Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere)

by Robert William Saul Harvey

  “If he did, he’s a bloody good jumper,” said Dave in awe. “There ain’t a mark anywhere. How did he do it, do you think?”

  Carl blew air through his teeth and shook his head slowly from side to side.

  “More to the point, where’s he gone?”

  He stamped around the patch of flattened grass as if he expected to find a trap door of some kind or hoped to find Pol’s prostrate body hiding in the long grass nearby.

  “He can’t have just disappeared into thin air,” he muttered...

  Chapter 16

  “I’m sure I can hear the bloody dog scratching at the back door again.”

  Pol’s father, Ted, made a face at his wife, Joan, and nodded his head towards the kitchen door. His inference was obvious; he wanted her to get up off her lazy backside and go let the dog in before it scratched the almost non-existent paintwork down to the wood.

  Joan remained silent, ignored him.

  ‘Get stuffed,’ she thought, ‘Go sort it yourself!’

  Ted glared at her.

  “Ain’t you gonna let him in?” he growled.

  Joan made a shake of her head; her eyes remaining focused on the TV screen, even though she had not been following either the action, or the dialogue.

  Ted cobbled together an angry face.

  ‘You’d get up quick enough if it was the big-boy barman from the Feathers scratching to get in,’ he thought with a scowl.

  Ted bit his lip and held onto the thought for a second. He was aware Joan knew how he quite fancied the cute young barmaid with the big tits, meaning; if he were to be silly enough to say anything about his missus fancying the barman, she would be sure to take great pleasure in throwing it back in his face.

  “You bloody idle git,” he snapped.

  Joan huffed and made a little laugh.

  “Huh. Hark who’s talking; mister lazy-bum himself,” she quipped.

  Ted coughed quietly and pointedly ignored her jibe.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I thought you’d told the lazy sod to keep his dog on a lead until he got back home? He’s obviously gone and let it run loose, again.”

  Joan raised her eyebrows, made surprised, and put on her best ‘affronted’ voice as she said, “Yes. I did tell him. You know I did.”

  Her narrowed eyes threw a warning look his way.

  The Italian in Ted, and the Spanish blood, from her mother’s side, in Joan, made for a fiery combination at the best of times. Verbal battles were won and lost on most days, and World War Three was always only a wrong word away.

  But,

  Ted, real name Eduardo, wasn’t up for an argument just then. He merely grumbled beneath his breath, got up from the armchair he had been lounging in for most of the day, and grabbed hold of the dark-blue fleece jacket he had casually thrown over the back of the chair earlier in the afternoon. He paused for a moment, in two minds whether to say something else, and hurled another angry glare at his wife. He decided not to push it. A vision of his favorite barmaid, leaning over the bar whilst flashing her ample bosom as she handed him a pint of the black stuff, soothed his savage breast.

  He smacked his lips, could almost taste the smooth, creamy froth on his tongue, just before the dark liquid hit the back of his throat.

  Saliva flooded his mouth and forced a swallow.

  “Right,” he grunted.

  He shrugged the fleece over his broad shoulders whilst ramming his arms into the sleeves.

  “I’m off down to the pub,” he snapped as he grabbed the newspaper from the small table sitting between the two armchairs. “I’ll let the bloody dog in as I go out, shall I?”

  Joan ignored him.

  “If I see your son on my way,” he added, “I’ll give him a piece of my mind, and tell him to get his backside back here.”

  Joan narrowed her eyes again, thought about saying what was thinking, but decided to keep quiet.

  ‘You don’t have any of your mind to spare, you thick git, and he’s your son as well.’

  Instead,

  She curled her top lip and smiled to herself.

  “And I’ll give him what for as well, when he does get back,” she promised.

  ‘Now sod off, piss-head.’

  Ted made a deep grunt and curtly nodded his head once, more to himself than to his wife, before he turned away and headed into the kitchen. He muttered something inaudible under his breath, which might have been, ‘see you later,’ or words to this effect, as he rammed the folded-up newspaper into one of the jacket’s pockets.

