I'll admit, it was a bit of a stretch to get this particular story to fit this prompt, but I think there's a nice metaphor in there somewhere. ;)
**Written for FanFic100!**
Concerning Oranges, and Peeling in General
012. Orange.
Wednesday afternoon, and Mr. Dick is all alone, sitting on the front stoop outside of the Wickfield's quite Canterbury house, contentedly - and absently - peeling an orange. The coach has arrived early today, and so there is no Trotwood. Mr. Dick had said hello to Agnes, who had gone out in her sweet and serious way to dancing lessons, but until Trotwood returns (and Mr. Dick suspects that boy is, at the very moment, engaged in the most fearsome sums), he will be in solitude. He wishes he could share his orange with someone. It is almost too much for one.
Mr. Dick is reflecting upon King Charles' head, as is usual for him, and wondering if he stuck an orange on a pike, if the crows would come after it and think it was King Charles' head, etc., and is sucking off the juice from one finger, when he hears the front door open behind him. After vaguely fearing he was supposed to go in to get Trotwood, and realizing with relief that he wasn't, he turns around. It is Mr. Wickfield's young clerk standing there - rather sourly, Mr. Dick thinks. He can't ever recall the lad's name, but before he can say anything anyway, he is stopped by an imperious word.
"Move."
It takes Mr. Dick a moment to realize this command is addressed to himself, which of course does not improve matters. Uriah Heep (Mr. Dick suddenly recalls his name) is looking down, from his very tall height, with a strange and rather unpleasant expression on his face - Mr. Dick would almost think it superior, if he wasn't perfectly aware of Uriah's wonderfully good manners.
"I'm sorry - " he begins, "I am in your way?"
"Rather," responds Uriah Heep, in a way that sounds like his face looks, "I 'ave to be getting home to mother - I was forced to stay late for Mr. Wickfield. So if you would very kindly get yourself up off the walk, it would be appreciated."
Mr. Dick scrambles to his feet, nodding obligingly. The boy must be in a very bad mood, he thinks, for he don't usually speak so imperiously. What Mr. Dick does not suspect is that his own simple person emboldens Uriah to speak thusly. He does not suspect that Uriah Heep intends to lord over the pitiful specimen that would not - and could not - rebuke him. For Uriah Heep takes power, a rare delicacy to his kind, wherever he can get it - even if it is from a madman.
But, happily for Mr. Dick, he does not know this.
"My boy," he says, encouragingly, "would you like to share a very delicious orange with old Mr. D, to lift your spirits?"
"They don't need lifting, thank you." But he sits down anyway, for whatever reason. Mr. Dick thinks he has triumphed.
"You are one of Trot's friends, are you not?" he asks cordially. "He's a very good boy, Trotwood is. It is his ancestry, you know. His aunt? Just the same! The most wonderful woman in the world!"
"Ah, of that I am certain," replies Uriah, blandly. "Master Copperfield 'as been very fortunate, indeed. A lovely aunt, and a smart gentleman like you to guide him. If only we all had such tutors, such guardians in a despicable world!" He draws in an amiable wheeze.
Mr. Dick thinks this must be a compliment from the words in it, but somehow, it don't quite feel like one. "He is a very good boy. Very good. Even though he has had bad things tone to him, he is still good. I feel sorry for the bad people, though." And he separates a wedge of orange from the whole.
"Do you? You feel sorry for the bad ones?" Uriah Heep says, sharply, surprisingly the elderly gentleman. "It's very high and mighty, to call yourself good, and judge others, saying they are 'bad,' and so on, when you've never been put in their same places, and don't know how you'd behave."
"Oh no," Mr. Dick shakes his head emphatically. "You misunderstand me, Master Heep, very much! I was only saying this. Sometimes, I wonder if all people were good, once. Born that way, you know," he clarifies, peeling away a large strip of fragrant rind. "I have known very many good people - Trotwood, and Agnes, and the most wonderful woman in the world." His brother was even good, except when he was frightened, and wanted to send him away, though Mr. Dick refrains from mentioning this. "I hope I am good. I think that the bad people - like the dark gentleman and lady who had relinquished David Copperfield's son - must have had bad things done to them, and were quite hurt by it."
There seems to be a change in Uriah Heep's features, which Mr. Dick takes for rapt attention.
"And yet that," he adds, "don't mean the bad people should carry on the tradition, and be bad to others! I can spot em. And then - well then - they shall pay!" Mr. Dick doesn't quite know HOW they would pay, but he knows it sounds impressive to say so. He thinks that maybe, at the present moment, were he to encounter a bad person, he would hurl his orange at them, and make their coat all sticky. But he don't say this aloud, of course. He doesn't want to be thought violent.
Mr. Dick is so lost in these reveries, that when he diverts his attention away from orange-peeling, and focuses on Uriah Heep, he is surprised to find that the ungainly boy has gathered his books and leapt to his feet. "Almost," thinks Mr. Dick, wondering, "as though I've said something to upset him!"
"Would you like," Mr. Dick offers, by way of soothing things, "for me to help you carry your books to your home?"
"No!" responds Uriah hastily, and, Mr. Dick thinks, rather less sourly than before, and more like his usual self. "I am a very umble person, you know, and you a gentleman - "
"Ha ha! I am no gentleman, boy, I am just poor simple Mr. Dick," replies that man, chomping the last bit of his orange, and flinging the rind out into the street for the birds. He is flattered nonetheless.
"It is true! So true!" Uriah replies, backing away slowly. "A Gentleman. A Gentleman who 'as inspired me by your words today. Those are so true, also! And always know sir," he adds, "that I am your most umble servant - you will remember, sir, that Uriah Heep was always most obliging and umble in gen'ral? A good friend, you know?"
"Certainly," says Mr. Dick, mystified.
"Ah, thank you sir - thank you very much for that!" Mr. Dick is beginning to think Uriah is more trained in the art of prostrating himself than the Orientals in the pictures books, as he salaams, and edges down the street, and disappears.
Uriah Heep is very young yet, Mr. Dick. You will regret that you have taught him to be more secretive, to have more slyness, to better apply the veneer of humility in his dealings with everyone, so that it may better serve him, in the end. But you have also struck a chord in his sinewy soul, and you have frightened him. Because, Mr. Dick, you ARE good, and sometimes there is nothing so frightening as that.
Yet Mr. Dick is perfectly unaware of all this.
Rather, he is more disappointed that he talked so much he did not enjoy his orange. Alas, he has learned his lesson today!