Wild About Larry Read online

Larry strolls calmly into a hospital and ambles up to the reception desk. He smiles an embarrassed smile at the woman sitting behind the desk. Then, still smiling, he shouts. “Stone the flaming crows! You’ve gotta help me quick nurse ‘cos right now it’s all arsehole to breakfast! I've gotta find my sheila, Viv! She's about to drop our first ankle biter and I'm supposed to be there to catch it!”

  The woman returns his smile, looks up at him and opens her mouth. She too speaks in a strange Australian-American accent. “You should have thought about all this when you decided to sink the sausage, young man. You should have stuck to bashing the bishop instead. Now then, who did you say you've come to see?”

  Larry starts to scream in desperation, although outwardly his appearance remains the epitome of calmness. “Are you thicker than two tons of kangaroo shit?! It's Viv! She's the one up the duff, packing the awning over the toyshop!”

  The woman pauses for a moment as she flicks through a book and says “Okey dokey, I have a Viv listed as being in room 165”. She points to an adjoining corridor. “It’s at the end of the corridor, first left, second right, third right and first left”.

  Larry wanders down the corridor with his hands in his pockets, locates the room and walks in to discover Viv lying in her bed, already holding not just one but two babies, one in each arm. He freezes to the spot in shock.

  Viv looks at him and says “They were on special offer today Larry – buy one get one free. What do you think of that, mate?”

  “I think it’s just ridgy didge.” he whispers. “What make are they?”

  She tilts her head to her left and says “Well, this one is a boy ankle biter” and tilting her head to the right says “And this one is a girl ankle biter”.

  Larry vaguely nods his head to himself as he ponders upon the significance of this. “Well in that case I guess we've got a Larry junior and a Viv junior”.

  She beams back at him and starts to moan in her strange husky voice. “Oh Larry baby, take me! Take me now!”

  Normally the main square in the centre of the capital city of South Jefesta would be awash with the teeming noise of the market and choked by the mass of ambling people, slowly moving transport carts and wandering livestock. But today it was eerily quiet. Even the performers, gypsies, beggars, thieves and prostitutes had failed to keep their appointment. On various whitewashed walls around the square posters had been pasted up, each showing a portrait of the Great Guide dressed in a police uniform. In one hand he held up a standard issue truncheon, and in the other a pair of handcuffs. Beneath was written in large letters “Public use of this area is temporarily prohibited. When you trespass on government property, you trespass on The Guide's property. One Great Guide. One True Faith. One South Jefesta”.

  A number of policemen stood dotted around toting shotguns, just in case those who were blind or unable to read hadn't received the message.

  Two black limousines with tinted windows slowly drove through the square and a host of scavenging pigeons fluttered their wings, took to the air and scattered before them. In the leading car sat the Great Guide himself, along with his male secretary and seven bodyguards from the elite private army known as the Public Defence Force. They were dressed in the traditional Siminite uniform of white cloak, pale yellow top and leggings held together by a wide black belt, from which hung a long wooden cudgel. In the other car sat the Executioner of Television, the Executioner of Entertainment and a general from the Grand Militia.

  Sitting casually on the rear seat in their car, the Executioner of Entertainment turned to the Executioner of Television and asked. “So, my dear fellow. Pray tell me, what exactly are we doing here, where are we going and why are we in such a rush?”

  The Executioner of Television was regarding his reflected face in a small mirror. He straightened his tie and replied nonchalantly. “I’ve no idea why we’re here. All I know is that this morning, on his latest whim, the Quaint Guide decided to inspect the theatre where the televised Shakesbeard performance is to take place. He probably wants us to be there so he can berate us, and we’ll have to reassure him it’s a grand enough venue for a statesman of his magnitude to be seen in public”.

  “Holy Baqra, save us all. Well, I can reassure everyone it's a grand enough venue to shoot the fat pig's head off. It was so much easier when he did what he was told when he was told, instead of messing things up by insisting on making his own decisions. You did all of us a great service in persuading him to attend the event. I, for one, won't miss him any more then I'd miss a boil on my backside”.

