The Village Idiot.

I remember my father showing me a cracked and dog eared black and white photograph of his home town, village idiot. He explained how such characters were common in those days. Just accepted. Now they are mostly institutionalized. Except those tragic individuals from urban areas, who became victims of 'care in the community'. The scheme, whereby needy people were simply turfed out of mental hospitals to save money.

Most villagers, including my self, aren't comfortable calling Abey Repeat the village idiot. It seems disrespectful to someone we think kindly of.
It has oft' been said, that when he dies ( he must be in his 70's ), his funeral will be the most well attended of us all. You see, he spends every day walking around the hills an villages nearby, always repeating a recently heard phrase, such as,

"Ho ho ho! Santa Clause is comming. Hello 'Tickers' Santa Clause is comming, isn't he?"

He knows everyone's names, nothing wrong with his memory. Every one knows Abey Repeat. Few, if any of us, are so well known.

I'm not sure what's wrong with him. Some say, they heard he once drank bleach as a kid. No one really knows.
He seems aware he's liked but only in small doses. Like us all, he still wants company, so he spreads himself thinly.

I said he knows everyone's names. That's not entirely true. When I first moved here three years ago, he always called my girlfriend at the time, 'Mrs Roberts'. We saw no reason to correct him.
After we broke up, my sister moved in for a while.
He called her 'Mrs Roberts'
I started dating my first and only Afro'Carrabian lady.
He called her 'Mrs Roberts'.
I just assumed he couldn't tell the difference, even though Fabienne was black and the others white.
Until one day, he bumped into me, as I was locking my front door.

"How's Mrs Roberts?" He politely enquired.

"Very well thank you, Abe"

Then he surprised me by asking,

"That's three 'Mrs Roberts' you've got now, isn't it?"

"Yes Abe" I smiled, "I'm a lucky guy."

The story goes, when his brother died he was institutionalized. Cried every day. The locals protested, signed a petition. The authorities relented and got him a home and full time carer. The carer always makes sure Abey is smartly dressed.

I've heard said he's a 'flasher'. Most, including myself, reckon the sightings in the woods, of Abe with his sizeable 'tool' in hand, are the inevitable consequece of a simple man who wanders. Must need to find an outlet for those tense feelings.

Some time ago, I was looking out of my front bedroom window. I was hoping to see a neighbours car so I could have a chat.
From my right, I could hear Abey talking to himself.
From my left, came a car driving slowly through the narrow road. It drew up next to Abe and the window wound down. Abe approached the window and bent his head to listen. After a short while, and with his head still bent, he started to give the following directions.

"You go straight down here." His right arm made a chopping action, indicating straightness and direction.

"You go straight down here." he repeated.

"straight down here,"
"straight down here,"
"straight down here," each 'straight' was accompanied by the 'arm chopping'.

"You go straight down here."
"You go straight down here." I couldn't see the driver, but I could feel his despair.

"straight down here,"

"You go straight down here." he paused briefly to think.

"You go straight down here, then turn left at Mrs Roberts'."