We Float Upon a Painted Sea (19 page)

“And what do you make of the Dalai Lama's intervention? ”

“The GM agree with his holiness; the time has come to reinvent our relationship with the planet and try to reverse the damage we had inflicted, if that is possible. Even as I speak to you today, the impact of man’s activities on the planet in the form of deforestation, urbanisation, over fishing, industrialisation and intensive agriculture has culminated in a series of events that has led to a distinct threat to mankind’s own existence. Reflecting the words of the Dalai Lama; throughout history,
mother earth
has cultivated an environment for mankind to evolve and flourish, it has nurtured and fed him, but now she has taken enough of his unacceptable behaviour. The earth mother is about to flip mankind on his proverbial backside and unleash an almighty spanking upon her ungrateful child”.

The old man with the beard who shouted out again, “Pish, pish, pish! It’s all a conspiracy so they can buy up aw the land and sell it aff fur a profit.” He was interrupted by his Rastafarian friend who had joined him. “Nonsense, it’s the white racist patriarchy trying to destroy Africa and rid themselves of the poor and weak. It’s like Haile Selassie talked about, the coming of Babylon.” The bartender told them both to quieten down. “You can ask all you like, but this is my spiritual home,” laughed the old Rastafarian while clicking his fingers.

“Hey, take a leaf out of this guy’s book why don’t ye,” replied the bartender pointing to the Professor. “He’s got manners, something you two old losers could only dream about!” Professor Burke fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat then gulped down his drink. He returned his gaze to the television.

“That was Dr Ma Xun from the Green Movement. It must be said that the Doctor had to provided with a special visa to enter the United States as he has been accused by the Government as pro- communist, pro-terrorist and anti-democracy and anti-family.”

The screen returned to the news anchorwoman in the studio. Without a hint of emotion she turned to the camera and said, “That was Olga Petrinski reporting for ABC outside the beautiful Freedom Tower in New York.” It looks pretty windy out there viewers and on that note, here’s our very own beauty, Natasha with the weather, sponsored by ExxonMobil Corporation…

“Strong stuff ma man,” said the bartender who had turned the volume on the television back down.

“Would you mind filling me up again, please,” requested the Professor. For a moment he had forgotten about his meeting with Lúthien. He pondered on the sorrowful state of the planet and the contemptible fools who had presented themselves as leaders of the dominant species currently inhabiting it. The bartender filled his glass and ignoring the
no smoking
sign behind him, rolled a cigarette, slipped a filter on it, put it in his mouth and lit it.  Looking down at the professor, he said,

“Drink up man. It looks like the end of the world.” The Professor looked bemused before stating,

“End of the world? No, I don’t think so. The end of the human race possibly. The planet will carry on regardless, just without the human parasite infesting it.”

The barman looked at the two old men sitting at the end of the bar, smiled and then said, “Parasites? Infestation? Never thought of us quite like that, but now ye mention it. Ach, it might never happen.”

“It already has happened,” replied the Professor.

The barman shrugged his shoulders and then wiped the cold metal surface of the bar with an old cloth. He walked over to where the two old men were seated. They were continuing their argument about conspiracy theories.  “They control the people through food additives and contamination of the water supply,” said the Rastafarian.

“Oh, just cause ye hae a beard, disnae make you a philosopher.” The bartender berated the drinkers. Professor Burke gave up all hope of finding any mention of his story, or his meeting with the Elves. Surely Lúthien would have approached him by now, he thought. He gulped down the last of the rough whisky, took out a pen and paper from his satchel and began to write.

When he had finished, he took a photograph of his family out of his wallet and stared at their faces. He then put his Tilley hat back on and walked out of the bar. Dark churning skies loomed ominously above his head, but the haar had been lifted by the wind. Shuffling along the rain soaked street, he could hear and smell the sea so he knew he was getting closer to the docks. It invigorated him. Suddenly, a man and a woman approached from each side. The woman took him forcibly by the arm and said,

“You made quite a spectacle of yourself back there Professor Burke. I would have expected a little bit more discretion from someone who had worked for the Government. My name is Lúthien and this is my colleague Inwë. We would like you to come with us, if you don’t mind.”

Chapter 14: Bull’s nightmare.

