LARGER THAN LIFE
Short story based on actual event.
LARGER THAN LIFE belongs to the following groups:
Melbourne & Victoria and WMGEvery now and then we get to bathe in the presence of an individual who can only be described as “Larger than life”.
They present to us the extraordinary gifts with which they are endowed. Gifts such as Charisma, Stature, Grace or Beauty.
Having the opportunity to experience such gifts is truly a privilege, and can inspire our emotions to heights previously unattained.
Occasionally our “Larger than life” visitor presents us with all of these gifts in one lot.
Meeting the bearer of such wonderful goods is a rich occasion, though an infrequent, if not rare one. Or is it?
Could it be that we’ve had close encounters with such amazing characters without having fully appreciated them? Of course we have. Bob the Electricity Meter Reader has.
It was a normal day during the Summer school holidays of 1983 as I sat at the kitchen table with my parents and two older sisters eating lunch, or “Afternoon Tea” as the town people called it. I was busy studying the illustrations on the blind that Mum had pulled down over the window to stop the late afternoon sun from glaring in on us. The grapevines growing on the wire trellis hanging down from the back verandah provided some shade from it, although piercing streaks of light still speared into your eyes through the window behind where my siblings sat if the blind was up.
Dad was making short work of his scones while Mum prepared mugs of Milo, and my sisters were having an enlightening experience with a Dolly magazine when our silence was broken by an unusual sound. Everyone thought it must have been one of the dogs barking at the chooks. We weren’t expecting any visitors, as our house was two miles from the nearest road, so people didn’t just drop in on us. Then a few seconds later, we heard it again. We all looked at each other in disbelief. It was the sound of a man in distress.
“Help! Is anyone there?” was the cry.
Jumping out of our chairs, we all rushed to the back door, not knowing what to expect. Who on Earth could possibly be outside calling for help?
Dad led the way, as the rest of us followed in single file onto the back verandah where the action was taking place. There, we were confronted with a sight we would never forget. Neither would the man who had come to read the electricity meter.
He was backed up against the wall, standing on tippy toes with his fingernails embedded into the mortar. The fear in his eyes matched the tone in his voice as he pleaded for assistance.
What had probably started out a normal day for him as well, had turned into a potential bloodbath.
This unfortunate man had unwittingly crossed paths with one of the most fearsome creatures ever to roam free in rural Australia. He had fallen prey, to a two-foot tall great white rooster named Yoghurt, my beloved first pet.
We all knew that this was no joking matter. There stood Bob the meter man, a thirty-something year old picture of terror, defenseless in his King-Gee shorts and thongs. His bare white legs offered no resistance to the two-inch spurs protruding from those of the ferocious white foul circling in on him like a shark. An onslaught was imminent.
“Oh cripes” exclaimed Dad as he ran off to get the shovel, a common defense strategy against this kind of attack.
“Don’t move a muscle, stay as still as you can” was the advice from Mum.
I think her comment struck even more fear into Bob as he watched Yoghurt inch sideways towards his vulnerable lower limbs. I’m sure that if Yoghurt had lips he would have been licking them at the sight of this highly exposed, tender human flesh. Everyone in the district knew that you didn’t front up to this beast clad in anything less than long pants and gumboots.
It only took a few seconds for Dad to return with the shovel, however I’m sure it seemed like a lot longer to Bob. We all stood back, allowing Dad to get through and attempt the rescue.
My shovel-wielding father approached the attack zone cautiously. He was close, but continued to move slowly, as any sudden move could trigger a pre-mature strike against this latest victim. Bob’s eyes flicked back and forth between Dad and Yoghurt, while Yoghurt’s scanned Dad and Bob. The suspense was excruciating.
Yoghurt knew exactly what was going on and, after analyzing the situation, stopped wasting time, and attacked.
He went in, and he went in hard. Dad lunged forward, plunging the shovel into what was left of the space between Bob and Yoghurt. Anticipating the move, Yoghurt launched himself over the shovelhead as Bob launched into a sprint. Yoghurt missed his target by inches, making a loud thud as he slammed into the brick wall of the house, before re-composing himself and setting off in hot pursuit of the marked meter man.
“Run around the house!” Mum screamed out to Bob, as it was common for Yoghurt to abort chases after fifty metres or so.
About fifteen seconds later, an exhausted and visibly traumatized Bob re-appeared, alone, from the opposite end of the house. He was still in tact. A minute or so later he was back in his car and on his way, having politely refused to come in for a cup of tea.
We never saw Bob again after that. From then on the electricity company sent another bloke for some reason.
Bob wasn’t Yoghurt’s first victim, and he would not be the last. Yoghurt was King.
His reputation spanned the region. His ferocity was undisputed by those who knew him. He struck fear into the hearts of all who faced him.
He was beautiful. He had Charisma, Stature, Grace, and stirred every emotion in me. He was larger than life.
He truly was the bearer of all the gifts.
Add your comment
You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.