Loofah's new-found confidence evaporated almost as soon as he had left the Office. Despite the afternoon sun, he now walked in darkness, following the road up a steep hill. The houses were massive here and stood back from the road, shielded by sheer walls of laurel and yew, guarded by silent sentries of beech and sycamore. Clutches of expensive cars, fluorescing affluence, were clustered together on sweeping driveways of freshly washed gravel. Each house was a fortress of wealth and power, arrogant and dangerously jealous of any intrusion.
As he hurried past a towering cliff of yew a dark face peered out from the shadows, glaring fury from its little eyes. Miss Leggett had been right—he was an alien here, an outsider, he had no business being here at all. A car slowed as it passed him, then accelerated up the hill, while a massive beech eyed him suspiciously from the opposite side of the road. Why had he ever left the bright safety of the Office? he wondered to himself, and just when he was beginning to master the idiosyncrasies of the computer system and win favour with his appointed line manager.
He reached a turning off to the right which seemed to lead into woodland and away from the dark realm of the fortresses. But as he was pondering whether to take this escape route, he noticed the little cubicle of glass and painted metal on a curve in the road ahead. Loofah hesitated, staring blankly into the middle distance. Then, with a last longing glance at the sunlit woods, he crossed the side road and continued reluctantly up the ominous hill.
The call-box door was made of some super-dense form of translucent lead and it was only by bracing his feet against the pavement that he somehow managed to haul it open. It swung closed behind him with inexorable force, sealing him into the sarcophagus of the cubicle. The telephone waited expectantly: a box of moulded grey plastic with metal push-buttons and its receiver hanging at the side, joined to it by an umbilical cord of shining metal rings.
Suddenly a four-by-four, a behemoth of arrogant aggression and shining paint-work, came thundering towards him in a blaze of fury and mechanised loathing. Instinctively Loofah cowered, but as the terrible machine tore past its roar of hatred was muffled to an impotent whisper and its malevolence thudded to nothing against the three-inch walls of his transparent tank. Watching it disappear around the corner, he felt himself smile with relief; for the dark danger of the hill was outside and inside the phone box he realised that he was far beyond its baleful reach. Relaxing against a side wall, he folded his arms and casually surveyed the scene outside, now no more threatening than a truculent kitten. The sun's warmth glowed from a red tiled roof on the other side of the road and a towering copper beech shimmered like melting plastic in the hazy brilliance. On reflection perhaps becoming a unit of corporate human resource was not for him, perhaps he had been right to obey the fax after all. It was then that he remembered why he had been looking for a call-box in the first place.
Of course the fax hadn't provided a number to call or even the name of the person he was to speak to. However, after checking the call-box in vain for a directory, he decided to telephone operator services; they were so helpful these days and he felt sure they would be able to point him in the right direction. But as he went to reach for the receiver he stopped abruptly, leaving his hand hanging in the air—for there was a low pitched hiss coming from the handset and the sides of the telephone were moving slowly in and out as if it were breathing. A shadow closed over the tight glass walls and there was another hiss, sharp and savage. Loofah jerked his hand back as the receiver reared into the air above the box and, balancing on its coiling ringed cable, twisted round to face him.
For a few moments it hovered in front of him, swaying slightly on its writhing cable neck with a continuous low hiss from the ear-piece as of a steam boiler about to blow. Then suddenly it darted forward at his face. An involuntary convulsion of his muscles hurled him to the side and it missed, instantly pulling back like a recoiling spring.
Again it hovered, poised to attack. The dangerous bulb of the ear-piece faced him, hissing menacingly, and the hand section curved away like the arched carapace of some alien predator, with the mouth-piece glowering dangerously underneath. A strange dizziness fluttered inside Loofah's skull and his legs trembled like a pair of denim-clad blancmanges.
'Actually, I've changed my mind,' he said, 'I think I'll send an e-mail instead.'
Not daring to take his eyes off the receiver, he felt for the edge of the door behind his back and pushed. Nothing. He braced himself and pushed again, but the door did not shift.
The hissing stopped. In a split second of deadly silence the receiver edged back slightly, tensing its spring, and then struck, an arrow loosed at his face. Again he dodged, but this time it nearly had him, brushing against his cheek. Choking back a cry, he heaved his whole weight back against the door, but to no avail. The receiver pulled back and hovered, swivelling to follow his every movement with its ear-piece.
It struck again, but off centre, going to his left. He dodged easily, but this time it recoiled and attacked immediately, driving him into the corner. Unable to move right or left, he went down, collapsing onto his knees as it breezed past his temple.
