Rottenhouse (29 page)

Silence, except for all the usual
noises and so Simon had to ask again.

‘
Bob?’

‘
Eh?’

‘
Do they really get up
to that stuff, with the animals? Or are you having me
on?’

‘
If by stuff you mean
they fuck animals, Simon, then yes they do. And no, I aint havin
you on.’

‘
Fuck me.’

‘
They probably would,
given half a chance.’

And the two men shared their first
laugh together.

When their laughter ended, Bob snorting
and Simon sighing, they both looked at their lines.

‘
Try over in that
shaded bit, Simon, under that willow tree. This time a day the fish
like a bitashade.’

Simon did as he was instructed.

Plop
went the hook, the bait and the weight. Yes, Simon
could get used to this. Where was his nearest lake or stream? He
scanned his mind of the area he lived in and was sure that the
River Wey wasn’t too far from him and he had seen men fishing there
from time to time. From memory, and from a conversation he had had
with someone, he believed he needed a license to fish, but surely
that had to be easy to come by. Probably just a matter of handing
over some money and some ID and ticking the right boxes about catch
and release or whatever it is they call it. He was sure Lucy
wouldn’t mind. After all, he didn’t have any other weekend
obsessions, only his photography, which she was pleased to be a
part of as that usually meant going out for walks and weekends
away. This could be his one manly vice. She could have a womanly
vice, maybe swimming, keep fit, Zumba or some such shit like that
with her girly mates, and Simon could have his fishing.

Simon glanced over at the man he was
now allowed to call Bob and saw himself in a decade or two. Stood
in some river or some lake, knowing what the hell was going on and
understanding the subtle intricacies that fishing has. He could try
and master it, like he had tried to master photography. Perhaps, if
all went well, he would have a son or daughter to pass down his
fishing knowledge too. Perhaps Bob, Grandfather Rowling, would
teach the grandkids how to fish, though he would have to watch the
language and the stories and the way he always seemed to say the
wrong thing.

A little plop brought him round and he
looked over to where the sound came from but there were only
ripples left. Ripples that weren’t far from where his line vanished
just ahead of the reeds under the shade of the willow tree.

He and Lucy had once made love under a
willow tree. He thought about maybe bringing Lucy here, showing her
the willow tree and then making love under that one so as to add to
their sordid collection. But then he remembered what lay beyond the
valley wall behind the trees that stand atop it like sentinels. The
Rotten House. The house of pig fuckers and daughter molesters and
dog killers and Christ knows what else.

Simon unconsciously hummed the theme
from Deliverance but somehow it made the thought of him making love
to Lucy under that picturesque willow tree seem so carnal it
bordered on criminal. That he was the one molesting a poor
defenceless animal whilst those cracked toothed morons watched,
fiddling with their own pricks and fannies.

The day went on and the minutes ticked
by and with each passing minute both men became accustomed to one
and other. They were bonding and Simon, even though he couldn’t
forget about the beatings and the killings and the dreams and the
way Mr Rowling thought that Lucy was fat and ugly, was starting to
understand, starting to like this odd ball and hoped that their
friendship could continue to grow. After all, he was just going
with the flow like he always did.

10

We are all guilty of saying the wrong
thing at the wrong time. To say the right thing at the right time
seemed nigh on impossible to Simon, as one usually thought of what
would have been the right thing to say about two hours after the
right time had passed. But even he, a genius of the wrong words at
the wrong time (once he asked an elderly woman of 86 if she had had
a nice day at her own sister’s funeral) couldn’t top the master
that was Mr Bob Rowling.

‘
You ever thought
about having sex with an animal, Simon?’

Water splashed up at his face and he
turned his head abruptly. Then realising why water was going
everywhere he quickly bent down, the water pouring into his waders,
to rescue the rod that he had dropped.

‘
Eh…..Sorry…hang
on…did you just say what I thought you said?’ Simon said as he
scrambled for the rod.

