The Abominable Showman

by Robert Rankin

  When finally I was introduced (because there was a bit of queue) I bowed very politely and told God how very impressed I was with all the wonderful things we had to thank him for. Such as peacocks and helicopters and pussycats and bubble-gum. Then I took the opportunity to express my dissatisfaction with Barry and protest regarding his outrageous behaviour and suggest that God might care to make it up to me by tossing Barry onto the golden compost heap and issuing me with a new and less cantankerous guardian vegetable.

  Perhaps a grape named Gary, or an olive named Oliver. In fact anything that was smaller than a sprout, as I had not enjoyed having Barry thrust into my earhole

  And what did God do?

  Well, I’ll tell you.

  He laughed. In His silly squeaky voice He just laughed. And then He said that He was very glad things were going according to plan. And then He laughed some more.

  I opened my mouth to take issue with this, but I was hustled away.

  ‘I’m returning to the back of the queue,’ I told Barry. ‘I didn’t get a fair chance to say all that is on my mind.’

  ‘God in His wisdom, will make all well,’ said a dear little voice in my head.

  ‘Gary,’ I said. ‘Oliver?’

  ‘You wish, chief. You dirty grass. Telling tales to God.’

  ‘I’ll bet there’s a golden pencil somewhere here,’ I said.

  ‘Knock it off, chief. You and I are in this together. And God Himself just told you that things were going according to plan.’

  ‘And how might that be?’ I asked, for this was a reasonable question. ‘I thought I had been brought back to this time to help foil some super villain’s plans to destroy the universe, or something.’

  ‘I do agree, chief,’ said Barry, ‘that sometimes it is a little unclear, and even downright confusing. But I’m sure you will do whatever is required of you, when it is required, and all will end well, don’t fret.’

  ‘Don’t fret?’ I said this rather slowly. ‘I don’t think you have the faintest idea what I am supposed to be doing. Do you, Barry?’

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, chief. Or indeed the deliverer. My job was to deliver you to The Leviathan in nineteen twenty-seven in time for Her Majesty’s Double Sapphire Jubilee celebrations. Where you would do something that only you could, and save the day. As it were.’

  ‘As it were,’ I said, in a manner neither hurried nor speedy. ‘Are you finally owning up to me that you don’t actually know what it is that I am supposed to do?’

  ‘I know you were supposed to make contact with Sir Jonathan Crawford,’ said Barry. ‘I know that is very important.’

  ‘I’d almost forgotten about him,’ I said. ‘But tell me, really, truly, Barry, is that all you know?’

  ‘I know I’m supposed to help,’ said the sprout. ‘And offer you sound advice and keep you out of trouble and harm wherever possible.’

  ‘Well, you’re doing a brilliant job at that,’ I said, in the manner known as sarcastic.

  ‘Sprouts have feelings too, chief. I’m doing the best I can.’

  ‘Don’t come that with me,’ I said. And then I stopped, for I had been walking. But now I stopped. ‘What exactly is that?’ I asked of Barry.

  ‘Ah,’ said the holy guardian sprout. ‘That’s the Humungous Fungus.’

  To which I replied, as anyone would, ‘The what?’

  It certainly was large, whatever it was. We had been walking through golden meadows, surrounded by golden trees and golden hedgerows. Golden lambs frolicked about in these meadows and cows that were no doubt the colour of gold, mooed away off in the distance.

  The golden serenity of this pastoral scene was somewhat rogered all to Hell by what appeared to be an enormous multi-coloured mushroom. It rose from fields ahead, vast and sky-filling and altogether ugly to behold.

  ‘What did you say that is?’ I asked.

  ‘The Humungous Fungus,’ said Barry. ‘God’s greatest triumph, his unsung masterpiece.’

  ‘It’s ‘orrible,’ I said to Barry. ‘And, oh,’ I pinched at my boyish nostrils. ‘It smells really rank.’

  ‘Show a little gratitude,’ said Barry. ‘Without the Humungous Fungus, you wouldn’t be here at all.’

  ‘As I don’t want to be here at all,’ I said, ‘I’m quite happy to blame the horrendous penis, if it is willing to accept the blame.’

