by Paul Vayro
Chapter Six
When a bucket is struck repeatedly with a spoon it’s generally held as wise not to have your head inside it. Given the choice Brick would have acted on such wisdom, but Spiritwind hadn’t given his friend the option.
Over the years of living together Brick had grown accustomed to being awoken by his housemate in a variety of ways. His only defence had become nonchalance. Chasing a reaction, Spiritwind saw this lack of response as a challenge and continued to think of more and more elaborate ways to disturb his friend’s slumber. The bald man felt particularly proud of today’s effort.
Brick remained perfectly still except for the reverberation of his bones, which he had no control over. He’d learned from the blancmange moat, Spiritwind once formed around the sofa, not to jump up too hastily. He’d also learned to feign being asleep until he could be sure of what awaited him. Movement would often instigate the misfortune Spiritwind had engineered for the sake of humour.
In truth Brick didn’t have to worry. The mischievous imp had fled after striking the bucket and taken up a defensive position in the inaccurately named dining room. Brick sensed he was alone and opened one eye, a shaft of light from somewhere beneath his chin breaking the darkness that faced him. He remained static, assigning all energy to working out what his friend had done to him.
Brick knew instinctively what the object covering his head was. The texture of metal and damp essence was unmistakeable, as was the feeling of victory it imbued in the wearer; it was the helmet of a yoghurt bucket warrior, or standard metal bucket for the uninitiated. Brick, however, had learned never to jump to conclusions and continued his investigation. His right hand was open. A thin metallic shaft balanced across it. A nimble twist of the fingers confirmed it was a spoon, the firing mechanism of the dairy gladiator. All that remained to be identified was the item in his left hand. Brick felt a plastic, upturned dome, large enough to require a fully open palm to support it. A gentle squeeze revealed it to be pliable yet firm where needed; it was clearly a tub of yoghurt, the fuel of vengeance. Brick moved his legs to check they hadn’t been tied together, an underhand tactic Spiritwind wasn’t averse to. Finding his limbs free, Brick’s senses heightened. His sleeping body had been adorned for battle; his waking body was ready for the fight.
Spiritwind heard his friend shuffling and began the verbal sparring. “You’ve got one minute before the game begins.”
“You’re too generous my friend. With that amount of time your doom is surely sealed.” Brick sat up in his chair and turned his head from side to side. It served no purpose as the bucket concealed any ability to see.
“The fear in your voice betrays your words. Only one man’s doom shall be sealed: your own.” Spiritwind adopted a low and stealthy stance as the adrenalin of battle entered his bloodstream, and a walnut whip entered his bucketed mouth. Brick awaited the inspiration only panic could bring. The game of yoghurt bucket waited to commence.
Yoghurt Bucket had been born out of boredom and opportunity. Brick and Spiritwind had been given countless free boxes of yoghurt from a factory they had been temping in, but with no desire to eat the supposed treat, the supplies had sat in a cupboard for weeks. When they discovered a couple of buckets in the shed of the house they rented, an idea formed. Within twenty minutes they had an official rulebook and a yoghurt stained abode.
The official rules were not carved in stone; they were barely scrawled on paper, and were always open to discussion. However the fundamental laws of the game were as follows: Each contestant must wear a bucket on their head, the purpose of which is to render your eyesight oblivious to its surrounding. There is to be no clever interpretation of the rule allowing the contestant to both wear a bucket and be able to see. As with all the rules it is the intention which must be adhered to not the wording. Each contestant shall be armed with one tub of yoghurt, the size of which must be equal for each party unless a handicap option has been agreed upon. Each participant will also be supplied with a tool to be used as a flinger, usually a spoon. Once equipped and ready the game begins, the aim of which is to place as much yoghurt on the opponent’s helmet as possible. Once both tubs of yoghurt are empty the game is over, at which point the players must remove their buckets, in sight of all other contestants, and inspect the damage. The player with the most yoghurt on their bucket is the loser and must clean all the mess incurred during the course of the match.
