Life's Fare

by Greg Yevko

  Whilst the warm, easterly trade winds were blowing across St Lucia, there were different winds blowing across Europe. A certain failed Austrian artist was contriving to put a German nation together from the broken ruins of recession following the disastrous War To End All Wars, but he then took that same nation onto a ruinous collision course against an unprepared world. However, most of the early days of The Second World War passed St Lucia by with no impact other than making some headlines in the local papers; it was to be someone from a different nation that would bring a life-changing experience to Stanley Marley.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Golland 2.1 Moanday

  “Hey, Perun, you big Slavic ape, come over here and face me like a God.”

  Bondje was still upset about Perun’s intervention with the extra mountain into his part of The Creation, which had caused so much mirth amongst everyone. With only a few grains left to fall before the task ended, Bondje had had no time to correct his mischievous partner’s actions, so had been left with the two mountains poking up, side by side.

  Under explicit instructions from The Creator, Perun had tried to keep out of Bondje’s way as much as possible since the incident a couple of days ago, but now he had inadvertently found himself in the same temporal zone as his former friend.

  “So, tavarisch…” began Perun.

  “I’m no fucking comrade of yours, pal,” snorted Bondje, putting so much accentuated sarcasm onto the last word of his sentence that it was almost spat out towards Perun.

  The Creator had always insisted that everyone displayed good manners at all times and that courtesy and good behaviour should always prevail. However, She was known to be quite a ruthless boss, and made sure everything went just the way She said it should. She also made sure everyone knew that She was top dog and insisted that everyone worship Her and Her alone. A while ago, one of Her team had been caught trying to set himself up for a bit of worship on the side, and he had mysteriously disappeared from the scene after a night time visitation. All sorts of rumours had been flying around that he had been spirited away, some saying to a dark and burning pit of sulphur, full of tormented souls, others saying to Fontegary Caravan Park at Barry Island – Perun knew he had no desire to go to either, so he knew that they could not be caught breaking Her rules.

  “Bondje, we must talk nicely.”

  Bondje took a swing at where he thought Perun’s nose should have been.

  “Tavarisch, do not make me angry,” growled Perun, and clouds started to darken over the Northern Caucasus.

  “We need to sort this out, we cannot afford to upset that crazy daughter of a bitch; how about a small wager to clear the air?”

  “Wager? What sort of wager?” Almost in-spite of himself, Bondje could feel his anger being replaced by curiosity.

  “Let us see how these moving things that The Creator put on our creation can cope when we mess with them a bit,” replied Perun with what was the nearest thing he could make to a slight grin, considering he had no real face.

  “Still not with you,” countered Bondje, though he was warming to the idea of “messing with” the annoying, somewhat noisy creatures that She had put on what was originally a nice, peaceful lump of revolving multi-coloured rock that the class had created as a team effort.

  “I bet you that the noisy ones that somehow seem to be making most of the decisions down there really can’t cope when things start to get a bit tough, and that unless we help them out a bit, they are doomed to failure,” said Perun with such smug satisfaction that Bondje began to feel his anger rising again.

  “Well as it happens, annoying as they are, I think they have already shown some great adaptability, considering how basic they are,” retorted Bondje, “and based on that, I believe that they could cope without our help.”

  “So, my wager is this,” continued Perun, “If they cope with whatever crops up without our help, and don’t destroy themselves in the process, then you win the bet and I will go to the front of the team next Sadderday and tell everyone what a great god you are and what a complete twat I was to mess up your bit of the rock.” Bondje considered this for a while, before enquiring… “And if they don’t cope?”

  “Ah, then tavarisch, you have to tell the rest of the team what a fine addition I made to your area and indeed, two mountains are always better than one.”

  Bondje thought for a short time before saying, “I accept your wager. But you know as well as I do that The Creator does not like us interfering with what’s going on in our creation and She actually banned it a while ago; I think She got a bit fed up with all the beseeching that She was getting. Besides, there are so many of these noisy creatures all acting differently, how are we going to measure success or failure?”

  “Ah, tavarisch, who is to know if we just tweak a couple of things here and there; we’ll not overdo it in terms of major events, just put a couple of obstacles here and there, put something helpful they may be able to stumble across if they make the right choices, that sort of thing. That’s not really interfering too much, is it?”

  “Hmmm, we’d just better make sure She doesn’t find out; you know how pissed off She can get if She thinks someone has deliberately gone against Her wishes…,” they both shuddered as they considered an eternity at Fontegary Caravan Park.

  Perun thought for a while, then let out a triumphant, “Aha! I have it, tavarisch, we study one very small segment of them and track them through from when they start to when they decay. We’ll take one of them as a marker to start and end the project, then any other two-legs directly associated with the marker can become part of the sample group. That random sample will tell us all we need to know.” Although not entirely convinced, Bondje accepted that this was about as reasonable as they were likely to get. “I guess we have nothing better,” he conceded, and swirled over to be closer to Perun.

