The arthritic pain in his knees was not helping him much. It became unbearable when he bent down to search for the morning paper underneath the car parked in the garage. But the little misadventure and the pain he suffered paid of as he reached to grab the morning edition of the Citizen. He cursed the news paper boy again as usual for his deeds. But he knew the boy was helpless, his only entertainment in his hard busy life was to throw the paper rolls at people houses at impossible angles and in the process to leave them in places, the places only the astute men could deduce. Professor Mortimer was one of them, and even thou the age was a pain in the knees and now a days on the back too, he enjoyed this morning session. He was 62 years old and looked 70.

 The wrinkles on his face were more than those on crumbled piece of news paper he was holding. All the hair that’s left including the sparse few on his head, the eyebrows and the stubble of beard and moustaches were grey and he didn’t attempt to cover it with fake black colors as what was in custom today. It was not because of any particular principles or beliefs he held but simply because of the incident of irritation he developed when he used it for the first time. That incident left its mark on his fore head in the form of hundreds of pin point dots. No body noticed those dots because people only seem to look at the “not so big’ mole on his cheek. And his wife seems to notice only the kind glassy eyes. He shuffled his way back into the house. He was short and had a stoop. Only thing he was proud of at this age was his weight which never crossed the 57 kg mark. He ate little and he read a lot.  

When he reached the 12th page his wife bought him the coffee. He always drank coffee nothing else. His wife Mrs. Martha Mortimer was as beautiful as she was in her twenties. She was a petit woman just like her husband but with a face so beautiful that it drew attention even at the age of 55. Her eyes were her strong feature which seemed so big and full of warm love. Some said the professor went for the lady whose name started with ‘M’ rather than her beauty. Because they believed he lacked the sense to identify a beauty and it was easier for him to recognize the pattern words and numbers in a relation. But she knew he was mad about her the first time they met in the college library. Since then they have never looked back. And that was the reason she was hit by the car on the day of their marriage. Even thou she was the one who had a history of bone break, at this age she possessed far better mobility than her spouse. That’s what she never understood, he had better results health check ups and blood routines and never seemed to suffer from back pains when it mattered the most. Still always he walked with slow, stooped shuffling gaits. 

“Hmm good coffee …… as always” he turned the page to the editorial. Time for serious reading. 

“He wants new spades and axe” she was talking about their only son Mamor Mortimer. Yes they named him with the letter ‘M’, with a part of his as well as her name, and that name was the subject of much ridicule among the few friends he had then and among strangers now. But that name only added to the many other factors and cares that the Mortimers painfully took for the benefit of their only son who was born very late after much prayers and lot more treatments. It was these treatments that made the professor suspect whether his son had any genes that he himself possessed. He had read a lot about modern medical treatments for infertility. He was sure Mamo had her genes as he was handsome and more over delivered by her through a difficult caesarean session. 

Mentioning their son or his matter was enough to draw his attention from even the most serious of editorials, and she knew that.  

“Well if he wants to build a garden here he ought to have those tools.” 

“But they are heavy and dangerous” 

“Martha dear he is 21 and more over we will be here to look after him” 

“21 is a young enough. Why can’t he just sit here and read some thing or take up another project like writing a book or some thing.” She was now evidently disturbed and was scratching the printed writings off the coffee cup which he returned. He noticed what she was doing. But he noticed only the pattern she was making and not why she was doing such things. 

“Morty why can’t you just say some thing comforting,”  

He didn’t respond. He was calculating which letter she was going to scratch next. And she knew what he was doing at the moment. 

“MR MORTY” she screamed. She had to do that now and then to wake him up from the trance of calculation. He suddenly jerked as if waking up from a dream. He adjusted the cushion on the back of the seat and laid back and stared right into his wife’s eyes and said 

“Sit down Martha. Let’s discuss.” He continued “Look here Martha we pampered the boy long enough now. All that helped was to make him a sissy boy and away from all other people. And I still curse the day we named him Mamo.” 

“What’s wrong with the name Mamo?” she knew what was wrong and it was hard for even her to hide the smile. “Such an adorable name… but for a man… I know”. 

“And you know what they call him. They call him Mr. Mammoth jinx, after some stupid cartoon character.” He couldn’t hide from her the disappointment in his eyes, he couldn’t mask the sad contour of his face and the he couldn’t hide the bitterness of his voice. 

