Moondog and the Reed Leopard

by Neil Mach

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So, how long?’

  ‘What? The Chinses man? He said he’d finish what he’s doing and find a scribble-pad.’

  ‘Figures.’

  *

  They waited at the corner and faced the glass shop front. The wind regained its strength, so Hopie shuddered. Maybe, at that moment, Moondog finally realized she’d dressed unsuitably for outdoor activities — actually, she’d dressed elegantly for a posh lunchtime meal. ‘Sorry,’ he said, in a hushed tone. ‘I spoilt things, didn’t I? I blew things off. I hope you will forgive me.’ Then he did something astonishing and wonderful. He took her by the arms, pulled her close, and hugged her.

  ‘This is much more exciting...’ she whispered. She enjoyed the feeling when his strong arms cradled her, so allowed her head to sit snug against his chest.

  ‘You are an intelligent and virtuous girl with impeccable spirit,’ he told her, ‘I should be kinder to you. I will make things up.’

  She squeezed him in the ribs for that comment. Then, after a long, squishy feeling that warmed her heart and went to her toes, Hopie felt the weight of her bag, pulling at her elbow down. She decided to untangle her elbow to let the bag sit gently on the floor. And that’s when she remembered that it contained the glass, taken from the café, with Moondog’s prints on it.

  ‘Why did you bring a big washbag with you today, by the way?’ Moondog asked, with sincere curiosity. ‘I meant to ask you earlier. Usually, you carry a small handbag.’

  ‘Please, can I ask you something?’ Hopie replied, attempting to ignore his probe.

  ‘Go on...’

  ‘Have you ever been in trouble? I mean, have you ever had the cops after you?’

  ‘We’ve all done things we regret; I suppose. We are all sinners, aren’t we?’ Moondog said, as he stared into the sky. ‘We all fall from grace now and then. It’s a human condition.’

  His answer was sufficiently broad enough to fail to address Hopie’s specific point. So, she tried again: ‘But have you done anything truly bad? I mean, against the law. Something that would earn you a criminal record?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  She pinched his arm and gave a grin, ‘No, of course not. I led a sheltered life until I met you. But what I’m getting at is this: are you wanted by the authorities? You know, by the police?’

  ‘Me, wanted by the police?’ Moondog let out a huge guffaw. He slapped his free hand against his thigh. ‘Quite the opposite. If the police ever circulated their most unwanted list, I would be at the top of it. They would offer fifty grand to anyone who could keep information about my whereabouts to themselves, hah. If I ever got bundled away, never to be seen again, the police would be extremely happy…’

  ‘Be serious...’

  ‘No, I mean it. I am serious. The police don’t like me. They think I’m forever stepping on their toes, getting in their way and making life difficult...’

  Hopie began to take short, pointed breaths as if she had started to lose her patience. ‘But are you in trouble with them? Yes or no?’ She honestly didn’t think she’d get a straight answer.

  Moondog could tell she was rooting for something, but wouldn’t let her win easily, ‘Like what, for instance?’

  ‘You know,’ she gave Moondog a playful yet frustrated thump. ‘Have you ever been arrested? Brought to court, placed into custody, that kind of stuff? ‘

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Is that an absolute no-no or is it because you can’t remember?’

  ‘What is all this Hopie?’ He unwound from their embrace and pushed back her shoulders to gaze into her eyes. ‘Why are you giving me the third-degree? I have nothing to confess to you or anyone. My conscience is clear. I went to Mass on Sunday to confess my sins. I’m not keeping anything from you or any other. I said nope because I meant it... ‘

  ‘You sure?’

  Moondog nodded slowly.

  ‘It’s just that, just that...’ she looked away from his eyes to stare into middle-distance. ‘It’s just that... why do you avoid cameras? The guys at the cop-shop think it’s because you’re on a wanted list. Is that why you keep your face out of the lens?’

  ‘The same lads that slander me. The same ones that say I put-it-about? As I already told you, Hopie, I don’t have a criminal history. So, stop pushing it. Don’t forget a television company has employed me. Don’t you think they’d require me to be credible and trustworthy? Don’t you think they go through all the checks?’