Andrew abandoned his attempts to catch a fish for dinner. In the moonlight he ravelled up his fishing tackle, lay back against one of the undamaged pontoons and enjoyed the stars shining in a rare clear sky. He had explained to Bull that in order to cast further out to sea, he needed the canopy to be lowered, but secretly he knew this was not the case, and that the claustrophobic conditions and the smell of Malcolm’s putrefying wound was getting the better of him. He tilted his head back and adjusted his ears to the rhythm of the palpitating sea. To settle his nerves, he poured himself half a tennis ball of Talisker malt whisky and sipped it.

He felt a strong wind and ocean current drag and buffet the vessel simultaneously. The change of pace of the raft disturbed him at first and kept him from sleep, but then he felt the enlivening feeling like he was on a canoe, when it picks up speed, heading down river towards the rapids. The elements were working in harmony, he thought, colluding to draw them closer to their destiny. His eyes settle on the damaged pontoon. He considered events from earlier in the day and how he had reacted. Andrew contemplated their perilous situation but concluded that at least they were still alive. They had shelter, drinking water since the morning deluge of rain, and were now heading in a delineated direction. Continuing to drift aimlessly would have reduced any hope of finding land. They needed to cross a shipping lane. It was their only realistic chance of survival. He was still concerned by their lack of food and Malcolm’s deteriorating condition. The perpetual wetness was once a minor irritation but the blisters on his skin had developed into sores. But above all, the damage to the raft was his major worry. Bull’s emergency patch-up job was keeping them afloat for now, but he was fearful of falling asleep and waking up to find they were sinking.

Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his wet seat. Clouds were reforming in the sky and he had not expected the temperature to drop so quickly. When the moon disappeared, all around him hung the gloom, empty and daunting. Moreover, he was becoming increasingly distracted by the sound of Bull’s somniloquy. His nocturnal mutterings made no sense but the tone and disturbed nature of his words put a shiver down his spine. As the night drew on Bull began to scream out - a high pitched wail, followed by a bout of violent head twitching and leg thrashing. Andrew decided the time was right to rouse him from his nightmare. He swallowed more of the Talisker to settle his nerves and then approached him.

He knelt over Bull and slapped him on the face. He said, “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” Bull was dazed.  He struggled to regulate his breathing and whimpered for a few moments. He gasped, “Saffron? Where am I? It’s so cold.” Andrew slapped his face once more, harder this time and enjoying the sensation, he said,

“You’re having a nightmare.” Bull’s eyelids hung like two sacks of coal and his voice slurred like a drunk. He mumbled,

“I just had a nightmare that’s all. I dreamt I was with Saffron.”

“Was she your partner? Your wife? Your sister?”

“She was pregnant but it wasn’t my baby. It was Maurice’s child.”

“So not your sister, although if you were from Ayrshire…” Bull ignored Andrew’s feeble joke. He spoke as if in a trance. He tried to raise his hands to his head but his arms were weak and unable to complete the move. They wilted by his side. Andrew adjusted Bull’s woollen bobble hat and attempted to feign interest. Bull said,

“I’m pathetic. I couldn’t even take care of a terrapin.” Andrew raised his hand to slap Bull’s face again, but instead he said,

“Sorry, but I’m not really following any of this. Can’t it wait until the morning?” Bull’s breathing was becoming slower but heavier. Andrew placed the Talisker under Bull’s bottom lip and said, “This will help you sleep.” Sipping the whisky Bull said, 

“We were back on the narrowboat, but all was not right. There were other forces at work. Things you couldn’t see, some that you could.” Andrew looked around as if pleading with Malcolm for support. “Well, you’re alright now. You’re safe in a half inflated raft, floating in the North Atlantic wind and pursued by sea creatures. It’s nothing that a good sleep won’t sort.”

“I’m ok now. I just feel a bit groggy that’s all, thanks for asking.” Andrew looked around in confusion to see if there was someone else on the raft apart from Malcolm. Bull eyes turned to white once more.

