by Martin Dukes
They were not the last to arrive. That distinction belonged to Kelly and Tanya, who were fixed by Ganymede’s baleful glare during the last stage of their journey across the lawns. Most ages were represented in the crowd, from a doddery old woman of about ninety to a girl of about five but there were no younger children or babies. The little girl had evidently been taken on by a middle aged woman dressed for tennis. She clung to her side, the woman’s long fingers half hidden in a mass of blond curls, as Ganymede surveyed his kingdom from the bandstand. As a newcomer, Alex found himself subjected to any number of curious glances as he joined the edge of the little crowd with Will. He recognised Roger Bradley, hospital gown revealing a strip of pale back and next to him the runner he had encountered yesterday. Kelly soon found her way across to them, slapping Alex playfully on the back as she arrived and then pressing a finger to her lips as Alex made to greet her. Ganymede was about to speak. He strode to the balustrade of the bandstand, picked up what looked like a post horn from an old stagecoach and blew one last tremendous blast on it, his hairy cheeks blowing up like purple veined balloons. The people of ‘Sticia, who had been chatting amongst themselves in low voices, fell silent. All faces turned to Ganymede.
“Greetings, people of Intersticia,” he bellowed, removing his hat and making a low, ironic bow. “Greetings. I trust the past week has gone well for you. I know that you have worked hard…. in most cases…..” Here he cast a disapproving eye here and there amongst the crowd. “And that effort will be rewarded in due course.”
He paused for a moment, nodding grimly, as though the thought of parting with manna gave him indigestion.
“In addition we have two rare treats in store today. The first, to welcome a newcomer to our community. Always a pleasure.” He nodded at Alex. “Step forward will you please, Mr Trueman.”
Reluctantly, Alex made his way to the front of the little crowd and then up the steps to the bandstand. Ganymede, taking firm hold of his shoulders, turned him to face the people of Intersticia.
“This is Alex Trueman,” came Ganymede’s gravelly voice from behind him.
There was an awkward pause. Alex smiled sheepishly, feeling a little like an exhibit at an agricultural show. People shuffled their feet. An elderly woman began to clap her hands, and soon there was a ripple of polite applause. Alex wondered if he should make a bow.
“Good,” said Ganymede, clearly satisfied with Alex’s reception and nodding solemnly. “Some of you will get to know Alex well in the next few days, because he will be assisting you with your tasks.”
The last part of this caused Alex some disquiet. What tasks exactly? And whom would he be assisting? A number of questions came to mind. But essentially it appeared that Alex was now a fully accepted member of this bizarre community within an instant, frozen in time. Despite these misgivings, he felt an agreeable warmth about the heart, a new confidence in his stride as he made his way back to his place between Will and Kelly, nodding and smiling at those who greeted him as he passed. Ganymede was already introducing the second item on his agenda. He announced a group outing to Micklebury Stanton, where someone called Sylvia DiStefano had a sculpture to show them. Many in the crowd seemed to regard this as a genuinely positive development, which confirmed in Alex’s mind that opportunities for entertainment in ‘Sticia were few and far between.
“Who’s Sylvia DiStefano?” hissed Alex, to Kelly, whilst Ganymede got on to talking about the importance of everyone being kind to one another. It was a bit like being in school assembly.
“She’s a famous sculptor,” whispered Kelly, her breath warm on Alex’s ear. “So she claims. Ganymede gave her some bits of wood to work with and she’d been making something out of it. Should be a laugh, anyway.”
It seemed that Kelly didn’t have high hopes of Sylvia’s artistic potential. Will’s appraisal of the situation was even less positive
“Oh my god! We’ve got to traipse all the way up to Stanton, just to look at a bloody bunch o’ sticks,” he grumbled, at Alex’s other side.
But first there was the main business of the day to be transacted. This consisted of the citizens of Intersticia being called up, one by one and receiving their rations for the week. At the same time they were given new work tasks or required to continue with old ones. Some people came out of the bandstand with a light step and expressions of relief. They were the ones who had pleased Ganymede during the past week, or whose allocated tasks were less onerous than they might have anticipated. Others came out with furrowed brows or even tears in their eyes. There were raised voices, heated words, before an elderly man dressed as though for golf came stamping down the steps, his face a splendid crimson hue.
