Chapter 20
The 24th of July 1920, long after Ian’s ‘Moonlight sonata’ I found myself hard at work. My self confidence was brimming over. I’d even volunteered to work on a Saturday to help young Julian get up to speed. It won’t surprise you one bit to learn then, that Ian chose that very day to reaffirm the same attempts at shameful trickery that had so successfully landed me in real trouble with the poor, rotund cleaner some months earlier.
He found it worthwhile nearly all that day to cut short my thoughts regarding future pricing etcetera, predominately during important meetings with senior staff. The gist of his highly intelligent argument was: “Boring! What are you still doing here Sam?! Look, yes, yes, I knew it, there is a sun outside! Opportunities. A chance for a real life! Oh, and need I mention the women Sam?!”
“You really like girls don’t you,” I stated, when fate found us alone at last.
“Of course, don’t you?!” he asked incredulously.
“But why?” I asked, genuinely puzzled, “After all, whatever for? I mean, not that I don’t find them attractive or anything, it’s just that you’re...well, not of the same race,” I postured lamely.
“Not of the same race?!” Ian echoed extremely sarcastically, “You really do need to work on English more Sam. Maths really isn’t the most romantic of subjects,” he advised solemnly. “And considering you asked, I may as well tell you we have females too. Just because I have an entirely different make up physiologically, that doesn’t mean I cannot truly appreciate girl’s wonderful, delicate frames, admire the tender softness of their beautiful, silky skin, nor marvel at the certain bounce as they glide angelically down the road,” he crooned dreamily.
“That’s disgusting Ian, I’m trying to work here!”
“How dare you!” he screamed at the top of his voice, “I meant the bounce of their hair Sam! Why, I ought to spank your bare bottom for suggesting otherwise! Grow up! Now, if you will be so kind, stop interrupting the marvelling, because I haven’t even started yet! What soul could not gaze in awe and wonder at a true lady’s graceful majesty, nor be swayed, prepossessed even by the very thought of just a touch of her gorgeous, succulent, luscious lips, which would provide a pure and radiant heart such as I with such a level of intoxicating warmth, that, Sam, even with my truly extensive learning, I can’t quite describe out loud...How...It would...simply...If...I would be...Surely...If only I...could...Sam...Sam...SAM...I believe I would die! Yes, that’s it! Sam, Sam,” he screamed violently in wildly high pitched tones, “For the love of God call a doctor! Help me, I’m about to experience a cardiac arrest!”
“Stop this mindless, babbling nonsense this instant! Ian, you’re a complete disgrace! Children behave better.”
Evidently he’d been struck deaf as he continued unbowed, whispering softly and reflecting a truly poignant tone. “Their thoughts Sam, can you guess how frightfully endearing and delightful some are? And I’ll wager you’ve caught those times the way a truly beautiful woman looks on the outside? You know - The exquisite, divine beauty of it all? If you gaze deeply enough in their eyes on these rare occasions, at the correct, precise moment you can truly perceive any present inner beauty also, for it radiates out in wonderful, warm waves of light. At these precious moments this beauty combines together around them, creating an overwhelming sensation of their truthfulness and depth for love. It genuinely shows their compassion and their true soul - their very spirit laid bare. It’s simply beautiful, their eyes sparkle like diamonds and my heart dances in joy.”
“I can imagine that,” I agreed, “and I suppose it’s nice you’ve put a little thought into something other than yourself for once.”
However, Ian was far from finished. “Beauty,” he said, completing a long, deeply reflective sigh. “By that I mean natural good looks, I see quite often. Thankfully it’s evenly spread across the globe. But this inner beauty,” he murmured wistfully, “this indescribable magnificence appears a little less abundant than first thought.”
“Thanks for sharing Ian, but I have work...”
“Further more intensive studies will have to be carried out in these areas, you understand?”
“You’ll let me know the results then?”