  “It wasn’t a particularly hard task. Not if, like myself, you’ve mastered the techniques required to survive dealing with an erratic madman. As we’re all aware, he has forgotten that The Party runs this country, and he actually believes all the dreadful propaganda we trot out about him. So, I happened to mention that attending cultural events was a pleasure undertaken by most great statesmen around the world, and expressed my surprise that he hadn't been seen out in public for years. Then I asked if this was because of some Party policy I was unaware of. This of course infuriated him, and then all I had to do was point him towards our televised play by this Shakesbeard fellow and he did the rest himself. He roared that a great leader such as he should be seen amongst his people, and what sort of an idiot was I for not organising it? I apologised profusely, begged for forgiveness and he spared me my life”.

  “Typical. You see what I mean? How is this damned country ever going to become a civilised state when we all have to dance around one man's ego? I trust your side of the bargain is progressing smoothly, general?”

  The general sat up formally in his seat, crossed his arms and harrumphed. “A project like this requires top secrecy and sealed lips. Not careless mouths flapping up and down like a whore's knickers! Suffice to say the operatives are being trained up as we speak and the army will be ready to invade the North as soon as the signal is given. You can rest assured. Now remember you two, ours is a secret society and nobody outside of this car needs to know anything about it. We will certainly have to eliminate anyone in the production team if they become aware of the plan”.

  The two Executioners looked at each other incredulously.

  “But general,” exclaimed the Executioner of Entertainment. “The plan was decided upon last month by the ruling council. Every Executioner knows about it”.

  “Every Executioner? You mean all of them? Holy Baqra! We have a major security alert! In order to prevent a leak, I insist we shoot them all instantly!”

  “My dear general,” replied the Executioner of Entertainment. “There is nobody in the entire country who will dare tell The Guide about the plan. Remember what happens to the messenger who delivers bad news?”

  He ran his finger across his throat in the gesture of a knife cutting through skin, and continued. “I'm sorry if it offends you, but the Party cannot decide to assassinate its own Guide on live television, pin the blame on those Semonite scum and invade North Jefesta without having a meeting and a vote to get the necessary resolutions approved first. What sort of a government do you think we're running? A dictatorship?”

  The general sighed. “I was rather hoping so...”

  “Well, we're not. The government of South Jefesta is a democratic republic. Whatever anyone else might say”.

  The two black limousines drew up outside the theatre. Two guards dashed out of the first one and ran through the open theatre door into the foyer. They then started arguing with a doorman who was refusing to allow them in because they were unable to produce stamped entry coupons. This was resolved when the rear window of the nearest limousine wound down and the doorman caught sight of the Great Guide himself, smiling and waving imperiously at him. He instinctively responded by standing to attention, saluting with the fear and awe of somebody who has just realised their very life depends upon it. He stood motionless as the bodyguards marched past him.

  Inside, Kinbus was busily directing the rehearsals. They had made magn
ificent progress in the past three weeks, yet there was still much work to do in the little time they had left. All of a sudden there were screams and shouts as the guards rushed into the theatre, pulled out their cudgels and waved them menacingly, then shepherded the frightened cast into a corner like sheep in a pen.

  One of the guards shouted. “All of you stand in a line. Nobody enters or leaves this building!”

  “Who is in charge here?” demanded the other.

  Fearful of stepping forward, Kinbus raised his hand.

  “I suppose I am.” he murmured nervously.

  The soldier pointed his cudgel towards a mark on the floor. “You stand here then. The Great Guide himself is waiting outside and you will have the honour of entertaining him when he enters”.

  Kinbus smiled weakly and nervously, and felt his sense of balance become dangerously fragile as he frantically clutched hold of a seat to hang on to.

  A crowd of men marched towards them, headed by a man with a long beard, dressed in traditional Siminite dress. Behind him strode five of the Public Guard forming a circle around the Great Guide, who was almost hidden from view. They were followed by an old soldier and two men dressed in Western style suits.

  The leading man in the traditional Siminite dress approached Kinbus and addressed him. “I am the private secretary to The Great Guide. He has heard of the great works produced in this place and decided to visit to see for himself”.

