MISS MATHILDA HOCKERSNICKLER of Upper Little Puddlepatch sat at her half opened window. The book she was reading attracted her whole attention. A funeral cortege went by without her shadow falling across the fine lace curtains adorning her windows.
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Excerpt:
An altercation between two neighbors went unremarked by a movement of the aspidistra framing the center of the lower window. Miss Mathilda was reading.
Putting down the book upon her lap for a moment, she raised her steel-rimmed spectacles to her forehead while she rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes. Then, putting her spectacles back in place upon her rather prominent nose, she picked up the book and read some more.
In a cage a green and yellow parrot, beady-eyed, looked down with some curiosity. Then there was a raucous squawk, 'Polly want out, Polly want out!'
Miss Mathilda Hockersnickler jumped to her feet with a start. 'Oh, good gracious me,' she exclaimed, 'I am so sorry my poor little darling, I quite forgot to transfer you to your perch.'
Carefully she opened the door of the gilt wire cage and, putting a hand inside, she lifted the somewhat tattered old parrot and gently drew him through the opened cage door. 'Polly want out, Polly want out!' squawked the parrot again.
'Oh, you stupid bird,' replied Miss Mathilda. 'You ARE out, I am going to put you on your perch.' So saying, she put the parrot on the crossbar of a five foot pole which at its distal end resulted in a tray or catch-pan. Carefully she put a little chain around the parrot's left leg, and then made sure that the water bowl and the seed bowl at one end of the support were full.
The parrot ruffled its feathers and then put its head beneath one wing, making cooing chirping noises as it did so. 'Ah, Polly,' said Miss Mathilda, 'you should come and read this book with me. It's all about the things we are when we are not here. I wish I knew what the author really believed,' she said as she sat down again and very carefully and modestly arranged her skirts so that not even her knees were showing.
She picked up the book again and then hesitated half-way between lap and reading position, hesitated and put the book down while she reached for a long knitting needle. And then with a vigor surprising in such an elderly lady--she gave a wholly delightful scratch all along her spine between the shoulder blades. 'Ah!' she exclaimed, 'what a wonderful relief that is. I am sure there is something wrong with my liberty bodice. I think I must have got a rough hair there, or something, let me scratch again, it's such a relief.' With that she agitated the knitting needle vigorously, her face beaming with pleasure as she did so.
With that item behind her, and her itch settled for the moment, she replaced the knitting needle and picked up the book. 'Death,' she said to herself, or possibly to the unheeding parrot, 'if I only knew what this author REALLY believed about after death.'
She stopped for a moment and reached to the other side of the aspidistra bowl so that she could pick up some soft candies she had put there. Then with a sigh she got to her feet again and passed one to the parrot which was eyeing her very fiercely. The bird took it with a snap and held it in its beak. Miss Mathilda, with the knitting needle now in one hand again and candy in her mouth and the book in her left hand, settled herself again and continued her reading.
A few lines on she stopped again. 'Why is it that the Father always says that if one is not a good Catholic--a good Church--attending Catholic--one is not able to attain to the Kingdom of Heaven? I wonder if the Father is wrong and if people of other religions go to Heaven as well.' She lapsed into silence again except for the faint mumbling that she made as she tried to visualize some of the more unfamiliar words. Akashic Record, astral travel, the Heavenly Fields.
The sun moved across the top of the house and Miss Mathilda sat and read. The parrot, with head beneath a wing, slept on. Only an infrequent twitch betrayed any sign of life. Then a church clock chimed away in the distance and Miss Mathilda came to life with a jerk. 'Oh my goodness me--oh my goodness me,' she exclaimed, 'I've forgotten all about tea and I have to go to the Church Women's Meeting.' She jumped rapidly to her feet, and very carefully put an embroidered into the paperback book which she then hid beneath a sewing table.
T. Lobsang Rampa