The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer (2 page)

And then with a furious slashing at the strings came the chorus:

The song continued in this vein, each verse punctuated by an increasingly wild chorus and a flaying at the banjo.

The final
Bam Bam!
was shouted with such intensity that the crockery rattled in the dresser.

The song apparently over, the Captain plinkety-plunked a few more chords, then breathing heavily with the effort of playing and singing so strenuously, crossed back to the dresser, reached up and placed the banjo back on top.

The loblolly boy, a little unsure about how he should respond, gave an attempt at a grin and clapped nervously.

‘I'm glad it met with your approval,' said the Captain, his wry little smile suggesting he knew exactly what the loblolly boy had thought of his performance. ‘However, at
this point I must say that my somewhat modest luncheon not to mention my not quite so modest musical efforts have tired me considerably … so a little postprandial is called for.'

Catching the loblolly boy's puzzled look, he asked, ‘You do remember what a postprandial is, don't you little loblolly boy?'

The loblolly boy shook his head.

‘A nap, dear boy. A nap. With or without your permission, I now intend to lie down and catch some sleep should any happen to be passing by. While I'm so busily occupied, you can go outside and find some fresh air if you wish.'

He said this so meaningfully, the loblolly boy knew it was not just a suggestion. The Captain stood up and made for the large iron bed in the corner. Even before he'd bent down to pull back the patchwork cover, the loblolly boy had slipped out of the door and into the open air.

He felt confused. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting; he knew the Captain was strange and unpredictable, but this reception was bizarre.

For a few moments he sat on the large black rocks outside the Captain's cottage. The early afternoon sun was bright on the water and caught at the choppy surface, glittering and ever-shifting. Nothing was smooth, thought the loblolly boy. Nothing was easy. At first the Captain was grumpy,
then he was pretending to be dumb, and finally he sang that weird song. He grimaced a little at the memory of the Captain's performance.

It was weird, it was terrible, and yet … Nothing the Captain did was without point. He wouldn't have sung that stupid song without a purpose. The trouble was, he had no way of knowing what that purpose was. The words seemed little more than sheer nonsense. Idly, he reached down and picked up a piece of driftwood and flung it over the rocks into the lapping water.

He wondered how long he'd have to endure being the loblolly boy this time, trapped in an in-between world, a world between the living and the living.

But what sort of a place was it between the living and the living?

He sighed. He knew the answer to that: between the living and the living is the not-living.

The song had talked about in between, too. In between the frying pan and the fire. The loblolly boy understood that bit of the song too well.

Some considerable time later, he heard the door creak and he looked around to see the Captain standing in the open doorway, yawning.

‘I see you're still here,' he said, a little unnecessarily the
loblolly boy thought. ‘The singing didn't drive you away then?'

‘Of course not!'

‘You needn't sound so enthusiastic,' scowled the Captain. ‘I know I'm no great shakes at singing.'

The loblolly boy agreed, but didn't risk saying so.

‘That song was pretty strange,' he ventured.

‘You thought so? You didn't know it then?' said the Captain.

The loblolly boy shook his head. ‘Never heard it before in my life.

‘Strange,' said the Captain. ‘It's one of my favourites. I would have thought everybody would know it.' He began to hum in an agitated way and the loblolly boy thought he recognised some elements of the tune he'd suffered.
Please don't!
he thought to himself. As if hearing him, the Captain gave off humming. ‘I rather like the words,' the Captain said.

‘I didn't really understand them,' said the loblolly boy.

‘You didn't?' asked the Captain a little sharply. ‘That's a pity.'

‘Well,' said the loblolly boy, ‘I did get the bit about frying pan and fire …'

‘Yes,' said the Captain. ‘I expect you did. I expect you did get that bit.'

‘What did …' began the loblolly boy. He was about to ask the Captain what the rest of the words were about, but he bit back the question. The Captain would no doubt tell him, and it was probably best that the Captain should choose the time.

‘Well?'

‘It doesn't matter,' said the loblolly boy. ‘Not really …'

‘Of course it matters,' said the Captain sharply. ‘It really matters. But in the meantime and speaking of really, that postprandial has really exhausted me. Wait there while I fetch a deckchair. I have a hankering to sit on the beach and rest for a while.'

The loblolly boy waited as Captain Bass re-entered the cottage, and he was still waiting when the Captain re-emerged some minutes later carrying a folded deckchair with a faded striped canvas seat. He carried this in his arms like a dancing partner down the little path between the rocks and out onto the sand. Then he and the loblolly boy walked together over the low marram grass-covered dunes and onto the beach proper. He set the chair down on the sand just short of the waves' farthest reach, where the dry wind-swept sand gave way to the dark damp sand washed by the tongues of the waves. He opened the chair up, and sat down, patting the sand beside him. Obediently, the loblolly boy sat there, looking up inquiringly.

However, the old Captain said nothing for a time. He did not even look down beside him and eventually the loblolly boy looked away. Something in the Captain's manner suggested he wasn't quite as irritable as he had been earlier and they sat in companionable silence, just staring across the sands as the waves pulled away or came rushing in.

The loblolly boy became fascinated by the crabs on the beach. Once he started looking there seemed to be hundreds. They were spidery little creatures with long legs out of all proportion to their small bodies. They moved very quickly,
despite the buffeting wind which strangely did not lift them into the air and blow them away. They would stop. Run in a mad scamper. Stop. Run again. Every so often one would disappear down a hole in the sand. Later it would reappear and the whole performance would start again. Run. Stop. Scamper. Run.