‘
Careful, lad. Quick,
get rod outta water…. That’s it.’

Simon had retrieved
the rod though he didn’t think about the state of the line, the
bait or the God damned
oook.

‘
Did you just ask me
if I ever thought about having sex with a pig?’ Simon let out an
anxious snort of a laugh and his eyes looked all around because he
didn’t really know where to look and he hated looking at Mr Rowling
because he didn’t even seem perplexed by the outrageousness of it
all.

‘
Well I said animals,
but aye, Simon. Have you ever thought about it?’ Bob leaned in even
though the two men were separated by a good five meters. ‘You know,
really thought about it. The angles, the struggle, the mess and the
noise. How does it work for crying out loud?’

‘
Thought about it?
Crap on a stick, Bob, you got to be screwing with me. Thought about
it. Why the hell would I think about fucking a pig or anything else
apart from a girl? And not a girl pig or a girl goat before you go
there coz I can see it in your eyes, Bob, I can see you were gonna
come back with that werenchya?’

‘
Natural int it? For a
man to think such things. I aint saying that I want to have my way
with a farm animal, Simon, I’m only asking if you’ve ever thought
about how you would go about it.’

‘
What?’

‘
Now take my Margaret
for instance. I toldya how she were crazed for it, how I resisted
her dirty ways no matter what she said or did or wore or put up
there. But there were times Simon, oh my there were times when I
couldn’t resist. She beat me down till all I had was just all
instinct and lust and I had to have her. You know what I mean,
Simon. You understand when I say you have to do what men were made
for?’

‘
Not one fucking clue,
Bob.’

As he went on an on Bob never took his
eyes off of Simon and his face turned red and sweaty and there was
a satisfied grimace on his face as he spoke.

‘
Now you have yer
usual position, Simon, missionary it’s called and I have to say I
prefer that as it’s almost the way God intended us to have coitus
with the loved one. Fer the most part that’s how I did the night
time duty. But when she beat me down and that darker urge came over
me, I’d turn her around and bend her over,’ Bob carried out this
act using his free right hand to imitate him turning an imaginary
woman around and then with his hand outstretched, his palm facing
away from him he continued, ‘I would then ease her over so that her
fat arse were pushed right out and her chest were right up hard
against the kitchen worktop.’ Bob slowly eased his hand forward so
that the imaginary woman would have been bent over like he
described. At the same time Bob pushed his groin forward a little
as if he were about to enter this imaginary woman he had bent over
the kitchen sodding worktop. ‘Now, at first, when I had Margaret
like that, I would grab her hair and twist it round my hand and
wrist like this,’ Bob took hold and twisted the imaginary woman’s
hair and with an odd, slow circular motion of his wrist, he coiled
that hair around his hand and Simon wasn’t surprised to see him
pull back on it like he would have done to his wife. ‘Now, I would
yank that hair back and I would go at her from behind till I were
done,’ Bob thrust himself forward and back a few times, each thrust
more disturbing than the last until he was done. He uncoiled the
hair and took in a deep breath. Simon took in a deep breath too,
held it as if the two men had just shared that climax between
themselves and then sighed with a great heave of relief.

But that relief was premature.

‘
She got used to that
though, Simon. She cut her hair short so I couldn’t grab hold of
it. Canny woman she was.’ Bob shook his head and Simon was sure he
could see a wry smile appear. Bob then placed his right hand on the
imaginary woman’s buttocks, stroked them for what it was worth and
then raised his hand and spanked the air that was acting as the
imaginary woman and that was in fact an imaginary version of his
dead wife and the mother of Simons future wife. ‘She started asking
for a spanking, Simon. Saying she’d been a naughty girl and needed
to be taught a lesson by
her
Chairman. So I did just that. I spanked her fat
arse, Simon, until it were red raw and almost bleeding. Bright red,
pink meat. Like a freshly carved bit a Bream.’ Once again Bob
raised his hand and lowered it imitating the spanking that he gave
his dead wife. Bob kept on thrusting his groin forward and back
forward and back which was starting to make Simon feel sick. Not
uncomfortable, that feeling had long since passed. Maybe if Bob got
his cock out that would be uncomfortable, Simon quickly dispelled
that thought for fear of it coming true.

