Typical.
The Roc’s legs had proved to be much heavier than they looked. However, they might not be too heavy to drag along the ground, perhaps one at a time. But lifting both together was out of the question. Pol just was not strong enough.
But,
‘It’s not going to beat me.’
He never knew when to quit.
After taking a few preparatory deep breaths, Pol braced his legs. Feet apart. Flexed his muscles and lifted.
“Hup!”
This time, he managed to hold the weight and stand up without his legs dancing about as if they were alive. Obviously, the Roc’s legs were going to sway about as he walked. As long as he made steady with his steps, it should not bounce about too much. He should be able to manage. Hopefully.
Tinker watched Pol’s ministrations with obvious amusement, probably happy to let his master do all the hard work.
Putting a bit more beef into it, Pol juggled the broken spear-cum-yoke into the most comfortable position on his shoulder, and took a cautious step forward.
“Oops. Careful.”
‘Yes.’
Now he had the idea.
“How the heck did you manage to fly with these ruddy great things hanging beneath you?” he grumbled and cast an accusing glare at the remainder of the dead Roc.
“‘Urrrff,’” said Tinker by way of encouragement.
Once he had got the hang of balancing the yoke on his shoulder, it did not feel so heavy and Pol figured he should be able to cope as long as he was careful. He walked slowly so the yoke did not bounce about on his shoulder. Tinker was happy to trot along by his side.
Because he had to keep his eyes focused on everything around, and above him, Pol almost lost his footing on more than one occasion. Whenever he inadvertently stepped on a loose stone, he had to do a quick shuffle with his feet whilst staggering forward or backward to keep his balance and try to counteract the wild swaying of the bird’s legs.
“Bugger! Shit! Sod!” Just a few of the words he used.
Pol winced when he stood on yet another sharp stone. Angrily swore beneath his breath. Whenever a small stone somehow find its way into his temporary grass ‘shoes’ and dig into his flesh, he lost his cool and would angrily exclaim, “Asshole!”
‘I know I’m going to suffer for this later on.’
“Ok. So. You think this is bloody funny, Tinker. But it’s sodding painful. It’s all right for you—you’ve got paws like leather. All I’ve got is a thin bit of pink skin on my dainty little feet.”
Pol swore the dog was laughing at him as it peered up through slitted eyes whilst panting heavily. Pol shrugged and made a wide grin. It did not matter if Tinker was laughing at him. He was just glad the dog was there.
“Go on then. Laugh as much as you want to, you daft dog.”
Once he had removed the offending stone, Pol would reposition the yoke on his shoulder and carry on with his journey.
With Tinker trotting alongside, Pol made good progress. It took no more than fifteen minutes to reach the cave even though Pol had to stop and re-balance his makeshift yoke from one shoulder to the other, on more than one occasion.
“Pigging thing,” he muttered under his breath. “Keep still can’t you?”
He wished he had had the forethought to bring his fleece with him. If he had, he could have used the fleece as padding on his aching shoulders.
“Not you Tinker,” he added with a grin...
Chapter 54
When Pol and Tinker eventually reached the cave, Pol dumped his cargo on the ground and gratefully sat down on a nearby rock. Breathing heavily, he used his handkerchief, dirty as it was, to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Tinker jumped up onto the rock to sit beside him. Pol casually stroked the dog’s head whilst peering around the area. Sweat stung his eyes and he used the end of the right-hand sleeve of his shirt to wipe it away.
“Bugger,” he groaned wearily as he pulled the front of his sweat-soaked shirt away from his chest in an attempt to allow the air to circulate. “It’s bloody hot, boy. And, I’m sure it’s getting hotter by the hour.”
Tinker panted his agreement.
Pol let go of his shirt and it immediately flattened against his chest. Stuck like glue.
‘I’m bloody boiling!’
Sweat continued to pour from every pore in his body, both his shirt, and his jeans were sticking to his skin. To top it all, his boxer shorts had crept up the crack of his backside and were starting to chafe.
