Sprout Mask Replica (31 page)

‘Very
droll,’ said Omally. ‘I am stating that my gods will be favouring me with the
interpretation of the Big Answer. It is the Big Answer to all the world’s
problems. It will bring peace and love and happiness to every man, woman and
child on the planet.’

‘Will
they be favouring you before closing time?’ asked Gimlet Martin. ‘As you may
care to get a round in to celebrate.’

Omally
shook his head. ‘Not nearly so soon, I’m afraid. We are now in the year 1966. I
suspect that it will take at least thirty years for me to correctly interpret
the Big Answer.

‘Well
that is a
Big
surprise,’ said Gimlet Martin.

‘Talking
of
Big,’
said Derby Phil, ‘I had an uncle who lived in India. He used to
circumcise elephants for a living. The pay wasn’t too good, but the tips were
enormous.

Omally
rose from his chair. ‘Enough,’ he cried. ‘Enough of such trivial talk.’ And his
eyes flashed fire and his face shone like burnished bronze. ‘Something is
occurring. Something phenomenal. A great change will come over the earth.
There will be signs and wonders in the heavens, there will be peace and joy and
love.’

His two
fellow finalists looked up at John in some awe.

‘I am
puffing out of this contest,’ said Omally. ‘I have no use for a trophy and a
fifty-pound prize. I must dedicate myself instead to the Big Answer.

And that was the
particular lie that won John Omally the much coveted Silver Tongue Trophy and
the even more coveted fifty pound prize.

But what if he
wasn’t
lying?

22

NEXT
MORNING

‘OH NO!’ CRIED BARRY,
LOUDLY IN MY HEAD. ‘OH NO, CHIEF. LOOK
at them all.’

And I
was
looking, down from the window of my room at Hotel Jericho, the
smoke-stained window, cracked and pitted. Looking down upon the folk who
thronged the Street below. Very happy they looked. Very very happy. They were
smiling, each and every one.

‘You
caused this to happen, chief.’

‘What,
caused all these people to smile like this? Are you sure, Barry? I mean if I’d
done it, surely a tree would have fallen on me by now, or a rogue satellite
crashed through the ceiling.’

‘You
made it happen, chief. You put the idea of the Big Answer into that Omally’s
head and then gave him thirty years to figure out how to work it.’

‘Am I
really
that
clever, Barry?’

‘That
bloody
devious,
yes.

‘But I
don’t see what you’re complaining about. Look at all the smiling faces. The
street is carpeted with them.’

And it
was
‘carpeted’,
well that’s what it looked like from where I was
standing.

‘Bad,
bad, bad,’ went Barry. ‘Very bad indeed.’

‘Sounds
like sour grapes to me,’ I said. ‘Just because I managed to pull it off without
your help, or
your hindrance.’

‘You
call
that,
pulling it off? Look at them, chief, look at them, what have
you done to them?’

‘Given
them their freedom, Barry.
The Big Answer
in my opinion is to give
people their freedom. Unshackle them from everyday tedium, allow them to
blossom into their true selves. Offer them love and peace and happiness. Pretty
damn cosmic, eh, Barry?’

‘Oh
dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

‘Come
on, let’s go down and mingle, I could do with some breakfast. Let’s see how the
Brave New World is shaping up.’

It was
a jolly nice day for a brave new world. A big smiley sun in the sky. Dear
little clouds scudding by. And no doubt Blue Birds of Happiness nestling on the
telegraph wire, if not on the dry-cleaner’s roof. The kind of day that might
inspire poets to verse, in fact.

I shinned down the scaffolding

Supporting the hotel,

I stretched and joined the smilers

Who were looking very well.

‘How goes it?’ I asked a passer-by.

‘Splendid,’ came the firm reply.

‘Happy then?’ I asked another.

‘Sure am friend, each man’s my brother.’

‘Sheer poetry,’ I said to Barry.

‘It doesn’t scan, chief, it’s all over the place.’

‘Hush, you cynic. Let’s do breakfast.’

I didn’t really know the
eating houses in this town. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know the name of
this town. It was just a town with a hotel, Hotel Jericho, and I had been drawn
here by the magnet of my dream. Or the fishing-line of fate. Or the dog lead of
destiny. Or even the silk scarf of serendipity. The last two of which can be a
lot of fun, so I’m told, if you know what to do with them. I tried a café
called The Plume, but it wasn’t open. One a little further up the street was,
it was called the
Tengo Na Minchia Tanta.
I pushed upon the door and
went inside. I was feeling great. Really great. I felt my old self again, the old
self that had wanted to be a private eye. I’d almost forgotten about that old
self. I was glad to have him back. The thought of having him back made me
smile.

I
parked my butt on a chromium stool before the counter and smiled at the guy
behind it. A tall guy with sandy hair. The tall guy’s name was Sandy, but how
was I to know?

‘A cup
of coffee, please,’ I smiled. ‘And a buttered bap.’ The tall guy smiled in
ready response. ‘You’re welcome to the coffee, friend, but I have no baps
today.’

‘A
crusty roll then please.’

‘No
rolls.’

‘Then I’ll
just have a slice of Hovis.’

‘Sadly
no.’

‘Croissant?’

‘No
croissants.’

‘Wheatbread?
Flapjack? Waffle? Muffin? Crumpet?’

The
tall guy shook his head.

‘Bath
bun? Patty? Pasty? Oat cake? Scone? Shortbread? Gingerbread? Doughnut?
Profiterole?’

He
shook his head once more. ‘You sure know your pastries, fella,’ he said.

‘Listen,’
I told him, ‘in my business, knowing your pastries can mean the difference
between being as fat as a butcher’s dog or thin as a wino’s whippet, if you
know what I mean, and I’m sure that you do.’