  He then glanced at the Great Guide who responded in silence with a simple nod.

  “He wishes to see a performance of this play you are working on for the Execution of Television”.

  “Er, certainly, certainly. It would be an honour without parallel to perform before the Great Guide himself” fawned Kinbus. He almost added “Now I can die a happy man!”, but wisely avoided it, just in case. “Would the Guide care to take a seat?”

  The secretary glanced in the Guide's direction again. He responded with another nod. “The Guide says no. Seeing as the actors he loves must stand, the Guide says he will also stand”.

  The two Executioners and the general went to sit down.

  “The Guide insists that seeing as the actors must stand, and he must stand, everybody should stand.” continued the secretary.

  The three of them immediately stood up again.

  Kinbus bowed towards the Guide, continued to bow with his head facing the ground and walked backwards so he didn’t cause offence by turning away. “Allow us 10 minutes to prepare ourselves to make a performance worthy of your exalted presence, oh divine one.” he grovelled.

  “The Guide says you have two minutes to prepare.” replied the secretary.

  Kinbus hurried to the stage and dashed behind the curtain, perplexed by how so much could be said by the Guide in such a silence. He then pulled at what was left of the few grey hairs on his head, shuffled around and nervously muttered to himself. “What can we do? Ophelia and Tatiana haven't turned up yet. Nobody apart from Carbet and Humvat has turned up yet. I can't play everybody else's parts in front of the Guide, can I? Yet I can't let them see we only have one performer rehearsing, can I? We'll all be for the chopping block if they find out. Oh shit, shit, shit”.

  Realising he was descending into panic, he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, managed to regain some degree of self-control and started to compose himself. “Right then. Carbet, I want you to get onto the stage, start from Hamlet's opening speech in act three scene one and give the performance of your life. Humvat, hold a spear and stand behind Carbet. And try not to get in his way. You two over there – yes you – pick up a sword each and just stand beside Humvat. Come on everyone, look lively. I must return to stand by the side of the Guide himself. Oh Baqra, pray my bladder can contain itself!”

  “Well, well.” Humvat thought to himself as he shuffled into position on the stage. “So there actually is a Great Guide after all. And there was me thinking he was just a figment of everyone’s imagination”.

  A darkness and a silence fell across the stage, the curtains parted, and a light shone down on Carbet. He concentrated his gaze towards an imaginary point somewhere high up the theatre walls. With clarity and rhythm as unbelievably pure as snowflakes gently falling through a bright blue sky, he began his speech.

  “To be or not to be. That is the question.

  Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

  The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

  Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

  And by opposing end them? To die. To sleep

  No more. And by a sleep to say we end

  The heartache and the thousand natural shocks

  That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

  Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,

  To sleep. Perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub,

  For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

  When we have shuffled off this mortal coil...”

  The secretary yawned and muttered under his breath something about knowing the feeling. He glanced at the Guide and tapped Kinbus on the shoulder. “The Guide has heard enough”.

  Then he rose and shouted towards the stage “Thank you for that. You can stop now”.

  He turned to Kinbus, who was still wearing his perplexed expression, and said “The Guide wishes to know who is the actor standing in the background, the one holding the spear? He says he is struck by how he reminds him of himself, in his youth”. He pointed towards Humvat.

  Kinbus surveyed The Guide, fair, short, and stout and then Humvat, tall, thin and brown hair. He was now even more perplexed. Feeling like a man who'd been handed a shovel in one hand to start digging his own grave, and in the other a coin to toss and call correctly to save himself, he frantically wrestled in his mind over which was the correct response to this situation. Yes or no? Heads or tails? Life or death?

  He replied hesitantly. “Well, yesss. The likeness is... fascinating... isn't it?”

  He waited in expectation for a response which didn’t come, and realised the silence he’d generated meant his reply was correct. He’d called heads, spun the coin and it had fallen on the ground with heads showing. He was still alive. He continued, more relaxed now. “The actor in question is Humvat Virit, one of our newer recruits. A bit raw and rough around the edges, but we think we should be able to smooth him out. Eventually”.

