Francis of the Filth Page 16

  “What say you, Pink Guy?” he stammered. “Are we right for direction?”

  “Keep going, Captain. We’re surely on the right path,” he heard in reply.

  “Can you concur, Salamander Man?”

  “Nyes,” came the answer, confirmed with the playing of a very merry tune.

  “I do believe, gentlemen,” Frank encouraged them, “that we shall arrive safely by nightfall.” He looked to his right. “Now Pink Guy,” he said, “Would you be so kind as to advise of the lifeforms that we should expect along the way? Friend or foe, don’t hold back, my brother. I want to know them all!”

  This conversation continued for many hours - possibly days - when Frank suddenly stopped dead and stared at an apparition off in the middle distance. There on the far side of the field they had just entered stood a thatch hut and in front of it, motionless and halting, a humanoid figure. His first understanding was to think it was another of the soulless bodies he had encountered on the west side of the island yet as he drew nearer, he could see that the figure was very much alive, in full health and was female. Young and vivacious, she raised a hand and gestured with enthusiasm for him to come and join her. He turned to raise eyebrows with his companions but they were no longer with him.

  Frank marched through the sheaths with a fresh vigor to see a woman of stunning organic beauty standing before him. She had an earthly mediterranean complexion, with long, dark hair, gently woven, lying over her left shoulder. She wore a sleeveless, cream-colored garment, secured at the waist with a thin brown belt. She was barefoot. “I’m so glad you came,” she said, bearing a huge white smile. “So glad.” She took him by the hand and led him into the hut. It was noticeably cooler inside. The interior was simply furnished with a small wooden dining table, two chairs, a short counter and sink against the nearer wall that served as a kitchen, a small primitive bathroom, and a narrow bed that lay neatly made against the further wall.

  She sat Frank down and brought him a cool drink. “You must be so tired. You have come a long way. Drink up, rest well.” She squatted down to remove his shoes and brought a tub of soapy water over to wash his feet. Frank had no idea who this was or why he should be the recipient of such kindness but he was far too tired to object. Her hands were soft and gentle, and as she washed his soles and caressed his toes, Frank was instantly healed of any previous torments. She looked up at him with enormous brown eyes, friendly and inviting, and smiled again. Frank couldn’t help but notice the very fine and ample cleavage that was revealed, only fractionally but enough, and (simple folk that he was) he was enamoured.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He returned his vision to her eyes. “Frank.”

  “Frank,” she repeated softly with another smile. “I like that name. It’s a good name.” She gently wrung the water from the cloth. “Frank.”

  “What’s your name?” Frank asked.

  “Goomba.”

  “What are you doing all the way out here on your own?”

  “Waiting for you, of course. I knew someone would come eventually.” She began to towel his feet. “I’m just glad it was you.”

  She removed the tub of water, washed her hands and joined him at the table with a plate of freshly baked rice cakes. He wasted no time in devouring them and she watched him do so with pleasure. She joined him and they ate in silence for a while before she spoke again.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Frank waited before responding. “That’s a very long story.” He ate another rice cake. “How about you?”

  She smiled again. “That’s a very long story.” They looked into each other’s eyes yet Frank couldn’t discern whether hers was a knowing look or one of avoidance. “Maybe we should be looking ahead rather than to the past,” she said.

  When he had eaten and drunk his fill, she took him by both hands and lay him down on the bed. She left him for a moment before returning with a cool, damp cloth which she folded and rested on his heated brow. He felt the sweetness of relief. She knelt by the bed, placed his elbow in the palm of her left hand and gently began to tickle his palm with the fingers of her right. Frank closed his eyes and received the gift. Tenderly she stroked his bare arm. She was unhurried in her devotion and he was wholly compliant. Occasionally she stopped tickling his arm to touch and stroke his face and neck before returning to his arm again. Frank was entranced.

  Slowly, she leaned over him and drew near, and then kissed him on the mouth with the long and tender kiss of a true lover. He was all hers and he couldn’t have been more grateful for it. She softly cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him all over his face. Frank never opened his eyes. “Stay with me,” she whispered.

  “I think I could be persuaded to do that,” Frank returned.

  “Stay with me forever.”

  “You must leave here!” he heard a voice bellow. Frank promptly sat up, startled and afraid.

  “What’s up?” she asked, surprised.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” she asked. “You must be very tired. You’re hearing things.”

  Frank immediately jumped up and went outside to see if anyone was there. Except for the sound of the crickets, the rice fields were eerily still. He circled the hut but there was no sign of anyone. “What, Frank?” she asked taking his hand and leading him back into the hut. “What’s the matter?” Frank had no answer. “Everything’s fine,” she said. She cupped his face again. “Come back in and stay with me.”

  “I have to go,” Frank said resolutely.

  “What?” she giggled.

  “I have to go.” Frank was robotic in his delivery.

  “You just got here!” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you. I want you to stay with me!”

  He looked out over the fields. “No. I have to leave this place.”

  “No,” she retorted. “You have to stay.”

