by Rhys Hughes
‘Well, in that case—’ I gasped.
‘That’s the spirit, Mr Griffiths. Choo choo!’
I felt my legs wrenched from my pelvis; then my arms were tugged off and my skull detached from my spine. Each rib was peeled back, freeing Hywel Owl for the first time in decades. He tumbled onto the ground and righted himself with a slack expression.
‘Mwwwuagghuagh!’ was his comment on this.
I regarded my deconstruction with a mixture of fascinated terror, wild curiosity and gullible disbelief. Have you ever regarded anything in quite that way? Every separate vertebra was knocked loose, and within minutes not one my bones was connected to any other. My clavicles and scapulae lay mixed on the ground with assorted fibulas, tibias, femurs, ulnas and a pair of unfunny brown humerus bones.
‘Well done!’ shouted Fabalo. ‘And now for stage two!’
‘What’s that?’ my jawbone clacked.
‘Turn him into a xylophone!’ ordered Fabalo.
This operation was performed with a careful eye for detail. There must have been highly skilled craftsmen among the citizens of Humanzeeville. My bones were used to construct a marimba, a fancy jungle xylophone; a beautiful if slightly morbid instrument tuned to the pentatonic scale. From a distance it seemed I was made of some expensive hardwood rather than bones, because of my shiny brown fungus.
Fabalo leaped in front of Hywel and fixed the dead gaze of the zombie with his own eyes. ‘To hypnotise a walking cadaver isn’t easy, but I think I can do it. I must persuade him to play.’
‘Games, you mean?’ I chimed.
‘Not those, Mr Griffiths! Never games.’
And then I realised, in the dim sort of way that xylophones think, that a melody was going to be played on me by the midget. A voodoo melody that would complete the act of transmigration of souls. Music is magic; I had always known that. Here was proof.
Fabalo completed the hypnotism, snapped his fingers.
Hywel Owl lurched towards me.
‘Give him some mallets,’ ordered Fabalo.
A pair of small mallets was placed into the white hands of the zombie midget, and he grasped them with perfect undead confidence. He raised them, brought them down on my notes.
I yelped. But my bones responded with harmonious chords.
Fabalo clapped his hands.
Rattles started up to accompany the tune.
Which rapidly grew frantic.
I have never seen a zombie midget so ecstatic!
Hywel Owl almost levitated as he hopped from one foot to the other, banging fearsome arpeggios and lunatic syncopation on what had once been the scaffolding of my anatomy. Something in those played bones responded to his vibrato, to his dynamics and grace notes, began to shift, to come loose. It was the separate parts of my soul, I realised; out of my bones they rose, like the vapours that come off evaporating minims when the tune simply gets too hot for them.
Out of my bones and into the midget’s head!
Suddenly Hywel’s vision cleared.
I blinked and staggered.
The melody came to an abrupt end.
I was holding two mallets.
I dropped them, steadied myself on the xylophone.
Then I heard Fabalo shouting.
‘Success! Welcome to a flesh body again, Mr Griffiths! But now there is only one soul left in the xylophone; the spirit of Jukka Halme. Burn the bones quickly, comrades. Burn them!’
Humanzees ran forward with flaming brands.
But Jukka wasn’t defeated yet.
He began trundling on his little castors.
I don’t know why xylophones are generally mounted on castors; that’s simply how it is. The castors in this instance were kneecaps. Yes, I know that means there were only two castors on the instrument instead of four. Sue me if it bothers you. Off fled the xylophone into the jungle, with the humanzees in pursuit. Fabalo shouted:
‘Don’t let him get away! He’s pure musical evil.’
But Jukka managed to elude them.
They returned crestfallen, the brands spluttering.
‘Ah well!’ sighed Fabalo.
I didn’t care that Jukka Halme had escaped; for, although reduced in size, I was a real man again. Yes, technically I was just a walking corpse, but I’ve learned to be grateful for small mercies; and they don’t come smaller or more hideous than Hywel Owl.
That’s too self-absorbed of me. Let’s consider the bigger picture. Could the xylophone survive in the jungle?
