Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere)

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Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 16

by Robert William Saul Harvey


  Tinker did not reply.

  Having finished mentally patting himself on the back, Pol turned his attention to the remaining meat, which was still heaped on the ground next to the fire. The first chunk had been turned over a few times by Pol whilst he had been building his larder and it was cooked more evenly than the first leg. He had removed this slab of meat, dumped it onto a rock to cool, and placed a second piece onto the fire.

  Pol had earlier decided to leave the skin and the burnt stubs of feathers on the meat to act as some kind of protection.

  ‘It’ll have to do as a protective wrapper, for now.’

  Pol sat on a nearby boulder and waited for a few minutes until it looked as if the first piece of meat had cooled down. When he thought it was cool enough to handle, Pol grabbed hold of it by a piece of protruding bone and lifted it off the rock. Tinker watched with interest as Pol lifted the meat and carried it, pendulum-like, the few feet to his new larder. Once he had dropped the meat onto one of the ‘shelves’ in the larder, and placed the remaining meat from the first leg on a different shelf, Pol slid the final rock back into place on the roof.

  “There you go,” he muttered as he absently wiped his hands on his jeans.

  Now, he guessed the food was as secure as he could make it. How long it would remain edible in this appalling heat was another matter, although he hoped the higher than normal salt content might act as some kind of preservative.

  Pol returned to sit on the rock nearest the fire and wait until the rest of the meat was cooked. A smile creased his face as he watched Tinker gnawing on the dead bird’s leg bone. Seemed as if every muscle in his body ached. Sweating profusely, Pol eyed the last of the water in his dirty boot.

  ‘If I drink the rest of that there won’t be any left for Tinker to wash down his dinner with. But, if I don’t drink it, I’ll fall over.’

  No contest.

  He drank the water.

  Once he was feeling better, he and Tinker could go down to the river and drink their fill. Bring more water back in the Rigger boots.

  The fire was no more than a small pile of glowing embers by the time all of the meat was cooked and Pol decided to allow it to go out. He had got the hang of this fire-lighting lark now and could light another any time he wanted to. No reason to burn wood when there was no need. The small pile of wood he had gathered earlier ought to be enough to last through the night if he did not relight the fire until just before he and Tinker turned in.

  It did not take Pol long to put the rest of the meat, bar one small piece, into the larder. The last slice, he shared with Tinker.

  Whilst he sat looking down, towards the river, the problem of being able to find enough food entered his mind. He and Tinker might be ok for the moment, but the meat from the dead Roc’s legs was not going to last them for long, even if he did manage to keep it from going off too quickly.

  ‘What I have to do now is try to find some kind of veg and fruit. I’ll need a varied diet to stop me from clogging up inside. Let’s see if I can catch me one of those fish, or perhaps two, from the river.’

  Pol licked his lips when the thought of fish and chips crept into his mind.

  ‘Don’t know about chips though.’

  Yawning, Pol leaned back against the cliff face, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed his ankles.

  ‘I’ll have to make sure I vary my diet if I’m going to live through this. I can’t keep eating meat all the time.’

  Pol’s main worry, apart from how he was going to find a way back home, was whether he would be able to identify those items that might be edible and would not leave him writhing about on the ground, screaming in agony, with painful stomach cramps, or worse. Anything, which looked like a mushroom, was out; there were far too many poisonous types, and he had no idea know how he would be able to tell them apart. He would need to be very careful about which berries to eat as well.

  His mind threw up a picture of scurvy-ridden sailors in times past and he made a mental note; to look out for some fruit like oranges, lemons, and limes for their vitamin C content...

  Chapter 57

  Joan was standing in front of Appollinaire’s bedroom window as she had done every afternoon since he had disappeared. She stared hopefully down at the rain-soaked street below, as if she was expecting Appollinaire and Tinker to appear at any moment.

  ‘Come on, you silly boy. Come on.’

  Wishful thinking.

