Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere)

by Robert William Saul Harvey

  ‘Stupid horse. Go get warm. You must know it’s going to rain in a bit. Get inside and stay dry.’

  He shook his head and made sad. He never liked to see animals suffering, especially when there was no need.

  “At least go on over there and stand by the hedge,” he called to the horse, “it’ll give you a bit of shelter.”

  The horse ignored him, but it twitched an ear to let Pol know he had been heard.

  Oh well.

  Pol turned away, patted his thigh, and called out, “Come on, Tinker. Let’s get a move on, eh?”

  He carried on walking along the towpath.

  The dog lifted his head from whatever he was sniffing at around the bottom of a fence post, and threw Pol a quick, acknowledging, “‘Woof.’” After which, he raced off along the towpath.

  Two minutes later, after passing under a second old and weather-beaten humpbacked bridge, they were out in the country proper surrounded by fields. The only houses were those they had left behind them, and, to one side, an isolated farmhouse, which itself was a good two miles ahead and away to the right.

  Both Pol and Tinker passed by the last of the locks on this stretch of the canal, carried on walking under a third humpbacked bridge, then, turned right. They left the towpath via a short muddy footpath through a small Spinney. After leaving the Spinney, they entered a narrow green lane. This lane was only ever used by a farm tractor, and one or two walkers. The lane was little more than two deeply worn ruts, made by the tractor tires, with a slightly raised grass middle portion. It was flanked by four feet deep, overgrown ditches with tall hawthorn hedges, which were higher than Pol's head on either side. The green lane wound its way between fields, some of which were planted with potatoes the tops of which were poking well above the soil. Other fields were covered in wheat and ripening oilseed rape, or grass.

  Behind Pol, the lane disappeared over the humpbacked bridge to continue its way around the outside of two fields before crossing the railway via a sturdy steel bridge.

  By following the green lane in the opposite direction, Pol would eventually complete a three and a half mile circular walk, ending up back at his home. The walk usually took him, and Tinker, no more than an hour, sometimes less, if the weather was cold, or it was raining, longer if it was a nice day, unless, of course, Pol decided to take a break in a certain old dilapidated barn, which was situated a bit further ahead, to one side of the green lane.

  Because he was feeling a bit peed off, and thoroughly depressed, Pol had already decided they were going to divert to the barn. He and Tinker would spend a couple of hours there and perhaps have a kip before heading home when he thought the time was right.

  Brill!

  When a spot of rain hit his nose, Pol decided to put a bit of a spurt on, and increased his pace. The barn was still a quarter of a mile ahead and he wanted to reach it before the rain came down in earnest.

  Normally, Pol would walk the full three and a half miles, whereas Tinker would cover nearer five, or six, miles, what, with all the running backwards and forwards, hither and thither, sniffing this and sniffing the other, pausing here and pissing there, as dogs were want to do.

  Pol made a wide grin when he noticed Tinker had stopped a good twenty feet ahead of him, had lowered his backside, and dropped a small heap of shit in the middle of the lane.

  ‘Stuff it,’ he thought. ‘I am not picking that lot up.’

  He smirked when a picture formed in his mind; some dizzy person, not looking where he or she was going, would probably be unfortunate enough to step on Tinker’s turd, if the tractor failed to run over it first, you could bet on it. The unlucky person would then carry some of the turd home on the soles of his or her boots and trample it all over a nice clean carpet, thus invoking angry threats from a disgruntled partner or parent.

  ‘Tough shit,’ giggled Pol when he recognized the double pun. Then he laughed out loud.

  However, this amusing thought was suddenly interrupted when:

  “Uh?”

  Tinker barked, just the once.

  “‘Woof!’”

  Then the dog was off like a rocket. He had obviously noticed something interesting ahead and decided it would be fun to chase whatever it was he had seen making a dash for freedom. He surged forward at speed. From naught to bloody fast in an instant.