“Indubitably my good man!” he said cheerily. “Now, let studies begin,” he announced triumphantly. “For every day at precisely this time, the very vision of loveliness passes this stuffy old building. The absolute pinnacle of lusciousness, the peak of perfection. This rare and blessed maiden possesses the most striking of physiques. Her radiant smiles speak only of genius and only hint at the depth of her passions, whilst her voice, oh, her accent, Sam, its enchanting tones and list will echo over and over forever! If only we could record it’s soothing and revealing tune.”
“So that’s the poor girl you’ve been following. There’ll be laws passed for folk like you.”
“No matter, there are many ways round that anyway. Why, her elegant, raven hair alone, the fascinating way it cascades so alluringly around her sparkling, emerald green coquettish eyes, then drifts down over her...”
“Enough!” I screamed, surprisingly loudly, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you raging madman!? Twenty minutes! Cease this foul gutter talk this instant! Listen up, there exists certain thoughts it is clearly better to keep to one’s self!”
“Ooh, hark at you - getting all excited? Do be careful Sam, the wizard is watching!” was the nub of his reply. “There’s no call to get embarrassed, it’s perfectly normal for males of every species to feel that way. How many of us would be here if it weren’t so?”
“One just needs to be a little more careful about what they share with each other, that’s all.” Despite his exasperating persistence, his jocular tone quickly quelled my annoyance.
“I was only truthfully answering your question,” he said innocently. “I felt I just needed to impress on you these few points, just a small number of the limitless reasons why I am so justly grateful for the existence of the female, including and because of all her intricate complexities.”
“I think we gathered that much Ian, a long, long time ago.”
“It’s just that human females are without compare, the prettiest, the most delicious in the entire known universe in every possible way, excepting my own species of course,” he crooned. “’tis a most perplexing mystery why this should be so, that’s all,” he said, again lapsing into deep thought over possible profound connotations.
“Right,” I said, glad his long impromptu lesson seemed to be over, “I believe I’ve stayed here long enough.”
“How long have I been telling you that?” Ian said, tutting like a steam train.
“Right, I’m off. You can stay if you like,” I remarked, half wishing he would. “Hey maybe you’d like to finish off the work you deliberately stopped me from completing this afternoon?”
“Your comedic timing is slipping, we both know who the true talent is here.” “We’re off!” he shouted loudly as I hastily made for the exit. “I don’t need a commentary Ian.”
I headed for a nearby news stand, watching tiny spots of tepid water appearing on the pavement ahead. I was more than a touch annoyed that the seller had left, probably because I was rather later than usual, which was not of my doing. Because I needed the late edition to prepare for work tomorrow, I strode towards our town centre at the risk of missing the last bus service home.
All these thoughts and more raced endlessly in ever widening circles, twisting and turning through my straining brain. Of course they weren’t helped by Ian’s glib remarks. Apparently if I’d only stopped wittering away to him about girls earlier, then I wouldn’t be faced with such a situation. Therefore I only had myself to blame.
Thankfully we found a news stand tucked away in a side street. To my utmost delight I noticed a crisp, inviting newspaper still patiently awaiting my arrival. Ian suddenly mirrored a curious, dog like sniffing. All of a sudden this playful manner changed to the
petulant begging of a spoilt young child. “My present! You promised, remember!” My teeth clenched involuntarily, relaxing as I admitted that Ian was absolutely right. “What is it?” I asked, under my breath.
“There! In that bottle! I knew it was true. Fancied they could trick me did they? I may be getting old, but no one fools the like of Sir Ian Peters!”
“Quick, buy it!” he urged incessantly. This discerning vendor possessed quite an eclectic mix of merchandise. Evidently he was one of the rare, forward thinkers of his ilk, these products being strong evidence of his pioneering attempts at diversification. The bottle in question was a small vial proudly claiming to be: ‘Purdy’s Finest Wax and Camphor Solution,’ containing fifteen millilitres of pure oil. For the princely sum of only sixpence it could be mine. Sixpence! Surely this could only be liquid gold, used only by mighty pharaohs.
Now, before you think I’m greatly exaggerating, please understand that back then sixpence represented nearly one month’s hard work. So you can appreciate I was more than a tad reluctant to purchase Ian such a magnificently expensive gift. However, I’d made a firm promise earlier, therefore would not baulk from my duty, no matter how painful the consequences.
