Life's Fare

by Greg Yevko

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nollie one evening whilst the three of them sat at a separate table to their parents, Robert sucking noisily on the infuriating, semi-collapsing paper-straw protruding from his somewhat flat Vimto, whilst his elder sisters enjoyed their Woodpecker ciders. Most of the rest of the occupants of the converted hall were joining in enthusiastically to a barely recognisable version of Dawn’s ‘Knock Three Times’. “I actually quite like some of the things that go on at the campsite.”

  Robert and Alvita were not so convinced.

  “Huh,” grunted Alvita, “Well I can assure you that as soon as I’ve got some independence, I shall not be coming to this place for a holiday in a hurry, believe me.”

  In his twelve-year-old way, Robert couldn’t help thinking that, on this particular topic, he definitely aligned more with the younger of his two sisters. Whilst undoubtedly there were a lot of nice things around here, he thought to himself, there was definitely something not quite right.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Golland 4.1 Woesday

  “Ay, ay, ay, what are these creatures like?” Perun wondered out loud.

  “I take it that that is a rhetorical question?” asked Bondje, and in doing so wondered how legitimate it was to ask a rhetorical question as a response to a rhetorical question already posed. He decided that that would have to be a discussion for another day, and he returned his attention to his fellow god. He thought he could make out something resembling a smile in the swirling mass he was sharing the observation post with.

  “So, tavarisch, what can we say so far? It is clear to me that these obstacles we put in their way are enough to put them off their tracks and they struggle to get by.”

  “On the contrary,” countered Bondje. “Take for example when you started to put helpless two-legs into their lives. They managed to get to a bigger place and get more money, which appears to be the thing that has most impact on the way the two-legs get by. Notice how some of them seem to have more money than others, and I did spot that that seems to make a big difference on how accepted they become – beats me personally, but I suppose being as we have everything that we need here it’s hard for us to understand. Also, did you notice how by having the wrinkly two-leg around to call on, they were able to carry on with a lot of things they were doing before by having that one share some of the duties; pretty smart I would say, so that is a good example of how they cope.”

  “Rubbish,” retorted Perun. “It just means that they can palm off some of their responsibilities, thereby admitting that they can’t cope.”

  “Ah, but the strength of these two legs is that they can combine with others when necessary, thereby making themselves more powerful. To be honest, since I’ve been watching them, I’ve come to the conclusion that that is how they have managed to survive as successfully as they have, possibly even how come they seem to be the dominant ones on Umhlabathi.”

  “Okay,” conceded Perun, “they may be inventive at times to get around some problems. At other times they seem like lost souls with no idea. Have you heard them bleating their incantations, especially in those big stone houses they build all over the place? Dear Lord give me the strength to do this, Dear Lord guide us through that…” Perun had adopted a sarcastic chanting tone as he mimicked some of the things he had heard whilst observing the two-legs closely.

  “Hey, Perun,” whispered Bondje in clearly worried tones, “Stop that. You know that She finds that sort of thing quite touching at times; sort of bolsters Her ego, I guess. More importantly, She certainly does not see it as bleating or being fatuous in the slightest. I know for a fact that once or twice She has actually responded to the occasional request she gets, just to keep the two-legs on their toes I suspect. Remember when She helped that really small two-leg who could hardly communicate to make a phone-call to get one of those noisy, blue-flashing-light things to come and save her big two-leg who had collapsed?”

  Perun grunted an acknowledgement in response, as he certainly did recall the incident. The local two-legs had talked about miracles, but hadn’t really admitted that it was The Creator who had actually saved the day. To be fair to Her, that’s how She preferred it to be presented, at least that is what She told all the other gods up there in Golland. She had actually received a small Safety Award from The Management following this notable act, though She was advised in private at one of Her 1:1s that She shouldn’t make a habit of this sort of thing as, strictly speaking, gods weren’t supposed to interfere with Umhlabathi now that it was up and running on its own after a somewhat shaky start.

  Perun gave a nervous glance over what might have been his shoulder, just in case She was around and could hear what they were saying. There were times when it seemed that somehow, She managed to be everywhere all the time, or was that just his imagination?

  “So, what about when we changed the surroundings and the overall environment in general on Umhlabathi?” Perun inquired. “You’ve got to admit that loosening up the two-legs attitudes to get more of them doing the jerky-jerky thing at least made the observing a bit less tedious. I think they did cope with that pretty well to be fair”. He added the last sentence with a begrudging sense of admiration. “But the smashing up of the floaty things got completely out of hand, don’t you agree?”

  “The floaty things? Oh, you mean the floaty things in the wet bit they called Pearl Harbour. Yes, yes, we’ve already been through that,” admitted Bondje, “and I do agree that there may have been a teensy bit more of an over-reaction than either of us expected, but those sorts of things aside, this bonding in groups that the two-legs do in times of crises definitely seems to help them out.”

  “Not so sure,” replied Perun. “Sometimes it’s getting into these groups in the first place that causes more problems than it solves.”