‘That’s all I need. Now everything between my legs will be red raw.’
He glanced down towards the river. The water looked inviting.
‘Wonder if it’s safe to go for a swim.’
“What do you think, Tinker? I bet you fancy going for a swim as well, don’t you?”
Tinker, unable to sweat through his skin, sat open-mouthed, panting heavily with his tongue hanging out; the only way he, as a dog, could perspire. As if in answer to Pol’s question, Tinker nodded his head, just the once, and Pol quietly laughed.
“Ugh. Of course you do. Good boy.”
But,
He was not so sure. He had no idea what weird fishes may be lurking nearby watching them in anticipation. He shuddered at an image of Amazonian Piranhas stripping an unfortunate animal to the bone.
Urgh!
He decided against a swim for the time being, at least until he was sure it was safe to do so.
Even though he was hot, thirsty, and sore, Pol was happy now he had found Tinker, or, rather, Tinker had found him.
“What a hero you are, Tinker. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be Roc meat now.”
A broad, cheerful grin spread across his face.
In Pol’s mind, he and his dog had succeeded in killing a flying dragon; had chopped its legs off, and managed to haul them all the way back to their den. Yes, it was ‘their’ den, his and Tinker’s. Friends together.
“You wild beast, you.” He threw an arm around Tinker’s shoulders and hugged the dog to him. Heaving a sigh, Pol was happy to, once again, have his best friend by his side.
Tinker looked as if he was also happy to be there.
Pol glanced at his watch and made a worried frown.
‘This can’t be right. There’s something funny going on here.’
According to his watch, the time was now a few minutes past one o’clock and the number in the date window read, ‘thirteen!’
Fair enough. The watch must be right. He guessed he had been there for about a day but he could not help but wonder why the sun had never moved any further across the sky. Looked as if it had hardly moved since he had arrived the previous day.
‘Only explanation I can think of is, it must’ve set and risen again while I was asleep.’
But,
He knew that was not right. The sun had been this high in the sky when he had crawled out of the cave at about seven o’clock, according to his watch.
Pol glanced at the dog.
“This place must be playing havoc with my body-clock. If the date on my watch is right, and the time, then the sun is wrong.”
Tinker saw the look on Pol’s face and exuded a quiet, ‘Woof,’ as if he was agreeing with whatever Pol was thinking.
Pol shook his head. The lack of passage of the sun was puzzling him.
“It isn’t the same day, I know. It was about half past seven last night when I was collecting water from the river, I know it was. So, if this is right,” he nodded at his watch, “it means today is my second day here, and, it’s just past one o’clock in the afternoon, I think.”
He shielded his eyes with his hand as he stared up at the sky, a puzzled frown furrowing his forehead.
Raising his wrist up to his ear, Pol listened but could hear nothing, then, he made a face when he remembered his watch was powered by battery.
‘Of course it won’t tick! You thick block.’
“Got to try and get my head around this, somehow.”
�
�How can the sun still be in its zenith when I know for a fact, this morning, the last time I looked at my watch, it was well past seven am. It took me most of yesterday afternoon and evening to build the porch around the entrance to my cave, and I’ve been to sleep since then.’
“So. What the heck’s going on here?”
Pol did some quick mental calculations about how long he must have actually been asleep.
‘Sleep by half eleven, maybe midnight. Up about, what, seven, or, thereabouts? Maybe. Set out to collect some grass about nine. Could be. Killed me a Roc about ten, perhaps half past ten. Uhuh. Back here with Tinker by one, which it is now.’
He pondered this for a moment.
‘Could be right. Works out ok, time-wise by the hour. No wonder I’m bloody hungry. I could eat a horse, no, a Roc.’
He smiled at this latter thought and heaved a heavy sigh.
“Ok,” he muttered. “Let’s try and work this out.”
Tinker watched as Pol silently ticked off the hours on his fingers, without comment.