I must make mention of the moment when handing my coin to the ecstatic vendor, because he seemed to experience some unforeseen trouble prising it from my unusually firm grasp.
“May I commend you on your wise purchase sir?” Ian cracked as I made my way forlornly down the lonely street. I quickly realised I’d forgotten a paper, seeing another chap buying it anyway. “This better be worth it Ian, because it shall be the very last present I ever buy you!”
“Oh it is my good man! Truly excellent stuff and no mistake. Oh, by the way Sam, I think you’ll find you’re going the wrong way.”
“Why’s that?” I asked suspiciously.
“Because, you are invited!” he chirped, over and over. My heart fell. I was under no allusions as to his meaning. More often than not this phrase spelt out a heady mix of confusion, embarrassment and unthinkable spiralling ramifications to me, a poor unsuspecting soul or both.
“For God’s sake Ian, no!”
“Watch out, the wizard is watching!” he squawked in delight, which turned out to be one of his favourite phrases, second only to: ‘Yes, I can see, I have eyes!’
“Why can’t you give folk some time to themselves away from your little games? Can you please just give it a rest for once? Haven’t you tortured me enough today?” I pleaded hopelessly.
“This won’t take long,” he promised, adding, “I think you may very well like this one.” I had little choice other than to follow his maddening voice, as he led a merry dance further into our town centre.
Very soon I found myself stood at the entrance to the small, open park, most of my person partially concealed by an ancient, crumbling wall. “Stop. Take cover!” Ian demanded. The only thing of the slightest interest were local vagrants, approximately twenty metres away, sitting around the market place near the town statue commemorating fallen soldiers. I’m sad to report every member of the unenviable group were ruffians and hopeless beggars to a man. “Wait!” Ian ordered, triumphantly announcing: “Yes, he’s here! A sad victim of habit no less.” He drew my attention to the unelected leader of this disparate group, who as per usual was engaging in ‘begging’ from passer bys. Any individual who did not do him the courtesy of acknowledging his stately person, especially ones who dared pass without paying what he considered a fair toll would be met with the coarsest of profanities, whether they be man, woman or child.
“Ian, the man’s an absolute disgrace!”
“I can see that Sam! I have eyes! But, I also have a plan which, providing you follow my instructions to the very letter, will very quickly bring an end to this type of aberrant behaviour, once and for all!”
“Leave me out of it! Do it yourself!” I said despairingly. “I wish no part in this depravity! Ian, for the love of God and all that is holy; surely you are acquainted with this fellow’s ghastly reputation? He has a marked propensity to wicked, shameless violence, in drink or out of it,” I said, hoping against hope this may sway Ian’s conscience. “Why only last month poor old Mr Witcherly, who can only walk with the aid of a stout stick was pursued half way across town by this very fellow, whose cowardly designs of bodily harm were only thwarted by the timely intervention of four burly constables! Heaven only knows the true horror of the gentleman’s terrible fate if this lucky event had not occurred.”
“I know,” Ian said deliberately, “I have eyes, I was there.”
“Well why the hell didn’t you put a stop to it? Do not falsely claim to be of one character, then prove yourself another! Are you not thoroughly ashamed?” I cried.
“On the contrary Sam, I’ve explained this before; I am unable to intervene directly in such affairs, for to do so would only serve to highlight various discrepancies, therefore certain relationships would undoubtedly have to be re-evaluated, not necessarily for the greater good either, certainly not at this point.”
“You’re beginning to sound like the mad general! You need help. What kind of talk is that?!”
“SAM!” Ian barked. “If I did not know your heart better, I may well take offence at the haste you uttered such ill chosen words. Just trust me when I tell you we now have a perfect opportunity to right this wrong, which lies so close to your heart. But if you insist on wasting precious time, apportioning blame willy nilly, the chance will be lost, perhaps forever.”
“Well, right, well, well, right, then…that’s alright then!” I stammered, adding a hurried ‘Sorry’ in the end, which went ignored.
