He stretched out in the weightless cushion of space and looked down at the sun, millions of miles below. The solar system was a huge clock-face hanging in the blackness, with lots of planet-hands ticking round at different speeds. A cross little figure in a toga was pushing against Mars, apparently attempting to stop the mechanism.
'Isn't 'e marvellous?' said Saturn, which was nice creamy brown, like café au lait. And—rather unusually for a planet—had legs, eight of them.
'Unh?' grunted Loofah, snapping awake and pulling himself back to earth with a start.
'Such a fount of knowledge,' Mrs Fulbright went on, 'I reckon our Mr B knows more things than you can shake a stick at.'
She was now scuttling round the bed of cushions, tidying up the flowers, brushing away loose petals and straightening leaves. The pig was fast asleep, yet again.
'Um, yes, very interesting, very interesting indeed,' said Loofah, 'But actually it was a different sort of information that I was after.'
'Different information? You mean you don't want to learn all about 't Romans and Greeks, an' 't like?'
The eight eyes twinkled with what could have been arthropod amusement—but Loofah wasn't sure.
'I do, of course I do,' he said quickly, 'But as you know I'm supposed to be involved in this project thing for the government and to be frank I'm getting a little bogged down. I've just come from a meeting with the New Zealand Flatworm and he said—well, I got the impression anyway—that Mr Boar would clear things up a bit. A lot of what I've been told so far is quite confusing, you see.'
'Oo dear!' exclaimed the spider, 'What sort of confusing?'
'Well, for example, one of the officials—the Cow of Light that is—told me that The Woman Who Looks Both Ways won't actually exist until I've found her.'
'Goodness, that is a puzzler. How can you find a body if she's nowhere to be found?'
'My point exactly,' said Loofah, 'And if that wasn't enough, Mr Flatworm then said that before I can find her, I have to have, um, you know, with her.'
'You don't mean…?' asked the spider, in a hushed tone.
'I'm afraid I do.'
'How rude! I can certainly see as why you're not 'appy with this little carry on.'
'Oh, it's not the rudeness that worries me. It's just that I don't see how I can do that with her—' a deep rumble started within the pink hill, gathering momentum as Loofah spoke '—if I don't know where she is?' then burst forth in a great crash of boulders.
'What?' cried the waking pig, 'Whey-blooded young weakling! In my day no chap worth his salt would shy away from a bit of rumpy-pumpy—' the ears lovingly caressed the two words as they rolled out '—with a pretty young gilt or two.'
'Mr B!' exclaimed the shocked spider.
'I'm not scared of a bit of "rumpy-pumpy", as you put it,' bristled Loofah, 'But surely even in your day you couldn't possibly have managed it before you'd even met the, um, young gilt in question?'
'Pah!' sneered the pig, 'Before, after, during. Yesterday, tomorrow, last Monday. We knew what we were about in those days and no mistake.'
Loofah sighed; yet again he knew he couldn't win.
'And let me tell you this, young sir,' the pig went on, 'You're going to have to perk up your ideas a bit, otherwise you'll be going nowhere, nowhere at all. Because the Four-Legged Filly won't stand for any pansying around, y'know. She won't be doing a damned thing for you unless you give her what she wants and that's for sure!'
'Yes, Mr Boar, but I still don't see how—.'
'Humph! You'll be telling us next you're scared of creepy-crawlies.'
Loofah looked quickly to Mrs Fulbright—but the spider seemed completely oblivious to the offensive term.
'Oh no, Mr B,' she said, 'The lad's not afraid, not a bit of it. You should've seen 'im wi' that slug back there. A pleasure to behold, it were!'
'You like slugs, eh? That's a start, anyway,' rumbled the pig, 'Because the lady in question has a particular fondness for slugs, she has, and for the Ring of Slugs in particular. Know about the Ring of Slugs, do you?'
'I do, actually.'
'Well that's where you'll find her, right inside it.'
This was more like it, Loofah thought, now we're getting somewhere.
'And where is it? The Ring of Slugs, I mean.'
'You want to know where the Ring of Slugs is?'
'Yes, I do,' said Loofah, as a little candle flame of hope flickered into life, 'If that's alright with you, of course.'
'Then I shall tell you—' the candle flame flared brightly '—the Ring isn't anywhere,' then guttered in the sharp gust of the pig's abrupt finality.
'You mean it's—nowhere?'
'Exactly,' confirmed the porcine official, unhelpfully, 'It is today, anyway.'
'But sometime it will be somewhere?'
'It will indeed—at any rate, that's what we're all hoping.'
'And do you know when that will be?' But as soon as the question was out of his mouth, Loofah knew the answer.
'Today,' said the pig, with rock-solid certainty, 'And now, back to the Romans.'
Loofah was perched nervously on a satin cushion, tentatively supporting his back against the gently heaving flank of the sleeping pig. Take the weight off your feet, Mrs Fulbright had insisted, and wouldn't think of him sitting on the ground as he would have preferred.
'You see, lad, it all makes sense in the end, don't it?'
"Sense" was not the word Loofah would have chosen—but he did not want to offend his arthropod hostess by disagreeing with her.
