by Tim Ewins
When a vest removes its vest, that vest becomes a person, but if a moustache removes its moustache, or indeed grows one, it just becomes even more grumpy. A moustache must escape a routine, and a frame of mind, to escape its true moustache.
Some moustaches have always been moustaches (often, these are the ones collecting football stickers in their childhood bedrooms at the age of fifty-five), and some moustaches gradually become moustaches as they grow older and begin to miss the good old days. Some moustaches – moustaches like Manjan in fact – used to be vests themselves.
That was back in the good old days though, and oh, how Manjan missed the good old days.
5
A fish
Fishton, England.1965.
When Manjan was younger his family and friends had called him Jan, because back then he had not met Jan the girl, nor had he met Shakey the name creator, and, well, Jan was his name, so that’s what they called him.
Jan lived with both of his parents in the small seaside town of Fishton, England. In the summer the town was alive with folk music, exciting pirate-themed arcades and restaurants with queues all the way down the street. Jan loved all these things (he was only human after all) but what he loved most about summer in Fishton were the tourists.
He would find tourists from exotic places like Hull or Milton Keynes and he’d ask them about their home towns. He learnt little titbits of information from them, such as: in Hartlepool, people have something called a patty with their chips instead of fish; and in Birmingham some of the people do their shopping in a bull ring, which sounded dangerous, but fun.
Once he spoke to a man from Cornwall who ended everything he said with ‘aar’. Jan thought this was fascinating, so he decided to copy the man and to follow him for what turned out to be an entire day. The man understandably found this annoying, but unfortunately he always punctuated his annoyance by saying ‘aar’.
‘Aar,’ little Jan shouted back. By the time the man from Cornwall had climbed into his car to leave, he and Jan had attracted the attention of three dogs who wanted to play with them, and they’d both been offered jobs at the pirate-themed mini-golf.
In winter, though, when all the tourists had fled Fishton, Jan found it hard to pass time. There weren’t any interesting people to talk to. Fishton, in the winter, was full of people from Fishton, and Jan already knew about people from Fishton. They were all either fish catchers, fish cleaners, fish sellers, or fish (and at the rate at which they were being caught, cleaned and sold, you didn’t want to be a fish).
Jan’s attention would always turn away from people, and instead he would stand at the harbour watching the boats coming in, fantasising about where they might have been or where they might be going next. Maybe one would be off to try a patty in Hull, or maybe they’d be going to Birmingham to do some extreme shopping. Mainly, Jan liked to fantasise that one of the boats might be going straight out across the North Sea to whichever country lay on the other side. Jan wanted nothing more than to cross the North Sea.
* * *
Once, when he was thirteen, his school had made him take a test to see what job he would be suited to when he grew up. Jan hadn’t wanted to take the test because he thought he knew what the outcome would be. The test was funded by the Fishton fish factory and every year it turned out that nearly everyone who took the test was suited to a life of either catching, gutting, cleaning or selling fish. Jan didn’t know exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew it didn’t involve fish. He thought it probable that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be in Fishton.
He took the test. Jan, as it happened, was not suited to a life of catching fish. He was not suited to a life of gutting fish, cleaning fish or selling fish, either. Instead, Jan was told that he’d make an excellent ‘box-packaging specialist and technician’.
At first Jan was relieved, but then, after he’d thought more about the words ‘box’ and ‘packaging’, and less about the words ‘specialist’ and ‘technician’, he felt like he had, himself, been gutted.
When he had got home and told his parents about the test they had been deeply proud of him. His father was a fisherman, and his mother sold fish in a local fish-and-chip shop.
‘You can carry on the family business,’ his father had remarked gleefully, and when Jan had asked him what he meant, his father had said ‘the business of fish!’
‘Of boxes,’ Jan replied.
‘Boxes for fish!’ his mother whooped, apparently not noticing Jan’s lack of enthusiasm.
‘Everything in Fishton is fish,’ he answered, and then he ran upstairs to sulk while his parents hugged each other and cheered. Jan loved his parents, but they certainly weren’t dreamers.
Jan knew of course that the results of the test weren’t written in the stars; they were written in the back page of his school exercise book and would probably never be seen again, but he also knew that unless he did something about it, he would become a specialist in packing boxes. This was something he wanted to be only slightly more than a regular box packer. He needed to leave Fishton. He wanted to get as far away from the fish factory as he possibly could, and maybe further still.
If he could just get to London – the land of British opportunity – or better still, if he made it to Hartlepool he could help to make patties, whatever they were. He felt certain that if he could make it all the way across the North Sea to a whole other country, he could be anything he wanted.
The day after the test, Jan spread his bedsheet out across the floor, and placed a pair of shoes in the middle of it. In one of those shoes he put five chocolate bars, and in the other he placed a small amount of money. Then, on top of these items, he threw three pairs of underwear and five single, un-matching socks. Then he tied the corners together around a stick.
On his way out of the house, his mother asked him where he was going.
‘Nowhere,’ he replied, and she believed him. She could see his makeshift bag, but Jan was only thirteen, so she assumed he was playing a game. There was no reason for him to run away – he’d just been told he could be a box packaging specialist and technician! Besides, if he was running away, surely he would have used his backpack.