“That’s Major Trubshaw,” said Kelly, with a snigger. “He’s always having rows with Ganymede.”
Two girls of about Alex’s age came over to talk to Kelly. One of them had features that appeared slightly too small for her face, the other had features that seemed slightly too large. The former was called Stacey, the latter Sarah. Alex soon found that he didn’t much like either of them. Stacey, who was displaying a strip of flabby midriff between her jeans and her top, looked Alex up and down with a smirk before moving her attention on to Kelly.
“Is this your new boyfriend then?” she asked. “Given Paulo the push, have you?”
Alex found himself blushing at the first part of this; first because he didn’t care for being spoken about as though he wasn’t even there, second, because the accusation was untrue, and third because the notion was undeniably an intriguing one.
“His name is Alex,” said Kelly, in aggrieved tones. “As you well know.” She was blushing too, Alex noted. “And as for Paulo; well, I haven’t seen him since Wednesday. I thought he might be with you.”
“Why would he?” sneered Stacey.
“Yeah. Why would he?” added Sarah, with a broad and insolent grin.
“He’s such a total loser,” continued Stacey, with a flick of her hair and a curl of her lip. “He’s not my type.”
“So where is Paulo anyway?” asked Sarah, looking around. “I don’t see him. Ganymede’ll blow his top if he turns up late again.”
Kelly shrugged, affecting a sudden interest in her fingernails. “I don’t know. I’m not...like.. his keeper or anything.”
“Yeah, well Paulo wants to watch his step,” added Stacey, with a wag of her own finger. “He’s going to get his self banged up in the House of Correction again.”
“Yeah, well what’s it to you anyway?” asked Kelly with sudden anger, eyes narrowed, small fists clenched at her side.
“Like I say,” sneered Stacey. She was a skilled and prolific sneerer, Alex decided. “I’m surprised you have to ask me that.”
She and Sarah both had a bit of a snigger about this before wandering off towards the playground, leaving Kelly swearing under her breath.
“Don’t let her get to you,” said Will supportively.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” snapped Kelly, but without conviction.
Alex’s own interview with Ganymede was mercifully short, given that they had already spoken at length the previous day. He handed Alex a pile of blankets and a cloth bag containing manna. He also received a cup, an enamel jug and a handful of lightsticks. Alex had been wondering about the nature of the work that would be set for him. This was settled when Ganymede grabbed Alex’s arm, rather roughly, and pointed him in the direction of a small group of people sitting on the lawn.
“There,” he said. “See the skinny old beanpole with her hair in a bun? That’s Mrs Patterson. Go and introduce yourself. You’ll be working with her for the next two days.”
Alex nodded. “What about after that?”
“Let’s just deal with the first couple of days shall we? Come back to me then. Don’t you worry. We’ll sort you out.” Ganymede managed to work a great deal of wholly unnecessary menace into this, which caused Alex to feel a little thrill of apprehension. There was definitely something creepy about the old tramp.<
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Alex slung his blankets over his shoulder, stuffed everything else into his jug and made his way across to Mrs Patterson’s group. Mrs Patterson struck Alex as the sort of elderly woman who would have been perfectly at home presiding over a church fête. She was dressed in a twin set with a double row of beads and had grey hair pulled back into a tight bun giving her a rather severe look. She was talking to another elderly lady with enormous hips but looked up when Alex arrived. The face that turned to regard Alex curiously was a thin unevenly powdered one, with several layers of bags under rheumy old eyes. It was a kindly face, Alex decided. Mrs Patterson took off her glasses, which made her eyes seem even weaker.
“Hello,” she said. “It’s Alex isn’t it? And you must call me Gwyn. Mr Ganymede told me you were to be my apprentice. I don’t know what I can have done to deserve such a favour from our benefactor. Still, we must not look gift horses in the mouth, must we.”
“Do you know what he makes poor Gwyn do?” asked broad hips in indignant tones. She had, Alex noticed, an irregular growth of black hairs on her upper lip, resembling a scatter of spiders’ legs. “She makes her shovel sand. I ask you; shovelling sand, a woman of Gwyn’s years. And her with her bad back and all. It’s a disgrace. That’s what I call it.”