  ‘I think that amounts to blasphemy,’ said Barry. ‘But as after the way you talked to God you’re probably bound for eternal damnation anyway, I doubt that it matters.’

  ‘Oh go on then,’ I said, ‘tell me all about it.’ And I held my nose and flapped my hands about.

  ‘The Tale of the Humungous Fungus,’ Barry began. ‘And how it explains so very much to those inclined to listen. It is the Big Revelation.’

  I sighed somewhat and sat myself down upon a golden tuffet.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ said Barry the sprout. ‘In fact in a time before there was any time, there was God. Now people like to believe that there is always a beginning, a middle and an end to things. Like life itself, that you have a beginning when you are conceived, a middle while you live and an end when you die. However, those of a religious bent do not believe that that end is the end, they believe it’s only a new beginning for the soul.’

  ‘Do get on with it,’ I said.

  Barry sighed, ‘God does not have a beginning, middle and end,’ he said. ‘Because He is God He has always been here, always will be here. Like the universe in general, which is an aspect of God.’

  ‘Have to stop you there,’ I said. ‘The universe is God?’

  ‘Everything is made out of God,’ said Barry. ‘It’s just that some things aren’t made quite so well as other things. You can think of all the stars and galaxies and nebula as being cells in the body of God. God can be very big when he wants to. God can do just as he pleases. Hence the Humungous Fungus.’

  ‘Look, start at the beginning again,’ I said. ‘Without too much emphasis on the esoteric stuff, I’m only a schoolboy, you know. But I’d like to hear the story.’

  ‘I’ll read from the book,’ said Barry. ‘I have one here.’

  ‘You have a book in my head?’

  ‘An entire library, chief. And a comfy armchair and a table lamp, there’s a surprising amount of spare room in your head.’

  I made growlings. ‘What is this book?’

  The Vulgate Vegetablis, chief. Literally the Bible of the Vegetables. It was the original Bible. Written before the one you might, by sheer accident, have opened once or twice.’

  ‘No need for that,’ I said and I tinkered with the tuffet and gold dust came off on my fingers.

  ‘Chapter One, Verse One,’ said Barry. As, inaccurately translated as the First Gospel of Saint John, in the New Testament. Chapter One, Verse One.’

  1. In the beginning was the Wurzel, and the Wurzel was with God and the Wurzel was God –

  ‘The Wurzel?’ I queried.

  ‘The Mangelwurzel,’ said Barry. ‘Originally the Man Gold Wurzel. And think about that, considering where you are.’

  I did so, ‘carry on,’ said I.

  2. The same was in the beginning with God.

  3. All things were made by Him and without Him was not anything made that was made.

  4. For on the third day of His making He did let the Earth bring forth grass,

  the herb yielding seed, the fruit tree yielding fruit after its kind

  the Humungous Fungus yielding forth Man after –

  ‘Must just stop you again there, Barry,’ I said. ‘This is an alternative Bible is it? Alternative, as in, you have just made it up.’

  ‘I will put it as simply as I can,’ said Barry the sprout. ‘Vegetables came first. You can read that in the very first chapter of Genesis. Man was just an afterthought as God was having such a good time makings things.’

  ‘You just read out that the Humungous Fungus yielded forth Man.’

  ‘Well, Man didn’t hatch out of an egg, d
id he chief? He was conceived of God in the Garden of Eden. God planted the seed of Man in the Garden. The seed of the Humungous Fungus. Adam was a vegetable, chief. In the days when the world was young and pure, Adam was a young pure veggie. But Eve got tempted and all went to pot. You probably know the rest.’

  ‘And that is the Big Revelation?’

  ‘There’s a little bit more,’ said Barry. ‘Things get lost in translation. In your Genesis it is said that Man fell from grace because he ate of the Tree of Knowledge. This is a mistranslation. The “Tree” of Knowledge was the Humungous Fungus. And Man did not eat from it, he tore himself away from it. He was connected like one of those vegetable lambs is connected to its seed pod jobbie. Man, in the form of Adam, broke the umbilical cord that held him to the Tree of Knowledge and connected him directly to God. And thus he fell from grace. So how do you like them apples, chief?’

