Mr Bunbury's Apology

I must emphatically make clear that
THIS IS A FINITE ACTION
and no pen, no man, no pipe-smoke
or stockings or cobbled streets or
strongly-worded letter of complaint can
interrupt the truthfulness of this moment.
Frankly and determinedly are my
adverbs of choice. (She took the teapot down
from the shelf and swilled it out).

I must impress on you that I am
a man of few words. (She turned
to look at me with baleful brown eyes,
and spoke). I went, the other
day, to take the water, and was
purified. I must stress that it was
entirely of my own volition: no woman
can force my action. (You do tease so!)

It is vital that you understand my
meaning, although it can be polluted by
the cadences and lingo of the age. (I will
take the tea; loose leaves is it?) I have been
a hurtful man, but the years are for forgetting,
and humans are admirably well-suited to
warring. (I do not take sugar. I do not
tease!)

I was once a man to make women
blush, and simper, but – I must be
certain that you understand this -
women prefer curtains and curlicues and clothes;
I am only a man; what can I do?
(Do you understand this?) I can fret and
stamp and snort and paw the stage,
but moments are so tragically brief. After all,
there is nothing we can do, and besides, women
do enjoy a ball, of sorts, and a small sherry
before bed. I will take a crumpet up with
me before bed. Blow out the candle (do you
understand this?); I do not believe I shall
come down again. (She smiled and apologised,
simpered, a little, I'll admit). It is a
woman's job to wash the plates and saucers.

I must be honest with you; I do not
care for trifle, at all. Perhaps He will
be merciful? I am a mere stage-actor,
used to spouting lines. The thing about
clichés is that they do get so old, after
a time. It is better that you agree.
I prefer women to be mute. Will you
turn out the light? I cannot hear well,
but I suppose that is the rattle of the trains.
Flights of angels will sing me.

Do sing to me. There is nothing like
the amity between men. It is too
hot, it is too cold. This life is so
fragile. (I have often been prone to
fever, and stomach upset – you understand?)

I should like to emphasise that this world
is too full of fripperies – men do not
play at philosophy anymore. Ganight.
I can see the lamplighter coming along
the street – I believe we part ways
here? Good evening, ganight; how
my memory blinks and stirs, rouses
itself, stretches itself out fully! I will
own that I am nervous. I will listen to
the old masters before I sleep, read a
little Hamlet quietly to myself. Yes.
Goodnight. Smoke rises along the street;
I hope you have not misunderstood me. I
look back, I look back. I am only
a man: what else can I do or say?
Put your damp fingers around the wick:
that's right. Goodnight, ganight.