By Petros Cowley
The second in a sequence of very important stories for the edification of all mankind.
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NHS Paramedic’s Incident Report
To be completed within 24 hours of the accident/incident
Date of incident: 31/10/2010 Time of incident: ~11:00
Name of injured person: Simon Grant
Description of incident: We were alerted to a man (Simon Grant) lying unconscious outside the chapel in Islington and St Pancras Cemetery. We discovered him, still unconscious, surrounded by glass and bleeding profusely from the side of his head; it appeared that one of the windows in the chapel had come loose of its frame and fallen out and upon the man. Amongst the shards, a meter or so from his body, we discovered his severed ear, which, we concluded, must have been sliced off by the falling window, and which explained the great quantities of blood pouring from the side of his head. It was indeed his ear, for we inspected the man’s wound and found no ear where it should have been. His other ear was firmly secured; this we confirmed when we gave it a tug and brought the man immediately back to consciousness. He was awfully frightened and could hardly be induced to talk sensibly about the matter just yet, so we lifted him into the ambulance and dressed his wounds, driving him then to Finchley Memorial Hospital. By the time he was admitted, however, he had slipped back into an unconscious state. It only then occurred to us that we had forgotten his ear and so we drove back to the cemetery to retrieve it; the retrieval of his ear was a success.
Signature: Date of report: 31/10/2010
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NHS Operative Report
Patient name: Simon Grant
Date: 31/10/2010
Indications: The patient presented with an auricular avulsion to the right side of his cephalon.
Preoperative diagnosis: Auricular avulsion (right)
Postoperative diagnosis: Restored
Anaesthesia/sedation: Local and General anaesthetic
Procedure details: The patient was taken to the operatory and placed on the bed unilaterally. A CT scan was performed to identify any injuries caused to the inner ear; there were none. Vital sign monitors were then placed including, but not limited to, an ECG monitor, a pulse oximeter, a tympanometer, a capnograph, a blood pressure monitor, a colonoscope, and a vibrating hat machine. At this point the patient was put under anaesthetic. We then, after being scrubbed and gloved ourselves, disinfected the region upon which we were to perform the surgery with povidone-iodine and chlorhexidine. With needle and thread, the ear was then sewn back onto the patient’s head, and with that we went for a modest luncheon. The surgeons ingested a conglutination of the following: starch, protein, fibre, vitamins (including, but not limited to, vitamins C, B1, and B2), minerals (including, but not limited to, potassium, calcium, phosphorus, copper, manganese, magnesium, iron, zinc, and selenium), non-starch carbohydrates (including, but not limited to, cellulose, pentozans, and pectins), along with various enzymes, extractives, and amino acids, all of which was prepared for ingestion through a quadripartite thermalizing process of hydrolysis, oxidation, isomerization, and polymerization in a liquid of triglycerides, and sprinkled with sodium chloride. During this procedure, the surgeons each imbibed a concoction or two of water, ethanol, carbohydrates, carbon dioxide, phenolic compounds, polysaccharides, and sulphur containing compounds. Upon returning to the operatory, we found the patient already awake. We dressed his wound and then he thanked us for our help, stood up, shook our hands, and left the theatre to get his things and go home to rest.
Complications: None
EBL: ~1.7L
Plan: None
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20:34 31/10/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: A terrible series of events.
Dear Brother,
I write to you now to tell you about the strange day I’ve just had. The morning began quite ordinarily: I woke up, washed and dressed myself, enjoyed a pleasant enough coffee and a breakfast of scrambled eggs with toast, then set off for the office. I had very little to do this morning and was out of there by half ten, at which point, feeling a little ill at ease to return home just yet with it being so unusually early, I decided to go for a stroll. What I remember happening next is myself wandering in through the gates of Islington and St Pancras cemetery, but from there until sometime later when I woke up in an operating theatre, my memory fails me completely. Fortunately for myself, the surgery was already done when I awoke.
The doctors explained what had happened: A window had fallen from its frame in the chapel as I had been passing beneath, which fell down upon me severing my ear and rendering me quite thoroughly unconscious. When the medics came, supposedly they woke me up for a while – but this period of time seems not to have impressed itself at all upon my memory – they say I was blabbering like a madman, something or other about the devil, I’m supposed to have been saying, but who knows – I certainly don’t.
