the infinite wisdom of swans, part two.

By Chris Killen.

The Infinite Wisdom of Swans – Part two: Hammer & Nail

Ian Nail has a revelation

‘I’m really boring, aren’t I?’ Ian Nail says.
The swan doesn’t say anything.
It’s dark in the garden. The swan is just a pair of eyes and an outline. The swan’s beak is curled in a perpetual smile. The smile is not a happy smile. It is the smile your mum might give you if you said something crude in polite company.
‘I am maybe the most boring man ever,’ Ian Nail says.
The swan doesn’t say anything.
Ian Nail stands up. The kitchen door is open behind him. Ian Nail goes into the kitchen. The swan follows him.
‘You’ve come into the kitchen,’ Ian Nail says.
The swan looks at him. It stands there.
‘I’m going to turn the light on,’ Ian Nail says. ‘Don’t be frightened.’
Ian Nail turns the light on.
The swan is illuminated.
‘Swan,’ Ian Nail says.
The swan blinks.
‘Swanface,’ Ian Nail says.
The swan blinks again.
Ian Nail smiles.

the swan watches Ian Nail make a cup of tea

Ian Nail touches his expensive 1995 brushed-chrome kettle. It is based on NASA technology, apparently. The box said it will boil in zero gravity. It is also based on sports cars or something. It will go from 0 to boiling in 1.2 seconds. Ian Nail puts the kettle under the tap.
The swan watches him put the kettle under the tap.
Ian Nail runs the tap.
The swan watches him run the tap.
For the first time in his life, Ian Nail feels absurd making such a sophisticated, space-age cup of tea.
What am I doing? Ian Nail thinks to himself. Why didn’t I just go to Argos and get a normal kettle? What was I thinking?
Ian Nail knows he needs to press his trousers for work tomorrow, too.
Ian Nail turns the kettle on to boil. The kettle boils loudly and quickly. Ian Nail feels embarrassed about how quickly it takes the kettle to boil. He feels intense, heart-stopping embarrassment for 1.2 seconds. He stands there fiddling with a teaspoon, pretending to be doing something important with it, before pouring the boiled water into his mug.
Swans don’t know how to make cups of tea, anyway. They are unfamiliar with the procedure.
Ian Nail imagines himself feeding his trousers into his trouser press. He imagines the swan standing in the bedroom, watching him do it.
Why didn’t I just buy an iron like everyone else? Ian Nail thinks. I’ve seen decent irons in Woolworth’s for under a fiver.
Ian Nail decides to call in sick tomorrow.
He is not going to press his trousers in front of a swan.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur Swanface,’ Ian Nail says, and the swan makes a small breathing sound from the nose holes on its beak.

Ian Nail touches the swan on its face

Ian Nail is in bed. The swan is standing next to the bed. Whenever Ian Nail looks over the side of the bed, the swan is there looking up at him.
I’ve made friends with a swan, Ian Nail thinks.
It’s exciting.
The swan watched Ian Nail watch some telly.
It watched him go for a wee.
Ian Nail can’t sleep. He fidgets around and keeps looking over the side of the bed at the swan.
The swan isn’t going anywhere.
Calm down.
Ian Nail lies on his back and closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep. He thinks, inadvertently, about a date he went on in 1976. The date lasted for about 100 years. The date was full of awkward, halting conversation and missed eye-contact. The date ended sometime in 2076, at the door to a girl’s house, with Ian Nail doing what he thought was the correct procedure on a first date, even a bad one – something learnt from television and the school changing rooms – and leaning forward and trying to kiss the girl on the lips and the girl pulling away enough for Ian Nail’s kiss to go onto her cheek and a bit of her hair. Then there was a lot of apologising, and then quiet, painful, interior wincing on the way home. Then there was nothing. A great stretch of nothing, like the Las Vegas desert or the tiling department in Do It All. Then there was 1995 and a house full of brushed chrome and shiny black plastic and pressed, razor-sharp trousers.
Then there was a swan.
Ian Nail opens his eyes and looks over the side of the bed. He reaches out his hand. He moves his hand in the direction of the swan’s face.
He has decided to touch the swan on its face.
The swan opens its beak and makes a small hissing sound but doesn’t move away.
Ian Nail’s hand moves closer towards the swan’s face.
It is going to happen.
Ian Nail feels excited.
I am going to touch this swan on its face, Ian Nail thinks.
Ian Nail touches the swan on its face.
‘Bloody hell,’ Ian Nail says.
The swan’s face is boiling hot.

