Three to See the King

Magnus Mills
Three To See The King
    Copyright © Magnus Mills 2001

    FOR SUE
    1
    I live in a house built entirely from tin, with four tin walls, a roof of tin, a chimney and door. Entirely from tin.
    My house has no windows because there’s nothing to see. Oh, there are shutters that can be used to let the light in when required, but they remain closed against the weather for most of the time. It stands in a wild place, my house, high up on the plain. At night it creaks and groans as the wind batters it for hour after hour, in search of a gap to get inside. Even the door has to be bolted top and bottom to stop it from being blown open. I used to worry in case one day I might lose the roof, but so far that hasn’t happened and now I’m certain the structure is quite sound. The man who built it made sure of that. I found the house empty a few years ago, and adopted it for my own use. At first sight I knew it had everything I could need: somewhere to eat and drink and sleep without disturbance, protected from the elements by a layer of corrugated metal and nothing more. A very modest dwelling I must say, but it looked clean and tidy so I moved in. For a long while I was quite content here, and remained convinced I would find no better place to be. Then one day a woman arrived at my door and said, ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding.’
    2
    She was wrong there. I wasn’t hiding from anybody. My house of tin was the place I’d chosen to live. It had nothing to do with hiding, yet the way she put it made me sound as though I’d run away.
    You may ask: who was this woman? Well, I hardly knew her really. A friend of a friend I suppose you might say. The last person I’d have expected to turn up, if the truth be known, but she seemed keen on a guided tour so I invited her inside. It was the time of year when the stove had to be kept lit all the time, just to maintain some warmth. She gave a little shiver as I closed the door behind her, and then stood staring around with a sort of surprised smile or half-laugh on her face.
    ‘It’s practically bare,’ she said.
    ‘Yes,’ I replied.
    ‘But you can’t live like this.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘You just can’t.’
    I think the sparseness of my existence had caught her out. I had no pictures on the walls to brighten them up, nor my oilier kind of decoration, and I suppose she was taken aback by how basic it all was. I pointed out that there was a pot of fresh coffee on top of the stove, meaning to show her that it wasn’t all ‘hardship’, but I’m afraid she just laughed again and shook her head.
    ‘Looks like we’re going to have to get you sorted out,’ she announced.
    I realized from the amount of stuff she’d brought with her that she intended to stay around for a while. She had a whole trunkful of clothes, and a vanity case, not to mention the washstand and mirror. Fortunately there was lots of space, more than I needed really, so I told her she could use the upper floor.
    I expect you thought my house of tin was a single-roomed affair with a bunk bed in one corner and a bucket in the other. Well, as a matter of fact, nothing could be further from the truth. The man who built it wanted more than just a shack to spend the winter in. He wanted two storeys and a stairway, and a sloping roof with gutters and drainpipes for the rainwater. He built it facing west-southwest, head-on to the wind, and sound enough for any storm. It’s a proper house, I tell you, not the kind of ramshackle shanty you might find on some distant seashore where they fish in the morning and sleep in the afternoon. No, you wouldn’t catch me living in a place like that. Much better to be somewhere that’s going to hold together for a few years, which was why I chose a building foursquare and tall, with an upper floor.
    I really thought this woman would be pleased to have a bit of room to herself, but when she saw the stairs she just took one look and said, ‘They’re very steep, aren’t they?’
    Well, of course they were steep! What else did she expect in a two storey house of tin? Alright, I admit it was quite a struggle getting the trunk and everything hoisted up, but the way she went on you’d have thought the stairs had been made steep deliberately.
    This was what I couldn’t understand about her. She’d come all this way to see me, even though we’d only met once or possibly twice before, and yet from the moment she arrived she was full of criticism. By the