Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere)

by Robert William Saul Harvey

  Shaking his head, he thought, ‘Can’t remember.’

  Pol cast the silly thought from his mind. He had other things to think about just then—find his dog, find his way home and, failing that, find somewhere safe to hide out. Not necessarily in this order.

  He decided to take another chance. Paused for a moment, crouched down, and made another long low whistle, hoping against hope his dog, Tinker, was still alive, and might be somewhere nearby, perhaps within hearing distance.

  In an over-loud stage whisper, he called out, “Tinker!”

  His heart sank when there was no answering bark.

  Nothing.

  Not even a breath of wind to cool his sweating body.

  Not a ripple or rustle from the dry grass. Only silence and stillness.

  He made a sad face and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. Didn’t dare to speculate on what might have happened to his dog.

  ‘Bugger it.’

  Sweat was running down his face in small rivulets, also down his back and chest, making his shirt, his jeans, and his undershorts stick to his skin.

  With labored breathing, he hurried forward, forcing his way through the thick grass, heedlessly crumpling it beneath his feet, and headed towards what he hoped was going to be a place of safety.

  ‘If I can only reach the bottom of that cliff before...’

  “‘Caaawww!’”

  “Argh...!”

  “‘Caaawww!’”

  Pol instinctively ducked into a crouch and started to run for his life. Fear spurred him on. Without thinking, he suddenly veered to his right and headed towards the small copse of peculiar looking umbrella-like trees.

  “Bugger!” he cried.

  The downdraft from the beast’s beating wings ruffled the hair on Pol’s head as it swooped down at him. Luckily, because of his sudden change of direction, the beast’s beak narrowly missed him by a matter of inches and the beast veered away to the left.

  “‘Caaawww!’”

  Pol increased his speed as blind panic took over from rationality.

  “Nooo! Sod off!” he yelled.

  “‘Caaawww!’”

  Just in time, he made a dive for the narrow gap between the ground and the drooping branches of the first tree he came to; head first. Hit the ground on his stomach, arms stretched out in front, and slid forward. Twisting his body, Pol rolled beneath the protective canopy and carried on rolling until he came up against the main trunk with a thud, shoulder first.

  “Ow!” he cried. “Shit!”

  “‘Caaawww!’” shouted the bird angrily. “‘Caaawww! Caaawww!’”

  The hideous creature landed beside the tree, a split second after Pol had disappeared beneath its branches. Thankfully, the space between the ground and the lower branches was far too small for the over-large bird to be able to follow Pol.

  The bird angrily ranted and raved as it pranced about. Pecked at the branches of the tree. Could not force its way between the branches because they were covered in hundreds of long, evil needle-sharp thorns and a blanket of thick green leaves. The thorns were between one and six inches in length. More than enough to keep the bird, or any other large predator at bay.

  The beast made outraged, furious at missing its target. Screeched at the innocent tree, as if it were blaming the tree for protecting Pol.

  “‘Caaawww! Caaawww!’”

  Up close, the noise the bird made was akin to the screaming of a hundred angry seagulls only sounded much louder.

  Tough.

  Pol immediately curled up into a ball with his back pressed firmly against the thick trunk of the tree in an attempt at putting as much distance between him and the bird’s probing beak. He did not register the fact the ground was covered in thousands of discarded sharp thorns, some of which had already pierced the fabric of his jeans and his fleece, pricking his skin.

  Trembling, he held his hands over his ears as he tearfully watched the bird-beast from behind slitted eyelids.

  The huge bird tried to push its beak beneath the overhanging branches in an attempt to reach Pol. Luckily for Pol, the tree was too broad, its branches too low, and the assortment of thorns too sharp.

  In desperation, Pol kicked out with his right leg. Although his foot landed well short of the bird’s probing beak, it did catch on one of the lower branches and pushed it forward. A trio of sharp thorns narrowly missed the bird’s eye and the bird jumped back in surprise.

