1. MR PONTEY
BY
WILL DRAKE
Mr Pontey was late that morning. He had slept badly the night before, and was now in a
grouchy mood. His bathroom rituals were becoming irksome and slow. He cut himself
shaving. His gums bled after vigorous brushing with his electric toothbrush. His clothes were
not where he expected to find them. He silently cursed himself for his tardiness, particularly
in view of his impending interview with the boss of his company.
It was almost like a summons to appear before a court of law. He had never liked Mr
Marshall. In fact he suspected that there was not a single colleague of his who did not share
their distaste of Marshie as they called him behind his back. He was a bully. He would often
call some unfortunate minion into his large office and then proceed to tear them off a strip
about some unforgivable misdemeanour, threatening them with the sack if the occurrence
was ever repeated.
All these images swirled around in Mr Pontey’s head as he got dressed in his pin­striped
suit. He was after all head clerk. That was a respectable position. He prided himself on being
meticulous in his work. No­one could seriously fault him. He always checked and even
double­checked what he did. At the end of each day he went over the day’s activities to see
that nothing out of the ordinary could be reported. He had put in tireless service over 35
years, starting from the lowliest post of office­boy, which meant just running around, fetching
and carrying, and of course making the tea, and to now the exalted seat of being head clerk.
He had climbed the greasy pole to reach that dizzy height and he was not going to relinquish
that position without a fight.

2.
However, as he ate his usual breakfast and cornflakes, toast, butter and marmalade and two
cups of the strongest tea to fortify him for the day’s tasks ahead, he could not help having a
sneaking suspicion that today would be different in some way. He started to become highly
agitated. At such a time as this, having a companion, even a dog or a cat, especially an
animal, which does not answer back, would have eased his anxiety with soothing words of
comfort.
Nevertheless, as things had turned out, he had perhaps unconsciously made the decision to
live as a confirmed bachelor without the added complications of always having to explain
any decision he made or his behaviour for that matter, but evenings especially could be
lonely for him.
There was once a certain lady in accounts who flashed up in his memory just then. He could
not quite visualize her face, but he remembered the name ­ Mildred. A somewhat
old­fashioned name, but he liked it at the time. In fact, he liked her as well. He thought she
would have been a suitable companion for him in his dotage. He even went as far as
proposing to her. He could never forget the shame and embarrassment of that day, when
after he had gone down on one knee and asked her to be his wife in front of their colleagues
during the lunch­break she had just laughed. It was a cruel laughter which she did not
attempt to disguise. She was taller than he by a significant margin and that clearly made a
difference for her. He felt inferior to her even more so at that moment.
During their courtship or what he termed as such she gave the impression that she was not
averse to his friendship, and that given time, she might have professed love for him, but in
that cackle of a laugh she had made it clear that she despised him, and that she had always

3. despised him, and that she had just been humouring him. He then decided that from that day
forward he would never allow himself to be so humiliated by anyone, that he would remain
single for the rest of his life, if it meant that he would never have to go through such torture
again. He was a proud man.
And now on this day, when his boss has asked him to see him before the start of his shift in
the office, he knew that he would not allow anyone to force him to abandon his principles, by
which he existed as a man of integrity and honour.
Despite the fact he had been rushing around finishing off washing up his breakfast, he did
something which was completely out of character. He stopped. He sat down on the sofa, and
closed his eyes. He was not a meditating man, but for what it was worth, this moment of
stillness came close to being a religious experience. If you had watched him, you might have
been tempted to say that he had died, he seemed in another place.
Then, just as suddenly as he sat down, he jumped up, brushed down his suit and preened
himself like a peacock in front of the full­length mirror in the hallway. “That will do for the old
codger!” With that, he was out of the door and into the street. Walking briskly, he took only
about 20 minutes to the office, where he encountered as usual the boss’s secretary, a
crabby old spinster of an indeterminate age, who had also been employed in the company
possibly since its inception. She and the boss seemed to have come to an understanding, or
had they called a truce after initially fighting over who had the supremacy in their
relationship?
Often Mr Pontey and the others used to hear shouting and slamming of doors from the boss’
office. No­one intervened. It was good entertainment in an otherwise boring routine. They

4. almost looked forward to the next bout, but as the years went by, these became fewer and
fewer in number, until they ceased altogether. Everyone without exception wondered why Mr
Marshall had not sacked her. It was a complete mystery. Perhaps she had a hold over him.
She had some damaging information about him which she threatened to take to the press if
he did not keep her in his employ. Well, that was merely speculation, but it did make for a
good yarn over a cup of coffee at break­time. Someone almost invariably from time to time
would bring up this salacious piece of gossip to the delight of all.
“Good morning, Miss Steele. I am here to see Mr Marshall, I believe.” Mr Pontey looked at
her straight in the face, but did not accompany his greeting with a smile. That would have
been too much to ask of him.
“Yes, Pontey, he is expecting you.” She waved her thin, bony hand towards the door into the
boss’ inner sanctum.
“Thank you, Miss Steele. And it is Mr Pontey for your information. OK, Steele?” Mr Pontey
felt good at throwing that insult at the old bat. She may have looked like steel, but he knew
that steel melts in the fire.
“Oh, please yourself, Mr Pontey.” The “Mr” was said with as much as sarcasm as she could
muster. There was no love lost between these two old­stagers in the company. A mutual
dislike, even fellow­loathing, would spring up at the slightest impulse. She also had the
unfortunate and annoying habit of peering at you from over the top of her glasses in such a
condescending manner that you had this uncontrollable urge to throttle her.

