It was only when Jake Shudders opened the front door on that
fateful winter's morn that he saw the full horror before him: a naked, frozen
man perched in the fork of the Dutch Elm in his front garden, blue from the
cold and very dead!
He
averted his eyes from the rampant indigo appendage, frozen in a last desperate
erection like an erotic popsicle and examined the face. Did he know this man?
Was there anything even remotely recognizable about him?
As he
had no friends he mentally ran through a list of his acquaintances, alright
distant acquaintances, to see if he could make a match, but as none of them had
a blue face and as he had no imagination, he quickly ran out of steam. Which
was not the best metaphor for that arctic morning.
"What
we have here is a frozen stiff with a frozen stiffie…" Again probably the
wrong choice but Jake was in no mood to bandy words with himself. He had quite
enough trouble with his legs.
"…nudely
astride the fork of my Dutch Elm."
Faced
for the first time in his short hectic life with a blue libidinous corpse
sitting in his tree, Jake did the only thing that he was capable of, despite
the hanging preposition, he ran back indoors, closed the door, shot upstairs
and jumped back into bed.
With
only his nose peeping out from the quilt Jake tried to put some sense into the
previous scene.
"Okay.
Did I just see a dead, naked, frozen chap of azure hue, with a horrendous
boner, sat astride a bough of the Dutch Elm in my front garden? True or false?
Maybe it was all a dream?"
He
reflected for a mo and then shivered. No, alas it was true and he still had the
frozen nose to prove it.
But
what had happened? Had the cadaver been planted up the tree (whoops, this time
a little too apt), by a person or persons unknown, in which case he would have
already been dead - but why would a p. or ps. unknown go to all that
trouble? Could it be one of those distant acquaintances overdoing it in the prank
department?
Or did
Blue Peter, (again totally inappropriate, what's happening to me?) climb up a
tree totally naked and in a state of colossal sexual excitement (maybe he got
aroused by trees? Are there Arborophiles? I'm grasping at straws here. Maybe
there was a knot hole which he was trying to penetrate) and then die of
hyperthermia?
So
either he was a nude suicidal plant pervert or, and this is where it becomes
ominous, are we looking for a
frozen-blue-nude-aroused-cadaver-up-trees-depositer?
Interesting
thought: if you die while having an erection does the member also get rigor
mortis? And is that what some types of necrophilia are all about? Especially in
the Antarctic?
It was
round about here that Jake's never very fertile imagination skidded to a screeching
halt as he was assailed by a disturbing notion:
"Oh
buggar, has Blue Peter been murdered?" he mused, "And is someone
trying to foist the crime off onto me? I must do something."
In
seconds flat Jake had debedded, re-slippered, down-staired, door-opened,
garden-pathed and up-tree-stared.
Blue
Peter was still up there, no dream, alas.
A
sparrow fluttered and swooped away chirping from its perch on the recalcitrant
organ.
He
began a dialogue between himself and himself.
"Do
I know this naughty blue ex-person?"
"No,
I have never seen him before in my life, I'm sure."
"So
how the hell did he get up there?'
"Three
possibilities: he climbed up, he was placed there, he fell."
"Ooh,
I've got it, he fell out of a passing plane."
"Get
real, he would've shattered into tiny pieces. And probably destroyed the tree
as well."
"Unless,
gentlemen of the jury, he had…a parachute!" With an air of quiet triumph.
"Aha,
brilliant! You are cunningly suggesting that there is a parachute thief in the
vicinity, who just happened to be passing by, as Blue Peter with his blue peter
was dropping in."
He
pondered this for a while, then in ponderous succession, reflected, mulled,
considered, chewed over, contemplated and finally ended up weighing-up the pros
and cons.
"And
anyway why do I have to be the one in italics?"
"Oh
please! This it totally the wrong time to be childish, I mean is that all that
you could come up with?"
"Well
your intense air of superiority is sickening and what the hell sort of font is
that, anyway?"
"Bauhaus
93 of course. I always use it in times of stress."
"Well
it's stupid and totally unsuitable. I hope you realise that this is an
emergency?"
"We
always quarrel at the worst times, that's why we've never made anything of
ourselves."
"You
speak for yourself, I am quietly proud of my many accomplishments."
"Probably
because you can't remember any of them. Enough of this bickering. Let's get
back to basics. Nude man, frozen, blue, woody, tree… oh, and yes I nearly
forgot, dead."