  “You may have a point there,” said Bondje with a sigh. “And I’m not entirely convinced that their use of what they call Lucky Charms is useful for anything other than a focus for what I would just call wishful thinking.”

  Perun laughed at Bondje’s apparent acquiescence to the thunder god’s point of view. Bondje immediately realised what he had done, and quickly attempted to recover his position.

  “But I still think they show more signs of coping than they do of failing,” he said defiantly, raising his voice just a little, more to reassure himself than to impress Perun. “We definitely need to continue the experiment as agreed to the end of the week. So how do we change things now then? Shall we make the two-leg still at home be a bit more of a pain in the arse?”

  Perun considered this somewhat interesting phrase, considering that the Gods themselves had nothing that was really equivalent to an arse. “We could give him some advantages in some way then see if the three of them can cope with the imbalance. Or we could just monitor the little helpless one for a bit? Or we could make him go away like the other two-legs from the group did before and see what happens to the two of them left on their own again?” he suggested, though he wasn’t too sure himself as to what may sway the wager more in his favour.

  Then, an idea came to him. “How about if we mixed all three of these ideas up and focus on the newer one for a bit?” Bondje looked at him in a puzzled way. Perun was now fully-flowing with his idea and getting more excited in a god-like fashion. “By combining a mixture of adversities in these different situations, then carefully monitoring the reactions of this two-leg and any consequences that happen because of that, we should be able to gather plenty of information to decide their overall copability.” He seemed pleased with his newly made-up description. “We can still keep an eye on the original two-leg as well, or our equivalent of an eye. I’m sure that he and his mate will drift in and out of the new two-leg’s life anyway; seems that even when the two-legs start to go their own way, often there is overlap in the lives of those that disgorged them in the first place. That should give us loads of information, don’t you think? After all that lot,” he added with a chuckle, “if we can’t make ou
r minds up, then Golland help us.”

  “I’m easy either way,” Bondje responded. “I’m pretty convinced that in a day or so you will understand my position as to how these two-legs manage to get by.”

  “Of course, tavarisch, of course,” cooed Perun, “and then by the end of the week you will be in complete agreement with me rather than just partially as you are at the moment as to how incompetent these two legs really are,” and he disappeared with a laugh before Bondje had a chance to swear at him once again.

  Umhlabathi 4.1 Tuesday August 16th 1977; Brighton

  “Okay mum, please stop messing about and just tell me what the hell I got.” Robert Marley was on the third day of his week’s holiday, camping in Brighton with his girlfriend of four months.

  On the other end of the phone, Marlene was enjoying herself. “Well, there’s a straight edge and two curly bits coming off it…”

  Robert covered his hand tightly over the mouth piece on the receiver in the phone box and turned to his girlfriend. “I swear I’m going to fucking swing for her next time I see her if she… What?! Really??” – his hand had come away from the receiver. “3 Bs? Are you sure?”

  He turned back to his girlfriend, big grin on his face. That was more than good enough to get him to the university he wanted to attend in October.

  “Today is a very good day, and we will celebrate,” he proclaimed. They went back to their stuffy two-man tent and cracked open the by-now slightly warm sparkling wine that they had brought with them in anticipation of the A-Level results.

  Clothes were flung off and soon the hot, sticky bodies were wrapped together in whatever positions could be attained within the confines of a cheap, small two-man tent. Only a few yards away there was the slightly off-putting sound of young children playing Swing-Ball just outside the neighbouring camper van.

  “Stop grunting so much,” whispered the girl, giggling into Robert’s sweaty ear.

  “I don’t care who hears what,” he replied to the rhythm of his movements “This is a fantastic day.”

  It wasn’t a fantastic day for everybody; Elvis Aaron Presley was found later that day on his bathroom floor having suffered a cardiac arrhythmia; dead at 42.

  The rest of the holiday was a heady mix of ice-creams, sessions in pubs, warm wine and jerky movements. Brighton was famous for its lax attitude to just about anything, which was one of the reasons Robert’s girlfriend had suggested they visit.

  The topic had come up during one of their typical evenings at Robert’s parents’ house.

  “They’ve got a brilliant pier and they’re supposed to be opening a new centre this summer,” she had excitedly informed Robert, whilst Marlene and Stanley were both out on their respective shifts at the cinema and the factory, and his head was buried firmly between her 34 inch C-cup breasts.

  “Mmmf,” he had replied, his mind not really focusing on what she was saying.

  “So, if we camped it would be really cheap,” she continued, swaying her shoulders rhythmically, correctly gauging that this would be a particularly good time to get Robert to agree to pretty much anything that she might put forward.

  “Smf mmk llkkf,” he had said, struggling with the button on her jeans which he couldn’t see from where his head was. The button itself was straining a little, as she had bought the jeans in a sale and they didn’t quite have the size she really needed, but the colours were great and, hey, that had never stopped anybody before or would stop anyone in the future, from getting what they believed to be A Bargain. As far as she was concerned, she was sure he had said, “Yes, that sounds like a great idea.”