  “‘Caaawww! Caaawww! Caaawww!’” it screeched its fury.

  Pol withdrew his right leg and curled it beneath his left leg.

  “That’ll teach you,” he snarled. “Keep your beak to yourself.”

  The bird backed away from the tree, hopped around in a small circle as it wildly beat its wings and flung its head from side to side, and screamed its frustration.

  ‘Might have hurt the bastard, with a bit of luck,’ thought Pol giggling like a demented idiot. ‘Serves you right.’

  “I’ll make sure I get you next time!” he yelled.

  ‘Yes!’

  The bird stopped hopping about and quietly glared at the tree with its huge single eye, as if it were trying to decide what it should do next.

  Whatever.

  Pol was safe, for the moment.

  Panting heavily and with his heart pounding heavily in his chest, Pol somewhat nervously shuffled into a more comfortable position. Pulled his knees up to his chest in order to keep his feet away from the outer edge of the tree’s protective branches. He pressed his hands firmly against his ears and closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the magnitude of the situation he was in; surely, if he waited for a minute or two, the whole thing would disappear. When he opened his eyes, he would find this had only been some kind of nightmare. He would be safely curled up in bed, just like the last time…

  Chapter 32

  Pol lowered his arms, opened his eyes, and growled through bared teeth, “Phew. You bugger! It’s not a dream after all.” Raising his voice in a near hysterical shriek, he shouted at the bird, “Now. Sod off and leave me alone!”

  The bird—if it was indeed a bird, was more than just a bird, it was a bloody big bird—must have got the message. It took a step backwards, away from the tree, tilted its head to the right, and bent forward as if it were trying to look beneath the branches whilst it curiously contemplated why its quarry would be brave enough to have a go at it.

  The beast emitted something, which sounded like a low, rumbling growl. The sound sent a cold shiver coursing through his body.

  ‘Sodding thing sounds like an angry lion,’ thought Pol as he waited for the bird to make an accompanying roar.

  Didn’t happen.

  A deep, threatening silence followed. A silence, which seemed like the lull before the storm.

  From where Pol was sitting, he could just see the bird’s feet, claws. Five on each foot. Almost like human hands save for the leathery scaly skin and the hooked razor-sharp talons. His heart leapt when the bird suddenly started to dance from side to side. He thought it might be getting ready to charge at the tree, force its way through, and rip his petrified body to pieces.

  It did not.

  Instead,

  After what seemed to Pol like a small eternity, the bird stopped prancing about. Pol held his breath as he waited to see what it was going to do next.

  The beast lifted its head. Looked up at the sky with its head canted to one side, as if it was indeed trying to decide what it should do next.

  To Pol’s untrained mind, the bird was like something he had seen in one of those science fiction films on the TV, like a grossly enlarged, lumbering version of a black crow. Thing was, the creature’s head was more bat-like than crow-like especially with the small upright, rounded ears on each side of its head. Tall, with sleek, black feathers, sharp talons on each of its two five-toed, yellow feet, a hooked, short, yellow beak and an evil eye—just the one eye—in the centre of its head, Cyclops-like.

  Pol estimated how, if he were to
be stupid enough to stand beside the creature, the bird’s head, eye, would be almost on a level with his own shoulders. Perhaps a bit higher. The beak would certainly be high enough to gouge Pol’s eyes out of his head.

  ‘Gosh. He’s a bloody big bird. Ugly, as well.’

  Pol had no doubt in his mind; the creature would easily be capable of tearing him to pieces with those evil talons and the razor-sharp beak. One flick of its wings and he would surely end up with a few broken bones. No doubt.

  ‘Bloody big.’

  Without warning,

  “‘Caaawww!’”

  The bird shouted at him in its frustration and made a pecking lunge, a feint, at the gap beneath the branches.

  Silly animal.

  It must have been aware it could not reach the cowering boy. The attack was totally ineffective.

