“Bugger.”
He was hot. So hot. So very, very hot. Cooking from the inside, or so it seemed.
Looking at Tinker, sadness filled Pol’s mind. He was on the verge of crying. Unbidden, a sob escaped from his dry, salt-encrusted lips and he struggled to keep it together.
“Sorry, pal. Never thought it would get as hot as this in here.”
‘Mustn’t. Mustn’t cry. Got to stay focused.’
The dream had been so vivid, so real, so, so…
“Sod it!”
The girl had seemed so real. He wanted to turn over and go back to sleep so he could return to his dream and meet her again. Trouble was, by this time, he was wide-awake and gasping for a drink.
“Sugar,” he whispered. Turned over and shuffled up onto his hands and knees.
‘I’ve got to go get a drink.’
Tinker was sitting up by this time, at Pol’s feet. Watched with interest as Pol slowly crawled out through the entrance to his cave on his hands and knees.
The dog followed Pol outside.
Having made sure there were no animals nearby, waiting to attack him, Pol stood up, and stretched as he warily glanced around.
Tinker stood by his side, quietly sniffing the air.
The sun, over to the left, was slightly lower in the sky, but was still at about the ‘quarter-past’ mark, assuming twelve o’clock to be in line to the cliff top. ‘Twenty-five-past’ would put it somewhere down on the far horizon.
‘This still isn’t right.’
Pol shook his head. Quickly turned his head to the right and caught his breath in stunned amazement.
“What the Hell?” he cried quietly, almost a whisper.
He could clearly see a second sun hovering above the top of the cliff. This was different to the first, red-yellow sun. This one was a deep red in color. The one over to Pol’s left was the original sun. It was a lot smaller than this new red sun. It was a good bet the yellow sun had to be a lot nearer than the new, red sun was.
Pol blinked and wondered why he hadn’t noticed this second sun before now.
“Two suns! Two. No wonder it’s so bloody hot!”
Tinker canted his head to the left and looked at up at Pol in a quizzical, doggy manner. Wondered why the Pol-creature was so upset.
Pol’s mind boggled at the idea of there being two suns.
Boggle.
Pol reasoned that if he were not careful, he would end up being toasted to a crisp beneath these two suns.
Back down on his hands and knees, he reached into the cave, and grabbed hold of his crumpled sweatshirt and dragged it out. He removed his thin shirt, and put the thicker sweatshirt on in its place. Hoped the longer sleeves of the sweatshirt might offer him a bit more protection against the damaging rays of the two suns.
‘Got to make that hat I promised myself.’
The sweatshirt smelled as bad as it looked. Pol made a face at the stink. He realized he would have to wash both himself and his clothes at some point, soon.
‘Bet Tinker could do with a bath as well.’
Once covered, Pol dropped the tee shirt by the entrance to the cave and walked over to his larder with the idea of getting some water so he and Tinker could both have a drink.
He taken the trouble to cover each container with a thin flat stone in the hope this might prevent creepy-crawlies from getting into the water.
Standing next to his larder, Pol pushed one of the covering flat rocks to one side, reached in, and, using both hands, carefully lifted one of the water pots, complete with makeshift lid, out of the larder.
He pulled a face when he lifted the lid off and peered into the pot.
Yuk!
The water looked and smelled disgusting. There was a thin green-gray scum and a couple of unidentifiable insects floating on top. The smell was like something akin to that of rotten eggs.
‘Don’t know how you guys managed to get in there,’ he thought. ‘Serves you right.’
“Ugh. There’s something a bit ‘yuk’ been going on in here. Suppose the water, and the grass, might have both reacted together in a funny way.”
He looked down at Tinker, who had followed him in the hope of also getting a drink.
“I am not going to drink that! What do you think, boy?”
He allowed his dog to sniff the water. Tinker backed off and made a whine.
“Don’t blame you,” said Pol wrinkling his nose.
Holding the pot at arm’s length, Pol carried it about ten feet down the hill and emptied the contents onto the ground. The slimy water quickly soaked into the ground, leaving the green scum to dry on top of the damp dust where it quickly turned a dark-brown colour.
Pol stood staring down towards the river.
“I’ve got to find a better way of storing water, Tinker. We can’t nip down to the river every time we need a drink. It’s far too dangerous.”
This time, though, that was exactly what they would have to do.
After pulling his Rigger boots on, he picked up his shirt, two spears, and his bow and arrows. Pol then clicked his tongue and patted a thigh as a signal for Tinker to come with him...
Chapter 64
Seeing how Tinker and he had not suffered any ill effects after previously drinking directly from the river, Pol decided to just, go for it. At least, if he survived, it would save him the effort of having to keep boiling water before drinking it.
Fishes scattered as he reached down to scoop up handfuls of water, which he greedily gulped down with reckless abandon. Tinker greedily lapped up water a few feet further downstream.
‘If it kills me, then, so be it. At least I won’t die thirsty.’
