Keppelberg

by Stan Mason

  I hesitated for a few moments to think the matter through. She couldn’t really be an old woman. It was impossible! Perhaps it was the result of her strange sense of humour but it really threw me for a while. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and moved back to the couch. What the hell! Whatever her age, she still performed like a twenty-seven year old and I was in for the kill. As expected, our performance wasn’t half as exciting like the first time but it was enjoyable nonetheless, tending us to become closer as our flesh pressed together and we became excited at each other’s touch.

  In due course, after we had made passionate love again, she took me by the hand and led me up to the bedroom. I shuddered to think that she had lain there with her late husband perhaps having numerous sexual sessions over the years. However I recognised that it was all in the past and that there was our future to consider. I crept into bed with her, fondling her breasts and kissing her all over her body. She cooed and sighed as our love-making progressed to higher levels and I felt the adrenalin flowing back into my body. I realised that she would wear me out by the light of day but the woman was insatiable and there was still some power left in my engine. In any case, resting in a comfortable warm bed, embracing her so that we were united as one, I didn’t care what age she was. Making love to her was an emotional experience... magic for both of us because we were so compatible, and the relationship we had formed in such a short time was something I wished to continue. To my mind, she was lovely, beautiful, erotic, slender, vibrant, lithe... and furthermore she was in the nude in bed with me!

  Chapter Six

  Wayne Austen made his was back to the next village to retrieve his car. He sat in the driver’s seat and was soon fast asleep. He was extremely annoyed with himself for losing his temper with me recognising that I was not a loose cannon but an independently-mind person who could do what I liked with my life. Just because Mary, my sister, was concerned about my safety was no reason for the junior detective to take me out of the strange village of Keppelberg. However, he had been given the task to do so by his partner and it was his duty to stick with it to its conclusion. He slept on through the night and on waking, he removed his mobile telephone from his pocket and rang my brother-in-law.

  ‘Tim,’ he began hesitantly. I’m in the next village to Keppleberg. I can’t get Sam to change his mind. He insists on staying here so I’m coming back to the office.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ spat his partner angrily. ‘Mary will go wild if he doesn’t return. She’s waiting for him now. You’ve got to stay on and make him see sense!’

  ‘I’ve tried,’ bleated Wayne sadly. ‘I’ve even been arrested and had to sign a paper to say I’d never return to the place.’

  ‘Who the hell do they think they are forcing you to do that?’ yelled Tim vehemently. ‘You get back there and read them the Riot Act! You know the law... act on it!’

  Wayne was about to continue the conversation but the communication ended sharply. He was now in a real fix. Tim was the senior partner in the business and he didn’t suffer fools. He saw every case as a challenge and he didn’t like the sound of Wayne’s failure to extricate me from the village. The junior partner was caught in two minds. He didn’t know whether to return to the village, facing punishment of an unknown kind if he was caught, or leave and face the wrath of his partner. It was a lose-lose situation and he knew that either way he was looking into the face of doom. In due course, after a great deal of personal torment, he climbed out of his car and walked towards the village, Shortly, he had gone up the sandy lane and reached the terraced road with his heart in his mouth. Honour was the better part of valour and he decided not to go down on record as a failure. He hid behind the same clump of trees not knowing what to do next because I had told him that I was staying. Perhaps he thought it was a war of attrition and that eventually he might be able to make me change my mind. Little did he know that I had spent the night with Bridget and had fast fallen in love with the woman. I couldn’t get her face out of my mind and my body told me that she was the best thing since sliced bread. Nothing would wrest me away to venture back into the hell of humanity that existed outside the village. There was no miserable news broadcast every day, no crime situations to learn about, no sad television programmes with their constant game shows and commercials, no protest marches, no terrorists, no interference... simply peace, goodwill and harmony.

  Nonetheless, the information about Bridget’s age failed to go away. It continued to haunt me the more I thought about it. When she was in my arms, in our bed, she was twenty-seven but the fact that she was eighty-seven alarmed me... sixty years older. The whole idea of it was nonsensical yet it plagued my mind all day long mercilessly.