  No matter how many times, or how much she prayed to a God she did not believe in, she received no answer, no sign, nothing to indicate her prayers had been heard. If a God did exist, was he, or she, ignoring her because she did not believe? Or, could it be she was right not to believe because there was no God? She had taken her marriage vows in church, at Ted’s insistence, but she had not believed then, and she did not believe now. Ted’s parents had been very religious although not Catholic as she had thought they might be, them being Spanish and all that. Ted sort of, half believed but had never been to church since their wedding, although, she had heard him cursing God on more occasions than she could remember.

  Today was the eighth day of August. Twenty-seven whole days since her son had first disappeared. Joan had lost count of the number of times she had entered this bedroom and looked out of this window, waited for Appollinaire to come sauntering up the road as if nothing had happened. Some days, it was more than once. Others, it was just the once. Each time, as she turned away from the window, her heart was heavy, and going down the stairs was akin to descending deeper into a dark place from which she could see no return.

  ‘It’s almost as if he just disappeared off the face of the Earth,’ thought Joan forlornly. ‘How can someone just disappear like that without leaving some sort of trace? And the dog, as well. It just doesn’t make sense.’

  Although she was not one to cry easily, her eyes filled with water when she thought about all those times she had nagged at the boy to make his bed, tidy his room and do the washing-up, take the dog a walk, get off his backside and get a job. Not to mention the numerous times she had goaded him to get out and find himself somewhere else to live and take the dog with him. She had made it plain she had not wanted either him or the dog around any more.

  She had cursed and hollered during the birth process. The ignominy of it. Legs up in the air, Ted, dressed in a mask and gown, holding her left leg whilst a nurse held her right leg. Everyone including her drunken husband staring at the thing she had thought of as the most disgusting part of her body—the first time, and the last, Ted had ever set eyes on it. Giving birth had been the worst pain she had ever encountered and she blamed, not Ted, but the baby, Appollinaire. He was the one who was trying to split her in two. He was the one who had forced his huge head through a much smaller opening, which the midwife had had to cut with a pair of scissors. A pair of scissors, for shit’s sake! And then, after the baby and the afterbirth had been safely evacuated from her body, a stupidly incompetent student nurse had stitched her up again, without a hint of anesthetic!

  Ever since that moment, Joan had harbored an unnatural hatred for the boy. Wished she had never had him.

  But,

  Now he was gone, her heart was aching and a deep regret gnawed at her mind, day and night. If only she could change things, she would. She might even start to believe, if it would bring her son back home—where he belonged.

  She raised her eyes and stared blankly at the thick gray clouds scurrying across the sky leaving behind them wide sheets of wind-driven rain. Over the top of the hills behind the houses opposite, she could see a well-defined rainbow arcing neatly over a solitary oak tree as a shaft of sunlight found its way through a rare gap in the clouds. However, the rainbow meant nothing to her and failed to lift her spirits. She did not believe such a natural occurrence could herald good news. She was feeling so low she doubted whether a blazing summer’s day or a large lottery win would be enough to cheer her up.

  Gulping back a sob, she thought, ‘Doesn�
��t matter what the bloody weather’s like. It can piss down forever for all I care. Just bring Appollinaire back home.’

  And,

  Ted did not help either. He did not seem to care whether Appollinaire was dead or alive. Did not care what had happened to him. Did not care about anything other than beer, horseracing and that brassy blonde bit behind the bar. How many times had he screwed her, if he had at all? In Joan’s mind, most of the men in the village must have had her so why not Ted?

  The thought of Ted, fat, drunk Ted, cavorting with the cow with the big tits increased the anger inside her. And the fact she was unable to prove or disprove it only served to fuel her anger more.

  ‘Useless fat slob.’

  The anger boiled inside her and made her visibly tense up as it sent her heart racing. Her blood pressure soared and fired a sudden sharp, stabbing pain into her heart, which turned into a crushing pressure, which quickly radiated up into her neck, then into her left shoulder and down her left arm. She groaned as she instinctively clasped her right hand to her left arm and doubled over as she started to gasp for air.