the swan watches Ian Nail call the vets

It is nine in the morning. Ian Nail has called in sick with ‘tummy trouble’. He has touched the swan on its face again. He has touched the swan on its face three times. The first time, the swan’s face was the same temperature at a hot water bottle without a furry cover. The second time, it was the same temperature as a vinyl car seat on a summer’s day. The third time, it was the same temperature as the hot tap after it’s been running for ages.
Ian Nail has tried to feed the swan things.
He has tried to feed it a piece of ham.
He has tried to feed it a piece of bread.
He has tried to feed it some Kellogg’s Cornflakes.
He has tried to feed it a ham and cheese toastie, made in his expensive, black plastic toastie maker.
He has tried to give it water, milk, and fancy orange juice with bits in.
The swan has refused.
Maybe it’s a fussy eater.
Maybe it’s about to die.
‘I’m going to call the vet’s,’ Ian Nail says to the swan.
The swan watches Ian Nail thumb through the yellow pages and find the number and then dial the number on his expensive 1995 telephone.
‘Hello,’ says Ian Nail.
‘I’ve got a swan in my house,’ says Ian Nail.
‘No,’ says Ian Nail. ‘It kind of just turned up. It’s following me around.’
‘Yes,’ says Ian Nail. ‘It’s inside. It’s looking at me right now.’
‘No,’ says Ian Nail. ‘God. Don’t do that. Listen. The thing is, it has a really hot face. I think it’s burning up or something. I’d just like someone to come round and tell me what to do. Do you do that? Home visits?’
The swan watches Ian Nail say some more things into the phone and then put the phone down and then turn round and say something to it which it can’t understand.
The swan blinks its eyes at Ian Nail.

Ian Nail falls in love

The vet arrives about three hours later. Ian Nail lets the vet in. The vet is a woman. Ian Nail feels strange around women. He has always felt strange around women. Around women, Ian Nail feels like it is suddenly 1976 again and he is stood at a doorstep and it’s raining and he is about to do something unforgivably and hauntingly wrong.
‘I’m not going to kiss you, don’t worry,’ Ian Nail wants to say to the woman, even though he’s only met her for about forty five seconds. Instead, he says, ‘There it is.’
He is talking about the swan.
They are both already looking at the swan.
It’s obvious where the swan is.
The swan is standing in the hall, looking at the open front door and Ian Nail and the vet who is a woman.
‘It sort of follows me around,’ Ian Nail says to the woman.
‘Blimey,’ the woman says.
She’s roughly the same age as me, Ian Nail thinks.
She has curly hair, a bit like an afro.
She has big, floppy boobs.
She has a special ‘private area’ somewhere in her vet’s trousers.
Oh god, Ian Nail thinks.
She smiles at Ian Nail.
‘Looks like you’ve made a friend,’ she says.
For a second Ian Nail thinks she means her. Then he realises she’s talking about the swan.
Ian Nail tries to think of something to say. He tries so hard to think of something to say that his mind empties and he feels like he’s about to fall over or be sick on everything.
‘I’m Carol, by the way,’ the woman says. She holds out her hand for Ian Nail to shake.
Don’t try and kiss her, Ian Nail thinks. Keep calm.
He shakes her hand, which is soft and warm and a ruddy pink colour.
‘Carol Hammer,’ Carol says. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Carol Hammer! Ian Nail thinks. Carol Hammer and Ian Nail. Bloody hell! Hammer and Nail. Oh god. It’s too perfect. This is it. This is my opportunity to make a joke. All I’d need to do is tell her my surname, and she’ll laugh. I’m sure she will. It’s a bit like Cannon and Ball. Were those their real names, though? And if so, did they form a comedy double act just because of their names? No, seems like too much of a coincidence. They probably just made those names up, down the pub one night. Their real names are probably Smith and Jones. Which is another comedy double act. Maybe there were legal reasons and they couldn’t call themselves that. The actor’s guild, or whatever. But Cannon and Ball were around first, weren’t they? Anyway, we could form a double act, me and Carol. A love double act. A sex one, even. We could get married. It would make a funny story to tell at the wedding. Just don’t try and kiss her. Not yet, anyway. And definitely not if she asks you to walk her home.
Carol Hammer has stopped shaking Ian Nail’s hand.
She stopped shaking it a while ago.
She is over by the swan, crouched down next to it.
The moment has passed for Ian Nail to tell her his surname.
Oh well, Ian Nail thinks.
‘Tell you what love, why don’t you pop the kettle on and I’ll have a closer look at our little friend here?’ Carol Hammer says.
Love! Ian Nail thinks on the way to the kitchen, his heart fluttering. She called me love. Maybe I can tell her my surname later, when we say goodbye.
Then he remembers his space-age NASA kettle.
Oh god, Ian Nail thinks. I am the most boring man ever.