  And so they had come to Brighton, never before high on Robert’s list of Places I Must Visit Before I Die; Robert, ever the optimist, had decided to embrace Brighton whole-heartedly once his mother had informed him of his A-Level results. Following many pints of cider for him and too many Bacardi and Cokes for her, he and his girlfriend took to the floor one evening at Sherry’s Dance Hall disco, and after holding each other closely, started to sway to the melodic sounds of the Commodores singing their latest hit, Easy. After a tonsil-exploring kiss at the end of the slow dance resembling a rotating kebab on a skewer not quite centred correctly, the young couple swore their undying love to each other; she dumped him a month later.

  Umhlabathi 4.2 12:05pm Saturday October 1st 1977; a railway station

  A big year. Last child officially off the books, it really was now just Stanley and Marlene left together alone. They had not been “just the two of them” for over twenty-five years, and the awesome reality of the situation started to dawn on them as they waved goodbye to the disappearing train.

  “So, mother,” he said with an air of melancholy as he put a consoling arm around the gently-shaking shoulders of his sobbing wife “At last that lazy, sponging son of ours has finally buggered off; I thought he’d never go.” For some reason which was not entirely clear, Stanley had reverted to the name for Marlene he used to use when the children were little, possibly due to some inner protection mechanism that had kicked back in now that they were going to be alone again.

  Marlene glared at her husband and twisted angrily out of his arm. “Stanley Marley, you caused me grief when we first met, you caused me grief when we got married, you caused me grief when we had the kids – I’m damned if I’m going to let you cause me grief for my last few years on this planet now it’s just the two of us!”

  “What you talking about, woman. You’ve got plenty more years left than me to go on making my life a misery and getting in the last word.”

  “Me making your life a misery, pots calling kettles I would say…,” and so the argument would escalate, like half a lifetime of arguments that had gone on before, and half a lifetime of arguments still to come. Neither of them could possibly know that indeed Mrs Marley would have the last word and outlive her husband by more than 12 years – ironically, it would have pleased Stanley in a strange way had he known then that he was in fact correct in his assertions; they were always trying to get one up on each other.

  He took her hand. “Let’s stop at the chip shop on the way home – that will cheer us up. Oh, and I’ve just got to pop into Coral’s as we go past; Jeff gave me a dead cert for the 3:20 at Wincanton. We can use the winnings to get some more creosote for the fence before the winter sets in.” There were only a few things in life that gave Stanley more satisfaction than creosoting, and not many of those were legal. There was something strangely satisfying about the way the creosote seemed to magically disappear as it soaked into the dry panels whilst at the same time giving the person applying it a heady solvent fix… sometimes it reminded him of his early days in the suburbs of Castries.

  Umhlabathi 4.3 Saturday December 24th 1977; home

  Christmas time was always a nerve-racking time in the Marley household. The vast majority of families in the Western World tended to look forward to Christmas and, in spite of the inevitable ramping up of family tensions, most typical families would plan for festive gatherings and social mixing, often involving alcoholic beverages being consumed in copious amounts. However, the Marleys were not a typical family, and in their household, alcohol was not often welcomed; especially for Stanley.

  After Robert’s departure to university, Mrs Marley had busied herself with keeping his room tidy for the inter-term visits home, complete with obligatory black bags full of washing, and spending her time helping out in the forever-expanding grandchildren arena – Marlene had always run a child-friendly house and her daughters had not disappointed.

  Stanley, once his dependent offspring had flown from the family nest, found that his life fell into a regular, if somewhat meaningless, routine. He would get up unnecessarily early and retire to his ‘study’. This was actually a fairly insignificant kitchen extension measuring about six feet by six feet, that he had added on to the house himself. It contained a sink unit and a small fridge, on top of which was perched an old-fashioned transistor radio, or “trannie,” as Stanley used to cal
l it. It was a word that would raise more than one quizzical eye-brow from visitors over the years as Stanley would announce that he was going into the study with his trannie.

  This Saturday started off like most Saturdays for Stanley and Marlene.

  “Mother, have you seen my pen?” he called from his sanctuary.

  “You’re not backing horses on Christmas eve, surely?” she replied; the exasperation was tangible.

  “I need to make a note of Today’s tips”; in spite of only ever having had two successes by acting on the 7:30 tips of the day, Stanley had religiously taken notes each day of the carefully worded advice from the tipsters, only to add his own nuances to the track record of the runners and riders which these days invariably ended up with more losers than winners.

  “So where have you hidden my pen?”

  “I haven’t touched your stupid pen.”

  “Are you calling me stupid?”

  “No, I said your stupid pen, not you’re stupid, but now you mention it, if you’re going to waste even more of the money that we haven’t got then maybe that’s not so far from the truth.”

  … and thus would begin a most ridiculous argument, invariably ending with Stanley stomping out of the house and finding his way to The Horse and Groom, or the club house, or any other place where he could get his favourite Black and Tan with a dark rum double shot. The dangerously-inebriated return later in the day would lead to an almighty row which would generally blow over after a few days of very icy atmosphere – not so much merry Christmas and goodwill to all men, more “God rest you, merry drunken men.” This was more like the typical Marley Christmas.