Woodpecker!

The saddest thing I ever did see,

Was a woodpecker peckin’ at a plastic tree.

He looks at me and “friend,” says he,

“things ain’t as sweet as they used to be.”

-Shel Silverstein

1

Eating at one of Vera’s revered dinner parties was something like dining with Jesus Christ; not everyone gets an invite. Her house sat on the edge of town. It was the very pinnacle of the American Dream — a white picket fence, rose bushes reaching through the gaps. The house was apparently built by Vera’s grandfather years ago, maintained by servants and frequently painted so it always shone snowy white as snow all year round.

Sometimes, on my morning stroll, I’d see Vera leave her house in a neat blue dress, blonde hair tied in an updo. I always admired how strong her arms looked, even though she tried her hardest to cover them with sleeves. Apparently she was a welder during the war, of planes and machinery. She was pretty good at it too.

Wherever she want, she bought an air of elegance with her. She walked like she owned the Earth she stood on, nose high, shoulders back, legs sharp. On any other woman her walk may have looked a little constipated, but I thought she looked rather spiffy.

She delivered the invitations herself, and there was no return address since no one in their right mind would decline the offer.

I worked in a library around that time, stocking shelves and working the desk. She came in once a month to return books for her husband, and check out new ones for him. That’s how we first started talking. She liked to gossip, and I liked to hear her gossip, and both of us knew I’d never tell a soul, so she started coming in even when she didn’t want to check out a book. She’d just hang around at the desk like she worked there, by the light of the window, bringing in customers. The star we call The Sun was shining bright through the windows, but that day I was orbiting the biggeststar ofmyuniverse.

“Y’know,” Vera said, “you’ve never told me your name. I’ve been chatting here for weeks now, and I haven’t thought to ask you your name. Ain’t I a fool?” and she playfully hit herself on the head with her satin white gloves.

“Oh I don’t think you’re a fool,” I replied bashfully, “to be completely honest I forget my own name sometimes.”

She looked at me, batting her long dark eyelashes effeminately. “Well?”

“It’s Madeline. Madeline Mayor.”

Her red lips parted into a wide grin. “Well I never! I actually knew a Madeline once back in...” she punched her fist into her palm. “oh... I don’t know wherefrom, but she was real lovely! Real lovely. I think she was a gardener. Y’know, you look exactly like her, only you’re more a redhead I suppose and she was a blonde!”

She grabbed me roughly by chin and turned my head over like a sculpture. “Now that I think about it, blonde would suit you. You ever consider going blonde?”

I hadn’t. But something about her makes a woman want to nod and agree with everything she says. She could say the Earth was flat and I’d dive off the edge of it just to prove her right. “Yeah, I guess blonde might be nice.”

“Mm, the guys like blonde. You married?”

“No.”

“Never?” she gasped

“Nuh-uh.”

She clutched her hands to her bosom in pity. “I don’t get why all the men nowadays have their standards so high. Always pining for an unusual, obvious beauty. It’s like the war made them forget what a real woman looks like. When did being usual become so bad?”

I couldn’t tell if she was complimenting me or not but said, “Your husband must be very lucky to have a woman like you then, Vera.”

As I said this, the cheer in her face was clouded by something sad. Her lips thinned into a tight, mirthless smile. “Yes, well, my husband’s very lucky to have a lot of things he doesn’t deserve, but I’m not here to talk about him. Here:” before I could say anything further, she quickly held out a light pink envelope towards me, stamped and shut, with my name written in animated black cursive on the front.

“Is this?...”

“I host a dinner party from time to time and I’d like you to come. The ladies there can be slightly uppity, but no worse than what you’ve been getting from me.” she giggled, a melodic sound.

“I— I don’t know what to say!”

She grinned further. “Sayyes!"

I nodded profusely.

“Wonderful, orwunderbar!as they say in—” she coughed suddenly, looking around the empty library, before adding in a low voice, “forgive me, I forget how people are about German nowadays. Studied the language for six years and I can’t even use the damn thing!”

She left soon after, blowing me a kiss. I was always sad when she left, like a black hole she always took colour with her. I wasn’t too sorry, though, after all, I had her invitation.

That evening I tore through my wardrobe for something formal to wear, but alas, all I had was The Dress. It was a tragic thing with a puffy skirt section, and a bust that fit for someone that had something that needed to be held up. It was bog green, with the stripes of a hastily painted zebra. In the past I’d tried tightening the dress via stitching, but my fingers were too clumsy and the result were lines of black stitching bulging out of the fabric.

I had black heels too. I must’ve spent hours walking up and down the house, but my ankles, flimsy as ever, kept collapsing beneath me.

Because of this, when the time came to leave (around 5) my father had to walk me to her house like a child. I didn’t mind it, honestly. I was just glad he was still here to support me. During the war he’d been put in the navy, where he lost an eye and a hand. “Can’t fire a gun with one hand,” they’d said, and sent him home. He was always angry about that. He’d wanted to die for the country. Secretly, I was glad he didn’t.

He rung the doorbell for me, made a snide comment about the waiting time, but shut up when the door was unbolted and we saw her.