  After finishing breakfast, and talking to Robert who had been swatting up for his lessons that day, there was a knock on the door. The giant frame of Townsend appeared and he entered, sitting down at the table. Bridget poured him a cup of tea and he related my schedule for the day.

  ‘How was it here last night?’ he asked innocuously.

  ‘It was very fine and he’s staying with me here,’ cut in Bridget as if scared I might be taken away to live somewhere else. ‘He’s to continue sleeping here every night.’

  ‘Right,’ muttered Townsend thoughtfully before turning to me. ‘You’re coming with me to the police station.’

  ‘What’s it this time, Mr. Townsend?’ I asked tiredly becoming angry at being moved here there and everywhere at his whim. I was yo-yoing through the village using the police station as a central point.

  ‘It’s good news,’ he related slowly. ‘We’ll stop temporarily at the pharmacy to collect your tablets. Then we’ll go on to the police station to fit you out.’

  ‘Fit me out?’ I repeated perplexedly. ‘What for?’ I couldn’t even hazard a guess.

  ‘With a uniform of course,’ he retorted staidly.

  ‘A uniform?’ I gasped, stunned at the idea. ‘Don’t tell me I’m going to join the police force of Keppelberg!’

  ‘Not quite,’ he added. ‘You’re going to be a security guard stationed at the edge of the village to ensure that no strangers are allowed to come in.’

  I recalled him making a comment of that nature at the village hall but I had no idea that I would be the one appointed to the task.

  ‘Does this mean I’ve been accepted into the community?’ I asked bluntly.

  He snorted and then guffawed almost spilling his tea. ‘I don’t think so,’ he laughed loudly as though I had told him a funny joke. ‘It’s a start but you’ve a long way to go before you can consider you’re to be one of us. I haven’t got a report from Mrs. McBain yet.’

  ‘You don’t need one, Mr. Townsend,’ she intervened. ‘He’s one hundred per cent as far as I’m concerned. He’s my man!’

  ‘I see,’ returned the Chairman understanding her situation. ‘I’m glad to hear you get on so well. It’ll be in your favour. The priest told me that you come from Cornwall. How long do you have to live in Cornwall to be accepted as a Cornishman... a lifetime I would suspect.’

  I looked at Bridget who seemed to be delighted at the news. ‘How wonderful!’ she said brightly. ‘You’re going to be allowed to stay. You’ve made my day, Mr. Townsend’

  The Chairman stared at her with an element of surprise. The woman was obviously taken by me and the fact that I had stayed the night with her was indicative of her passion.

  ‘I’m really pleased that you hit it off together, he went on. placing his tea cup down on the table. ‘It didn’t take you two long, did, it?’

  It didn’t take a mind reader for him to realised what had happened between us during the night. Perhaps villagers were more promiscuous than their counterparts in the towns and cities. I doubted that I would ever know the answer. There was certainly no hesitation on the part of Bridget when it came to making love even though she was supposed to be gr
ieving. But then I recalled that many people reacted differently when it came to mourning and grieving. I remembered a man who once was unable to stop himself laughing loudly and continually at a funeral. It took people in different ways. As far as Bridget was concerned, there were many questions I wanted to ask her about her relationship with her husband but this wasn’t the time.

  Townsend got to his feet. ‘Well,’ he said stolidly, we’ve work to do, Mr. Ross. ‘We ought to be on our way.’

  I went over to Bridget and kissed her fully on the lips warmly to which she responded, then she moved with us to the door. As I got there, Bridget place her hand on my arm.

  ‘You will come back, Sam, won’t you?’ she said in a final gesture, her eyes pleading me to answer affirmatively.

  ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away,’ I returned lovingly. Just stay as beautiful... that’s all I ask.’