The dog had no idea what the Pol-creature was thinking, or what he had been talking about, and he didn’t care either. What he was interested in was having a good drink of water, then being able to curl up in the shade somewhere; being a black dog was no fun in this heat.
Pol continued to mull over his problem regarding the sun’s position.
“I still think this sun is all wrong, it’s hardly moved at all since yesterday. Twenty-six hours in the same place. Definitely something wrong.”
‘Bugger.’
Using his fingers to wipe sweat away from his eyes did little to alleviate the stinging and he resorted to using the front of his shirt to do the job. It helped, a little, but not much.
“Sod it,” he huffed letting the front of his shirt hang loose. “I’m knackered after all this. I feel like I haven’t slept for a week. Everything’s aching, and I’m bloody thirsty.” He glanced at the still panting Tinker. “What about you, pal?”
Tinker, did not know what the Pol-creature was asking him, but licked his lips by way of response.
Pol carefully lowered himself off the rock lest he aggravated his aching muscles and went to retrieve one of his boots from its position by the entrance to the cave. Returning with the boot of water, he scooped off a thin layer of scum and wiped his dirty hand on the front of his jeans. Scooped out a handful of water, which he offered to Tinker. The dog quickly lapped the water from Pol’s hand and looked expectantly for more. Pol obliged and continued to do so until Tinker had had enough to drink.
Taking a chance, Pol scooped another handful of water from his boot using his other hand and, with disregard for any consequences, and loudly sucked it into his mouth.
“Aaah,” he gasped, shaking his head and shuddering in disgust. “It tastes like crap.”
Nevertheless, he drank another four handfuls of water before deciding enough was enough.
“Yuk! If this kills me, you’ll have to manage on your own, old dog. I don’t mind if you have to eat me, as long as you don’t let some other animal have me for its dinner.”
He made a half-smile, half grimace, before closing his eyes. He allowed his head to droop so his chin was resting on his chest.
Pol put his lack of energy down to the effort of fighting the Roc and carrying the two severed legs all the way back to the cave. He absently stroked Tinker’s head and quietly grumbled.
“I’m stuffed if I know what this’s all about. I really am.”
Too weary to ponder any further, Pol shoved the problem of time to the back of his mind. His mouth oozed saliva when the thought of the feast to come, which caused him to realize just how hungry, he was. He had not eaten anything since before landing in this shit-hole of a place, wherever it may be, and his stomach was beginning to complain.
“I bet you’re hungry as well,” he said drowsily looking at Tinker from beneath lowered eyelids. “How about a nice juicy piece of this bird?”
He nodded towards the two legs lying nearby.
Tinker ‘woofed’ his agreement and licked his lips in anticipation.
Pol had already decided he was not going to waste time trying to pluck all those tough-looking feathers out of the Roc’s legs. Not when he had got something called fire at his disposal. Fire would do the job for him. It would not take him long to collect enough wood for the fire, if he could persuade himself to shift his backside, although he would have to gather some extra pieces of wood to enable him to keep the fire going throughout the coming night.
He shivered when he thought of how he had been almost unprotected the previous night. At least tonight, he would have Tinker by his side to warn him if any unwanted visitor should come sniffing around.
It might be a good idea to keep a stash of wood by the side of his igloo-cum-porch where he could just reach out and throw the odd log on the fire without having to venture outside.
“Right. Let’s get going then, eh?”
Pol wearily pushed himself away from the rock and headed towards a small deadfall, which looked as if it had been washed or blown up against the base of the cliff at some time in the past.
Tinker happily padded along by his side.
After returning from collecting an armful of twigs and a few handfuls of brown dead leaves, plus a few of the smaller pieces of wood, Pol kneeled by his makeshift fireplace, and played with his fire-starting bow whilst Tinker sat nearby and watched with interest. Once he had got the fire going, Pol used his penknife to hack off a large chunk of meat from one of the legs, feathers and all, and threw it onto the fire where it quickly began to bubble and squeak. The smell of burning feathers filled the air.
