‘The Strange Whistle’

by Harry Riley

“But I don’t want to, I’m scared mum…”

“Don’t be silly, there’s nothing to worry about, death is something that comes to us all Edgar. Just go in there and do as he says, he has something for you, never mind the smell, it’s only medicine and stale tobacco. They haven’t had the windows open for a day or two whilst he’s been so ill. And listen…don’t go showing us up and doing anything silly, they’ll all be watching you!”

“But I can’t…can you come in with me?”

“No, there are too many people around his bed as it is, the doctor won’t allow it, and I shall wait in the front room with your dad. We are not far away so no screaming or shouting remember, he’s dying so you have to whisper.”

Two minutes later young Edgar Watson stood at the bedside as the doctor left off checking the old man’s open pyjama front with his stethoscope and made way for the awkward looking boy.

“You can have two minutes, mind and no longer” said the tall stern faced physician as he glared down disapprovingly at the youngster, “we can’t afford to tire him too much…he hasn’t got long.”

Edgar wondered why the doctor was so concerned, ‘what did it matter if he spent two or even twenty minutes or a whole day with his granddad if he was going to die anyway. And why had the nurse been tidying the sheets so carefully, she didn’t have to do the washing! Mum was right though; the smell was horrible.’ He felt like gagging.

Several uncles and aunts reluctantly made way for him as he entered the room clattering over a bed-pan in his clumsy way.

Remembering his granddad was deaf the ten year old boy shouted loudly down his good left ear.” It’s alright granddad, it’s me Edgar and mum says you’re to give me a present before you die.”

A bony hand reached out from the covers and grabbed the lad’s wrist in a grip of iron. Edgar was pulled down towards the frail figure in the bed by the surprising strength of his grandfather’s withered arm. Then his face was within inches of the old man’s slobbering mouth. He could hear the hoarse death-rattle in the sick throat as strangled words were forced out from between the broken gravestone of a tooth “Good-lad, don’t be scared, we all have to go, I’ve had a long innings…just open the top drawer in the cupboard over there and…and take out the silver whistle…it’s yours.” The dying man relaxed his grip and his head fell back on the pillow with a deep sigh as the effort took its toll on the shattered body.