  The bird slowly turned away in disgust. Hopped two, three hops, before spreading its huge wings and jumping off the ground. With a flap of its wings, the weird bird’s feet quickly disappeared from Pol’s sight, hidden by the thick foliage covering the tree.

  After waiting for a few seconds, Pol ducked his head in an attempt to see if the area was clear. He was unable to see much. His line of sight was restricted by the overhanging branches of the tree so he gave up trying.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Pol allowed his tensed muscles to relax and thought, ‘Bout time you buggered off and left me alone.’

  In the dim light beneath the thick foliage of the tree, Pol narrowed his eyes and peered intently at the hands on his watch. Just gone quarter past five o’clock.

  ‘Sugar. How long will I have to stay under here?’

  Vaguely wondered if the bird had flown away yet.

  ‘Maybe gone’.

  Just a thought.

  Could be though, the bird was just pretending. It might be hiding, waiting atop this or another nearby tree. Perhaps it was being patient in case Pol might be stupid enough to crawl out from beneath the tree’s protective canopy.

  Pol made a rueful smile.

  ‘Tough titty, sucker...’

  Chapter 33

  Yes!

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  He had it now!

  At last, Tinker had found a trace of his master’s distinctive odor albeit a faint one. Trouble was; it was mixed in amongst a myriad of other strange smells, which were now assaulting his nose, and he was finding it difficult to isolate it completely.

  No doubt about it though. He would know that aroma anywhere.

  “‘Pant.’”

  The dog’s tail wagged rapidly from side to side and his ears stood up as he lifted his head above the level of the grass, suddenly alert. He excitedly peered around the area. Problem was; the very light breeze, which carried the Pol-creature’s scent, was variable, as if it was being stirred around by unseen forces, and he did not know exactly from which direction it had come.

  “‘Mmmm.’”

  He mewed in anticipation as he eagerly turned around in a full circle, once, twice, three times. Close by, he could see nothing other than a sea of grass, which crowded up around his shoulders, so he bounced up onto his back legs on each turn in order to obtain a better view of his surroundings. Not much more to see. A few funny looking trees nearby and some taller trees away in the distance. Dominating his view to the right was an imposing cliff face, which stretched into the distance in both directions.

  Staring uncomprehendingly at the tall cliff, Tinker narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air again. Looking up at the sky, the dog noticed how bright sun was and realized how warm it had suddenly become. No wonder he was panting heavily.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  His doggy mind hesitated and his tail ceased its wagging as fear started tapping at the back of his mind, distracting him from his initial task. His animal instincts took over. Even a dog knows you cannot go from chilly, damp weather, to dry, hot sunshine in a matter of seconds.

  Instinct told him, something wasn’t quite right here.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Instinct told him to be careful.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Instinct told him not to go racing off in search of the elusive scent of his master.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Instinct told him danger lurked nearby.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Instinct told him to think before he acted.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  He lowered his head below the level of the grass and flattened his ears back against his head.

  Caution.

  The cliff, the strange trees and grass, and the multitude of new smells convinced him; this was not the same field. Not the field where he had trailed the Pol-creature. This was a different place entirely. It smelled different and it looked different.

  “‘Pant.’”

  The scent he had briefly smelled had disappeared.

  “‘Mmmm. Mmmm.’” he whined.

  Tinker made a worried face, and continued to stare up at the sky, tucked his tail between his legs. His legs slowly bent, lowered his body enough to allow the grass to fold over his head. Something was telling him he had to stay concealed. The strange bird-creature that had attacked him earlier might still be in the area. Would be foolish for him to race around like an idiot. Much better to take things slowly.

  Take care.

  An ominous foreboding welled up, swamped his mind, and sent his heart into overdrive. The strange surroundings, the heat, and the weird bird-creature; all failed to compute.

  Fear may be a primeval instinct that exists to prevent the subject from doing something stupid, like stroll around in the open when predators might be hunting in the vicinity. However, loyalty to the Pol-creature spurred Tinker on, and he refocused his thoughts on the problem of the Pol-creature’s whereabouts. Cast fear of the peculiar bird-creature to the back of his mind.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Tinker’s doggy mind made determined.

