Augury? Course not

Thursday morning. Returning to the lodgings last night, a senior officer half-sneered at the gate. He often aims a similar face towards the wretch. The look caught my breath. He said nothing. Remembering the advice that notice of a refusal of parole is heralded by a senior officer, it was heartening that the epaulets remained unspeaking.

Good news comes in a manila envelope in the pigeon hole. No envelope of any shade for me.

A tap on the cell door. ‘Look, I thought you should know.’ It’s a neighbour. ‘Ritchie downstairs had his parole application before the board on your same day – Friday. He was told today he is going home. You’ve heard nothing, right, so maybe, perhaps, you better get ready for news that’s not so good.’

Like Hamlet, we don’t believe in augury. But leaving this morning, Senior Officer Ray who was arriving for work, said, ‘Is everything alright, everything in order?’

I hope so, I said, and wondered why he would suspect everything mightn’t be. Was someone supposed to tell me something grim last night? Nonsense, of course not. We don’t believe in augury.

Cycling along the river to work, a canvas sign at a café, waving in the light breeze, had my name in an advert. I must have seen the slogan a hundred times this summer, but never saw my name there before.

Passing the bookshop next to work, a display in the window features the book, ‘Absolute War’. Absolute! The beginning of the soliloquy I have been comforting myself with. Of course, we don’t believe in augury. But we do wait, thinking, ‘How would master stoic Uncle Bill have handled this?’