As fun as it was for Simon to be
watching this, he wished he could have poked his eyes out as Bob
kept on thrusting his plastic wader covered groin back and forward,
he thought what kind of a weird couple they must have been and then
wondered if Lucy knew and then wondered if he should tell her and
if he were to tell how the hell would he go about it and how she
would react? He had to put an end to it.

‘
As interesting as all
that is, Bob, what the fuck has that got to do with them rednecks
up there banging animals?’

Bob stopped his thrusting and took his
free hand away from the imaginary woman. He stood up straight and
adjusted the grip on his fishing rod. His little fat cheeks were
flushed with the effort and he looked a bit flustered. Perhaps,
Simon thought, all those memories of having sex with his old lady
were coming back and he was beginning to have a bit of a moment. A
soggy moment.

‘
From behind, Simon,
that’s what I’m getting at. You’d have to haveem from behind where
you’re in control. Might need a bita-rope I spose.’

‘
Bit a rope! Fuck me,
Bob, you are one odd fella. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but
come on. Really? Now I’m an open minded guy, but you are off the
friggin map. I have never thought about how you go about screwing a
pig or a goat or a rabbit. You say from behind and with rope and it
seems to me you have thought about it more than I have so I take
your word on the matter and let’s close it. Please. Let’s close it
and move on. Watching you thrust about like that has put me off my
lunch.’

Bob pouted and seemed to be on the
verge of a tantrum and Simon partly regretted what he had said as
on reflection he thought that maybe he was saying that Bob had
actually made love to an animal. But like a child’s face lights up
when its mother or father gives in and lets the little spoiled
bastard have that sweetie treat or that expensive toy, Bobs face
lit up like Time Square on New Year’s Eve.

‘
Speaking of lunch,
Simon, guess what we got.’

Simon slapped his knuckles against his
forehead. ‘If you say pork I’m going to scream, and maybe throw
up.’

Bob chuckled and Simon opened his eyes
and didn’t like what he could see.

‘
It’s
pork.’

Simon screamed and stamped his feet so
that water splashed all over the place scaring away any fish that
had come their way looking for a tasty bite to eat and he wasn’t
sick as promised but he was soaking wet and Bob was looking at him
and smiling.

The two men sat on the soft green verge
and ate their lunch in silence which Simon didn’t mind one little
bit.

11

Looking at his watch Simon saw that it
was just after 1 in the afternoon. He had eaten his lunch, plus
drained two bottles of water. Now that the midday sun was beating
down upon him his eyes watered and they became heavy. Much too
heavy. Looking bleary eyed over to Bob, Simon wasn’t surprised to
see that the old man had fallen asleep and was softly snoring.

As Simon fell asleep he wondered to
himself why Bob thought that his wife and daughter were ugly. He
wondered why Bob, a man he thought was straight laced, had spoken
in such away about how he went about seeing too his wife when the
night before he had explained in great detail how appalled he was
when his wife got the urge upon her. He also pondered the old Brew
House over there, behind the trees and hidden in the deep of the
forest and what it meant in his life for he knew that at some point
over the coming few days he was going to find himself there.

Simon fell asleep…

12

…
and he started to
dream.

Simon stood at the lakes edge, the
water lapping against his bare feet. The water was cold, the air
was cold and the sky was grey, not with clouds, the sky had been
bleached of all colours and was now a shade of nothing.

It wasn’t summer anymore.

Everything was a monochrome miasma.

The lake stood there like a sheet of
glass. Smooth and flat. Perfect reflections of the sky, the trees,
even himself were upon it.