Fully hydrated once more, Pol crawled beneath the protective branches of the nearest umbrella tree. Decided it was time to put his thinking cap on. Time to rack his brains, and see if he could remember anything from all of those natural history programs, he had watched over the years, which might help to solve his problem of water storage.
With Tinker curled up by his feet, lounging in safety beneath the umbrella tree on the riverbank, Pol’s brain did not let him down. Within a matter of minutes, he had come up with an answer to the problem of water storage. If there was one thing Pol was good at, it was being able to remember those things that interested him.
Because the ground was mainly dust-covered rock around the area of his cave, Pol decided to adapt an idea that came to mind. He would not be able to dig a hole, obviously, so, instead, he would construct a small upright pit using rocks, as flat as he could find, in a similar fashion to the larder he had previously built. If the walls were about a foot thick, set in a rough circle, with an enclosed area about eighteen inches across, and about eighteen inches tall, it ought to be strong enough, and large enough, to hold a fair amount of water. To compensate for the slope of the hill, the front wall would have to be slightly taller, from top to bottom, and the two sidewalls more triangular than rectangular. Of course, he would need to line the whole of the inside with a thick layer of clay to prevent any of the water from escaping, but he was confident he had be able to carry enough water back from the river to fill it once the clay was dry. It might take him a fair few trips, but what the heck, he was beginning to get used to traipsing up and down the hill. Besides, they had not come across any hungry wild animals yet and there did not seem to be any more of those bloody great birds around.
Glancing at his bow and arrows, and the spears lying by his side, confidence in his ability to defend himself boosted his morale...
Chapter 65
Tinker took his time sniffing around the new construction and appeared to give it his blessing when he cocked a leg and peed on one corner.
Pol grinned at the dog before carefully studying the rough pot he had emptied earlier. He thought the grass might have dried out too quickly and caused the lining to crack in numerous places. Had allowed water to seep in and mix with the soft grass he had used. The cracks might even have been caused by him lifting the
pots into the larder. When the pot flexed the stress would have cracked the mud where it had dried and shrunk.
Not to worry, it would be different with the new reservoir he was building. There would be no flexing of the sides and he would make sure there was no grass involved in its construction. If the mud did crack, he would simply add more. Repeating this until the reservoir proved to be watertight.
Pol, with one of the empty, cracked pots resting on his knees, reasoned, he might be able to use it to carry more wet mud up from the river.
Whilst they were down by the river, he and Tinker would again drink their fill of water. Then, once the mud in the water tank was sufficiently dry, he would bring water back up to his new storage tank in two new pots he was going to make. Waste of time trying to repair the two cracked pots.
Each of the new pots would be made from closely interwoven thin peeled branches from an umbrella tree and lined with a thick layer of mud.
‘Great...’
Pol might have been a bit of a lazybones back at home, where everything necessary for a relatively comfortable life had been handed to him on a plate, so to speak, notwithstanding his need to do the washing-up, vacuum the carpets, dust, and keep his bedroom clean. Shelter, water, food, and the like, had all been provided for him. But, here, he only had his wits and his own resourcefulness to help him, and Tinker, to survive.
Once they were safely down by the river, after slaking his thirst, he washed his shirt in the river as best he could and hung it on the branches of an umbrella tree to dry.
Because he had left his fire-bow and the concave stone up at the cave, Pol set about making a yet another bow, and was quickly able to find a similar, but larger stone in which to boil some water. Soaking thin branches in hot water would make them easier to bend.
As luck would have it, the stone he found was more than three times the size of the original stone so he would be able to boil more water.
Pol quickly set about scooping handfuls of mud from the riverbank using a large stick to rake it up first.
Tinker had a better idea. He curled up in the shade of a tree and closed his eyes.
It was hard, sweaty work, but Pol eventually managed to cart enough mud up the hill, which proved to be a lot easier now he was wearing his Rigger Boots again. When he had finished collecting the mud, and lining the small reservoir to a satisfactory thickness, he made his way back down to the river with Tinker trotting happily by his side. Started boiling more water with which to soften the thin, willowy branches he had gathered and stripped in preparation for making two new water baskets.
To keep him cool, Pol removed his sweatshirt, dunked it into the river, wrung it out, and put it back on again. The shirt he had washed earlier was dry by now, but he left it hanging on the tree for the time being. Would not hurt to give it a good airing. Get rid of some of the stink.
Tinker stood on the small sandy beach watching a number of fishes as they swam about in the shallows just out of his reach.
Pol grinned at the dog.
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ he sighed. ‘If Tinker goes fishing we’ll have something else other than Roc to eat tomorrow.’
“Go on, boy,” he urged but Tinker backed away from the river and made a low whine. “Scaredy-cat,” added Pol. “Never mind. I’ll make a fishing rod tomorrow. See if we can catch something worth eating.”
How clever was he?
A fishing rod?
Wow!
Knowing how he had never been fishing in his life, Pol half suspected he would end up having to make some kind of net instead of a rod, if he were to have any chance of success.
After putting a few of the stripped branches in hot water to soften, Pol removed one of his boots, and filled it with water.
