by Ian Sansom
'What?'
'I said—'
'I didn't see any drugs, as such,' said Israel.
'Aye, you could tell, but, the look of them.'
'And it looked quite hard work to me, actually,' said Israel. 'Collecting the firewood, and the cooking, looking after all those children.'
'They'd all a wee tinker tan.'
'A what?'
'A tinker tan. Dirty, like animals, so they were, the weans.'
'I didn't think they were that bad.'
'Like little Arabs, the lot of them.'
'Ted!'
'I'm only saying!'
'Well, don't! You make yourself sound bad.'
'And they were all dressed funny,' said Ted. 'The big fella there had a wee kiltie sort of thing on.'
'That's all right,' said Israel.
'Aye, it would be all right with you. He was full of the smell o' himself. And I didn't trust the big woman.'
'Bree?'
'Aye.'
'I rather liked her. She was very accurate in her astrological readings.'
'Ach, not at all! She was away with the fairies. I wouldn't trust her with one half of a bad potato. And the whole place stinks a' addle,' said Ted.
'Addle?'
'Aye.'
'Is?'
'U-rine, ye eejit.'
'No, I think it was patchouli oil or something.'
'Disgusting,' said Ted.
'I quite liked the smell,' said Israel.
'Aye, ye would.'
'I thought it was an idyllic sort of setup actually. I wouldn't mind doing something like that myself. Get away from it all, life on the road…'
'Aye. Bunch a ill-set good-for-nothings, so they are. They're on the pig's back, the lot of them.'
'The—'
'Pig's back, that's right. And they've stolen our van, remember. Bunch o' bandits…'
'Well, they haven't actually stolen it, have they, it was more, you know…'
'What?'
'They were sold it under false pretences.'
'Aye. From the fella selling stolen vehicles. Caveat emperor,' said Ted.
'Caveat emptor, I think you mean,' said Israel. 'Anyway, this time tomorrow we should have it all sorted.'
'Never trust a hippy,' said Ted.
'They're fine, Ted.'
'Not as long as they've got my van they're not.'
'Well,' said Israel. 'They're clearly not going anywhere with the van at the moment, are they? Let's not panic, eh.'
14
When Israel and Ted arrived back at the site the following day the travellers had gone—disappeared, vamoosed, packed up, beat a retreat and headed for the hills. The only evidence that they'd ever been there were a few black patches of bare earth where their fires had been, and some big rug-flattened patches of grass. Everything else was gone: no litter, no mess, no trace.
'Bloody Gypsies!' roared Ted, as he stomped around the clearing, like a bear without his honey. 'Bloody lying Gypsies! I told you! I said we should never have trusted those bloody Gypsies. Ach!'
'Is this the right place?' said Israel, looking around. 'It looks different, without the—'
'Of course this is the right place!' said Ted. 'They've scarpered, the blinkin' Gypsy—'
'Travellers,' said Israel. 'They're travellers, Ted. And at least they've left the place nice and—'
'When I get hold of them they'll feel—'
'Take only photographs, leave only—'
'My boot up the arse,' said Ted.
'Yeah. Fine,' said Israel. 'So now what?'
'I don't know,' said Ted. 'I just don't know. Ach! I can't believe this. We should never have come to England in the first place. The whole country's a f—'
'Yes, all right. I've heard it before, Ted. You're getting as bad as me on Northern Ireland. We just need to think logically and work this out. Maybe we should hunt for clues, should we?'
'Aye, Tonto,' said Ted, with a wave of his hand. 'That's right. You hunt away there.'
'Well. I just thought. You know. When we were in the Scouts we used to do this thing where we had to follow people's tracks.' Israel knelt down and began sniffing the ground. 'It had something to do with animal spoors, and…bent twigs, and…'
'Holy God,' said Ted.
'What?'
'I tell you what. I've got a much better idea, Kemo Sabe.'
'Really?'
'Aye, you get off of your knees and ring your mother.'
'Why?'
'Because she'll have a better idea of what to do than you, you eejit. Sniffing the ground, for goodness sake! God give me strength! I'm away here for a smoke.'
'I thought you were giving up?' said Israel, getting up off his knees.
'Until I came to England I was giving up. You, and the…Gypsies…and the homolosexuals…This whole flippin' country's gonna have me away to Purdysburn, d'ye know that?'
