The Abominable Showman

  ‘Quite so,’ said the spaceman. ‘But I just want you to understand that I do know your daddy and I mean you no harm.’

  ‘All right then,’ and I managed a grin. ‘Will you please let go of my braces though, it’s really hurting a lot.’

  ‘You promise then that you won’t run off?’

  I raised my fingers boy scout-style and gave a ‘dib dib dib.’

  And I have to say, that by this time, I had no intention whatsoever of running off. That was the very last thing on my mind, I can tell you. Because here was I, in the daddy’s shed, talking to a man from outer space. All in all this was turning into the very best school summer holiday that I’d ever had in my life.

  ‘I won’t run away,’ I promised. ‘Would you like a glass of water? Or perhaps a bottle of the ‘special water’ that the daddy keeps hidden in that corner over there. It’s only for grown-ups, he says.’

  The spaceman made a curious sound that might have been a laugh. ‘I’ll have ordinary water,’ he said.

  I took a glass to the tap outside, filled that glass and returned to the spaceman, closing the door behind me.

  ‘Do you have a ray gun?’ was the first thing that I said.

  ‘I left it on The Leviathan.’ The spaceman’s voice was very high and piping, but, as he climbed to his feet and took the water, it was clear that he was the height of an average adult.

  ‘Which planet do you come from?’ was my second question.

  ‘One thing at a time.’ He sipped at his water.

  ‘Did your flying saucer crash?’

  He sipped at his water some more.

  ‘If you are going to destroy our planet can I be on your side?’

  The spaceman put his water glass down and pulled off his silver gloves. To my great delight each hand had just three fingers.

  ‘Do you –’

  ‘Please be quiet,’ said the spaceman. ‘I have had a long and uncomfortable journey.’

  ‘From –’

  ‘Shut up do!’ The spaceman waggled a finger at me and I took further delight in noticing that each of his fingers had a tiny sucker on the end.

  ‘I really have my doubts about this, Barry,’ said the spaceman.

  ‘My name isn’t Barry and –’

  ‘I was not talking to you.’

  I looked hard at the spaceman, then I glanced all around and about at the hut. There was no one here but the two of us, yet strangely I felt that there might be more.

  ‘If not me?’ I said slowly.

  ‘But you know who.’

  This was a rather queer moment for me, for somehow or other I really did know something.

  ‘Your holy guardian angel,’ I said. ‘Is that who it is?’

  ‘That is certainly what he would like us to think,’ replied the spaceman and with that said he reached up to his ear. It was the right ear he reached up to and not very much of an ear at all it was. A hole with a bit of a pointed flap, but the sort of ear one might expect to find on a man from outer space.

  He rooted about in this ear of his and his suckered fingers teased out something. He closed his hand over this something and held this hand towards me.

  ‘My name is Amesha,’ the spaceman said. ‘And I was born upon Venus. And this little fellow,’ he opened his hand. ‘This little fellow is Barry.’

  In the palm of the Venusian’s three-fingered hand there lay a small bright shiny Brussels sprout.

  ‘Barry?’ I said, as I stared at the sprout.

  ‘Hello, chief,’ said Barry.

  6

  I really would have wet myself, but I was fast on my feet. I ran from the shed and did my business outside.

  A talking sprout!

  A man from Venus and a talking sprout!

  It could not possibly get any better than this and as I was no longer in fear of wetting my trousers, I stood there and savoured the moment. And I suddenly thought of my brother Andy and just how jealous he would be when I told him. It was a wonderful moment. The sun shone down upon me and I felt ……….. somehow blessed.

  I buttoned my fly and returned to the hut. ‘Sorry for that,’ I said.

  The Venusian was bouncing Barry on the palm of his hand. Barry’s squeaks showed Barry did not like this.

  ‘Please don’t hurt the little sprout,’ I said.

  Amesha the Venusian gave Barry a bit of a squeeze.

  ‘Ease up on the squishing, chief,’ said Barry.

  I gave my braces a straighten in the manner that I had seen a defending counsel do on an American television show. ‘Now see here,’ I said. ‘I think you should explain yourself.’

