Scorn, Thy Name Is Woman "Casper r r !", shrieked the piercing tone as it echoed through the living room, "Casper, Casper Snead, can you believe this..." Casper Snead, a timid little man in his retiring years, turned in the comfort of his armchair, put down his evening newspaper and turned towards the bane of his life, namely his wife, a shrew in all manners. The thinning grey hairs on his scalp bristled with anxiety to the tone of the call as he looked upon her sitting form. The disturbed man, with a quizzical frown on his cherubic features, queried timidly the inquiry of his wife. Casper Snead knew, from the past experiences, of the nature of the reply, which would be uttered. He surmised, that the words would usually be of a complaint on some trivial matter. The suffering chap also knew he would be partially deafened by loud bitter remarks on the subject. It was the usual daily, or, as he thought, an hourly explosion, which was filled with words, which scorned. Casper Snead would be forced to listen and humbly nod his head in assent. Murderous thoughts formed in his mind but quickly faded away, leaving a faint threat, which came to a realization when the bitter dregs overflowed. In the beginning of their marriage Casper Snead had a fond attachment to sweet Gertrude, and he looked forward to a content life with his beloved. In the early years of their marriage her laughing blue eyes shone in the goodness of her life, and the constant smile on her slim face spoke of her pleasure. But bitterness, through some tragic moments in the passing years, had soured her thoughts. Now, Casper looked upon his wife as simply an open mouth with a babbling tongue that found fault with almost everything, even to his own person. He faced his wife Gertrude, now a greying thin little woman, who awaited his attention to her commanding voice. True, to his thoughts, she had just read a magazine article about a certain medication and her following bickering remarks were heaped upon the local pharmacist. Her blah-blahing complained that the druggist was an ignoramus for recommending such a medicament to her as the article in the publication wrote differently. Casper Snead listened in patience. "Yes dear! You�re right my dear!" were the only words he was able to utter as her flutter of complaining words rose in pitch that encompassed the entire pharmaceutical industry. When Casper heard her voice becoming a bit hoarse, he knew that blessed silence would follow and he could return to his newspaper and read of other miseries. Casper Snead can be described as modest chap with equal simple needs and pleasures. Children were�t blessed in his life and he felt their absence in his retiring years. Yet, his needs in the golden period of his life were for contentment in his daily life, and a quiet relaxing period in the enjoyment of his remaining years. But the required peaceful life alluded him. A well-prepared meal served by an attentive waiter at a popular restaurant was a delight, but the complaining tongue of his spouse spoiled it: the last attempt to have a tempting repast ended with a loud complaint about foreign bodies mixed with the rice. "How was I to know the pieces were raisins. Me, without my glasses. Blah, blah, blah!" the words rose and fell from her wagging tongue as they left the restaurant upon the request of the maitre d'. At the cinema Gertrude would always to have the unfortunate luck of sitting behind a massive creature or a contant moving loving couple. That was how she looked at it. It usually ended in a loud complaint that forced the two to leave in the middle of the movie. Shopping in the supermarket was a near hell as Casper's wife held up the queue at the cashier as she meticulously checked the items on the bill, and, woe be, if there would a error. It seemed in Gertrude Snead's eyes that there was nothing right in this world or that the forces of the unknown were against her. Even the heavens above heard her phrases of scold. Fortunately, for the many she encountered, her words of censure and discontent were mainly reserved for the ears of Casper Snead, and he had to endure moments of bickering and complaining. But woe to him if he tried to restrain her and he would feel a nagging phrase, "I have a right to speak... and don't you dare to stop me. D'ye hear!" and poor Casper Snead had to bow his head in humility. Within time through the passing years, her complaining tongue was partially restrained in her forays outside her home. Yes, she did complain at times when her anger arose on some triviality, but it usually fell on deaf ears, as she was wellknown for her bickering and complaining. But poor Casper Snead continued to take the brunt of her nagging tone at his home almost at every moment when his presence was sighted by the shrew of his eyes. Yet, in his golden years, Casper Snead found a refuge from his scold, namely in his tender care of his beloved roses. His roses were of his pride and he minstered to his plants with love usually reserved for close kin. He took pleasure in the care of his roses as he took in delight the sight of their blooming. His many hybrids were touched with brilliant hues and colours, an enjoyment to his eyes. Casper Snead spent his morning hours tending to the needs of his prized plants when he was gifted with pleasant weather. The busy chap worked hard in his gardening duties seeing that earth around the roots were hoed and weeded, that the roses were trimmed of rotted petals, and in the right season the plants were pruned. He would only put aside his solitary pleasure upon hearing the shrill call of his wife that beckoned him to the table for lunch. At that moment he would drop his gardening tools, shrug his shoulders and head for the kitchen where he would hear, most probably, about the woes of his wife's trying life. It was during a heavy spell of rain in the recent past that Casper Snead's mind was filled with a fiendish plot of murder; one that was far above the meekness of his character. When the drops of rain fell, he decided to put in order his tool shed, a job repeated during the times of inclement weather. He was quite busy placing his gardening tools in their correct place, arranging the sacks of fertilizer, and trashing used containers of chemical sprays. Casper Snead's hand found the tin of insecticide powder suitable for gardening needs; it had the usual symbol of the skull and bones warning that the cyanide based compound was poisonous and caution should be heeded. He held the container high to his sight and his thoughts rumbled menacingly. Casper Snead chortled as he plotted and schemed in his imaginative thoughts in trying to find a way of ridding himself of the nagging tongue of his wife Gertrude. "A bit of powder in her coffee