Short Story
Auch im zweiten Teil unserer Kurzgeschichte geht es um Kleidung und den Eindruck, den sie auch schon in der Vergangenheit hinterließ, wie unsere Protagonistin nach ihrem Missgeschick feststellt.
The Impressions (2)
At first, she saw only flashing lights, which gradually turned into spinning circles that slowly settled down into a group of blurry faces looking down at her. “Miss Appleby, are you all right?” said a voice. Somebody helped her stand up and move towards a chair. There was the sound of running water and a cold wet cloth was pressed to the top of her head.
“Miss Appleby, can you hear me?”
Felicity focused her eyes with difficulty on the face from which the voice came and recognized the well-dressed gentleman she had seen in the pastry shop that morning. On one side of the man stood a rather dirty boy of about 13 with a cloth cap, and on the other side was a woman in a long dress made of black silk.
“Ah, Miss Appleby,” the man said. “So sorry for the little accident with the cupboard. Now, I don’t want to hurry you, but do you think you could come along to the boardroom? They’re expecting you.”
“But … but who are you? What are you doing in the building? You don’t belong here!”
“My name, Miss Appleby, is Frederick Tumble. And I promise you, I definitely belong to this building. If you come along to the boardroom, we can explain everything. Mrs Twizleton, you take Miss Appleby’s right arm … I’ll take her left … Smudge, you open the doors. Off we go!”
And with that, Felicity found herself being walked down the corridor towards the boardroom. As they entered, a bizarre sight met her eyes. Sitting round the table was an extraordinary mixture of people in an extraordinary mixture of clothes. It was as if they were guests at a fancy-dress party, but everybody had a different idea of what the theme should be. There was a large man dressed as a Nigerian prince, a couple of people who looked like bank clerks from a story by Charles Dickens, a policeman with his blue helmet beside him on the table, two nurses from the Second World War, an American general smoking a cigar and a lady dressed in a Salvation Army uniform. At the head of the table, and with a glass of what looked like port in his hand, sat an old gentleman wearing a wig. As Felicity was put into the chair next to him, he stood up and tapped his glass with a spoon.
SITTING ROUND THE TABLE WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY MIXTURE OF PEOPLE
The room fell silent.
“Miss Appleby,” he said, “my name is Sir Lancelot Tumble, founder of Ruff, Tumble & Bounderby. We are delighted to welcome you.”
Felicity stared at him with round eyes. “Am I … am I dead?” she asked finally in a weak voice. The group burst out laughing.
“Certainly not!”
“Are … are you ghosts?” They laughed even louder this time.
“Sorry, Uncle Lancelot,” said Frederick. “Miss Appleby bumped her head and we didn’t have a chance to explain.”
“I see. Well, Miss Appleby, we are what you could call ‘Impressions’.”
“What?”
“Everybody here has at some time or other had something important to do with this building. Smudge was a very popular post boy. Mrs Twizleton…,” the lady in the black dress smiled at her, “…was one of London’s finest detectives in the 1870s. Her office was on the ground floor.”
“And all of us,” continued Frederick, “made an impression on this building. You see, there are certain special buildings, like this one, that are similar to living organisms. They take on impressions of particular people. The same as when you press a key into wax, you get the shape — the impression — of the key left behind in the wax.”
“This means we remain here, even if our physical selves have left the building and our souls have joined the heavenly choir above,” added Sir Lancelot piously. “But mostly, you ‘living’ people hardly notice us.”
“Why can I see you properly? And what did your nephew mean when he said you needed my help?”
“No idea why you can see us,” Sir Lancelot replied. “It’s very rare these days. In fact, I think you’re the first one since about 1980. I blame television, you know, and now with this computer nonsense everybody is…” “Uncle!”
“I beg your pardon. Your second question. Help. Why we need it. You may remember this morning that you were rewriting a document for Mr Gus Twobit because his English is so execrable.”
“Yes.”
“Well, did you notice what the document was about?”
“Something to do with the sale of a property and its redevelopment.”
“Exactly. Well, the property in question is this one. The directors plan to sell this building to some investors who will probably build some architectural monstrosity on this site. They have invited the possible buyers over for a meeting next week to conclude the deal. But that’s not the worst of it.” He leaned forward, took her hands and looked into her eyes. “Miss Appleby, unless you can help us stop this building being torn down and replaced, we will cease to exist!”
“THERE ARE CERTAIN SPECIAL BUILDINGS, LIKE THIS ONE, THAT ARE SIMILAR TO LIVING ORGANISMS”