by Heide Goody
He could not shake those gorgeous images from his mind, nor did he want to. There was so little genuine beauty in this base and inglorious world it was only right to dwell on what beauty there was…
Michael came fully awake, aware that something was profoundly different and utterly wrong. He flung back his sheets and stared in stunned horror at his crotch. His thing was transformed. It was larger, fatter, inexplicably standing proud, engorged with feeling and, worst of all… it was looking at him.
"What’s going on?" he whimpered.
His thing twitched, its waving eyeless gaze fixed on him.
Several wild theories crowded at the forefront of his mind. Was it angry with him for some reason? Maybe it didn’t like the Soyuz space toilet? Was it going to unleash a bladderful of urine on him in revenge? Was it about to speak, to demand equal rights as a symbiotic entity? Or had he killed it and this was rigor mortis?
"What do you want?" he whispered.
His thing said nothing although its monocular gaze seemed to become more reproachful.
"What to do?" said Michael and then, fuelled by sheer desperation, leapt up, wrapped a dressing gown around him and went up to consult the Adversary in Flat 2a.
Clovenhoof took an intolerable age to answer the door.
"What?" he snapped.
Without a word, Michael pushed his way inside, undid his dressing robe and gestured frantically at his erect penis.
"Look!"
Clovenhoof looked.
Well, ‘we are happy when we’re growing,’ aren’t we?" he said.
"What’s happened to me?" pleaded Michael. "Is this normal?"
"I can say with absolute honesty that I’ve never been in this situation before."
"Lord, help me," said Michael. "What’s happened to it? Is it dead? Broken? It just happened. I didn’t even touch it."
"Are you sure?" said Clovenhoof. "’Cos this kind of thing happens with excess touching."
"I swear," said Michael. "I hardly ever touch it. I was even contemplating getting some tongs to do the necessary toilet business."
Clovenhoof stroked his chin thoughtfully like a mechanic contemplating a dodgy motor.
"Maybe you’ve not been touching it enough."
"Not touching it enough? Is there a safe minimum? How often should I be touching myself?"
"Daily. Sometimes twice, I’d say. Come over here. Doctor Clovenhoof will sort you out."
He directed Michael to stand in front of his desktop computer. Clovenhoof sat down and turned on the webcam.
"So, tell me, what were you thinking about when this happened?"
"Nothing really," said Michael. "I was thinking about the cub trip to the museum."
Clovenhoof gave Michael and his thing a startled look.
"And Andy," said Michael.
"Andy?"
"He’s a chap I met at the gym. I bumped into him at the museum."
"Oh?" said Clovenhoof, his momentary shock giving way to curiosity. "Tell me about Andy."
"He’s really into his anaerobic exercise. His body’s a work of art. Great musculature. Abs to die for. You know, the kind you just want to reach out and…"
"Right," said Clovenhoof. "And this walking torso. Does he have a face?"
"What?"
"Perhaps a job? Personal interests? A rich and complex personal history?"
"I’m sure he does," said Michael.
"But all you’re interested in is his body."
"No, that’s not true. Is it? I’ve shown interest in his-"
"Cock," said Clovenhoof.
"No," said Michael.
"No," explained Clovenhoof. "Your cock. This way."
He gestured for Michael to rotate towards the computer. Clovenhoof clicked his mouse.
"Did you just take a picture?"
"For scientific study," said Clovenhoof. "So we can get to the bottom of this medical mystery."
"But what do I do now?"
Clovenhoof shrugged.
"Go home. Try not to think about it. Use it as a hat stand."
Michael, churning with worry, reluctantly did up his gown and retreated to the landing.
"Don’t worry," said Clovenhoof cheerfully. "We’ll have you sorted in no time."
"Official history tells us little of St Senacus and St Veracius," said Abbot Ambrose, gazing at the tapestry.
"I did what research I could," said Brother Manfred. "Senacus’s tombstone offers us only a few details and, although I read everything we have about them in this very library, all I found was…"
"Legends and wild speculation?" said the abbot.
"That is quite so," said Manfred.
"And yet they did exist. It was they who came here in the fifth century and set up the first religious community on this island. Tell me what we have in this tapestry."
Manfred got up from his stool and took a step back from his handiwork, winding up a loose spool of thread as he did so.
"And so we have here a scene depicting the arrival of the two founding saints on the island. This is the eastern side of the island, looking up towards the peak. I found the perfect shade of slate grey for the shale on the slopes."
"I noticed that," said the abbot. "It’s very good. So this is St Veracius and St Senacus?"
"Yes. I couldn’t work out whether Senacus was meant to be bald or had a tonsure but Veracius has a full head of hair so I assumed Senacus was just naturally bald. It’s a fine look. In fact, he has your noble bearing, don’t you think, Father Abbot?"
"I don’t see it myself."
"No, very much alike I thought. Anyway, Veracius has this in his hand. I thought it was a staff but it seems to go all funny at the top."
The abbot gestured towards the corner.
"And these?"
Manfred nodded.
"These I think are the people who’ve come to welcome them to the island or maybe the first pilgrims. There was quite a bit of water damage in that corner."
"Because you’ve been quite inventive here, haven’t you?"
Manfred grimaced slightly.
"I had no reference pictures to go on but I looked at these raised arms here and I thought to myself, ‘these people are really pleased to see the two saints.’ They are jumping for joy and there is a sense of celebration which I’ve tried to capture."
"Is that why they are dressed like circus performers?"
"I was going for a carnival stroke Mardi Gras feel."
"Pink feathers?"
"Nothing says excitement like pink feathers."
"You’ve actually sewn sequins onto the tapestry."
"Too much?" suggested Manfred.
"And as for this woman… she’s seems to be wearing very little. Do you think it would have been either moral or practical to wear such skimpy frivolities on a damp fifth century hillside?"
Manfred seemed to contemplate this at length.
"It’s Kylie Minogue, Father Abbot."
"Of course it is."
Abbot Ambrose turned away and made to leave.
"Do you want me to continue?" asked Brother Manfred hopefully.
The abbot gave him an offhand wave as he went and let Manfred interpret that has he wished.
He walked through the cloisters and into the orangery. The prior sat in his bath-chair beneath the healthy boughs of the apple tree.
"You would not be able to guess in a thousand years what that German buffoon has done with the tapestry of the arrival on the island," said the abbot as he unlocked a cabinet near the base of the tree.
The prior made no effort to guess.
The abbot removed a small watering can and inspected the contents. There was maybe an inch or two of blood in the base of the can and it had thickened, almost completely clotted.
"Still," said the abbot, "he probably captured the moment as well as anyone could. Happy times, eh?"
The abbot went to the base of the tree and emptied the watering can around its roots. The blood seeped quickly into the soil.
"Do you know who Kylie Minogue is?" he asked the prior.
The prior said nothing.
"No, me neither, brother," said the abbot.
He looked at the empty watering can.
"Time for your treatment again, Arthur," said the abbot, leaned forward and placed a kiss on the prior’s forehead.
Chapter 5 – In which a flat goes up for sale and Michael gets in touch with his inner owl.
Two days later, Nerys pulled into the car park at Sutton Coldfield train station.
"This is a disabled space," called Ben from the back seat.
"It’s okay," said Nerys, "I know loads of people who are disabled. We can just mention your allergies, if anyone asks."
"Allergies?"
But Nerys was already out of the car, and opening the boot so that Jayne could get her bags.
"Oh Nerys!" exclaimed Jayne, holding Nerys’s hands in hers. "I’ve had such a lovely time. Who had any idea that Birmingham was such a wonderful place!"
Nerys looked around at the stained concrete of the car park and sniffed loudly.
"No, not here, silly," said Jayne, "but to come here and see all the busy, exciting things that a city has to offer after being stuck in Wales for so long, you’ve simply no idea!"
She caught the look that Nerys gave her and her smile fell slightly.
"Oh. Yes. Of course you do. Thank you for having me. And putting up with me."
Ben lifted the bags from the boot. Jayne beamed at him.
"And now I have another reason for wanting to come back here!"
Ben and Jayne gazed at each other.
"Right, I’ll wait in the car while you two say goodbye," said Nerys.
"Wait Nerys, I wanted to ask you if you’d all come to visit? Ben wants to see the place, and it’s ages since you came back."
"I’ve never been to Wales!" said Ben.
"Don’t look so excited Ben," said Nerys. "Try to imagine Sutton Park with sheep and Methodist chapels everywhere. Oh, I don’t know, Jayne. I don’t much enjoy going back, these days."
"Oh please Nerys, just for a short visit?"
"Yeah, can we? It’d be brilliant!"
Nerys looked at their solemn, pleading faces, and hissed quietly through her teeth.
"Right. Yes. In the New Year. I’ll bring my boyfriend to meet everyone as well."
She got back into the car and slammed the door.
She watched in the wing mirror as Ben and Jayne mashed their faces together with a thoroughness that reminded her of Ben’s method of eating curry. He’d mentioned once that he mentally divided his plate into a clock face and ate around it, so that he could be sure he missed nothing. Was he applying the same technique to snogging her sister?
Ben got back into the car a few moments later, cheeks flushed.
"I didn’t know you had a boyfriend," he said.
"I haven’t," she said. "I just can’t go back there and have them all sneering at me for being a sad loser."
"They’re your family! Why would they do that?"
"Oh Ben, you have no idea what you’re getting into. You’ve met Jayne, and she’s okay. You know me, and obviously I’m great, but my sisters en-masse are a terrifying force. If you add my mother to the picture, it’s like one of those mythical creatures with lots of heads."
"A gorgon?"
"No, you’re thinking of the stone faces that look like Jeremy, but anyway, my family’s worse than any of those things. Why do you think my dad left?"
"Where did he go?"
"He lives in a shed at the bottom of the garden."
"Seriously?" said Ben. Nerys looked up at him, quizzically. "Anyway," he hurried on, "they wouldn’t be so callous when you’ve not been back for ages, surely?"
"No, you’re right," said Nerys. "They might feel sorry for me, which would be much, much worse."
Nerys crunched the car into gear and backed out of the space with a grim smile.
"Nope. There’s no other option. I need to find a boyfriend to take with me."
~ooOOOoo~
Michael rolled over in bed as he heard a small buzz from his phone. He scrolled through his emails, which told him that the last week’s sales of G-sez had made him eight thousand and forty three pounds. He was pleased that it was working for other people. He consulted his prediction for the day.
Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.
It was from the Tao Te Ching. Michael reflected for a few minutes on what it might mean.
"I'm to be kind?" he asked aloud, as he dressed himself. "I will, of course. It comes naturally for an angel. I haven’t forgotten all of that just because I’m stuck in this imperfect body and surrounded by people who neglect their spirituality. Sometimes Little G, I wish we had the data to make the predictions more obvious."
He thought some more as he ate his muesli and yoghurt.
"Is it a particular act of kindness?" he asked. "Oh, I do wish I knew what I was supposed to do, but if there’s a way to reach out to God through kindness, then you can be sure I won’t miss it. I like to be thorough."
He regarded the dream-catchers that the hippy street vendor had pressed upon him, insisting that they would help him in his spiritual search.
"But he saw me coming. Definitely saw me coming."
Michael walked up Chester Road on his way to church. His thoughts were so wrapped up in the potential meaning of his G-Sez message that he did not notice the sheet pasted on the first lamppost he passed, nor the second, nor the third. Eventually, his conscious brain caught up with what his eyes had noticed some time ago.
Michael stopped and looked at the poster stuck to the next lamppost.
It was a computer-printed photograph of a man’s member, erect and seemingly gazing directly into the camera lens. Above it, in a jaunty font, were the words, ‘Have you seen this cock?’ Michael recognised the dressing gown that framed the picture and the baleful look that his thing was giving to the camera.
Michael rotated slowly and saw that identical posters had been plastered onto every lamppost on the street, and a few garden gates besides.
"Jeremy!" he hissed in embarrassment and fury.
It was still relatively early and there was hardly anyone out. He could simply walk on and ignore the pictures – for who was to know that this thing was his – but he couldn’t bear the idea of his own thing staring at him from all these posters, like some wanted criminal.
Michael spent five minutes running up and down the road, tearing down posters, screwing them up and thrusting the incriminating pieces into his pocket.
Later than expected, he arrived at church, flustered, angry, and too distracted to pay attention to the old ladies wittering on about their hip pains, problem grandchildren and their missing cats.
He smiled and told them all that God would provide the help they needed if they kept their faith. He didn’t even hear the snort from Gladys, the woman with the missing cat as he walked to a pew.
It was the third Sunday before Christmas and Michael had been hoping for a stirring sermon at that most important time of the year. As it was, the sermon was themed around advent as a journey. Reverend Zack spoke about a journey of faith and increased understanding, which could be focussed upon this build-up to the most holy of Christian celebrations.
Michael shuffled slightly, frustrated by the half-baked nods that everyone was giving to the sermon. He had a strong suspicion that the congregation were taking away the message that eating advent calendar chocolates every day was bringing them closer to Heaven. A far cry from the good old days of proper journeys, proper pilgrimages.
He sat up straighter as Reverend Zack began a reading from Luke. Angels! Now this was more like it! He smiled and gave a small sigh of pleasure.
God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee.
He ignored the misguided favouritism that Gabriel always got because of his Christmas gig and settled in t
o enjoy the reflected glory of an angel doing important work for God on earth. He wondered what his own mission could be. What act of kindness was he supposed to perform today?
As the collection plate came round, he realised that he could start straightaway, in a practical gesture for the church that bore his name. He looked down at what was already there. A couple of buttons and a rusty washer sat amongst a mean collection of coins. He riffled through the notes in his wallet, shrugged and put them all onto the collection plate. There was less than a thousand, as he hadn’t been to the bank in a few days. He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of a kind act that was sure to be noticed.
It was noticed.
As he took another biscuit from the fourth elderly lady who insisted that she’d saved him the best, Michael noticed that Reverend Zack kept glancing over towards him.
"Michael, I noticed your rather generous contribution to the collection plate today," he said, when Michael finally stood alone. "I just wanted to make sure that everything’s all right with you."
"Of course, everything’s all right."
"I just sometimes find that if people do something out of character, it can mean that they’re trying to attract attention."
His gaze searched Michael’s face.
"Is that the case Michael? Is there something you want to talk about?"
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! Michael had pictured a scene where his contribution made possible some essential project. He hadn’t expected to be questioned or doubted for an act of unprovoked kindness.
"Don’t you want the money?"
Zack made a small, waving motion with his hand.
"We’re very grateful, of course we are."
"Good."
"I’m thinking only of your well-being."
"You think I’m trying to attract attention?" said Michael, raising his voice. "Of course I am. I want nothing more than for God to notice me."
"God sees everything, Michael. We don’t need grand gestures to attract the attention of God."
"Yes we do when he’s not talking! He hasn’t spoken to me for weeks."
Zack put a hand on Michael’s arm.