5. Mr Pontey was now sufficiently riled up and fortified in the prospect of facing the boss. He
did not knock on the door but just walked in. Mr Marshall was sitting behind his desk, busy
studying some papers. He did not even look up to see who had just come in.
Mr Pontey decided that he would not stand in front of Mr Marshall, but make himself
comfortable in one of the armchairs and wait for him to discover the reason for his having
been summoned to be here. It must have been at least a good five minutes before anything
was said.
Mr Pontey figured that this silence on the part of his boss might have been designed as a
tactic to cause the former to be agitated and confused. However, the reserve was the case.
Mr Pontey was preparing his case and his emotions. He would not be the one to lose his
temper. He would win the argument. He was not like the others. After all he had served the
company well for 35 years ­ a period of time which ought to be acknowledged with due
consideration and gratitude.
Mr Marshall looked up from his papers and peered over the top of his horn­rimmed glasses.
“Ah there you are, Pontey.” Mr Pontey was not going to allow this insult pass by without
comment. “Sir, it is Mr Pontey to you.” He was proud that he had said this without getting
upset or raising his voice. He felt in a good mood. He felt that he was going to be able to go
back to his work that day in a few minutes after being metaphorically patted on the back for
his faithful service.
“Pontey, if I say it is Pontey, Pontey it is. Is that understood?” The boss was gearing up to
having an argument over what he considered a trivial matter, but one about which Pontey

6. clearly had other ideas. He glowered at Mr Pontey in order to emphasize the point, which
was lost on the latter.
“No, sir, it is not by me. If you will excuse me, I will not be thus insulted by you or anyone. I
must get back to my work, if you don’t mind.” Mr Pontey was about to get up from his seat
and move towards the door, when Mr Marshall’s voice bellowed at him like a hurricane.
“You little, insignificant man, I can address you any way I like.” His sneering words cut like a
sharpened knife, and Mr Pontey fell back on the armchair, as though he had been hit by a
bullet or a fist. His face changed to a deathly pallor. Mr Marshall continued his vitriolic bile:
“Your years of service here mean nothing to me. In fact I had called you in here this morning
about the slow pace at which you get things done. Pontey, I have decided that the best thing
for me is to fire you, so you can enjoy your retirement.”
As the boss spoke, somehow Mr Pontey regained his equilibrium. His face went from white
to an incandescent red. He was not going to lose his temper. He was in full control of his
faculties. He had prepared this speech for some time, because he knew his time had been
fast approaching. He looked at Mr Marshall full in the face without flinching. Mr Marshall
reciprocated with a contemptuous glare. He had said his piece. He was about to make a
flicking gesture to show his diminutive employee the door, when the latter stood up and
faced him.
“You will regret ever having said that, Mr Marshall. I have given good service to this
company over 35 years and well you know that. To try and dismiss me in this fashion will go
badly for you. I can promise you. Don’t say another word, otherwise you will only make it
worse.”

7.
Mr Pontey placed his downward­facing palm out towards Mr Marshall, as he spoke. He had
kept himself in check during this interview, and now he could leave the premises with a clear
conscience. No, he would not go back to his desk. There was no point anymore.
He walked out of the building and went home. He opened his front door, changed into
something more comfortable, and took his office clothes, which were now a bit dusty and
smelling of smoke, straight to the backyard and placed them in the incinerator to burn them.
He then went back into the house and poured himself a whisky. Something he had not done
for a long time and thought he now deserved it in celebration. He then sat down in his very
comfortable armchair, and went to sleep.
A few days later, he bought the local paper and saw the headline: Fire at local lawyer’s
office, two bodies found inside, appeared to have been tied up, blackened bits of rope found
on the scene near to the charred remains of the corpses, hunt for the perpetrators goes on.
He smiled. At last he could relax. It was done.
It happened early the next morning. He was suddenly woken up by the loud banging on the
front door. Putting on his dressing­gown, he rushed downstairs. “I’m coming”. He had no
idea why anyone should want him at this ungodly hour of the day.
“Open up.” The voice from outside seemed to be so insistent. “OK! I said I was coming.” He
was raising his own in complaint at this disturbance of his sleep and home.
He opened the front door and realized that he would not have another day of peace again.

8.
Two very nice police officers stood in the doorway, one of whom said very politely: “Could
you please come with us to the station to answer some questions about a recent fire?”