BIG BUMPERTON ON THE SABBATH

after Johann Knopf (1866–1910)

‘We are not concerned,’ he said, ‘with long-winded creations, with long-term beings. Our creatures will not be heroes of romances in many volumes.’

BRUNO SCHULZ, THE STREET OF CROCODILES

 

Love laughs at locksmiths.

HARRY HOUDINI 

I

In a Christian house

In a Christian town

Lived a Christian man

With a little dog

That greeted him every day after work.

If Big Bumperton

(For that was his name)

Seemed a happy man

Then it only seemed

For he was alone since his mother died.

& in love, it’s true,

He had little luck

For the girls he loved

Never did love him

& saw him as an object of pity.

Still he carried on

Hoping that the girl

Of his fevered dreams

Might one day appear

& love him & kiss him with her cherry-red lips.

But until that time

He would persevere,

For he had a shop

& his mongrel dog

To keep him company on winter nights.

Sitting by the fire

In his night attire

Bumperton was sure

That the Lord was there

Somewhere, glowing in the embers.

Gloomy solitude

With a mongrel dog

Sleeping on his lap,

So he spent his nights

& by day he was a locksmith.

& he had knowledge

Of every kind of lock,

Deadlock & padlock

& mortice & bolt,

But he lacked the key to a woman’s heart.

Now our time is up.

Put another coin

In the poet’s cap

& he’ll tell you all

About Big Bumperton on the Sabbath.

II

On that Sabbath day

Bumperton was out

On his bicycle

Riding through the town

Doffing his hat to all the lovely ladies

& he wobbled past

A poster on the wall

Of high-kicking chorus girls

With cherry-red lips

& endless layers of petticoats.

& he cycled on

Past a frozen lake

& a one-armed man

With a twisted mouth

Hurling pumpernickel across the sullen ice

(Which the geese ignored,

Having all flown south)

& a gaggle of girls

Skating on thin ice.

‘What if one fell through?’ he thought. ‘Would I help?’

& he cycled on

Up a winding path

& the path was steep

But he peddled fast

& arrived at the snowy summit of a hill

Where he could look down

On the little town

& the chimney smoke

Curling to the sky

& Big Bumperton saw that it was good.

So he cycled on

Past the ruined house

Where an ancient crone

Cursed her final days

Before she was cast down the witches’ tower.

Pausing by a sign

For another town

He took out his watch

& wrote down the time

In a pocket book, for he always liked to know

When he reached this point

In his weekly ride

On that holy day

When our Lord rested,

Before cycling home again for lunch.

& he pedalled on

Coming to a place

Where he hit a root

Hidden in the snow

& went flying over the handlebars.

III

Opening his eyes

After travelling

Far into his mind

For what seemed like days

(But was only a matter of minutes)

There in front of him,

Leaning over him,

In a milk-white dress

& with golden plaits

Was a girl with cherry-red lips.

‘Fair queen of my heart,’

Sighed Big Bumperton.

‘What was that?’ she said.

‘Please don’t try to move,

You might have broken something in the fall.’

& with expert hands

She inspected him

For suspected breaks

In his arms & legs,

But Big Bumperton bore his pain within.

Then she sat him up

Lying in her lap

& she stroked his brow

& he bit his lip,

Fearing she might disappear if he spoke.

Gretchen was her name

& within a year

She became his wife

& he sold his dog

To the one-armed man, never shedding a tear.

Gretchen swept the house

& she filled the pot

With good things to eat

& he swelled with pride

That she had consented to be his bride.

IV

On the Sabbath day

Bumperton was out

On his bicycle

& he cycled deep

Into a forest where the birds around him sang cheep-cheep.

& anon a bird

Flew out of a tree

Making merry noise

Joyful melody

& each pleasant note became a word:

Sometime were we blessed,

Angels heavenly,

But our Master fell

For his wicked pride

& we fell with him for our offence.

But our trespass small,

God was merciful

& out of all pain

Set us here to sing

& to serve Him again, after His pleasing.

Down upon his knees

Fell Big Bumperton

& the bird said this

To him in that place,

Even as Big Bumperton trembled there:

Now have twelve months passed

That you have been wed,

But you still have not

Taken your delight

In the marriage bed, though it be your right.

In the second year

You shall see the place

That you so desire

Come to be usurped

& you shall enter the land of Bedlam.

Holy lightning struck

In his mortal brain

& the hills around

Cried aloud in pain

& holy storm clouds gathered, bringing rain.

V

Voices in the dark

Pleading to be free.

One of them is low,

One of them is shrill –

Big Bumperton is talking to himself

‘Hungry will I be

& cold showers take –

Holy punishment!

Punishment divine!

Spare me no humiliation!

O Lord, forgive them all,

These your ministers,

Of your purpose high

Ignorant entire.

I am punished for their disbelief.

Wisely did you send

Her into my bed

That my senses rent,

For without her sin

I would not have known innocence divine!

Divine innocence!

& I’ll keep thy laws

Hallow thy Sabbath

Walk in the spirit

& make a new Heaven & a new Earth!’

VI

Big Bumperton is charged with electricity

Like a landscape

An abstraction

A magnified pupil.

After the electroshocks

He no longer understands locks

Or answers to his name or remembers

His late wife.

‘Gentlemen, by means of this X-ray you can see

The patient has swallowed his front-door key

& a small pocket knife

With which he did the wicked deed.’

O Big Bumperton! Let others hurl insults – ‘Madman!’ ‘Murderer!’ –

While you ascend on your invisible bicycle

Ever closer to the cherry-red lips of your star,

A bright smiling star like a chorus girl.