As far as Brick and Spiritwind were aware they were the only exponents of the game in the world, meaning each encounter was a ranking tournament involving the top two players in the game. It was pressure Brick could do without as he continued to spin, bewildered, in the living room.
“Five seconds.” Spiritwind shouted from his crouched position in the adjoining room.
Before Brick could object, panic arrived, and under the guise of inspiration dragged his body out of the living room, turned right, ran past the supposed dining room and into the kitchen. The urgency didn’t seem necessary. Neither did running into the table. Brick stood instantly. Ignoring his throbbing thigh he loaded his spoon.
The loud, crashing sound of Brick’s manoeuvre gave Spiritwind a clue to his enemy’s location. He followed the hint with a blind, speculative shot around the door frame and into the kitchen. The globule of dairy product whistled past Brick’s helmet. He sensed it was close and tensed his body in fear; his arm twitching into stillness and dislodging the carefully balanced pile of ammunition he’d prepared. Peering down he could see his sock covered in the pink, lumpy substance. Things had not started well.
Brick quickly regained his composure. Coming to the kitchen had been a mistake, he could see that now. Not only was there too much furniture but he was cornered. He cursed his error and vowed never to repeat it. A new determination entered his thoughts. He may have lost the first battle but he could still win the war and watch Spiritwind clean his sock. The thought deserved a hearty laugh but the echo would be too disorientating.
Brick pressed his body against the kitchen wall and reloaded in a smooth, well practiced fashion. He had an idea to turn the game on its head. Knowing roughly where Spiritwind must be hiding, he launched a covering shot in his direction. The instant the missile left his spoon Brick was off towards the stairs at an impressive pace for a man with no vision. Brick planned to move the game to the upper floor and thus change the arena Spiritwind had so carefully engineered.
Spiritwind flinched at Brick’s strategic shot, firing an instinctive, retaliatory strike as a flurry of limbs and clinks of a bucket bumbled past. Spiritwind continued to attack as he heard Brick falling up the stairs; however each bucket remained clean, although the same could not be said for the walls.
Spiritwind cursed his own mistake. He’d allowed the advantage to slip and now faced a dilemma: should he hold out where he was and try to lure Brick back to his level or risk walking upstairs into a trap? The noise Brick continued to make suggested he hadn’t stopped to set up an ambush, although Spiritwind never underestimated his opponent and knew from past experience Brick was more than capable of elaborate deception.
After a brief rethink the bald warrior crept to the bottom of the stairs and fired a warning shot, listening intently for any reaction a hiding adversary may make. The combination of no response and the sounds of stumbling coming from one of the front rooms left Spiritwind secure enough to follow his friend’s path, loaded spoon in hand and vengeful intentions in mind.
Spiritwind remained alert as he stealthily moved up the stairs. He sensed a struggle in either his own room or the spare. Pausing to distinguish which, an almighty crash poured forth, the whole house shaking with the impact of many objects striking the floor. Slowly the sound of a whimpering man with a bucket on his head emerged as the only noise that could be heard. Brick was in the spare room. Spiritwind approached with caution, aware deception may still be afoot.
Trust had never been an issue in Brick and Spiritwind’s friendship, but when it came to Yoghurt Bucket th
e rules of life were rescinded. Misplaced trust could cost you the game and leave you open to all manner of name calling and general smugness. For this reason Spiritwind approached the room still in battle mode. From a crouched position he pushed the door open, slowly and in stages.
“This isn’t a trap you know. I’m in a real predicament.” Brick’s voice travelled with a dramatic echo from his bucket.
“Well you would say that wouldn’t you.” Spiritwind wasn’t falling for it.
“Would say what?”
“You were in a predicament.”
“If I was in a predicament, yes I would.” Brick added confusion to his tone.
“You’d also say it if you weren’t in a predicament but wanted me to think you were so you could ambush me.” Spiritwind knew what was going on.
“That is true, and I fully understand your thinking, but wouldn’t I also say such a thing if I really were in a predicament?” Brick tried to sound as convincing as a man could with added reverberation.