They sat in silence for some time. They knew there was a reason for the name jinx. Because for some years now it has been happening all the time. It started of with Mamo’s favorite school teacher Mr. Levin. He had been the Mamo of his class. So he understood him and protected him from others. And one day his motor bike went into the Roterdas River after successfully jumping over the 3 feet ledge of the Roterdas Bridge. Unfortunately Mr. Levin was on the bike at that moment and no one saw him ever after. Then in college a pimpled, spectacled fat girl with heart full of love and belly full of fat was forced to love him for what ever charm was left in him. Her name was Miss Menny and it started with an ‘M’. He was after all a Mortimer. The Mortimers were happy that at last he had a company who didn’t ridicule him. But his mother always of the opinion that he could have got far desirable ladies and his father was much impressed by the pattern the polka dots of her dress formed on her pot belly. On a hard rainy day, the day when no one can see where they are walking, she fell into an open drainage pit. Luckily for her waist size she got stuck at that level. And she was stuck there until a speeding truck driven by a drunken driver came along that way. Miss Menny who suffered many injuries didn’t make it. All the years of solitude and suffering had made him a person who could easily tide over the sorrow of loosing a loved one. And he moved on with his life. 

After college he wanted to go to work in a different city. But his parents wouldn’t hear any thing of it. So after much compulsion and a bit of improvisation he set up a card business in his home town. He would make hand crafted greeting cards from recycled paper, jute, bamboo, banana and what ever a creative sick mind could conjure up. Because of the advanced aesthetic sense of rich people who had bucks to spare the business flourished within weeks and he had to recruit two of his so called old buddies to meet the demand. The Mortimers were happy and at the same time a bit disappointed that his venture was doing well and in doing so it kept him away from home for a long time. And one day when he reached the shop some body had carefully and systematically destroyed every piece of furniture and equipments and all the cards were burnt which took with its flame a part of the shop too. His jinx continued and he now is sleeping peacefully in bedroom adjacent to his parent’s room.  

“After he finished his breakfast I will accompany him to the hardware shop next to St Gregory church” the professor said as if to him self. And with that he went back to his editorial.  

He woke up around seven. Did the morning routine of brushing, shaving and cleaning which took up a fair share of one hour. That was his habit. He did that purposefully to kill time because that’s what he had a lot, and these were the few ways he enjoyed it. He was tall and handsome. Had jet black hair and matching eyes. Sleek and slim like his father. And meek like he himself was. And he didn’t have the ‘not so large’ mole any where in his body. He greeted his parents ate his toast and omelets made in butter. Drank the family drink, the coffee and off he went with his father like an eleven year old even thou he was way past teenage. He got what he wanted from the shop while his father chit chatted with Mr. Sept. He was a thick, burly haired, large and smelly. Years of hardware shifting might have done its due share to make him so. And it was a funny how he made conversation with the professor. They walked back with the merchandise through the town after they drew the cross in front of the church and every body knew them well. They knew him better than his father because of the name. They were afraid of him because of the evil spirit that they thought he carried with him. He was a walking talking smiling curse for them. Lots of instant poets and writers were born when they cooked up stories about him and the evil spirit he possessed. Or the spirit that possessed him. Old women swore on their grand mother’s grave that they saw an apparition. Some saw a huge figure with lots of arms and eyes of fire while others saw smaller ones with bat wings and ears and still others saw singled eyes Cyclops with a big club the club that was used to break the his shop. There were debates on this topic on the annual grape festival and contestants justified their own version of the figure citing examples and statement made by old folks in death bed who died soon after their closing statement. They felt safe for now because all that was affected by the jinx was he himself. But for how long? They were keeping their fingers crossed. 

His new project was to convert the 5 cent land in front of his house into rose garden. He would design the garden so as to make the maximum number of roses. He liked the color red, so it was decided that only red ones will be grown. He started of by plucking all the weeds and mother’s favorite plants from the garden. Mrs. Mortimer just sat in silence because he was her little child when he made his way through her little orchid garden. His new tools were put to use and the land was ploughed thoroughly and fertilized adequately. He worked sincerely as he always did. Even before he started his work he knew at some point this will also be destroyed by ‘it’. But he was used to it and accustomed to the remarks and discouragements of the passer bys who saw him toiling under the evening sun. For obvious reasons they had no neighbors. So it was easy for him to work without a shirt in the hottest of climate. He loved how his garden was shaping up and he put up a small tent for himself beside the garden under the shades on fig tree. He started taking his meals there itself and later even dozing of in there. Mortimers were not particularly happy with the interest he was showing in this garden business. But they said nothing because they were happy he was within sight. His mother advised him on how to plant the rose buds and how to manure them while his father taught him the pattern to be followed for best sunlight and air for all buds.  

