by Heide Goody
“Ask me what?” said Francis.
“Did you ever know love?” said Joan.
“There is no gweater love than the love I have for our Lord,” he said.
“Uh-huh. If you're going to come on all pious, you might want to take off the rapper's hat,” said Em, still looking out of the window. “Anyway, you know that's not what Joan wants to know. Why don't you spill the beans? I bet you put it about a bit before you got religion.”
Francis shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I certainly wouldn't put it like that,” he said. “I came from a pwivileged family, it's twue. As a member of the awistocwacy, my youth was spent in the usual manner.”
“Eating, drinking and fornicating to excess, you mean?” said Em, scornfully.
“I was only doing what was expected of me,” said Francis.
“And that makes it okay, apparently,” said Em.
“Wait, so not all of us saints are celibate?”
“Nope,” said Christopher, his eyes still closed.
“No,” said Francis shamefully.
“Depends,” said Em.
“I don't believe it!” exploded Joan. “No wonder you all think I'm so naive. You all know what it's like to be with someone else. You've all done it. How dare you have the nerve to laugh at me when I ask you what it's like. How dare you!”
“Turn the volume down please,” said Christopher.
“Head still hurting?” asked Joan snidely.
Christopher nodded.
“Tell you what, ghost-saint, you share your wealth of romantic experiences with Joan and I’ll stump up for some fresh coffees,” said Em.
“Not much to say really. I found that aspect of life a bit of a drag. I used to lose patience with lasses throwing themselves at me all the time.”
Em burst into raucous laughter. Joan and Francis giggled as well.
“Hey, that's enough of that malarkey,” he said. “I don't know why you think that's funny.”
“Throwing themselves at you?” grinned Em.
“Aye.”
“Go on, tell us about these women, then. I can't wait to hear this.”
Christopher cleared his throat.
“It's the oldest story in the book. Well, one of them,” he said. “I was going about my saintly business. Most of the time I'd be helping people across this river. As a matter of fact, this one time —”
“We know about the time you helped the infant Christ,” interjected Joan.
“Oh, have I told you that story?”
“Yes. Get back to the women throwing themselves at you.”
“Right. Well one of the other things I used to do, as a loyal servant of our Lord, was to go and visit places which were a little bit, how you might say, Godless. I went to Lycia once. They were in the habit of persecuting Christians there. So, along comes I and the folks there thought they'd have a bit of sport with me, didn't they?”
“Ooh, sport,” said Em. “Pray tell.”
“They sent a pair of temple strumpets to try and persuade me to sacrifice to their idols. Lovely girls they were, but a bit forward. I say a bit forward. One of them was all forward, if you know what I mean.”
He held his hands out, cupping two huge imaginary breasts.
“Gee,” said Em. “Such a gift with euphemism and figurative language, I’m sure I can’t imagine what you’re on about.”
“Anyroad,” Christopher continued unabashed, “I was entertaining them with tales of my adventures, and they kept putting their hands on my thighs and what have you. I told them, look, these thighs have supported the weight of our Lord, so I can see why you're impressed at their mighty girth, but they just giggled and made suggestive comments about wanting to see the girth of my, ahem…”
He wolf-whistled and waggled his eyebrows.
“Again with the subtle symbolism,” said Em.
“I know this bit!” said Francis. “You wejected their advances and converted them to the twue faith!”
“Course I did, yeah, afterwards.”
“You succumbed to the pleasures of the flesh first?”
“What could I do?” asked Christopher, palms raised. “One of them, the little minx, you know what she asked me?”
“No,” said Francis.
“She asked me for a double entendre,” said Christopher. “So what did I do?”
Francis shrugged.
“I gave her one!” roared Christopher and rocked with laughter. Em rolled her eyes.
“I don’t get it,” said Joan.
“None of that weally happened, did it?” said Francis.
“It did, sunshine,” said Christopher. “Don’t go telling me otherwise.”
“It’s all made up,” said Em.
“I remember it,” said Christopher. “I was there. It’s a famous legend too, so I’m sure it’s real.”
Em turned round in her seat to face him fully.
“I’ve got a theory about that,” she said.
“Theory?”
“Can you remember any details?”
“I gave you the details. Lycia. Godlessness. Temple strumpets. And then there was the angry king who tortured and decapitated me afterwards.”
“No,” said Em, “I mean, can you remember what Lycia smelled like?”
“Smelled like?”
“Or can you remember what food you ate while you were there?”
Christopher’s brow creased.
“It were a long time ago,” he said. “I don’t remember what I ate last week, let alone seventeen centuries ago. No one remembers that stuff.”
“I disagree,” said Em. “It’s the tastes and smells that stay with you more than anything. I can still recall what I had for breakfast on the day my boy rose from the dead.”
Everyone stared at the table for a long moment.
Em tilted her head in thought.
“Admittedly, I saw that breakfast twice. Once going down and once coming up.”
Joan pulled a face.
“Hey,” said Em, “you have an encounter with the walking dead and keep hold of your bread and figs. You don’t have any extra detail, Chrissie, because you weren’t there and it didn’t happen.”
