Green Boar: Part Six

The story so far: Leanne, having escaped the brewery and Cl’mentine the blue bear, yet having promised to return, now discovers the mask of the boar, Le’Roy, on her doorstep, yet again...

Disbelieving, she stared at the mask, incongruous in the yellow plastic bucket. Modern materials didn’t suit them, she thought, and now it came to mind the lights in the brewery had been strange too, maybe they had been gas lamps. She’d never seen gas powered lamps but had heard they flickered as those had done. How long was it since everyone had electricity? Fifty, sixty, seventy years, probably more, surely long enough for everyone in the United Kingdom to have electric lights.

“What’s with the bucket? She hissed as she picked him up.

It wobbled as he spoke: “You took the basket. We had nothing else with a handle.”

“Does someone carry you here? I thought you could fly.”

“Fly? Why would you say that? Boars do not fly.”

“But you floated!”

“I was in battle form. I could never do that here. It would be the wrong thing entirely.”

“Why?”

“It would just be wrong. You don’t understand our traditions. In battle we shine: we live in our ultimate form, but now I am not in battle, I am like you, lady: normal!”

“No way are you normal,” she exclaimed, they were inside now so no one could hear her. On reflection, she added, “and since I can see and hear you, then I’m not normal either.”

She caught sight of herself in the mirror. No, you might not be normal any longer, she thought, but you still look the same, nobody would ever know. What if someone saw the bucket arrive and started asking questions. Some of her neighbours were old, it would give them a heart attack.“So, how do you get here?”

“The Furies fly me here.”

“Furies.”

“Yes, Furies fly, I cannot.”

“The same ones you fought last night? Are they here now?

“They are waiting. They are friends, and the bravest of all, but you need not worry about them, they would not hurt you.”

“So, why can’t I see them?” she asked.

“They can’t be seen by you or I, they won’t allow it.”

“Well, I don’t understand that, but then I don’t understand doors having a mind of their own either. Anyway, that wasn’t a real battle last night, was it? You made it up to test me.”

“Yes. My estimable friend the bear, said you were very angry at us.”

“I was.”

“I am so sorry, my lady, but we had to know if you could complete your task.” He paused, then asked as if he had come all this way to ask  but now didn’t want to hear her response, “Are you still angry?”

“No, I don’t think I am. But look, it isn’t part of the deal that you turn up on my doorstep whenever it suits you, it’s going to make me late for work.” She still had a few minutes before she must leave, but she didn’t feel like telling the boar this.

“I’m very sorry dear lady,” the bear replied, “but I had to make sure you would still help us.”

“Ok. Look, I want to know who and what you are before I agree to help you further. That’s fair isn’t it?”

Le’Roy took a deep breath “I believe it is, and that is what I came here to tell you.” It sounded like he was about to continue with the whole story right then, so she cut him off, lying. “But not now. I have to go. I’m already late!”

It was one thing to cycle messages through the dark of night, to go from one reality to another, but it was entirely another matter to have one’s head offered to be blown off by unusual bears when one had done so. It was nice that he wanted to apologise, but she wanted to make him aware that her agreement was something he must fight quite hard for.

Anyway, it wasn’t really a lie; she did have to leave for work, even though if she were late she would be the only one to know. Mr Ashburton, the boss of the cobbler’s shop she worked in relied on her to open up the shop. If they were a few minutes late, then customers would have only to wait a few minutes more to have their keys cut, or their boots dropped off for mending. It would not be the end of the world.

Though Le’Roy, she felt, would only take advantage of that fact to persuade her to stay and listen, so she made for the door, “You’ll have to explain after I’ve finished work.”

Without a doubt, he was determined to persuade, “But, my story is a saga! It crosses generations and penetrates eons, it would take days to tell in its entirety. If you will kindly hear me out, busy lady, I think you will find I have a solution that fits us both superbly, and I will tell my tale in such a way that it will satisfy your curiosity fully, so that when I am done, you will truly understand the awfulness of our calamitous circumstance.”

“Go on then.” she replied, hopping on one foot, hoping his explanation of the solution would be shorter than the story, or certainly, the proposal for its telling.

”I shall come to work with you, and spin you my tale there.” He announced.

“What? No!”

“But, my lady, it is the obvious solution, for hardly anybody else but you can see or hear me.”

