by Steve Aylett
‘Ah you’re the rare thing brother,’ said Minotaur at the shop. ‘Larging it up and lamping the old bill with their own hammers. There’s the true way.’
‘Well thank you brother,’ I said, and with his sudden stare it dawned upon me that he meant to condemn.
‘Poisoned or bludgeoned brother—make your choice.’
‘Neither.’
‘No time nor space for that,’ he replied, forcing beetles into his pipe and striking a match. The bugs popped and crackled when lit. ‘Fear for man if you think furnaces are final. Poisoned or bludgeoned?’
‘Those are the choices eh.’
‘Hell yes.’
‘Give me a moment. Poisoning or bludgeoning. I don’t get it.’
‘It’s simple. You’re in the way.’
‘But why the restricted options Babs? I hope you don’t think I’m a low priority.’
‘Oh I feel a deep respect for you—surely you know this.’
‘I am trying. I’m trying to know it, but here I am between a rock and a hard place brother—poisoning or some kind of…repeated blows is it?’
‘Flies don’t hesitate.’
‘Eh? Oh look you’ll have to decide for me I—I can’t.’
‘Very well.’
Toys rushed in, snarling to eat.
Three hours later I staggered into the bar, clothes shredded.
‘What happened?’
‘Robot,’ I gasped. ‘Face like a smoke alarm. Came in shouting. All I remember.’
‘Must have made the transition to an injured and unconscious man,’ said Fred.
‘Where were you?’ asked Bob.
‘Shop o’ Fury.’
‘Oh, Minotaur’s harmless as a scorpion in a paperweight—you must have had a bad dream.’
I was about to put a match to the nail bomb of my opinions when Eddie entered and, in a surge of ambition, tried introducing us to someone who wasn’t himself. It was one of Godber’s Troops, who rode in on the following remark:
‘I’m Mister—j-j-j-j-j-jesus!’
‘You all right?’
‘Bloody bastard convulsions—back again! Ah!’
‘Get this bastard out of here,’ I yelled, ‘and get me a drink of water.’
‘What about his convulsions brother?’ shouted Empty Fred.
‘An electrical tossing and pact with the situation of flapping when you least expect it.’
‘I know what it is—what to do about it brother? He’ll break furniture wherever he is.’
‘Their owners will worry.’
‘That’s what I’m saying brother.’
‘Incarceration. Or taming in a cage with whip and chair? Torture? Who am I?’
‘Are you all right brother?’
‘I’m saving my ideas for a time when everything will be perfect to receive them. I’m absolutely amazing.’
‘What?’
‘Stand aside.’
‘What?’
‘I’m an angel with twelve hours to go.’
‘He’s cracked his lid. Bob! Eddie! Help!’
‘Charming the daylight out of the bloody trees.’
‘Eddie! Bob! Brother! Brother!’
Beautiful convulsions—world class.
Anyway lads, the aliens started as they meant to go on, boring everyone rigid with their birthcries. Who could have predicted we’d look back on our loneliness so wistfully. The old haycart pastorals are full of spaceships and dogs are flattened by landing pads. And if we look closely at the telltale prong pattern, here, and here, I think we can establish categorically that this is not a pig, but a spaniel and incidentally yes, I did kill it.
Trouble with every last bastard in the bar
The bar was a frozen tableau of indignation and resentment. Educated perhaps in the terrifying arts, the barman was silent. Fleets of ants carried away my resolve. Empty Fred was still stood with his hand outstretched and petalled with betting stakes. Now he furled this hand upon the cash and used the resultant fist to smash my expression.
I knew, the way you do, that it was time to run. And my face began to bubble like a soup, erupting with bone and prowing out, until I was transfigured into an old lady.
‘Gawd blimey I’m saved,’ I gasped, and laughed with relief.
But absolutely everyone had witnessed the transformation, and so my powers of disguise were rendered useless. My only hope was pity.
