by Heide Goody
~ooOOOoo~
Clovenhoof saw Michael emerge from the front door when the open-backed lorry pulled up. Michael stopped when he saw Clovenhoof.
"Are you smoking all three of those cigarettes?" Michael asked.
"Yup," grunted Clovenhoof, between puffs, and tapped the ash into the metal container on the ground before him.
"Are those supposed to be Molly’s ashes?"
Clovenhoof nodded.
Michael peered inside.
"How many have you smoked?"
"Just topping it up," said Clovenhoof. I got the rest from the crematorium, but I spilt some while I was having lunch. Crunchy."
Michael left him and went over to the lorry. Clovenhoof craned his neck, but couldn’t see anything apart from a plastic wrapped pallet that came down on the lift at the back of the lorry. Two men appeared and carried the heavy pallet into Michael’s flat. Another man, dressed in overalls followed with a toolbox.
Ben appeared beside Clovenhoof.
"Did you see the label? It said Soyuz Unit on the side," said Ben. "You know what that means?"
"Something to do with vegetarian food?"
"That means it’s something from the Russian Space programme."
"Michael’s bought a spaceship."
"I doubt it."
Clovenhoof could bear it no longer. He knocked on Michael’s door.
"What’s your new toy, Michael?" he asked.
Michael stood in the doorway, while the sounds of banging and drilling could be heard from within.
"I really don’t think I want to show it to you," he said.
"Yes, you do."
"It’s to help me overcome a rather personal problem."
Clovenhoof wondered if Michael could possibly have said anything more tantalising. He trotted up the stairs, his interest level at Defcon One, formulating a plan.
~ooOOOoo~
Clovenhoof answered the door to Nerys on Saturday morning.
"We’re going now," she said. "Molly’s final wish, come on."
Clovenhoof groaned theatrically.
"Not sure I can. I’ve been up all night. Think I might have eaten a green crisp or something."
Nerys narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
"You have the stomach of a rhino. You never even get a hangover. Is it just that you can’t be bothered?"
"Nerys, I had my best smoking jacket cleaned for this, but I just don’t think I can do it. Five yards from a toilet and it’ll be carnage."
"Hm. All right."
"Thanks for being so understanding."
"See you later," she said and added, "And no sneaking into my flat to steal food. Or toilet paper."
Clovenhoof nodded and closed the door. Nerys clearly didn’t believe a word, but he was free to check out Michael’s flat while they were all out scattering Molly’s ashes.
~ooOOOoo~
Ben, Jayne, Nerys and Michael assembled in the car park of the supermarket. Nerys had put Twinkle into a carrier bag. She was determined that he should not miss the ceremony, but knew that they would get thrown out if he was spotted.
Nerys turned and, once a trolley attendant had gone by with a train of rattling trolleys, addressed them all.
"We are gathered here today to perform the last wishes of Aunt Molly. Before we go in, I think we should each say a few words."
Jayne went red as Nerys pointed to her first.
"Molly loved this place," said Jayne, indicating the supermarket and its crowded car park with a sweep of her hand. "She stepped out here with her first love. It was a tranquil green area in amongst all the hustle and bustle."
Her last few words were drowned out by the reversing alarm of a large skip lorry that had come to empty the recycling units. They waited a few moments, and Michael spoke up.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for everything under Heaven," he said. "A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted. A time to kill, and a time to heal. A time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to –"
"Er, Michael, right now it might be a good time to move out of the way," interrupted Ben as the skip lorry drove straight towards them.
"A time to dance," continued Michael once the lorry was gone. "A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together."
"Was Molly a Byrds fan?" Ben asked Nerys.
Nerys merely nudged him to say something.
"Oh. Right. Well Molly was lovely, and I’ll always think of her when we look at Twinkle. They look a bit similar. I know it’s not really her that we’re scattering today, but I hope she approves."
"Thank you all," said Nerys. "Well my main regret is that I only knew Molly when she was old. I’ve had these vivid dreams during the last few weeks of Molly as a young woman, and they make me happy, in a slightly sad way. I miss her a lot and I think of her every day."
She cast her eyes to the ground in a moment’s reflection. Then she looked up and indicated the urn of ashes in the crook of her arm.
"Let’s do this," she said. "Now everybody. It’s very important that we act naturally."
~ooOOOoo~
Clovenhoof was inside Michael’s flat, puzzling over the shiny new contraption in the bathroom. He had no idea what it was however he had watched a film called 2001: A Space Odyssey a few months back and there was something of the robotic space pods and killer computer to this large, wall-mounted object.
"Hello?" he said, keeping a careful distance in case it lunged for him or declared that he must die ‘for the sake of the mission.’
The device did nothing, apart from continuing to wink an amber light at him. The surface of the white box was studded with lights and handles and tubes. It all looked very important. There were no instructions to hand, just a few puzzling labels in Cyrillic script and, even though the Prince of Lies was a cunning linguist, none of it made any sense to him.
He approached cautiously and picked up a tube that appeared to be connected up for suction.