  ‘No! Don’t you—dare!’

  “Don’t!” she whispered before staggering backwards for a few steps. She attempted to turn around with the intention of making her way towards the door.

  ‘If only I can…’

  The door suddenly seemed so far away. Too far away.

  And,

  She never made it.

  As she stretched her right hand out and leaned forward, trying to reach for the door handle her legs gave way beneath her and she landed heavily on her knees before keeling over, crumpling into a heap on the floor at the bottom of the bed.

  “Don’t!” she croaked weakly as darkness enveloped her mind...

  Chapter 58

  The air was hotter and drier than it had been and seemed to be getting hotter with each passing day. The red-yellow or yellow-red sun continued to shine steadily down from the cloudless sky. It still puzzled Pol why the sun was still high in the sky. It was almost as if the sun was static, or the planet had ceased to revolve on its axis. The only reason he could think of for this was, perhaps it might be because whatever planet he was on was turning very slowly on its axis as it orbited the sun; with this side of the planet always facing the sun.

  ‘Something like the way the moon never shows its dark side as it revolves around the planet Earth.’

  There he goes again, thinking he was on a different planet.

  ‘Still doesn’t explain why my watch says it’s now six o’clock on the evening of the thirteenth, thirty-one hours, and the damn sun doesn’t seem to have moved an inch! This place is bloody weird.’

  He huffed wearily and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand.

  “And, it’s so bloody hot.”

  ‘Roasting.’

  “I’m bloody boiling here, Tinker.” He glanced wearily down at the dog. “What about you, old chum?”

  Tinker peered up at him from beneath heavy eyelids and continued to pant heavily.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Pol squirmed uneasily on the boulder he was sitting on and slid his left hand beneath his buttock. Something was digging in, made it feel uncomfortable.

  “Sodding rock’s not as flat as it looks,” he moaned.

  Shuffling on his bum, Pol slid an inch or two over to one side where he found the boulder to be a bit kinder to his rear end, no sharp bits sticking into him.

  Squinting up at the sun, he made a grimace, and cursed the heat.

  “Good job there’s plenty of water on this planet.”

  Shaking his head, the sudden thought of having to spend the rest of his life in this forsaken place made him shudder. The idea frightened him, or perhaps it excited, him. Either way, it looked as if he and Tinker were going to be stuck there, if not forever, at least for the time being.

  Neither Pol, nor Tinker had ventured to seek cover inside the cave. It was like an oven in there. Almost hot enough to bake bread, or roast a Roc. At least there was a slight breeze albeit a hot one as the air drifted up towards to the top of the cliff.

  Tinker had quickly made himself at home and appeared to have accepted their current situation as he happily dozed in what little shade was cast by Pol’s newly built larder.

  “Wish I could be as laid back about all this as you are, pooch,” whispered Pol to the sleeping dog.

  It was only when Pol wondered why Tinker did not appear to be bothered that he realized just how calm and relaxed he was in himself.

  “Why aren’t I running round in circles trying to find a way back home?”

  ‘Weird.’

  “I feel as if all of this is somehow ok. It’s not and I know it’s not, but I just can’t be bothered to do anything about it.”

  ‘It’s too silly for words.’

  “But this place… I dunno it’s as if it’s trying its best to keep content for some reason.”

  ‘But, why?’

  Assuming, somehow, he had stumbled through some weird time-door, or a wormhole, and ended up in some other world, which was not Earth he ought to be scared stiff. But he was not. He should also be spending all of his spare time trying to find something, anything, which might show him how to get back home, or at least explain why he was there in the first place. But he was not.

  As he pondered this, a sudden thought occurred to him. He peered down at Tinker, who was quietly snoring, and wondered, ‘How come you ended up here with me, Tinker? You weren’t with me when it happened. How did you manage to follow me through the wormhole, or whatever it was?’