  “I have to leave,” he asserted.

  “You don’t understand,” she said in a wholly different tone. “You have to stay!” She grabbed him by the wrists and pulled him toward her. “You have no choice!” Her voice dropped a whole octave as she said this. He looked deeply into her eyes, and saw flecks of blood appear in her whites.

  “Release me!” he yelled. “My purpose is not here!”

  With that, her eyes went blood red from corner to corner, her head tilted back aggressively with a loud crack and her mouth opened to preposterous proportions. Frank felt an intense heat radiate from her and then starting from her crown, her skin began to melt off and fall in daubs to the ground. He leapt back horrified, watching the flesh fall away and a whole new creature emerge. A green so dark it was almost black, an antenna’d helmet for a head, the face of a mollusk and the body of a woodlouse on steroids, it stood before him, almost twice the size of her previous incarnation, heaving and retching from the transformation. As though stuck in morph mode, it continued to produce flesh in random patches which immediately melted and dropped to the ground. The creature threw its head back and let out a piercing, ugly wail that rang out over the rice fields and silenced the crickets for miles around.

  “You have to stay,” it managed to utter between a collection of clicks and crunches. Elocution was clearly not its strong point. “The dark lord commands it.” An enormous piece of flesh grew from its nose and hung there, swaying as the creature twitched till it finally hit the ground with a solid splat. Frank’s heart was racing and it generated within him a fresh vitality and a tremendous sense of valour. He took a step toward the beast. “I will leave.” The great crustacean threw its head back again and released another almighty roar which rattled the posts of the hut, yet it seemed unwilling to physically engage Frank.

  He continued to observe the beast. It then made a short high-pitched squeal - a shrill burst of gas accompanied by a shiver. “What was that?” Frank asked.

  “Allergies,” said the creature. “From the rice fields. Liaoning, jiangsu, guangdong - they’re all here. I
hate it. I really do. I hate these rice fields.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Frank said in a voice approaching sympathy.

  “Yeah.” It seemed to appreciate Frank’s concern before returning to a more menacing posture. “I still have to violently incapacitate you, you know. It’s my only escape from these wretched regions.” After a series of threatening gestures and sounds, which at first intimidated Frank, but soon almost amused him, it remained at a standoff.

  “You chimpillas are all the same,” he said. “All roar and no bite.” He grabbed a chair and stepped once more toward the creature. “Bite this,” he said and rammed the chair into its face, knocking it to the ground with a huge thud. Pinned to the ground on its back, its multitude of disproportionately puny legs began to scuttle in the air. “You tell your lord that I’ve left - if you can.” With that, Frank placed his hand firmly on the creature’s thorax and took from him just as he had taken from the salmon. At first, nothing appeared to happen and the giant bug wrestled and screamed with hardiness. Frank kept his hand firmly in place and suddenly the creature was stilled. Then after a pause it began to struggle again, but this time as in the throes of reduction. Noticeably it began to wither. It made a few more gagging sounds before it was permanently silenced, and continued to decompose under Frank’s grip. By the time it was all done Frank was a roaring powerhouse of energy and the creature was little more than ashes and dust on the edge of the rice field. He looked out over the rice fields. “I can’t believe I was about to have sex with an insect!”

  Standing over the remains like an undisputed champion, his thoughts were curiously torn between his own dynamism and his desire to see his old friend Salamander Man again. Delivering one departing roar to what was left of the creature, Frank found himself yelling a series of coordinates to the sky. Though new to him, he recognized the series of letters and numbers for what they were. He grabbed a blade from the kitchen, moved out into the centre of one of the rice fields and sliced the base of his thumb. Having created a circle of blood in the middle of the field, he lay down and yelled the co-ordinates into the air. As he did, he could feel himself submerging into the mud of the rice fields. The mire encased him, covering his legs and arms, swallowing his shoulders and hips, entering his ears and finally his eyes. Far from the terror and fear that accompanied previous transports, this was strangely satisfying. He almost enjoyed it. The last thing he saw was the rice plants reaching high above him into the pleasant blue sky. When he was completely submerged and could resist no longer, he opened his mouth and took the soggy soil fully into his lungs. With that, he left the rice fields.

  Chapter 10

  In the late summer of that year, Frank woke by a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. The manner of his waking confused him because he rose from the mire of the rice fields in exactly the same way he had submerged into them. So his initial assumption was that the transport had failed and that he was still a fugitive in the rice fields realm. But on sitting up and looking out over the sheaths, he was pleasantly surprised to see a very pretty, picturesque landscape of gentle hills, scattered rice fields dotted with ancient farmhouses, the odd cow and goat lazing in the sun, and a languorous river tinkling before it all.

  The atmosphere of this place, though new to him, had an air of familiarity. He trudged his way through the thick mud to one of the narrow paved roads lining the paddy. It linked up with others forming a patchwork of neat scars over the countryside, dividing the fields and linking them at the same time. With a swampy scent wafting behind his muddied shirt, he strolled down the road, by an old timber residence, toward the river, feeling rather carefree and blithe. The river was lined with trees which trickled their branches into the cool water and cast afternoon shadows over the shiftless fish.

