A Most Extraordinary Rendition
Anthony Viney
Dick Whittington eased back in his seat. He watched the overhead lights flicker and heard the engine groan. His flight, the culmination of an Eastern Odyssey that had taken him from the grubby streets of London to the towering minarets and golden domes of Kandahar and Kabul.
Dick recalled his first sight of the English capital, his dizzy head then filled with tales of a city where the very streets were paved with gold.
Winter shattered his illusions. Confined to a lonely garret, he stared through frosty windows to the streets below. In the old tenement, the Three Little Pigs yearned for a real home of their own. The Seven Dwarves quaked at the prospect of the rent man’s knock on the door, while Humpty Dumpty, brittle and bloated, survived on a diet of discarded pizza and kebab. In the basement, Little Red Riding Hood remained terrified of the Big Bad Wolf.
Yet they all shared a faith, however fragile, in a better future in a Land Far Far Away.
Dick seemed to answer their prayers, leading them to snow-capped mountains and sleepy caves in the Land of Tora Bora.
Half-starved, they arrived at the House Jack Built.
They looked greedily at the pile of malt.
Turned to the rat that ate the malt.
Cheered as the cat ate the rat that ate the malt.
Groaned when the dog worried the cat that ate the rat that ate the malt.
And rejoiced when the cow with crumpled horn tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt.
Then, to their horror, the Grand Old Duke of York and his Ten Thousand Men appeared. They chased them up the hill, then back down again.
A surreal drama unfolded.
When they were up, they were up. When they were down, they were down. But when they were only half way up, they were neither up nor down.
They found themselves rendered to foreign lands. Entombed in castles of darkness with strange names like Bagram and Abu Ghraib.
Guantanamo proved their worst confinement Camp Commander, Rumpelstiltskin, short and stout… bearded and rough. ‘Names… dates… places’. Ably assisted by his grinning lieutenant, Puss in Boots. Sharp in tooth and claw, quite murderous.
Sneezy and Dopey were the first to succumb. Joined by the Seven Dwarves, waterboarded to within an inch of their lives. Next, Humpty Dumpty toppled from his perch, while Little Red Riding Hood was devoured by the wolves. Their cries drowned out by the jeers of their guards.
Ring-a-ring o’ roses
A pocket full of posies
A tishoo! A tishoo!
We all fall down.
Sitting in his darkened cage, with only his cat for company, Dick stared up to the fiery constellations. For the first time, he sensed a nurturing presence. His Fairy Godmother.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
How I wonder who you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Dick felt the winds of change. A tired old ruler felled by Cinderella’s glass slipper. An emperor exposed for wearing no clothes.
As the plane began its descent, Dick guessed that fame and fortune beckoned. The ringing singing bells of London Town offered a bright future. Political office no less as Lord Mayor. But, for the moment, he had a story to tell and it was no fairytale.
As the cabin doors opened and photographers jostled for position, Dick was gripped by the sudden urge to return to his prison cell. Then, in his mind, the voice of his Fairy Godmother. ‘Turn again Whittington.’
Anthony Viney is a member of Inklings Writing Group, meet on Tuesdays at 11am and on Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel, Mullingar. All aspiring and fun writers are welcome.