Tinker padded along slightly behind Pol as they trekked back up the hill all the time keeping a wary eye on the surrounding area, watching for any slight movement, which might warn him of an attack.
Pol made smug as he carefully finished smoothing the lining of the walls of this new reservoir using the water from his boot. Carefully smoothed and molded the mud around with palm of his hand to his satisfaction. Made sure he left no gaps where water could seep out. He would have to leave the mud for a day or two to allow it to bake solid in the heat of the day, before he would be able to put any water into the tank.
‘Suppose there might be some cracks when the mud shrinks as it dries. Never mind, I’ll smear more mud over them and keep doing it until there are no more leaks. See how it works out. Should be ok.’
“What do you think then, Tinker?”
Tinker wagged his tail as if in agreement.
On second thoughts, Pol decided to fill the reservoir anyway.
“If the inner layer of mud remains wet, it won’t shrink so much. With any luck, it might not crack at all. The outside layer will dry slowly anyway because it’s surrounded by rocks. Maybe doing it this way will help the thing to stay watertight. If not, we’ll carry out plan B.”
‘Might end up with muddy water but the sediment ought to sink to the bottom after a while.’
Tinker had already lost interest and was no longer listening. Had settled down, to one side of the cave, in the shade of a large boulder, and was dozing happily.
“Huh,” Pol huffed. “It’s all right for some.”
Pol had already found two suitably flat stones he could use as a lid on his new reservoir to prevent the water from evaporating away in the blinding heat.
Because he had miscalculated the amount of mud he might need and had quite a lot left over, he decided to try making three reasonably sized pots in which he could store what he thought of as ‘everyday water.’ When he was finished, the pots were not exactly pot-shaped, were a bit wobbly here and there, but they looked the part, good enough to serve a purpose, and he could sit them in the shade near the entrance to the cave. He had deliberately made the walls of these pots a bit thicker than the pots he had seen being made on TV. This was mainly because he wanted his pots to be able to hold water without them falling to bits. He guessed each pot might hold about a quart of water.
If he had remembered correctly, the pots will be slightly porous and will allow some water to gradually seep through the clay and evaporate, thus ensuring both he and Tinker would have cool water to drink.
Genius.
‘Good thinking. Must remember not to let them empty completely or they might crack.’
When he had finished clearing away the mess he had made, Pol sat back, relaxed against the cliff face, and surveyed his handiwork.
He made a quiet chuckle.
“Mmmm not bad, even if I do say so myself, eh, Tinker.”
But,
Tinker was still asleep.
“Fine guard dog you make, mate.”
Pol was about to close his eyes and doze when, away in the distance, he heard the unmistakable faint, angry caw of a Roc.
“‘Caaawww!’”
Looking up, Pol studied the sky, but could see nothing.
For some reason, he had always felt rather uneasy with the lack of other birds flying around, still had not seen any others since he was attacked by the Roc, and wondered if it was because all the other birds were afraid of the Rocs. Come to think of it, he could not remember seeing any other animals, apart from the fishes in the river, although there had been that one cry of a wolf.
‘There’s definitely something wrong with this place. There’s got to be some other animals around here. I can’t believe everything’s scared of those Rocs.’
He glanced at Tinker. Tinker had lifted one ear and had one eye open. Made Pol grin.
‘Ever vigilant.’
When he heard no further cries from the Roc, Pol relaxed. Made easy again. Placed his hands behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles. Let his mind drift away thinking about food and water.
Fish came to the fore.
When he thought about the fish in the river, the image of a certain method formed in his mind. Something else
he had seen on TV. Some African natives had made huge nets, which they suspended from a long pole on a pivot. They had dipped the net in the water and waited. When fish had entered the net, the natives had borne down upon the free end of the long pole. As this end went down, the other end had risen, lifting the net full of fish clear of the water.
Simple.
Uhuh.
A net, fashioned using some of those rough hairs he had found under an umbrella tree, along the lines of the nets in the movie, big enough to hold one or two of those huge fishes, ought to do. If he made one of a manageable size and kept the holes small enough to stop any fish from escaping, he might be able to use such a contraption.
Pol doubted his very limited skills with a spear would enable him to catch many, if any, fish. Refraction would cause him to miss rather than hit his target. A net, hanging from a long pole, might be the better option. Using the pole as a lever, with a suitable fulcrum of course, probably the forked branch of a strong tree or a large rock, he ought to be able to lower and raise it with ease. The best thing about this idea was, he would be able to re-use the net over, and over again, assuming, of course, he was able to make the thing work properly!
Even if there were no other animals or birds to kill, by catching fish, plus whatever fruit, or vegetables, he might be able to find in the forest, he would at least have some kind of a varied diet.
‘As long as I know what it is I’m looking at! Trust me to pick poisonous berries.’
The forest attracted his attention.
‘I will have to take a trip deep into the forest one day soon. There are bound to be some fruit trees in there. Fruit grows on trees. And nuts. At least, I hope they do...’
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 18