Will Self - The Book of Dave

— Eye dunno. Vey wanna shuttusup. Bert erred Fred an ve uwah dads tawkin.

— Well, then, said Böm, chewing meditatively on this, it appears that our takeaway is ready, my lad. When we add this to what Luvvie Joolee has told us concerning her old man and his allies in London, it drives us to a single conclusion: we must find a way to leave Ham at once. We will travel to the last place our pursuers will think of: to London, and there make common cause with the Blunt dissenters. A simple petition will enable us to discover the fate of your dad. Mayhap these two endeavours, so curiously enmeshed, will serve to put a spoke in the Wheel.

Banging hard, then pushing open the heavy door of the Funch gaff, Carl was assailed by a dreadful caterwauling. His Uncle Gari, who was known familiarly as Fukka, was seated in front of a roaring fire, stripped naked save for a bubbery cockpiece; his paps were roseate with gingery hairs, his skin shone with sweat, and he had a squalling infant propped on each of his bandy legs, while his blunt hands grasped their chubby shoulders. The kids' curly mops bounced as Fukka joggled them unmercifully. Ranged along the sloping walls of the gaff were the opares, while sitting on the yok floor, crammed in between the box beds, and even atop the dresser, were a gaggle of little Hamsters. The entire juvenile population of Ham was there: it was the last tariff before Changeover, and Fukka liked to give them a good send-off. Many of the kids had the distinctive Funch face — full-lipped, broad-nosed, pop-eyed. The other Hamsters said that the Funches looked like motos, something that Fukka didn't mind in the least. Unlike his father, Burny, Fukka was almost untouched by the rigours of Dävinanity. He had a simple and straightforward nature — as close to the earth as his wide frame; and, although it was now dangerous to speak of such things, the time of the Geezer had affected him deeply.

All the kids held a vessel of some sort, a clay pot or earthenware ewer for the older ones, a wooden bowl or tincup for the youngsters. They were all beating upon them with spoons and sticks in time to Fukka's crazy jouncing, while with one discordant voice — at once bass and booming, cracked and reedy — they belted out a string of nonsense: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! When Carl's pale face appeared in the firelight, far from moderating their racket the rambunctious crew redoubled it: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Ending in a rat-a-tat-tat of beats and a great shout of laughter.

Ha, ha! Fukka let the infants slide from his legs to the flags and opened his arms to embrace his nephew. Ve lairë yung git! he cried. Cummeer! They hugged, and Carl breathed in his uncle's oily smell. If the Funches were the offspring of motos and humans, and — as Effi Dévúsh maintained — motos were themselves monstrous products of the union of still other beasts and the gigantic settlers of Ham, then perhaps this explained why his uncle's clan were so congenial to Carl. For the Funches were notably affectionate for Hamsters, kissing and petting their kids in a way that the others didn't.

— Wassup, ven? Fukka asked, when Carl was seated on a stool beside him, a tincan of booze in his hand.

— Iss ve Dryva, Carl replied, anna granddads. Nah ve Dryvas göinnon lyke vat Eye fink ees gonna gé me an Tonë bangdupp. Carnt U sä sumffing, Nunkul?

Fukka cast a plump red hand about him at the tumultuous scene in the house. From the rafters hung bunches of dried herbage. The curry bubbled over the fire, stirred by one of the opares, while a couple of the lads were mending a fowling rope that was uncoiled on the table. Clokk viss, Carl, Fukka said. Í doan matta wot Eye fink, coz ve granddads doan giv a munkees abaht ve Funches, nor ve Bulluks neevah. Weer inturnal Xeyels Rsels, juss lyke Luvvie Joolee aw, Dayv sayv us — he sketched a wheel on his chest and Carl did the same — ve Beestlimun. Eye gotta famlee 2 feed, if Eye speek aht abaht U weer fukked. Nah, Carl, U gotta tekyer charnsez. Fukka shook his great russet mop with a pained expression on his face, as if the whole peculiar weight of Ham had him in a headlock.

