Time's Tangled Web

"So come close, says the snowman. "I want to tell you all that I know, in the time between living and when I become snow. I could tell you a thousand tales; of trees who laugh and run in the gales. Of suns that swoop and play like larks; the smell of deep roots in slumber, the sound when a ladybird barks. He pauses and grins, "But no. You, who believe your race superior, who laud your hero's like gods and believe all others inferior.

"I want to tell of connections, when past and future integrate; of your short lives and how cousins unknowingly mate. Because all are related under the skin, when families' divide and relationships thin. There in the splitting motes of fate, after dissension and loss, new lives gain love from hate. How sad that you must quarrel and fight; let satan destroy, when the stubborn insist they are right.

"But see, all is reconciled; the plan cannot be withheld. Now look down, into the ice at his feet where a picture begins to appear. "There, see a boy, a child; shoulders hunched, manner mild. He is Philip, my creator; I'll let him continue, see you later!

The boy looks up at snowflakes falling like fairy wings, they land on his nose, tiny bee-stings as the ice melts. He puts out his tongue, feeling them land and die. Bored now, he walks on. He stops outside the butchers, peers in the window as the cold smell of bovine cadavers draws his senses. Chops and steaks wink at him, beckoning, their open, bloody advertising fascinating to a young child. The meat on show reminds Philip his dinner will be waiting. He runs now. Down the road and into a side street, three doors down he puts in a key and opens the door, breathless, tired he jogs upstairs into the flat's small kitchen where his mother waits.

"It's about time! Where have you been? She glares at him, demanding an answer.
"Sorry mum. I've been to the park, I didn't know what the time was. He looks at her sheepishly.
His mother sighs, "Philip! How many times do I have to tell you? Come straight home after school. If you want to play, come and tell me first. Anything could have happened, there are all sorts of strange people around.
Philip was crestfallen. "But I was with Janie and Tom!
"I don't care. Their parents have probably told them the same thing. If you can't behave I'll have to take you to school, and pick you up!
"Oh mum, please. I don't want to go in the car.
"Well you'd better do as you're told then. Now sit down and eat your dinner.
Philip takes his seat at the table and begins to cut his pie. Hungry, he digs into his dinner with relish, forgetting everything his mother has just said as his mind meanders to the games he will play with Janie and Tom tomorrow.

"Now see the years pass whispers the snowman, "as the boy grows; love fires his heart until passion explodes.

Philip caresses his wife then kneels between her thighs. He looks into the place where his children first appeared and he finds true satisfaction. Hungry for the fruit of love, and eager to satiate his insistent desire, he kisses all around her sex then teases her flesh with his lips, relishing the salty taste as she melts on his questing tongue. They frolic and play until they are both incandescent in union. Panting, satiated, they lay next to each other, basking in the fading glow of mutual orgasm.
"So what was all that your mum was saying about your great, great grandfather? Philip says. He was intrigued by the conversation he had overheard earlier, "What happened when he got to South Africa?
"I don't know, mum is a bit sketchy on the details. Did I tell you he took his wife - my great, great grandmother - with him?
"Yeah. Didn't you say he went out there to find work? From what I remember, I think one of my ancestors did the same thing. Nobody in my family would ever talk about it though. I think something must have happened that everybody wants to cover up, so I don't know anything about him. Philip considered for a moment. "Don't you think the tables have been turned now? They're all coming back over here to find work!
"I know they are, but the ones who come here get it easy, I don't think our ancestors did. They wouldn't have been used to the heat, for a start, and I think the managers would have bullied them something chronic.
"Don't you think family histories are fascinating?
"Yeah, I do. I can't be bothered wading through all the records though. I'll just let mum get on with researching it, then pick her brains for the details!
"So, do you know what his name was?
"Yes, George.