Probably not. There were far too many dangers. Chimps, for example, would ambush it and pull it to pieces; rhinos would charge it, even though there are no rhinos in Guinea; quicksands would suck it down, not giving it the chance to play a final dirge …
But Jukka Halme was the ultimate survivor.
Maybe he did thrive in that green labyrinth. Perhaps he even reached outer civilisation and influenced it.
Somewhere in the world, maybe next door to you right now, a brown bone xylophone that is also the ghost of a wicked Finnish mercenary still lurks and throbs. I don’t know for sure; I have no proof. All I’m willing to say is that the vilely possessed xylophone escaped into the jungle in 1938 and less than 20 years later a new kind of music called rock and roll appeared from nowhere. Coincidence?
Coincidence
I was a midget. I was happy. Neary and Fabalo congratulated me on my new dimensions and substance, and they both admitted that they’d found my former incarnation as a skeleton rather distasteful. I don’t know if that was good politeness or bad sincerity.
The days passed in the utopian peace of Humanzeeville.
There wasn’t much for me to do.
So that’s what I did: very little. Neary spent his time with his elephant friends. Fabalo was mostly busy with the administration of the commune. To be honest, I began to grow bored.
One morning I went to the bone banana and prayed.
I probably had a touch of fever.
Whatever the explanation for this extraordinary behaviour, I knelt in the shadow of the giant fake fruit and clenched my little hands together. I had grown accustomed to the body of the midget; it was no less flexible than my previous avatar and the posture I struck on that occasion was one that perfectly symbolised supplication.
I said, ‘I know you were raised, O mighty banana, in honour of Fabalo the Humanzee; but so impressive a structure must surely be sacred to the primal jungle deities too! Therefore I call on Zumboo, Spanko and Basha, the three biggest monkey gods, to hear my plea! I’m bored here, twiddling my tiny thumbs. Send me adventure!’
The old truism is true — be careful what you pray for.
I guess that’s why it’s a truism …
Later that day, I was taking a communal flute lesson on a platform in a tree when a hellish shadow blotted out the sun. We raised our eyes to the sky, and what I saw there liquefied my clotted zombie blood with terror. A gigantic man with two heads was descending into the clearing! That’s bad enough, but even worse was the fact I recognised the double-headed monstrosity. I dropped my spittle-flecked flute and shrieked for help as the visitor gently touched the ground.
‘Hubengo Gordbloaton!’
Yes, it really was he; but vastly bigger than he’d been at the time of his death in the mysterious land of Alirgnahs. A bizarre amalgam of wicked collector and newspaper editor, the nightmare of his arrival made me feel intense regret that I had prayed at the banana for an end to boredom. This creature was devoid of compassion.
I called a dire warning: ‘Mercy has he none …’
My calls were heeded.
Neary appeared on the scene with Fabalo. They both approached the intruder. In Neary’s metal trunk was a club. Best to take no chances! I thought the giant with two heads would jump forward and crush them, but he bobbed harmlessly enough.
Fabalo prodded the figure with his spear.
Then he relaxed and laughed.
‘It’s not a living being! It’s just a balloon! A balloon in the sha
pe of a gross mutant!’ he cried as it deflated.
His weapon had punctured the fabric of the thing.
The abomination sagged.
But something moved inside it.
Hands appeared in the rent that Fabalo had made; they widened the rip and turned it into a thin doorway. Other forms pressed against the creased skin from the inside and I wondered if the real Hubengo Gordbloaton was about to emerge, despite his death, out of the pretend one; like a kangaroo hopping from the pocket of destiny.
When I edit these memoirs, I’ll replace that simile with a better one, if I remember. Be sure to alert me if I forget. Thanks in advance! But in the meantime, the tearing intensified.
‘The balloon is giving birth!’ marvelled Fabalo.
‘Choo choo!’ chortled Neary.
‘Not so, but there are passengers within,’ I said.
‘I was joking,’ sighed Fabalo.