While Ted paced up and down and smoked in a furious, you'll-have-me-away-to-Purdysburn sort of a manner, Israel rang his mother on his mobile. She was preparing for a mobile library fund-raising coffee morning back at the house.
'It's the Ladies Guild,' she said, 'they'll be here in five minutes! What is it now?'
Israel explained that the trail had gone cold and that they were standing in a field in the middle of Essex, and they had no idea what to do next.
'Ah, dear, that's not good,' said Israel's mother.
'Any ideas?' said Israel.
'Can you get back for lunchtime?'
'I don't know. Why?'
'You might find it easier to think if you've had something to eat. And you could maybe brief the ladies on the latest developments in the case.'
'No, Mother! We can get a sandwich or something. We just need to—'
'Get other people involved, no?' said Israel's mother. Israel could hear her gesticulating. 'That's what we need to do at this stage. It's completely ridiculous! We should ring the police.'
'Ted doesn't want the police involved,' said Israel, lowering his voice. Ted was glowering with his cigarette.
'Well, he's not going to have much of a choice now, is he? Israel, put him onto me. I'll talk to him.'
'No. I'll deal with him,' said Israel.
'I like talking to him,' said Israel's mother.
'Yes. I know. That's why I'm going to deal with him.'
'And what is that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing.'
'Well, anyway, look, I'll ring Deborah, and see what she and Ari are doing tonight; we can meet with them. He's very clever.'
'I'm clever,' protested Israel.
'I didn't say you weren't!' said Israel's mother. 'Don't be so sensitive. I just mean Ari's professionally clever.'
'What, and I'm an amateur?'
'He'll have lots of ideas.'
'No, Mother! Don't get him involved!'
'Hold on. Just let me check the calendar here, let me see how we're fixed for tonight.'
'Mother, no!'
'Here we are.' Israel could hear her peering at the calendar. 'Oh, look. It's your uncle Bernard's birthday tomorrow.'
'Who?'
'In Montreal? He was married to the woman who was divorced, from Hendon? I must give him a ring. I always forget, but it's the same every year. Summer solstice. And National Aboriginal Day in Canada.'
'Mother! Mother! Hold on! That's it!' said Israel.
'What's it?'
'They follow the ritual year.'
'Who do? Your uncle Bernard and the divorcée from Hendon? No. They're Reform, I think.'
'No, not them,' said Israel.
'The Aboriginals?'
'No!' said Israel. 'They must have gone to Stonehenge.'
'Who? Stonehenge? What are you talking about? Hold on, there's someone at the door, Israel.'
'Fine. Okay, Mum. Look. Got to go. Bye.'
'She have any ideas?' said Ted, finishing his cigarette and grinding out the stub.
'Don't leave any litter,' said Israel.
'It's not litter!' said Ted. 'It's a cigarette butt, but.'
'That's litter,' said Israel.
'Anyway?' said Ted.
'They're at Stonehenge.'
'And where's that when it's at home?'
'It's down in Wiltshire,' said Israel.
'And ye're sure they're there?' said Ted.
'No,' said Israel. 'But it was in Mother's calendar.'
'Stonehenge?'
'Yes. It's the summer solstice, and you remember the travellers saying they followed the ritual year?'
'No.'
'Well, they did. So, I'm guessing they're going to be at Stonehenge for the solstice.'
'What, like druids?'
'Exactly.'
'Ye think they've taken the van down to be with the druids at Stonehenge?'
'Yes.'
'Ach. That's it? That's the best ye can come up with?'
'Yes.'
'What does your mother think?'
'She agrees,' lied Israel.
Ted sighed. 'When I get a hold of those blinkin' hippies…' he said. 'Does she want to come with us?'
'Who?'
'Yer mother?'
'No, she does not!' said Israel. 'My mother come with us! Honestly, Ted. And you can just stop your sniffing around her, please.'
'What do ye mean, sniffing around her?' said Ted, drawing himself up to his full shaven-headed height. 'What are ye blerting about now, boy?'
'Come on. You know exactly what I mean. I've told you once to leave her alone, and I mean it. Stop it. Just stop…chatting her up, or whatever it is you're doing.'
'Chatting her up?'
They were walking back towards the Mini.
