Free Frankenstein - According to by Spike Milligan Page A

me to Mr Kirwin’s, to give an account of
yourself.’
    ‘My
account? Why? It stands at £102 overdrawn. Is that a crime in this country?’

CHAPTER
IV
     
     
     
    I
was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate. He looked upon me,
however, with some degree of severity. At college he had taken a degree in
Severity. He asked for witnesses.
    About
half a dozen men came forward and collided. One had landed a boat on the shore
the night before. It was very dark and he had to walk alongside his boat. He
walked, taking parts of the fishing catch — in this case a whale which filled
the boat — and that is why he had to walk alongside. As he was proceeding up
the beach, he struck his foot against something and fell full length; they
found that he had fallen on the body of a man.
    The
first part of his deposition did not in the least interest me, but when the
mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of my brother and
felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled and a mist came over my eyes
obscuring my face. The magistrate observed me and propped me up with his
walking stick.
    I
entered the room where the corpse lay, and was led up to the coffin. How can I
describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with horror. When I
saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before me I gasped for breath
and threw myself on the body, managing to climb out just in time before they
nailed the lid on. My friend Clerval, my friend, my benefactor, and monumental
bore.
    The
human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured; some bits of me
fell off. I was carried out of the room in convulsions — the bits of me that
were left.
    A
fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my
ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful. I said ‘fuck’ eighteen times.
Fortunately, I spoke my native language.
    Why
did I not die? [Yes, why didn’t you? Ed.] But I was doomed to live and in two
months I found myself as awaking from a dream, stretched out on a wretched bed
surrounded by gaolers, chains, turnkeys, bolts and a pot. When I looked around
and saw the windows and the squalidness of the room in which I was, all flashed
across my memory. I was in the nick; I groaned bitterly.
    This
disturbed an old crone who was sleeping in the chair beside me. She was a hired
nurse. ‘For Christ’s sake, shet up!’ she said. I think she meant ‘Shut up’, I
have no idea what ‘shet up’ meant. She seemed to characterise that class who
travel Economy on Spanish airlines. Her face was a mass of criss-crossed lines
that spelt ‘arseholes’.
    ‘Are
you better now?’ she said.
    I
replied in the same creep language, with a feeble voice, ‘I believe that I am
still alive to feel this misery and horror.’
    ‘For
that matter,’ replied the crone, ‘if you mean about the gentleman you murdered,
I think hanging will end all your suffering.’
    I
turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a speech to a
person just saved yet on the very edge of death. I was unable to reflect on all
that had passed — six trams, twelve buses and four dust carts. My temperature
went up to 190° and they had to switch on the air conditioning.
    There
was no one near me with a gentle voice of love; no dear hand to support me with
a bottle of Liebfraumilch. The physician came and prescribed medicines. The old
woman prepared them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first.
Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer, but the hangman who would
gain his fee? He charged £1 for every pound of body weight. For me he would get
£14. When he came he wore ear plugs. His visits were short — they lasted three
minutes.
    Occasionally,
a friendly gaoler would give me a bottle of Liebfraumilch. Such were my
thoughts when Mr Kirwin entered. He expressed sympathy; he spoke, ‘ Votre
chat dmotre tante est dans lejardin.’
    Then
he said, ‘Can I make things better for