Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘You know what?’ he murmured, feeling around inside his pockets for his car keys, his phone, his cigarettes. ‘I actually gotta head outa here. Some stuff I forgot about. Stuff I need to take care of…’

He strolled into his bedroom to find his shoes and his jacket, was gone for several minutes and then returned, carrying an old pair of scuffed, brown Bludstones.

‘You should keep on watching this,’ he told Gaffar, indicating with the boots towards the tv, ‘the next bit’s fantastic. He cracks up. His mind starts to wander and the whole film turns into some crazy kind of acid trip…’

Gaffar stared at Kane, intently, as he spoke, an inexplicable smile playing around the corners of his lips.

‘In fact there’s a fine lump of hash in the old Gold Blend jar if you wanna make a night of it…’ Kane continued, slightly unnerved by Gaffar’s look. He pulled on his boots, with a grimace, then furtively rubbed at his nose (surreptitiously, while he was still bending over) in case something vile was hanging from it.

Gaffar’s darkly ironic gaze continued to follow him as he prepared to exit.

‘Great dinner,’ Kane yelled over his shoulder, as a parting shot. ‘ Fantastic dinner. Cheers for that.’

Gaffar’s eyes narrowed slightly as Kane disappeared from view, then he turned and busily recommenced his meal, wondering — with an idle shrug — how long the small square of kitchen roll which was currently affixed to the back of his head might reasonably be expected to stay in situ.

She was hardly overburdened with stuff to occupy herself, and Gaffar (the horny, little runt) had gone to all the trouble of–

A-hem

— borrowing it for her, so she lounged back in her bed, propped up on her pillows, and she read it, at her leisure, from cover to cover.

It took ages (the lettering was all squiggly and the actal copy-quality was shite), but she read every damn page of it — every damn word (even the ones — and there were plenty of them — which she didn’t have the first clue what they meant — like ‘parbraked’ or ‘whiting’ or ‘apothecary’ or ‘tapster’–

?! ).

And it was quite funny (actually) and stupid and dirty …all about con-tricks and wise-cracks and sex and bums and farts (especially farts); not the kind of stuff she could imagine historical people thinking about (or talking about or doing ) — or Beede reading (or thinking about, or doing) either, for that matter.

There was this one story (for example) where Scogin (or Master John, or Master Scogin, or John Scogin — the geezer whose adventures the book was describing) played a prank on his college pals so he wasn’t obliged to go hungry during Lent…

Lent?

Kelly called over a passing nurse and asked her if she knew what Lent was, and the nurse explained how she wasn’t entirely sure but she thought it might be the few weeks between when Jesus died on the cross and when he rose again–

‘Oh yeah …Like in Carrie ? At the end of the film? When that evil fucker who threw pig’s blood at her is layin’ roses on her grave an’ then— Pow! — this hand breaks out thru the soil an’ grabs for his throat?’

‘Well…Yes. Kind of…Jesus pushed back this huge boulder which was blocking up the entrance to his tomb…’

‘So he was mad -strong, huh? Like a Power Ranger?’

‘Yes…Well…he obviously had supernatural gifts of a sort …’ ‘An’ he was all covered in bandages , weren’t he? Like a mummy? I remember that from R.E. at school…’

‘Yes. Yes . Bandages or…or maybe robes …’

‘Wow. Awesome . An’ then what?’

‘Uh…I’m not entirely sure. He spoke to a few people, I imagine, to prove that he’d risen again…’

‘Sprang out on ’em? Really shat ’em up? Big, meaty nail wounds still on his hands?’

‘Uh…Well maybe not quite so…’

‘Wow. An’ then they still went on an’ voted him God? Even after all his shady behaviour?’

‘Uh. Yes. Yes . I suppose they did.’

Pause

‘ Aw . Check out your face ! I’m jus’ rippin’ the piss , love.’

Anyhow, from what she could gauge, Lent was the time in between these two distinct phases (about six weeks or so, the nurse estimated) although the haughty old geezer in the bed opposite — who was much too good to mix with the other patients on the ward and spent all his days hidden behind drawn white curtains (Reverend Jacobs, they called him — because, Kelly supposed, he was totally Cream Crackers …

Geddit ?)

— interrupted the nurse at this point (through his drapes, no less) and told her (in no uncertain terms, either) that she didn’t know diddly-squat…‘Lent — you silly goose —starts on Ash Wednesday and commemorates the time when Jesus retreated into the desert and battled with his conscience for forty days and forty nights…’

Eh?!

‘An’ who the hell asked you , you interferin’ old Gobshite?’

More properly, Lent was a time when religious people, people who went to church (‘Yeah, yeah, Catholics and stuff’) liked to cut back on sweets and booze…

‘What? You mean like goin’ on a special diet for Christ?’

‘Exactly…’ the nurse nodded, glancing anxiously towards the drawn, white curtains.

‘Why?’

‘Well to prove their faith , I suppose…’

‘Beezer!’

‘And to show they have some understanding of Christ’s suffering, by suffering a little themselves…’

‘Brilliant!’

‘And then, when it’s all over — at Easter — they can eat as much as they like.’

‘ Yeah? Chocolate eggs an’ shit?’

‘Yes.’

‘An’ Jesus is cool with that?’

‘Yes. Yes . I believe he is.’

Anyway , Scogin wasn’t meant to eat too much (or get pissed) during Lent (this was in olden-times, so everything was inevitably much more: you know… yawn ) and he didn’t have any spare money (any wonga —no dosh ) to creep out of college and spend secretly at Nando’s (or down the boozer, or wherever), so he came up with a cunning plan to get free entry into the college pantry (where all the food was stored— Duh !).

He did this by pretending that his ‘Chamber Fellow’ (the nonce who shared his room, poor bugger) was ill. It was the time of The Black Plague, and because none of the other scholars wanted to catch what the poor Fellow had, they gave Scogin the keys to the kitchen so that he could prepare him his food while nobody else was about (to avoid cross-contamination an’ shit). Once Scogin had the keys, though, he just took what he liked (Lent be blowed, eh? He feasts like a king!).

After a few weeks, however, people started to get suspicious (‘Oi! Where the hell’s that lovely leg o’ lamb?!’) and they demanded to see the sick Fellow’s ‘water’ (his piss — they wanna test it), but instead of providing them with a sample, Scogin held a burning candle to the poor Fellow’s nose (an’ his lips , so they blister up) and the sight of his apparent ‘contagion’ was so terrifying to behold that the Masters stopped harassing the conniving pair and allowed them to keep those precious keys for a few weeks longer.

Scogin and his Chamber Fellow consequently lived the Life of Reilly throughout all of Lent, eating what they liked, drinking and carousing, until Maundy Thursday when they enjoyed a huge, final blow-out at the college’s expense–