“I admire your passion, but it would serve you best in the future to take a little time scrutinising the finer facts,” Ian said quite sensibly. “For I think you’ll find things are rarely exactly as they first appear.” Aware his guidance had been acknowledged, he quickly ran through his cunning plan. Predictably this fell on me to carry out. He swore if I followed it to the letter I may come through unharmed. His warlike terminology and harrowing description of the upcoming scene made it sound like an assassination. Whilst I ‘engaged the enemy’ he swore to watch for interlopers from a high tree.
“I must say; it really does sounds the height of simplicity,” I mused sarcastically.
“And lucky for you it is so!” he remarked brightly.
“Ian, I will of course do what you ask, but would like to state that of late you have become rather too free in spending other people’s money.”
“Maybe,” he said nonchalantly.
“And not only that, you have become a tad too fond of using me as your personal puppet.”
“Perhaps, but we’ve work to do,” he said proudly, presumably keeping his dignity intact.
Suitably armed with ‘the incredible power of knowledge’ I wandered over there, disguised as a casual shopper. As predicted the massive fellow sat there, boldly demanding payment ‘for his war service.’ In a weird, suspicious fumble I managed to grab hold of my lucky penny, which I’d vowed never to spend. His deep, coal black eyes lit up and he shifted his mop of greasy hair, eager to see his prize. Stale beer and vomit wafted off his rags, sickening me. I coughed, holding the shiny, tempting coin just out of reach, gazing deeply into those unfeeling eyes, speaking loudly and clearly as if my words were unquestionable fact.
“Your mother dearly wanted me to give you this.” The greedy oaf deliberately ignored this, reaching unsuccessfully for the penny. I repeated the words, making certain he acknowledged them. His eyes flashed blood red with demonic, animal frustration, and his face grew wilder and wilder. It seemed he was about to utter the most heinous of curses, but being so incensed couldn’t find the right one. My arm shook uncontrollably. For one terrible second I thought I was dead. Indeed, I was ready to collapse at his feet, curl up, play dead and pray for it all to be over as cleanly as possible. He wrested the coin out my twitching hand, and I felt his whole demeanour alte
r inexorably so. Unbridled anger changed palpably to true perplexion in an instant. The shiny gift dropped from his grasp, landing unclaimed at his feet with an odd tinkle.
That was my cue to run and hide, back behind the wall. There I bravely watched the unfolding scene from relative safely. You can wager that singular occurrence did not go unnoticed by the beggar king’s avaricious compatriots. Spits of rain turned into a fresh, light shower and the situation became a mad, vicious scramble amongst themselves. Dirt, rotten teeth and torn clothing were thrown high into the air as the shameful rabble fought each other wildly for but a hint at perceived happiness.
Ian’s mood lightened as he screamed encouragement like some crazed, invisible coach. But I noticed the king’s confusion had now moved to a state of genuine, deep reflection. Every part of his being sung the dizzy heights of profoundest contemplation.
Ten minutes passed. Officers bravely broke up the wild melee. Ian’s weird idea of fun seemed over for the day, when the king voluntarily gave up his throne in what seemed a strange, bloodless coup. His majesty sprung to his feet, forsaking his swag bag - a dirty, multi coloured sheet tied loosely onto the end of a thick, rough branch.
Now he saw fit to disregard his robes of state. Clearly forgetting their divine eminence, they were slung casually to one side. The rather fetching coat, which was probably stolen was left to the peasants to do with what they thought best.
Their king then unceremoniously decamped, striding purposely across the square. His large frame was soon lost forever amongst the bustling crowd. I never did see him again and have often guessed what became of him, for he was one of the few Ian ‘helped’ whose fate didn’t become apparent in my later life.
As I walked the long way home that late afternoon still soundly puzzled, I questioned Ian with regards as to his true intentions today. Of course it wasn’t quite as easy as that to get suitable answers. Admittedly I didn’t quite push him perhaps as much as I should have, but, as you may imagine he was still buzzing with the day’s proceedings.
“It was beautiful Sam, beautiful I tell you! Did you see him, or were you distracted too much by the fighting? I saw both.”
“Yes, I saw him Ian, I have eyes! I was there in the middle of it all.”
