Observations placeholder

Out on a Limb – Shirley MacLaine
"Tip o' the hat to ya," said a completely new voice. "McPherson here. Tom McPherson. How are you doing out there?" the accent was funny. I laughed out loud.

Kevin cocked his head as though he wasn’t really doing it. The expression on his face made me feel he wondered why I found him so funny.

"My, my," said the McPherson voice. "I didn't expect a reaction like that quite so soon. It usually takes me a while to work up to that."

Kevin had said this McPherson character was amusing. I felt as though I could feel his personality coming through. It wasn't just the sound of the voice, it was almost the presence of a distinct new energy in the room. It was remarkable how he seemed so separate from Kevin. Being an actress, I had to hand it to Kevin. If he was acting, it was a superb transition.

"Is your whirring box going?" said McPherson.

"My what?"

"Your whirring box."

I looked down at my tape recorder. "Oh that," I said. "Yes. Is it all right?"

"Oh, yes," he said, "of course. I just wanted to make certain you captured the details."

"The details?"

"Quite right," he said. Kevin coughed. He cleared his throat and coughed again.

"Excuse me," I said, "but what's wrong with Kevin's throat?"

"Oh, nothing," said McPherson. "I'm just having a little difficulty adjusting to the vibrations of the instrument."

"Oh. You mean you try to adjust your energy vibrations with Kevin's energy vibrations?"

'Yes. Quite right. Over here we work with vibrational frequencies. Do you have any of your brew about?"

 "My brew?"

 "Yes, I believe there is an herbal brew about?"

"Oh, you mean tea?"

 "Quite right."

"Why yes," I said. "Would you like some?"

"Very good."

 "The cup is very small. Shall I put it in Kevin's hand? Will he be able to handle it?"

"Oh, yes," said McPherson.

I filled the cup and held it in front of Kevin. He made no move to lift his hand. His eyes remained closed.

“Just place it in the young man's hand 'Thank you."

I lifted Kevin’s right hand and slipped the cup into his palm.

“The cup is not so much small as it is tiny," said McPherson. I laughed. I didn't like these little cups myself.

"Have you a mug about?" asked McPherson. "I believe you have glass mugs in your cupboard?"

I looked over to my kitchen. He was right. I did have glass mugs. Only I never served tea in them.

"I'm partial to mugs," said McPherson. 'A bit of the old pub feeling. Helps me to think clearly."

I climbed from my knees, walked into the kitchen, and fetched the mug. I continued talking to McPherson as I went. "So you really are an lrishman? Do all lrishmen think better with mugs?"

"Quite right," said McPherson to my back. I returned and poured more tea into the mug and exchanged the cup.

'Well, it's not like the pub, but anyway," said McPherson.

Kevin raised the mug to his mouth and took a sip. His eyes were still closed. He swallowed the tea.

"Can you actually taste the tea?" I asked.

"Well, I sense it more than I taste it. I use the instrument's oral faculties to gain a sense of it." He took another sip.

"If it was too hot, would you feel it or would Kevin feel it?" I asked.

"I would react to protect the instrument," said McPherson. "I wouldn’t feel the pain, but there would be empathy on my part, yes."

“And if it was really hot, what would you do?" I asked.

"Probably use a better command of the instrument's system to deaden the pain”

There was a silence. I could feel McPherson waiting for me.

"May I call you Tom?" I asked.

"Very good."

"I hear you were a pickpocket," I said.

"Quite right. Although pickpocketing was more what you would term my cover trade."'

"Your cover trade?"

"Quite right. Actually I was what you would term a diplomatic spy."

'A diplomatic spy? For whom?"

"For the English Crown, I'm sorry to say."

"You were a spy for England and you're Irish?"

"Quite right. I was Irish even though the name McPherson is Scottish. I took the name of McPherson to disguise my Irish identity as there was deeper prejudice .against the Irish than Scots in those days. Hasn’t changed much either."

'Well, why were you spying for the English if they were so prejudiced against your people?"

"I like to think of myself as a freelance spy. The Crown simply hired me to lift important papers from Spanish diplomats. I was very good at that sort of thing. Therefore I call myself a pickpocket. It is more humorous for me."

I sipped some tea, trying to make heads out of tails and not getting very far.

"So, now you ply your trade more positively to help others down here, do you?"

"Quite right. Balance and karma and all that."

"Didn’t you get points against you for being a pickpocket--diplomatic or otherwise?"

"Quite right. I am working off some of my karma now by being of service to you."

"I see."

I was alternately amused and sceptical

"Have you any more of your brew about?" asked Tom.

“Yes, certainly." I poured another mug of hot tea.

'Did you wish to make any other inquiries?" Tom asked.

Now I poured some tea for myself, considering what would be a productive line of approach.