But Jan was running away, and he hadn’t used his backpack, because he was a dreamer, and dreamers keep their belongings in sheets tied to sticks.
Jan had previously noticed that one of the boat owners down at the harbour always wore a shirt that had ‘England’ written across the front of it, and he had decided to stow away on this man’s boat. It made sense to a thirteen-year-old Jan that the only reason someone would have ‘England’ written on them would be if they were going to go somewhere other than England. Why would anyone wear a shirt with England written on it in England – unless they worked as a signpost?
Jan knew that England man’s boat was the biggish white and blue one with Moondance painted on the side, so once he’d reached the harbour he went straight over to it, making sure that he could see the rest of the harbour clearly. Very few people were about, but he could see England man not far from Moondance the boat, chatting with one of the fish-sellers.
Jan watched them. He watched them discuss something presumably numerical because different amounts of England man’s fingers kept going up, and the fish-seller kept shaking his head. He watched the fish-seller push down two of England man’s fingers and then nod. He watched England man nod then too, and then he watched England man pat the fish-seller on the back and laugh. Finally, Jan watched them both walk into the fish shop, and he took this opportunity to jump aboard Moondance.
* * *
It was cold (Jan quietly thanked himself for packing those extra socks) but the sea seemed relatively smooth. This was a relief, as Jan had hidden himself under a bench on the wet floor at the back of the boat. He planned to remain there until they’d gone far enough out to sea for it to be unreasonable for England man to turn around ba
ck to Fishton. Then he would come out and introduce himself. Hopefully they would get on, and Jan could ask where it was they were going. To little Jan’s innocent mind, it was a flawless plan.
He watched through the bars at the back of the bench as they pulled away from the harbour wall. He’d probably never see that harbour wall again, he thought. They passed the pirate-themed mini-golf that he saw every day on his way to school. He’d probably never see that again either. It seemed like a million fish-and-chip shops passed his view – he’d never see ‘Dear Cod’ again, nor would he see ‘A Plaice to Remember’. He turned his head so that he was facing into the boat. He could see England man’s big leather boots, one of which was tapping, and he could hear him singing a tune that Jan didn’t know. England man was obviously completely oblivious to Jan’s presence. He watched England man as quietly as he possibly could and waited for his heart to stop pounding.
Eventually, when Jan had relaxed a little he looked back through the bars for one last glance at his old home. Fishton was no longer recognisable to him; it was just a line on the horizon across the sea. He closed his eyes. I’ll probably never see Fishton again he thought, before his body gave way to sleep.
* * *
‘YES! COME ON!’
Jan came to, startled by England man’s self-congratulatory cheer, and was instantly splashed by what felt like a tidal wave. The deck became awash with fish, which were all flapping about with stupid and unmoving yet somehow clearly distressed faces. None of the fish formulated any kind of a plan and they didn’t pull together in an attempt for survival, so, slowly, one by one, they stopped flapping about and lay still on the floor next to Jan in a puddle of water.
The fish closest to Jan was one of the last to stop flapping. One of its beady eyes seemed to be looking directly at Jan and Jan felt a sudden pang of guilt. Not for being human (the same species that had killed the fish) but for running away. He saw his mother looking at him. He hadn’t even left a note, and this fish, with its perfectly circular eye and expressionless face, was judging him for it. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jan mouthed to his mother, through the fish, before it flapped its final flap and remained completely motionless on the deck.
Jan couldn’t be sure how long he’d been unconscious, but he was relieved to see that he hadn’t moved from his spot under the bench, and that England man didn’t seem to be aware of his presence just yet. He could have been at sea for days, but equally he could have been at sea for minutes, so he resolved to remain hidden for a few hours longer. He daydreamed about where he might be going – what the people might sound like, what they might eat with their chips, where he would sleep when he got there. Would it be grassy, or would he be in a city? Would there be mountains? Come to think about it, where would he sleep when he got there? Would it be a hot country, or would it be cold like it was in Fishton? Crucially, though, where would he sleep when he got there? He kept coming back to that same question until, eventually, he decided to make use of his current position, and fell asleep under the bench again.
* * *
Jan’s mother, still completely unaware of Jan’s lack of presence in Fishton – and of his unauthorised presence on England man’s boat – was washing the family’s clothes.
Now, there are three types of clothes washers. There are those who don’t use detergent and don’t sort their socks (the slackers), there are those who do use detergent but don’t sort their socks (the half-a-jobbers), and there are those who do use detergent and do sort their socks (the jobs-worths). Jan’s Mother was of category number three, religiously. It was when she was sorting Jan’s socks that she realised something must be wrong. There were seventeen in total, twelve of which she could match. She sat on her kitchen floor with the other five surrounding her. She’d had the odd odd sock before, and could handle that, but five? Something wasn’t right. ‘What a waste of detergent,’ she thought. Then she worried about the five missing socks. She hadn’t seen them when she’d been cleaning, and she prided herself on her housekeeping. Where were those socks?