  I actually found myself speechless. There was something deeply profound about what Barry had just said. I recalled with absolute clarity how I had felt upon Venus when I found myself being assimilated into the flock of vegetable lambs. The feeling of serenity, of peace, of joy of being part of the whole. And perhaps Barry was right, perhaps it was a mistranslation in Genesis. Perhaps Man had torn himself away from the Tree of Knowledge and cursed himself for ever more. What an awful, dreadful thing that was.

  ‘Sorry to rain on your parade, chief,’ said Barry. ‘But there it is. And Man has now moved so far beyond God, that he doesn’t even recognise God when He comes to Earth and visits The Leviathan and walks about for all the world to see.’

  ‘Oh dear me,’ I said to Barry.

  ‘And what is more,’ said the sprout. ‘When he, and I mean you, when I say he. When he finds himself in the presence of the Tree of Knowledge, the Humungous Fungus, he holds his nose and says it pongs. What do you think of that?’

  I felt very small indeed and very very ashamed.

  ‘And that,’ continued Barry, might well be why you are here. To be given this Big Revelation and to learn certain truths about Life, the Universe and Ever-greens.’

  ‘I can’t top that one, Barry,’ I said. ‘Let’s finish the chapter right here.’

  28

  I sat on my tuffet and I had a bit of a think.

  This was some kind of Big Revelation, no doubt about that. And I was here in Heaven, which was indeed a rather special place to be. But, in truth, I felt lost. Truly lost. As if my life had no point. No value. No reason. I really wished that I had been left upon Venus to blend into a vegetable lamb and become once more at one.

  ‘Well, up and at it, chief,’ said Barry. ‘Much to do. We can’t sit loafing around.’

  I remained on my golden tuffet. ‘Perhaps I’ll just stay here,’ I said to Barry.

  ‘That’s not allowed, chief. Not until you, well….you…..know….you snuff it.’

  ‘Could we go back to Venus, please?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly not, chief. You have things to do.’

  ‘I am not really too sure of that,’ I said, for I wasn’t too sure. ‘You don’t know what I’m supposed to do and frankly, Barry, I no longer care.’

  ‘You have to care, chief. It matters.’

  ‘Does it, Barry?’ I asked Barry. ‘Does it really matter? Does anything really matter? God put Man in a paradise garden and Man mucked everything up. There’s no point to Man that I can see, Barry. The universe would be far better off if Man wasn’t in it at all.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Barry. ‘You mustn’t say that. If God thought that, then He could just do away with Man by snapping his fingers. But He doesn’t, because He still has high hopes for Man. He thinks Man can redeem himself. Make something decent of himself. You have a part to play in this. Be grateful that you have.’

  ‘This is all getting far too deep for me,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet I end up with some pretty deep-rooted psychological issues when I’m an adult, because of all this.’

  ‘Or who knows, you might drive a steam train, or something.’

  I mulled this over.

  ‘Let’s go back to Venus,’ I said.

  ‘No, chief, no can do. We have to return to The Leviathan for the Double Sapphire Jubilee celebrations for the big climax of whatever is to happen, where you will do whatever you do and things will work out well.’

  To say I had my doubts would be hardly sufficient.

  ‘That’s weeks away, isn’t it?’ I asked Barry. ‘There is no need to rush. I think I’ll just stay on this tuffet for a while. And perhaps have a little sleep in that field there with those golden lambs, or –’

  ‘Or go and merge yourself into the Humungous Fungus?’

  ‘That is pretty high on my list,’ I said.

  ‘No, chief, it’s back to The Leviathan I’m afraid, and we’ll have to hurry, or we’ll miss the party.’

  ‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I have just had a thought and a very pertinent thought it is too.’

  ‘I am aware of this thought,’ said Barry, ‘and it’s not that pertinent.’

  ‘Oh yes it is,’ I said.

  ‘Oh no it isn’t.’

  And then I said, ‘He’s behind you.’

  And we shared a pantomime moment. But it did nothing really to help the bonding process between Barry and myself. Ours was certainly not to be a match that was made in Heaven.

  ‘So what about her?’ I said to the sprout.

  ‘What about who?’ asked Barry.