  “The Guide would like to see your Humvat Virit perform”.

  “But Carbet is our finest actor by far!” protested Kinbus. “I'm not sure Humvat even knows any of the lines”.

  He wasn't about to admit he had indulged Humvat by allowing him to be Carbet's understudy, safe in the knowledge he would never be required to shame and embarrass both himself and the whole school with one of his dreadful, idiotic performances.

  “The Guide insists on seeing your Humvat Virit perform. He commands it”.

  Inwardly Kinbus wept. He'd just been handed back the shovel and told to spin another coin and prepare to start digging his grave again.

  “Humvat!” he called through gritted teeth. “Will you please play the role of Prince Hamlet for us. Take it from the beginning of the speech which Carbet started”.

  Humvat was daydreaming on the stage as he stood there holding the spear. Then, out of the blue he heard his name appear amongst all the clutter of background noise around him and came out of his dream. He looked down at Kinbus and mentally replayed the conversation leading up to his name being called.

  “What, me?” he asked, pointing at himself.

  “Yes you!” snapped Kinbus. “Don't keep the Guide waiting!”

  Before he knew it, Humvat felt light headed, weak and confused. The stage lights had been upon him all the time, but now they had seemingly turned into spotlights which had been finely tuned in order to amplify his imperfections, and at the same time they blinded him to the audience he knew was out there but could no longer discern. His throat instantly dried up like a thimble of water thrown o
nto a furnace, and he saw an image of himself trying to speak but merely croaking like a frog. He desperately tried to pull his trembling frame together and licked his lips. “To be… or not to be…” he stammered. “That is the quostion....”

  “Enough!” shouted the secretary. “The Guide says this boy has given him an extraordinary idea. Soon we will herald the Guide’s sixtieth birthday. He has decided a series of television programs should be made to portray and celebrate the great achievements of His lifetime, and your actor Humvat Virit should play the part of the Guide himself. You will direct this work, stage manager. Because of this, the play you are currently working on will have to be cancelled. It is regrettable, but I'm sure you will all agree this new project celebrating the glory of The Guide is worthier Siminite culture than this foreign Shakesbeard muck”.

  He scribbled on a sheet of paper, pulled a stamp out of his pocket and applied it. He then handed the paper to Kinbus. “The two of you will report to the Execution of Television next Monday. Hand this to the clerk at the entrance kiosk when you arrive”.

  Kinbus bowed and took the piece of paper. “Please convey our humblest thanks to The Guide and tell him we will do everything in our power to portray his miraculous greatness onto the screen”.

  The secretary smirked. “You’d better, because if you don’t you’ll be dead”.

  The circle of Public Guards, the Guide in their midst, marched out of the theatre. The private secretary followed closely behind. The Executioners of Entertainment and Television and the general looked at each other in disbelief and scurried after them. Kinbus and Humvat merely looked at each other in a dazed emptiness, as only the truly shocked do.

  Eventually Humvat broke the silence. “Why do you think we've been chosen for this Kinbus? What's going on?”

  Kinbus shook his head slowly from side to side, shakily lit a cigarette and stuttered. “I, I don’t know. S-Somebody get me the bottle of brandy from the t-top drawer of the desk in my office. And don't bother with a glass”.

  The general and the two Executioners scurried out to their limousine and dived inside. “What are we going to do?” shrilled the general. “What are we going to do?”

  “Well first of all we’re going to keep calm.” replied the Executioner of Entertainment icily.

  There was a tap on the window and the Executioner of Television unwound it. A heavily made up, elderly woman wearing a dress which revealed rather too much stood outside. “Hello big boy.” she cooed and pointed towards the other limousine. “He said you might fancy a bit of fun. I’m not expensive, you know”.

  The Executioner sighed and wound the window back up. “How old does she think I am?” he muttered to himself. “Today is getting worse by the minute”.

  Both limousines purred into life and drove away.