He looked up and discovered that the old man seemed to be equally taken with the antics of the crabs.

‘Look at them go,' he remarked.

‘They're pretty fast,' agreed the loblolly boy.

‘Yes,' said the Captain. ‘But what do you notice?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘They're fast,' said the Captain. ‘But look, they're running sideways.'

‘Sideways?'

‘Look!' insisted the Captain.

The loblolly boy looked. How had he not noticed before? The crabs were fast, but every one was scurrying sideways. Not one was running straight ahead. He glanced back up at the Captain.

‘So must you,' said the Captain quietly.

‘Me?'

‘You must move sideways, too.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘In your case, the direct approach will not work, I'm afraid.'

Again the loblolly boy was confused.

‘Look,' said the Captain, not unkindly. ‘You were happy to Exchange with the loblolly boy when he came to you with the locomotive, weren't you?'

The loblolly boy nodded.

‘Why?'

‘Well, because it was horrible at the Great House. It was horrible being Michael. I wanted to be me again. I've told you that.'

‘I understand that,' said the Captain. ‘But what makes you think that the boy who took your life will want to become a loblolly boy once more? Why would he want to Exchange with you?'

The loblolly boy stared at the Captain. It seemed a foolish question. A no-brainer. Why wouldn't the boy want to swap? How could anybody cope with his hideous stepmother, Janice, for more than a few days? She would have made his life the same non-stop misery she'd made his.

‘Because she's horrible!' he blurted.

‘She was horrible to you, perhaps,' said the Captain.

‘She was too,' said the loblolly boy.

‘But why would she be horrible to the boy who took your place?'

This seemed another stupid question, so stupid the loblolly boy couldn't even be bothered with a response. He stared morosely beyond the sand, beyond the scurrying crabs, beyond the waves to where the long straight line of the sea met the sky.

‘You keep telling me that the boy who took your place is not you,' said the Captain.

‘That's because he's not me!' said the loblolly boy vehemently.

‘Of course, but he's probably very much like you?'

‘Why should he be very much like me?'

‘Then he could be quite horrible?' suggested the Captain.

‘Probably is!' snorted the loblolly boy.

‘Think about that,' said the Captain.

The loblolly boy stared at the Captain. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Well,' said the Captain. ‘If you say the woman is horrible and agree the boy is probably horrible, then it's more than possible they're getting along like a horrible house on fire …'

The loblolly boy continued to stare at the Captain as the full meaning of what he was suggesting sank in. Then he turned away and looked at the horizon again. Suddenly it seemed much farther away. The Captain's idea was appalling, doubly appalling because the possibility hadn't even occurred to him. What if the one who'd taken his place actually liked Janice, actually got on well with her? What was the old line? Birds of a feather stick together. What if they were birds of a feather? Would the interloper want to Exchange in that case? Why on earth would he?

Exchanging would probably be the last thing he'd ever want to do.

The sea all at once looked choppier, more treacherous.

‘Yes,' murmured the Captain, ‘I think the sideways approach would be much the better option.'

At that moment, moving sideways was the last thing the loblolly boy wanted to do. Nor could he bear any more to hear what further crushing ideas the Captain might want to share. He didn't even want to be near the Captain. Abruptly, he stood up and, stretching out his arms, began to run in a skipping fashion directly into the breeze blowing off the sea. The wind caught his wings and he was instantly lifted into the air and then, riding the draught, he soared higher and higher until he was hundreds of metres above the little bay. Far, far below he could see the Captain, a tiny figure still sitting in the deckchair at the very edge of the waves. To his right was the Captain's little cabin built into a cave in the cliff at the side of the bay.

From this height the horizon was much farther away. He could now see a container ship heading away for some distant port. From ground level it had been quite invisible.

How many other huge tanker-sized things are just beyond our sight he thought as he climbed even higher in a soaring arc. How many new ideas are just waiting beyond our understanding, each clutching a great club to bang us on the head with their sudden obviousness?

It had seemed such a simple transaction. He would Exchange with the loblolly boy, restoring him to the Michael he had been; and then he would Exchange again and become the Ben whose life had been stolen. Simple. Simple? It wasn't simple at all. It had seemed so but the
Captain had thrown a great rusty spanner into the works.

Everything was difficult, fraught. All at once, the Captain's less than friendly reception was understandable. It wasn't because the Captain was grumpy; no, it was because the Captain was worried. Worried that everything might go bad. Very bad.

The loblolly boy stretched his wings and picking up the breeze again, climbed even higher. Now he could see the surrounding bays, the harbour and the city beyond. But what did
see
really mean? How foolish to think that by flying higher he could see farther. He couldn't even see the obvious — that crabs ran sideways. That the boy who stole his life might actually prefer it to whatever life he'd left behind.

What could he do?

Perhaps the Captain was just being negative.

Everything he said was could, might, maybe.

He wouldn't know what really was until he found his father, Janice and the interloper.

So where were they?

The loblolly boy described a perfect barrel roll and winged downwards once more. He needed to probe the Captain further. All he had so far was a mysterious and confusing warning about moving sideways.

The Captain must have more to reveal.

Surely.

There must have been a very good reason he'd taken down his banjo and sung that ridiculous song. What was it? Something about Jugglers? Oh, yes, and a Gadget Man whoever he might be.