“Yes. Well we must grin and bear it,” said Mrs Patterson with a brave smile. “I’m afraid Mr Ganymede’s word is law around here.”
“Mrs Ambrose was mauled by a bear,” said a third lady, rather surprisingly, in matter of fact tones. She was even thinner than Mrs Patterson and wore clothes of curiously antique appearance, as though gleaned from the costume department of the BBC to represent an Edwardian. Her eyes remained focused on the middle distance. “You see, now Mrs Gurney, she had a disagreement with her sister, and the outcome was most unsatisfactory... In every way,” she added, with a significant nod in Alex’s direction. Her eyes zeroed in on Alex too, which made him feel uncomfortable, particularly since their point of focus seemed to be somewhere beyond the back of his head.
“Yes, dear,” said what was evidently Mrs Gurney. “I’m quite sure that’s the case.” A twitch of her splendidly bushy eyebrows suggested mild irritation with a bit of resignation thrown in for good measure
Alex formed the view that the Edwardian looking lady was a bit mad.
“I live in Barnard Road,” said Mrs Patterson, after sending her companion a sympathetic glance. “Number Twelve. Perhaps you’d like to come along around tenth.”
Alex wondered what Mrs Patterson meant by tenth, but he wasn’t able to ask because at that moment the red faced Major arrived and began a heated discussion with Mrs Gurney. The discussion revolved around the injustice of Ganymede’s regime and it seemed that the Major was a prominent critic. Given that Alex had only just met Ganymede he didn’t have very much to contribute to the conversation. Nevertheless he listened with interest for a while before wandering back over to where Kelly was sprawled on the grass with Tanya. There were many apparent inconsistencies in ‘Sticia, one of which was the grass. By rights it should have been a thickset mass of sharp green blades, impossible to walk on. Instead it behaved exactly as ordinary grass, although the earth beneath it was hard as concrete.
Alex asked Kelly what Mrs Patterson had meant by ‘tenth’. She could hardly have been talking about ten o clock, given that no clocks worked in ‘Sticia.
“She means tenth manatee,” explained Tanya, before Kelly could open her mouth.
“Huh?” said Alex.
“Tenth manatee,” repeated Kelly. “They pass over at pretty much regular intervals during the day. It’s not as good as clocks but it’s all we’ve got. There are always twenty two between dawn and dusk. You just have to count them every time you see one, and they’re all slightly different if you look at them carefully. It gets to be automatic in the end. You hardly notice them but you still count them. It’s twelfth now.”
“Some are dugongs,” added Tanya, nibbling at a manna roll, and retrieving crumbs out of the grass. “Twelfth’s a dugong. He’s a big old fat one.”
“Yeah,” agreed Kelly. “Every other one’s a dugong. They’re the ones with the forky tails. Manatees’ tails look sort of rounded.”
“Why do they fly anyway?” asked Alex, feeling another surge of outrage about the state of things in ‘Sticia. “They’re supposed to live in water. It doesn’t make sense.”
Kelly snorted. “Well, if you’re expecting things to make sense round here you’re in for a big disappointment. What are you doing tomorrow anyway?”
“Shovelling sand by the looks of it,” said Alex gloomily.
Ganymede, having transacted all his business, addressed the little crowd again. He blew another short blast on his horn to get everyone’s attention and then placed both fingerless gloved hands on the rail, surveying the populace below with his mouth set in a grim line.
“Would anyone have seen Mr Potts?” he asked, managing to work lots of sincerely felt disapproval into the pronunciation of his name.
There was a low murmur through the crowd, but no reply. He glared suddenly in Alex’s direction, causing Alex a moment of disquiet until he realised Ganymede’s attention was directed at Kelly, standing at his side.
Kelly shook her head. Ganymede continued to stare until Kelly felt obliged to add to this.“Paulo? Not for a couple of days,” she said.
“Hmmm,” said Ganymede, stroking his beard and continuing to regard her stonily, as though she might have him secreted somewhere about her person. “Well, if he trolls in late today he can look forward to a thin old time this week. Because he’ll be lucky to get a single one of these.”
He tossed a manna roll up in the air. When it bounced and skittered to a halt on the bandstand floor Ganymede ground it savagely underfoot.