  ‘Yes, I hadn’t thought of that, to be honest. You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grilled you the way I did.’ Hopie gave a satisfied breath and lifted her heavy bag from the floor. ‘But, still, if that’s the case, why don’t you allow your picture to be taken?

  ‘Privacy. Intimacy, humility, respect, and sensitivity. I think there are a hundred reasons. Cameras are invasive, but the most important reason is —’

  ‘You don’t mind using your own cameras to take pictures though, huh?’ Hopie was thinking specifically about his track-cameras that he’d concealed to get pictures of wrongdoers.

  ‘That’s a fair point. You caught me.’ He gave a weak grin. ‘But I am not out to get images of human activity, am I? To be fair, I placed those cameras to record impressions of deer, foxes, rats and maybe a big cat... Why should a human come into the picture?’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you... but you were about to tell me your most important reason...’ But she’d left it too late. Because a plumpy-dumpy man, wearing a clean white apron, approached from the side door of the take-away. He had a notebook in one hand and held a meat cleaver in the other. He gave them a dazzling smile that she decided was probably false. The meat-cleaver looked sharp and dangerous.

  ‘The best of the day, sir...’ Moondog said as he watched the man’s advance. Hopie noticed that his eyes remained fixed on the cleaver. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing the owner of this glorious establishment?’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ the man beamed. He pulled the cleaver down to belly-height. ‘My name is Tony Marr, at your service.’

  ‘It’s a privilege to meet you Mister Tony, and a distinct pleasure to place an order with you...’ Moondog pulled his wallet from a side-pocket and produced a bunch of fifty-pound notes, ‘I do transactions in cash. I assume that is no problem?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Tony Marr. His eyes rounded on the notes, and he bounced his toes.

  ‘Let us start then... Do you do smoke aubergine kung po?’

  ‘I do...’

  ‘Please add jasmine for fragrance. Then tofu with black mushrooms, spinach and bean sprouts, vegetable fried rice. Would you add wasabi to the spinach?’

  ‘If you wish,’ said the takeaway owner, licking his lips.

  ‘Do you use chicken broth or fish broth in vegetable sauces?’ asked Moondog.

  ‘No, sir. Do you eat egg? We egg our noodles and our bread, but we avoid such at all other times...’

  ‘Very good, in that case, you may add any special vegetable dishes at your discretion. The meal must contain no meat. Also, it must feed a dozen. No, make that fifteen. Fifteen growing lads. Add two pints of bubble tea. Will a hundred guineas cover an order of this magnitude? Also, will the figure include delivery?’

  ‘Ample,’ replied the restaurateur. ‘Delivered where?’

  Moondog passed the cash then relinquished his smart phone. Mr. Marr looked at the image he saw on the screen of Moondog’s phone and wrote something down on his pad using shorthand. Hopie tried to catch a glimpse of the screen and stood on tiptoes to get a proper look, but Moondog slipped his phone away before she had a decent viewing.

  ‘Add a note to the food, please. to say — with kindest regards and compliments of a good friend, Jack.’

  The man nodded and wrote the words on his pad.

  ‘You work in this place on your own, Mister Tony?’

  ‘Yes sir, I, me and my wife. My youngest daughter is here too; my eldest went to college in Seattle.’


  ‘Seattle? Impressive. Family in America?’

  ‘My eldest has a family in Washington.’

  ‘You are blessed, Mister Tony. I offer you my unreserved congratulations on your considerable success. I also offer my best wishes and the spirit of money and gold to you and your remarkable family...’

  ‘What is your name, sir?’

  ‘Me sir? I’m just a humble traveler, sir. A pilgrim is passing. I come and go like the moon. I pass in a day, sir, perhaps like a butterfly.’

  ‘I have met many wayfarers and drifters, and your brothers and sisters are always welcome at Tony Marr’s. Please tell them that. I want to say, with all my heart, it’s a distinct pleasure to serve your community.’

  Moondog wiped away the complement with a symbolic, self-effacing hand-gesture. ‘That’s good of you Mister Tony. What time will your first delivery go out? ‘

  ‘Six thirty...’

  ‘Leave this order until half past seven, please. And when does your delivery driver arrive? Where is he now?’

  ‘He’ll arrive at six. He lives elsewhere.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Ram. His name is Mister Woo Ram.’

