desperate hope for future improvements.

“Oh I do say!” Hubert exclaimed, “That was very good, could you do it again?”

“Probably not,” I grudgingly admitted. “Besides, I believe this gag has run its course.”

“Indeed,” the Cunningham smiled. “But to the tale, I had partaken of two bread rolls and was starting on my third as the tea arrived, as by glorious chance, did my fish.”

“A happy ending.” Said I “The best way to end such a tale, now if I might draw your attention to the matter of the bill…”

“The tale is not yet finished.” Glowered my companion. “As I admired my newly acquired meal I was minded of a strange thing, there were still four rolls of bread in my bowl.”

“A large bowl indeed,” I was forced to comment “For your had consumed no less than…”

“Six rolls” the Cunningham finished, and I held one still half eaten in my hand, however, this what gave me pause, my pause was given thusly; there was only space for five rolls in the bowl.”

At this Hubert sat back, satisfied, I ventured to comment.

“Presumably someone had refilled to bowl?”

“Most definitely not, however I looked around in the manner favoured of the paranoid schizophrenic nonetheless.” He asserted. “Assured that no-one was playing ‘silly buggers’ of the classical school I decided to experiment. I wolfed down all two more rolls, also finishing the one in my hand, and stared at the bowl; nothing. I must have stared for some three minutes and nothing was forthcoming, at which point a passer-by brushed my shoulder.” The Cunningham was becoming more intense, leaning in, describing his tale in hushed whispers “I turned in aggravation, only to be uncertain as to who the perpetrator was, I made do with a general scowl, as one does in such situations, I then turned back to the table and found there that were once more four rolls in my bowl!”

“Come now Hubert, surely someone was making fun of you, or you are making fun of me, it is uncertain on that score.”

“I assure you,” came the grave tones of the Cunningham, “I am deadly serious.” He continued “As I was seated not far from the waste disposal, I decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns and cross to it, upturning the offending bowl and emptying the contents therein. The job presently jobbed, I returned to my table, and sat the bowl down on the table, only to discover four more rolls within it!”

I attempted to comment, but my companion made ploughed onward forthwith.

“I was somewhat addled at this juncture, and thinking most unlike myself, indeed ‘Decorum be damned!’ thought I, and began to throw rolls directly into the bin from where I sat. Distraught as I was, I cared not a jot for the aghast stares of the other customers as I threw one roll, in two rolls, three rolls, four, five rolls!” At this the Cunningham paused, to gather breath “When I looked back,” he said gravely, “four rolls were present in my bowl. And that was not all.”

“Not all?” I said, aghast, for though this was an extraordinary tale, I had never seen my good friend Hubert as anything but jovial, this grave demeanour was most unlike him.

“Not all,” echoed the Cunningham “For my fish, previously fairly small, was now overhanging the plate upon two edges.”

“It had grown!” I exclaimed.

“Had grown, was growing and for all I know grows still!” came the veritable bellow of a reply, thumping the table for emphasis, the Cunningham raised eyebrows around the room. “Within seconds it was twice its previous size, then larger, the size of a freshwater carp, then the size of a pike, a swordfish, it was beginning to verge on dolphin territory, no doubt would be the size of a whale had I not intervened.”

“How?” I mouthed the words.

“How else does one accomplish anything in a restaurant? I summoned the waiter of course. The underling scurried forward nervously and I said to him” The Cunningham’s chest began to inflate, I feared another bellow.

“Please Hubert, contain yourself, would you have us thrown out of the Savoy?”

“Ah, no.” Hubert deflated somewhat “I would not want such a fate to befall any man.”

“Except perhaps,” I tried to amuse, “The underling?”

“The underling.” Hubert bristled, “’Take this foul spawn back the hell from whence it came!’ I told him ‘Begone with these abominations!’,” sneeringly the Cunningham impersonated the tone of his adversary “’You have some issue with the food?’ said he, somehow disregarding the creak of the table as under the growing bulk of the erstwhile trout. ‘I have issue!’ cried  I ‘I have issue as should all that is good and right with these monstrosities, take them, burn them if you must, but for God’s sake destroy them!’, ‘They are undercooked?’ Said the minion, quizzically ‘No, just take them, take them!’ Wailed I.” The Cunningham finally relaxed after his torrent of invective “He summoned another waiter, and they carried the dishes away, he asked if I wanted something else, I demurred, the bread had quite filled me, indeed between the infinite bread, and the ever growing fish the whole restaurant could have been filled, were they prepared to eat such devilry.”