“Honestly, it was truly magnificent, you could actually picture his emotions!” he crooned. “Why, if you hadn’t taken to crouching behind the wall in abject fear at that point, then you could have reached out and touched them! Yes, Sam, I can still picture it: Ten, nine, eight! Three, two, one...Yes Houston, we have lift off! Auntie Anne, Auntie Anne, it’s a twister, it’s a twister!” he announced rather peculiarly.
“What are you talking about?!” I asked quizzically, not expecting any sort of explanation.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know about that would you? Well no matter, you shall soon enough! Did you see that fat nosey farmer skulking in the background? I bet the greedy swine’s eaten most of his stock. Thought he was going to intervene, almost wished he had. I’d have left a nasty surprise for him.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t work out whether Ian was so happy about the king leaving, or the ensuing riot. I hesitate to suggest maybe it was a little of both? When he’d calmed slightly and stopped giving stupid, childish answers, I was granted a small window of opportunity.
“Ian, who is that man’s mother? How do you know her?”
“His mother’s dead,” he said stoutly, “She has been for some time.”
“I see.” I said, though I didn’t.
“I really don’t want to dwell for too long on this subject, as it is nearly time for my medicine. Some sickness, particularly those concerning the complexities of the human brain are easily solved by a being such as I, but to the most endearing of your scientists these often prove far more complicated. Indubitably they have many roots and are sometimes widespread, though all are interconnected irrevocably so, as they so obviously issue from the same source.”
“Is that so?” I said, still not clear on most of his points.
“It is indeed, and you’ll become acutely aware of this as you see more of the world. You’ll learn, in time. Just never let anyone, no matter how involved their learning tell you any disease is more convoluted, more insidious than afflictions of the mind. Nor let these same authorities tell you that the divine ruler’s intemperance was some sort of a disease.”
“How so?”
“Because addiction, no matter the form is simply a state of mind, not something you catch like a common cold.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said stoutly, if only to steer him away from another long, puzzling explanation. “Take care you do.” Now our funs over, quick, hurry home, it can only be hours now,” he said fitfully.
“As you wish master!” I agreed, thoroughly looking forward to the safety of my soft, warm bed.
Halfway home brought another shock. Light, warm showers from earlier progressed to large drops of ice cold water. Such was the enemy’s spiteful onslaught, they pounded my exposed forehead and delicate eyes.
“There’s something dry you can use under the next bush Sam.” Sure enough I uncovered the remains of a tatty cloth sack, brown with age. Thankfully the outside had been treated liberally with beeswax. This will do nicely I thought holding it above my head, uncharacteristically shouting in triumph.
Success was short lived. Thousands of beads of dried mud and smelly mould had successfully camouflaged themselves within. Propelled by their sly raindrop friends above, every one of them launched downwards in a perfectly timed strike, covering every part of me simultaneously with fine dust, followed by disgusting liquid muck. Desperately trying to clear my face only served to spread the filthy menace.
“Look before you leap. That’s one of your favourites isn’t it?” Ian tutted, sandwiched between fits of maniacal laughter. Between the king and this, today was one of his best days ever. Now he was free to laugh at both events in turn at his convenience.
“Thank you, ‘twas most invigorating,” I said, remaining as dignified as possible. And as if this incident wasn’t quite enough, as we neared my humble abode Ian’s excited trash talk stepped up another notch. It sounded like he was preparing for something particularly big, but I didn’t see why he had to be so rude, so reminded him who had possession of the liquid he coveted so.
“That’s alright Sam,” he sniffed casually, “I didn’t really want to try it anyway. I was just playing with you, deliberately wasting your time and money. If the truth be known, I’d much rather just improve my wordplay skills by reading the dictionary aloud, which I’ve longed to do for quite some time. Let’s see...starting at, ooh, let me think...A...a... yes, A, Aardvark. Now after each definition I shall bless you with my own interpretation of the word. As a special bonus I shall include reasons why the dictionary’s definition is so patently erroneous!” “And,” he promised, “And, young man, you will listen, for ‘’tis so clearly for your own good! I will not tolerate insubordination by any of my class! No sir! Not for one second. If I catch you slouching, if you even...”