He was trapped now, with the receiver veering above him, poised for the kill. With final desperation, he heaved at the door but still without success. His skin was cold seaweed and a steam piston thundered against his ribcage. Unbalanced and cornered, he knew he was a nanosecond from doom. But though his skull was filled with a whirlwind of screaming banshees, at the epicentre of the storm was a pool of ice-cold calm. Countless millions of years of Darwinian evolution did not fail him; the primal instinct to survive came to the fore and, quelling his panic, took control. Not taking his eyes off the receiver, he braced himself against the glass walls, his muscles becoming steel springs tensed for action.
The hissing stopped; there was a moment of absolute stillness then the strike as the plastic missile hurtled towards him. Loofah threw himself sideways and upwards into the opposite corner of the cubicle, but at the same time swung round with his right arm, grabbing for the receiver. It saw his intention and tried to pull back, but too late; his grip closed around the curved plastic of the handle.
Instantly it was in a frenzy, thrashing from side to side and smashing itself against the glass walls to crush his hand. But he held on, desperately struggling to keep his balance. It darted forward suddenly, and he stopped it three inches from his face; for seconds it loomed massively above him, hissing furious venom into his eyes.
Soon it seemed to tire and, squaring his balance, he lunged forward with his left hand and seized the receiver in a double-handed grip. It fought him again, the force of its thrashing threatening to wrench his arms from their sockets. Then it slowed, exhausted, and with a sudden pulse of strength, he jerked the receiver backwards, smashing the ear-piece on the top edge of the box with a crack of splintering plastic. It was stunned and lost power; he smashed it down again—the receiver split with a hiss of pain—and then again—plastic shards showered across the box and wriggling coloured wires spewed from the shattered ear-piece.
As the immediate danger passed, fear was swamped by an upsurge of white hot fury. With a savage curse Loofah wrenched the receiver downwards and the cable mounting ripped away from the side of the box, pulling lengths of squirming yellow and red wires after it. Then, holding the receiver at arm's length as the amputated cable lashed around in its death throes, he seized the top of the box with his free hand and with a whole-body wrench hauled it backwards. With a sickening squeal the holding bolts tore through their mountings and the box came free, hurtling into Loofah, who lost his balance and staggered backwards into the once-immovable door which now swung open, catapulting him into space.
Slowly, like water filling a pond, thought flooded back into his shaken brain. Loofah opened his eyes and an undulating sheet of sun-dappled tarmac stretched into infinity from under his face. As he struggled painfully to his feet he heard someone call out and through the glass walls of the ruined call-box he saw, not more than fifty yards distant, two middle-aged men hurrying up the hill towards him.
'It's alright,' Loofah called, 'I'm OK—nothing more than a few bruises.'
'You won't be OK for long!' shouted one of the men, his face contorted with indignant anger.
'You bloody vandal!' chimed in the other, waving a clenched fist in the air.
Loofah looked from the shattered telephone on the floor of the call-box to the rapidly approaching outraged citizens—and ran.
He crouched down behind the brick gatepost as his steam-engine panting gradually eased. His pursuers had been overweight and under-exercised, and he had quickly outpaced them, stretching his lead to fifty, then a hundred yards and more, and eventually losing sight of them around the long curve of the hill. It seemed unlikely that they would still be keeping up the chase, but it was probably best to stay out of sight while he caught his breath. His chosen hiding place was in the entrance of a gravelled driveway which curved expansively around the front of a neo-Tudor mansion.
As he waited, a slithering clamminess crept over Loofah's skin; for though he was out of sight of the road, he knew the house had him under close surveillance, watching him with every one of the empty eyes of its uncountable windows. Best not to hang around too long, he thought, with a worried glance at the cars that even now might be silently readying themselves for attack. And so he edged forward and peered around the gatepost; apart from a single patrolling Mercedes the dark corridor of the road was empty. It was only then that Loofah realised there was something in his left hand—he was still holding the shattered telephone receiver trailing its now lifeless cable.
With a sudden flare of panic, he pulled back behind the gatepost, quickly hiding the evidence of his crime under his jacket. Then someone—he knew not who—made a decision: drop the damned thing, yelled a voice inside his skull, and run. He pulled the receiver out from under his jacket and went to throw it into the laurel hedging behind the gatepost.
'Is that you, Seeker?' said another voice, this one female and tiny, coming from a million miles away.
Again he was paralysed into immobility, though this time by sheer surprise.
'Seeker?' The voice was coming from the receiver's ear-piece: someone was speaking on the telephone. Vandal-proof telecommunication engineering had obviously come a long way, he thought, viewing the shattered plastic and severed wires with new respect, then held the receiver to his face.
'Hello? Is somebody there?'
'Hello, Seeker,' said the voice: it was a gentle caress, a splinter of golden sunshine beaming into his ear.
'It's you, isn't it? I remember you from—from—before,' he said, struggling to hold the diaphanous image of a white-clad nymph that now drifted through his consciousness.
'You must find She Who Is Two,' said the girl.