But that is not the strangest part of it. The doctors had explained to me that for a little while after my surgery I wouldn’t be able to hear out of that ear. And so I didn’t; not until a little under an hour ago, when what I heard through my reattached ear woke me up from an evening nap (I’d quite needed that nap: I’d lost quite a lot of blood, so they say, and was rather faint all afternoon).
The following is an approximation of what I heard, very muffled at first, through my reattached ear and only my reattached ear. I shouldn’t need to point out what is unusual about any of this:
Voice 1 (a woman, a quieter voice that sounded to be in motion): Do you want one?
Voice 2 (a man, a louder voice of constant position): No, no. I shouldn’t be eating after my surgery.
Voice 1: For how long?
Voice 2: I’ll eat at nine. It’s best to give myself a few hours. It usually is.
Voice 1: Does it work, yet?
Voice 2: No, not yet. They said it could be two days before I can hear through it again. Besides, it’s covered in so much bandaging that I’d barely hear anything even if it was perfectly fine.
Voice 1: Two days isn’t all that long, I guess.
Voice 2: No, it isn’t really. Quite reasonable, I’d say.
Voice 1: Have you seen what they’ve done across the street now?
Voice 2: They haven’t, have they?
Voice 1: Yup. Today while you were at the hospital. Come over to the window and look.
At this point I’d properly awoken. I looked around myself in a terror; but no, no people were in my room conversing; I was hearing all this through only my one ear. I scrambled up to the mirror and set to ripping off my bandages to get a good look at this unusually loquacious ear.
Voice 2 (the man of constant position): Wow! They really did it! … Look, Michelle. They’re coming out now.
Voice 1 (Michelle): Call them over.
There was a sort of sliding noise here and then a sound like that of wind entering a house.
Voice 1 (shouting): Derek! Derek!
Voice 3 (Derek, distant shout of a man): Alan!
As these men in my ear continued shouted out to each other, I finally removed the bandages to get a proper look at my new ear. And it really did look very strange. It was several hues too dark, a very tanned ear – swarthy, even. I wondered if that was just because the proper colour had yet to return to it. But then I continued to inspect the thing, and I saw that the cartilage at the top seemed to have acquired a new pointiness. I then compared it to my other ear and also determined the new ear’s lobe to be noticeably smaller. Furthermore: it was pierced; why on earth would the surgeons have pierced my ear? And directly I remarked: That’s not my bloody ear! I heard a great shout of fear coming from it, a woman’s scream, and then with a rush of wind a great crashing sound a second or two later. It was silent for a moment, but then a sort of distorted wind resumed; it sounded like falling. Having figured out what had happened, what I had just heard, I stared at myself fearfully in the mirror for a long time.
It was very loud, this noise, the distorted wind, so I had to put an earplug in after some time, and there the earplug remains because the noise hasn’t stopped since.
So yes, I believe the doctors reattached some other man’s ear to my head, and then I listened to him fall out of a window. Is this the afterlife that I can hear when I take out my earplug? As you can imagine, my nerves are rattled.
I shall return to the hospital first thing tomorrow to try and have this sorted. For now, I need to try and rest.
And in your reply please let me know how your research is coming along. Any distraction would be more than welcome at this time. Or even simply what you’re getting up to outside of your research.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Simon
…
10:34 01/11/2010
To: simon.grant@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Your loquacious new ear
Dear brother,
I am startled by what you have you told me. I have liaised with some friends of mine in the medical profession and they too are utterly baffled by your situation; never before, they say, has anything of the sort ever been heard of.
I hope you are faring better today and have had an adequate rest. In what little time I have spare, I shall do what I can to gain a more thorough understanding of your predicament and send you anything I come across that may prove of help to you. Please you also send me updates; I am worried terribly for you, Simon.