  We kissed again and then I left with Townsend. We walked along the paths deviating slightly to the left. Shortly we came to a large building that bore the sign ‘Pharmacy’. I was here at last arriving at the inner sanctum where I believed the secret of the villagers was held. We entered and I expected to see one or two chemists manufacturing the tablets. To my utter surprise, the place was bustling with workers... a beehive of activity. It was a very large room... exceedingly large... with long rows of solid tables set out in lines behind which there were at least fifty men and women making pills with long out-dated machines. Each person wore a white coat, a hat or bonnet, and they all used rubber gloves. Behind each row was a multitude of shelves containing enormous jars of white, green and yellow powders and every person in the room was employed in mashing up the powders in pestles and mortars to make the tablets. I had once seen a news item in the cinema where a major pharmaceutical company rolled out tablets by the million every minute. This operation was exactly the opposite with every tablet being personally hand-made. But then time and productivity had no place in Keppelberg. And then another thought hit me. Surely in a village of eleven hundred people there was no need for so many chemists or so many tablets!

  Townsend allowed me to watch the procedure for a while and then he took me by the arm to lead me to a separate area where my tablets were waiting to be collected. I picked them up and he turned me towards the door.

  ‘Why are there so many people making tablets here?’ I asked. ‘Surely there’s not so much demand for medication.’

  ‘How long’s a piece of string,’ he replied enigmatically.

  ‘Why can’t you answer my questions,’ I demanded, angry at his casual attitude.

  ’Why do you have to ask them?’ he snapped curtly. ’If you kept your mind on the hare and not on the hounds your life would be so much easier in the long run.’

  I failed to understand what he meant but there was nothing more to say. He clearly refused to answer any of my questions to my satisfaction so I let the matter drop.

  We went on to the police station where my new-found friend, the Desk Sergeant, welcomed me. He took me to a room and pointed to the dark-blue uniform I was expected to wear in my new capacity.

  ‘What do I get for doing this,’ I asked him. ‘How much pay is there per week or per month?’

  ‘Pay?’ he seemed surprised. ‘You’ll get a voucher for food. You can spend it in the cafeteria.’

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone using vouchers,’ I retorted.

  ‘You haven’t been here long enough,’ he responded leaving me alone with my thoughts. I recalled a similar situation at school during one of the lessons to learn of the bartering system in some countries. Salt was paid as wages to Roman soldiers while paper, bones and all kinds of tokens were used elsewhere. The system was particularly rigid because one could only use them for goods of the same value. However, in general, it seemed to work.

  I started to dress in the new uniform. It fitted me very well and after I had put it on, I preened myself in the mirror. Over the past twenty-four hours, I had exchanged khaki for Victorian clothes and now I was dressed in a security uniform... and I was to be paid with food vouchers. It all seemed to be so unreal. I walked out to the front desk of the police station into the view of the Desk Sergeant.

  ‘We need you to secure the point at the beginning of the village,’ he commanded. ‘Stand at the bottom of the terraced road. No strangers are to be allowed to enter. Is that understood?’

  ‘What do I do if someone comes?’ I requested earnestly.

  ‘You have two choices,’ he replied sonorously. ‘Either you send them packing, telling them not to come back here, or you can tell them to stay where they are and report back here immediately. I’ll send the constable out to do his duty. Is that clear?’

  ‘As crystal, sir!’ I retorted standing to attention.

  ‘Right,’ he said firmly. ‘What is it you’ve forgotten?’ I stood there with a blank mind shrugging my shoulders aimlessly, unable to think of anything I needed. ‘Your truncheon!’ he barked loudly. ‘How are you going to protect yourself and prove your authority. People tend to take fright when threatened with violence... even if it’s only intimidation.’ He handed me a small truncheon which I took readily. ‘Right! Off you go!’