Two figures emerged from the hole, blinking. My jaw went slack and I began dancing on my stubby legs.
‘Scipio and Distanto Faraway!’ I giggled.
That’s who it really was!
The brothers looked no different from the way I recalled them, despite the passing of many years. Neary was overjoyed; he rushed forward and they all embraced with more slaps on backs than any previous reunion in any historical period at any latitude.
I was no less happy. ‘This is more extraordinary than anything!’ No-one accused me of exaggeration.
The group hug ended …
Neary introduced Scipio and Distanto to me; they accepted the news that the journalist Lloyd Griffiths was a zombie midget without a flicker of surprise or dismay. Scipio winked. ‘I knew it was you as soon as I saw you,’ he declared. ‘I recognised you despite the fact you look completely different and have an entirely different voice. You even smell better than before. But you’re still the same.’
I was touched by that observation. What a hero!
We welcomed the arrivals into Humanzeeville, gave them food, drink and other attention. I was burning with curiosity about their exploits since I had last seen them and begged them to tell me everything. They seemed willing to do this. Distanto went first. ‘Many things have happened since we were in India together,’ he began.
‘Please go on,’ I urged.
He smiled and said, ‘I left you while holding onto a fickle balloon that I’d stitched together from drying laundry. The winds were capricious too and I was carried all the way back to Alirgnahs! That was the last place I wanted to be. I decided to make another balloon, an improved version. I looked around for suitable materials, but there wasn’t enough fabric in the entire land for such a project. The yeti helped me as best they could; but they had little knowledge of airship manufacture. Only one object existed that might be used for a canopy.’
I waited for him to reveal what it was.
He did so. Like this:
‘The corpse of Hubengo Gordbloaton, eviscerated and with the bones removed, so that only the empty shell of the cynical fiend remained. The yeti had a secret gas that might be used as a helium substitute; I won’t go into details about how they synthesised it. A diet of beans was involved. I had already cured the skin of the cadaver over a slow fire. Now it inflated to enormous proportions. The nether regions were sealed with a hatch and the interior of the airship was fitted with a small cabin. I floated out of the secret valley and over the mountains.’
‘In which direction?’ I asked.
‘The winds carried me westward; eventually I crossed the border into Persia. Running low on supplies, I decided to land and obtain food. There was a castle directly beneath. I landed on the battlements and secured the balloon to a crenellation. Then I went to look for the owner of the castle. I bet you can imagine my astonishment when I chanced on Scipio! He was in the company of an alchemist …’
Scipio took over the story. ‘That was Sadegh Safani, the owner of the castle. I had met him while looking for you, Mr Lloyd. He had a magic mirror that he promised would show me your location; and so it did, but the information was useless to me. For the mirror revealed that you were travelling through time and thus unavailable; and that you wouldn’t return to the present until 1938. When you did return, you would appear here, in Guinea. It told me that too. So I had plenty of time to catch up with you. I teamed up with my brother properly.’
‘We drifted around the world several times in my balloon,’ confirmed Distanto. ‘Getting into scrapes and whatnot. It was fun. Then it was time for us to come here and meet you …’
I clapped my hands and chuckled. ‘It’s so good to see the pair of you again, especially Scipio! No offence, Distanto; it’s just the way things are. But why haven’t you aged in all that time? It has been more than 20 years since we were last together; yet you look no older than you did back then. Or is that a trick of my memory?’
Scipio said, ‘During our travels we went to Russia and met a surgeon by the name of Filip Filippovich Preobrazhensky. He inserted the glands of monkeys into us; he assured us it was an effective rejuvenation remedy and so it was! Convenient, huh?’
‘So you are part ape too?’ I marvelled. ‘In that case you have come to the right place. Humanzeeville!’
‘Monkey,’ corrected Scipio.
Fabalo leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘Monkeys and apes are different. Like stools and sofas.’
I said to Scipio, ‘Well, now you’re here, what are your plans? Are you still willing to help my people, the Welsh, overthrow the English? I won’t hold you to your promise, of course.’
He smiled. ‘I always keep my word, Mr Griffiths.’