“Maybe it’s true,” said Christopher. “Maybe I really didn’t exist, but then I think there’s an important lesson right there about love. There you go, Joan, I do have something to say about love.”
“What’s that?”
“Well I exist now, don’t I?”
“Definitely,” said Em, wafting her hand in front of her nose.
“I know it’s all down to the ‘as it is on earth so shall it be in Heaven’ blah-de-blah, but I exist because people want me to exist. Everything I am is created by people's love for me. I'm only here because I'm needed and I'm loved.”
“You are an ideal,” said Francis. “Perfection.”
“This is an ideal?” said Em. “There sure are some twisted believers out there.”
“Thanks, Francis,” said Christopher. “Now, someone mentioned coffee…”
Em dug in her pockets and produced some screwed up euro notes. Francis stood up.
“I'll get the dwinks,” he said. “I want to see how the wolf's holding up.”
“What did you do with him?” asked Joan.
“I hid him in a toilet,” said Francis as he walked down the carriage. “Nobody will ever notice him in there.”
The medieval bling-covered saint wobbled out of the carriage.
“Anyway,” continued Joan, “what do you mean by 'depends'?”
“Sorry?” said Em.
“I asked if your lives had been celibate and you said, ‘depends.’”
Em sighed, folding her sunglasses into her pocket. “You asked for it. I'll tell you what you want to know. I'm still not sure I'm any kind of role model though.”
“Let me decide that,” said Joan.
“In my earthly life, I remained a virgin. I was married to Joseph, as you know. Joseph didn’t look like mos
t people imagine him. If the filmmakers of Hollywood were to cast him in a movie he'd be played by Russell Crowe or Hugh Jackman or…”
“Who are these people?” said Joan.
“Handsome men,” said Em. “Big, hairy, manly men with muscles and more muscles and torsos you’d just want to wrap your—” She stopped, her lips pursed. “Good looking men, okay? But actually, Joseph was old enough to be my granddad. He wanted someone to look after the house, really. After that whole virgin birth thing, I honestly think he suffered a little performance anxiety.”
“You bore the son of God,” said Christopher. “I can see that might make a lasting impression.”
“He wasn’t intimidated by me. No, he was intimidated by being in bed with Him upstairs. He didn't feel as if we were ever alone. You know, God is watching,” intoned Em in a deep voice. “Joseph took it very literally, you can imagine.”
“So you never, ever…” asked Joan.
“Did the bedsheet shuffle? No. Never.”
“So what did you mean by ‘depends’ then?” asked Joan.
Em looked at her pointedly.
“Work it out, wonder-sword. I’ve been back to earth lots of times since then. I haven’t let the grass grow under my feet.”
“You came down to earth to find out about love?”
“Oh, puh-lease! You sound like an alien in a bad sci-fi movie. I came back to earth to set certain things right. I’ve been doing it ever since. When you have a world that’s dominated by dicks, there is always something for a smart woman to sort out. I’ve been very busy. No, what I mean is that while I was here, I’ve made sure that I’ve experienced everything that earth has to offer. In my view, the best way to look after the world is to understand it very well. I don't think that most of our friends in Heaven understand that. Take it from me, there isn’t a corner of this planet or an aspect of human behaviour that I haven’t explored.”
“Go on,” said Joan.
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, you know, who have you loved? What did it feel like?”
“Not sure that I really loved many of them,” said Em, settling back and staring into space as she remembered. “So many were interesting in their own way. Leo da Vinci was a fascinating man. I think he captured something of me in that portrait he did, don't you?”
“What portrait?” asked Joan.
“Christopher must have seen it when he went to the Louvre. It's rather popular. Billy the Bard knew how to soften a woman up with sonnets, I rather liked that. Later on, I made a point of seeking out Casanova, when I heard of his reputation. Seriously overrated.”
“Really?”
“A sexual show-off, though there was this one thing he did, with his little finger, he...”
“Wait,” said Christopher, “are you saying that you were the model for —”
“Don't interrupt,” said Em, “I'm trying to answer Joan's question. Now, I'll tell you who was really interesting, Papa Hemingway. He was a man who had the all-too-rare combination of a wild imagination and absolute disregard for convention. I liked him a lot. He took me on a fishing trip once. Francis would not approve of his methods.”
“Really?” said Joan.
“He’d use a machine gun on sharks if they tried to interfere with the fish he was reeling in.”
“Oh dear.”
“We didn't see eye to eye on everything,” said Em, “but he had such passion, and a fair-sized...”
“Aye, well, he were lucky he had me to look after him,” said Christopher. “Never knew a man so careless with his travel. Had my work cut out keeping him out of trouble with all his buggering about.”
“Didn't his plane crash?” asked Em.
“Well I can't be everywhere,” said Christopher with a sniff.
“Didn't the rescue plane crash as well?”
“He lived, didn't he?” snapped Christopher. “That man would try the patience of a saint, honestly.”
A voice came over the train’s tannoy.
“Mother Mary. By the sound of the third trumpet, a great star called Wormwood falls to the Earth poisoning a third of the planet's freshwater sources. Men will die from drinking its bitter taste.”