Vera wasglowing.Need I say more? It was Vera.

She had poured herself into platinum mermaid dress that fit her snugly in all the right places. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in neat waves. Her lips red as a rose. The new woman.

I looked like a toad. I was ashamed to show my dumpy self at her doorstep, so ashamed my mouth could not find the words to compliment her.

Luckily, my father took the helm for me. “You must be Vera.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Will you be joining us for the evening?”

“I’m just the chaperone. Have a good time, honey.”

I curtsied and watched him leave up the road.

Vera rubbed her hands up and down her thighs as if gathering electricity whilst looking me up and down. If she had found me repulsive, she certainly didn’t show it on her face — pure as always, if a little enigmatic. “Are you gonna stand there all evening?” she teased, a playful smile tugging at her dazzling eyes.

I entered the house, leaving the cold night behind. The first thing I saw was the high, golden chandelier twinkling above us, bordered by pearl staircases going either side of it and meeting in the middle.

On the left I heard guests humming like electricity — the party. On the right: pots and pans clattering, chefs clamouring. The kitchen.

I felt the mood shift, like I was not in our quaint town anymore, rather in a far off English country where they had palaces and kings and queens.

“I hope I’m not late.” I said

“No... everyone else is early. It’s a pain, really. Here, let me take your coat.”

I shrugged it off my shoulders and held it in my arms. Instead of Vera taking it, she nodded to the man in a black and white suit standing obediently at the bottom of the stairs, who then approached me. He had a young-ish face, though lined with worry and weariness. Under his hooked nose was a neatly groomed moustache. With some gingerness, the butler took my coat for me, and carried back to a cupboard under the stairs. He had an odd gait; a limp. I glanced back at Vera as she looked herself in the mirror. When she caught my eye in the reflection she said, “I’ll be just a moment. Percival!”

The butler stuck his head out from the staircase.

“Direct Miss Madeline to the dining hall, please.” she said

He wandered back over to me, snatched the invitation from my weak grasp and said, “it’s over there.” Pointing to the left hall.

Vera’s eye twitched. She spun around and snapped, “I mean,leadher. She hasn’t eaten here before.Thanks.” she added with audible contempt.

I followed the butler to the left hall. There were quite a few doors, most of them closed, but the one that was open emitted the warm orange glow of a fireplace and life in the otherwise cold hall. Inside, in the middle me into a room with a long, oak table, guests seated at it and chatting. When I came in, though, they stopped and turned to face me. They were elegant and posh, with high, upturned noses; radiating class. I recognised one lady as Mrs Harper, who had a book overdue of 1 month, and she seemed to recognise me too, as she hid her blushing face behind a full glass of equally red wine.

As no one spoke, the butler read from my invitation. “This is Miss Madeline Mayor, a librarian.”

Still, no one said anything. My job title rotted in the air like a hung corpse. I adjusted the waist of my dress silently.

Finally, the butler directed me to an empty seat at the table, and I took it, clumsily scraping my chair against the floor. No one looked my way.

Slowly, conversation recovered, only I was on the outskirts of it, like I always was. There were 5 of us, but two chairs either side of the table that were empty. I knew Vera would sit in one, perhaps I’d finally get to meet her husband. Whilst I waited, I stared down my sad face in the warped reflection of my empty glass, trying not to let the tears spill from my eyes. I hated it here. I wanted to leave. Where’s the atom bomb when you need it?

The door opened.

Oh, there it is.

Vera.

Immediately, life flooded into the room. She sat at the top of the table and began talking about something that had happened to her some time ago and I wasn’t listening to what she was saying, buthowshe said it. Her hands danced around as she illustrated the scene, her eyes scrunched up tight when she laughed, her teeth shone pearly white. Silhouetted by the fireplace behind her, she looked like a goddess, and we were monks laying ourselves at her feet.

We all laughed when she laughed, and frowned when she frowned, and cried when she cried. And then the chefs brought in the starter: devilled eggs.

I had to restrain myself from gagging when it arrived on my plate. Egg had never agreed with me. I didn’t like the concept of it more than anything. I would be considered insane if I ate the fetus of a pig, and similarly insane fornoteating the fetus of a chicken.

“This is delicious, Vera!” Someone commented

“Just delightful!” Someone else chimed.

I thought I’d maybe get away with not eating mine, but suddenly the butler said, “aren’t you going to eat your eggs, Madeline?”

He’d only whispered it, yet his presence startled everyone at the table. It seemed the butler had been standing in the corner of the room the whole time, still as a gargoyle, imperceptible.

He repeated, “everyone else has finished their plate, won’t you?”

I saw Vera looking to me for my reaction. Against better judgement I crammed the egg into my mouth, stuffing my cheeks like a chipmunk.

“Yummy.” I said, but my inwards heaved.

There was an uncomfortable silence where I thought, they’re all onto me, but, luckily, Vera came to my rescue.

“These,” said she, “are actually from Bill’s wife’s chicken coop, so we really have him to thank.”

And we did thank him in an exaggerated round of applause. He stood and bowed.

