Ever Dundas - Goblin

We were already in the Underground as the bombs fell and the crowds gathered.

‘Roll up! Roll up!’

People shuffled over, gathering round, mumbling grumbling, what’s all this then what’s he supposed to be some sort of clown you from the circus let’s see a trick then!

‘I’ll tell you a story,’ I said. ‘The tragic true story of the Lizard King.’

What’d he say a story about the king sshh!

‘Underground,’ I said, pausing, ‘underground is where the lizard people live.’

Lizard people what a loada bollocks shut up let ’im tell the damn story will ya.

‘Underground is where the Lizard King lives and he shoots poison from his eyes. There was one time he cried when he was in human form and his skin peeled away as if burned by acid.’

I dragged my fingers down my masked face.

What kinda story is this lizards and poison nonsense he’ll scare the wee uns shut up I wanna hear the rest shut up will you?

‘When it healed, he had silver scars from his eyes to the corners of his mouth, to his chin. Half of his lower lip was burned away.’

What made the Lizard King cry yeah why’d the sissy lizard cry anyway shut up sshh!

‘The Lizard King cried because of the Lizard Queen.’

It’s always some woman’s fault hahaa yeah shut up already or I’ll shut you up.

‘The Lizard Queen had gone to the Realm Above, the realm where you and I live and work and play. The lizard people can take on human form and walk amongst us.’

My landlord’s a lizard person that’s for sure ssh! all cold hearted shut up as cold as can be shh let her finish!

‘The Lizard Queen was in the Realm Above and a human man fell in love with her. He kept her in the Realm Above beyond the witching hour and she became trapped in human form. She could no longer descend to the Realm Below. The only signs left she was a lizard person were her red glinting eyes and her shimmering skin. When people saw her they thought her eyes and skin were made of jewels and they turned mad with greed. They thought if they plucked out her eyes and picked the jewels from her skin they’d be rich. So they plucked out her eyes but they were only eyes and they ripped at her shimmering skin but it was only skin. The Lizard King came to the Realm Above to search for his queen and that was the one time the Lizard King cried. He hunted down every person responsible for the Lizard Queen’s death and he plucked out their eyes the way they’d plucked out hers and he skinned them alive the way they’d skinned her. From each person he kept a token and he strung the body parts in his palace and lived the rest of his days in mourning.’

Throat clearing and shuffling and grumbling and what kind of story is that horrible disgusting it’s a parable like Jesus tells what does it mean it means don’t be a greedy bastard doesn’t mean nuthin pile of nonsense thought he was a clown do some tricks it means don’t steal people’s eyes that’s the moral of the story don’t steal no no no it’s don’t judge by appearances don’t covet someone else’s Lizard Queen do some tricks make us laugh what kinda clown are you anyway?

‘This,’ I said, talking over them, ‘This is the Lizard King.’

What was that what’d he say shut up I can’t hear he said that’s the Lizard King.

‘This,’ I said again, ‘is the Lizard King.’

They all turned and stared at old Mr Fenwick who’d been all hunched up swamped by the dinner jacket, hidden by the mask. He stood up all tall and slowly slowly slowly just like we practiced raised his hand to the mask and now no one was talking you could hear the bombs dropping ping ping up above all held their breath as his bony green hand clasped at the mask and slowly slowly slowly just like we’d practiced he lowered it. His eyes were closed. I’d painted red lizard eyes on his eyelids, the rest of his face painted green but the scars, the silver-red scars weaving down his face from his eyes like tears. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd.

My god it’s true a lizard he’s scarred look he’s scarred from his tears half lizard half human it’s true my god don’t be silly it’s a story he cried for his loved one it’s sad so sad just a story a good story it is poor old lizard man.

People jostled, trying to see.

What happened what really happened that poor man daddy is his skin really green it’s just a story am I a lizard mummy I want to be a lizard.

‘Ladies and gentleman! We are the Lizard King and Goblin of the Realm Below, and we thank you!’ We both bowed, and I took my gas mask through the crowd, seeking pennies, sweets, and cigarettes.

I was proud of our success so I wrote to Angel to tell her all about it. She’d sent a few more postcards asking for news, worried I’d been hurt in the bombs, so I finally told her I was okay, just busy because I’d met the Lizard King and we were professional performers now, doing lots of shows, bringing in the money for my family. I didn’t hear back for a while, then she wrote that she was glad I was happy and she was happy too and she’d been going to the beach with her boyfriend and swimming in the sea with him all summer. I read it over and over before dropping it in the rubbish. I tore up all her other postcards and punched and kicked the wall, frightening Billy Bones who’d been scratching around in the leaves I’d collected for the chickens. He clucked and ran into the hallway and I collapsed into the leaves and stared at my scuffed knuckles. Angel wrote to me twice after that, but I didn’t read her postcards. I never wrote to her again.

The Lizard King and I passed the weeks of the war travelling the Underground, performing, telling stories. I’d tell the tragic story of the Lizard King over and over, changing things here and there, more dramatic, less dramatic, sad, gruesome, even more gruesome until mums complained and clasped their hands over the ears of their children. I told the stories of Queen Isabella (who puffed her bloody chest out with pride), Scholler and Amelia. I told them of the kraken who eats the sun and the Crazy Old Pigeon Woman who kept birds in her hair.

That’s when our lives changed, that’s when my future was written; my future in lights. It was all mapped out. I saw the soldier who’d given me money and made me rich for two weeks, I saw him in the crowd many times until one day he came up to us and said, ‘How would you like to join the circus?’

London, 5 September 2011

Alone in my hotel room, shut in, writing, missing home. I miss Mahler’s smell and his huffy noises as he sleeps, the way he sits by the fire with his paws in the air, his belly exposed.

‘Ben?’

‘Morning, old lady.’

‘I miss you, Ben. And I miss Mahler, the feel of his fur and his smell.’

‘Aye, but I bet ye dinnae miss his farts. They’re lethal.’

I laugh.

‘I even miss that.’

‘Ye all homesick, old lady? Ye got anyone there? Old friends or something?’

I eye Isabella, Amelia, Scholler and spectre-Monsta.

‘I do,’ I say.

But they don’t smell of anything.

‘But it’s not the same.’

‘Ye seen the Detective yet? Once yev seen him ye can come back home, right?’

‘I don’t think it’ll be that simple.’

‘We could come visit.’

‘No. It’s not safe to bring Mahler here.’

‘The riots are over.’

‘I just think he’s better off at home with you. And I’m doing okay. My friends here aren’t so bad.’

Isabella harrumphs.

‘Not so bad? Did you hear that, Amelia?’

‘I did.’

‘Ssh!’ I say, covering the mouthpiece. ‘You know I love you, you uppity queen.’

‘Old lady? You there?’

‘I’m here, sorry.’

‘Still writing?’