Bull feebly grabbed hold of Andrew’s sleeve. His words were slurred. He said, “It was mouldy and damp. The floor was wet. It smelled of rotting flesh. The boat was also decomposing. Everywhere was infested with tiny larvae which sprouted out of the woodwork during the night, when I was asleep, they would swarming all over my face, suffocating me and crawling into every orifice of my paralysed body.” Andrew rolled his eyes in a tedious manner. He yawned,

“Well these narrowboats are all very fashionable these days but many do carry wood boring infestations, it has to be said. There’s no chance of that happening on this raft. It’s made of plastic but it is still prone to the odd attack from the odd clumsy Englishman.”

Andrew sat back against the pontoon and stretched his legs out. In the darkness he could barely make out Bull’s form until the moon reappeared and then he could see him, cowering in the wind and rocking in time with the raft. Andrew sat back against the pontoon. He continued listening to Bull’s account of his nightmare. Bull said,

“Saffron went into labour. I tried to call an ambulance, but the line was dead. I had to deliver the baby myself. I tried to boil water but when I turned on the taps, the water was green. I used a bowl of Scotch to sterilise everything.  The towels were wet. Covered in slime. Saffron cried. An agonizing scream. She held onto my wrist and twisted the skin. I couldn’t stand the pain. I pulled back my hand and she pushed me away. She delivered the baby herself. The child lay there, silent and still. Matted in blood and mucus.”

“All babies are born into the world like that,” muttered Andrew.

“It was covered in thick black hair. It was a hideous creature.” Andrew tried to smile. He said,

“Are you sure the mother is not from Ayrshire?”

“Saffron began breast feeding it. I asked her to stop. She started mocking me, laughing at me. The creature stopped feeding and turned to face me. It pointed a twisted finger at me. It was old and wrinkled. It spoke in a language I couldn’t understand.”

“Most likely standard English, I would imagine.”

Bull began to rock back and forth in a metronomic motion. Andrew gazed to the heavens, as if seeking divine intervention. The moon slipped behind a band of cloud, plunging them into complete darkness. Andrew could only just hear Bull’s voice above the sound of the waves slapping against the raft. Bull said,

“The wind began to howl. The narrowboat started to shake. A tremor ran the length of it. The boat crumbled into the canal. I tried to piece it together but I failed. The water started to rise. It was around my waist and then my neck. I was under the water. The boat sunk further and further down into the deep. There were boxes, and furniture blocking my way out. At last I found an opening and floated to the surface. I swam around searching for Saffron, but I couldn’t find her. It was so dark. The street lights were out. And then a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and I saw her. She and the monkey child were walking along the moorings. They were leaving me alone in the canal. I screamed out, but she didn’t look back. Someone was waiting for her under the bridge, and then disappeared into the darkness. I floated, treading water and then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a dense blanket of mist rolling on top of the water. As it crept closer, I could see thousands of small bodies writhing inside it. And then it engulfed me. I was blinded by the mist. It stung my eyes. I
could feel their presence around me. I could feel their cold breath on my skin. I tried to shout but tiny hands stretching out to cover my mouth.”

Andrew nodded like an insincere psychiatrist chasing the clock down until it reached the end of the session and he would no longer have to listen to the monotone voice in the darkness. The wind chilled the nape of his neck. Bull seemed almost invisible now. He wanted him to stop talking. He wanted to erect the canopy back into position, but he felt stiff and immobile. It would have to wait until first light, he thought. Bull continued to talk, in-between taking deep breaths and sips of water. He continued, “I managed to peel their emaciated hands from my mouth. I wanted to swim but I couldn’t get my muscles to work, and then a red light appeared from underneath, illuminating thousands of naked bodies. They swam around me, and below, in the deep, as far as my eyes could see. They carried me under the surface, wailing and crying out, saying they were the drowned children of the world. They were the victims of the floods, the abandoned, and the washed away. They pulled at my limbs, tore my clothes, ripped into my skin with their fingernails. They drew blood. It seemed to excite them. I was paralysed and helpless. They dragged me further down. One grabbed my head, turning my face towards hers, forcing me to look into her dead black eyes. I saw children struggling in a quagmire of mud, made to work while fat pigs in suits watched them from the safety of a hill. Then a loud muffled bellow sounded way down deep in the bowels of the earth. The children stopped. Some began to howl. Some became excited. The waters began to boil and one whispered in my ear that their lot was one of everlasting agony and that they said I was to meet
him
.”