  If they had had hands, there would have been a handshake.

  “Because this all started by you screwing up my territory, Perun, I want the sample to be from my sector,” – Bondje was determined to assert his position being as it had been Perun who had come up with the idea, which to be fair, thought Bondje to himself, was actually quite a good way to sort out their situation.

  “Of course, tavarisch, as you wish. I think the creatures are so stupid that no matter where we choose the sample from, we will quickly see that they are indeed quite helpless creations.”

  “Okay then. Again, to make it a reasonable wager, we need to give these creatures a little time to develop before we can really test them. I have noticed that until the newly created ones get a fair bit bigger than when they are disgorged from the lumpier ones, they really are quite helpless – in fact some seem to remain extremely helpless right up until the time they decay, I admit, but in the main those tend to be only a very small number.”

  “Sounds like you are almost already admitting defeat, tavarisch”

  “Not so,” retorted Bondje, feeling his annoyance starting to rise again. “However, I want this to be a fair wager, so we need an even playing field.”

  “Unlike your twin peaks,” interjected Perun, setting off into barely unsuppressed giggles.

  Bondje was about to rise to the bait when The Creator suddenly appeared.

  “Oh, have you two finally made up?” She asked, and they both knew that She was only expecting one answer.

  “Of course, boss,” replied Bondje, and Perun raised what would have been one eyebrow discreetly behind what would have been Her back.

  “Good, good,” She muttered, more to Herself than the two gods directly, as She hurried off to complete Her various duties. “Can’t hang around here, things to do, places to make…,” and as quickly as She had appeared, She was gone.

  “How in hell does She do that?” wondered Bondje out loud.

  “Careful what you say, tavarisch. We both know of our previous friend who disappeared who could give you an insight to that directly.”

  “Getting back on track,” sai
d Bondje with an air of exasperation, “I think I have a great specimen we can track for our wager. He was disgorged a little while ago, so looks to me like he’s ready to stand on his own four legs, or two legs or whatever. He’s already had some fun so I say we use him as our guinea-horse.”

  “Guinea-horse, tavarisch? What is this ‘guinea-horse’?”

  “It’s an expression I think I’ve heard the creatures use when something is undergoing a trial or test on behalf of others. I think it sums up what we’ve got here quite nicely.”

  “Indeed, it does, tavarisch. So, what I will do is think up a few things that I can throw in the path of our guinea-horse to see how well he can adapt and survive.”

  “Adapt and survive,” reflected Bondje. “Hmm, good point. What I’ve noticed about the fuel required for these creatures is that as long as they can find it, catch it and kill it, then even if they are stranded on one of our smaller uninhabited creations we made, then they can survive. Maybe we could do that to our specimen?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, tavarisch. Who would do something like that purely for our entertainment? No, we must be more subtle than that. I think I have just the thing that might get our specimen worked up enough to embark on an adventure. I just hope that things don’t get too out of hand…,” and with that, Perun swirled inwards with what could almost pass as a grin, and went off to plot.

  Umhlabathi 2.1 Dec 7th 1941; Castries

  Stanley did not know Captain Mitsuo Fuchida, and Captain Fuchida certainly did not know Stanley. At eight o’clock in the morning precisely, Stanley had left the house as usual, and started off for work down at the Castries race course as he always did, no real cares in the world. His main worry that day was whether the mayonnaise in his sandwich would last in the December warmth until the 11:30 break. Leroy’s 11 year old fridge had finally decided to give up the ghost on him in a dramatic last minute gasp late yesterday afternoon and trying to get someone round to fix it usually took many days, first of all negotiating a time, then negotiating a price, then ignoring everything that had been negotiated once the repair had been effected and starting the negotiation on price again – this was the way business was done in Castries.

  “I just love this December sunshine,” exclaimed Stanley as he idly fingered the lucky top in his pocket, then stopped briefly to lift his smiling face towards the sun, burning down from high in the sky. He closed his eyes tightly against the brightness and inwardly immersed himself in the warmth that was enveloping his body.

  Just over 6000 miles away to the west of Leroy’s broken fridge there was something else high up in the sky, cleverly manoeuvring to ensure that the sun behind it helped mask its approach from any casual observers down below.

  Mitsuo Fuchida closed his eyes momentarily and stroked his lucky Engimono hanging from a switch in his cockpit. He knew what he was about to do would have devastating consequences, not just for himself and his crew, but for many people in many parts of the world. He cross-checked for a final time with his co-pilot on coordinates, and eventually the American warships anchored in temporary tranquillity came into view as the 353 Imperial Japanese aircraft started their dive towards Pearl Harbour.

  He had not really banked on altering Stanley’s life, he had merely wanted to blast the imperialistic dogs of the United States into oblivion in retaliation for trying to restrict his beloved Japan into a subservient position in the rapidly developing far east. However, when the news of the surprise attack eventually came through to the many wireless sets in the homes and bars of Castries, Stanley was coincidentally gifted the opportunity that he had been looking for to travel away from his home.