“Alright,” I said, shaking my head in despair, “I was only joking.”
“Oh, is that so?” he said sagaciously. “A jest eh? Well that’s alright then, isn’t it? Things worked out best for the both of us then didn’t they?!”
“Yes, strange how that sometimes happens,” I duly agreed, purely to keep the peace. Seeing as we had both reached a pleasant accord on this matter and were in my bed chamber once more, Ian gave another unnecessarily long winded explanation about how to best administer the medicine to his person. This boiled down to simply pouring the fluid into my right ear, without spilling a single drop. The weird, pungent liquid must have evaporated somehow as nothing whatsoever spilled back out. One full sixpence had gone forever.
Very soon Ian’s mood rose swiftly, becoming progressively more excitable, even more than I’d ever conceived possible. Delighted squeals, incoherent babbling noises and gracious comments of the
most endearing nature issued forth incessantly from his person. Without warning the little fellow’s funny ramblings took a different turn. “Charlie, can you hear me?” “Ah, ‘tis you! I knew you couldn’t keep off the stuff!” “Charlie Bamforth!” “Truly? And where is he?” “Oh, he’s away at...no he isn’t! Come out Harold Krenshaw, as if!” “As usual I chose the best name.” “David, you may as well own up as well, you can’t hide from me, you two stick together like lovers. Honestly, you fools must think I’ve gone senile!”
Increasingly I became aware Ian was engaged in deep conversation with at least three other entities. Try as I might, I followed very little actual dialogue regarding the many wildly varying topics currently under discussion, because the only audible hint of these came from Ian himself, presenting me with a decidedly stilted take on dealings.
At no time did I hear any other voice directly, but was entirely convinced of the others presence. This wasn’t simply a case of Ian’s intoxicated ramblings. Suggestive snippets of conversation indicated all were separated by vast swathes of space and time. Any attempts by me to get through to Ian during this discussion failed. I felt his presence here as usual, yet his spirit, the real him was somewhere out there, deep in the farthest flung reaches of incalculable space.
One point I can be clear on was this was no important business meeting. And one can gain a small idea how deep their chats actually got from garbled snatches of speech which passed quicker and quicker - a jocular, kind hearted ribbing passing between folk that have grown very close over a prolonged period. These friends trusted each other implicitly and hadn’t seen each other for an awfully long time.
Judging from tiny clues I guessed this substance acted as a rare narcotic on Ian’s system, with the added bonus of allowing others to visit certain events, times or places of their choosing and interact with the inhabitants thereof, even if other parties did not use the substance at the same time. As long as they’d taken it themselves at least once and visited this place or person once before, then that was all that was required for it to work indefinitely. Presumably because not all spirits Ian associated with shared his powers of bending time, this was why he prized this substance so highly. On certain days, in certain places, with the correct knowledge it may even prove possible to commune with those spirits long passed.
The fact that back then camphor was widespread and Ian hadn’t shown any interest in it before suggests this particular bottle tickled his fancy, due to its rare purity. Thinking on the wide variety of oranges for example, many are bland and tasteless, others dry and full of large pips. However, if one is lucky enough to find one containing exquisite sweet juice married with soft, succulent flesh, one rarely passes up the opportunity to fill his basket.
Ian’s enthralling behaviour continued for almost three hours, though lord knows how long it was for the various participants operating on different timelines. Presently Ian’s emotions balanced, his fuel ran out and he jolted back to me on this plane, becoming very tired, relieved and grateful. Yet behind all this emotion I garnered a secretive, distant yearning. When asked of his health he’d only mutter, “Ask the quest...” “Not answer directly. “I will tell you all when...” The weary old fellow didn’t elaborate on these puzzles, leaving me with another frustrating lost opportunity for answers.
Very soon even this noise faded out, till at long last I welcomed the passing of a blessèd gift from heaven; a truly enchanting golden silence, interspersed with a strangely mesmerising droning; akin to a distant fly, or the gentle fluttering of a moths delicate wings. I truly believe that for the first time in almost five centuries Ian Peters slept.