  A road, possibly considered a major artery in this part of the world, ran parallel to the river and at its junction with the road Frank was traveling down, there was a signpost pointing to the left on which was written ‘Fukui’. This was exceedingly good news for Frank. Not only was he back in Japan but Fukui was, he believed, a very agreeable (if not slightly dull) part of the world to be visiting. The only thing that concerned him was whether this was indeed the true Fukui, or an alternative version of it, as the recently visited ‘New York’ and Godore had been.

  This matter was soon established when he stumbled upon two black eggs on the bank of the stream. They were large - almost the size of turnips - and with his appetite returning, he felt that, scrambled, they would make a very fine meal. He picked them up and fingered them, smelt them and even gave them a little lick. They were still warm. Just as he was about to gather some kindling for a fire, he was doused with an enormous blob of white fluid. This was not merely a soupy liquid but contained substantial matter as well. What didn’t run down his face or get caught in his hair went down the back of his shirt. And it truly reeked.

  He looked up just as a huge winged creature descended in front of him.

  “What da hell are you doin’ with those eggs, man?”

  “Oh, great,” said Frank, all illusions of normality now shattered. “A talking bird.”

  “You better believe it. It’s Percy the Pigeon, bitch. Now, I as’ you a question. You gonna put those eggs back or am I gonna whip your ass?”

  “Can I just have one?”

  “One whippin’?”

  “All right! I’ll leave them! Sheesh! Jeez! I was just hungry. Just wanted a little something to nibble.”

  “Right. So hows about next time I’s hungry I’s just gonna nibble one of your nuts?”

  “Point taken.”

  “Dumbass.”

  “But you didn’t have to go and take a dump all over me.”

  “I didn’t? You were about to eat my progeny, you sick shmuck. And even if you weren’t, you sure as hell done some’n else that deserves a dumping.”

  “I didn’t know they were your eggs.”

  “Like that matters, you low down, good fo’ nothin’ asswipe. So you’re okay eating my brotha’s kids? I really ought to peck your eyes out and then dump on you all over again.”

  “All right! Enough already! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  “Fool.”

  “So what is there to eat around here then?”

  “Are you blind as well as stupid? There’s a river right in front of you teeming wit’ fish.”

  “Yeah. I just didn’t want to eat someone else’s family, you know? I don’t want a big mother fish to step out from behind a tree and attack me, or anything.”

  Percy the Pigeon looked at him with a pained expression. “A mother fish? Step out from behind a tree? Man, yo’ really messed up. Yo’ sick in the fucking head.”

  Frank climbed down the small bank, waded into the river and then plonked himself under the cool flow. He enjoyed the feeling of being submersed in pristine waters. It tickled him all over. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fully bathed and he rose to the surface utterly refreshed. Sadly, his desecration of the river had had the opposite effect on the wildlife and he lifted his head to see whole schools of fish floating sick and bloated on the surface of the water. It made for easy pickings. He gathered a few choice-looking ones and left the rest to recover in peace further down the river which is where they quickly escaped to.

  When the fish were cooked and ready for consumption, Percy the Pigeon dropped back down and sat across from him by the fire. Frank looked at him curiously.

  “You gonna share them fish wit’ me, ain’t you?” Percy asked.

  “After you dumped on me?”

  Percy puffed his chest up to an enormous size and gave a guttural coo. Frank took the hint. “Go on. You have that one,” he said, pushing one toward him.

  “Thanks man!” he said in a totally different tone. “You’re not so bad after all.”

  “So we’re somewhere near Fukui…” Frank started.

  “Aha.”

  “And I’m guessing you’re n
ot native to this area.”

  “Am now. My grand daddy come here from ‘merica when he were a boy an’ he grew up in these hills, and then my daddy grew up in these hills till I was hatched, and then he disappeared right about the time they started serving yakitori in town. Damn. No shame, these people. Eatin’ whatever moves in front of ‘em.”

  “And what do you do in these parts? Seems kind of quiet.”

  “I keep busy.” He scratched his chin with a claw. “Dumpin’ mainly.” Frank nodded his understanding. “I’s wait for someone to be moving about and then I fly to a branch or a wire right above ‘em. I do some gastric cookin’, if you know what I mean, and then I let go and wham! I won’t be surprised if I don’t hit ‘em nine times out of ten!”

  “I can believe that,” Frank said, picking some foreign matter from his hair.

  “But what about the people? Are they mostly farmers out here?”

  “A lot of ‘em are farmers. Some are shop people. Others work for the agricultural council but no-one seems to know exactly what they do.” He ripped a big piece of fish with his beak, threw his head back and gobbled it down. “Damn tha’s good.” Frank sat listening for more. “Then there’s the market on Saturdays. That’s when damn near eve’one comes out and sells them wares. It’s really the only time the place has any life at all.”