“Perhaps something of technological origin,” I mused “I have heard much said of this ‘GM food’ whatever it was, it was most definitely unnatural.”

“Natural, no.” Said my companion. “Nor man made, twas supernature, the occult, I was sure of it! And the next thing I saw more so.”

“There was more?” I inquired.

“Oh indeed there was more,” the Cunningham growled, for shortly after I had sent the accursed meal back to the depths of hell, I was attempting to leave the café far behind, when I spied a small dog,  running wild along the roadside.”

“Indeed?” said I, bemused as to how this fitted in.

“Indeed, I was about to cross the road to leave the place when the dog ran out beside me, and, dogs being as dogs are, it did not obey the green cross code.”

I nodded sagely.

“I thought you weren’t doing that anymore?”

“That was nodding thoughtfully, this is nodding sagely” I informed my companion.

“Ah,” he realised, “My apologies.”

“Think nothing of it” I demurred. “An easy mistake.”

“Indeed. To the dog…” said he.

“To the dog!” said I, raising my glass.

“What are you doing?” scowled the Cunningham.

“I thought you were proposing a toast.” I ruefully admitted.

“I was not, am not, and never will propose a toast to that accursed dog!” He glowered, “Now pray, interrupt my tale no further”

“May I interrupt once more, on the subject of money?”

“No you may not, fiscal matters can be dealt with after the tale is told.”

“Very well,” said I, “I will hold you to that.”

“To the dog,” said he glaring, lest I attempt to toast again. “It darted out excitedly into the street, as dogs are wont to do, panting excitedly and wagging its tale to and fro, yapping and bouncing around, it was a sight to warm the heart of any dog lover.”

“At least until it was hit by a car.” I interrupted.

“How did you know that?” The great brow wrinkled.

“My dear Hubert,” I reassured, “It was positively obvious where you were going with that, how very dull of you to do so, especially when for one who prides himself on his unpredictability, as you do.”

“Then predict away,” said he, “Since you will clearly have seen this all coming, you will not be surprised to hear that the dog was dead.”

“Indeed, A dead dog is such a mournful sight, I am sorry you had to witness it.”

“Indeed, a terrible sight it was, panting excitedly and wagging its tale to and fro, yapping and bouncing around…”

“I feel I have missed something there…”

“Indeed,” Said the Cunningham, “The dog was dead, mark me on that, but it got to it’s feet and carried on, walking around is if it were alive!”

“Are you entirely certain on that front? It may merely have been injured.”

“It’s head was several yards from it’s body, my good man, although, as previously stated, it panted still.”

“A most unusual turn of events,” I understated.

“Indeed,” said Hubert as he mopped his great brow, “And the dog did advance toward me, in a most unthreatening manner.”

“Did you say unthreatening?”

“Oh yes, wagging it’s tail and bounding excitedly, it clearly wanted only to be friendly. It was however headless.” Hubert swallowed fearfully at the memory “I retreated to the café”

“An understandable manoeuvre” said I.

“Indeed, as I retreat the rain, which had threatened all afternoon, began.”

“I would have assumed you were past being concerned about the weather” I interrupted tentatively.

“Indeed, I welcomed something as prosaic as rain, but rain alone it was not, the winds picked up, lightning struck, thunder boomed, and a storm was there, where seconds ago was an ordinary day.”

“I have read of odd weather lately,” I admitted, “Global warming is often said to be involved.”

“Kindly desist from you explanations, I know the cause of these events, and I will relate them to you when  ready.” bristled the Cunningham.

“The storm blasted, “What manner of devilry is this?”  I muttered to myself. “ Only to hear the words ‘You like not the storm?’”.

“From who?” I queried.

“ As I wondered. I espied a friendly looking fellow nearby, he was sitting at a table a little distance away, watching me with a look of faint amusement on his face,  I was bewildered as to how I had not noticed him before, but now I know that it is because he choose to reveal himself to me.”