As for myself, I’ve been doing very little other than my research; I’m quite entirely engrossed. I’ve eliminated all socialising from my foreseeable schedule to better help me focus, and I’ve even arranged for my groceries to be delivered to my doorstep for the next few weeks. Beyond the one or two lectures which I have promised to deliver to the students, my only other obligation this week – beyond also, of course, my intense research, for that is too an obligation in its own way, one to the enlightenment of our species – is a visit to the optician’s; something has gone awry with my glasses and I shall need a new pair fitted.
With regard to my research itself, I believe I am on the cusp of a grand discovery which shall revolutionise philosophy, the likes of which shall eclipse Kant’s Copernican revolution of the eighteenth century. For too long now has the discipline of philosophy stagnated, and so too has its philosophers, no better now than a pack of vain anthropologists; I shall soon see to this; my work is a bountiful yield which shall rise from this long barren field. I can’t speak as to any details just yet for I am still in the process of synthesising my discoveries into a unified theory – though perhaps theory is too clumsy a word for it, revelation may be more poignant here; but that all being said, process is hastening forth meteorically, and I quite believe that I may well have something within the next week to report back on. I hope to all that is worthy that by then you are in a fit state to process my words.
Please do keep me updated, as I shall you.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Arthur
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17:22 01/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: Update
Dear Brother,
Thank you for email. I truly am grateful to you for whatever time you might manage to wring out of your busy schedule to look into my present plight. Please don’t feel at all obliged, though. It is a mere contingency that we were borne of the same womb; your research, meanwhile, is a concern of our species’ enlightenment, as you say. I tremble at the thought of putting your research into peril with my distractions, so strange in nature they may be.
As I said I would, I went to the doctor’s this morning to inquire about my ear, or rather, whoever’s ear this is that they’ve sewn onto my head in place of my own. In so many words I told them just what I told you, and after running some tests they quite concurred: it was indeed another man’s ear. They told me to go home and take to my bed, that I was in no state to be out and about, and that they would look into the matter and give me a phone call later once they’d plunged to the bottom of things.
I will add here a word about my symptoms: the distorted wind has continued with no variation to and onwards through the present; whenever I remove the earplug it is horrendously loud, though with it in not so very much, and with the noise being so uniform in its nature, with the earplug in I sometimes even forget it’s there entirely; suffice to say, it is more my nerves than the noise which hinders my ability to rest. Beyond the noise, my only other physical symptom is a slight difficulty with balance; but that is far more easily explained: of the little medical knowledge I possess – most of which acquired in the last twenty hours or so – I know that a man’s balance is maintained by his ears, damage to which organs can therefore quite naturally disturb said balance.
Anyway, the doctor’s said they would give me a call – and so they did, a little less than two hours ago. The following paragraph is a summary of what they told me; I must warn you though, the implications are rather frightening. What they told me made a drum of my heart and taut strings of my nerves; and the band played a frightful racket.
They conducted an investigation as to what had happened during the operation. As it turns out, there was another man – with whom by Christian name at least my previous email has already acquainted you – an Alan Montgomery, who had that same morning lost his ear to a bird of prey – though the ear was quickly released by the bird and that is how the hospital came into possession of it. What happened next was that a nurse had put the wrong labels on the containers of the two ears and so by no fault of their own, the surgeons then stitched my ear to the head of this Alan Montgomery character, and his to mine. Alan Montgomery was found dead the afternoon of the surgery (yesterday) outside his house after falling from an upstairs window and impaling himself on a spiked article that thus far nobody has quite been able to identify; that is, exactly as I’d heard through his ear.
Arthur, you know what this could mean. That distorted wind I hear in Alan’s ear – that is the sound of death. Above I mentioned my issues with balance: do you know that I have felt myself to be half falling since my surgery. Arthur, what I hear, it is the peril of a soul as it descends into hell. I am taking time away from work to let myself cope. Perhaps I am mistaken, perhaps I hear that noise simply because there’s nothing else to be heard through the ear of a dead man; quite like a tv playing static when a channel number doesn’t correspond to a signal. Perhaps it is so, and perhaps I shouldn’t worry. But I am afraid, Arthur; I’m terribly afraid.
On a lighter note, please do remember to update me on your research; distractions are increasingly welcome. And let me know too how your trip to the optician goes: even such trivial news as that can offer me some light in this darkness.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Simon
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21:56 06/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: Hello?