"I
know! Maybe he was a tree hugger, taking it to extremes?"
"You
mean a tree-fucker, don't you?"
"Wait
hear me out. Suppose he took it to the next level and fell in love with it?"
"Oh
yes great theory, maybe he's Dutch too and they both spoke the same language.
For goodness sake get a life."
"Well
at least I'm working on it, I don't see you coming up with any ideas."
A
shivering breeze tinkled through the icy branches. A soft spume of snow began
to blanket the garden. Sounds retreated.
Jake
peered up at the dead man's face for a long moment.
"No,"
he said with finality "I've never ever seen this guy before."
He
thought for a while.
"I
think I'll call him Randy."
"Stunning!
Well that's solved that problem, we can go back to bed now confident of a job
well done."
"
I just thought I would inject a note of levity into the situation to ease the
tension. Why? Because I'm British, that's why, British to the core and proud of
it."
"Yes,
as quintessentially British as anyone with an Irish Mother and a Rumanian
Father can be."
"Again,
the bickering. Enough! Come, let us make common cause and get to the bottom of
this mystery."
"Alright,
but go easy on the jokes, this is no laughing matter. We could be in serious
shit."
"Got
it! I bet Randy's a terrorist!"
"Whaaat?
For the love of Pete why?"
"Bear
with me. He might be full of explosives. Like a giant lethal firework!"
"Oh
and his dick's the blue touch paper?"
"
Seriously, think it through. If you want kill the maximum amount of innocent
people you put, for example, a dead naked man, containing a bomb, he's probably
an infidel, in a tree. Then you lurk!"
"You…lurk?"
"Oh
yes that's the whole point don't you see? You lurk until a big enough crowd has
gathered, hopefully some police, ambulance-men, maybe even a few firemen to get
him down from the tree and Bang! Piece of cake. Another triumph for religion.
What do you think? Don't pull your punches."
"I
have to say in all fairness and not wanting to pick holes, criticise or be in
any way negative, that that is the silliest, most inane, brain-dead hypothesis
I have ever heard propounded."
"Aha,
so at least you agree that it's a hypothesis!"
"So
is the flat earth theory, dum dum."
"The
trouble with you is that you're a…"
"HEY, YOU TWO, SHUT THE FUCK UP, CEASE THIS
LUDICROUS QUARRELLING FORTHWITH! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY ON OUR HANDS!"
"Oh
that's all we need, the lawyer's woken up. Let's see what your keen legal mind
has to say on the subject."
"DO WE HAVE AN ALIBI? WE MUST BE PROTECTED AT
ALL COSTS."
"An alibi? For when?"
"WHY
ARE YOU TALKING IN THAT STUPID LOOKING FONT?"
"Because
he's in stress, that's what he claims anyway. I think he's just being
snobbish.."
"Pathetic!
As usual he's demonstrating his usual total lack of imagination. I mean
Italics! Puhlease!"
"You
see he can't even stick to the same font. He's all over the place, no wonder
we're stuck."
"Do
you mind? This is Curlz MT and I only use it for stinging rebukes, so buggar
off."
"SHUUUUTTUUUUUUP BOTH OF YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY
IDEA HOW SERIOUS THIS SITUATION IS?"
"Okay,
okay, but please stop shouting, I'm getting a head-ache."
"ALRIGHT, I'LL GO DOWN TO FONT SIZE 10. NOW
LISTEN UP…"
"What,
suddenly this is an American Movie?"
"I'LL IGNORE THAT. I REPEAT WHAT I SAID
EARLIER. DO WE HAVE AN ALIBI? LET'S ASSUME THAT SOME PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN PLONKED
THIS CARCASS UP THE TREE SOME TIME DURING THE NIGHT OR IN THE EARLY
HOURS…"
"You
are joking aren’t you? You know we went to bed at eleven and slept the whole
night through. That's our alibi right there, and it's rubbish."
"I PUT IT TO YOU, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY, THAT AS
RIGOR MORTIS HAS ALREADY SET IN, THE CORPSE, CADAVER OR REMAINS MUST HAVE BEEN
LEFT IN THE TREE SOME TIME EARLY LAST EVENING WHEN WE WERE OUT AT THE
PUB."
"Why
so?"
"BECAUSE IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE TO
MANHANDLE A BODY WITH RIGOR MORTIS UP A TREE. NOT POSSIBLE, LIKE A
STATUE, TOO UNWIELDY."