“You would, but you could also say these things to try and double bluff me.”
“Yes, but the fact remains I could just be in a terrible predicament.”
Spiritwind ran through the conversation in his mind, searching for clues to the truth. He tried a different approach. “So what you’re saying is you’re genuinely in a predicament?”
“Yes.”
“No tricks?”
“None.”
“Before I come in you need to know that if you are trying to trick me, and I end up splattered, I was in no way fooled and was merely acting in the best interests of my friend.” It was an essential point Spiritwind felt had to be clarified.
“I understand.”
“As a gesture of such I’m going to remove my bucket; and you are more than aware firing on an un-bucketed opponent is one of the most serious crimes within our game.”
“Removing the bucket is also the sign of forfeiture.” Brick had never been one to keep his thoughts to himself.
“Not if you remove yours too. Then we have a stalemate.”
“Problem is, I can’t remove mine. I’m in something of a predicament.” The echo sounded defeated.
Spiritwind picked up on the truth within the tone and tilted his head and bucket backwards to allow vision. Peering round the door he could see Brick was in no position to launch an assault. Spiritwind smiled to himself before continuing the ruse. “What could you possibly have done to be unable to remove your bucket?”
“Why don’t you come and find out. If you dare.” Brick’s challenge lost all intimidation through the tinny echo that carried it to his opponent’s ears.
“You’re not helping gain my trust with comments like that.”
“I realise that. Sorry, force of habit.”
Spiritwind removed his helmet entirely and stepped into the room, tiptoeing over the numerous boxes that had previously sat atop the wardrobe. Brick’s spoon sat around five feet away from the closet, which now lay on its front at a severe slant, supported by the bucket that contained Brick’s head. Smugness rippled through Spiritwind as he tried to hold back laughter whilst maintaining his pretence. He spoke into the bucket to maintain a sense of distance. “I could just come in as a sign of trust.”
“No. I’d rather you felt secure enough in our friendship to know I can be trusted without doubt. I wouldn’t wish…..You’re already in here aren’t you?” Brick could sense his friend’s movements.
“I am yes. And I’m very impressed at how wrong your dastardly plan has gone.” Spiritwind perused his friend’s situation from several angles.
“I think you’ll find I’m incapable of dastardly behaviour. My incredibly ingenious plan on the other hand has gone somewhat askew.”
“Are you even remotely aware just how askew?” Spiritwind retrieved a chicken leg to accompany his study.
“Not really. The various sensations of weight across my body are offering a few clues.”
Brick was pinned by the fallen wardrobe in three places, his foot, shoulder and head. The doors of the closet had swung open as it raced to the ground, swallowing Brick’s torso before wedging his shoulder to the floor via the broken hanger rail. His right foot lay trapped beneath the base, sending a constant surge of pins and needles through his leg, a sensation Brick found pleasurable, whilst the bucket had prevented his face being squashed by the upper frame. As far as the game was concerned the most crucial aspect of the incident had been the trajectory of the yoghurt.
Basic physics tells us all objects fall at the same speed, so in theory a man and a pot of yoghurt falling off the same wardrobe should land at the same time; however Brick had been holding the tub as he sensed the closet beginning to topple. Believing his hands may be needed to break a fall he relinquished his grip and flung everything upwards before landing on the carpet with a thud, closely followed by the wardrobe, the various boxes it had been balancing, and a spinning tub of yoghurt. The dairy based treat had landed directly on top of Brick’s helmet, relinquishing its contents all over it before coming to rest by his side; a fact Spiritwind grew ever closer to discovering.
“I suppose we’d better start sorting this out then. You’re going a little pale.” Spiritwind sniggered at his comedy genius.
“Well if I’m honest I’m not feeling great.” Brick jumped at the potential sympathy on offer, blind to the joke.
“Pale…..bucket! Come on.”
“Considering the serious nature of my predicament I’m struggling to find the humour within it.” He may have garnered the sympathy he sought had the echo not continued to make him sound ridiculous.
