The Sunday Mail
MR PRETORIUS lived in a nice flat in the Avenues. He had lived in the same flat ever since he came up from South Africa in the 1960s. He made a tidy fortune selling uniforms and equipment to the Rhodesian forces during the liberation war.
As he had never been interested in women, he had never married and never had children. But now he was getting old — and he had no one to leave all his money to — except a nephew, the son of his late sister, a sister he did not see once in the 30 years before she died and to whose funeral he did not go.
For obvious reasons, the nephew thought it was a very good idea for his uncle to leave his money to him and he had tried hard to make friends with him. He had gone to his uncle’s flat to visit many times and been told by his uncle to go to hell.
Mr Pretorius didn’t like people — visiting relatives especially. The perfect word for him was misanthrope (a person who dislikes humankind).
He loathed his nephew — his very name, Casper, was an abomination to him. A long time ago Mr Pretorius had read comic books about Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Mr Pretorius could not stand friendliness and when Casper, in the spirit of his name, tried to come and pay him friendly visits, his abhorrence for his nephew knew no bounds. He knew what Casper was after and he was definitely not going to leave his money to a friendly ghost.
So what to do? The idea of having to take a wife just to get a child to leave the money to filled him with horror. He did not want anyone in his life, living in his flat, getting in his way and, above all, making noise.
Noise, human noise, was something Mr Pretorius could not stand. He had already sound-proofed his whole flat to ensure that no noise got in. Since the 1980s people of all races had been living in his block of flats and some of them played their music full blast.
Not only was it the volume that he found excruciating but the so-called “music” itself.
In particular, he loathed the kind of noise people like Winky D produce —though Mr Pretorius had no idea that such an exotic personality existed. He hardly ever read newspapers and, if he did, he certainly did not read the entertainment section in The Herald.
Mr Pretorius was now caught in a tragic trap — and it was to be his undoing. He hated human beings but he wanted to leave his money to his own child.
The plot thickened when Casper wrote him a formal letter. He knew his uncle would have torn up a friendly letter on sight. Casper’s letter was a real business letter — he even wrote it on the letterhead of the firm where he worked, which was very appropriate as the letter contained a business proposition. In it he offered to find his uncle a shy young wife who hardly ever spoke.
Mr Pretorius should have smelt a rat but he didn’t. I mean, why would a nephew help his uncle to get a child to leave his money to when it was obvious he wanted it for himself?
However, Mr Pretorius was very interested in the proposition. If it could be arranged soundlessly, in his flat, he was prepared to co-operate in the marriage arrangements. He agreed. All the arrangements were made by correspondence with his nephew until the dreaded day came, when he was forced to allow a priest and witnesses, not to mention the bride, into his flat.
Despite the fact that he knew they were coming, when the bell rang, Mr Pretorius jumped with fright and let out a loud screech. Funnily enough it was only other people’s noise he was allergic to. Like a polecat that doesn’t mind its own smell, Mr Pretorius didn’t mind his own noise. He went to the door in his super silent slippers and opened, with his forefinger on his lips to indicate to his visitors that they must keep quiet. He didn’t have to as Casper had already briefed them.
In they tip-toed. This was the first time Mr Pretorius saw his bride — a shy young thing with a pretty face, who showed no signs of saying a word.
They went into the lounge and the priest in the faintest whisper began to read the marriage liturgy. In the croakiest of whispers, the groom said, yes. In the softest and demurest of whispers, the young bride murmured, yes. Then, the priest, almost silently, pronounced them man and wife. It was all very painless and Mr Pretorius was very happy – not happy enough to kiss the bride though.
However, no sooner was the marriage ceremony over than Casper’s mobile phone rang, with a ringtone that resembled precisely that kind of noise the old man had sound-proofed his flat to keep out. Then the priest said, in a very loud and unpriest-like voice: “Where’s the party!” The mobile phone then began to blurt some urban grooves at a very high volume.
Mr Pretorius was horrified but when he tried to get Casper to stop the noise and order his visitors to leave the flat, his nice quiet demure mouse of a wife spoke up with an extremely loud and screechy voice: “What the hell are you trying to do, old man? This is my big day and you’re not going to stop me having a good time on my big day!”
Casper fished out some beer form a plastic bag. The others crowded round the old man, congratulating him in the loudest of voices. His wife opened up the curtains and windows and removed the sound-proofing. All the noises from Fourth Street flooded into the room, not to mention the loud ‘music’ emanating from the neighbours’ flats.
Poor old Mr Pretorius! He was on his knees, two pillows pressed to his ears. After the torture had gone on for some minutes and Mr Pretorius was in danger of giving up the ghost, suddenly the noise abated. Casper helped his uncle to his feet, removing the pillows from his ears. “Uncle, aren’t you happy to be married. Now you can have a child to leave all your money to.”
The bride yelled at Casper: “Wait a minute! I want half that money! And everything else my darling husband possesses — not to mention my family who will be expecting him to help out.”
The old man groaned in agony: “Casper, I was mistaken. Help me get out of this mess and I’ll give you anything you want.”
The wife did not like that. She turned on her husband and yelled: “I’m here to stay, baby.”
But Casper had come well-prepared. He fished out of his pocket a document. “Sign this, uncle, and I’ll arrange everything as you wish.” It was a legal document, leaving all he owned to his nephew.
The old man was so distraught he grabbed the pen and signed. Anything to get rid of these people and, in particular, this nightmare of a wife.
“Thank you,” said Casper, pocketing the document. Then he nodded to the wife. Slowly she took off her clothes until she stood before them, stark naked — a young boy! “Uncle, this is your ‘wife’. As you can see your marriage is null and void.” Then he added: “What’s more, Uncle, the ‘priest’ is simply a drama student from UZ, who had no authority to marry you.”
Casper’s plan had worked. The “wife” got dressed and Casper and the others began leaving — to the nearest bar to celebrate in anticipation of Casper’s inheritance. At the door, Casper turned and said: “Uncle, now that I’m your heir, I promise to come and visit you more regularly!”
The old man groaned and curled up on the carpet like a little baby and lay there, moaning softly.
They say this event shortened Mr Pretorius’s life because about a year later a very unpleasant smell began to seep out of his flat. The neighbours called — or rather fetched — the police, who broke the door down and found Mr Pretorius had died some weeks before. Was this the end — and wasn’t it tragic?
Not quite. Mr Pretorius would not have made all that money providing uniforms and equipment to the Rhodesian forces if he had been stupid. On the dining room table the police found his will, which stated that he was leaving all his money to the Zimbabwe Rhodesia Relief Fund, because equipping Rhodesian soldiers is where his money came from, and to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA), because, though he didn’t like human beings, Mr Pretorius had nothing against animals.
Casper is no longer such a friendly ghost!
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