THE WRITER'S LIFE | FICTION
Sometimes when I
was homeless, I wished I could have escaped. Only sometimes? It
depends on the definition of escape. For the most part while I was on
the road, I tried to make the best of whatever I had. The squat
became almost an unofficial social drop-in centre for wayward teens
and the police alike.
There were many good times, and time spent on the streets brings you
into contact with all kinds of humanity. Only once did I try to
escape using 'The Drop': A crude construction two of us rigged up,
with a ladder and some electrical cable. A miscalculation of cable
length vs. distance to floor ratio, only resulted in an epic hanging
fail on my part. There was much mirth afterwards as it happened: A
celebration of failure.
The 25 stories in The Perpetuity of Memory were written in many
different places, both physical and personal: Psychological horror
when I myself was terrified, and the odd bit of whimsy, when I was
comfortable enough in my surroundings to forget things and escape for
a while. Master Yehudi's Flying Circus is one such tale.
MASTER
YEHUDI'S FLYING CIRCUS
Master Yehudi could walk on water, and he could
fly. He could travel through time and space, in the blink of an eye.
Today, Master Yehudi’s Flying Circus was coming to the village.
No-one knew what to expect. Master Yehudi himself
was a mystery. His circus and stories of his miracles were folklore
and fairy tales, to all but the village elders. According to them,
the show would usually arrive with less than a day’s notice, and
only remain in one place for a matter of hours.
The flyers heralding the arrival of the circus had
appeared overnight, crudely pasted onto walls around the village,
advertising what could have been a Victorian circus sideshow, or a
1950s drive-in movie. Large red letters on a yellow background
proclaimed:
STRANGE BEINGS FROM ANOTHER WORLD!
MASTER YEHUDI BRINGS YOU
THE INCREDIBLE FLOATING ELEPHANT GIRLS!
Underneath were comic book pictures, of Dali-esque
elephants, floating in a blue-grey sky above a desert.
The village was busier than usual. Hardly
surprising, considering the expectation. All of village life was laid
out under an ultramarine sky. The farmer had brought cheese, butter
and livestock. The farmer’s wife milked cows and filled small
wooden cups with warm milk for the children. The butcher and
fishmonger were serving up hot food from a barbecue. The baker had
made extra bread, and was doing a brisk trade as families set out
picnic blankets on the green in front of the ale house. The innkeeper
and his wife served beer and wine, while a string quartet of one
family’s children provided the music on sitar, harpsichord, lute
and harp.
Everyone wore their best clothes, parents pleading
with children to try to keep clean, at least until the visitors had
left. Local businesses, some rivals, competed to attract the most
custom from the captive audience. Villagers skilled in different
crafts set out their stalls, selling elephant girl knitted dolls,
sculptures made from wood and clay, drawings and paintings. One
enterprising soul was selling the incredible floating elephant girls
themselves, his sign shouting:
ADOPT YOUR OWN INCREDIBLE FLOATING ELEPHANT
GIRL!
Housewives scrubbed their doorsteps, as though
expecting the mysterious Master Yehudi to cross their thresholds. The
menfolk mainly strutted, preened, and compared themselves to their
neighbours. The mayor surveyed all, as he patrolled with the sheriff
and his deputy. Behind them were local councillors from various
political groups, jostling for the best space from which to witness
the coming spectacle. A small group of protesters had gathered on the
green, their hand-written placards held aloft:
LIBERATE THE SLAVES!
THEY ARE NOT FREAKS!
BY BEING HERE, YOU ARE ENCOURAGING THEIR
EXPLOITATION!
A lone counter-protester's banner read simply:
GO HOME!
Mixed youth factions milled around, maintaining an
uneasy tolerance to be able to witness something greater than
themselves. Purveyors of narcotics traded their wares, under the
knowing and receptive noses of the law.
The Creationists and The Atheistic Church had both
laid out their stalls, and had a sort of preach-rap burn going
on:
“The elephant girls are proof of God's creation on other planets.”
“The elephant girls are proof of God's creation on other planets.”
“The bible says that God created only this
planet. The elephant girls are proof that he doesn't exist.”
And so on.