Dear Brother,
I’m sure that it is only you being engrossed in your research, and so I didn’t call – though I wanted to – but I send this email to cause minimal disturbance. I see you haven’t replied to my last email for several days; please send me a word when you can.
P.S. no change in symptoms.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Simon
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03:40 07/11/2010
To: simon.grant@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: I’ve done it.
Dear Brother,
It has taken me hours to gather my wits sufficiently to compose this email; that is why I send this to you in the womb of night. I am sorry for not responding – I did read the email the night you sent it and spent all the time that I could concerning myself with its fantastic contents, only I forgot to reply; for that, brother, I hold out my hand to you in apology. As you are aware, I have a lot of things in my head at the moment; so I am prone to forget what is not directly relevant to my work irrespective of its own importance, which in your case was of course an importance of enormous dimensions.
You may have already surmised what news I have from the subject of this email; there is little else I might be referring to. You wished to hear about my visit to the opticians: I will begin there.
This morning I went there, the opticians, and was ushered into some convoluted chair of sorts. The optician waddled in – a very portly fellow, which took me aback; I rather expect an optician to be lank and spindly, good with their fingers at range – and asked me the matter. I explained to him that my glasses felt a bit tight and that I shall need some new ones fitted to my head. He said that was perfectly alright and set about his work along the circumference of that head of mine. We colloquized pleasantly though trivially as this went on and then at last, he popped out of the room to find a suitable pair of glasses for me. And a fantastic pair of glasses it was that he returned with. I was thoroughly satisfied with them; they fit me perfectly.
I paid and headed off, the complexities of my research resurfacing in my mind at once. These abstruse notions were aswim up there as I walked along the pavement, quite oblivious to my surroundings. In fact, I almost walked out into the traffic when a horn dispelled me from my cogitations. I looked around at my environs. And, you know, I noticed something. I noticed something that I’d never noticed before. I noticed something that nobody had ever noticed before. I thought it might have been the new glasses, so I took them off and looked again with my bare eyes. And yes, albeit in somewhat muggier a view, it was still there, this incredible thing that I had noticed. So there it was, my great discovery, the ambrosial fruit of my life’s labour.
I rushed home and scrawled out a tract explaining my discovery; it came out somewhat in the form of an instruction manual. Below I have attached a pdf of it; I have yet to type it up into document form. Please find time for a close reading – I doubt you might understand it at first – I suggest reading at a pace of three words a day if you are to truly grasp, to apprehend, what I have noticed.
And once again, do keep me updated – though I fear I may be terribly busy over the next few weeks trying to convince those in my field of this discovery.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Arthur
The Passage to Truth.pdf
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13:42 07/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: Your discovery
Dear brother,
Thank you for setting my mind at rest if only in regard to yourself.
I’ve had a first look at what you’ve written, and, yes, though I thought it absurd in the email, having tried to understand what is being said, even three words a day is perhaps rather a steep figure for someone like myself so unversed in the language of philosophy. I believe I have understood the first word with my efforts so far, though of course not how it fits into the rest of its sentence; that will come in due course, I’m sure. Is that first word to mean something like as follows: the top right quadrant of your vision whilst contemplating the future?
Truly, whatever it may mean, this is really very impressive what you’ve done. I’m sure it will send shockwaves through the philosophical community; though I fear I may insult you with my flattery, so I shall leave it at that.
With regard to myself, my physical symptoms persist unaltered; my mental state, though still rather terrible, improves slowly. I am keeping my fears at bay with plenty of distraction; grappling with your writing serves wonderfully in this connection.
Do keep me informed as to how your colleagues take your findings, as I shall you with regard to my wellbeing.
The usual regards,
Your brother, Simon
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03:40 07/11/2010
To: simon.grant@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Brief response
Very nearly – change for the future the immediate future and you’ve got it. Keep at it; I’m impressed.
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02:15 08/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: The peril of my soul
Dear brother,
Things have taken a turn for the worse. My soul rushes headlong through carnivorous straits. We haven’t long on this mortal plane; I must act fast. I will tell you now what I heard today through Alan’s ear.