"Are
you postulating that last night we
actually passed Randy already up in his perch as we weaved erratically home
from the pub?"
"SUCH
IS MY MODEST SPECULATION."
Well
blow me down with a Dyson! Thought Jake. Not a bad theory. "Supposing
Randy had got drunk, torn off his clothes climbed the tree and then lost
unconscious and froze to death?"
"That's
good up to a certain point but then what about the erection?"
'What
about it then?"
"I
don't want to be a naysayer.."
"Yes
you do, that's all you want to be…"
"CHILDREN!"
"Alright,
alright."
"…or
even a wet blanket…"
"Huh!"
"…but
if Randy was so shloshed that later he passed out, how could he have climbed
the tree by himself? That's some serious foliage. "
"Good
point." Begrudgingly. "You are insinuating that he had help? Mmm,
interesting. So let us fantasise a little. Randy and a mate or mates, pissed
out of their tiny minds, decide with perfect drunken logic that the best thing
they can do to round off a perfect evening of debauchery is to tear off their
clothes and climb up a handy Dutch Elm in sub zero temperatures."
"AND
OF COURSE THEY HELP EACH OTHER UP…"
"There
could even have been three of them."
"However
we are about to hit a snag, in fact, several.."
"YOU
ALLUDE TO THE LACK OF CLOTHES FOUND IN THE
VICINITY?"
"Not only that. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that
there are three drunken oafs up that tree. They start tearing their clothes off
until they are in their birthday suits."
"You've
gone horribly coy all of a sudden. If you mean starkers say it."
"Alright,
starkers. What happens then?"
"Oh
oh, maybe one of them is a female?"
"
That might better explain the boner."
"WE'RE
ASSUMING THAT NOBODY'S GAY?"
All together
"Not
that there's anything wrong with that."
"Not
that there's anything wrong with that."
"NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH
THAT."
"Let's
say that there was a woman aboard, they all tear off their clothes, one thing
leads to another and Randy gets a gigantic erection."
"THEN WHAT? ALWAYS REMEMBERING THAT THEY ARE
CAVORTING ABOUT IN SUB ZERO TEMPERATURES."
"Let's
cut to the chase, why did they leave Randy up in the tree?"
"Maybe
they had a drunken quarrel?"
"So,
they climb down, pick up all their clothes…"
"…
shoes, socks, underwear, jacket, jersey, overcoat, scarf…"
"Maybe
even gloves and a
ski hat or possibly a balaclava."
"PRESUMABLY THEY ARE EQUIPPED WITH A SUITCASE
FOR JUST SUCH AN EMERGENCY?"
"Let's
test the story up to date: Randy and a girl friend or friends are inebriated
and decide to climb up a large tree in freezing weather where for reasons still
unknown they tear off their clothes and hurl them to the ground."
" BUT THEN WHY AREN'T THERE ANY CLOTHES STREWN
ROUND THE GARDEN?"
"Aha,
a Clothes Thief stole them."
"Possibly
related to the Parachute Thief you mentioned earlier? Hey maybe he's moonlighting
and doing both jobs?"
"Whatever.
Anyway, he's been lurking nearby waiting for someone to throw off their
clothes. That's what he does, that's his job, a lot of lurking involved but the
rewards can be great especially if Randy and friends are wearing fashionable
labels. He could make a small fortune right there."
"Alright,
maybe a clothes thief has been lurking and…lurking? What's with
that word? Who uses 'lurking' for pity's sake? People don't lurk these days,
they hang around. Nobody lurks any more, they haven't lurked for 150 years
since the Victorian Novelists..."
"AHEM!'
"Okay, okay. Anyway, the
clothes thief lurks and lurks until suddenly he gets a stroke of lurk…-"
"Hysterical."
"…he
sees our stocious friends' garments fluttering to the ground so he nicks them
and scarpers."
"PROBLEM. WE USED TO HAVE JUST ONE NUDE PERSON
NOW ALL OF A SUDDEN WE'VE GOT THREE."
"Well
we're not sure about the other two but logic dictates that Randy needed help to
climb up so let's say that there's at least one, maybe two new ones and we
assume they all got into the spirit of the thing and took their clothes
off..."
"SO
IF THE TWO NEW ONES ARE ALSO NUDE AND HAVE HAD THEIR CLOTHES STOLEN, HOW DID
THEY GET HOME?"