  Both the Siminites in the South and the Semonites in the North live their lives according to the Book of Edification and Understanding, more commonly known as the Book of Light. These holy words were dictated by the Inventor directly to the prophet Baqra. Doctor Kaslik Wirliv is a history professor, specialising in ancient Siminite texts. He was sitting at a desk in his study, preparing to start translating a large number of parchments which had been found by workers digging foundations for a new building. The texts were rolled up and stored in stone jars, and the design of these jars had been confirmed by archaeologists as belonging to the time of Baqra. Wirliv dared to hope that the scripts might contain some of the missing sections of the Book of Light, and fill in some gaps in the original texts.

  He carefully removed the first scroll from the first jar, gingerly unrolled it and laid it out flat on his desktop. He sat hunched over the desk and began reading it and scrawling down a rough translation. His eyes opened wide as he stared at the first sentence.

 

  “My name is Baqra of Jefesta, and these are the words of the Inventor, which he has written through my hand.” they announced. Wirliv smiled excitedly, raised his hopes still further and continued to translate.

  “Previously the Inventor revealed a number of Enlightenments to me about the mysteries of this life, the next life and the path that should be followed in order to sit by His side for eternity. These were written into a book of Edification and Understanding called the Book of Light and passed amongst His people. He now speaks to me again whilst I sleep, revealing new Enlightenments which I am transcribing in this second book, so they too may be passed onto His people”.

  Wirliv was stunned. If this passage was real then he hadn’t found a missing section of the Book of Light after all – instead, he’d found a whole new volume. He continued to translate.

  “Last night I dreamt that many, many years ago the Inventor was travelling amongst the stars, the gateways into the kingdom of Light, when He passed by the Earth. He looked down on the lifeless land and water and decided to make a perfect being to fill this empty place. So He gathered His tools together and created the first creature, a tiny worm which drifted through the seas. Then He continued on His journey and after some time returned to Earth and looked upon this creature again. It lived, it breathed, pumped blood through its heart, it sensed touch, moved, ate and reproduced. However, He judged it was not perfect, so He gathered His tools and made adjustments to some of them, giving them legs so they could walk upon the land. Then He went on His way. Over time He made many visits, judged His latest creature to still be imperfect and made more adjustments, thus gradually creating all the different animals. Eventually He created a man and a woman. He viewed this latest creation and vowed to make no more adjustments, for He judged He had finally created the perfect living creature. With His work finished, He laid down His tools”.

 

  “In my dream He then said to man ‘I have given you the adjustment of intelligence. You have thoughts, language, art, science, music, literature, invention and love. You will spend your days living amongst my other creations as master of them all, but you alone are perfect and will come to spend eternity sitting by my side once your living days are over. You will enjoy a perfect happiness’.

  However, man replied ‘But master, in giving me so many gifts you have neglected to give me the one thing I desire above all others in order to find true happiness’.

  ‘And what is that?’ He asked.

  ‘Contentment.’ replied man. ‘For the more gifts you give me and the more I understand, the less content I feel’.

  The Inventor grew angry. ‘I bestow far more upon you than any of my creatures, and you are still not content when all the others are?’ he raged. ‘I have vowed to make no more adjustments. You will have to find this contentment for yourself’. And with that he turned away and departed, leaving man to contemplate”.

  “The meaning of this dream is clear to me. The Inventor has returned to Earth once again and sees mankind has made no progress in his search for contentment. The Inventor wishes to help, but cannot break His vow to make no adjustments to man. So once again He will visit my dreams whilst I sleep at night, and I will write down His wisdom when I wake in the morning. This second work will be called the Book of Finding Contentment”.

  Wirliv slowly read the text to himself with a sense of disbelief. Nobody in recorded Siminite or Semonite history had ever noted the existence of this book. He became aware his hands were shaking. He glanced across at the jars on the floor and did a quick mental calculation. It was going to take a lot of effort to translate them. His first thought was to get some assistance, but he quickly discounted this. The importance of this find meant the work would have to be done by him alone if he hoped to keep it a secret. He sighed, unrolled the second scroll and laid it out across the top of his desk.

  Chapter Five

  Dancing The Chocolate Cha Cha