'Well, that's what it bloody looks like,' said Israel. 'Staying up late every night, listening to music together. I can hear you, you know, from upstairs.'
'Ye think I'm a sort of o' belly bachelor after yer mother?'
'I have no idea what a belly bachelor might be, Ted. I'm just saying I want you to keep away from her.'
'Aye, well, and I'm telling you to mind yer own blinkin' business, or I'll—'
'Don't be threatening me, Ted!'
'I'm not threatening ye, ye eejit!'
They arrived back at the Mini.
'Well, that's what it sounds like to me. Now, anyway'—they got into the car, ready to go—'so. To be clear. We're going to find the van—without doing any harm to anyone!'
Ted huffed.
'And we'll get this whole thing over and done with. And without my mother! Do you understand?'
'Ach.'
'Do you understand?'
'Aye, and who made you the head bombardier all of a sudden?'
'Head bombardier?'
'Aye, ye're all the same.'
'Who?'
'People.'
'Right.'
Muhammad barked at them approvingly.
'Stonehenge?' said Ted, as they set off, unable to let it go. 'Jesus!'
'Have you got a better idea, Ted?'
'I have not,' said Ted, as if the mere suggestion that he might have an idea was an offence.
'So,' said Israel. 'As far as I'm concerned that's the end of the discussion. That's what we're doing. It's a long shot, but it might just work.'
'It's a stupit idea,' said Ted.
* * *
It was 6.00 p.m. by the time Ted and Israel eventually arrived at Stonehenge; they'd stopped off in a pub on the way for lunch, which was definitely not a good idea. ('I tell you what I'm going to have,' Ted had announced, hungrily, as they pulled off the motorway and onto an A road, and then onto a B road and into the pub forecourt. 'What?' 'A ploughman's. Nice fresh bread and cheddar cheese. A real traditional English pub lunch. You can't get that back home.' He was right. 'Your ploughman's, sir,' the barman had said. 'A ploughman's? That's not a ploughman's,' Ted said. 'It's…' 'It's sourdough bread, sir, with melted goat's cheese, and a cranberry and sweet chili coleslaw, and baby gem lettuce.' 'Has this whole country gone completely mad?' said Ted. 'No,' said Israel, 'it's just gone gastro.') And then on round the M25, and on and on, on the M3, and the A303, and onto the A344, in the hot, steaming summer's night, and the approach to Stonehenge, which was like the approach to Lakeside, except this time instead of people being there for their actual shopping, they were there for the spiritual shopping, which is cheaper, admittedly, although some actual shopping was also available; as they approached the car park, there were young men and women wearing eccentric floppy rainbow-coloured hats going from car to car, offering juggling balls, and tarot cards, and giant Rizla papers and novelty lighters. There were also stewards in fluorescent bibs, and policemen with dogs, and barriers, and fences, and burger and hot dog stalls, and vegetarian burger and hot dog stalls, and everywhere you looked, cars, and vans, and more cars and vans. It felt more like a motor show than anything else—a second-hand motor show, at which hippies jeered at the drivers of SUVs.
Israel had never seen Stonehenge before, and he could barely see it now; you just caught a glimpse of it from the car park. From a distance, in the shimmering heat, it looked like big heaps of old moulded plasticene.
'Nice job,' said Ted, as they got out of the car.
'What is?' said Israel.
'The stones. Probably some sort of mortice and tenon at the top.'
'What?'
'Some sort of wee joggle joint. Must be.' Ted peered at the stones in the distance, as if surveying the quality of a roof on a new-build bungalow. 'Carpentry, basically, isn't it, applied to stones?'
'Right.'
'They're like lintels, if you look,' said Ted. 'Not bad. Must have been a job to do.'
'Right. Okay,' said Israel. 'I think it's more the spiritual significance that most people are interested in, rather than the ancient building techniques.'
'Ah'm sure,' said Ted.
'So, anyway,' said Israel. 'I guess now we just look for the van.'
'Aye, it'll take some doing, mind,' said Ted. 'Look around ye. It's like Coleraine on market day.'
They agreed to split up, and went walking up and down the rows of parked cars and vans, which spread out as far as the eye could see, with crowds of people milling around, flying kites, playing Frisbee, playing the bongos; people hugging each other; people cheering and shouting; people crying; stumbling drunks. Occasionally, Israel would stop a sober-looking person and ask them if they'd seen the van.
