Wuthering Heights

weather-bound for half an hour if you can afford me shelter during
that space.’
    ‘Afford you shelter?’ he
said. ‘Look, I can’t even afford the bloody rates.’
    During this exchange I noticed
he was snowing heavily, in some places it was knee high and this was indoors.
‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘as a guide to see me home, you could lend me one of your
lads and he can stay at the Grange till morning.’
    ‘No, I bloody can’t,’ he
said. ‘How do I know you are not a paedophile?’
    ‘I give up,’ I said. ‘How
do you know?’
    He looked at me and called
out an area of the female anatomy. He shook his head releasing flakes of snow
but on inspection I realized it was dandruff, which he had a fine head of.
    ‘Umph,’ he said. I knew not
what ‘umph’ meant, but
    I congratulated him in his
choice of the word. He called me by the female part again. ‘Now, sir,’ said
Heathcliff. ‘Bring forward your chair.’ We all sat around the dinner table, as
we ate in grim silence — between each mouthful they all looked up to glower at
me. I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to dispel it.
    ‘Rough weather,’ I said.
‘Mr Heathcliff, I’ll venture to say how wonderful it must be in your home surrounded
by your family.’ I paused as the lady gobbed over the table into the fireplace.
‘...by your family and with your amiable lady as the —
    ‘My amiable lady!’ he
interrupted, a diabolical sneer spread over his face and ran down his back to
his nethers. ‘Where is she — my amiable lady?’
    ‘Mrs Heathcliff is my
daughter-in-law,’ said Heathcliff. Putting a boxing-glove on his foot he
punched the dog again, as he spoke he looked at Mrs Heathcliff he gave her a
peculiar look; raising and lowering his eyebrows at great speed, at the same
time activating all the perverse muscles in his face at the same time standing
on one leg and whistling the National Anthem.
    ‘Ah, certainly — I see now;
you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,’ 3 remarked my neighbour.
    This was worse than before.
The youth grew crimson: most of it going into his ears, which swelled to thrice
their size. I feared an attack, but he seemed to collect himself, and he went
around collecting the pieces. He muttered a brutal curse on my behalf, again it
was female anatomy.
    ‘Sir,’ said Heathcliff, ‘we
neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy.’ 4
    ‘Her mate is dead. 5 I said she was my
daughter-in-law, therefore, she must have married my son,’ said Heathcliff
    ‘Then this young man with
the red ears is...?’
    ‘Not my son, assuredly!’
    Heathcliff smiled, as if it
were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that oaf to him. The
oaf spoke.
    ‘Der — my name is — der —
Hareton Earnshaw, and I’ll — der — counsel you to respect it!’
    He grabbed me by the
lapels, ripping them off.
    ‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’
was my reply, laughing internally at the way he announced himself.
    ‘Stop laughing at me
internally,’ he growled, ripping the sleeves off my jacket.
    Heathcliff gave the dog a
punch. ‘It’s kick boxing, it comes from Siam!’ he said.
    The meal being over (most
of it over the floor), I approached a window to examine the weather.
    It was suffocating with
snow.
    ‘I don’t think it’s
possible to get home now without a guide,’ I could not help exclaiming.
    ‘Hareton, put the sheep
into the barn, they’ll die outdoors,’ said Heathcliff.
    ‘How must I do?’ I
continued with rising irritation. It had risen slowly from my feet to my knees.
It was the worst rising since the Indian Mutiny. There was no reply to my
question.
    I saw Joseph bring in a
pail of porridge for the kick box dogs and throw them in it, then in cracked
tones he said, ‘Aw woonder hagh yah can porridge faishion tuh stand thear i’
idleness wi wan porridge when all ’ems goan aght grollik narg.’
    I thought saying ‘pardon?’
was the best I could do.
    ‘Is thart best u can do?’
he said.
    ‘You old reprobate,’ said
Mrs Heathcliff. ‘Be off or I’ll hurt you seriously. I’ll have you modelled in
clay, then snip important things off your body.’ The little witch put a mock
malignity into her beautiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with hirrer, hurrer,
and horror, stricken again with a laundry problem and porridge, hurried out
praying for the most important things on his body.
    ‘Mrs Heathcliff,’ I said.
‘I’m sure you cannot help being