A smile spread across his face as he realised what the machine’s purpose was. He was fairly certain he’d seen an advert for something similar in the back of a magazine. Michael’s personal problem was clearly his tiny manhood, which must have been bothering him since he’d realised how much larger Clovenhoof’s was in the Boldmere Oak. He’d been and bought one of those machines for penis enlargement.
"You tiny-dicked numpty," he laughed.
Clovenhoof decided that he needed to try it out for himself. He compared the tubes that he held in his hands, and saw that the larger of the two said, in Russian, solids only.
"Well, that’s me! Solid as a rock," he bellowed as he rammed his penis into the end of the tube and flicked the most obvious switch on the device.
The suction created a secure and powerful vacuum around his genitals. The tube contracted savagely and bucked in his hand, dragging him to the floor. Clovenhoof howled with pain.
Through the translucent plastic tubing, he could just about make out his poor penis. The machine and the force of the suction would surely sever it clean off. He could not reach the switch from his position on the floor. He grappled for purchase, but he was securely wedged at the side of the hideous machine and it showed no sign of releasing him.
For a moment he genuinely considered praying for help and then, with desperate quick-thinking, reached for his mobile phone in his pocket. He thumbed at the keys blindly.
~ooOOOoo~
Nerys led the group as they walked slowly through the fruit and veg section. They were very conspicuous, she realised. Perhaps trying to look like a regular shopper, Ben picked up a pineapple, but put it back down again when she glared at him. It was too busy in this section, so Nerys made her way to the back of the store. The others followed. A man in a brown acrylic suit, who could only have been a store detective fell in behind them. Were they that obvious?
"Do we do it now?" said Jayne.
> An elderly lady nearby reached into her shopping bag to take out a ringing mobile phone.
"Too many people," Nerys said to Jayne.
Nerys saw the woman’s puzzlement at the caller ID. She put the phone to her ear.
"Molly?"
Nerys stopped at that and watched the woman. She could plainly hear screaming coming from the earpiece and, as the woman listened, her face froze with horror.
"Molly?"
She listened for a few more moments, and let out a piercing wail of anguish.
"Help me!" she sobbed to the passing shoppers. "Somebody help me, please!"
"What is it, love?" asked a man with a French loaf under his arm.
"My friend’s being tormented by the demons of Hell! She shouldn’t suffer like this, somebody help me!"
The store detective rushed forward to assist the lady and Nerys nudged Jayne in the ribs. She upended the urn onto the floor.
A large dusty plume of ash drifted towards the fresh meat counter. As one, the mourners backed away quickly yet solemnly, Ben making the sign of the cross as they went.
The last thing Nerys heard was the old lady shouting into her phone.
"Molly, you haven’t even got a cock, so how can it be caught in a – oh my God, Molly, what have they done to you?"
Brother Manfred entered the orangery and into a humid warmth that did not match the grey autumnal skies outside. The orangery, though an unusual feature of an island monastery, was a work of wonder. Whoever had built it had positioned it to make the very most of the sunlight and created a space that was home to luscious flowers, intense greenery and, of course, the apple tree.
Older than perhaps anyone at St Cadfan’s and planted directly into a cleared patch of soil in the orangery floor, the Bardsey apple tree twisted its way up to the ceiling. Its topmost branches pressed against the sloping panes of the steepled roof. Its bottommost branches hung heavy with fruit.
"Brother Manfred," said the abbot.
Father Ambrose sat near the base of the tree beside the prior, Brother Arthur, and the procurator, Brother Sebastian. The abbot had a bowl of fruit puree in his hand and was trying to feed the prior although, given the dollops of brown puree that dotted the prior’s bath-chair and the floor, without much great success.
"Father Abbot," said Manfred, approaching. "You wished to see me?"
"Yes. I hope have not dragged you away from something important."
"The vol au vents and salmon mousse can wait."
"If you say so. I wanted to talk to you about tapestries."
"Yes, Father Abbot?"
"We have a number of fine tapestries, in the library, the almonry and the prior’s house."
"We do," agreed Manfred. "Sadly, they are all seriously faded. And, I think you will agree, the little moths have been going ‘munch munch munch’ on some of them."
"Exactly," said the abbot, pushing a spoonful of puree into the prior’s mouth. "It would be a shame for them to fall into total disrepair."
Manfred nodded.
"Things of beauty. Naughty moths."
"Quite. Now, Brother Sebastian here had an idea about how we might make a little money from them."
"Not sell them, surely?" said Manfred in quiet horror.
"That would be profitable," said Sebastian, "but short-sighted. I was thinking we could sell photographic prints of the tapestries."
"Like postcards?"
"More like a limited range of fine art prints. Numbered, framed and sold on our website for a hundred quid a pop. They are valuable works of medieval art and worth millions."
"Millions?" said Manfred doubtfully.
"Well, that’s the price I’ve convinced the insurers to put on them."
"However, worth millions or not," said the abbot, "they are in a poor state. I wondered if you would consider turning your embroiderer’s eyes and skills to some simple repairs."
Manfred put a splayed hand on his chest in surprise.
"You would trust me and my little sewing kit with those treasures."
"I hear you’re something of a marvel with needle and thread."
Manfred shrugged modestly.
"It would mean a lot to us," said the abbot. "The prior, who has been here longer than any of us, has often expressed his fondness for them."
