The Parcel

[Dusak]

The doorbell sounded as Bob was getting himself ready for the most important day of his life. Today saw the final interview for a job he so desperately needed after nearly four years without work. He opened the door, giving his usual tap on Polly his budgies cage as he pulled the front door open. The postman stood there, smiling broadly at him like a Cheshire cat. Bob eyed him with suspicion. This postman was new. And he wore a turban. The postman continued to smile at Bob as if he were privy to some private joke but this went unnoticed as Bob continued to stare at the turban.
''Good morning. Mr Robert Wakefield? A parcel for you sir. If you would like to sign for it please.''
The postman held out the small parcel in one hand while the other held an electronic signature pad. He continued to smile at Bob.
''Whats in it.?'' Bob asked with a slight edge of suspicion.
''That is unknown to me sir, if you just sign for it I'll be on my way as I have a busy day ahead of me.''
Bob eyed the postman's empty trolly. ''Why the hurry when your trolly's empty. Wheres the usual postman Kevin?'' Bob asked as he noted the small lapel badge of two crossed swords and again looked at the turban.
''He suddenly came down with a bad sickness sir, food poisoning I believe. Now, if you could just sign please I will leave you to enjoy your day sir.''
Bob signed with a slight reluctance and took the offered parcel. The postman smiled again and as he turned to go, spoke.
''And a very happy birthday to you sir.''
''Birthday?'' Bob stated, sounding confused. ''Its not my birthday. Why would you say that? Whats going on?'' Bob demanded to know.
''The sellotape around your parcel sir. See, the little Teddy bears all holding hands and singing happy birthday to you.'' The postman turned and proceeded down the pathway, humming the birthday tune to himself. He stopped at the gate and turned to Bob. ''I hope your celebrations go with a bang as we Indians say sir.''

Bob closed the door and walked towards the kitchen. He held the small parcel as if it contained a fragile piece of ornamental glass. He tentatively placed it on the telephone table. He just stared at it, trying to figure out what could be inside the parcel. Then he heard the ticking.
''Jesus!;; He exclaimed. ''Its a bomb!'' Bob staggered backwards into the wall in a mixture of fright and terror. The ticking seemed to get louder and louder inside his head, mixing his thoughts into a confused state. What should he do? Get out of the house. How long had he got. What about old Mrs Beaty next door, shes eighty three. The police. Phone the police, they'll know what to do.Bob grabbed the receiver and punched in the numbers. He heard a woman's voice at the other end.
''Emergency services, pleas state your name and address and the nature of the emergency.''
''My name is Robert Wakefield and I live at seventeen Pine Close and I have a bomb.'' Bobs voice was shaking as he relayed the information.
''A bomb sir? What king of bomb?''
''How the hell do I know what kind of bomb it is. The kind that goes boom.'' He shouted down the receiver.
''Please, try to keep calm. Evacuate the premisses, Help is on its way.''

Bob stood at the end of the street with his neighbors, all staring at him with a mixture of suspicion, contempt and fear muttering the words terrorists and bombs. Old Mrs Beaty was jabbing her walking stick upwards, telling them to look at the sky's for falling planes. Bob watched as the bomb disposal team withdrew the small mechanical remote controlled vehicle that was fitted with all kinds of gadgets from his home. He could hear the wheels making a crunching sound as it passed over the broken glass.
....sir. Mr Wakefield?''
Bob slowly turned his head towards the bomb disposal officer that stood at his shoulder.
''You blew my front door to bits and I've missed a very important interview.'' He stated very matter of factly.
''Sorry sir but it was necessary as you had shut the door and left the keys inside.''
''And Polly my budgerigar?''
''Collateral damage sir. If its any comfort to you, it would of been a quick death.''
The conversation was interrupted as the officer received the all clear from his team. Another member walked towards them, a small package in his hand.
''False alarm Sir.'' he stated. ''The package just contained a small child's alarm clock and a letter addressed to Bobby. That you Mr Wakefield?'' He asked as he held out the items.
Bob took the little clock, tucked it under his arm and opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Bobby,
I was cleaning out the attic the other day and came across your old school alarm clock. You always called it your lucky clock as it always got you up in time for school so I thought that you would like to have it as a keep sake and you never know, may bring you a bit of luck getting you up in time for your new job that I feel certain that you will get. I've wound it up for you as with your big clumsy fingers your bound to snap the little key. I've been thinking about the phone call from last week and I have to say that I think that you are being silly about the nice Indian man that has the corner shop. I don't think that he sold you the bottle of sour milk on purpose and you where daft to accuse him of trying to poison you. And when he said that if he was going to kill you he would think of a better way, it was just said in anger and not to be taken seriously. Go round and see him and make your peace as the shop is handy for you. Also I worry about you not having any insurance for your home. I know moneys been tight with you not having any work but just make sure that you renew the policy as soon as you get paid. Lots of love, Mum xx PS. Say hello to Polly for me. xx