‘No need to stand on ceremony here...’
Chapter 55
After greedily gulping down almost half a pint of the foul-tasting water from the second boot, Pol shuddered and made a face before he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then he let out a deep, long burp. Followed this with a satisfied, “Aaah,” and another shudder.
An overly loud fart rent the air.
‘I’ll have to wash my clothes next time I’m down by the river, especially my underpants’ he thought with a grin.
Tinker lay near Pol’s feet and crunched happily on the remains of a bone from which he had already stripped all the meat. To the dog’s credit, he had not seemed bothered by the taste of the water, he had happily lapped it up straight out of Pol’s boot as if there was no tomorrow. Pol wondered if it was possible for dogs to turn off their taste buds. Not only did Tinker drink the water but he also scoffed burnt meat as if it was the best thing on the planet.
Ok.
So. The meat might have been a bit burnt on the outside, same as if it had been cooked on an outdoor barbeque by a not very good guy who had been more interested in chatting up the pretty, little blonde girl from next door. Nevertheless, it was cooked all the way through; none of those nasty, bug-bearing pink bits in it. It had tasted good, nice, and juicily sweet, although surprisingly salty, and a bit like chicken with a hint of greasy duck.
Whilst he and Tinker had hungrily devoured the chunk of meat he had cooked first, Pol had hoisted the remainder of the first leg onto the fire, turning it at regular intervals to ensure it also got cooked all the way through. When he guessed the leg was done, he rolled it off the fire and left it to one side. Coarse sandy particles coated the side in contact with the ground.
Pol surveyed the remaining meat from this first, cooked leg, and wondered whether he could manage just one more mouthful. Decided he would be pushing it a bit and inspected the second, uncooked leg.
‘What I’m really going to need is some kind of a stew-pan so I can cut the meat up into small chunks and boil it in a stew, like a proper cook would do.’
He glanced around but knew he would not be able to find anything suitable.
‘There’s got to be an easy way of doing this. If I can’t re-cook the meat as I need it, it’s going to go off in this heat.’
Ok.
Firstly, he decided to cook the second leg the same way as he had cooked the first one only this time he would cut it into large chunks and roast each piece in turn. Then, he would have to come up with some way of protecting and storing the cooked meat for future consumption. Pointless cooking all of the meat just to let it go moldy plus, he did not want any thieving predators, wolves, lions, polar bears, and the like sneaking in and nicking it when he and Tinker were not around.
What he should really do was construct some kind of larder, build it with rocks, so it was secure. He might not be able to do anything to stop marauding insects from getting into his larder, but, hopefully, he and Tinker would be able to eat most of the meat before any thieving bugs could do too much damage.
He changed his mind about his need for a stew pan and started to hack large lumps of meat with his penknife before he clumsily hurled the first piece into the still roaring fire. He would leave this to cook whilst he collected some suitable rocks with which to build his larder.
Satisfied the Pol-creature was not going to venture far Tinker ignored his master and continued to gnaw at the bone he was holding between his paws...
Chapter 56
Within an hour, Pol had managed to construct a decent-sized larder, just outside, and to the rear of his igloo-porch. The area was about three feet square inside the construction and just as high. The walls were a good one-foot thick, the floor was lined with flat-ish stones, and the roof was formed with three large, flat rocks. The only way to gain access to the larder, in any civilized manner, was to lift one of the flat rocks off the roof. Pol had even arranged three large flat slabs of rock inside the larder, which would act as shelves.
Standing back, Pol breathed hard through his mouth as he wiped his dirty hanky across his sweat soaked forehead, eyes, nose, and neck, and admired his handiwork.
‘Not bad, even if I do say so myself.’
Showing his teeth in a wide grin, he threw Tinker a wink and said,
“I’m getting to be quite good at this building lark, don’t you think?”
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 15