It was during these times when he was having his meal in the tent that he got a new friend, the cat. He named him ‘cat’. The ‘cat’ was living in the abandoned house near them. Both were lonely and the friend ship grew thick. He was always welcome in the house and even the Mortimers were fond of the cat despite the fear of rabies or other disease which he might bring to beloved son. The cat moved in with him into the tent and the parents got to spent less and less time with their only son. Months flew by and the garden became a rose garden. It was the most beautiful rose garden in the town or may be in that part of the country. The five square cents were turned into a red haven. Roses grew as thick as a forest and as tall as two men. One has to be careful while walking through the garden or else one might end up with thorns far up his body where one’s fingers could not reach. The newspaper boy was glad that he now had a lot of places to throw the paper at where the old man could not retrieve it ever. But still he enjoyed walking among them. His parents now saw little of him since he was no longer visible from within the house. His friend the cat loved to run amongst them chasing the new rodents that arrived tracing the smell of new roses and the old maneuver. The gardens fame grew along with the roses. People from different parts of the town would come with their binoculars to see the garden from Dr Jerome house which was two storied, provided a clear view and far away from the tent in which he lived. No body risked coming any closer other than the unfortunate passer bys who had no other option but to walk through the front of the house to reach their homes. 

Still days went by until one night it happened. The very next day professor waked up and saw the mud all over the floor of his house there was green slimy mud and bright red roses every where. The white marble floor could be seen at times through this heap of soil and flower. The whole house was filled with the sweet sent of freshly cut rose and the pungent smell of cow dung. Even though beautiful to look at the filth made him shudder. He woke his wife up and together they went outside to receive the shock of their life even though it was expected for some time. The whole garden had been destroyed. The tall bushes were cut down. The stubs were burned or crushed. And all of the roses were laid as a heap. And the winds from east were blowing the rose petals from the crushed roses through out the streets and into the town. That day people woke up with to feel the smell of rose in their bones, the pain of thorns in their feet, and to see the rain of red roses every where. The town was beautiful for a day. The smell intoxicated them so much that they felt they were eating rose and drinking rose. They knew where it came from, some where disturbed, some shook their heads and most of them had a silent sense of satisfaction that their prediction came true. The garden was destroyed may be forever. People began thinking and the future contestants for the grape festival debate were born who racked up an image of a beast with four hands and with tools like spade and garden scissors in them. The beast would be covered in thorn and red rose petals and so on it went. Every body was wearing footwear even inside their homes for the next few days.  

The grief of Mortimers knew no bounds. Mamo cried for a day with his cat and after two days of morning we was back to as normal as he was before the incident. It took them and the town a week to clean the mess. The cat was the saddest of all and scared of all. Every one and Mamo suspected the cat knew or saw ‘it’. Mrs. Mortimer was disturbed the most because of the foot marks of mud that was found inside the house. She suspected that Mamo was so deranged and bitter that he himself was doing these things to himself. She knew that her husband knew that too as he didn’t ever mention any thing about it or cared to study the pattern of prints on the floor. Now the garden looked like a desert and the tent in the corner resembled that of make shift tents of Arabs. He spent most of his time there with the cat on his lap. The Mortimers were concerned about his health. But he was living just like before but the only difference being that he now had a close friend to share his emotions. Mrs. Mortimer for once was really happy that he found the cat to live with. 

And then it happened again during the night. Morning came and Mr. Mortimer came out to fetch the news paper now that it was easy again. And he nearly stepped on the mass which was left of the cat o the door steps. His head was half chewed off and separated from the body. His body was busted open and his organs where spread all over the front porch. He thanked the fact that he didn’t have supper last night or else he would have puked it all over what remains of the neat portion of floor. He called out his wife and together they cleaned the mess. Mrs. Mortimer was sick for two days and didn’t eat any thing. The sight was horrible enough, but what was more deplorable was the thought that her beloved son could so mercilessly murder a cat. Mamo was not told about the cat present state and he didn’t seem to know anything at all. Not even a faint memory of the attack existed in him, if he was after all behind it, as his mother suspected. A faint glimmer of hope shone on his mother that her assumptions must be wrong and she started to conjure up images of beast with shiny teeth biting the cats head off. After the incident Mr. Mortimer lost his appetite further and spent most of his time between newspapers and rest rooms. Days passed after the incident and every thing began to roll on smoothly. And during those days no body realized that Mr.Mortimer was spending his time in rest rooms coughing out cat’s fur, brushing his teeth and cleansing his mouth with bottle after bottle of mouthwashes. He gets s a faint memory of what he does at times and what he had done all those years. It comes up during the time he calculates patters. He loved his son more than anything and he possessiveness grew in geometric progression. He couldn’t help what he was doing. He always calculated the pattern of, odds of the relationship he develops even with simple lifeless objects like his sons first cycle which he threw into the river. And when the odds of Mamo’s affection favored against him he will strike it of 

Months later new neighbors moved in because they couldn’t find other adequate homes to dwell in and also because they were not as superstitious as the current town dwellers were. When they moved in Mamo was sitting in the porch steps and his dad was going through his papers drinking coffee. That’s when Mamo saw the new girl moving next door. She noticed the handsome fellow next door and smiled at him. Mr.Motimer noticed this interaction and he started to calculate the possible pattern in which this new found relationship will evolve.