  Townsend nodded to me with a degree of satisfaction and I left the police station to walk along the path that led to the entrance of the village. It seemed as easy task fairly similar to the one I had in Basra although this time I wasn’t carrying a machine-gun in my hands while the danger was negligible here. I wandered to and fro at the entrance of the village for a while, holding the truncheon in my hand, recognising that there was really no need for me to secure the area. However, as a newcomer to the village, this was a means of employment for me. Then, to my dismay, I heard a whistle from a short distance away. I turned to witness the figure of Wayne Austen who had come to haunt me in my new employ. I sauntered over to him not relishing the meeting.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked him, almost in a whisper.

  ‘I could ask the same of you,’ he retaliated. ‘What’s with the uniform and truncheon?’

  ‘This is what I do now. I’m the security guard for the village.’

  ‘Are you crazy!’ he returned in amazement. ‘Come with me. My car’s just down the road. I can get you back to Mary in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Get the hell away from here!’ I snapped sharply. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy!’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Sam. I can get you free.’

  ‘You do realise I’m being watched!’

  ‘Watched? By whom?’ He looked around furtively,

  ‘They want to see whether I leave the village or stay. It’s a test. Now... if you’ve nothing better to do then leave or I’ll be forced to arrest you.’

  He flinched at my comment and too a pace backwards. ‘Are you kidding! Stop messing about, Sam, and come with me.’

  ‘There are things you don’t understand,’ I went on. ‘Go!’

  I waved the small truncheon as if to strike him and he crouched down like a coward covering his head with his hands.

  ‘Okay... okay!’ he shouted out at the top of his voice. ‘I’ll go! I’ll go!’

  He looked up to ensure that he was safe and almost ran away in the direction of his car. I wondered, at that moment, why my brother-in-law had taken him on as his partner. The man was a loser... a weak lily-livered coward who was only useful in determining bad behaviour by correspondents in divorce cases... nothing more! However, I had done my duty and he had gone!

  I spent all the morning on guard at the entrance to the village and then returned at one o’clock to the cafeteria for some lunch. The woman behind the counter seemed to be much less hostile to me when she saw me wearing the blue uniform.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s a place here where people gamble... you know a little blackjack... some roulette... bingo... poker... card games...
the lottery!’

  She looked down her nose before replying to me. ‘I should hope not!’ she told me in no uncertain terms. ‘Why people should want to lose their hard- earned money by gambling is a mystery to me. It’s all a matter of greed... hoping to win money which doesn’t belong to them. It’s definitely not in their best interest. Now, what would you like to order?’

  I mused that this village was at the peak of perfection. There were no influences to foster the aims of power, ambition, or greed. Consequently, there was no crime, no drug dealers, no people in debt, and no gambling. Indeed, I hadn’t seen anyone smoking cigars or cigarettes. In terms of peace and tranquillity, full employment, good health and isolation, Keppelberg was one of the most perfect places in which to live on Earth.

  Chapter Seven

  My knowledge of the village developed quite well over the next few days. There was far more to the place than I had imagined. I soon learned that it wasn’t as small as I had thought. It comprised of many hundreds of acres of land which were carefully farmed on which a plethora of cattle and sheep grazed on lush green fields. There were many more fields in which wheat and barley were grown while lettuces, cabbages, swedes, turnips, potatoes, carrots, peas, parsnips, tomatoes and broccoli proliferated in the good soil in the area. There were also a number of large orchards which produced apples, cherries, strawberries, gooseberries and raspberries. Milk was obtain by hand, and not by machine, while meat was also available from a pig farm supplying pork, ham and bacon. There was also an area where hundreds of chickens were reared to provide eggs and meat, as well as turkeys, ducks and geese. Many people were employed in food production as self-sufficiency was the key at all times. The villagers were well-versed in the food supply chain for the eleven hundred inhabitants who lived there and it had clearly gone on in the same vein for over a century when the village was formed. As I had been brought up in Cornwall, where farming proliferated, the activities of cattle-rearing and crop-growing were of second nature to me. Coupled with the peace and tranquillity of the place and the absence of pressure, I began to feel quite at home. At the same time my life was tempered with the blessing of Bridget whom I knew would become my life-long companion with her son, Robert in tow.