I was quietly sat in my armchair deciphering the second word of your tract when Alan’s ear grew very hot. I took out the earplug and noticed that the noise had changed. Then it sounded, or felt, I’m unsure exactly, as though someone were pressing their hand against that ear. To hell! thundered a voice like that of no man, and I froze with terror. Come with me, croaked another voice, the sound of flames booming louder and louder. I heard Alan cry out: But I’ve been a good man! I don’t deserve this! Where is Satan? I want a bloody word with him! And the demon said: Oh, I’ll take you down to Satan, alright. But first I shall take you on a tour of this realm of suffering which you shall endure so patiently for all eternity. The tour shall descend level by level to the minus ninth floor where the dark lord, suffering be at his command, sits enthroned. There you may have a word with him. And so I sat in silent terror listening to the demon guide Alan Montgomery down through the levels of hell, my, or his, ear growing hotter and hotter with each. They descended from the ground floor, which seemed only a sort of induction hall, down to the minus first floor where the souls of naughty children are punished; for all eternity they are strapped down to be punished onto to ‘celeriferous’ steam machines. Damned children only need serve half an eternity in hell, I learnt from the demon’s words. The minus second floor is for Liberal Democrats. Their punishment isn’t so inventive: Demon’s chase them around with big sticks and set about bludgeoning the lights out of them when they tire. The minus third floor is for misbehaving Balkans: they are left to their own devices. The minus fourth floor is for the mute: the horrors therein cannot be spoken of. The minus fifth floor is for the drunk and disorderly: at the very least an eventful place. The minus sixth floor is populated by a complicated network of acquaintances who have to wander about greeting each other and exchanging pleasantries at pain of the whip. The minus seventh floor is for almost everybody else not yet mentioned. This is a vast floor and the punishments vary from person to person. Penultimately is the minus eighth floor, which is for a group of six Welshmen that the devil has taken a personal disliking to – he rises from the floor below every now and then to disturb the four of them already there a bit whenever he wishes to let off any steam – it’s very hot down there where the devil sits. And then at last the demon led Alan Montgomery to the lowest floor where the devil himself dwells. Hello, Alan, said the devil. You are here for you have sinned. Do you wish to say anything before you are sent up to the minus second floor? What?! replied Alan. But I voted for the greens! The devil hummed in contemplation. No. You definitely voted for the Lib Dems. You are indeed a sinner too but voting for the Lib Dems here takes precedence. Any final words before you are damned? What Alan said in response was this: Yes, Mr uhh- how do you wish to be called? The devil told him Lou. And Alan continued: Yes, Lou. I do have something to say. Now you’re very frightening so I don’t wish to push my luck here, but I must say, I’ve been a very good and honest man all my life, and I’m really very surprised that I’ve been sent down here. And now with your mix-up about my voting history I’m starting to question your methods of deciding that I should be down here. How exactly do you determine whether someone should be here? And the devil said: Well, our method is infallible. The hand-demon touched you on the side of your head, and with that saw into your soul. He determined you a sinner and a Liberal Democrat voter. And that is why you are here. Alan asked for another check and the devil granted his wish: the hand-demon descended from nine floors above. That’s odd, said the hand-demon. It seems I was wrong. You voted Green, and you shouldn’t be here indeed. You do need to visit purgatory for eight millennia, though, before you can go up to heaven, because you stole two pounds from your mother once as a child. But as you’ll see, that’s really not so long at all in the scheme of eternity; I wouldn’t worry so much about it. Hang on, let me try again. Here I felt a hand press my – Alan’s – ear again where I hadn’t the previoustime. Hmm, went the hand demon. That’s very strange. Can I ask what your name is? And Alan said: Alan Montgomery. And the hand-demon said: Have you got someone else’s ear on? Alan replied: Strange you say that, because I had my ear put back on this morning after an accident. Hand-demon: Ah! Now that would explain it! Yes, Alan, you’ll be taken up to purgatory shortly. Very sorry. The devil too apologised for the misunderstanding, and Alan asked him about the cast around his leg. The devil told Alan that he’d suffered a great fall and broken it in five places. Alan wished him a speedy recovery.
