Clovenhoof 02 Pigeonwings
Page 23
"Please don’t," whimpered Susan.
"I hear the Virgin Mother speaking to me!" cried another, her ear against a wall carving. "She says we need to make a stand."
This raised a ragged cheer from the group.
"We need to be at one with all of our sisters, past and present!"
"She also wants the Spice Girls to re-form," yelled another.
Clovenhoof might have had no idea what was going on, but that wasn’t going to stop him taking advantage of it. He strode to the front and addressed the room, which seemed to be buzzing with pent-up frustration and barely-contained violence.
"Sisters!" he screeched. "It's time for change. You've been denied your rights and your freedom for too long. Have you ever imagined what it would be like if things were different? If the tables were turned and women were in charge?"
Many voices muttered with approval.
"I'll tell you how things can be," said Clovenhoof, climbing up onto a table, careful that he didn't tear his dress. "There is a place I know that we can look to for inspiration. Let me tell you about the Lost World of Aphrodisia."
~ooOOOoo~
"Did you ever know a man called Stephen?" asked Michael as Nerys put a bowl of food for Twinkle onto the kitchen floor.
Nerys paused for a moment as she thought.
"Know? You mean in the Biblical sense?"
"Maybe."
"Stephen, or maybe it was Trevor. He was a bit confused. Didn’t know what he wanted. Not even in bed! I tried to take him in hand but he seemed a bit, I don’t know, intimidated by the fact that I’m a strong woman."
"I can imagine."
"Pity really, as I reckon I was just what he needed. I heard a scurrilous rumour he went off to be a monk."
Michael nodded in understanding, wondering if Stephen’s brief sighting of Nerys had renewed the trauma. His attention was drawn to a paper bag on the counter.
"Where are all the mushrooms that were in here?" he asked, looking into the almost-empty bag.
"I used them in the quiches for the WI," said Nerys. "Why do you ask?"
Michael turned to her.
"Would they have eaten them by now?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so," said Nerys. "What on earth’s the matter?"
"They’re magic mushrooms," said Michael.
"What?"
"Magic mushrooms."
"What? As in…?"
He nodded.
"Hallucinogenic mushrooms."
"No. No, I don’t think so," said Nerys. "Not from the Co-op in Pwllheli. Mom gets everything from there."
"I picked them this morning, when I went for a walk," said Michael. "Twinkle sniffed them out. Try one for yourself if you don’t believe me."
Nerys popped one into her mouth and rolled her eyes.
"There. Nothing. Just normal mushrooms. You have one as well."
Michael put one into his mouth and chewed it carefully. It tasted mushroomy, but not that unusual. Maybe he was mistaken...
~ooOOOoo~
"So you see, we don't need men. We can keep a few of them as curiosities, or sex-slaves," said Clovenhoof from his table. "Don't you want to end the years of oppression?"
There was a howl of approval from the group.
Agnes was the first to arm herself. She yanked at the curtains until she pulled the pole off the wall. Bracing it against the wall, she kicked it in half, kung fu style. Clovenhoof gave a small nod of admiration. Agnes handed half to another woman and supervised the removal of the rest of the poles.
"We have to make a stand against years of being down-trodden," she screamed. "Where are the men now? Where are they? Idling on sofas? Drinking in the pub? We need to show them that we won't put up with it any more. Show them we mean business!"
Several women bared their breasts with a shriek of defiance. Clovenhoof, who was not an ageist when it came to female nudity, thought this was a dramatic improvement. The women took up their curtain-pole cudgels and poured out into the night, a war anthem on their lips.
"And did those feet, in ancient times..."
Clovenhoof followed them out, grinning with delight.
Women started to clatter down the lane, singing Jerusalem at the tops of their voices, but Clovenhoof shouted above them.
"Wait, sisters. Halt! We will not walk into town, we will ride upon this mighty chariot!"
He indicated a tractor that was parked in a nearby gateway.
They followed him with whoops of enthusiasm punctuating the singing of their battle-hymn.
~ooOOOoo~
"I always thought Twinkle's food looked good enough to eat," Nerys said, gazing at the dog bowl as she lolled against the kitchen counter.
"Jeremy says it's good," agreed Michael.
Nerys looked at him, her eyes darting between the dog bowl and his face.
"Are you saying that I just had a thought that Jeremy would have had?" she asked. "Oh fuck. These are magic mushrooms."
Michael nodded.
"Told you. I know everything, I do."
"Yes, well, hooray for you. What about the ladies of the WI? They won't have any idea what's hit them. Come on, let's go."
"No," said Michael. "I have to find Him, find Him now."
"Who?"
They stumbled from the house and ran towards the town.
~ooOOOoo~
"You know," said Ben to Jayne as they walked towards the pub, "we've told each other the worst things we can think of about ourselves, and-"
He reached for the right words.
"And what?" Jayne asked with a smile.
"And it's... all right," he said.
"Is it?"
"We're both still here. We've summoned up our most horrible habits and our character flaws, and we seem able to accept them."
Jayne nodded.
"Yes?"