  Joan pressed her lips firmly together and leaned to one side so she was able to reach down and pick up her handbag from the floor where it was lying beside her armchair. She clicked the bag open and peered into it to make sure her ‘bingo pens’ and her purse were in there. Satisfied, she snapped the bag shut.

  Made a tight-lipped smile when she heard the squeaking hinges on the back door.

  She listened to Ted apparently growling something unintelligible to the dog before the door closed with a bang.

  ‘Bad-tempered bum hole.’

  She picked up her glasses from the arm of her chair and put them on; her fifty-two year-old eyes were not as good as they once were and she would find it difficult to see the numbers on her bingo tickets without her prescription Varifocal glasses.

  ‘Can’t understand why they make the numbers so small nowadays. Sure, they used to be a lot bigger.’

  She waited in silence for a moment, expecting the dog, Tinker, to come slinking into the living room with his tail tucked between his legs. In her mind, she was certain he would give her a wary, sideways look as he sidled over to his bed. Then he would flop down onto the dirty blanket, curl up, rest his snout on his front paws, and make a sad face whilst looking up towards her as if he was apologizing for losing Appollinaire.

  “Where is he, then?” she asked out loud, assuming the dog might be hovering in the kitchen, perhaps afraid to venture forward.

  Although she was slightly annoyed by the dog’s non-appearance, Joan forced herself to keep her voice level, and made a shake of her head. She had no beef with the dog. It was Appollinaire’s fault Tinker was running around on his own, not the dog’s. Joan was thoroughly fed up with the selfish way the boy was acting nowadays. Anyone would think he was not grateful for the roof over his head and the wholesome if cheap food in his belly.

  ‘It’s about time the lazy git got off his backside and found him some kind of a job. Anything will do. It won’t hurt him to bring a bit of money into the house.’

  She made a mental note to give Appollinaire a good tongue-lashing when he finally got back home. She would have to think of some kind of suitable punishment, something like weeding the front garden for a week. No. Weeding both the front and the back gardens for a month. Much better.

  ‘Serve him right. He’ll ‘love’ doing the weeding. Not.’

  With a heavy, weary sigh, she raised her voice slightly assuming the dog was still hiding in the kitchen, still afraid to venture into the living room.

  “What have you done with him, little boy?”

  A vision of Tinker licking the blood from his lips whilst he walked away from Appollinaire’s clean-picked skeleton filled her mind.

  Her lips formed another smile at the thought.

  ‘Stop it,’ she mentally chided.

  “Where’s Appollinaire?” she called.

  When the dog failed to appear, she glanced towards the kitchen door.

  “Tinker?”

  Listened. Waited for an answer.

  But,

  The dog said nothing...

  Chapter 17

  “‘Hello!’”

  Tinker shouted loudly, once, and listened, his ears erect, and his head canted to one side. He wished there was some other way he could let the Pol-creature know he was here. Barking like this had always worked in the past.

  When he received no answer, the worried dog shouted again, louder this time, and with more urgency.

  �
��‘Hello! Hello!’”

  Nothing.

  The lack of an answer concerned Tinker. He did not know where the Pol-creature had gone, although he knew he could not have gone far in such a short time. Also, the dog was sure the Pol-creature would not have gone anywhere without calling out to him first.

  He was totally bewildered.

  Something was wrong.

  Tinker had expected his master to be waiting for him in the green lane and had been surprised when he discovered the Pol-creature had disappeared. He had frantically run around in circles, sniffing the surrounding area until he had managed to pick up the Pol-creature’s scent. Tinker’s sensitive nose had told him how the Pol-creature’s scent mingled with other smells. He recognized some of those extra aromas as belonging to some other human-creatures who were, in Tinker’s mind, the Pol-creature’s enemies.

  This only added to the bewildered dog’s consternation.