Now, as the hand-demon was leading Alan back up I mistakenly spoke. I said something merely exclamatory. Directly I spoke, Alan screamed, giving me the fright of my life; I shot out of my armchair onto the floor. It’s you again! You prick! You sent me out of a window! I trembled with tight lips. I know you can hear me! You almost got me sent to hell because of your bloody ear! I decided it was only right to apologise. I’m very sorry, Alan. Only I was very shocked when I woke from a nap in my own bedroom to overhear you talking with what I presume to have been your wife. But listen, Alan. This is serious now. Did they determine from my ear, the one on your head, that I should be going to hell? Alan: Yes indeed they did! And serves you bloody right! And I further inquired: Alan, can you ask the hand-demon something if he’s still there? Alan: Yes, he’s here. What do you wish to ask him? I: If I vote for a different party next general election, am I let off for being a Lib Dem? Alan relayed my question to the hand-demon. Hand-demon: Yes. But if you die before that you go down as a Lib Dem and even if you atone for all your sins, you’re going to the minus second floor to be chased and bludgeoned for eternity. Alan began to repeat this, but I reminded him there was no need.
I began speaking with Alan for a while, and he took great interest in your work; in the months before he fell out of his window, he’d taken a keen interest in philosophy and in his free time would read a lot. Alan insists – he’s here now – that I share with you his praise for the first word of your tract; and also for your earlier works with some of which he is familiar. Pardon me, I skipped a little there; Alan distracted me. Yes, I spoke to Alan about your discovery and, with an explanation of the first word, which as he says he’s thrilled with, opened up the problem of the second to him. The hand-demon got involved too and came up with a brilliant idea (he is twelve trillion years old or thereabouts so he would be pretty wise). The hand-demon – who’s still here too (long staircase) – asks: is the second word a verb meaning in a motion akin to that of one’s larynx during the pronunciation of the word Bratwurst? We believe the hand-demon’s insight here to be promising and we’re already discussing the third word. Please get back to us on this.
So much for my update. I must take a twofold course of action if I am to save my soul: first I turn to God and live a pious life to repent and atone for my sins, and second I must live that pious life long enough to see the next general election and there vote for someone other than the Lib Dems.
Please keep me and Alan – we shall be saying farewell to the hand-demon shortly – updated with your news.
P.S. I no longer feel I’m falling but my balance is still a little off. And so is Alan’s for that matter – the hand-demon has to steady him every now and then as they go up the stairs.
The usual regards, Unusual regards,
Your brother, Simon The loquacious ear,
Alan Montgomery,
And the hand-demon
…
09:16 10/11/2010
To: simon.grant@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: Your remarkable update
Dear brother and Alan Montgomery, and perhaps the hand-demon
I am incredulous. I have only just read your email – as you can imagine, I’m awfully busy telling people about my discovery. I fear I may have missed your friend the hand-demon with my tardiness but yes, he is entirely correct about that second word. Better than some of my colleagues can manage – only some, the very fastest, have managed the first word so far.
But yes, Simon, so you’re considering a turn to God, then, are you? This is very much unlike yourself and I’m interested to see how this pans out. Who might you vote for in the next election? Perhaps, Alan, you might try to convince him to vote for Green. That is a laudable way to vote, Alan, but I fear an ineffectual one, too. Either become a revolutionary, take to the streets with violence, or simply choose between Labour and the Tories, I say. And Simon, with you trying to follow the word of God now, I’d perhaps refrain from any violence if I were you. Labour or the Tories. (In another situation I’d suggest the Lib Dems, too.)
In a way I’m gladdened by your words, Simon. At least my brother has been provided with a clear route to eternal bliss. As for my own fate, I’ve quite secured myself a seat at the table upstairs; my discovery reveals at least this; we shan’t be separated at death, all things going well. And Alan, I should see you up there too in a few millennia.
I am surprised at just how simply hell is organised; it is remarkable too that Dante Algieri got the number nine correct. This simple organisation is something not contradicted by my discovery, though not certainly implied; it shall be a question I pursue in a later work.
Do send updates.