George wiped the drops of moisture from his seeping forehead. The temperature was 90 Fahrenheit and the clock stood at 10am, another two hours and the heat would be unbearable. He had laid only 3 sleepers so far that morning and the overseer was unhappy about his work-rate. Having been in Pretoria for just 2 months, and arriving in spring, the oven heat and sticky air as summer came on were taking a toll. Feeling sapped and lethargic he was struggling to carry the heavy wooden blocks from the stockpile to the place where the track would be laid.
"What do you think you're doing, Foster? the overseer shouted in his heavy Africaans accent.
"I'm trying to place this sleeper. What does it look like?
The overseer stalked over, meaty thumbs twitching where they were hooked into his belt.
"Don't give me any of your lip son, or you'll be out of this company faster than a snake in a rat's nest. The overseer pointed at the miserable few sleepers George had already laid. "I could do twice that before I take a piss in the morning. Now, what's keeping you?
"I'm sorry but the heat's getting to me.
The overseer laughed. "What? You thought it would be snowing when you came out here?
"No. But I'm just not used to it.
The overseer put his face into George's and grimaced. "Well you'd better get used to it, and fast. Or you'll be out of work and what would that pretty little missus of yours say then, huh? Maybe she'd think she needed a real man, someone who could work hard enough to keep her. Now that I would like to see. Laughing at his own crass fantasy he walked off, leaving George feeling angry and frustrated. He wanted to beat the man into an apology but he knew if he laid a finger on him he would be out of a job and his wife and unborn son needed him. Gritting his teeth, he balanced his pickaxe and went to get another block.

That night he arrived home to find a letter from his brother David.
"Greetings dear brother,

I hope all is well with you and Shelley over in South Africa. It's rather cold here in England as winter has now set in and the snow is falling most days. Mother sends her love, as do Mary and I.

I have several things to tell you. Firstly, you are an uncle again! We have a one-month-old daughter, named Julie Anne, who is the loudest baby you ever did hear! She wakes us up with her crying at the most awkward of hours, but she is a joy to my heart. Joshua is also well, but I'm not sure he is terribly keen on his new sister. We're sure he'll grow to love her in time.

The other thing is, I have a new investment opportunity. I shan't go into too many details but I can tell you I have a partner who informs me this is a certain success and we shall both be rich by the end of next year. I have convinced Mary of the benefits and we have put the majority of our savings into the scheme. I know all will be well and, I hope, we shall have enough of a return to be able to visit you next summer.

Do write and let us know how you and Shelley are doing. You are always in our prayers.

George could scream. The 'savings' that David had were mostly from a trust fund that their father had set up for both of them. Due to their mother's insistence that David be the holder, always her favourite and, supposedly, the mature one, George was only entitled to what his brother allowed him. Now his brother was going to throw it all away on a risk venture that could make them both poor. He sat down to write a reply.

"Hello David,

I have read your missive with horror and disgust. While I am glad to hear of your news that Mary has given birth again, and that mother is doing well, I cannot believe you are entering into an investment that may break your family at this time.

To begin with, your 'savings' as you call them are partly mine ' as I'm sure our trust is funding the majority of this ill-conceived scheme - and, more importantly, if anything should go wrong then your family will end up in the workhouse.

What happened to that 'clever and sensible' older brother I used to look up to? I fear he no longer exists and, instead, you have lost your mind!

David folded the piece of paper and placed it in the bureau. He missed George dreadfully and was upset at his brother's attitude. The two had been close as children and the bond had stayed tight until both of them had met their wives, even though there had been a great deal of rivalry between them. He knew their father had set up the trust fund for both of them and most of the funding for his investment was coming out of it but this project would make both of them rich. The return would be worth every penny, as his partner had insider knowledge of the company, and he knew they would be wealthy beyond their wildest dreams within 12 months. George would see sense. When David presented him with a cheque for millions of pounds, all would be forgiven and they could go where they liked, free from any financial burdens forever. He now looked forward to the income he would receive from the Northern Pacific Railway that was to be built across America. His partner had proved the worth of investing in railways, as these were flourishing in the States, and they had both decided to put every penny they had into the venture in order to gain maximum return. They would be obscenely, unimaginably, loaded by the time the infrastructure was to be laid next September and he could then go out to South Africa and join his brother, the cash giving them both fantastic opportunities in the diamond mining business' that thrived out there.