“Simon! Simon, wait!” called Mary, getting to her feet. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing but —”
“Passengers are reminded that they must keep their baggage with them at all times.”
Em looked at Joan and Christopher.
“That was the third trumpet. What the Hell’s going on?”
“Heey, don’t I know you?”
Francis stopped in first class and turned around to see who had spoken. It was a balding man, dressed in a suit of lemon yellow velour with a large gold zipper, which bulged around his ample middle. After his brief flirtation with the world of high fashion, Francis reckoned that such a brazenly vulgar outfit was likely to have cost a lot of money.
“Do you?” said Francis.
“Yah. Your face is not so familiar but…” He peered round at Francis’s behind. “Oh yes,” he said waggling his fingers, “I believe we met inside a pink rubber dragon, no?”
“In Amsterdam?” asked Francis.
“In Amsterdam,” the man beamed. “It’s me, Heinz.”
“From Helsinki, I wemember,” said Francis. “What an extwaordinawy coincidence to see you here.”
“If we allow the world to reveal its magic to us then it inspires constant awe.”
“I couldn’t agwee more.”
“Please! Sit. Sit.”
“I can’t,” said Francis. “I have to check on my wolf.”
This seemed to amuse Heinz.
“How saucy you’re being or maybe mystical. Or mystically saucy. But, please, join me for a moment. First class passengers are given many little treats and I can't possibly eat them all by myself.”
Francis regarded the basket of pastries on the table and decided that he would eat one and perhaps take some more as a snack for the wolf.
He sat down.
“A moment then,” he said. “And where are you going today?”
“Oh, I have the most thrilling day planned,” said Heinz, putting his hand over his mouth as he squeaked with excitement. “First you must understand the history.” He brushed a crumb from his lurid trousers. “Liam and I, we had a tumultuous past. Fighting and making up, always on and then off.”
“Off what?” said Francis.
“Oh, you kid, funny man. He's Irish you know.”
“Liam?”
“So quick tempered. The last time I saw him, two years ago, I said some things, he said some things. We both said some things. I can be such a bitch. Can you imagine? I can.”
Francis had no idea what the man was on about. He suspected it might be something homosexual.
“So stupid. So very stupid,” said Heinz.
“Who was?” asked Francis.
“Me. Him. Mostly me. Liam and I have not spoken since then. I don't know why we left it so long. Both too proud to say sorry. Well today's the day!”
“Today's the day you're saying sowwy?” Francis asked.
“No, today's the day I declare my feelings properly. In a way that will sweep him right off his gorgeous Irish feet and into my arms!” declared Heinz. “Take a look at this.”
He handed Francis a brochure. It was entitled 'Love Balloons — write your message across the sky'.
“I came into some money recently,” said Heinz. “So I have the chance to say what I need to say.”
Within the colourful printed pages were many inflated ‘hot air balloons.’ Alien things, the closest point of comparison Francis could think of were the inflated pig’s bladders that festival clowns waved about. The balloons in the brochure ranged from the simple to the outlandish, from pear-shaped orbs to hearts, doves and even rainbows.
“I’m having a custom balloon made for Liam,” said Heinz. “I just couldn't resist having a giant cock.”
“Cock?”
; “I can just picture his face.”
“How nice,” said Francis, unsure if it was common practice in the modern world to use farm animals to express love. “And will yours carry a banner message like these ones here?”
“For sure. Liam’s apartment is just outside Lyon. There’s a car waiting at the station after next, ready to take me to the airfield. I will be ringing him as we take off and he will see my message of love.”
“And, er, what message will it carry for him?”
“I wrestled with this for many hours,” said Heinz, smiling shyly. “It’s so important to get it right. I wanted to make sure that Liam knows exactly how I feel.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here it is. You can see how many versions I crossed out before I got it right.” He cleared his throat. “Liam, I hate being without you. Your face is etched on my mind. Kiss my waiting lips if you forgive me for being such an arse. Arse. He used to call me that all the time.”
Francis smiled politely. “It sounds vewy heartfelt,” he said and stood up. “Listen, I really must go check on my wolf.”
“You think my message is too forward,” said Heinz.
“Well…”
“God, I hope so!” grinned the delighted man.
In the café-bar carriage beyond first class, a smell struck Francis’s nostrils. It was more than just a smell, more than a mere stink. It was a high-powered assault on his sense of smell, the olfactory equivalent of a stun grenade, composed of high knife-like notes that speared his brain and some funky bass stenches that almost felled him with their weight.
“Sweet Lord in Heaven help me,” he choked.
Fearing the worst, Francis hurried through the café-bar towards the toilet at the end of the carriage. The café-bar was deserted apart from a poor young serving woman behind the counter who had resorted to stuffing wads of tissue up her nose.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she coughed. “I have no idea where that smell is coming from.”
“Smell?” he said, having a strong idea exactly where it was coming from. “Hadn’t noticed.”
He shuffled past the counter to the toilet and used the edge of one of his many spangly pendants to unjam the toilet door he had artfully jammed shut earlier. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him.