"We could be happy together, couldn't we?" Ben asked, turning to take both of Jayne's hands so that he could look at her face.
"I think we could."
Ben opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a clattering of footsteps made them both turn to look up the road.
"Thank God I found you!" Nerys said. "You need to come now. The WI ate the quiches. They're just old ladies and it's not fair. I’ve lost Michael somewhere, but we can save the day." She stumbled forward a few feet. "I'm a first aider you know!"
Nerys swayed on her feet. Jayne and Ben took hold of her arms to steady her.
"Did you catch what she was on about?" Ben asked, as Nerys sighed and lurched forward, pulling them both behind.
"Not really. Something about quiches," Jayne said. "Can you hear something?"
"Yeah," said Ben, sitting Nerys onto a low wall. "It sounds like a heavy-metal version of Jerusalem."
~ooOOOoo~
Michael had lost Nerys somewhere between the house and the town. He’d also lost the road and, no matter how hard he stared, he also appeared to have lost his feet.
He had an idea they'd been replaced with wheels or hooves. He kept moving so that he wouldn't fall over, but maybe he already had.
He blinked at the blurry figures before him, two men, dressed in simple tunics. Where had they come from? One carried a rock and chased the other, holding it high in a way that seemed rather threatening.
"Stop," Michael called out but they didn't hear him. As they reached the edge of the forest, the man with the rock caught up, and the first man fell down. The one man bludgeoned the other repeatedly.
"Forest?" said Michael, or at least someone said it, except Michael realised it wasn't a forest. Before him was a tree, so huge that he couldn't see the top. As he watched, it bore fruit that swelled before his eyes.
"The fruit of the Zaqqum," he breathed in horror.
He turned away before it got him too. He started to run, or maybe freewheel. He wasn't sure. As he began to lose his balance, he held out his arms and realised that they'd been replaced by wings. These were not his heavenly angel wings nor the wings of his owl totem.
Other peacocks milled around and cried out.
"Immortal! Immortal!" they sang.
Michael happily joined in.
"Immortal! Immortal!"
He smiled to himself. He knew without looking that his tail was the best of all the peacocks. He gave it a waggle to prove this point. It caught the wind, propelling him forward, which was a most uncomfortable feeling. He felt the wind and the water rushing over him, turning him over and over.
Water?
He was worried about his fine tail feathers and how they'd look, but he tumbled on and on. He had a vague thought that he might be drowning, and wondered if his feathers would lose their sheen if he died.
"But I can’t die," he tried to say. "I’m immortal."
He frowned at the thought. He tumbled on. He had no idea how to stop himself.
~ooOOOoo~
As they reached the town, Clovenhoof heard a change in the pitch of the noise that the WI were making. They'd been bellowing Jerusalem as a battle-cry up to that point, but as they came to the outlying houses, the cries rose to a feral shriek. Agnes led the march and used her curtain pole as a club to smash windows, shouting to the men of the town to come and face them.
He did his bit by driving the tractor down the centre of the road, ploughing as he went. There was a deafening racket of abused metal warring against slabs of tarmac, which scattered and thumped behind them.
They drew level with the Ship Hotel and the noise reached a crescendo. Agnes and her entourage rushed into the public bar, and Clovenhoof parked the tractor on top of two cars that had been left outside.
"Don't forget to demand beer and bacon sandwiches for us all!" he yelled to Agnes, as he turned off the engine.
He entered the bar to find Agnes astride the counter.
"I declare this place to be the Welsh outpost of Aphrodisia!" she proclaimed. "I will be Queen of Aphrodisia and I claim this pub as my palace."
There was a muted snigger from a man at the bar, but Agnes silenced him with a sharp kick to the chin from her elevated position.
"I demand subservience from those who would mock or oppress me. Yes you, Dylan Davies!"
She rapped his knuckles with her curtain pole cudgel.
"Get down on your hands and knees."
His eyes widened with fear.
Agnes whispered instructions to one of the women who returned moments later with a bucket and scrubbing brush.
"Now let's see how you like a lifetime of fear and subservience!" Agnes said. "Come on, let's see you scrub!"
Dylan remained frozen in place, staring at the women who surrounded him. The other men in the bar squeezed back against the walls, but Agnes pointed her cudgel at them with the clear indication that they would be next.
A chant went up.
"Scrub, scrub, scrub..."
Clovenhoof took the opportunity to slide behind the bar and poured himself a much-needed pint. He felt he'd done a good night's work. He strolled outside, pint in hand and congratulated himself. How many men could say that they'd led a women's protest march? A slightly unexpected one, but most entertaining, and liberating in its own way.
"Scrub, scrub, scrub..."
The chanting continued behind him.
A woman who had declared herself to be Boudicca was outside the pub. Clovenhoof saw that she had cornered Ben, who was standing with Jayne and Nerys, rooted to the spot.
"You!" she bellowed at Ben. "I don't know who you are but I can tell you're as bad as the rest of them, come here and be punished for the years of oppression we've all suffered!"
Ben looked around and mimed a "me?" question back at Boudicca, pointing at his chest.
This seemed to enrage her further and she rushed towards him, her flame-coloured hair blazing backwards.