“But you’ll distract me.”

He had “Well, while it is true that my tale is distracting, I believe it is not impossible for you to listen and work at the same time. For do you not listen to the people in the little box all day while you continue to work most industriously, and still you do not fail to complete your many and most varied tasks?”

“What little box... Oh, do you mean the radio?” How did he know about the radio? “Yes, but that’s the radio. I don’t really listen to it.”

“Yes, them... the Radios. You listen to them chattering and making music all day. However, to listen to me would not be so much harder would it? I promise, dear lady, to be unobtrusive, I will be as if a spirit in the wood, and I will not interrupt when you have customers. You will hardly ever know I’m there.”

She sighed. His idea was not so bad, and if he could keep quiet during lunch, when it was busiest, then it would probably work. “Okay. We’ll give it a go then. However, and you must promise me this: if I say you are to go, you will go at once. With no whingeing.”

“Boars of the Green Board standard do not whinge, my lady. Our opinions are varied and always affective, and we are stoic in the face of hardship. However, to answer your question, most generous lady, yes, I promise to go. In fact, I agree fully with your stipend. Oh, I am delighted; I am a masterful storyteller – Whoa!”

This last he exclaimed because she had grabbed his bucket and run at full pelt out of the door, and the journey was obviously bumpier than usual, because he struggled to make himself heard, “My… my lady… May I… pro… pose… th… aaat… I… trav… el… Oh!... by… Fury… and… Meet you there. Oh! Thank goodness you’ve stopped. Oh, I feel quite queasy, two legged animals run so uncomfortably. Just put me down please.”

She rested the bucket on the stair. Le’Roy’s alter form was grimacing and fidgeting in a most uncomfortable way.

“Thank you. The furies will take care of the rest... Here they come.” To her surprise, the bucket handle rose up by a force she could neither see nor hear, and then the whole vessel disappeared. She felt a harsh wind rush against her cheek and heard his voice, as he rose past her head, cry out “Good lady, I will see you anon on the pave!”

It turned out that ‘pave’ was ‘pavement’, because when she arrived there the bucket was, abandoned about three metres from the shop door in the middle of the pavement, forcing the few people passing by to step around it. She saw a man glance curiously down, but he continued on his way as if its contents were completely usual. Reassured, she picked it up, more carefully this time, and peered in. Le’Roy smiled up at her. “This is exciting, my lady, I hope to learn much about your world, even as I tell you about mine. Well, how shall I begin?”

“Not just yet,” she muttered, setting him down gently by the door, so she had her hands free to unlock it. “Just let me get you settled.” She fiddled with the key in the lock for a moment, the irony being that, as a locksmith her boss had all the time in the world for everyone else’s locks, but none for their own, and you needed to learn the knack for unlocking it.

As soon as they were inside, Le’Roy sprang from the bucket into his boar form, this time not dressed in armour, but still very smartly in a formal scarlet tabard bordered with gold thread, that contrasted vibrantly with his green skin. “Thank goodness for that.” He exclaimed. “I, for one, am no fan of buckets. The plastic makes one so very sweaty.”

He looked around the tiny cobbler shop, noting the punched out brass and alloy key blanks that hung in neat lines on the green felt backed wall, and the newly mended shoes labelled and awaiting collection in a line no less tidy on the other side.

They had two counters; one to serve customers needing new watch batteries or keys cut, which had a second lower shelf that served as a working area. This was surfaced in green baize, such as you would find on a snooker table, and was fringed with every kind of tiny tool required to open the backs of watches, currently scattered in between these were little twirls of metal that came off the keys when they were cut, which she hadn't cleared from the previous day. The other counter was for cobbling, and several tins and boxes of shoe polish stood in pyramids on top of it.

Unfortunately it now looked as if they may soon reside upon the floor, for as a space the shop was hardly large enough to contain Le'Roy, and an unwary movement from him would send everything tumbling down, creating utter havoc where there had been calm. This, she thought, seemed the general state of affairs where Le’Roy was involved. In his current shape, there would certainly be no room for customers, for there was no corner he could squash into that could take him.

She inched into the shop, acutely aware that she was trying to avoid touching his body with its wiry, scratchy looking hairs, and put the bucket on the watch and key counter.

“You’ll have to get back in, and then you can hide under there.” She pointed under the watch and key counter. “That’s where I sit.”

