Moving On

“Well, if it isn’t my old mate Shylock”, said Tubal. “How have things been since that little business in Venice when your pound of flesh scam came horribly unstuck?”

“Not so bad”, said Shylock. “As you know they forced me to become a Christian and hand over all my money to my daughter Jessica, so we’ve both moved on to pastures new.”

“So Jessica’s taken over the moneylending business, has she?”

“Not exactly. There’s no profit in moneylending for independents these days, not since people like Wonga cornered the market, so she’s taken to the next best thing in making a quick buck, namely estate agency and property development – not that she does much development of the properties that come her way, mind you.”

“And you?” asked Tubal.

“I run my own Christian sect, all Hell and damnation for wicked sinners, with Jessica’s help. We call it God’s Own Theoretical Christian Housing Academy.”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful”, said Tubal. “How does it work?”

“Well”, said Shylock, “We call it an academy because that way we can con the government into thinking that it’s one of these new free schools, and they give us lots of money to educate the kids of our members.”

“And do you?”

“Of course! We teach the three R’s – reading, writing and racketeering – and our pupils soon learn a very important lesson.”

“Which is?”

“The meaning of the word “theoretical”.

“Tell me more”, said Tubal.

“Jessica finds our church members some nice cheap housing - cheap for her, that is - and I make them sign our special contract. I don’t do the pound of flesh thing any more – I find that small print is much more effective. Do you remember that fake lawyer who got me into so much trouble in Venice?”

“You mean Portia, who married Bassanio?”

“I certainly do. She turned out to be a very clever cookie and moved on to become a full-time dodgy solicitor. We became quite good friends after things died down following that trial, and so I went to her office and asked her advice. She suggested that our contracts should contain clauses in print so small that even an ant couldn’t read it.”

“So what do your clients sign up to, then?”

“Let’s just say that once they’re in they don’t get out. They have to live in one of Jessica’s houses for life – pets are encouraged, and a very good idea for keeping the rats and mice at bay – and they have to pay a monthly fee for hearing my sermons every Sunday. Again, it’s for life.”

“Can’t they just walk away?”

“We find that the iron shackles bound to their ankles are a bit of a disincentive to that”.

“Remind me”, said Tubal. “What was your organisation called again?”

“God’s Own Theoretical Christian Housing Academy.”

“I’ve worked it out”, said Tubal. “You might have moved on, but you’re still a right little Scumbag However It’s Termed”.

© John Welford