The usual regards,
Your brother and your ear’s brother, Arthur
…
09:27 08/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: From the hand-demon
Good day, Arthur
Yes, the hand-demon here. We have been awaiting your response with great tenacity; Alan has been good enough to wait with me by the gates of hell for your email. Your brother Simon has been kind enough to dictate through Alan – Alan being kind enough also – your new work, which I have copied down to work through myself during my off-hours. Those first two words were firmly gripping – I’ve never read a finer pair of words in all twelve trillion years of my present existence.
Thank you very much for your great work,
The hand-demon
…
09:34 08/11/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: From your brother
Dear brother,
I really should have put this in the previous email, but I have an update concerning my physical symptoms. I had a look in the mirror and noticed something very odd; it seems my new ear of Alan’s is shrinking. Alan reports the same about his new ear of mine. He asked the hand-demon what he thought but the hand demon said that people look very different to him than they do to us so he really couldn’t say; he only knows which parts correspond to which. Also, there are no reflective surfaces in hell so Alan can only check by touch; even the eyes of other’s won’t reflect anything.
Anyway, perhaps we are worrying about nothing here; thought I would just let you know. Just in case.
P.S. I’ve ordered a bible from the internet. I’ve never ordered a book like that before and feel rather ashamed, strangely. I have betrayed my local bookshop.
The usual regards, Unusual regards,
Your brother, Simon The loquacious ear,
Alan Montgomery
And the hand-demon
…
Seven or so years pass
…
15:39 17/04/2017
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: Your brother shall soon be a bishop!
Dear brother,
I shall keep this short for I know you are busy! As you may have learnt from the email’s subject, I shall be appointed bishop! (I know you detest exclamation marks, but here I feel you will understand their necessity!) I shall be flown out to Rome next week from where I will be escorted to Vatican City to meet with the Pope! I had my head measured for a mitre yesterday, but they didn’t have one large enough so they’ve had to make one especially; it should be ready tomorrow! I’ve attached a silly photo below of me trying on a mitre much too small!
Also, a fine word about my balance! It seems not to have worsened! Alan’s, too! Things are pretty good for me at the moment!
An update on Alan now, from Alan himself! I, Alan, am faring rather well in purgatory! I have in fact proved so industrious that they’ve reduced my time here by two millennia as a thank you for my work! Your brother has been making visits to my wife, but she is threatening to get the courts involved. Stubborn in her ways she may well be, she is a good woman, and I shall surely see her again in this the next life, purgatory or heaven. I hope my words find you well, Arthur!
We shall keep you updated. We hope to hear any news of your own, too!
P.S. We have reached a milestone: page twenty-five of your passage to truth! The last week or so we haven’t been reading much with my (Simon’s) busy schedule, but we hope to spend some time on it during his travels!
The usual regards, The unusual regards,
Your brother, Simon The loquacious ear,
Alan Montgomery
sillylittlemitre.jpeg
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(The following has been translated from the Latin into English for the reader’s convenience.)
Vatican City Pope Police Incident Report
To be completed within 24 hours of the accident/incident
Date of incident: 25/02/2017 Time of incident: 15:07
Name(s) of potential suspect(s): Simon Grant
Name(s) of victim(s): Simon Grant, Pope Francis
Description of incident: The late Pope Francis, his erstwhile pontificance, was leading the newly appointed Bishop Grant (Simon Grant from England) around the gallery of the Vatican, when Bishop Grant veered diagonally into the Pope and sent the both of them crashing down into the nave, killing the both of them. We do not have any reason at present to believe it was a deliberate act on Bishop Grant’s part. The Bishop suffered from instability on his feet due to his remarkably large head, one of the ears on which was far smaller than the other; the Bishop would regularly veer in the direction of his little ear whilst trying to walk in a straight line; the Bishop very often took diagonal routes without so much as realising it himself; the Bishop moved diagonally. At the time of the accident, perhaps induced by his long travels from England, he was enduring a rather difficult episode with his balance that began during his plane-flight, where he complained of a swelling in his head and difficulty reading – that being said, we have had a look at whatever exactly it was that he was reading, of no doubt a very pious nature, and we couldn’t make neither heads nor tails of it – it appeared to be in English but of all one hundred and thirteen pages we could only identify one word – “the” on page eighty-four, as a chapter title, so it’s no wonder he was having difficulty reading. We pray for their souls.