“I will not tolerate rudeness, indolence or indiscipline,” he barked, glaring around him so fiercely that the crowd instinctively drew back. “I hope that is understood by all of you.”
Alex found himself nodding.
“Goood,” said Ganymede, rubbing his hands together. “Now. Go and store your rations. We reassemble here at fourteenth.”
And so they did. Will, Tanya and Alex left their rations at Kelly’s lodgings, which was in a house conveniently close to the park, and only a few doors down from Paulo’s. Will, mindful of Kelly’s appetite for manna, had some reservations about this.
“It’s alright, Will,” Kelly told him. “I’m not going to rush back here and scoff all your manna.”
“You won’t get the chance,” said Will grimly. “I’m sticking to you like glue ‘til we get back.”
They arrived back at the bandstand just as what Alex supposed had to be the day’s fourteenth manatee drifted majestically overhead. A few stragglers were making their way down the parade but most of ‘Sticia’s folk were gathered around Ganymede, who was talking authoritatively about greed and indolence.
“That one’s a manatee,” said Tanya, following Alex’s gaze. “See the tail. Sort of rounded like a big paddle.”
“’Rode one once,” commented the lady that Alex now knew was generally called Mad Annie. “’xcepting it were a dugong. I said to Mrs Worthington her sister has no right to be taking two o’ them samplers. And her only paying tuppence halfpenny. A downright liberty I calls it. But would they listen. Oh, no!...”
Mad Annie subsided into indignant muttering as the little crowd set off after Ganymede. Kelly nudged Alex in the ribs and made a face to show exactly how mad she thought Annie was. Ganymede was walking quickly up in front and by the time the last of the group was through the park gates they were already straggling out along the Micklebury road. Alex, keen to get away from Annie, lengthened his stride, along with Kelly, Tanya and Will. Up in front, Stacey and Sarah were laughing and shoving each other hilariously with a tall floppy haired lad called Chad.
“He’s all they think about, that Chad,” Kelly told Alex. “And just because they think he fancies me instead of them, they hate my guts.”
“And does he?....Chad….You know….Fancy you?”
Kelly shrugged. “Maybe. Not that it makes any difference to me. He’s such a dork, anyway.”
“You fancy Paulo though, don’t you,” piped up Tanya with a smirk.
“And you can shut up!” retorted Kelly, blushing furiously.
“See! She does! She does!” taunted Tanya skipping triumphantly.
“Where is Paulo anyway?” asked Will.
Kelly stopped suddenly, so that a balding little man behind nearly walked straight into her.
“Why does everyone keep asking me?” demanded Kelly, her brow clouded with rage. She stamped her foot. “How the hell should I know? I haven’t seen him. Not for ages.”
“Ooooh! Touchy!” said Will and Tanya together.
Alex gathered the subject was closed.
Chapter Six
The Micklebury road broadened into a dual carriageway after the primary school by the roundabout. Here a group of stiff protesters bearing placards were demanding that the council should put in a new pedestrian crossing. “Speed kills,” read one placard. “Slow down-Save lives,” said another, a message which looked somewhat ironic in the present circumstances. The little procession wove in and out of the stationary lorries, buses and cars as the road curved its way around the base of Micklebury Hill. Witches were supposed to have met there once; ancient folks had fortified its top in a series of long eroded earthworks called Micklebury Rings and the last highwayman to have been hanged in the region went to the gallows in the lee of it. It was a local landmark in an area that history seemed largely to have ignored. A few hundred years ago eccentric local landowners had embellished it by building on one outcrop of it a slender pinnacle of stone, called the Needle. On another shoulder of it, a passable imitation of a Greek temple had been constructed. These, ill maintained in recent years, were slowly crumbling, the resort of winos and other unsavoury characters. The Needle came into view behind the looming mass of Micklebury as the ‘Sticians left the dual carriage way and turned along a path that cut between fields and hedgerows. Here, brought into sharp relief by a stand of tall poplars, was a small white cottage, Sylvia DiStefano’s place of abode. Uniquely in ‘Sticia she lived in her own home. The back door into her garden had been conveniently ajar when in a moment of reflection during wood carving she had dreamed her way into ‘Sticia. Had it not been open she would have been trapped inside, a fate not unusual for those entering ‘Sticia.