  Excitedly followed the Pol-creature’s trail through a gap in the hedge. Tinker then tracked the mixed scents across the field until he reached the area of trampled grass where the Pol-creature had fallen over and where the other human-creatures had milled around when they had searched for the Pol-creature. Here, those of the other human-creatures had overwhelmed his master’s scent and Tinker was unable to find any sign of an exit trail for the Pol-creature.

  The dog had sniffed around the flattened area of grass for a few moments before deciding the Pol-creature must have somehow left the area.

  He made a pitiful whine when he could not find a secondary scent telling him which way the Pol-creature had gone. He could easily identify the scents of the other human-creatures who had followed the Pol-creature into the field and determined how they had returned to the lane, but he had failed to distinguish any return scent for the Pol-creature.

  Something was not right.

  The bemused dog then returned to the area of trampled grass in order to re-inspect the place where the Pol-creature had fallen. He remained there for a moment, raised his head, and sniffed the air, but the warm gentle breeze had already blown away any hint of human aroma, which might have been hanging around.

  “‘Hello!’”

  Stood still, with his ears cocked. Listened before repeating, “‘Hello!’” Louder this time.

  Still nothing.

  For a few seconds, Tinker made puzzled, and stared into middle space, as if he was trying to work something out in his mind. Suddenly, he flinched and ducked his head when, without warning, his peripheral vision caught something swooping down from above, a short distance away on his right...

  Chapter 18

  Joan made a soft ‘tutting’ noise and shook her head.

  “I know it isn’t your fault,” she chuckled to herself. “Don’t worry, Tinker, I don’t blame you. I blame Appollinaire, the lazy little bugger, for letting you off your lead.”

  Years of drinking too many gin and tonics, not eating enough, and general laziness, had taken its toll on her appearance. Her thin, short legs looked as if they could barely support the weight of her over-wide hips and her over-large breasts, but this was deceptive; in fact, she was as strong as an ox and as agile as anyone else her size may be. She was also a bloody good actor. The walking stick she used when out of the house was only for show. If she did not use the stick and make out how she was struggling to walk, she would undoubtedly lose her disability benefit. In her benefit-fiddling world, falling down was easy, getting up again was nigh on impossible, especially if someone was watching.

  She pushed herself up from her chair, put her coat on, and picked up the walking stick from where it was lying on the floor by her chair.

  Still talking to the unseen dog, Joan said, “You tell him, when he gets in, he’s got to wait up until I get back from the bingo, no slinking off to bed early pretending to be asleep. He’s the one in the doghouse, not you.”

  She made a quiet cackling laugh at her own joke.

  On her way towards the kitchen, she glanced at her wristwatch and muttered, “Ah well. Better get my skates on or I’ll miss the start of the first house.”

  Bingo was calling and she did not intend to miss a chance to win a slice of the National Rollover now it had reached the grand sum of twenty thousand pounds. Pictures of faraway sandy beaches and swaying palm trees filled her mind; she could almost taste the imagined tequila sunrise and smell the warm salty air.

  She promptly forgot all about the dog and failed to register the fact he was not in the kitchen as she briskly made her way towards the back door...

  Chapter 19

  Pol pushed himself up from his position on the ground until he was crouching like an athlete, on the balls of his feet, with his hands flat on the ground. Steeled. Poised. Ready for flight. Ready to propel his body in whichever direction he might choose to run should the big red bird reappear.

  ‘Bird? Maybe.’

  ‘Bird’ was the only word Pol could think of to describe the creature, the thing, which had just attacked him, or rather, which had tried to attack him. Was already thinking he probably owed his life to the lightening reflexes he did not know he possessed. Without such reflexes, he might be dead now! Shivered at the thought of the large beast ripping the flesh from his bones.

  ‘Yuk!’

  In the back of his mind, Pol knew something weird must have happened to him, something he was unable to comprehend. Struggled to identify what it might be whilst at the same time trying to figure out why there would be a strange, big red bird trying to kill him.