“Under a desk! What an absurdity.” He began to bluster, as if to do such a thing were beneath his dignity.

“Well, what else do you suggest? You don’t fit, and I can’t just plonk you on the top, you are not the normal stuffed furry toy kind of desk ornament. People would ask questions… unless you can reform as something else?”

Though she could not imagine Le’Roy agreeing to reform as a furry toy boar, if indeed he could, the idea was highly amusing, and she couldn’t help smiling.

“But that is preposterous, dear lady. I cannot do such a thing.” He looked around again, seeking another solution, but there really was nowhere else for him to go.

“Well, it seems I must take up your suggestion. But please, lady, please do not put me in the bucket, it does not suit me, my bones are old and I am not used to such garish surrounds, and besides that, there is all the sweatiness; my insides feel as if they are made of slush. It is all too much.” He twitched in what she took to be distaste at the memory. “May I ask instead, for you to prop my alter form against something firm. But make sure it is upright, there is a danger I will fall asleep if I am laid flat.”

“I can do that.” She replied. “Is that why you fell asleep at the brewery?” She shoved a few of the boxes they kept under the counter aside to make room for him.

“I, ahem! I was not asleep then. I was healing.”

“Healing?” I thought you said the furies were friendly.” She sat back on her heels and looked up at him, surprised.

“They are, but they were playful, it is a long time since they fought a battle, and they are quite strong. Some of them became quite eager to win, and I am not as young as I was. Although still strong.” He added hurriedly, “I am still Le’Roy of the Green Boar and feared throughout the land.”

She had reservations about this, but he seemed over sensitive about it, so she decided to say nothing about them, “You said they. How many were there?”

"Well," he said, “There are many furies, but my friends are only three. It is enough.”

He shook himself, like a dog shaking water from its coat after a swim, nearly causing their display to cascade onto the ground. It seemed to be part of his preparation for becoming his alter form, for then he seemed to tip himself forward, just briefly becoming transparent, then the mask dropped onto the counter with a woody clatter. She carefully picked it up, and propped it against the boxes under the counter on top of a folded cloth. “Don’t worry, the cloth is clean. We use them for polishing. I’m curious, why is three furies enough?”

“Enough to carry me, enough to be friends; Too many furies get very angry, dear lady, and then they make everyone else very angry too. It is very dangerous to be around many. Very dangerous indeed.”

She stood and straightened the tools on her desk. “So you don’t know what they look like either?”

“Not at all. Sometimes I see a shadow, but no more than that. If I were to tell the truth, I would not want to see one, and I am brave. There are many myths about them, and they are all horrible.”

“Myths?”

“Oh yes. It is told they have the wings of eagles but the bodies of ugly old women, that they are dressed in fine but bloody clothes, and that they carry their heads between their knees, having had them parted from their necks in punishment for some terrible deed. They are a fearful sight and furious because of it.”

“They sound awful!”

“They are not so bad. They are in pain because they were once so beautiful and everyone loved them for it, but now they must keep themselves hidden because of the fear and hate their appearance inspires.”

“That’s terrible.” Leanne felt sorry for the furies.

“All throughout our long years of solitude, they have been brave and helpful.” He sighed. “When we were young there were many of them, but that is a very long time ago.” He sighed again, as if the thought of so much time passing tired him, “But times have changed and I am here. Would you like me to begin my story now?”

There were no customers yet, in truth there were still ten minutes to go before she would open up. “Just a minute, I’m going into the office to make a cup of tea.” She said, exiting the shop into the tiny little room at the back, which they jokingly called the office, but was actually more of a cupboard. It was all the room they had that was not shop, and they kept everything in that could not be on display, so it was filled floor to ceiling with files, stock, catalogues, spare rags, buffing pads, and shoes whose owners had not yet remembered to collect them. On one of its shelves was a tiny fridge for milk, the smallest kettle ever made and two cups, one for her and one for Mr Ashburton. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Her cup had a picture of a kitten sitting in a mug on it, and Mr Ashburton’s had an arrow pointing up, and the word ‘Idiot’ under the arrow. He thought it funny in an ironic way, while she thought it funny in a true way, even though she was fond of him.

“I shall begin now.” She jumped, for Le’Roy’s voice sounded as if it came from the space next to her right ear…
… to be continued…