  “Wow. Go for it, Tinker,” encouraged Pol loudly when he spotted the bobbing white scut of a fleeing rabbit...

  Chapter 11

  This was more like it. Fun.

  The dog made a straight line towards the hapless rabbit, no ducking, and weaving for this boy. The rabbit, knowing its days were numbered if it made the wrong decision, turned tail and started running for its life without waiting to see which nasty bunny-eating creature was chasing after it.

  In Pol’s mind, the rabbit was as good as dead.

  “Yeah. Go boy!” he cried by way of encouragement to Tinker.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how fast you run, bun, you’re dead meat.’

  Even though he was a bit of an animal lover, Pol did not feel the least bit sorry for rabbits. As far as he was concerned, rabbits were fair game, plus, chasing after this one would give Tinker a bit of extra exercise. The main problem though was; Tinker tended to go into a kind of brain-dead mode whenever he was chasing some hapless animal, and nothing else mattered; to him, the chase was everything.

  Suddenly,

  The rabbit did a quick left-turn and dodged beneath a wooden gate, whilst Tinker, silly dog, turned right as he continued to follow the lane around a sharp bend.

  Yep, brain-dead mode.

  Pol smiled to himself and had to admire the rabbit’s tactic.

  ‘You clever little bun.’

  This was not the first time Tinker had been outsmarted by a rabbit. It probably would not be the last.

  ‘Stupid dog.’

  Pol wondered how long it would be before Tinker realized he had been duped, the rabbit had outmaneuvered him, and he was no longer actually chasing after it. One minute? Two minutes? No. Pol knew how silly Tinker could be at times and the dog would most probably keep chasing the now non-existent rabbit along the green lane until he reached the big metal farm gate at the end.

  Pol was not too worried; he had trained the dog well.

  He knew Tinker would stop when he reached the gate and either, wait for Pol to catch up with him, or come trotting back, panting happily whilst wearing a sheepish look on his face.

  Pol chuckled quietly to himself and promptly forgot about the rabbit. He turned his mind inwards and returned to his daydreams.

  ‘A pretty girl. That’s what I need. Not too pretty, though, otherwise someone else better looking than me will be after her and I’ll have no chance. Nice. Not fat and not skinny either. Just so. Quite nice. Maybe a bit shy. Not a nag-bag like the mother-bitch. Definitely not a slag. No way. I don’t want any dirty old cow, someone who will drop her knickers for anyone, and who will let any bloke stick his dick into her. I wouldn’t stand a chance with my little Willy. It’d be like slinging a sausage up the Mersey Tunnel.’

  He shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Humph. Fat chance I have of finding anyone. No nice girl would want a skint, spotty-faced, penniless wimp like me?’

  He heaved a deep sigh and angrily fisted his hands a bit deeper into his pockets.

  ‘Unless I can find me a job and get a bit of money together, there’s not much chance of me meeting any girls. No money, no girl. Simple…’

  Chapter 12

  “Oh, bugger,” whispered Pol. Winced at the sight before him. Suddenly stopped in his tracks and made a regretful grimace. Ahead of him, lined up across the lane were three boys. Each of the boys was taller than he was.

  He instantly recognized each of them.

  Tim Docherty, Billy Simpson, and Billy’s twin brother, Chuck.

  Each of the boys, grinning, stood with his feet about two feet apart, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his blue denim jeans. Made like some
tough hero they might have seen at the movies.

  The trio were effectively blocking the green lane, making as if they had been waiting for Pol to appear, and were now willing him to keep walking towards them.

  Pol shivered when a cold chill ran down his spine and the thought of yet another beating caused his stomach muscles to tighten. He glanced around; hoping the good dog Tinker would come trotting back around the bend in the lane. Tinker did not like any of these boys and the boys were suitably afraid of the dog because he would growl in a threatening manner whenever he saw them.

  With Tinker by his side, Pol would have had no hesitation in walking past the trio. One snarl from the dog and the boys would back off. No problem.

