The Many Errands of Hercules

Bill “Hercules” Thompson was no longer the same man who earned the nickname, but no one would let him forget it. He had once been a violent man, determined to have his way at work, on the road to work, at hockey games where he tried to forget about work or at any other event where he had to deal with the public. Unfortunately, he was not allowed to forget who he once was. A court case involving an elderly driver, his walking cane, and serious damage to a Honda Civic were enough to have the name stick. And so, he lived his life with as much peace and quiet as he could sustain and stomach.

But it was not really enough.

The court had decided, once the fines had been paid and the damage assessed, that Mr. Thompson was still “a dangerous threat to public morals and must atone for his actions” (he would never forget those words or the tone of voice that accompanied them). Therefore, he would be charged with handling errands for the driver and his invalid wife; eight weeks until the debt was paid.

He should have been grateful. There was no jail time mentioned, and his wife was not ready to leave him just yet (the bags had been packed on the day of the case and left in the garage; she would have to get them out of the way before they returned home). No, he was lucky. The judge ordered him to head over to the Clydesdale’s home on Monday morning and begin his eight weeks of penance, “or however long this court deems it necessary to see you become a fit member of society” (really, did they have to talk like that?). Fine, he thought. That’s what I get for defending myself. He would show up at their place and start to pay back his debt to society.

It started with a stuffed toy.

The lion the woman demanded was not hard to find, but it was still a surprise when it became the first thing Ms. Rebella Clydesdale requested. She was a woman pushing 80 who could still manage her own mansion after her late husband died, and he left behind several maids and housekeepers behind, including the one he was found in bed with the day his heart stopped. Hercules knew nothing about this until she shared her story over some lukewarm chamomile tea that settled cold on his stomach. The driver he attacked had been one of her closest friends, and had suggested that a young man “such as he would be better off paying his debt to society by running errands”. Hercules wondered if jail would be so bad.

At least her request was not that crazy.

“Yes, please, dearie. Just that one lion. It reminds me of better times.”

She had a charge account at the store, which became a problem when he mentioned her name and they double-checked on the errand and purchase. She at least smiled when he got back.

“Just a few more things, dearie. Just a few more.”

The next thing was her prayer group. Now, Hercules almost bolted for the door when he learned that she had taken to religion after her husband’s “untimely end” and that he would be sitting in a room with nine other souls singing and chanting away over hymnals. But, he did not want to go to jail, or have to face that judge again, or even consider starting a new life in another country. His wife already knew what was coming up on the Friday and accepted on his behalf.

The women did chant, and pray, and encouraged him to sing “Amazing Grace,” “Be Not Afraid,” and many other hymns that he could not forget from his youth (his days of Catholic devotion were long over). And they were greatly impressed with his singing, offering him a place in their church – Our Lady of Purposeful Merit – if he so chose. He did not, but he kept his smile going.

How much more would he have to endure?

Well, this is how it went:

A stag’s head had to be hauled from the top floor of the mansion – seriously, they have a fireplace in their bedroom, he wondered - and bring it down to the basement and put it in storage with a lot of other junk. Then there was also a stuffed boar – “not a hog or pig, dearie” – that had also been kept in a guest room (guess they did not like their guests that much, he pondered). Again, back to the cold storage space in the basement…

And then there was the farm.

All that land for just one lady and her now dead husband, and he had not noticed the farm which spread down from a set of white fencing down through a valley bigger than any golf course Hercules could imagine.

“Just some simple grunt work, as the young people say, dearie. Just to get things cleaned up.”

It was a beautiful day when the stables were opened and he saw the Palominos and Percherons that made up the herd. All he had to do was clean up after them and make sure the oats, hay and water were ready. They were free spirits and he did not even imagine riding one, until the lady of the house mentioned saddling up and heading up to another field.

“It would take you ages to repair the scarecrows, dearie. You should take Boffin up there”

Boffin turned out to be a black and white Palamino who handled easily with new riders, and Hercules wondered if this was even punishment. From the directions he received, he rode up a small hillock, looked over and saw that there were at least three scarecrows that no longer knew how to scare anything. But that was not what bothered him about the scene.