‘Much obliged, Monsieur,’ I said.
His eyes twinkled like stars that guide mariners into port, where they meet ladies with twinkles of their own.
Then he added a proviso:
‘But there is something rather more important to do first. An evil force has appeared in the world; its name is Hitler. The English are fated, in all probability, to oppose that force. It wouldn’t be right to weaken them yet. I think we ought to destroy Hitler first and then proceed to fulfil the vow I made to you. Is that acceptable?’
I was in full agreement. ‘Of course! Naturally!’
Fabalo squinted and said, ‘How do you intend to combat this Hitler? I can see that you are both fine figures of men, but you’re still only human. I fear he will be too strong for you.’
Scipio replied, ‘We don’t imagine we’ll be able to annihilate him just by our own efforts; we simply intend to help as much as possible. But we hope our other brother, Neary, will join us in this quest. Indeed, we have a plan to increase our own potency.’
Neary rumbled up. ‘Oh yes? What is it? Choo choo!’
Scipio held up a glass vial.
‘The powder in this vessel was given to me by Sadegh Safani. It can fuse people together. Why don’t we triplets take it and become one being? We will be akin to a demigod …’
Neary didn’t hesitate in nodding his approval.
I watched in amazement as the three brothers each swallowed a pinch of the alchemical powder. Then they held each other in another group hug and squeezed as tight as possible.
There was an enormous bang and a flash!
When the vapours cleared …
A bizarre creature stood before us. It had two legs with three feet on the end of each, one enormously wide torso, three heads, five flesh arms, one metal arm, 24 fingers and maybe 90 teeth. The metallic arm hissed steam. The mighty thighs, each as thick as a tree trunk cliché, quivered with force and manliness.
This being radiated serenity and justice.
For a moment, it paused and filled its vast lungs with jungle air. Then it waved a fond and fateful farewell and sprang away in a sequence of huge leaps; the crashing of trees in the distance grew fainter, like the thunder of a passing storm. I trembled all over.
I never saw the Faraway Brothers again.
I am an old man now; who knows if they are still alive? I doubt it
. But I feel sure they kept their promise. Hitler was defeated. As for that other promise, about the Welsh and the English … All I’m willing to say is that the blended brothers bounded off into the jungle in 1938 and exactly 60 years later, in 1998, the Government of Wales Act was passed; the Welsh Assembly was set up in Cardiff and given freedom to make its own laws. I went there once and loitered outside the debating chamber. Xylophone music came from inside. Enigmatic.
Apedog At Last
There was a rustling in the undergrowth. A figure of noble demeanour broke through and stood in the clearing.
‘I’m ready for my incident.’
I was dumbfounded. ‘What incident?’
‘An apedog incident. I’m an apedog, you see …’
It was Fabalo Junior!
The original Fabalo was overjoyed. ‘My son!’
‘Hello Dad. Sorry I’m late.’
‘It’s never too late, dear boy. Where have you been?’
‘Far away. I went to Russia and was given the pituitary gland of a dog. I was already half ape, half human; so the outcome wasn’t what the doctor who operated on me expected.’
‘And you have been searching for me ever since?’
‘Sort of. I dallied a lot too.’
‘Welcome home, anyway! Are you hungry?’
‘Famished. My nature means I have very precise dietary requirements. You wouldn’t have a bone banana spare, would you? Afterwards, can we play a game of fetch? Do you mind?’
‘No problem. But what incident were you referring to?’
‘Aren’t I supposed to have one?’
‘Not necessarily. No.’
‘Fair enough. It was just an assumption. On the way here, I did spend some time in Germany. I learned that the Nazis were experimenting with a toxic gas that would make their enemies infertile; but they hadn’t got it quite right yet. Had it been used, it would have rendered the entire human race incapable of breeding. Then there was some kind of accident and the gas escaped and spread everywhere.’
‘What! Does this mean the end of the human race?’
‘I suppose so. The gas makes all primates infertile; so it’s the end for all chimps, gorillas and baboons too.’