or cereal. No, no, must find another way!" he tittered in devilish rambling. His stubby feet practically twinkled in light dance steps. Casper�s mind ran amok as he thought of varied courses of action in the poisoning of his spouse. His scheming was interrupted by the shrill call ordering him to table. Casper Snead replace the tin on the shelf and rushed to the kitchen upon the nagging command of Gertrude, "Oh, you're so dirty and messed up. Go quickly and change your clothes... wash your hand throughly... Hurry the meal is ready, can't keep the food hot, and blah, blah. ." True, at times, Casper Snead carried a small packet filled with the cyanide insect powder. Everytime he attempted to sprinkle a few grains into Gertrude's coffee, his mind shuddered with the thought of the news headlines charging him as a ghastly murderer. He felt the cold hand of justice as the proceeding judge at his trial pronounced him guilty. Casper Snead shuddered in the touch of his imagination as he felt the charge of electric current passing through his body. Then the packet would be returned to the gardening shed. During the evening hours as he sat in the comfort of his armchair, and faced the wagging tongue of his wife, his mind reverted to the thought of the small tin with its stamp of skull and bones. Rarely, would quiet reign, as Gertrude needed to express her words to someone who was forced to listen. Most of the evenings were filled with one-sided verbal confrontation and Casper Snead humbled himself and listened in silence. But his thoughts plotted and schemed. Yet, Casper Snead was fortunate in one way during his extremely annoying hours under the lashing tongue. His wife had a near neighbor with the same disposition as hers and Casper would be spared moments of worded torture. The telephone connection between the two neighbors would be heated with scold. And, at times in light of the day, fuming phrases would be passed over the dividing fence. The two scolding neighbors had some reason or other to voice a complaint and their wagging tongues would burn for an hour or so in fiery words. Their shaking heads would nod in agreement together with a determined look on their faces as they gossiped. When the fires cooled with the heaping of a lasting curse upon their adversaries, they would part. There came a time in the recent past when the patience of Casper Snead wore thin and his hidden lion's courage roared in muted tones. He grasped the dilemma by the horns one evening and he swore in his mind that the next day he would carry through the task of ridding himself of the bane of his life. Through the screeching words of Gertrude, he smiled inwardly as he plotted his actions that he will carry out. Casper Snead looked searchingly for a moment at his bickering wife with a sigh of relief. The screeching tones of her voice, which rose and fell in pitch, strengthened his resolve for the finality of his plans. Opportunities arose, and the small packet was retrieved from the tool shed. When, at one time, his wife commanded a glass of water, he had sprinkled a few grains in the liquid, but a loud complaining voice screeched, "You didn't run the tap properly... the water is discoloured! Fetch me another glass and let the faucet run." A cup of breakfast coffee flavoured by the poisoned grains was left untouched by the call of her neighbor to the gossiping fence. Fate had blessed Gertrude Snead and she nearly missed the beckoning call of Father Death. But the King of the nether world was patient and he waited for the opportunity to reap. Now, after the funeral services and the dignified internment of his wife Gertrude was passed, Casper Snead sat in the quiet of his living room. His thoughts rumbled and it reverbrated to the morbid incidents of the week past. Slowly they were pictured in the miseries of his worrisome mind, thoughts that ran reapeatedly in his mind. It was a sunny day and the only sounds that were heard were the songs of the birds; Gertrude was nowhere in sight or sound. Casper Snead was quite busy in his usual occupation in tending his roses when heard the sound of screeching brakes. His sight turned to the front of his house where he noticed a parked patrol car. He watched as the vehicle's front doors opened and that two burly policemen had alighted. Casper Snead stood rigid in an attentive gaze as he watched as one of the officers checked a sheet of paper and at the same time pointed to his house. The timid man waited in wonderment as the policemen opened gate and walked the path to the front entrance. They stopped when Casper Snead called to them of his presence in a cracked voice. The officers of the law entered his sanctuary with reverence in their steps. "Mr. Casper Snead," one of them uttered for positive identification. Upon his confirmation he continued by telling him of a tragic accident that involved his wife Gertrude. "A speeding automobile..." The words told of an incident near the shopping center where a drunk driver plowed his vehicle into a group of shoppers. That Casper Snead's wife Gertrude was one of the unfortunate fatalities. Casper Snead shed no tears upon the news of his wife's demise, nor did he show any remorse. His grim features were etched with only concern over the tragedy that befell innocent victims, including his Gertrude. The policemen knew of the trials of passing death notices to kinfolk and they tried to offer their assistance, but Casper Snead rejected their offers. His request was quietly accepted and the officers of the law took their leave. Casper Snead was steadfast and composed as his identified the battered remains of wife spread on the slab at the morgue. He accepted the kind words of sympathy offered by the official bodies. He even accepted the kind hand of a policewoman when she directed him to the covered remains. Casper Snead was staunch in his behaviour as he walked on trembling legs, nor did he show any outward emotion. Friends and kin marvelled at his staunch behavior during the internment, showing no tears; his sorrowful looks on the features of his face, which told them of grief, which were sufficient for their eyes. "My, how brave the poor man..." their words expressed his fortitude, not knowing the tenor of his stance. The dusk of the evening hours enveloped the room in gloom. The passed tragic event of Casper's Snead life passed from his thoughts, clearing the sphere in the lonliness of the present hour. All through the house silence reigned. Casper Snead searched with tearful eyes through the quiet of the darkened room, expecting footsteps, a voice, only to greeted by the absence of any sound. Stillness prevailed. "Gertrude, Gertrude!!" he cried out through whimpering lips.
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |