by Heide Goody
"You will find your natural rhythm with the drum. I will lead, but make your own way. We'll spend some time using this method to ease ourselves into a more relaxed frame of mind. Remember, the key phrase for this weekend is to do whatever feels right for you."
Elk began to slap his drum and made a nasal droning sound with his eyes closed. Michael and Andy followed a similar rhythm and murmured softly. Ben made a fast, rattling sound on his drum and started to emit a wah wah noise that sounded like a distant siren. Clovenhoof decided that he would re-create every drum solo he'd ever heard from an over-indulgent rock group. He improvised cymbal tish sounds and then roared his own rapturous applause after a few minutes.
Elk opened his eyes and addressed the group.
"I hope you're beginning to feel your inhibitions peel away."
"Some of us a bit too much," muttered Michael, shooting dagger glances at Clovenhoof.
"We're here in the wilderness, with only our trusted companions to bear witness," said Elk. "Show me that you're ready to go on a spiritual journey. I'd like you all to shout your name to the sky. Tell us who you are, and make sure you tell us with real meaning. We'll drum to the same rhythm now, to really accentuate what we're doing. Feel your name as you shout it, really feel the sort of person that sits behind the name. Let's move round the circle."
They started to drum in a single, simple rhythm.
Elk raised his face to the sky and bellowed out, "Elk! I am the mighty elk! Majestic, noble beast!"
The drumming continued. Elk turned to Andy.
"In your own time, Andy. If you feel you know your beast, your inner beast then shout it out. We each have a spirit totem."
Andy concentrated for a moment and then shouted up at the sky, "Andy! I'm Andy the eagle! I want to soar high above everything and be at peace!"
"Good work, Andy," said Elk. "Now you, Michael."
Michael shouted out, "I am Michael! Fearless warrior!"
"Do you identify with a beast, Michael?" asked Elk.
Michael looked around the group.
"Pigeon?" suggested Clovenhoof.
"Let's move on," said Elk. "Ben, let's hear from you."
Ben shuffled forward on his buttocks, enjoying the fire.
"I am Ben!"
"Good, good," said Elk.
Ben took a deep breath.
"I think I might be a squirrel," he said.
He looked around at the others' faces.
"What? I like nuts."
"Well done Ben," said Elk. "Now you, Jeremy."
Clovenhoof whooped at the sky with animalistic fervour.
"I am Clovenhoof, known by many names, and I identify with many beasts! Today, Elk, I'd like to be a Dragon!"
"Very uninhibited, Jeremy, that's excellent. Are we all ready to do the sweat lodge?"
There were nods all round.
They moved into the small, hut-like structure, where Elk had already placed hot stones from the fire into the pit.
"Now, it's going to get very steamy, but it's important that you all stay safe," said Elk. "You can take off your clothing, if it helps, we're all guys together here. If you need to step outside to cool off then that's fine. The forest is to your left and the lake is to your right. If you want to take a plunge in the lake, just remember that it's December. Don't do that on your own. We're all here to support each other, so take a buddy with you."
Andy thumped Michael’s shoulder.
"Plunge buddies, eh?"
Michael grinned back.
Ben looked at Clovenhoof uneasily.
"If you fall in the lake and start drowning…" he began.
"It’s my own stupid fault," said Clovenhoof.
"Damn straight," said Ben.
They settled onto the benches, and Elk started to pour water onto the stones. It hissed loudly and steam soon filled the space. Elk stripped to the waist and sat for a while, inhaling deeply. After a short while, everyone else was starting to peel off their clothes, and they lounged on the benches, puffing into the steam as they started to sweat. Ben tried to ignore the fact that Andy next to him had the musculature of an athlete. He was sure that, side by side, they looked like the before and after pictures for a protein drink advert.
"Can you feel it?" said Elk. "We can start to enter a more enlightened state. I shall now add some mystical herbs to the steam, to advance our journey."
He took out a pouch and crumbled something leafy into the steaming pit.
"Mystical herbs, my arse," whispered Andy in Ben’s ear.
Elk ignored him, breathing deeply and encouraging the others to do the same. Ben breathed in the smoky air and immediately began coughing. As he gasped, he dragged in further lungfuls and coughed further until he had a full blown hacking fit. When he finally brought himself under control, his head was swimming. There was a sweet tang in his nostrils and a pleasurable buzzing in his head.
All that could now be heard was the crackling of the fire, the hissing of the steam, and the steady breathing of the five men.
The silence was punctuated by a loud fart, and Clovenhoof giggled.
"Oh, really!" said Michael.
Clovenhoof continued to laugh.
"It's not that funny," said Ben, trying to hide his smile.
"I'm not laughing at that," said Clovenhoof. "I was just thinking."
"What were you thinking, brother?" asked Elk.
"Ben," giggled Clovenhoof. "Ben the squirrel."
He started to slide off the bench with his increased mirth. Ben did his best to look reproachful, but then Andy was sniggering too.
"You’re nuts, Jeremy."
"They’re not my nuts," snorted Jeremy. "They’re Ben’s."
Ben found himself pointing at his groin.
"And what lovely nuts they are too!" he grinned.
"And we all know where you’d like to store your nuts this winter," smirked Michael.
"Oh, Jayne!" simpered Clovenhoof, reaching for an imaginary woman and falling off the bench.
The howls of laughter that followed rolled around Ben’s skull like ball-bearings in a drum, round and round for hours in the thoughtless void of his expanded mind. The herbal smoke no longer irritated his lungs but flowed through him, in and out, air shared communally with these men, his friends, his brothers. Somewhere far off, a small Ben-ish voice kept asking him when he'd taken off the rest of his clothes, but he knew with no doubt at all that he was with his best friends, so it was fine that they were all naked.
A chunk of thought fell into Ben, like a jigsaw piece locking into place, and Ben opened his eyes. Ben and Clovenhoof were both lying beside the campsite, spreadeagled in the grass, staring up at the winter sky.
"I think someone’s nicked our tent," said Clovenhoof.
"Nerys," said Ben.
"Yeah," said Clovenhoof. "She’d do that."
"No," said Ben, irritated. He was finding speech hard enough without Clovenhoof misunderstanding him. "Nerys."
"What about her?"
"We can't let her move out. We just can't."
"We won't, don't worry."
"She's like the over-sexed cousin I never had," said Ben. "I think I really love her, you know?"
"You do?"
"In the way you'd love an over-sexed cousin."
"Oh yeah. I'd love one of those."
"Me too."
"I’ve got plans," said Clovenhoof.
"Yeah?"
"You see, we’ve been teaching the cubs about geocaching and I thought our coal bunker would make an excellent geocache…"
Ben let Clovenhoof’s insane plots carry him back into the world of sleep and unsettling dreams in which a gaggle of Welsh women and a pack of cub scouts were trying to take his nuts from him.
Michael stood, cold and naked in the dark forest.
The world was silent and dark. The sound and fury of the city was miles away.
Michael wondered if he was closer to God here. God was everywhere but maybe even more so in these quiet pla
ces.
"I'm here!" he shouted at the sky. "You can talk to me now!"
There was no sound. His voice didn’t even echo back to him.
"There's nobody around to hear us, Lord!"
Silence.
"Won't you please give me a sign?" he sniffed.
An owl flapped down from a branch overhead and skimmed softly away. White wings, fading between the lean trees. Michael's breath stopped.
"Is that your sign?" he shouted.
But what did it mean? The wings were significant. Soft, silent, but hiding a deadly purpose. Just like him. The owl was surely his inner beast.
"Owl! I'm an owl!" he yelled to the sky. "I am your owl, Lord!"
But no, there must be more. He racked his brain for the message he was supposed to take from the owl encounter.
He heard a twig snap and looked across the clearing. It was Andy.
"Couldn’t sleep," said Andy. "Too spaced out."
"Oh Andy, I've had a rapturous encounter," gushed Michael. "It was beautiful."
"What was it?"
Michael shook his head.
"But I just don't know what it means."
Andy took Michael’s hand in his own.
"Things don’t always have to mean something."
Michael turned to face Andy. The intermittent, faint moonlight made Andy’s skin pale and ghostly, white like the wings of an owl.
Michael opened his mouth to speak.
The silence of the clearing was abruptly shattered by the roar of an approaching quad bike. They both dived apart as Clovenhoof burst out from the undergrowth, whooping and revving the engine.
"I am the Great Dragon!" he bellowed, as he span donuts in the clearing. "Hear me roar!"
He over-revved the engine and then was gone again, crashing and hollering through the undergrowth.
Michael got to his feet, brushing leaf mould and dirt from his naked body.
"That cock," said Andy.
"Quite," said Michael and then realised he wasn’t talking about Clovenhoof.
"I have seen that cock before," said Andy.
~ooOOOoo~
Clovenhoof was amused, yet startled, that Michael had made ‘mystical herbs’ part of his daily routine. A week after the spiritual retreat, Clovenhoof stepped over the angel as he sat on the landing, smoking a roll up.
"How's it hanging, gorgeous?" he asked.
Michael was not his usual pristine self, wearing a baggy kaftan instead of an uptight Italian suit.
"I'm trying to summon my spirit totem again," said Michael.
"Of course."
"I really felt I was close to something until you trampled all over my karma."
"I'm sure you'll get results if you try hard enough," said Clovenhoof and knocked on Ben's door.
He went inside and emptied a bag onto Ben's table. Ben got out his clipboard and checked off the contents.
"Mushrooms for the skirting boards, did you get those?"
Clovenhoof thumped a tin down in front of him.
"Couldn't you get fresh ones?" Ben said.
"No. These will be fine, they've got that semi-putrid look already."
"Okay. Ooh, crime scene tape, I like that. Where did you get it from?"
Clovenhoof looked hard at Ben.
"Clue’s in the name, knucklehead."
"What? Oh. Yeah. Forget I asked." Ben cleared his throat. "Right, well I've been in touch with that firm we found on the internet. They sent me samples of the aerosol cans that they use in haunted houses in theme parks. This one's called Rotting Corpse."
Ben gave a little squirt and Clovenhoof inhaled with relish.
"Mm!"
"And this one's Hellish Sulphur."
Ben gave another little squirt, in the style of a perfume assistant.
Clovenhoof inhaled deeply and froze. It was like being back in the Old Place, an olfactory slap in the face.
"Jiminy fuck monkey!" he exclaimed.
"No good?"
Clovenhoof wiped the beginning of a tear from his eye and grabbed the aerosol from Ben.
"We'll go with Rotting Corpse for Operation Scare-Them-Away. I'm keeping this one."
"Er, okay. Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure? You look as though you've got something in your eye, it's gone all watery."
"Oh shut up," snapped Clovenhoof. "Have you got enough red paint to make the blood stains?"
"I'm on it. What time are the next batch coming round?"
"Ten minutes. It's going to look great. I’ve sorted the blood. Michael's toking on the biggest joint you ever saw in your life, so the place will reek of weed."
"Perfect."
"Now, you go up and distract her, so that I can make sure I intercept them when they get here. I’ve got to get changed."
Clovenhoof ran to his flat, dealt with his clothing and then galloped downstairs and got himself into lounging position, slumped against the front door frame, just as the visitors walked up the path.
"Oh, do mind the blood stains," he called out, causing them to swerve in a big arc.
"Blood stains," said one of the men.
"That poor wee boy," he said, shaking his head.
One of the men stared back at the bloodstain, his eyes wide.
"Why are you naked?" asked the older one.
"Oh, we call it Hang Free Friday," said Clovenhoof. "It's not compulsory for everyone in the flats to join in, but if you want to fit in..."
He showed them up the stairs. They went past Ben's flat, with the scene of crime tape across the door. They climbed over Michael, whose face was slack and glazed, joint smouldering at his side. He sent them up the last staircase on their own.
"Just up there," he called, and saw them off with a friendly wave.
He then backtracked, collecting up the mushrooms, tape and Michael and stowed them in Ben's flat. Finally, he rolled up the bloodstain, confident that nobody who was in a tearing hurry to leave would notice its absence.
"Honestly, the nerve of the woman!" said Nerys, stomping past Ben on her way downstairs to answer the door. "She made it sound as though there was something the matter, that flats in this location didn't normally take such an effort to move."
"It’s a tricky time for selling a property," said Ben.
"I blame their marketing entirely."
"I should take it as a sign if I were you."
Nerys gave him a shrewd look.
"Well, she’s bringing some people round today. My last chance before the new year. Apparently, they don’t do viewings over Christmas."
With a final tut, huff and wave of the arms, Nerys opened the door.
She looked at the young and incredibly clean cut man on the doorstep. Dark hair, soulful eyes, a healthy tan and the scent of delicate cologne. This was her dream gondolier. She could picture him, a striped vest stretched taut over those proud pectorals, his strong hands gripping his pole…
"Può aiutarmi? Devo trovare subito qualcuno con un motoscafo!" she said automatically.
"I’m sorry," said the man.
Nerys smiled sweetly.
"Have you come for the viewing?" she asked. "You are a little early. Although, you could come up for a coffee. Is it too early for wine?"
"Actually, I was looking for Michael."
"Andy!" called out Michael from behind her. "What a lovely surprise! Do come in."
Nerys saw the smiles that passed between the two and then re-evaluated her opinion of the young man.
Of course, she thought dolefully. Even Michael gets a handsome man before I do.
Andy sat down and ran his hand across the back of the sofa.
"What a beautiful flat you have, Michael, it really is."
"Thank you, I try."
"And the kaftan. Very… spiritual?"
"Mmmm. Perhaps a spiritual step too far. I think I can be spiritual and still wear Armani. Coffee?"
"Sure. Listen," Andy said hurriedly, jiggling the carrier bag he had brought
with him. "I wanted to say thank you for the Christmas present."
"Have you opened it already? Two days early. Naughty. Did you like it?"
"Well, the thing is, erm…"
"Wrong size?" said Michael.
"You do know that it's ladies' underwear, don't you?"
"Oh. Nerys didn’t say. Well, I thought anyone could wear it."
"Wait, do you wear this stuff?" asked Andy.
Michael felt a sudden panic.
"What would be the right answer in this situation?"
"Take a wild guess," said Andy.
"Er, no."
"Exactly."
Michael nodded.
"Although the lace gives a certain pleasing frisson around the groin."
Andy laughed.
"Michael, you're unbelievable! You really are. But to be clear, no, I don't wear stuff like this."
"Oh,"
"It's just not me. Sorry."
"No problem. Hope I didn't embarrass you."
"God no. Not at all." He offered the carrier bag to Michael. "Do you want it back?"
"I think," said Michael slowly, "that we should invent a new game to use it."
"Not sure I’m quite ready for kinky stuff."
Michael opened the window.
See that gatepost at the end of the garden?"
"Yeah."
"Well the first one to get a pair of knickers on it from the sofa wins," said Michael.
"All right!" said Andy, sighting across his outstretched thumbs. "Let the pinging begin!"
Clovenhoof was at the door ahead of Nerys to greet the prospective buyers.
The estate agent was with the old couple who had come to look round, seemingly determined that this viewing would not go unsupervised. Maybe she wanted to see for herself why the flat was proving so difficult to sell. Clovenhoof was happy to demonstrate why it was more trouble than it was worth.
"Lovely to see that you've been able to find some more potential clients," he exclaimed, open armed. "Especially after the murder!"
"Murder?" said the elderly woman.
"That's quite enough of that," said the estate agent, "This man is-"
She was cut off as two pairs of ladies panties struck her in the face. The elderly couple recoiled in horror.