‘I
haven’t the foggiest,’ said Sandy. ‘But as long as you’re happy.’

‘Any
hot-cross buns?’ I enquired.

‘None,
I’m afraid the bakers haven’t delivered today. They phoned to say that as the
sun was shining, they’d decided to hit the beach instead.’

‘Nice
day for it,’ I said. ‘Just the coffee then.’

‘You’ll
have to take it black I’m afraid. The lads from the dairy went with them. They’re
having a volley ball tournament, I think.’

I
smiled at the tall guy and he smiled back, we introduced ourselves and he
poured me a black coffee.

I
sipped at it. ‘It’s rather cold,’ I said.

‘It’s
last night’s,’ said Sandy, with a smile. ‘My waitress always makes the fresh
coffee, but she phoned in today to say— ‘That she thought she’d hit the beach?’

‘I’d go
myself, but I prefer it here. I get a real pleasure from giving my customers
just what they want.’

‘Nice
sentiment. Do you have any sugar at all?’

‘I did
have, but I threw it all away this morning. Call it a whim if you will, but too
much sugar is bad for your health and I wouldn’t want to feel that I had in any
way contributed to another soul’s ill health by supplying them with sugar.

‘I’ve
heard the same said of coffee,’ I suggested.

‘Yes,
you’re quite right.’ Sandy snatched the cup from my hand and poured its cold
contents into the sink. ‘How thoughtless of me, sir, allow me to apologize.’

‘That’s
quite all right. Do you have anything else on the premises that I might eat or
drink?’

‘Well I
do, but I can’t be sure now whether any of it’s OK. I mean the fried stuff,
that can give you heart disease and too many carbohydrates, that’s tantamount
to administering poison. I’m going to have to review all my stock, sir. Thank
you for drawing my attention to the dangers.’

‘Could
I have one of those bars of chocolate you have behind the counter then?’

‘Oh my
Lord no, sir! You might come out in a rash. I’d never forgive myself.’

‘Fair
enough.’ I smiled at Sandy. ‘Then I suppose I’d better be off.’

‘And
take care crossing the road, sir. Perhaps I’ll see you later, down at the
beach.’

‘Perhaps.
Goodbye.’

I stood outside the
Tengo
Na Minchia Tanta,
stretching and smiling.

‘What
are you smiling about, chief?’ asked Barry. ‘That clod just talked you out of
your breakfast.’

‘He was
doing the right thing, Barry. He was caring for his customers.’

‘He’ll
care them all to death at that rate.’

‘No he
won’t. He will see to their dietary needs. People do eat things that are far
too unhealthy. All that’s going to change now. Change from the ground up.’

‘You
had that written into your BIG ANSWER, did you, chief?’

‘Caring,
Love, Peace, Honesty and above all Freedom. No mention of breakfast in there, I
suppose?’

I
smiled and patted my belly. It felt a bit hollow. ‘We eat far too much,’ I told
Barry. ‘In future I shall scrub around breakfast. Just take a five-mile jog
instead.’

‘A
five-mile jog? Chief, you’ve never jogged in your life. You get a nose-bleed
running for a bus.’

‘Time
to shape up then. Look after your body and it will look after you.’

‘Oh
dear, oh dear.’

‘I
think I might become a vegetarian.’

‘Please,
chief, you are talking to a sprout here.’

‘No
offence meant, Barry.’

‘None
taken, chief.’

‘Isn’t
it just great to be alive?’ ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

I took a stroll about the
town. Most of the shops had ‘closed for the day’ signs up and I noticed that
the roads were very crowded with cars. I also noticed that most of the
occupants wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts, and the children in the backs
carried beach balls and body boards.

A
perfect day to hit the beach.

I
wondered if I should join them. ‘Bar snacks,’ said Barry.

‘Pardon
me?’

‘Pub
grub, as in breakfast.’

‘Well,
I am a tad peckish as it happens.’

‘Here’s
a pub, chief. What’s it called? Ah, Fangio’s Bar. Now how about that?’

‘How
about that indeed.’ And I entered Fangio’s Bar with a smile.

And the
first thing that caught my laughing eyes was the décor. It hadn’t changed a
bit. It was still the same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched— ‘Can
I help you, sir?’ asked the barman. And it was him. Fangio. Standing there and
smiling. ‘Am I glad to see you,’ I said.

‘I don’t
know, sir, are you?’

‘Fangio,
it’s
me.
And it’s
you.’
And he hadn’t aged by a single day. By
thirty years yes, by a single day, no. He was the same old clapped-out, run-down,
knackered-up, wretched— ‘Can it really be you?’ Fangio looked me up and down
like a thirteenth-floor elevator and tipped me the kind of wink that
accidentally buys you contraceptives in a chemist, when you’re asking for a
packet of aspirins.

‘My old
brown dog,’ said Fangio. ‘It
is
you. The same old clapped-out, run-down,
knackered-up, wretched—’

‘Any
chance,’ I asked him as I parked my behind upon a stool that hadn’t known such
joy for more than thirty years, ‘any chance of a drink?’

‘Certainly,
sir, what would you care for?’

‘What
exactly
do you have?’

Fangio
made a thoughtful (though still smiling) face. He stroked at his chins, ran his
tongue about his lips, then across his nose and all around his eyebrows. ‘What
exactly
would you like?’ he asked.

‘How
about a bottle of Bud?’

‘Right
out of Bud, I’m afraid.’

‘Lager?’

‘No.’

‘Bitter?’

‘No.’

‘Stop
me if I get to one,’ I said. ‘Draught beer? Bottled beer? Stout? Brown ale?
Cider? Scrumpy? Porter? Punch? Bourbon? Scotch? Irish? Highball? Brandy?’

‘What was
the last one?’

‘Brandy.’

‘No,
the one before that.’