  He raised his snout and sniffed at the air. Reasoned how, if he could discover from which direction his master’s scent had been drifting, he might stand a chance of tracing the Pol-creature’s whereabouts. This thought lightened his mood slightly.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  But there was no trace of the Pol-creature’s scent.

  Tinker’s heart sank and a great sadness filled his being. Now, he would never know in which direction he should go.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  What to do?

  “‘Pant.’”

  Rather than run aimlessly around in circles, Tinker thought the correct course of action might be to stay where he was for the moment. Reasoned how, if he were to wait long enough, the Pol-creature might somehow return to this point. He may not have gone far and would be wondering where Tinker was.

  Made sense. Maybe.

  Tinker sat down. Made a sad face as he thought about this. Pictured the Pol-creature searching, going round in circles. If he were to go off in the wrong direction and the Pol-creature came back here, then there was a chance they would miss each other. If that happened, would the Pol-creature wait here? Or would he assume Tinker had made his way back home?

  Difficult to know.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  His simple mind tried to anticipate what a human-creature might do in such a situation as this one. Human-creatures did not think in the same way dogs did. The Pol-creature would always stay in one place and shout or whistle to let Tinker know where he was. Tinker would run hither and thither, maybe bark a few times, follow a trail, and sniff out the Pol-creature’s location. But, with no trail to follow, no whistle or shout, he was at a loss. He could run around shouting in the hope that the Pol-creature would hear him but such an action would also alert the weird bird-creature. Not a good idea.

  Hot, disheartened, tired, and a bit afraid, the dog decided he had little choice but to stay where he was, at least for the time being. He slowly stretched before turning around three ti
mes. Then, he lay down and curled into a tight ball. He carefully cupped a protective paw over his warm nose. Surrounding grasses conveniently bent above his small body, effectively providing him with both shade and cover. Pity the grass couldn’t offer him a drink as well.

  “‘Pant. Pant.’”

  Uttering a pitiful whine, he settled down to wait.

  “‘Mmmm. Mmmm. Grrr.’”

  Tinker closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

  If only he had taken a few steps over to his right...

  Chapter 34

  “That bloody boy still hasn’t come home,” said Joan as she stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped around the top of her head, all dressing gown, and slippers. She had just come downstairs after having a bath. She stared disdainfully at the sight of her husband with his cheeks bulging, hamster-like, and full of toast. His jaws worked in such a way Joan envisioned a cow chewing its cud and she winced at the sight of some marmalade oozing from the left-hand side of his mouth. A steaming mug of tea sat on the table by his side. Joan was under no illusion; Ted would not have made any tea for her.

  ‘Spiteful git.’

  Joan glanced down towards the radiator, half-expecting to see the dog curled up in his bed with his snout resting on the edge. He was not.

  “The dog’s not come home either,” mumbled Ted through a mouthful of toast. He did not sound the least bit bothered by Appollinaire’s continued absence.

  The sound of a low, rumbling fart emitted from the chair where Ted was sitting, and a sly smile played at the corners of his mouth. He knew the fart would annoy his wife. Served her right. Self-righteous prude. It was not as if she never farted.

  Joan wanted to shout at him but decided to hold her tongue.

  ‘How dare he? More interested in filling his fat belly than the fact his son was still missing.’

  With difficulty, Joan managed to keep her voice level as she said, “Doesn’t it worry you to think something might have happened to him?”

  “Nuh.”

  Ted made a low, grunting noise and noisily slurped some tea from his mug before taking another large bite from the slice of toast, which he was holding in his other hand. Crumbs fell onto his lap but he did not appear to notice them. Did not seem to care either. As far as he was concerned, it was Joan’s job to clean up after him. He was the man of the house and cleaning was a woman’s work.