I've reached the age where I’ve begun to feel like an item in a Roman slave market –
the old one who stands out among the fit young guys who look like Kirk Douglas and have the wherewithal to be of some use for
something. I see a couple of women wandering around, eyeing up the merchandise, and
when they get to me one of them says
‘I expect this one’s on special offer.’
‘In the bargain bin, I should think,’ says her companion, sniggering.
‘I wonder whether he’d be any use.’
‘Doubt it. He’s a bit past it, isn’t he? He’d be no use in
the fields, the workshops, the ranks of the personal bodyguard, or the bedroom.’
‘Well, no, obviously not. He might be interesting to talk to,
though - you know, when I’m feeling bored. He does look a bit lived in.’
‘But where would you keep him?’
‘There’s a spare kennel in the yard, now the old dog’s gone.’
‘And what would you feed him on?’
‘Scraps. What else? Hey, you – old guy,’ she calls to me.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘How’s your diction?’
‘Moderate, madam.’
‘Can you count beyond ten?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘And what are you interested in?’
‘Metaphysics, the natural world and the complexities of the human condition,
madam.’
‘Really? Mmm... not bad. Beats the latest soap plots, I suppose.
OK, let’s find out how much you cost.’
She walks over to the slave owner.
‘How much do you want for the old wreck in the corner?’
‘20 dinari, my lady.’
'20 dinari?! You must be joking, you daylight fucking
robber. He’s losing his hair, for God’s sake. Look.’
‘Oh, all right. 10, then.’
‘5.’
‘7 dinari 50, and that’s my final offer.’
‘Does that include delivery?’
‘Oh, come on, what do you take me for?’
‘A shrewd businessman. You do want to get rid of him, don’t
you? Nobody else is likely to want him, are they?’
‘OK. I suppose you’ll expect me to wrap him up as well.’
‘Of course. I don’t want to look at him, for heaven’s sake.
‘All right. Give me your address.’
‘Here it is, then. And don’t go cutting his tongue out, like
you do with the others. That’s the only bit I’m interested in.’
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