  The Venusian’s golden eyes turned in my direction. His little mouth became a perfect ‘o’.

  ‘See, he’s a feisty one, chief,’ said Barry to Amesha. ‘He’s just the chap to do the job, believe me.’

  Amesha shrugged inside his silver spacesuit. ‘But he’s only a little boy,’ he said.

  ‘Size isn’t everything,’ said Barry.

  ‘Where is your flying saucer?’ I asked. ‘Did it crash? Are you the only survivor?’

  ‘Sit down there,’ said Amesha and he pointed to the toppled half a bag of solid cement. ‘Sit down there and I will explain things to you. Then, when you have heard what I have to say, you can make the decision about what you wish to do.’

  ‘He should do what he’s told to do,’ said Barry.

  I didn’t know quite what to say, so I said nothing at all.

  But I sat myself down on the solid cement, which was not very comfortable.

  The Venusian drained the contents of his water glass then dropped Barry into it. Barry muttered something but I did not hear quite what.

  ‘It is this way,’ said Amesha. ‘You have seen the vegetable lamb and your grandfather has told you that history was not as it is presently recorded.’

  ‘And how could you know that?’ I asked, for I was flabbergasted.

  ‘Because you told me,’ said the man from Venus.

  ‘I never told you any such thing.’

  ‘Not yet no, but in twenty years’ time you will.’

  ‘Oh!’ I went and ‘Oooh’ and ‘Gosh’ and ‘Golly’ and so on.

  ‘Why are you carrying on like that?’ asked Amesha.

  ‘Because …….’ I went. ‘Because ….’

  ‘Because what?’ the golden eyes glittered and the tiny mouth went flap flap flap.

  ‘Because,’ I said, ‘you are implying that you are a time traveller. And I thought it could not possibly get any better. A vegetable lamb. A spaceman and a talking sprout as well. But now a time traveller too,’ and I whistled noisily.

  ‘Cut it out,’ cried Barry from his glass. ‘Goes right through me, whistling does.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said to the sprout.

  ‘I am from Venus,’ said Amesha. ‘Barry is from Phnargos. He is a genetically engineered time sprout.’

  ‘A time sprout.’ I whispered in something approaching a state of ecstasy.

  ‘Not just that,’ said Barry. ‘I am also a holy guardian sprout. A gift to Man from God’s Garden.’

  ‘How can you be both?’ I asked.

  ‘Because I can,’ said Barry.

  ‘All will become clear,’ said the Venusian. ‘The reason I am here is to pass Barry on to you.’

  ‘Me?’ said I.

  ‘You,’ said Amesha.

  ‘I can have a time sprout of my very own?’

  ‘You can,’ said the spaceman. ‘But don’t go getting any big ideas about flitting through time having a lot of derivative adventures.’

  ‘Derivative?’ I said. ‘And what means this?’

  ‘It’s a bit of a sad old trope,’ said the man from Venus. ‘Time travel has become a terrible cliché.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps in books,’ I said. ‘But not in real life.’

  ‘Barry will take you to one specific location in one specific period of time. You will serve in one particular role and not deviate from this and when your work is d
one Barry will return you to this time and you can go about your business as if nothing ever happened.’

  ‘As if nothing ever happened?’ I said.

  ‘As if nothing ever happened.’

  ‘I will have travelled through time and then I will come back and carry on with my life as if nothing has happened?’

  ‘Precisely,’ said the Venusian. ‘As if nothing has happened.’

  I looked hard at Amesha. ‘Oh I see,’ I said.

  ‘What do you see?’ asked the man with the golden eyes.

  ‘I am either having a dream, or a hallucination, or you are an evil ventriloquist paid for by my brother to torment me.’

  ‘Best just give him a smack, chief,’ said the sprout inside the glass. ‘Naughty boys respond well to a smack.’

  ‘There will be no smacking,’ the spaceman said. ‘And I can assure you, young man, that you are neither dreaming nor hallucinating and as to your six-year-old brother hiring an evil ventriloquist –’

  ‘What time?’ I asked.

  ‘Excuse me?’ said Amesha.

  ‘What time will Barry take me to?’