“Do you want this thing lifting then?” Spiritwind moved into a lifting stance.
“Do you expect anything but a yes?”
“I was using the question more as a ‘get ready’ than an actual request.”
“Why not use ‘Are you ready?’ It’s worked as a way of communicating the idea for centuries, if not millennia.” Oddly Brick’s sarcasm benefited from the reverberation.
“I can always go downstairs and make a butty. I’m sure it wouldn’t mock me for trying to help it out.”
“How is eating it helping it out?”
“I’m helping it fulfil its one and only purpose; to be eaten.” Spiritwind joined Brick off topic.
“Okay just lift. We can debate food and its destiny later. Don’t forget to bend your knees.”
“What? In general.” Spiritwind lifted before his friend could reply. With one good lift he raised the wardrobe, its weight decreasing the higher he went. He understood why when looking down to see a waterfall of clothes pooling onto Brick.
“Cheers….” Brick struggled to maintain his sentence as he battled through the clothes. “….much…..much appreciated.” As he raised himself the previously obscured side of the bucket was revealed. Spiritwind laughed and pointed.
“Oh that’s very mature. Laugh at the unfortunate soul trapped beneath a wardrobe. Why don’t we go out and cripple puppies and point and laugh at them too.”
“You being trapped beneath a wardrobe’s funny enough, but that’s the icing on the end of a hungry finger.” Spiritwind pointed at the stain once more.
“What are you laughing at?” Brick removed the bucket and followed the direction of Spiritwind’s mockery. The stain became clear. “Did you do that while I was trapped?” The accusation held no conviction.
“I think we both know this is a textbook case of yoghurt suicide.”
“Yoghurt suicide? Not a chance. I am an honourable warrior.” Brick pulled his feet fully free from the clothes and stood, bemused.
“Samurai were the most honourable of warriors and they did it all the time. Face it. You lose.” Spiritwind retrieved a bon-bon he had in his pocket.
“Hold on. We need to discuss this first.” Brick desperately wanted Spiritwind to clean his sock.
“What is there to discuss? You have the most yoghurt on your bucket so you lose.”
“You removed
your helmet so the game is forfeited.”
“I made myself very clear on the helmet removing situation.” Spiritwind ran through several recently introduced sub sections of the Yoghurt Bucket rule book in his mind.
“But I never fully agreed to the decision, making it invalid.” Brick had the slightest of technicalities to hold on to. Both players realised they were approaching a legal minefield that could take months to resolve. Spiritwind offered the only viable solution.
“Let’s call it a draw. We’ll clean up the mess we each created.”
“I’ll agree as long as you clean me sock.” Brick had made the sock a point of principle in his mind.
“Clean your own sock.” Spiritwind had finished with the debate and made a move to go downstairs. They could sort out the mess Brick’s fall had made later, or close the door for a week or two.
“Go on. You only have to scrape the top layer off. That’s a fair compromise.” Brick hopped after his peer, waving his yoghurt drenched foot at him.
“I’m gonna make a cup of tea and bacon butty. Either of them interest you?”
“Who would ever turn down a bacon butty without regret? As far as the tea’s concerned what makes you think I’ve suddenly started drinking such a pointless beverage?” Brick ignored his sock for the time being. He’d wait until later and try a more subtle approach.
“Just thought I’d check if you’d finally decided to join the rest of the world in enjoying hot beverages.” Spiritwind plodded down the stairs, avoiding the puddle of yoghurt on step six.
“We’ve been through this. Hot drinks make me thirsty…..That’s one of yours by the way.” Brick pointed out the puddle on the stairs.
“Of course it is. I chose to fire my ammunition at you not pour it all over myself.”
“So round two will be of the verbal variety. Then raise your nouns……..”
The debate rolled on as the duo headed back to the days task of recovering from a night out. It was a skill they’d honed to perfection after years of practice. Unfortunately it wasn’t the kind of skill applicable to saving the world.
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