"And
why do they leave Randy up in the tree?"
"Got
it! They weren't drunk at all! They were shooting a porno flick in the tree,
giving, by the way, brand new meaning to the term 'Blue Movie' when suddenly,
whoever was with Randy ran away because they thought the police were onto
them!"
"I
see a tiny snag. What sort of an idiot would write a porno screenplay which
takes place in freezing weather, at night, up a large tree? Not to mention
where was the film crew?"
"BUT EVEN IF IT DID HAPPEN LIKE THAT,
PORNO-WISE, WHY DID RANDY STAY UP IN THE TREE?"
Time
did what it does best and ticked by at various speeds, but naturally nobody had
the time to notice.
"Oh,
thank God," it was a sudden bespectacled young oaf. "I thought 'it',
I mean 'he', had been stolen."
Jake
regarded the newcomer with suspicion, sensing that whatever he was going to
bring to the table would be an anti-climax.
"Are you acquainted with
this cadaver?" He enquired, somewhat tartly.
"Yes
indeed," he said "'it', I mean 'he', belongs to me."
"HOW
CAN A DEAD BODY BELONG TO ANYONE? SURELY THAT'S A LEGAL NO NO?"
"Well
yes and no no. I'm a medical student and my parents bought 'it', I mean 'him',
for me as a birthday present for the purposes of dissection and in the
interests of scientific enquiry. 'He', I mean 'it', no I mean 'he', is normally
kept in the freezer at the Medical College, up the street."
"So
would you be so kind as to enlighten me as to what 'it', I mean 'he', is doing
up my tree?"
"It
was a prank."
"A
PRANK?!!!"
"Which,
admittedly, got out of hand."
"Go
on."
"Yesterday
was my birthday, by the way my name is Antimone Molecule, well actually it's my
nickname, my real name is impossible to pronounce even by the most skilled
linguists and name pronouncers.
Anyway
a few of my fellow medical students gathered at the Pub to celebrate. They got,
how can I put this accurately? I know, very drunk."
"Do
you include yourself in this Bacchanalia?"
"I
never touch the stuff."
"Oh?"
"No,
absolutely never; well. that is, apart from last night. Anyway, one thing led
to another and I thought it would be a perfect culmination to a grand evening's
entertainment to break into the College freezer and take Herbert for a walk in
the gardener's wheelbarrow. Herbert is what we call 'it', or 'him'."
Jake
regarded the youth sternly.
"So
how did 'it' I mean 'he' get up my tree?"
"I'm
getting to that. Everything was going swimmingly. We were trundling Herbert
around having a good time when all of a sudden Aggregon Spottigue, my best
friend but arrant trouble-maker, spotted the trampoline in the garden next door
to you and hit on the idea of seeing how high Herbert could bounce. This plan
was facilitated by the fact that that particular garden is much lower than the
street.
So, we
perched Herbert carefully on the edge of the wall and after wishing him a safe
flight, pushed him gently off.
The
result exceeded our wildest expectations, he dropped like a stone onto the
trampoline, bounced high into the air, arms and legs flailing in a most comical
fashion and dropped back down again but this time, for some complex
aeronautical reason, no doubt to do with air pressure, wind direction and limb
flailage, bounced sideways, shot over the wall and disappeared from view.
You
would have thought that it would have been but the work of an instant to go and
fetch the recalcitrant corpse. But fate arrived in the shape of an obdurate
Police Constable who, despite our most persuasive remonstrations, arrested us
there and then for the theft of the college wheelbarrow and marched us off to
the nearest Police station, where we spent the night and have only just been
released."
Oh,
thought Jake, slightly disappointed, is that all it was?
"Er,
I know that I have already tresspassed enormously on your good nature but I
wonder if you could do me a huge favour?"
And
thus it was that Jake found himself in his trusty Ford Transit, chauffeuring
the incredibly hungover Antimone Molecule and Herbert, now tastefully clad in a
tartan blanket and Jake's old straw hat, back to the college.
The
point of this whole story by the way is that after having dumped Antimone and
Herbert at the College, Jake, slightly shaken by the whole bizarre episode,
failed to see a red light and crashed into a beautiful old red Rover, driven by
Barbra Cantabriole, the lady novelist, skin specialist and explorer,
destroying the Ford Transit but leaving the Rover miraculously unscathed.
It was
love at first sight.
In fact,
Jake bought the car from her the same day.