'But I don't know where she is—in fact I don't know anything about her at all.'
'You are The Seeker—if you try, you will find her.'
First the spaniel in the woods, then the lascivious doll and the seagull peg, and now his nymph: the double woman was obviously high on many agendas.
'I don't understand. Why must I find her?'
'Don't worry. You will be—' began the girl, but was interrupted.
'This is the operator. You have another call waiting. Please hold the line while I transfer you.'
Before Loofah could object, there was a loud click and three beeps, before another voice cut in, a voice he also recognised.
'This is the Under Manager. You have been extremely foolish. I want you to know that your actions have caused a great deal of aggravation for a lot of very busy people, myself included. Mr Stobart himself has asked me to say how disgusted he is with your behaviour.'
Loofah shivered with cold horror and his jaw dropped. 'What—?' he stammered.
'You are to proceed to the cinema immediately,' said Miss Leggett.
'But I don't under—.'
'We know where you are and I advise you not make any more trouble. I will not be responsible for the consequences if you disobey me again. Goodbye.' Then there was another click, followed by the buzz of the dialling tone.
The transition from hill of dark mansions to high street was brutally abrupt; one minute he was floating through the ominous though quiet realm of the fortresses of opulence, the next he was at the epicentre of an artillery bombardment of motor car noise, angry faces and dazzle. Staggering like a pole-axed steer, he was sucked into the insane mêlée, carried by a momentum that wasn't his own.
A fat man grunted angrily and barged into him, sending him reeling into a sheet of hot glass. For a minute he stared into the shop, watching rows of print dresses undulating to themselves like headless dancing girls. Then a young woman pushed him away, sending him back out into the pavement where two housewives bounced him from one to the other like a rugby ball as they raced each other to the door of a chemist's shop which was offering discounts on selected items of oral hygiene care. Soon there was nothing except the screaming blur of noise and colour and light that whirled around him in an endless hurricane. He was out of control, a leaf in a storm, a human billiard ball cannoning from collision to collision.
Then suddenly something crystallised out the whirling mess; an ornamental black metal sign pointing up a side road on the opposite side of the street. Loofah narrowed his eyes to make out the tiny gold letters, but somehow he already knew what it said: 'To the Cinema'.
As he stared across at the ominous sign, an icy anaconda coiled around his intestines and squeezed. He shook his head slowly; he would not obey, he was a free man and non-one could force him—but the snake squeezed tighter, twisting itself into a hard knot. Mustering every fibre of determination he turned his back on the sign, and nearly collided with a mother leading a little girl by the hand. He began to stammer apologies, but stopped; both mother and daughter were glaring at him with the same, and all too familiar, puff-angry face. As he looked quickly around, he saw he was in a sea of them, some in business suits, some with children's bodies, some carrying shopping bags, others pushing prams—but all staring at him with the same porcine eyes set in the same corporate manager's irate face. He slumped down into his jacket and the anaconda relaxed—it had won. With the resigned torpor of a condemned man, he turned slowly and stepped into the road.
With a roar of naked fury a metal beast loomed out the manic blur and hurtled towards him, baring in its snarling radiator grille. Loofah leapt back to the safety of the pavement, tripping on the curb as chrome teeth snapped closed inches from his left thigh.
'That was very, very foolish.'
A huge pelican was standing over him, looking down on him with solemn reproach and shaking its head from side to side, its bill-pouch swaying like a flabby yellow udder.
'It was, wasn't it?' agreed Loofah, getting to his feet and feeling every bit as foolish as the bird clearly thought he ought.
'Remember the Highway Code,' the pelican continued, in its officious monotone, 'You should always use a designated crossing. Why do you think the Parish Council bothers to employ me?'
It was odd being reprimanded by a pelican, particularly one dressed in a neat green jacket with 'Parish Council Highways Dept' embroidered on its breast pocket. But he tried not to smile; this was clearly a bird that took itself very seriously indeed.
'I am sorry,' he said, 'I just—forgot.'
'We'll say no more about it for now, but please don't forget again. Now, if you'll just climb aboard, we'll soon have you safely across.'
With this the pelican squatted down, clearly intending for him to climb on its back.
'Gerraway from that fuckin' bird,' slurred an angry voice from behind, just Loofah was about to mount.
This was a zebra that was trotting—rather unsteadily—up the pavement towards him.
'Oh no, not again,' muttered the pelican.
'Don't trust him,' slurred the zebra, stumbling up to Loofah and breathing whisky fumes in his face, 'Bloody Johnny-come-lately. Couldn't cross a fuckin'—a fuckin'—a fuckin' something that's easy to cross.'
The zebra was also wearing the green council jacket, though its was distinctly grubby and frayed at the sleeves.
'What do you think you're doing?' said the pelican, in a frosty tone, 'You've been warned about this sort of thing—on more than one occasion.'