'I'm looking for a van,' he'd say. 'An old Bedford?'
'Yeah. Nice vans. Good conversion.'
Or, 'Have you seen an old Bedford?'
'D'you want to buy a kite?'
And 'Excuse me, have you seen an old—'
'Could you give me fifty pounds?'
And, 'Have you seen—'
'Dope? Skunk? Crack?'
And, 'Have you—'
'Make Homebrew, Not War.'
And, 'Hello, I—'
'Waaalllly!'
Ted had fared no better.
'Any luck?' asked Israel, when they met up again, half an hour later.
'Ach,' said Ted. 'No. Not at all. Look at the place. Disgusting.' There was rubbish everywhere. 'It's like an outdoor bloody loony bin. All these sorts, all scunging about.'
'Scunging?'
'That's right. Load a thugs and auld hippies stocious with drink, playing the drums.'
'Bongos,' said Israel.
'Exactly,' said Ted. 'Completely blinkin' bongos, the lot of 'em.'
'I saw a nice-looking falafel stall, though, if you fancy something to eat,' said Israel.
Ted stared at him and tutted.
'Well, maybe you're right,' said Israel. 'Maybe later?'
A man came striding past then, wearing a yellow fluorescent vest with the word 'STEWARD' printed on it, front and back. He carried a satchel, and had a walkie-talkie, and a long, greying goatee beard, down almost to his chest, and his hair was in a ponytail, and he was wearing frayed denim shorts, and walking boots and a stained leather cowboy hat; he looked like a municipal Gandalf.
>
'Excuse me?' said Israel.
'Yes, brother?' said the man, halting abruptly, officially, and more than a little ironically, in his stride.
'Brother!' exclaimed Ted.
'Erm. I wonder if you might be able to help?' said Israel.
'That's what I'm here to do,' said the man. 'I Am Here to Help.'
'Good,' said Israel.
'You may call me Lancelot,' said the man.
'Right,' said Israel.
'I'll call ye something,' muttered Ted.
'And this might perhaps answer your questions, gentlemen.' He handed them a leaflet from his satchel, announcing 'SUMMER SOLSTICE: CONDITIONS OF ENTRY AND INFORMATION'. 'No dogs!' the man announced, pointing to Muhammad. 'Sunrise at 4.58 a.m.,' he said, 'pre-cisely,' and went to stride off again.
'Erm. Thanks. That's…lovely, Lancelot,' said Israel. 'But, actually, we're looking for a van.'
'Okay,' said Lancelot, turning back. 'A van? Uh-huh.'
'Which has been…we have lost.'
'I see.'
'It's been painted. It has…What's it got painted on it, Ted?'
'Black,' said Ted.
'Yeah,' said Israel, 'and over the front there's a sort of big eye, and it says—'
'The Odyssey,' stated Ted, with distaste.
'Yeah, that's it,' said Israel. 'The Odyssey. And down the side it says—'
'The Warehouse of Divine Jewels,' said Ted, with disgust.
'Yeah.'
'Okay,' said Lancelot.
'And on the back it says—'
'Follow Us Towards Enlightenment,' said Ted, his voice beyond emotion.
'Yeah,' said Israel. '"Follow Us Towards Enlightenment", with a rainbow painted above it.'
'Sounds like quite a van,' said Lancelot.
'Yeah. It belongs to…some friends of ours.'
'I see.'
'We were going to meet them here. You've not seen it?'
'No. No. I don't think so,' said Lancelot. 'But I could check with the other stewards, if you'd like?'
'Right, well, that'd be great actually,' said Israel. 'And this is where all the travellers meet, is it?'
'No, young man,' said Lancelot, 'oh, no, no, no, no, no. These'—he emphasised the word 'these' as though indicating his own wayward offspring—'these are mostly tourists.' He lowered his voice. 'To be honest with you, they're only here for Fatboy Slim.'
'Oh? Really? Is Fatboy Slim playing?' said Israel.
'No!' Lancelot laughed, as if this were the funniest thing he'd heard in a long time. 'He was on a few years ago—and very good, actually, I should say, though I'm more of a Steely Dan man myself—but now of course everybody expects a rave when they come. This is your first time, I presume?'
