The Book of Dave (18 page)

At this the Hamsters let out a great groan, but the Driver, feeling the rhythm of his own rhetoric, was not to be halted:

– Yes, yes, toyist beasts, with their infantile slubberish and gross bodies. You muss free yawselves from your chavveri, he
said, beginning to slide, for emphasis, into Mokni. U awl no viss, U muss taykup ve Nú wä aw Nú Lundun wil nevah B bilt. U
muss folio ve Buk aw U wil afta leev Am – U no viss. He suddenly broke off, having seen Carl and Bert trying unobtrusively
to join the back of the throng.

The Driver had the ability to incorporate chance phenomena the cry of a bird, the shape of a cloud, even the breaking of a
large wave on the reef – into his calling over, which mightily impressed the Hamsters. So it was now; he stretched out his
hand and clawed at Carl:

– U C viss 1! They all turned to stare. Yeah, yeah, ve 1 oo därs 2 enta ve Ferbiddun Zön an digabaht vare! U no viss! Ve 1
oo wil B fahnd a fliar bì ve PeeSeeO an broak! U no viss! Innit vat ee iz rì palli wiv vese beests? Innit vat ee cuddlsup
wiv em? Innit vat ee iz vair bumchum?! But ee aynt ve onlë 1! Losing all composure, the Driver swivelled to confront them
directly: U awl dú ì! U awl ewes ve moto 2 gé off wiv eechuwa, mummies an daddies boaf! Iss dissgusstyn! Remembah ve Braykup!
Stikk 2 ve Chaynjova! Caulova ve Búk – 4 wivaht í U R awl fliars!

Carl could no longer bear the Driver's hateful rant. Although the Hamstermen made no move to grab him, he ran away in case
they did. He feinted towards the startled motos, swerved and darted off behind the Shelter. Then he scampered full tilt up
the home field towards the Layn, and kept on going down the far side into Norfend, crunching fallen leaves, snapping branches,
sloshing through puddles, until at last he slid to a halt in a boggy slough and collapsed in a huddle of quaking limbs. He
was alone now with his secret mummy self – he wouldn't cry, even though his tank was tight with misery.

Carl had only been lying like this for a few units when he felt a soft, familiar hand on his head and registered the calm
tones that almost always accompanied it.

– We nú viss woz cummin, Carl, said Antonë Böm, hunkering down beside him, í woz onlë a matta uv wen. Carl looked up and his
mentor's eyeglasses reflected his own thin face back at him.

– B-but iss sew unfayre on ve motos.

– Eye no vat. Böm helped Carl out of the boggy patch, and they seated themselves on drier ground. He cleared his throat and
shifted to Arpee, gaining, he felt, in clarity of expression what he lost in intimacy: Unfair also on the Hamsters, whose
simple dävness is used so badly. The Driver's calling over is designed to make them affirm a truth, while removing from them
any responsibility for what it entails. It makes of them, um, um – he searched for the requisite analogy – nought save wollies
and the Driver their gaffer. Böm began to grope in the inside pockets of his carcoat, eventually drawing out a blisterpack.

– We carnt stä eer, Carl said, struggling to his feet, vayl cummun fyndus.

– I don't think so. Now the Driver has begun he'll continue for a full tariff or more. Think on it, Carl. Ever since the Hack's
party left, the Driver has called over more and more. A day no longer passes without his haling the three cabs. The dads can't
get any work done – if he keeps on like this Ham will be unable to support itself through the kipper.

– An wot abaht ve motos? Carl insisted.

– The motos, ah, yes … Böm tore off a chaw of gum and stuck it in his mouth. Um, well, the Hamsters could no more slaughter
their motos than they could walk over the sea to Chil, he chuckled, or build New London here and now. It'll never happen.

Carl was unmoved by this levity. Vey no, he said.

– What do you mean? Böm said, recovering himself.

– Ve dads, ve Dryva – vey no wee bin anginaht wiv ve Xeyel.

– Hmm, indeed, well, I saw young Sid Brudi scampering off when we came back along to Hel Bä the other day. I surmised it wasn't
the first time he'd followed us. Still, how could they know what we were speaking of?

– Eye dunno. Vey wanna shuttusup. Bert erred Fred an ve uwah dads tawkin.

– Well, then, said Böm, chewing meditatively on this, it appears that our takeaway is ready, my lad. When we add this to what
Luvvie Joolee has told us concerning her old man and his allies in London, it drives us to a single conclusion: we must find
a way to leave Ham at once. We will travel to the last place our pursuers will think of: to London, and there make common
cause with the Blunt dissenters. A simple petition will enable us to discover the fate of your dad. Mayhap these two endeavours,
so curiously enmeshed, will serve to put a spoke in the Wheel.

All the kids held a vessel of some sort, a clay pot or earthenware ewer for the older ones, a wooden bowl or tincup for the
youngsters. They were all beating upon them with spoons and sticks in time to Fukka's crazy jouncing, while with one discordant
voice – at once bass and booming, cracked and reedy – they belted out a string of nonsense: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal,
kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! When Carl's pale face
appeared in the firelight, far from moderating their racket the rambunctious crew redoubled it: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal,
kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Ending in a rat-a-tat-tat
of beats and a great shout of laughter.