  ‘Our Lady of Space, as you know full well, as you were reading my thoughts. This voyage aboard The Pilgrim was supposed to be about contacting Our Lady of Space. And I even recall mention by God Himself, in the guise of Professor Mandlebrot, regarding bringing this being back to The Leviathan, perhaps to meet Queen Victoria, or something.’

  ‘Nice to see you were paying attention, chief. However vaguely. But yes, you’re right, that was the object of the expedition.’

  ‘So where is this lady?’ I asked.

  ‘Frankly,’ said Barry, ‘she could be anywhere. Our Lady of Space, you might say, is something of a MacGuffin.’

  ‘And what, pray tell me, is a MacGuffin?’ I asked.

  ‘A MacGuffin,’ said Barry, ‘might be defined as a plot device, in the form of a goal, desired object or other motivator, that the protagonist is willing to do and sacrifice almost anything to pursue, protect, or control, often with little explanation as to why it is considered so important (citation needed).’

  ‘Citation needed?’ I enquired.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Barry. ‘Know only that when Our Lady of Space’s moment comes, we will all surely know about it.’

  ‘Ludicrous,’ was my opinion. ‘Let’s go back to Venus.’

  ‘No,’ said Barry. ‘We’re heading to The Leviathan. And I know something that is going to make you happy.’

  ‘This will be a first,’ I said. ‘Say on.’

  ‘Professor Mandlebrot, or God, as you know Him, will not be returning with us on The Pilgrim. His work there is done, you might say.’

  Barry paused, but I did not say.

  ‘So you can pilot The Pilgrim,’ said the sprout.

  I lined the silly boys up in a row.

  ‘Now listen here,’ I said to them. ‘You have all had a nice trip to Heaven and a chat with God and everything, but now it’s back to work. We will be returning to The Leviathan at the hurry-up and you must all pull your weight and do your jobs without complaint.’

  The bigger boy stepped close to me and reached out for my throat.

  ‘And none of that,’ I said, ducking aside. ‘I have been promoted to captain of this here vessel of space and as such I will be throwing my weight about and making a right bastard of myself. So if you do not wish to spend the return voyage swabbing out the toilets from inside them, you will do what you’re told and all will be hunky dory.’

  ‘Bravo, chief,’ said Barry, in my head. ‘Pretty much in character for you, I suppose.’

  ‘And someone fetch me a nice sharp pencil,’ I
said.

  But I did not winkle Barry from my head. Because although he and I were never going to form a partnership of the Laurel and Hardy persuasion, or indeed even that of Burke and Hare, Barry was a vegetable from God’s garden. Barry was part of the Humungous Fungus and, as I was gaining a deep respect for the vegetables of Earth and the universe as a whole, I would let his presence be a comfort to me, rather than a torment.

  ‘That’s very nice of you, chief,’ said the little green sod.

  God actually waved us off as we left Heaven. He stood there short and portly and bearded, with golden angels gathered about Him and waved. But before I entered The Pilgrim He shook me by the hand, wished me well and said that He could not stress too strongly how important it was that I did what I had to do.

  I took this opportunity to demand a precise explanation as to exactly what it was that I would have to be doing.

  But wouldn’t you know it, or wouldn’t you not.

  He just laughed His silly laugh once again, patted me on the head and said, ‘Splendid, splendid, splendid.’

  Then I was hustled away by angels and thrust aboard The Pilgrim.

  ‘Go and strap yourselves into your hammocks or something,’ I told the silly boys. ‘We will be taking off in less than a minute.’

  The silly boys ambled away to the dorm and I sat alone in the pilot’s chair. Alone, that was, but for Barry.

  ‘Key in the ignition, chief,’ said Barry.

  ‘Shut your stupid mouth,’ I said in reply.

  ‘Chief, we should be working together, you know. Like Marks and Spencer, or vodka and lime –’

  ‘– or boiled sprouts and turkey?’ I suggested.

  I dug into my uniform and there was the ignition key.

  ‘Upon this momentous occasion,’ I began.

  ‘What are you beginning, chief?’ asked Barry.

  ‘My speech,’ I said. ‘I’ll make one at this end, although only you will be able to enjoy it. Then I’ll make another when we reach The Leviathan and I get my hero’s welcome.’

  ‘Oh goody, goody,’ said Barry the sprout.