  “Well. Well. Well,” snarled Billy, the leader of the gang with the swaggering poise of yer typical bully. “What the bugger have we got here? Little Polly Bizet, and she’s out on her own, without her little doggie to protect her.”

  This produced laughter from the other two boys. Billy could be such a card when he wanted to.

  The insult hit Pol where it hurt, his ego.

  ‘Bastards!’

  His instinct was to charge at his aggressors and kick the shit out of them one by one, but bad memories of past encounters prevented him from doing so. He knew he would be the one to come out worse! Memories of thick lips, many a bloody nose, and numerous black eyes, forced him to hold his tongue and stay where he was.

  Pol glared at the central figure taking in the evil, snarling lips, piercing blue eyes, and the confident, threatening pose. Billy Simpson, bully, was such a hero when he had others to help and protect him, but he was not so brave when he was on his own, which was not very often. Pol was sure he could take Billy in a fair fight, but experience had shown him how none of these fellows ever fought fairly.

  Each of the three boys were similarly dressed; old, black, worn leather jerkin, unfastened, over a gray shirt which was, as a mark of their unity, worn back to front, faded blue denim jeans, and unpolished black Doc Martin boots which were the ideal tools for kicking the crap out of a defenseless, downed victim such as Pol. Each boy sported a short crew cut and a matching earring in his left ear, a silver ring from which dangled a small silver cross. Pol had no idea what the significance of the earrings was and assumed they were some kind of gang marker.

  Although he wanted to call out to Tinker, Pol held his tongue. Did not want to let the boys think he was afraid. He inhaled deeply, and braced for flight, in the event Billy and his cronies should make a move towards him.

  “Little Polly, no woof-woof,” sneered Chuck malevolently.

  “Grrr,” growled Tim mockingly through yellow-stained teeth.

  Billy tried to mimic a whining dog.

  “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.”

  At the same time, he made a mocking grin.

  “Ah. Did little Polly lose her little Tinky Winky, then?” he sniggered.

  “What’s the matter, Polly?” laughed Chuck. “Lost your vicious little beastie-friend?”

  “What is she going to do now?” scoffed Tim with a derisive laugh.

  Pol was under no illusion; the situation was hopeless. It would be a waste of time him trying to say anything. He would not be able to talk his way out of this. Any response would only encourage them further so he held his tongue.

  ‘Time to go,’ he thought.

  He slowly turned around with the intention of making casual as he walked away, assuming, of course, the three boys failed to come running after him, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw two more boys had crept up behind him and were now blocking his retreat. He silently cursed his luck and his shoulders slumped in despair.

  ‘Bugger!’

  “Hello, Polly,” said Dave Charles quietly. He and Carl Green were dressed in similar fashion to the other three boys and sported similar haircuts and earrings.

  Carl held out his right hand and demanded loudly, “Phone.”

  “And, any money in your pockets,” added Dave with a grin.

  Pol spread his arms, palms outward.

  “Got none,” he said. “No money. No phone.”

  He made an apologetic smile.

  “You should know that by now.”

  The smile left Carl’s face and he took a step forward.

  “In which case,” he said, “I’ll just have to...”

  Pol winced when a vice-like spasm gripped his heart and his sphincter muscles tightened in response to the implied threat.

  “Bugger,” he whispered in despair whilst taking an involuntary step backwards...

  Chapter 13

  Over to Pol’s left was an almost solid hedge, all thorns and thick branches. There was no way out through that lot. To his right...

  ‘Yes!’

  His heart lifted.

  Throwing caution to the wind, he quickly turned to his right, leapt over the deep weed-filled ditch, and forced his way through a narrow gap in the hedge. He dismissed the pain of clawing branches, protecting his face with raised arms, and staggered forward into a field of waist-high grass, which was probably going to be harvested later to be turned into hay or silage for use as cattle fodder during the winter.

  A fleeting image of the lonely horse flashed through his mind.