  ‘Nineteen twenty-seven.’

  ‘And what job must I take when I get there?’

  ‘Cabin boy,’ said the spaceman.

  I shook my head and sighed a bit. ‘There were no pirates in nineteen twenty-seven.’

  ‘You will not be employed as a cabin boy on a pirate ship. You will be employed by one of the richest men on Earth to serve him on his space yacht.’

  I now made the face that exposed grave doubt. ‘Again not in nineteen twenty-seven,’ I said.

  The Venusian sighed a plaintive sigh. ‘Not in the nineteen twenty-seven that you have read about,’ said he. ‘But in the one that your grandfather knew and Lady Agnes too.’

  ‘Ah, Lady Agnes,’ I said, as time was passing by. But Lady Agnes and her lamb were rapidly losing their charms.

  ‘I will be a cabin boy, on board a spaceship, working for one of the richest men in the world?’ I said.

  ‘There’s worse things and places to be,’ said Barry.

  ‘And I will come back safe and sound?’ For as I have said, I really wasn’t that brave.

  ‘I think you can be assured of that,’ said Amesha the Venusian. ‘Because after all it was a much older you who suggested the younger you for the job.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘If you cannot trust yourself, then who can you trust?’

  ‘Smart arsed little schmuck,’ said Barry.

  ‘What was that?’ I asked the sprout.

  ‘Nothing, chief,’ said he.

  ‘Barry will apprise you of all the relevant details,’ the Venusian continued. ‘While you are travelling back to nineteen twenty-seven he will explain everything to you.’

  Barry made muttering noises.

  ‘Everything, Barry,’ the man from Venus said. ‘So,’ and he put out his hand to me. ‘What is your decision?’

  ‘Well,’ I said once more and then I shrugged. ‘It does sound like a most exciting offer.’

  ‘Then your decision is, yes?’

  I reached out and shook the three-fingered hand. ‘My decision is, yes.’

  It was then that the unpleasantness occurred.

  ‘I will just pop Barry into your ear,’ said Amesha.

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ I said.

  ‘He has to assimilate himself into your mental synapses and form an aetheric duality of consciousness whereby he can conduct you through time by utilising the trans-perambulation of pseudo-cosmic antimatter.’

  ‘Not in my ear,’ I said firmly and I folded my arms.

  ‘It does not hurt,’ said the spaceman.

  I heard Barry chuckle (not to be confused with Barry Chuckle of the now legendary Chuckle Brothers).

  ‘It will not take but a moment.’

  ‘No!’ I said and I meant it.

  ‘You agreed and we shook hands.’ Amesha’s piping voice rose by an octave.

  ‘I’m not having a sprout pushed into my ear,’ I said. ‘My brother once got a glass marble stuck up his nose and we had to take him to casualty. If that marble had got into his brain he would have died for certain.’

  ‘That would have made you a murderer then, as you pushed the marble into his nostril. Just to see what would happen.’

  ‘What?’ I went and I shook my head. My elder self was clearly somewhat indiscreet at times.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ said the spaceman and he took me once more by my braces and this time hauled me right up off my feet.

  ‘Let me down, you bully,’ I cried. ‘I’ll tell the daddy and he’ll give you a thrashing. He knows Dimac, the most brutal, maiming and disfiguring of all the martial arts. His hands and feet are registered with the police as deadly weapons and –’

  But I said no more at that time, I crossed my eyes instead.

  Because a three fingered hand had thrust a Brussels sprout into my right earhole. And if you have never experienced that, but are thinking to broaden your sensual horizons by trying it out, then don’t! It hurts like –

  ‘Aaaaaaaaagh!’ I went, when I found my voice.

  ‘Easy, chief,’ came words in my head. ‘That’s very loud in here.’

  ‘Take it out! Take it out!’ I made fists and swung them hard at Amesha.

  But to my further horror they passed through him – Amesha grew fuzzy and so did the shed.

  He called, ‘Good luck,’ then everything faded away.

  I floated in blackness, or nothing at all.

  ‘Off we go,’ said Barry.