It was the birds.

They seemed to be the biggest ravens on the planet when he rode down and they scattered to the trees on the edge of the farmland. For some reason, he was determined to finish this particular job in one day…and to add something more. By restringing the bodies stuffed with hay and hats, he noted that he could also put up some aluminum pans that would slap against each other when the breeze hit. The noise should be enough for the birds to get the message.

He would return to check on them…after he took care of another problem.

“Oh dear, dearie. Lerna got out.”

Lerna turned out to be a prize-winning bull put out to stud by Mrs. Clydesdale’s other half. He had been aggressive when he was within the confines of a stall, and now he was roaming somewhere around the estate. Hercules knew that this was way about his duties, but he enjoyed Boffin’s company. And he was sure that a horse could outrun a bull.

He was very sure that they could trace the damage it left behind.

After a full day of hunting it down, he could finally see the error of his ways.

Lerna was accompanied by two other horses and some cattle, grazing on the property beyond the fencing that seemed to belong to another very rich family with too much time on its hands and no real interest in the rest of society. One by one, Hercules managed to rope in the horse and the cattle came back willingly after they realized that the arrangement they had on their own property was pretty good.

Lerna turned out to have other plans in mind.

The bull charged at Hercules as he attempted to get a rope around it, knocking him to the ground before running past him and finding itself stuck into a thick maple tree by one stray horn. The house was informed, and Mrs. Clydesdale almost fainted at the sight of Hercules and his retelling of the tale.

“Oh, my dearie. Are you all right? You should take a break.”

He was only able to nod his head, and try not to drop on the spot.

And he had one more week to go…

That was an easy ride. Only trips to the fields and one climb up a tree to get some of the apples she grew (perfect at the end of the season). And she managed to get one of her staff to bake him a pie for all his hard work (it was truly a wonderful way to end his week).

But there was one more thing he had to do.

“Dearie, have you seen Ceebee?” She was holding what looked more like a belt than a leash. “He is my dog and…he needs a walk.”

He finished his slice, drank more chamomile, and smiled.

Why was this left to the end? All that time patrolling the fields and estate grounds and he had never seen any sign of any dog. It disturbed Hercules in some way that he could not place, especially after a chauffeur saw him with the golden leash and backed away. He decided to get it this done as soon as he could. There was something else on his mind.

Now, one thing that no one knew was that Hercules was afraid of dogs. His wife had been banned from even suggesting that they get a German Shepherd or Golden Retriever. An incident with a stray dog and several stitches as a child stayed with him.

But this was the last chore he would have to handle, so…

He had been given directions to a barn and took a short ride on Boffin later that afternoon. And that was when he should have noted the horse’s response. In all their time together, he had never seen the horse nervous or agitated. But here they were, a few feet away from a very dilapidated barn, and Boffin was rearing up to beat the dead, almost dropping his rider into the dirt and gravel.

Another dog hater…

And here he was, with the sun about to go down, facing his last errand.

The door was padlocked and bent outward, but he still felt no fear.

Something landed hard against the doors inside as he was pulling out the chain, but he still felt he could handle it.

And then…he opened the door.

It would probably have been a good thing if he had been told about the dog’s deformity. Mrs. Clydesdale probably thought that it would have been too much of a shock for him to see a dog that looked like that if he had been given all the information ahead of time. Instead, it only processed that one of the dog’s three heads had jaws that latched onto his left leg while another one dealt with his right. And the last head?

Well, we all know now.

The judge was brought into court and charged with overstepping his authority by allowing a man to face that beast and risk death. Mrs. Clydesdale and her driver were also charged with collusion, but the matter was settled quickly with their very clever legal team. And Hercules managed to survive the attack, gain a new perspective on things and possibly start a new life. And all he had to do was keep his temper under control.

And he knew he could handle it.

*

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.

You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

Give it a look...