Signature: Date of report: 25/02/2017
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Seven or so years are removed again.
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07:13 31/10/2010
To: arthur.grant@unit.ox.ac.uk
Subject: A change in my ways
Dear brother,
I am writing to inform you of a great change I am making. To explain this change, which I shall name at the end of this email, I must first relate to you the dream which I have just had. I shall keep it short here, but I promise you it was threateningly lurid in its actuality.
I had been sent to hell for killing the Pope along with myself. My head felt heavy with woe. I implored Satan to listen to me and understand that it was an accident caused by some instability I was having on my feet – no doubt this can be interpreted in some illuminating manner – but he told me that even so, for killing the Pope I had to be sent to hell, as good a man as I might otherwise have been. But then I remembered one of your ideas – if I try to recall it now none of the words make any sense so I’m unsure what, it can’t have been one you’ve really had – and I told Satan that I could tell him something very interesting if he let me go. Satan said that if it really was that interesting, then he would put me back on Earth “on the morning I lost my ear, hours before the accident at the point where I wake up, and that I shall remember this all then as a fantastic dream.” This particular too may well be interpretable. Satan warned me, though, that because of complications with “Alan and the ears” I would have to be put back into a subtly different word. He said my friends and family would all still be there, that everything important to me at the time of my return shall be identical – the differences, he said, would be “peripheral” to myself. He also added that during my second chance at earthly life I must turn to God lest I be sent back to him upon my next death. Anyway, I went up and whispered all this nonsense into the devil’s ear about your strange idea and as I spoke his head began to grow. Oddly enough he was very impressed by it – the idea. He agreed to send me back. He reminded me of what I had to do to ensure my going to heaven and then bid me farewell after further detailed conversation about the levels of hell and who goes where; Dante was pretty far off in all but where Satan is and the number of levels. I’ll tell you this much: it’ll do you well not to vote Lib Dems. Then I woke up, just before I began to write this email.
So yes, Arthur, my soul has been stirred. I am a man of God now and shall purchase a Bible later today – I don’t have much work today so I should be out of the office early.
Updates on yourself are readily encouraged.
The usual regards,
Your brother under God, Simon
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NHS Paramedic’s Incident Report
To be completed within 24 hours of the incident
Date of incident: 31/10/2010 Time of incident: 11:17 (time of landing)
Name of injured person: To be verified
Description of incident: We were alerted to a man that had “dropped out of the sky” outside the North Finchley Post Office on Ballards Lane. Witnesses claim that after the impact he remained briefly conscious and until the moment of his death repeated the phrase: ‘Why did I speak to that man.’ We have not yet verified his identity. On his person was a newly bought copy of the Bible – the receipt was with it, and the receipt read that he had purchased the Bible at 11:01 from a shop in Islington. As is being verified, his time of landing on the North Finchley high street was 11:20, so at some time between 11:01 and 11:20, the fallen man must have somehow been propelled from Islington to North Finchley. Further investigation is being conducted by the police into the matter.
Signature: Date of report: 31/10/2010
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NHS Paramedic’s Incident Report
To be completed within 24 hours of the incident
Date of incident: 31/10/2010 Time of incident: ~11:00
Name of injured person: Harry de Hamza
Description of incident: We were alerted to a man (Mr de Hamza) that had “died of fright” outside the Chapel in Islington and St Pancras cemetery. The only witness, a vicar who rushed out after being “alerted by a large swooping noise”, claims that he found the man in his last moments of life. The vicar knew the man and said he was a man of “many acquaintances, many of who lie under the soil in this cemetery, whom Mr de Hamza would often come to mourn, as he was doing today”. What the vicar heard Mr de Hamza say was: “Beam. Fell. Down. Into. Simon. From. Left. Simon. Into. Sky. Very. Frightened. Help. Hell. Hell.” And then Mr de Hamza perished in the mud. And indeed, upon inspection of the area one of the beams from the roof of the chapel had come loose a fair way ahead of the window on the east side of the property and there it dangled, smattered in someone’s blood. Police are looking into the matter currently.
Signature: Date of report: 31/10/2010
The Petrosebsite 
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