  7

  I have been described as unfailingly cheerful. My teacher wrote that on my school report. But I was far from cheerful now. In fact I was very afraid.

  ‘Take me home,’ I cried out to Barry. ‘I don’t want to go with you. Please take me home to my mum.’

  ‘Calm down, chief,’ said the voice in my head. ‘I know it can be a little upsetting at first, but you’ll soon get used to it. I’m a loveable fellow me. I’m sure we’ll be best friends.’

  I began to cry. Most pitifully.

  ‘Cheer up, chief,’ said Barry. ‘Things are never quite as bad as they seem.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ I snivelled. ‘I want to go home to my mum.’

  ‘Listen,’ said the sprout of time, ‘this really isn’t my fault.’

  ‘You were thrust in my ear against my will,’ I blubbered.

  ‘It wasn’t against your will at all, in fact it was your idea.’

  ‘The me in the future’s idea,’ I said. ‘Not the me in the now.’

  ‘Same thing, chief, I’m afraid. Same fellow past and present and future. But look on the bright side. At least you will get out of this alive.’

  ‘That sounds rather sinister,’ I sniffed, as my nose was running.

  ‘You get to play an important part in changing history. You are the last little piece in a great big temporal jigsaw.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ I blubbed some more to myself. ‘And I hate you, I do.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry, chief,’ said Barry. ‘But we’re in this together, so let’s just make the best of it.’

  ‘It’s horrid,’ I sniffled and snuffled. ‘A voice in the head is just horrid.’

  ‘It’s not exactly Cleopatra’s barge where I’m sitting,’ said the sprout.

  ‘Then just come out, I beg you.’ And I wrung my hands together.

  ‘No, we must be professional. It’s for the good of Mankind after all.’

  We plunged on, possibly through time, but really through nothing at all. It was a nothingness of a variety I had never experienced before. A complete and utter lack of anything. It was surely the loneliest place that could be imagined, a black and endless timeless horrible void.

  ‘I know Elvis Presley,’ said the sprout inside my head.

  ‘Elvis Presley? The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll?’

  ‘Travelled with him for centuries. Real
ly nice chap, very pretty, but not very bright.’

  ‘You were inside Elvis Presley’s head?’

  ‘Certainly, and Lazlo Woodbine’s too.’

  ‘You are making it up,’ I said to the sprout. ‘Lazlo Woodbine is a fictitious character invented by P.P. Penrose.’

  ‘Everyone is fictitious to someone, chief.’

  ‘That does not make any sense.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but at least you’re not crying anymore. Would you like me to tell you just what you have got yourself into?’

  I gave a sigh and said I supposed that I would.

  ‘It all began,’ said Barry the time sprout, ‘with a Japanese Devil Fish Girl and ended with an Educated Ape. But it did not entirely end, which is why we are on this journey.’

  ‘Are we on a crusade?’ I asked. Because I had read of crusades.

  ‘Crusade,’ said Barry. ‘Yes, we are on a crusade.’

  ‘Splendid,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘My old travelling companion, Mr Hugo Rune was the first to identify the anomaly, but we will not discuss Mr Rune here or we will find we have not time to discuss anything else.’

  I just shrugged at this in the blackness of nothing. Hugo Rune was one of the greatest thinkers of the twentieth century, his book Runetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health was bedside reading for half of the Western World.

  ‘At the Great Exhibition of eighteen hundred and fifty-one,’ Barry went on, ‘in your version of history Charles Babbage, father of the modern computer, did not exhibit his Difference Engine. In the version of history lived by your granddad and Lady Agnes Rutherford, he did.’

  ‘And that changed things?’ I said.

  ‘Absolutely. Her Majesty Queen Victoria found the Difference Engine the most fascinating thing at the Great Exhibition and had her government fund Mr Babbage’s project. By eighteen ninety most middle class households had a personal computer.’

  ‘But we don’t have them now,’ I said.

  ‘Different historical timeline, chief. So, what with Mr Babbage later teaming up with Mr Tesla, famous for his invention of the Alternating Current, and the back-engineering of Martian spaceships, by eighteen ninety-nine the British Empire ruled not only most of this world, but the Moon and Mars beside.’