The general murmur of conversation on the green,
punctuated by the occasional raising of voices in protest or
merriment, gradually became softer, as a new sound slipped into the
arena: a low hum, pierced at regular intervals by a rasping, hissing
sound. As the background talk faded, the sound grew louder. The
humming became more defined, sounding like helicopters. The hissing
grew deeper, like a steam locomotive. But the source of the noise
remained unseen. The assembled villagers gazed at the sky; clear, but
for the sun and a few thin lines of cloud, like chalk marks on a pool
table. The blue sky darkened, taking on an orange hue, then began to
ripple like an ocean, as a dark shape materialised and partially
obscured the sun.
The object moved gradually, with a whop, whop,
shoosh, eventually becoming stationary beneath a spotlight sun.
The new arrival was around one hundred yards from the closest
observers, and a similar distance above ground. It was about the size
of a stable block for four horses. Just as gradually as it had moved
horizontally, the object then began to descend, the whop, whop,
shoosh rhythm joined by an expelling of air as it touched down.
The main body of the ship – for it seemed
logical to assume it to be some form of transport – was made from
wood: not constructed of wood, but carved from a single piece.
Apertures of various sizes afforded a glimpse of inner workings made
of metal: cogs, pistons, chains…It was like a piece of alien
driftwood, driven by clockwork and powered ashore by steam.
At the top of the craft were two pairs of spiral
rotors, like apple peel and seemingly made of parchment or hide,
stretched over wooden frames. Da Vinci’s drawings of flying craft
made reality. On each corner of the roof stood a copper chimney,
puffing steam as the workings of the machine below them continued to
operate. The curious moved closer, while the apprehensive remained
behind, and the fearful fled.
“Gather round everyone,” a voice from within
the craft requested. “Don’t be alarmed. The creatures I bring to
show you today are harmless. They are contained, so they pose no
threat to you. In fact, their containment is for their own protection
and survival, for it mimics the conditions which they are used to at
home. My name is Yehudi. I am a traveller. On my travels, I collect
many strange objects and creatures. I like to share my discoveries,
and today my travelling show brings you the floating elephant girls.”
The rotors on the roof of the structure began to
rotate faster and the soft beat of the steaming chimneys grew louder.
Through the portholes, the inner workings of the machine became more
urgent, then the front of Master Yehudi’s Circus sprang apart, like
wooden shutters hastily thrown open on a hot day.
Behind the wooden doors was a glass-fronted wooden
tank. It contained no water, yet the creatures inside seemed to be
floating. The curious grew more curious still and approached the
tank. Some of the occupants of the tank moved closer to the glass
front. Now only a few feet away, the creatures in the tank were
around the size of a rat. Instead of fur, they were covered in a
wrinkled grey skin: they did indeed resemble miniature elephants.
They had large ears, which they flapped gently to move around inside
the tank. Instead of pachyderm features, the creatures had simian
faces: eyes, nose and mouth, like those of the great apes. Some of
the mouths were animated, as though breathing the water which was
absent from the tank. As one elephant-ape moved its lips, others
watched, then some copied: were they talking?
As the villagers grew more fascinated, some moved
still closer to the tank. A small group of the elephant girls also
moved closer to the glass. They weren't tethered and floating. They
had long, thin legs, like the elephants Salvador Dali painted. One of
the village children rushed toward the glass. All eyes on the other
side fixed on the child.
“Stop. Please do not alarm them.” Master
Yehudi’s disembodied voice came from the circus ship again.
“Ladies. Gentlemen. Children. These are the elephant girls. As you
can now see, they do not float but they appear to, on their
impossibly thin legs. Their legs look they should snap under the
weight of their bodies and indeed, in your atmosphere, they would.
The atmosphere where these come from, is so thick a collection of
gases, that it is almost liquid. The elephant girls swim in the
atmosphere of their own world, which I have recreated for them here.
I regret that on this occasion, we are pushed for time as we have
many places to visit. As such, I’m afraid I shall not be able to
entertain questions.”
The circus ship closed its doors and the apple
peel propellers span faster, until the travelling show steamed off
like a train, panting impatiently to get to its next stop.
Master Yehudi stood up and approached the tank.
“So children, that was Earth. I told you it was a curious place and
one worthy of visiting only briefly. Humans are an interesting
species, are they not? Well, now you can tell your parents that you
actually saw some. Where would you like to go next?”
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