"Allow me!" screeched Clovenhoof, inserting himself in front of Ben. "I know exactly what to do with this sorry specimen."
"Good, good," said Boudicca, turning towards the pub. "Then come and join our sisters in the pub. We can reclaim it for womankind."
"I might very well do that," said Clovenhoof with feeling, and watched her drag her tablecloth robe behind her as she swept through the doorway.
"Jeremy?" said Ben, who was clearly shaken. "What just happened?"
"That was a WI meeting, apparently," said Clovenhoof.
"I told you," said Nerys, who swayed as she tried to hold onto the wall, "'Shrooms. They all must have eaten them. Off their tits."
She raised her head with a half-smile on her face, and looked at Clovenhoof. The smile froze in place.
"No!" she squealed. "The horns! My dream! Get away, get AWAY!" She fell backwards off the wall, scrambled to her feet and ran down the darkened road. Clovenhoof started after her.
"Hang on Nerys, wait a second-"
She looked over her shoulder and picked up speed.
"The horns! The HORNS!"
~ooOOOoo~
As Nerys and Clovenhoof disappeared from sight, Ben sighed and faced Jayne.
"It's at times like these you need someone else in your life to tell you that it's not you, it's the rest of the world that's gone mad."
Jayne nodded.
Ben prompted her with a cough.
"Oh, yes. I can officially confirm that the rest of the world has gone mad."
"Thought so," said Ben.
A woman ran by, flinging scones at fleeing men with uncanny accuracy.
Will you marry me?" said Ben.
"Yes," said Jayne. "Yes, I will."
"Good," said Ben.
They stood there, listening to the sounds of screams and smashing glass coming from within the pub.
"Do you think it's safe to go inside yet?" said Ben.
A dartboard exploded from one the pub windows and rolled down the street.
"Let’s give it five minutes," said Jayne.
~ooOOOoo~
Michael woke with his face in a puddle.
He was so wet and so cold there was no room to feel anything else. He wasn’t sure if he was able to move but managed to drag an arm towards his chest and raise his head to see where he was. He was outdoors, lying on a really uncomfortable rock. The sun was just rising over the horizon.
He sat up and then, after much concentration, wobbled to a standing position. A sharp woof from behind made him look around. Jessie the border collie stood on a rock above him. If he looked across the sea, he could see a long coastline.
"That’s not right," he croaked.
Michael knew there were some islands off the Llyn peninsula, but none of them was that big. He looked backwards and saw a craggy headland behind him, rising sharply up to a large hill. The rough and rocky shoreline tapered away behind him in both directions.
The truth dawned on him. The coast he could see in the distance was the mainland. He was on Bardsey Island.
Novice Stephen was still at the breakfast table when Brother Manfred came round to collect the dishes. He didn’t even notice Manfred, too lost in his own thoughts and intent on pushing cornflakes around his bowl, until the refectorian sat down opposite him.
"You know something?" said Manfred. "Every man is a treasure house of stories. I was once a zither player on the streets of Bad Königshofen. I took my unicycle on a tour of the music festivals of Europe. I was briefly personal assistant to Gianni Versace."
"Who?"
"The clothes designer. Briefly."
"Oh. That’s impressive."
Manfred nodded.
"I am being given to understand that one of your stories came to the market in Aberdaron yesterday."
"You heard?" said Stephen.
"I heard you hid from a woman, cowering beneath the stall like a
frightened child, but I am sure that this is not true."
"Oh, it’s true," said Stephen. "Here."
He stood up and helped Manfred clear the pots and dishes. It was only while he was elbow deep in dishwashing suds that he managed to put his thoughts in order.
"The church has a history of misogyny," he said. "St Paul was a brilliant man but he said some stupid things. Women should be silent in church, they should worship at the feet of men, that sort of thing."
"He was a man of his time," said Manfred, drying and stacking plates.
"And then the image of women as nothing but tempters. Eve presenting Adam with the fruit, Lot’s daughters, the idea that women are ravening succubi."
"Succubi? Succubuses?"
"Is it? Or is it succubae?"
"I don’t know. I stay away from words with unusual plurals."
"Thing is," said Stephen, "my first… intimate encounter with a woman was like those worst stereotypes come to life."
"Ah, the woman in the market."
"Nerys."
While Stephen dried his hands, Manfred put the last of the dishes away in the kitchen cupboard.
"Dare I ask…?"
Stephen blew out his lips.
"She wasn’t unkind to me. As company, she was pleasant enough, if more than a bit overbearing."
"Yes?"
"But in the bedroom… She treated me like a piece of meat."
"Some men would say that was a good thing."
Stephen shook his head.
"It was not a pleasant experience. It was like she was trying to suck my soul out through my... member."
Stephen could see Manfred trying to keep a straight face.
"I shouldn’t have told you."
"No," said Manfred, breaking out an uncontainable smile. "Although if the monk business doesn’t work out for you, I think you have one heck of a future in writing saucy top shelf novels for lonely ladies."
He clapped his hand on Stephen’s shoulder and steered him out through the refectory and towards the cloisters.