Eight months had passed. Jay Cooke & Co, the company David had invested in, had shown no signs of activity towards building the new railway and he was now panic stricken. He had heard nothing from the business for months and his partner, who had been reassuring him that all would be well, had committed suicide two days before. The strain was causing a rift between him and Mary and he had not heard from George since his letter reprimanding him for his stupidity. It was beginning to seem as if George had been right. He looked at his 10-month-old daughter, wondering about her prospects. If the venture failed, and they became bankrupt, then he could offer very little for her future. The reality was that the whole family might end up at the workhouse. He laid his head in his hands and wept.

Julie Anne watched her young granddaughter run up the path. Wendy was such a delight. She thought back to her own childhood. Growing up in the workhouse had been a real struggle. Her father had never recovered from the collapse of the American company that he had invested all their money in. He went from being a dynamic, energetic windstorm of a man to a bent, defeated wreck within months of their destitution. Her mother had never forgiven him either. Julie Anne thought that had been the real nail in his coffin and he had died two years after the debtors court had sent them to Vanburgh Hill. She and her mother had been left to cope with life as best they could.

As an adult she had been determined to restore some measure of pride to her family and had gained work as a scullery maid, rising to become mistress of the house, at an exclusive address in Belgravia. On retirement she had enough saved to be able to buy a small cottage and her husband's pension provided what they needed for food and bills. She now sat in her garden, arms open, to welcome her adored Wendy, who would want for nothing in her life; Julie-Anne would make sure of that.
"Did your grandma love you as much as you love me, nanny?
"I never really knew my grandma, we lost touch with her when I was still a baby. She would not tell the child David's mother had turned her back on them after her father's ruin, the impoverishment of her favourite son and lack of any concern for George had turned her into a recluse who had no contact with any of her remaining family.
"Didn't you have anybody to hold you? the child's innocence was so endearing.
"Just my mother and brother, they were the only family I had when I was your age.
"Didn't you have an uncle or auntie? I've got five!
"I did have an uncle but he was very far away, in another country, and we never heard from him. I don't know what happened to him.
The little girl looked up at her wide-eyed, "Didn't you ever have anybody to visit when you were a little girl?
Julie-Anne smiled, then Julie-Anne shed a tear. "No, we were very poor and lived in a special house for poor people. We just didn't go anywhere in those days.
Wendy put up a hand and touched her grandmother's cheek. "Why are you crying nanny?
"Just memories sweetheart, just memories.
Wendy smiled. "I hope my memories don't make me cry when I get old.

Wendy stood at the cooker, stirring the gravy. Where was he? Her son was very independent, which she secretly admired, but she worried when he was late home from school. Since the divorce it was just she and Philip in the small flat. He was all she had left and she adored him. If anything should happen to harm him, she would be devastated. Finally she heard a key enter the lock downstairs. Then panting as Philip came up the stairs.
"It's about time! Where have you been?
"Sorry mum. I've been to the park, I didn't know what the time was.

"So do you know what happened to your great, great grandfather? Philip says as he cuddles up to his wife, "In the end?
"From what I understand, he had an accident and was killed; about three years after they had arrived. His wife got back to England somehow, with their baby son. It must have been awful for her, travelling all that way with a small baby.
"I can only imagine ¦ you know, I think I might start looking into my family history one of these days.

"Let's leave them then, sighs the Snowman, "as night falls again. My story is done and I shall be gone with the awakening sun. Just remember, in life's great sweep, as you sow, so shall you reap. Philip is now content, but is it from love? Or because of a greater plan set from above?