Of Lakes, Mysteries and the Odd Lunatic

Chapter III - In which Lawrence makes his rounds and admires matchsticks

Chapter III

In which Lawrence makes his rounds and admires matchsticks

Thanks to the Institute’s previous life as a hotel, the building had already come equipped with a large number of bedrooms, as well as communal dining area, kitchen, staff quarters and storage for linen and such things. This meant that it was perfectly set up to be a mental institute, and required very little decorating or refurbishment.

Most of the guest bedrooms had been turned into rooms for the patients, or “residents” as Lawrence preferred to call them. Indeed, some of the residents themselves did not know that they were mentally ill/psychopathic/insane, and thought themselves to be living in some sort of freebie hotel where everything was paid for. This, of course, was not true, as nothing is ever free, including but not limited to, your lunch.

Lawrence made a point of everyday visiting each patient at least once, to check up on their wellbeing, rehabilitation progress, and often to have a chat, although these could often go off on rather strange and sometimes disturbing tangents. Lawrence often had problems sleeping at night, although these discussions were only a small part of what occupied his thoughts, but we will get to those later.

“Guten tag, Lawrence!” The big German man sat up in his bed and put down a book.

“Good afternoon, General.”

“And rightly so! It nice weather outside, yes?” The General leaned out a little from his bed, trying to get a better view of the window.

“Yes, Franz, it is.”

“Ah, good. Sometimes get confused. That big bright thing means good weather, and if it’s covered by that mouldy stuff, it’s not-so-good, right?”

“Correct, Franz.”

“Ah. Good.” Franz leaned back on the wall behind him. For reasons unknown to Lawrence, he still wore the top part of his regimental uniform in bed, medals and all. Underneath the covers, though, it was blue and white striped pyjama trousers.

“So, what are you reading there?”

“Oh, a little book on tactics and such.”

“Interesting?” The man nodded and smiled.

“Oh, yes. Very much. What is the chef doing for dinner, do you know?”

“I believe it is a salad of some sort. Unfortunately, Pierre has run out of garlic.”

“Ya, I did hear some crashing earlier. Mind you, when you’re this close to the kitchen, there is always noise. It is a shame, I was looking forwards to those Krainer Wurst you bought the other day.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to have those tomorrow, Franz. Right, I’ll be on to the next room, then. See you later!”

“Auf Wiedersehen, Lawrence.” Franz waved a big, hairy hand in goodbye as Lawrence closed the door.

The next room, unlike the others, did not contain a bed. It the place where the bed would have sat was a freestanding white bathtub with golden lions’ paws as feet. I did not have any taps, however, and was not connected to the central bathtub. Lawrence knocked on the door before he entered.

“Is it OK?” he called through the door.

“Yes! It’s fine.” A white, bald head could be seen poking up from inside the bathtub. “Hello?” the head said in a rather jittery sort of way.

“Hello, Bert.” The head looked behind him and to either side.

“Well, I don’t know who you’re talking to. There’s just me here, and my name is...ummm...do you like matchsticks? I do. Look at this.” From inside the bathtub he brought up a thin plank of wood with a large number of matchsticks glued to it. They were the headless type, thus the name ‘matchsticks’ rather than ‘matches’.

“Well, that’s quite amazing. You’ve done a very good job there on the window arches.” It actually was quite amazing. The matchsticks had been glued into a scale model of the Taj Mahal, albeit a very small one.

“Hmmm, well, I still think it needs a bit of work...”

“I think it’s perfect. So you want me to put it on the shelf for you?” Bert suddenly became very protective, drawing the model to his chest and placing a protective hand over it.

“No, thank you, I’ll do it myself.” He reached up and placed it on one of the shelves above him, between a miniature Big Ben and a tiny man pushing a wheelbarrow. He sat back down in the bath.

“So, did you enjoy your lunch earlier this afternoon?” Bert had now completely retreated out of Lawrence’s view.

“No. Didn’t have lunch. Needed to get the model finished.” Lawrence frowned.

“Well, you do need to eat lunch, Bert, it’s quite important.”

“Are you saying my models are less important than a bit of bread and butter? And don’t call me Bert, it’s not my name!” Lawrence did not want to argue in case Bert became destructive.

“Well, I’ll see you later then. Just make sure you have some food sometime today.” He backed out the door and closed it behind him.