  ‘I bet old horsey would love to move into this field.’

  Pol ignored the loud cries coming from the lane behind him as he frantically pushed his way through the narrow opening.

  Once he had struggled free of the hedge, he started to run through the long grass, intent on putting as much distance as possible between him and the hedge, before the boys managed to gather their wits and follow him into the field. There was a wooden gate on the far side of the field and Pol knew it led onto the farm track leading up to the farm over to his right. If he could reach the farm before the boys caught up with him, he would be safe. The farmer went drinking in the same pub as Pol’s father. He would undoubtedly offer Pol sanctuary.

  The tall grass made the going slow. Tugged at Pol’s legs, a bit like trying to run through knee-deep water…

  Chapter 14

  “What the...!”

  Taken by surprise, Pol instinctively ducked the instant his peripheral vision told him something big was swooping down towards him at speed.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  “Shoosh!”

  His first instinct was one of self-preservation.

  Thinking one of the boys might have thrown something at him; he wrapped his arms around his head, and quickly dropped to his knees on the ground. He hoped whatever the thing was, might be high enough to miss him. Trying to hold his breath, he leaned forward and curled up into a ball. Braced himself, with his head tucked down between his knees. However, he had no choice but to release his breath and gasp for air—even the short run across the field had sapped his energy and left him struggling to breathe.

  “Shit!” he cried, coughing between breaths.

  Sensing the thing, whatever it was, had passed safely overhead, Pol glanced up in time to see the shadow of something big, dark red, and very fast flying away to his right. His first thought was; it might have been his dog, Tinker, who had chased after him, although he could not think why the dog would be flying through the air, and anyway Tinker was most definitely, not red!

  However,

  This was no dog.

  Dogs do not have wings, and neither do dogs screech like a banshee as they swoop upwards towards the heavens.

  Something like a big bird!

  When he was certain the huge bird like creature, had passed overhead, and he was in no immediate danger, Pol slowly lifted his head, and peered up at the sky. Tried to see where the thing had gone.

  He could see nothing.

  The sky was clear.

  ‘Where’s it gone?’

  “What the shit was that?” he whispered as he fearfully scanned the sky. “It’s bloody fast. Must be doing over a hundred.”

  He cautiously uncoiled his body and slowly pushed himself up onto hands and knees.
Remained there for a few moments, as he warily glanced around him. Fearful in case any of his pursuers had managed to follow him into the field...

  Chapter 15

  Billy was the first boy who forced his way through the gap in the hedge. He was only just in time to see Pol disappearing into the grass as he fell forward and thought he might have tripped over something.

  Billy called over his shoulder, “He’s down. Come on boys. We’ve got him now.”

  He ran forward, closely followed by Carl and Dave.

  Tim and Chuck, not being as brave as the other three boys had remained behind in the lane. In their minds, they had convinced themselves they were playing a rear guard in case Pol should double back on his pursuers.

  Whooping with delight, Billy quickly rounded on the area of flattened grass where he had watched Pol fall over, and stopped in his tracks.

  “Eh?”

  He spun around and made confused as he surveyed the immediate area.

  “Where the bugger has he gone?”

  Carl pulled up alongside Billy. Expected to see Pol cowering on the ground. The grin left his face when he saw there was no sign of Pol.

  “Bugger,” he grunted scanning the area. “He must’ve crawled off somewhere.”

  Dave almost ran into the back of Carl, actually nudged the boy with his shoulder as he too came to a sudden halt.

  “Ugh?”

  He stared at Billy, then at Carl.

  “Where is he then?” he asked with a frown.

  Billy made a face and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Dunno.”

  Shook his head and waved a hand in the air.

  “Can’t see which way he went from here.”

  They examined the surrounding grass. It was undisturbed save for the trampled area around and behind them.

  “He can’t have jumped any distance to one side,” said Billy. “I’d have seen him and there aren’t any more flattened areas.”