SKIMPOLE ABROAD

Abstract

1 2 2 Y S K I M P O L E A B R O A D W I L L E A V E S Harold is in the swimming pool shouting and creating a disturbance. He’s hauled out of the water, gasping, and I discover he’s a dwarf or a child. I set him down and wait for him to grow. When next I look he’s turned into a tub of gazpacho with a head on top. His own, thankfully. Cut to a black car being driven to a mental hospital in northern Russia which is where Harold has ended up. We get out of the car and I ask for a few moments to myself before we go inside. I think we all know what we’ll find. Harold has landed on his feet again. He’s ‘‘in the pink,’’ according to the docs, of whom my put-upon father, innumerate and monoglot, is oddly one. Dad’s fading. He’s ferried Harold everywhere all his life – and now his life has gone. The ice thieves. In every tongue Harold’s a biding evergreen. We die, but he, the holly king, is ‘‘hanging on.’’ 1 2 3 R Oh, drain the swimming pool! And stu√ a pillow in his chortling mouth! His need’s the gloating of a sun-plumped innocent. And all his tenderness the sweet self-praise of one who calculated, giving to be given. Harold flounders, protests his love for me, for you. For the borscht in our veins. ...