  “What the hell? Those bastards,” he exclaimed, and, not knowing where else to go, went straight down to the local police station to see about enrolling in whatever armed force he was eligible for. He knew that the West India Regiment had been disbanded some years before but he was sure there must be something he could do. His mother cried a lot when he told her that he was enlisting for the Jamaican Garrison, but not as much as she cried when, six weeks later he announced that they were due to leave for far-off shores in three days’ time, exact destination not yet known to the volunteers. Leroy ensured that his friend had a send-off to remember, the irony of which was, everyone got too drunk to remember, and by the end of January 1942, Stanley had started his first trip ever away from his beautiful home island. The next three years were to reinforce with Stanley his thirst for travel and his desire to undergo new experiences; those inner feelings were to stay with him for the rest of his journey through life, and indeed new experiences would be coming a-plenty as he embarked on this especially perilous journey.

  Umhlabathi 2.2 October 1945;

  Most of the volunteers from the Caribbean served in the far east against the Japanese troops; Stanley was posted first to Singapore, then found himself as part of the last defences in Johor Bahru in Malaya. However, due to events going on in the European sector and the priority associated with that region, Stanley’s division was redirected to bolster up the effort in North Africa, so once again, Stanley was on the move – and he loved it.

  One of the things he liked about Africa most was the dry warmth; it allowed him to think back to his beloved St Lucia. Though he freely admitted, at least to himself, that he would gladly trade his St Lucia for the joys of travelling and new experiences wherever his lucky top might take him. Even with the stints in Singapore and Malaya, other than one marginal brush with Rommel’s famous Afrika Korps just outside Tunis, Stanley’s war had been pretty much violence-free. There had only been one particularly unsavoury incident, involving two fellow privates, a bottle of 80% proof vodka and a passing donkey. It was this incident that had been responsible for Stanley getting transferred to one of the infamous M3 Stuart “Honey” tank patrols in Egypt’s Western Desert. On the plus side, that had resulted in an opening up of Stanley’s eyes to a whole new world of opportunities that were out there just waiting to be grasped by those who were willing to take up the challenge. The new-found camaraderie, the lack of inhibitions, and, most importantly, the sheer freedom of doing something totally different outside of the day-to-day monotony of working as a Bookies Runner in a suburb of Castries burnt deeply into Stanley’s inner spirit. This had just increased his long-term desire to get away from the hum-drum existence in which he had existed before.

  All good things come to an end, and eventually, the war finished.

  Stanley was twenty-four by the time hostilities ended – well, World War II hostilities, not so much the St Lucia hostilities. He now found himself, living back with his mother in the same old house he had grown up in.

  “Stanley, I is glad you is back, but you is continually getting on my nerves with your ‘I wish I was in Singapore’, or ‘I wish I was in Malaya’, or ‘I wish I was in Africa’ – you got to get out of here and go somewhere.” Stanley could hear his mother’s exasperation in her tired voice. He knew she was right, and that his taste of living in other parts of the world outside the St Lucia bubble had reignited that spark of something that had always been inside him, always been urging him to push further afield. He had read somewhere a long time ago, the inspirational line, “To make sure you get the best journey through life, you need to take many trips,” and he had been able to make this his personal mantra with a little help from those in charge of battalion assignments and that passing donkey.

  He spent the next few years setting up a small account to make sure his mother would have enough money to not be worried by day to day costs once he had left, and to ensure that all his business dealings with Leroy could be covered. Then, on yet another sunny day in May 1948, after packing all the belongings that he thought might be useful, which was in fact all his belongings anyway, Stanley looked at his mother lovingly, smiled, gave her a long and somewhat tearful hug, then headed for the Shipping Office. He had already paid for and received a ticket for a one-way passage to England aboard a 500 ft long vessel built in 1930, originally cal
led the Monte Rosa, now known to all as The Empire Windrush. This name had caused great hilarity between Stanley and Leroy when he had first heard of it, since indeed amongst the locals at the Castries Curry Emporium, head chef Donovan’s famous goat curry also went by the nickname “Windrush,” albeit for more functional reasons.

  At the age of twenty-seven, Stanley left his beloved St Lucia for good.

  Umhlabathi 2.3 1948

  Stanley had travelled for two days, with hardly any effective sleep, on a mixture of rickety, diesel-belching buses and over-crowded island-hopping ferries to get to the port of Jamaica following his emotional farewell from his mother. He was by now used to these very emotional farewells, but that didn’t necessarily make them any easier.

  “Now, Stanley, you be sure to write regularly, and make sure that you always start the day off with clean underwear in case you get hit by one of them big red buses in London that I hear about,” his mother had admonished him, in between alternating hugs and sobs.

  “Mama, please,” he had responded indignantly, inwardly marvelling at a mother’s capability to appear to be totally inconsolable at the same time as giving out sound practical advice in a manner that did not countenance any contradiction or disobedience.