But fists soon fidget. Surrounded by kicking wasters, my limbs instinctively adopted defence formation. The priest, above all, bitterly contested my version of events, saying I should ‘curb my mouth’, whatever that means. Oh my brothers it’s a fine thing when the most we can hope for is a kick upside the face from a saviour. An American laugh track was being played over the speakers throughout the procedure. I’ll teach these little hitlers to play hardball, I thought, bursting into tears. Freaked shadows leapt up the wall, of many bastards ganging up on one. Which is unlawful, by the way.
Protocol demanded defeat but I was getting louder, gasping sarcasm mixed with gob blood. ‘What’s next for you Eddie. What’ll you do? Rip off a gran and piss the proceeds up a wall surely.’
‘Eh?’
‘Sliced canopy, flies, empty flask—there’s your end.’
‘Not me,’ he said, pausing mid-punch to describe a plan for inflicting tiles on the roof of his gaff. As it continued Eddie’s explanation for his purpose in life relinquished its slender claim to coherence. All fists turned to him. Run our boy, run.
I found a bench upon which to mend and tilled over what I’d learned about the pitfalls of bleating. Almost every visit to the pub went horribly, tragically wrong. I really appreciated this. Put your hands over your face if you want to protect it but you miss so much—memory markers, current gates rampant, springloaded opinions, wrecked filter. Nothing shut the bastards up anyway.
I don’t know what anyone else leaves for protection money but I left the evidence of my leisure, an airy and insubstantial thing you’d need a scholar to verify, and when the criminal fraternity dragged me out of a kennel and told me not to scream too loudly, it was clear they thought I’d bequeathed them nothing at all. Three more sacrifices were added to the many with which my life was draped—four hours of my time, one pint of blood for each of those hours, and the age-old horror of having my wisdom and charm fall upon small, deaf ears. Left me nervy—cigarette and double-takes at glimpsed spiders, you know.
The meaningful form and pattern of spilt blood was what decided most arguments back then, as now. That and toxicology—Minotaur for instance was a toxicology adept. Though he’d fart like a sailor and stamp on elves when he saw them—and only he did—you couldn’t help but respect the man. Arguments raged about his age and the number of terms he would have served if there were any justice, and he himself named the top figure, laughing aloud and buying beer for all in the winter bar. Minotaur was a depth charge everyone waited on, ready for the spectacle.
When Minotaur fought it was hard to recognise the fact. It involved hurled occult curses and the puffing of blowdarts, an occasional overturned cauldron or spilt prayer. Shrieks were in Latin and frilled in finery such as—
‘Smoke makes windows black as horses and sweetness is everywhere attacked.’
—upon being hit unexpectedly by a thrown chair.
Anyway I had my revenge by inviting every last bastard to a ‘disguise yourself as a normal fella’ party. I let out one confidential laugh then admitted the guests—as I typed, smoked, perched like a bird on my dog’s head and made up a list of names deserving penance in the cellar with dry taps. All uncomprehending, they lamely closed the door on their freedom.
I knew from a test I’d done with Eddie that two weeks was the sheer maximum I could leave bastards without food and at the end of that time I went to the locked door sniggering and chirped ‘Do the bastards want to come out now?’
‘Yes,’ came the cry all feeble like.
‘Say it all.’
‘The bastards wa
nt to come out.’
‘Oh you do now,’ and so on till they spent their final strength in rage. Then I threw the old bolt and their eyes squinted upward, along with a few gun muzzles—all credit to ’em they were prepared.
My life is glued with such afternoons, keeping morons at bay with empty threats and praying for gullibility, or instantly returning bricks which had crashed into my silent front room with a flick of the curtain. I grew into a man and these circumstances subsisted like a rockery.
Eventually had to make my peace with the neighbourhood by the giving of gifts. To Eddie I took a tangle of snot.
‘What’s that?’
‘Nose-born reptile. Put it here—overhanging the drain okay?’
To Bob an initialled lighter in the shape of a cheap lighter and a bed stuffed with tobacco.
To Empty Fred a wall clock which transformed into millions of rabbits aglow and a gilded invitation to sample ‘the immortal caviar of god’s brain’. He declined.