Ha, ha! Fukka let the infants slide from his legs to the flags and opened his arms to embrace his nephew. Ve lairë yung git!
he cried. Cummeer! They hugged, and Carl breathed in his uncle's oily smell. If the Funches were the offspring of motos and
humans, and – as Effi Dévúsh maintained – motos were themselves monstrous products of the union of still other beasts and the
gigantic settlers of Ham, then perhaps this explained why his uncle's clan were so congenial to Carl. For the Funches were
notably affectionate for Hamsters, kissing and petting their kids in a way that the others didn't.

– Wassup, ven? Fukka asked, when Carl was seated on a stool beside him, a tincan of booze in his hand.

– Iss ve Dryva, Carl replied, anna granddads. Nah ve Dryvas göinnon lyke vat Eye fink ees gonna gé me an Tonë bangdupp. Carnt
U sä sumffing, Nunkul?

Fukka cast a plump red hand about him at the tumultuous scene in the house. From the rafters hung bunches of dried herbage.
The curry bubbled over the fire, stirred by one of the opares, while a couple of the lads were mending a fowling rope that
was uncoiled on the table. Clokk viss, Carl, Fukka said. Í doan matta wot Eye fink, coz ve granddads doan giv a munkees abaht
ve Funches, nor ve Bulluks neevah. Weer inturnal Xeyels Rsels, juss lyke Luvvie Joolee aw, Dayv sayv us – he sketched a wheel
on his chest and Carl did the same – ve Beestlimun. Eye gotta famlee 2 feed, if Eye speek aht abaht U weer fukked. Nah, Carl,
U gotta tekyer charnsez. Fukka shook his great russet mop with a pained expression on his face, as if the whole peculiar weight
of Ham had him in a headlock.

Then, summoning himself, Fukka reached out to the opare at the kettle and, grabbing her by her cloakyfing, pulled her down
on to his lap. He began to jounce her as he had the infants before, and tried to get the rap going: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal!
While a number of the little kids joined in, the rest remained silent, their eyes averted; and although such a sight – the
swollen cockpiece battering at the opare's thin behind again and again – was so familiar as to be commonplace, nonetheless
Carl felt queasy, averted his eyes, then made his excuses and left.

When, on the following morning, Carl returned from the shitter to see the Council assembled on its wall, he knew what was
coming. The granddads sat, swaddled in their bubbery carcoats like melancholy auks. The Driver stood among them, his black
robe lying slack in the misty air. The weedy stench of a calm sea blanketed the dads, and while Ozzi Bulluk and Gari Funch
chewed their gum stubbornly, spitting from time to time on the turf between their feet, the others were silent. Cummeer! Fred
Ridmun called to Carl. We wanna tawk wiv U. The Driver gestured to Bill Edduns, and, ever the willing fony, he dashed off
along the shoreline towards Böm's semi no doubt to fetch him too for summary judgement.

When they'd returned, and Carl and Böm were seated at the dads' feet, the Driver presented his back to the Guvnor and made
his suit:

– These two flyers have been seen consorting with the Exile, and doubtless they've also continued to enter the Ferbiddun Zön.
I lay it before the Council that the two of them should henceforth be confined to the manor.

– Yeah, yeah – Carl didn't know where such Boldness came from – but wot if Eye sed Eye woz gonna mayk ve furs jump onta ve
stac, wot ven?

There was a rumble of disquiet from the men.

– Wotjoosayin? said Fred Ridmun, leaning forward to examine his stepson.

– Eyem sayin vat wen me an Bert wozzup eest yesterdä vare woz stil fowl landin an tekkin off from ve stac, yeah. Nó lots but
vey iz angin on. U sez – Carl stood to confront the Driver – vat weave gotta gé maw fevvers an vat, well U no ve wayuvit, doanchew?

For the first time in many tariffs the Driver was bereft of words. He stood, white-faced and shaking, making no pretence of
observing his fares in his mirror, for he did indeed know the Hamsters' way. Any dad might volunteer to make the first leap
on to the Sentrul Stac in place of the Guvnor. This entailed privileges: the right to wear a baseball cap and to carry a lighter.
Certain allotments of moto oil, booze and fags were also forthcoming. To molest a dad who had made the leap, fixed the cradle
ropes and survived was unthinkable.

At last Fred Ridmun spoke:

– Iss troo wot ee sez, if ee mayks ve leep ee carnt B bangedup, innit.

– Issit? The discomfited Driver lapsed into Mokni.

– Ittis! the Hamsters chorused, and the Driver, bested, strode away to the Shelter.

Although Carl had outwitted the Driver, there remained the question of when a party should be dispatched to the Sentrul Stac.
It was late in the season, and the Hamstermen were neither confident pedalers, nor could they swim. In former times they may
have prided themselves on their Bold ascents, not just of the Sentrul Stac but also of the other, lesser stacks that stood
in the sluggish waters of the great lagoon. Most years the Sentrul Stac boasted the largest blackwing colony, although oilgulls
also shared the pinnacle, taking the lower galleries. The fowling party would pitch camp on the summit and on successive nights
harvest the birds there and on the other stacks. In former times, when the stacks had been more numerous and the Hamstermen
more intrepid, they had stayed out on them throughout the breeding season, their vessel carrying several loads back to the
shore. However, in the past few generations the birding had, increasingly, become a symbolic activity – a means of inducting
the lads into the mysteries of dadhood, rather than a serious part of the island's economy. In the time of the Driver this
tendency towards emasculation had increased, almost as if the imminent erection of the New London that he called over had
sapped the will of the Hamstermen to maintain their own more laborious paradise.