The prior, who Manfred had not once heard utter a single word, gazed blankly into space, a dribble of fruit mush at the corner of his mouth.
"While we cannot yet afford to effect major repairs to the masonry and brickwork damaged by the summer storm," continued the abbot, "we can afford to kit you out with what you need."
Manfred nodded eagerly.
"I must say I know the most exquisite haberdashers in Caernarvon."
"There you go. Order what you need."
"I shall, Father Abbot," said Manfred and bobbed his head in excited gratitude. "Thank you, Father Abbot."
The abbot waved a gracious and magnanimous hand at Manfred, a gesture slightly ruined by the fruit-gunked spoon he was holding.
"There is one thing, Father Abbot," said Manfred.
"Yes, brother?"
"Some of the tapestries are extremely faded. The pictures and scenes are, to be frank, unclear. Do we have any reference images for what was in them?"
"Perhaps there may be some pictures in the library collection. Or at least some references to the picture contents in chapter house meeting minutes. Brother Sebastian can help you."
Manfred smiled and nodded but he was sceptical.
"I trust your judgement regardless," said the abbot and returned to feeding the prior.
Chapter 3 – In which Michael searches for truth and Nerys and Jayne search for real men.
"Let there be light," said Michael, slamming the door behind him with more force than he intended. And there was light.
"Handel," he said and the opening notes of an oratorio filled the flat.
The concealed microphones and computer voice-recognition system were working a treat. So far, Michael had hooked it up to the lights, the central heating, the multi-room sound system and the five wall-mounted computer/entertainment screens placed around the flat. A man was coming in at the weekend to fit motorised blinds and Michael had seen on the internet an intelligent fridge freezer that, linked to his computer, would automatically know when his milk and run out and order some more.
Michael walked into the kitchen and, in that initial instant of seeing Clovenhoof standing before the freezer with his flies undone, crazily wondered what an intelligent fridge would make of the Adversary sticking his genitals in the freezer. Would it declare them out of date and try to order new ones?
"Is it your mission to stick your thing in every single household appliance?" said Michael.
"It’s not at all normal," said Clovenhoof, peering down.
"Oh, I know it’s not normal."
Clovenhoof turned. He had a large pack of frozen sweetcorn stuffed inside his trousers.
"I think your evil robot might have killed it. It’s still all pink and swollen."
Michael nodded.
"The Soyuz toilet was designed to remove faecal matter in zero gravity without the need for cosmonauts to get their hands dirty. It wasn’t designed for your unholy manhood. Do you not have any ice or frozen goods in your own flat?"
"Used all the ice," said Clovenhoof, forcibly doing up his trousers over the pack of frozen vegetables. "And the crispy pancakes kept leaving crumbs under my-"
"I don’t want to know," said Michael, reaching past Clovenhoof to get a bottle of water from the fridge. "I’ve had a tough enough evening."
"Oh?"
"Cubs was not like Sunday School. Clearly, Sunday School is for Christian children with too many questions and the cub scouts is for ravening animals. They’re like a tribe of evil pygmies. Their leader is a little villain called Spartacus Wilson."
"I’ve met him. Did he make disparaging comments about your mother?"
"That’s the one."
"
I got on quite well with him."
"Oh, then you can come and help us next time."
"I didn’t say-"
"Offer your expert wisdom. I got quite agitated. And then, when Reverend Zack and I spoke about dealing with them and resolving conflict, he said, ‘Blessed are the cheesemakers.’"
Clovenhoof smiled which deepened Michael’s frown.
"Doesn’t he know the Sermon on the Mount?" said Michael. "It’s ‘peacemakers.’"
"He’s quoting a movie. Life of Brian."
"Was he?"
"It’s a religious film."
"Oh," said Michael, feeling he was starting to understand. "Is it about the teachings of Our Lord?"
"Sort of," shrugged Clovenhoof. "I’ve got it on video somewhere if you’d like to watch it."
"I’m sure I could download it."
"I won’t be a minute," said Clovenhoof and waddled out of the flat with a bulging crotch.
Michael went to his computer. His cute teddy bear lolled casually beside the desktop screen.
"Little G, find Life of Brian."
"Yes, Michael," replied the computer in a reassuring male voice. A red trail of lights bounced from side to side on the screen when the computer spoke.
"Monty Python’s Life of Brian is a 1979 film written by and starring the comedy group, Monty Python, about a young Jewish man in first century Judea," said the computer. "Would you like to watch it?"
"Yes, please," said Michael who believed that good manners should also extend to artificial intelligence and sat down on the sofa with his water.
Handel’s Messiah vanished, replaced by the opening choral music of the film and the sight of three men on camels following a star across the desert skies. Religious indeed, thought Michael.
The flat door burst open and Clovenhoof and Ben piled in, an ancient VHS cassette clutched in Clovenhoof’s hand.
"Found it," said Clovenhoof. "Ben had it but he thinks he might have taped over it with Ben Hur."
"I’m watching it already," said Michael.
"Cool," said Ben, plonked himself on the sofa next to Michael and screeched, "’He’s not the Messiah, he’s a very naughty boy.’"