  ‘He’s a Korean gentleman then, is he?’

  Tony Marr nodded

  ‘Very well. Tell Mister Ram I have business for him too. He could do me an errand that might be worth fifty guineas in his hand. But my errand needs to be completed with discretion. And outside shop hours, of course. Please pass this onto him ...’ Moondog transferred another tenner to show he was serious. Then he showed Mr. Marr another image from his phone screen. It was Moondog’s own mobile number. The shop owner recorded the number on his pad. ‘Tell Mister Ram to call me at six.’

  ‘Thank you; I will do that. Can I offer you something while you’re here? A sweet-loaf or a pancake? With our compliments, of course.’ Mr. Marr smiled.

  ‘Not for us, but it’s a very generous offer. If you have a moment in your busy evening, though, would you please pass some buns to the transient over there.’ Moondog indicated the tramp hidden under a pile of trash, across the road. ‘The brother is down on his luck.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll get it done right now. Do call again.’

  *

  Moondog and Hopie trudged off — past the tramp, who’d collapsed into his dirt — and down the hill again.

  ‘Where are we going now?’ Hopie asked. ‘I thought we’d eat Chinese food?’ She was aware her belly rumbled loudly.

  ‘We’re going to Missus Victorina’s place.’

  ‘Who’s Victorina?’

  Moondog whistled happily and threw his head back so that his curls frisked and capered with a life of their own.

  ‘Why are you not you telling me things?’ Hopie asked with an accompanying sigh. She tugged his sleeve and hurried to keep-up with his long strides.

  ‘Missus Victorina is a very nice woman. You will like her. I said I’d make things up to you. We’ll go for a meal at her place.’

  ‘Who did you send the take-away off to? Was it to Victorina? Is she lucky enough to get a hundred pounds worth of Chinese scoff? And, more importantly, will we share it with her?

  ‘Don’t you know who I sent it to? No, it was not Victorina…’

  Hopie slowed for a moment then wrinkled her brow. Finally, she prodded his ribs and said, ‘I give in. I don’t know who you sent it to... I can’t think. Please tell me.’

  ‘The police station, of course. The lads at the Nick deserve a treat, don’t they?’

  She looked into his eyes, but Moondog remained distant, ‘You know, sometimes you’re amazing,’ she offered.

  ‘Sometimes?’ Moondog replied, with a satisfied grin.

  *

  Eventually, they arrived at a new location in town, a place she’d never been to before, Woodpecker Drive on the Blackbrook Estate.

  ‘We’re a little early,’ Moondog told her, ‘So we need to sit on a garden wall and wait...’

  ‘This woman is expecting you?’

  ‘I met her when I worked on the allotments. As I said, she’s a nice lady. She said I could come any time for tea. Any time. Those were her exact words...’

  ‘So, she’s not actually expecting you?’

  ‘I want to take the call from Ram first...’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Hopie glanced at her phone. Nearly six, where had all the time gone?

  They found a garden wall, protected from the wind and gathering moisture. The concerned occupants of the neat house, whose front wall they now occupied, pulled back net curtains to stare, then they closed their heavy drapes tightly so they would not see the trespassing strangers. Out of sight, out of mind. It was the English way. And an Englishman’s home was his castle; strangers are never welcome.

  Soon after six o’clock, Moondog’s phone rang. He answered, and Hopie heard the voice of a man on the other end.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, I have an errand for you, do you want it? Well, I understand you can get hold of natural remedies. Am I correct in that assumption?’

  There was a long pause while the man thought about answering. So Moondog continued, ‘You see, I cannot settle in the night. I do yoga, but I feel no calmer. I cannot smoke because I’m allergic to fragrant smoke, do you understand? ‘

  The man seemed to make noises of agreement.

  ‘So, I wondered if I could get hold of a natural remedy for myself,’ continued Moondog. ‘Maybe, if it’s not too much to ask, you might perhaps be able to provide a sip of happiness? ’Moondog allowed the information to filter through. ‘Do you think you could do that? Would fifty cover it? In addition to your delivery charge?’

  Hopie thought she heard an affirmative grunt.