'Trying to keep the fucking roads safe, aren't I? Before you useless new boys get everybody run over,' said the zebra, leering threateningly at the pelican with its bloodshot eyes.
'You have no right to wear that uniform and you know it. Let me remind you that impersonating a council official is a criminal offence. Now take off that jacket and go home.'
'No, I won't go 'ome. Got to keep the roads safe. Got to get this bloke across. On you get, mate, I'll look after to you.'
'The gentleman will do no such thing.' The pelican turned to Loofah. 'Forced to take early retirement two years ago,' it said, speaking in a confidential tone, 'Reduced competence. Very sad, very sad indeed. Became a danger to pedestrians—a pensioner and her poodle crippled for life. Lucky no-one was killed.'
'That wasn't my fault!' bellowed the zebra, 'That was a drunken driver!'
'It was the drinking that did it alright, though the driver was sober. No go home before I call the authorities.'
The zebra blinked at Loofah with swimming eyes and then burst into tears.
'Thirty years,' it sobbed, 'thirty years of tireless service I've given this town, man and foal, getting people across the road through rain and shine. And then along comes this overgrown seagull with its fancy new ideas and I'm out, tossed aside like a piece of used toilet paper.'
'Come along now, don't make trouble. The gentleman hasn't got all day—.'
'Well, I'm not having it, I'm not! Get up, sir, I'll show you how to cross a road—properly, like it used to be done,' blubbered the zebra, stumbling unsteadily towards him, dipping its back for him to mount, 'We don't need this puffed up penguin.'
'Pelican!' corrected the pelican, 'Now please come away from this dreadful creature, sir,' it continued, taking Loofah's jacket sleeve in its beak, 'and we'll get you safely across.'
'Pelican! Pelican!' mocked the zebra, imitating the bird's pompous voice, and then pulled at Loofah's other sleeve with its teeth.
For a few moments he was pulled to and fro between them, like a disputed morsel of food.
'I'm warning you,' said the pelican, releasing the jacket, 'As an official of the Parish Council I order you to leave this pedestrian alone.'
'Fuck off, big mouth.'
As this the pelican huffed angrily and pecked at the zebra's head, catching it just above the left eye. With a whinny of fury the zebra reared up, kicking out with its front legs. As the pelican spun round to aim another peck, Loofah backed away, watching the fighting animals with bemused alarm.
'Go on, go for it, my son,' hissed a voice by his shoulder, 'You don't need that pair of wankers.'
A jay—an ordinary-sized jay—was perched on a parking meter beside his left shoulder.
'Sorry? Go for what?'
'Across,' hissed the jay, 'To the other side. Go on, my son, you'll be alright.'
'You mean—just run across?'
''Course I do. You'll be fine: trust your old china here.' It winked at him, an evil glint flashing in its black little eye; 'trust' was not the word that immediately sprang to mind.
'That's a bit dangerous isn't it? What about all the cars?'
'Who's scared of a few cars?' it sneered, 'You a pansy or something?'
'No, of course I'm not. But I still think I ought to—.'
'Go with one of them?' interrupted the jay, nodding towards the pelican and the zebra. These were now brawling openly on the pavement, as passers-by, tutting with disapproval, skirted round to avoid flying hooves and wings. It was not a re-assuring sight.
'Go on, my son,' continued the luridly coloured avian wide-boy, 'Show us what you're made of.'
Loofah glanced anxiously at the road, into the manic river of screaming cars.
'I'm not so sure—,' he said hesitantly.
'Pooftah!' hissed the jay, 'Great frilly party frock of a big girl's blouse!'
'Look, just because—.' Loofah began, bristling with indignation.
'You're yellow, aren't you?' sneered the jay, 'I knew it when I first saw you.'
For a long moment Loofah just glared at the bird, jaws clenched. Then, deep inside, something snapped.
'Yellow?' he spat, 'Yellow? I'll show you who's bloody well yellow.'
And with this he stepped off the curb, striding out between two parked cars. Behind him, as the jay cackled with delight, the pelican and the zebra yelled a desperate 'stop' with a single voice—but Loofah ignored them and, fixing his eyes on the cinema sign, marched resolutely into the traffic.
A wild howling of brakes and skidding wheels shredded the air, followed by the rhythmic thump of metal on metal, the crunch of crumbling headlight assemblies and the agonised scream of fender mountings tearing free. Chrome radiators, snarling with shocked fury, screeched to a halt either side of his path, forming a smouldering guard of honour. Enraged motorists bellowed and pedestrians shrieked from the pavement.
Loofah looked neither to right nor to left, he did not hurry and he did not flinch. As he stepped onto the pavement on the far side a crowd of onlookers parted to let him through, watching him with silent wide-eyed amazement. Yellow?—pah!