To Minotaur a branding iron and vodka, and to Carver—who wasn’t involved in the feud and not aware really of anything—fourteen sorry words.
To the Mayor I couldn’t be arsed to give anything and he cursed me, bursting into tears like a girl.
To the priest a locust.
When these duties were complete I immediately resumed hostilities. Astonished everyone by treading on the face of a snail and remembering every feature of it, to the point where I had detailed nightmares in which the creature was a bewigged judge. Me in the dock accused of sizzling with enlightenment or something.
‘State your name.’
‘Identity yeah, not so fast. You hate the crusts eh, me too. A beak and vertebrae, that’s all you need—no offence yer honour, I mean a bill. Not the old bill I mean, oh gawd I’m makin a right bollocks outta this. Bill of a bird I mean—feathered variety that is—’
‘Would you describe the black events of the night in question?’ or something like that.
‘I’m glad you had the smarts to ask—better than stinking in wedlock at a lousy address eh? All started at this big do. Love a party me. If good smooth banisters support me I’ll be there, drawing attention. A friend sounded odd and I realised he was waiting for money. Skin me mind. So that night nipping from a haunted sleep to the bog, saying soggy prayers and playing spiritual billiards, know what I mean. Gored by a bull—wait a minute, by a big bull—and bam did the lawyers arrive, smoke from me heart as I breathed deeply. Chicken doctors visited, called me mate, bedspread world, all that. No I ain’t finished yet.’
And I was being dragged out shouting.
‘One grave’s enough for me milord. Keep all me identification fingers on one hand, know what I mean. See you soon baby. Me door’s always open—and me roof. Treasure creosote, ladies and gentlemen, treasure it.’
Told Bob about the dream and he thundered low. ‘Do you enjoy making the rest of us feel stupid.’
‘Yes brother.’
‘And what gives you, of all people, the authority.’
‘Meat stairs led to the charm school. That’s my excuse anyway, ha. Get the glint out your eye and give it here so I can pay the bus home, ha ha.’
Even Bob’s got his little routines. Every few months he sloughs off his skin, leaving only the head part because he’s embarrassed about the odd condition of his skull, you know. ‘So long as it grows back,’ he laughs, ‘I’m a new man.’ And it really is the only thing which enlivens him. ‘You should try it brother. Slowly, mind.’
I was so unaware of my appearance I didn’t feel the proper terror. Yes I was immature, with the luxury of health.
After peeling myself I was redder. Pepper face.
‘Didn’t I just tell you at massive cost to human life to go slowly?’ shouted Bob aghast, and added I may yet be all right—only time would tell. Scared the bejesus out of me till I healed. God the relief—once again souped up with skin.
Bob’s nerve beard was growing apace. But in time he forgot his achievement and went to shave, instantly shrieking with an agony as new and bright as the morning beyond his window.
Sacred isn’t the word for Bob’s views. Assail them and you’ll find a machine-gun tower posted at his mind-edge. Can’t be bought for love or mud that man and if you try he’ll belt you with your own uprooted leg. Went to see him once and he was biting the wall. ‘Tough room,’ he said, and pulled, inverting a corner and dragging a cone of matter toward us. Reality started screaming. Something about its rights.
‘Knock it off brother,’ I said nervously.
Bob didn’t hear, tugging at the continuum like a suckling babe. ‘That’s right that’s right that’s right’ he seemed to say through his teeth, which were throwing sparks. He shouted suddenly and the room took the opportunity to snap back into place like a bastard caught rifling a drawer.
Bob sank back chuffed and exhausted. ‘I love a wrecked dream don’t you?’ he said.
‘I can’t understand where your insides end and the rest starts.’
‘You’ve told me before,’ he said dismissively, but in too good a mood to strike out. And he called this a ‘saving grace’.
That evening I was draped over a chair and flailing my arms, learning to swim. Eddie walked in. ‘What you doing brother?’
‘Attempting to salve the threatening sensation Eddie.’
‘Answer through a window brother.’
‘Stemming shortcuts Eddie.’
‘Notice how the answer changed?’