With everyone’s attention turned elsewhere, I quickly snatched the napkin from the table, laid it across my lap, and let the egg roll from my tongue onto it, trailed by a long string of saliva that I discreetly wiped away with my hand. I had to dispose of the napkin somewhere, but I couldn’t leave the tableimmediatelyafter eating or risk looking suspicious, so I sat and eavesdropped on the table.

“Nancy,” said a sturdy-looking man with a heavy beard. “I heard about that affair in Oregon. Is it true?”

The woman with peacock-feather, presumably Nancy, shrugged. “If you’ve heard of it I’m sure you’ve already made your opinions. No need to discuss it further.”

“Discuss what?” asked another man. Unlike the first, he was small, freckled, and bespectacled.

Even Vera seemed interested. “Go on, Nancy.”

“Oh!...” Nancy rubbed her face in annoyance. “it doesn’t matter. It’s not really a dinner conversation.”

Bill lifted his plate as if in search. “I didn’t realise dinner had arrived.”

“Would you just drop it, Bill?” she snapped

“It’s a very interesting topic though.”

“What topic?” pleaded the smaller man.

“It’s an insignificant thing.” she said

“It’s hardly insignificant thing.”

"What thing?"

"Relax,Johnny,” said Nancy, “it’s— my niece has always been a bit funny, and I don’t mean she has a lot of jokes. She was born that way, some kids are, such a sweetheart though. Anyway my aunt hears from an advertisement that they’ve come up this this operation that can fix these things.”

Vera nodded seriously. “Yes, electric convulsive therapy. I’ve heard of that.”

Nancy waved dismissively. “No, they’ve come up with something new, they call it a lobotomy. It’s happening in England far more than here, but the results are astounding!”

“How so?” Asked Bill.

“Well, think of a banana. Banana’s are delicious, but sometimes they get bruises. Now a bruise doesn’t always affect the banana, but cutting it out certainly improves it’s quality. That’s sort of what they do with the brain. They take out the bad stuff and leave in the good stuff.”

“And it works?” Asked Vera, eyes widening.

“Yep! My niece has been much easier after the procedure.” She took a long, thoughtful gulp from her glass.

“...but?” Johnny pressed at her somber expression.

“But nothing!”

I looked to Vera; she was looking off in the distance wistfully.

Now that everyone was distracted, I crammed the devilled egg napkin into my bust, making no real difference in it’s size and politely asked Vera if I could use the powder room.

“Of course,” she said, “it’s up the stairs and on the right.*

My heels echoed lonely against the polished floor as I made my way to the grand stairs. I almost tripped on the red rug laid out over the steps, only managing to keep my balance by wrapping my arms around the rail.

At the top of the stars was another crossroad. The one one the right was lit, but the one on the left wasn’t. Moonlight had given the area a mysterious blue glow, a sort of foreboding atmosphere that I didn’t want to stay in for long.

I walked to the right, pushed open the first door and was in awe of the majesty before me. The bathroom was tiled pink. So modern. So stunning. It was a shame I didn’t actually need to use the loo, or I would have, just for the pleasure of using such a fine facility. I supposed I could always come back later.

I removed the completely untouched devilled egg from my breast and placed it in the toilet bowl before pulling the chain to flush.

Everything was going as expected — until it wasn’t. Instead of draining, the toilet bowl began filling with water. I gasped and hopped on top of the washing basin as water spilt over the sides, splashing against the tiled floor.

The river was beginning to make it’s way to the door, so I bundled up some towls and made a dam with them. It wouldn’t hold for long, though. I had to act.

I scrunched my nose, rolled up my metaphorical sleeves, and plunged my hand into the bowl. The curve of the porcelain forced me deeper and deeper until nearly my whole arm disappeared, my shoulder straining as my fingers groped blindly along the pipes for the obstacle. A sour, rotting stench billowed up from the drain, thick enough to taste. I didn’t refrain from gagging this time.

Then a knock rapped against the door.

I remembered that I had forgotten to close the bolt.

“Don’t come in!” I shouted in a non-suspicious way, “I’m a lady!”

The handle turned anyway.

The butler stood still at the threshold, hand frozen over the door.

Beholden to him, on her knees, with her ugly green dress all heavy and wet, shoulder deep in a toilet bowl, was Madeline Mayor; librarian.

My face tuned red. “I- I can explain.”

Finally, my hand grasped it. As a show of my innocence, I retrieved the soggy egg and held it out to him, water dripping off my arm.

I saw his face cycle through a variety of expressions before ultimately settling on disgust. He was looking at me like I was feces on the end of his shoe. On his face I saw disgust so livid it would kill us both.

I panicked. “The egg dropped down the toilet by accident I just wanted it back!...” that sounded worse somehow. “I wasn’t going to eat it!...”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He swayed back and forth like a sailor, then fell forward, collapsing into the pool of water like a corpse.

I screamed.

A pair of feet thundered up the stairs and whirl winded to the scene.

Vera stared at the butler lying face-down, at me, crying in the corner, and the overflowing toilet.

She stepped over the man and pulled me to my feet. “What happened? Didhehurt you?”

With the last of my strength, I whispered. “I don’t... like... egg...”

Then, my knees buckled, and I hit the floor in a heap.