  Tinker stirred in his sleep, raised his ears, and whined, as if to say, “‘I don’t know. You tell me.’”

  Pol smiled at the dog and continued with the thought, ‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here, old buddy. I might be dead now if you hadn’t jumped in to save me from that bloody great Roc.’

  Pol reached down to stroke the dog’s head and cooed, “Good boy.”

  Tinker, roused from his sleep and peered up at Pol, wagged his tail before closing his eyes again, obviously enjoying the attention.

  Another question crossed Pol’s mind, one to which he could think of no immediate answer.

  ‘The ground is bone dry. The grass is also dry, although it’s still a bit green. And the leaves on the trees are green. So, it’s got to rain here sometimes. But, why haven’t I seen any clouds in the sky?’

  He made confused and scanned the still clear sky.

  ‘There has to be some clouds around, somewhere.’

  “I know there’s water in this world. I can see the river from here. And it’s hot, so it’s got to rain sometime. Everyone knows warm air and water make clouds.”

  ‘Unless,’ he thought, ‘there aren’t any seas or oceans.’

  He folded his arms and made a serious frown.

  ‘But, if that’s right, where does the river run? Rivers always end up running into a sea or a lake of some sort. Don’t they?’

  He smiled benignly at Tinker and shook his head. Tinker, as if he knew he was being watched, opened one eye and wagged his tail again, stirring up a small cloud of dust as his tail thumped on the ground.

  Pol clicked his tongue.

  Taking this as an invitation, the dog wearily clambered to his feet, and jumped up onto the boulder to sit beside his master.

  “Where the heck, are all the clouds, Tinker?”

  Tinker said nothing. He did not know the answer, or if he did, he was not telling.

  Ever since the moment he had ‘landed’ in this place, Pol had not seen any hint of a cloud, and it was beginning to worry him.

  “It’s got to rain sometimes. There’s grass and there are trees with green leaves. Things do grow, and they need water. So where’s the rain?”

  Pol shook his head again, this time as if in defeat, and turned his attention back to the present...

  Chapter 59

  With the intention of stocking up with water, Pol and Tinker headed back dow
n towards the river. All the time, Pol kept a wary eye out for anything, anything at all, which might present a danger to them? For all he knew, there might be any number of wild animals watching them from the cover of the forest, or more of those beastly Rocs watching them from on high.

  Once they were safely down by the river, Pol gathered some of the larger branches lying by the umbrella trees with the aim of lugging them back up the hill to make a fire. He also refilled the boots he had previously emptied of water after allowing them to soak in the river for a few minutes.

  Once he and Tinker had both drank their fill from the river, Pol set about trying to make two baskets in which he might be able to store some water. Using some of the grass, which was growing along the edge of the river, he set about weaving the blades into something resembling a pot. He then mixed plenty of wet mud from the riverbank with the grass, plastered it inside and outside, and hoped this would make his baskets waterproof to some extent.

  Not exactly round, or square even. More a wobbly oblong shape. Neither pot looked like the other. Neither resembled any pot Pol had ever seen.

  ‘Never mind. They’ll do. As long as they can hold water.’

  He left the so-called pots on the riverbank, in sunlight, so they could dry naturally.

  ‘Should be ready by tomorrow with a bit of luck.’

  Satisfied with his efforts, Pol hoisted a large bundle of twigs and branches onto his shoulder. Then he and Tinker trudged all the way back up the hill, all the time keeping a wary lookout for Rocs or other wild animals.

  Tinker did his bit by selecting a small branch which was more than four times his own length and dragging it all the way back to the cave, earning himself a pat on his head.

  “Good boy,” said Pol.

  The effort of carrying the wood, the oppressive heat, and the saltiness of the bird’s flesh, plus his previous efforts at building a larder, all had made Pol sweat buckets and he was thirsty again. He quickly drank a third of the water from one of his newly filled boots. Tinker had to make do with a drink from the other boot. They may be pals, but Pol did not fancy drinking from the same boot from which Tinker had drunk.

 

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