Incidentally, you will notice that there are only three types of clothes washers – not four. No one has ever not used detergent but then sorted their socks. These people simply do not exist.
When Jan’s father returned home from the fish shop with their tea he found Jan’s mother sitting on the kitchen floor repeatedly tying the odd socks together and then untying them again.
‘Look,’ she said as he entered. Jan’s father looked at the five socks and saw that none of them matched. He knew straight away that somewhere in the house there were five lost socks, and he knew what that would mean to his wife. He shook his head slowly, looked down and tutted.
‘What a waste of detergent,’ he said.
‘What a waste,’ Jan’s mother agreed.
‘Come on,’ Jan’s father perked up. ‘They’re only socks. At least we’ve not lost anything important.’
The very moment he said this…
* * *
…Jan woke up, still under the bench, freezing cold and wet, and without a clue where he was. One thing was for certain: they had hit land. The boat was no longer moving, and the fish had gone. The floor was cold, and Jan had never felt so uncomfortable in his life. He couldn’t tell whether he was shivering because of the cold or whether it was through fear. He didn’t want to leave the safety of the bench, but he knew he’d freeze if he didn’t. He opened his mouth and tried to make a noise to see if he could hear any reaction from anyone who might be on the boat, but nothing came out. Just silence.
He tried again, and for a second he could feel only air escape his mouth. Then he heard a low rumbling noise which felt like it might be coming straight from his chest. He paused.
Nothing. No response from anyone. Jan wasn’t sure whether this was good or not, but he wanted to check for life on the boat again. He parted his lips once again and let out a much louder rumbling grunt. This time a few seagulls reacted to the noise and flew off in a flutter. Then silence again. There was no one on the boat. Jan made what he thought to be the fairly safe assumption that England man must be selling his fish somewhere, and that he had the boat to himself.
He didn’t want to get ahead of himself though, so he stuck one of his arms out from under the bench and waved it around. Still he heard no human voices, so he stuck a leg out and waved that around too. By this point half of his body was star-jumping without the health benefits of actually jumping. Still quite scared to completely leave the safety of the bench, Jan continued doing this for a whole twenty-two seconds, and just to make sure that there wasn’t anyone there who might not be able to see him, he kept making his low but loud grumbling noise. Occasionally he would hit the floor with his hand too. If nothing else, he was beginning to warm up.
Eventually he stopped, feeling quite out of breath. Finally satisfied that he was alone, Jan started to emerge onto the deck.
‘By the decks of the good ship Moondance,’ said England man in a thick Fishton accent. Jan jumped so hard that he hit his head on the bench he had been so scared to leave. ‘What was that? How long have you been under there? You haven’t been there since we left Fishton have you?’
Jan didn’t reply. He thought about running, but half of his body was still under a bench. He thought about answering England man’s question, but what could he say? Sorry for hiding on your boat and acting like half a panicked, mad starfish? No. So Jan said, and did, nothing.
‘Come on,’ England man continued angrily, ‘what are you doing on my boat?’ He wanted answers and Jan didn’t have any. Jan rose to his feet in silence, occasionally going to say something but then failing to at the last second. He looked straight at England man, who looked straight back.
‘Where are we?’ Jan asked eventually.
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ said England man, misreading the question, ‘I’m not sure where we are. You tell me.’ Jan was confused. ‘But we’re here now
aren’t we?’ England man continued. ‘That’s where we are.’ His nostrils were flaring, and bits of spit flew from his lips as he spoke.
‘What?’ asked Jan, somewhat pointlessly, more for something to say than anything else.
‘What are you do...’
‘MIKE!’ came a high-pitched and shrill voice from somewhere off the boat, and England man’s head turned.
‘Wait here,’ England Mike said to Jan, ‘and don’t do anything weird like...whatever it was you were just doing.’ England Mike lurched forward at Jan, picked up a huge bag of dead fish from on top of the bench where Jan had been hiding, and left the boat.
Jan was scared, and he didn’t know where he was – what country even – but he did know that he wasn’t going to wait around for England Mike to come back. He picked up the stick attached to a sheet that he was calling a bag, looked at England Mike, who was now facing away from the boat and kissing a lady, and left the boat as quietly as he could.
As soon as his feet touched the land he ran.
* * *
‘A box-packaging specialist and technician,’ said Jan’s father to his wife, his pride not yet faded. Then, after a pause, he said, ‘do you think he’s happy though? I mean, it’s a good profession, but did he seem happy?’
‘Of course he is,’ replied Jan’s mother, before jolting her head back towards the old writing cabinet in case a stray sock might have worked its way behind it. It hadn’t. ‘Our son, a specialist. Why wouldn’t he be happy?’
‘Aye,’ agreed Jan’s father, ‘but did you notice that when we were celebrating, and we were all hugging and chatting about our Jan’s future like we were, did you notice that Jan wasn’t there? He’d gone upstairs.’
Jan’s mother looked uncomfortable and thought for a minute. ‘A lot of brain power is needed to be a box-packaging specialist and technician. He was probably resting his mind.’ She said this firmly, and although she hadn’t actually used the words, Jan’s father knew that the sentence was meant to end with ‘and let that be the end of it’.