I listened on.

“’Hello Hubert’ he spoke. ‘How are you?’,  ‘Do I know you?’ I replied, ‘Oh yes’ said he.”

“Dashed odd,” said I.

“’Some very strange things have happened to me today’, I admitted. ‘I know’, said he. ‘but at least we can do without the storm.’ At which point he stood up and raised his hands to the clouds.”

“Odd behaviour” I interjected.

“Not so add as to what happened next.” The Cunningham continued. “For the clouds parted and the storm abated, no rain nor thunder, no lightning to be seen, just a clear blue sky, where once there had been storms, and where minutes before it had been overcast.”

“You located the sorcerer!” I exclaimed, caught up in the tale. “What manner of devil was he?”

“Not devil,” said he “Something different and more.” He looked downward for a second, “I turned to study my companion properly for the first time, he was an average man of average height, medium brown hair, skin that was neither very pale nor very dark, not a distinguishing feature upon his entire face.”

I listened, spellbound.

“’Are you responsible for those?’ demanded I, face no doubt purple with rage.” The Cunningham paused briefly, to collect his thoughts, a master of suspense as ever. “I must confess that I do not know how I knew for certain he was responsible for it all,” He professed “The knowledge was simply part of me,  and I could no more deny it that I can deny my very being.” He paused again, “Where was I?”

“Purple with rage,” I said breathlessly.

“ Ah yes, ‘Are you responsible for those?’ I demanded, ‘But of course I am, Hubert’ said the fellow ‘And how do you know my name fiend?’  I continued, irate. ‘How could I not?’ Said he, ‘But fiend I am not, I come from very different stock.’ ‘Then return there!’ I bellowed, raising my fist to strike my tormentor”

At which point he stopped and took a sip from his champagne. His spell momentarily broken, I looked to mine, and sipped, my throat suddenly dry, I looked at my dinner, far to cold to eat, I had been quite entranced by the tale.

“I made to strike him, and then I did not.” The Cunningham spoke in hushed tones. “For there was light around him, around and about, and it came from him, and it flocked to him, and he was the light.” He paused again. “I dropped to my knees at his radiance. ‘Do you know who I am Hubert?’ Spake the light, and I nodded. ‘I am he who has come before and will come again.’ It said ‘And soon shall I come again, and you shall prophesise my coming’” Hubert paused again, Somehow I remembered to breathe. “A book appeared before me” he continued, “I reached into my pocket and put on my reading glasses, to see it better, and the man of light touched me, and suddenly I needed them no more. ‘You will tell of my coming, and you will know of it’ the man of light said, and suddenly I knew he would come, I knew the when and the how, and  the why. ‘And you will write it, for it must be written, and you shall tell all the creatures of the world what is to come’”

Hubert stopped, and gathered himself once more, I realised to cause of my dry mouth, it had been hanging open for some time now.

“And then he was gone, and there was I, and the book, and a perfectly ordinary café.” He said, “I looked at the book, I saw the title, and the blank pages within, and I knew my duty.”

”What…” I croaked. “What was the name of the book?”

The Cunningham smiled with the benevolence of saints. “’The Last Testament.’”

My mouth hung open evermore, I could not bring myself to say another word, I was struck dumb, entranced by his tale.

“And now I see you see entranced by my tale” surmised the Cunningham, “And now I will take my leave, for there is much to do, before the dawning of a new day.”

After he had left I sat there still, amazed at what he had told me,  that that most sceptical of men, that playful hedonist, Mr Hubert Cunningham had been contacted by, what exactly? That he was  on a holy mission, it beggared belief, yet belief itself seemed beggared in face of his tale. A voice broke the spell.

“Sir?”

I looked up, it was Andre, the head waiter.

“I am sorry Andre, I have just head a most singular tale, which shred of sense tells me must be wrong, but every fibre of my being deems true.”

Andre though for a few seconds.

“I always think it wise, sir, with such tales, to take the reputation of the individual telling it under consideration.”

“That’s hardly fair Andre.” Said I. “I could hardly bring myself to base my entire perception of truth upon something as changeable as reputation.”

“I suppose not, sir” replied Andre “Which is why Mr Cunningham has left you to pick up the cheque.”

Tom