  Incomprehensible.

  Still gasping for breath, Pol uttered a little, frightened laugh. Sounded more like a choking cough as he nervously eased his lower body down until he was resting on his knees. Then, he slowly leaned back to rest his backside on his heels. Now, if he tilted his head upwards, he could see over the top of the surrounding grass.

  With his arms raised protectively in front of his head, holding his fists at the ready, Pol peered upwards, and warily scanned the sky.

  “Ugh?”

  He paused and stared wide-eyed. Taken aback.

  ‘What the heck?’

  For a moment, he wondered if his eyes might be telling him lies.

  Had to be. This could not be right.

  Pol blinked, not just the once, but numerous times in a vain attempt to clear his vision, perhaps hoping this might change the view before him. Struggled to comprehend what he was looking at.

  Unnerved, Pol recoiled with a mixture of surprise and fear.

  “I’ve got to be dreaming.”

  ‘This is all wrong, so very wrong.’

  Blew air through pursed lips.

  “This definitely ain’t right, son,” he whispered in disbelief.

  ‘Not right at all.’

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  Pol closed his eyes, at the same time shook his head from side to side, still secretly hoping this simple act might clear his thoughts. Alter everything. However, when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.

  “Oh, bugger.”

  Pol could see he was no longer in the field where he had tried to outrun the boys who had been chasing him. Now, he was in the middle of a large expanse of coarse, dry grass, which bore no resemblance to the green grass in the original field!

  With his mind in turmoil, Pol struggled to understand the reality of his situation. Clasped his hands to either side of his head, as if he were trying to concentrate his thoughts, unscramble his brain.

  ‘Is this real or am I dreaming?’

  Fear gripped Pol’s heart. Began to race, beating at such a pace he thought the crazy thing might be about to burst out through his chest and explode. Something heavy dropped down from his chest, curled up into a ball and settled itself in the pit of his stomach. Imagined he could feel and hear the thumping of his heart against his ribcage. For a fleeting moment, thought it might have been better to remain in the lane and let the boys kick the shit out of him rather than run through the hedge and end up in this crazy
place.

  Breathing quickly, in short, deep, gasps, Pol suddenly began to feel light-headed but heavy in body, as if he had been running flat out up a steep incline. Feared he might be on the verge of passing out. Even though he could feel the adrenaline pumping into his muscles, preparing him for whatever may be about to happen, he had the feeling he was being held back by some unseen force, anchored to the ground, frozen.

  A choking sensation started in the back of his dry throat. Gagged as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. When his fingers began to tingle, Pol decided it was time to take charge of his own body before it took control of him. Made some deliberate slow, deep breaths to try to counteract the effect.

  In for four seconds. Hold. Out for four seconds. Pause. In for four seconds. Hold. Release slowly. Pause. In slowly.

  ‘Oh. Heck!’

  Pol forgot all about his attempts at breath control when he remembered what had just happened and looked skywards. The bird was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Good.’

  Held his breath as he hastily scanned the sky in a desperate attempt to trace the bird’s whereabouts.

  ‘It has to be around here somewhere.’ he thought. ‘But where’s it gone? What the hell would I do if I were a predator?’

  He pondered the question for a moment before coming up with an answer.

  ‘I’d hide in the grass, a short distance away, and creep up on me when I wasn’t looking. I would.’

  His eyes darted from left to right, from right to left and he nervously glanced over each of his shoulders in turn. Listened for the slightest rustle of grass, or the snap of a twig, which might indicate the bird was nearby. Trying to creep up on him.

  Hearing nothing, Pol satisfied himself he was still alone. Forced his eyes to stare straight ahead.

  “What the bloody hell is going on here...?”

  Chapter 20

  Pol almost started to panic again but managed to keep it together. Had no idea what he would do if the weird flying monster were to come back before he managed to get his head round his predicament.