  ‘Excellent. I will take delivery at the lay-by near Groby Pool tomorrow. Do you know it? It’s where the trucks stop on the by-pass? Oh good, you do. Excellent. I will be on foot. With a red handkerchief tied around my head, so you can recognize me. At four in the afternoon, tomorrow?’

  The man seemed to agree.

  ‘Good, I will see you at four.’

  ‘All settled?’ asked Hopie, once Moondog had put his phone into his lap and added Mr. Ram to his contacts. Hopie guessed he had given the man a sheep’s head identifier.

  ‘All done. It seems our Mister Ram can provide herbs...’

  ‘Is that significant?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘Will you meet him? Is it dangerous?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Possibly it is dangerous. I’ll decide tomorrow. You can help me decide...’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Get information about Mister Ram. Do you have access to police records? ‘

  ‘No, not like that I don’t. That’s outside my realm and will get me into a whole lot of trouble. But I could ask a friendly Copper if he knew anything... Is it Woohoo Ram?’

  ‘It is. But please don’t ask Jimmie, huh? Keep him out of this.’

  ‘No, not Jimmie. I will see if I can get it done by someone else, and I’ll let you know the result by four. Can I have your mobile number so that I can leave a message?’

  ‘Sure...don’t text me though, remember that. Leave a voice message.’ Moondog handed her his phone and said, ‘Get it for yourself.’

  The model was not familiar to her, so she went through his directory. As he’d told already her, all his contacts had been stored along with accompanying images. Flowers, animals, cars, pub signs, trees. She scrolled until she found an entry that had no associated image. ‘This one?’ she said. He nodded. So, she tapped the number into her phone.

  ‘Now, let’s eat, shall we?’ Moondog said, as he stood and stretched his arms. Hopie lifted her bag and brushed away the brick dust from her rump. She noticed her backside now felt damp.

  ‘I hope we’re presentable for the elegant Missus Victorina,’ Moondog said.

  ‘Yes, me too,’ Hopie replied. ‘Because I’m famished.’

  *

  Victorina Puck

  Victorina Puck came to the door of nu
mber 54 Woodpecker Drive wearing a pair of cut-down embroidered jeans that accentuated thin legs, with a lace-trimmed leather vest that emphasized a cheerful bust. Hopie thought the woman resembled a movie actress, perhaps Princess Leia in Star Wars. Her eyes were black as coal; her plump cheeks swelled from the perfect symmetry of her features. And her bright red hair shone with a metallic luster. The lady was younger than Hopie expected, probably in her forties, and seemed decorative without being flashy. No wonder Moondog was keen on her.

  ‘Best of the day to you, Missus Victorina,’ Moondog said with a grin. ‘I hope it’s not a bad time. I called to take advantage of the tea you kindly offered me many times. Might I introduce my partner? This is Miss Hopie Sopgood.’

  ‘I am happy to see you both. You’re welcome, gladly received. Please do come in...’

  They entered the groovy-looking designer home. Extremely bright, with decor based on the 1960s, the place seemed filled with unbridled colour. They were led into an airy, spacious room, big enough to accommodate eight leather sofas (Hopie counted them) and she saw a large glass coffee table and two huge green leafy trees that grew happily inside, the room, in huge baskets.

  ‘Do you mind if I take my boots off Missus Victorina? Only I don’t want to tread dirt into your rugs...’

  ‘Do what is most comfortable, Moondog. Be at home...’

  The lady turned to Hopie and leant close enough to give strong eye contact. ‘He calls me Missus Victorina; I can’t stop him even though I’ve tried. I prefer Val. Your name is it Hope? I have an old school friend of the same name. ‘

  ‘Yes, ma’am, everyone calls me Hopie.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness! Don’t start calling me ma’am. Please call me Val. I insist.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss... uh, Val.’

  ‘You don’t look like a member of the traveling diaspora, Hopie. How do you know this rascal, Moondog?’

  ‘Er?’ She didn’t know what those words meant but realized that an explanation was required, ‘We connected, through a mutual friend. Not a long time ago, in fact. I’ve only known him a few days.’

  ‘Extraordinary, isn’t he? He’s helped me on my little patch. Allotments? Digging and so forth. Like you, I’ve only known Moondog a short while. Days, really. He has taught me a whole lot in such a short time. Not just about running a tenure, but also about life in general.’