‘So what.’
‘Well don’t you consider it strange?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Aren’t you interested even?’
‘I can take or leave it.’
And as the day was defeated and fell again to forgetting the lesson in that event, we stood and spectated.
‘Just look at that sunset brother—red as a windburned pig.’
‘Shepherds take fright brother.’
‘Looks like a furnace.’
‘Or a grated salmon.’
‘Or a drunkard’s exploding eye.’
‘Or a mime caught in the glare of a truck’s headlights.’
‘Or a chum-line for taunting sharks.’
‘Or a giant enjoying a coronary.’
‘Unbeatable.’
Eddie knelt and lifted a rock. ‘Lawyers,’ he whispered.
Trouble with the police
‘When you’re ready then.’
‘Eh?’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘What for?’
‘This alleged explanation you moron.’
‘Well this was it.’
‘When?’
‘Just now. The dogs, the charm, all that.’
‘Ah. Oh I see.’ He looked down at his notes, turning a couple of pages back and forth. ‘So you expect me to believe this scenario do you sir?’
‘You think I could make this up? For god’s sake I was informed on by a badger, how credible is that? You’d believe him before you’d believe me?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’
He looked at me, face careworn. ‘You think I find it easy slipping my hooks into perpetrators little by little?’
‘Piece of piss. Someone strangles your car—suspects line up, all with big hands. “Turn around.” Everything else is small. “Smile.” Their smiles are small. “Perform a strangling motion.” They do so—and one repeats his smile. Bingo.’
‘Bingo eh? Bob’s your uncle just like that.’ He paused a while, considering. ‘Allow me to show you something sonny jim.’
He led me through strange airless spaces of museum boxes, radio heaters and telephone rooms, dark colleges heaving in the windows.
‘Look here,’ he said, opening a door into a small walk-in closet. All manner of confiscated shite on the shelves—pizza, badly preserved guilt and muddy skulls. ‘Guilt and pizza—well they’re a luxury aren’t they, but try living without your skull. Eh? See where that gets you.’
‘I agree, so what.’
‘Just simple rules,’ he said, with meaning. ‘There’s a rule not to go in carving an ornament which is already completed. Stands to reason—a thing’s on fire, what’s all that about? Put it out. And then there’s this.’ Reaching up, he took a scrap of paper from a high shelf, handed it over and leaned at me, his face as waxen as a fetish saint. He watched with jaundiced eyes as I read it.
‘“On a ship of games, the dice clacked with fear.” What like the boat was full of gamblers and that set the course? What’s sinister about that? Keys up a flagpole—that’s sinister. Boxes of teeth, but this? Put a window in it and yeah I’ll grant you—oh get out of it you’re ridiculous.’
I pushed past him and stormed out of the place—he ran up the drive booming ‘You’ll get what’s arriving! And I don’t mean that pisspoor little insurance bonfire in Epping Forest neither boy! You’re headed for the tall one!’
Went round Eddie’s.
‘Coming to the pub Eddie? Where’s Empty Fred?’
‘Core creatures globed out of the wall and gripped him by the shoulders, dragging him backward into a hell which was screeching for his blood.’
‘Well we can’t hang about—come on.’
‘Core creatures though.’
‘Of course core creatures Eddie.’
‘Big ones mind. Teeth like toilet bowls brother.’
‘Now you simmer down there.’
‘Stroking the whole way down the cat and talking the sinister talk, you know. What they’d do to me.’
‘Sure Eddie.’
‘All calm about it like.’
‘I know the way.’
‘Then up they stood and charged me. That’s what the previous behaviour was for—to prepare the ground for the subsequent abominations.’
‘Sharp relief you mean.’
‘That’s what I believe.’
‘So when they charged you were taken all unawares. Did you call for assistance?’
‘Yes. And more of them arrived.’
‘What took place Eddie—spare me no finely crafted detail.’
‘There was a lake of blood in the front room. Well not a lake but—’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘And I was concerned. So there was a chiming and I saw the clock was turned so the hands resembled a man wrecking his own chances.’