Then, summoning himself, Fukka reached out to the opare at the kettle and, grabbing her by her cloakyfing, pulled her down on to his lap. He began to jounce her as he had the infants before, and tried to get the rap going: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal! While a number of the little kids joined in, the rest remained silent, their eyes averted; and although such a sight — the swollen cockpiece battering at the opare's thin behind again and again — was so familiar as to be commonplace, nonetheless Carl felt queasy, averted his eyes, then made his excuses and left.

When, on the following morning, Carl returned from the shitter to see the Council assembled on its wall, he knew what was coming. The granddads sat, swaddled in their bubbery carcoats like melancholy auks. The Driver stood among them, his black robe lying slack in the misty air. The weedy stench of a calm sea blanketed the dads, and while Ozzi Bulluk and Gari Funch chewed their gum stubbornly, spitting from time to time on the turf between their feet, the others were silent. Cummeer! Fred Ridmun called to Carl. We wanna tawk wiv U. The Driver gestured to Bill Edduns, and, ever the willing fony, he dashed off along the shoreline towards Böm's semi no doubt to fetch him too for summary judgement.

When they'd returned, and Carl and Böm were seated at the dads' feet, the Driver presented his back to the Guvnor and made his suit:

— These two flyers have been seen consorting with the Exile, and doubtless they've also continued to enter the Ferbiddun Zön. I lay it before the Council that the two of them should henceforth be confined to the manor.

— Yeah, yeah — Carl didn't know where such Boldness came from — but wot if Eye sed Eye woz gonna mayk ve furs jump onta ve stac, wot ven?

There was a rumble of disquiet from the men.

— Wotjoosayin? said Fred Ridmun, leaning forward to examine his stepson.

— Eyem sayin vat wen me an Bert wozzup eest yesterdä vare woz stil fowl landin an tekkin off from ve stac, yeah. Nó lots but vey iz angin on. U sez — Carl stood to confront the Driver — vat weave gotta gé maw fevvers an vat, well U no ve wayuvit, doanchew?

For the first time in many tariffs the Driver was bereft of words. He stood, white-faced and shaking, making no pretence of observing his fares in his mirror, for he did indeed know the Hamsters' way. Any dad might volunteer to make the first leap on to the Sentrul Stac in place of the Guvnor. This entailed privileges: the right to wear a baseball cap and to carry a lighter. Certain allotments of moto oil, booze and fags were also forthcoming. To molest a dad who had made the leap, fixed the cradle ropes and survived was unthinkable.

At last Fred Ridmun spoke:

— Iss troo wot ee sez, if ee mayks ve leep ee carnt B bangedup, innit.

— Issit? The discomfited Driver lapsed into Mokni.

— Ittis! the Hamsters chorused, and the Driver, bested, strode away to the Shelter.

Although Carl had outwitted the Driver, there remained the question of when a party should be dispatched to the Sentrul Stac. It was late in the season, and the Hamstermen were neither confident pedalers, nor could they swim. In former times they may have prided themselves on their Bold ascents, not just of the Sentrul Stac but also of the other, lesser stacks that stood in the sluggish waters of the great lagoon. Most years the Sentrul Stac boasted the largest blackwing colony, although oilgulls also shared the pinnacle, taking the lower galleries. The fowling party would pitch camp on the summit and on successive nights harvest the birds there and on the other stacks. In former times, when the stacks had been more numerous and the Hamstermen more intrepid, they had stayed out on them throughout the breeding season, their vessel carrying several loads back to the shore. However, in the past few generations the birding had, increasingly, become a symbolic activity — a means of inducting the lads into the mysteries of dadhood, rather than a serious part of the island's economy. In the time of the Driver this tendency towards emasculation had increased, almost as if the imminent erection of the New London that he called over had sapped the will of the Hamstermen to maintain their own more laborious paradise.