'I suppose so,' he said, 'Although I really don't see why they can't just explain everything properly in the first place.'
'Ours is not to reason why. They're doing all they can to keep you in 't picture, you can be sure of that.'
The spider was creamy orange now, like a syllabub, nicely matching the lettering in Loofah's tee shirt. She was pulling strange packages from a hollow log—smooth and silvery, these shimmered like huge misshapen pearls in the submarine light.
'And yet it always seems that other people always seem to know more than I do.'
'Other folk know more than you? Who do you mean?'
'Well, Miss Leggett and Norbert, for example.'
'Nay, lad, them lot don't know more than you, not by a long chalk. The likes of them only know what's bin put into 't public domain—and the 'ole world knows about that stuff. What you're getting from Mr B and 'is lot is brand spanking new, only just unearthed, like.'
'Oh, I see. So all this about the Ring of Slugs and, um—you know—with the double woman: no one else knows about it?'
'Good Lord, no—it's all right hush-hush,' said the spider, pulling out another packet and adding it to the growing pile on the swirling forest-flower carpet. As she worked, Loofah lay back against his warm, bristly head-rest and wondered how the mass of confusion that swirled slowly around the inside of his skull could ever be formed into something warranting the title "sense". He was just beginning to drift pleasantly into the buzzing flow, lulled by the gentle rhythmic rumble of the sleeping pig's breathing, when a memory from way back suddenly slapped itself down in the middle of his fore-brain like a piece of wet cod, jolting him up from his impending repose.
'There's one thing I don't understand, Mrs Fulbright,' he said, sitting bolt upright, 'If I really am part of this top secret government project, how come it was Norbert—I mean the other Norbert—who brought me here?'
The spider emerged from the log carrying yet another nacreous parcel. She was changing colour again, the syllabub blending gradually from orange to lime.
'Don't you believe it, lad,' said the briefly polychromatic arachnid, and dumped the packet on the pile.
'You mean he didn't bring us?' As he spoke, a slight tremor shivered through Loofah's buttocks, coming up through the cushion from the very earth itself.
'Oh, 'e thinks 'e did, alright,' said the spider, 'And I'm not saying as 'e didn't sort the arrangements with the immigration officials and all that.' The tremor became a quiver and Loofah's backrest rumbled as if a steam train were approaching. 'But they know what they're doing do those government people and you wouldn't be here if they hadn't have wanted it that way. You just mark my words, lad—things just might not turn out quite as our foreign friend thinks that by rights they ought to.'
At this point Loofah's whole seat suddenly shuddered and he jumped to his feet.
'Isn't that so, Mr B?' said the arachnid home-help, addressing the waking pig.
'What?' it grunted, 'What was that?'
'I were just talking wi't young man about 'is project, about how—.'
'Quite so, quite so,' interrupted the pig, 'Very important project, very important indeed. And I'm glad to see you're dressed for the part.'
'Sorry?'
'Just look at him, Mrs F: sensible shoes, good sturdy jacket, even the official project tee shirt—just the job, just the job.'
Loofah's surprise melted gently in the unexpected warmth of the pig's praise. He puffed out his chest, subtly opening the front of his jacket to show off his title and full livery.
'And that scarf. Have you ever seen such a fine scarf, Mrs F? I'd give my eye teeth for a scarf like that.'
As if hearing the pig's words, the scarf nestled against Loofah's neck. He stroked it proudly, smoothing the soft silk.
'It's lovely, isn't it?' he purred.
'Tell you what, young man,' said the pig, 'I'd count it as a personal favour if you'd let me try it on.'
Loofah started, covering his throat with a protective hand.
'Try it on?' he said quietly.
'I think it would suit me perfectly—just my colour, don't you know.'
'I—I'm not sure,' said Loofah, 'You see it was a present from…'
He stopped, feeling suddenly strange. The scarf gripped tighter, trembling slightly.
'Come, young sir,' said the pig, 'Don't refuse me this small request. Think of all I've done for you.'
'Um, why not try my jacket?' stammered Loofah, starting to pull it off, 'I'll think you'll find it's a perfect fit.' He pressed the jacket ineffectually against the enormous flank, while the scarf clung to his neck, now whimpering pitifully. 'Now, if you'll just give me your front leg, Mr Boar, and I'll…'
But the pig didn't shift and its legs—if indeed it had any—remained buried under the mountain range of its body. The leather jacket slid off the well-oiled bristles and crumpled onto a satin cushion. An ear-shutter flapped open and Loofah cringed under a blue-eyed stare.
'Young man, I would entreat you to remember who I am. Now please, do as I ask.'
'I really don't think—,' whined Loofah.
'Sir!' bellowed the pig and Loofah's hands leapt to his neck.
The scarf, however, would not let go. In fact the more Loofah pulled, the tighter it clung, like an infant to its mother.
'You see?' he said with a shrug, 'I can't get it off, it doesn't want to—.'
But before he could finish something plopped down onto Loofah's left shoulder and pastel-turquoise legs scrabbled against his tee shirt. With a squeal he lashed out, trying to push her away, but the spider dodged his flailing arms and lunged forward, stabbing at his neck with twin-daggered chelicerae. Loofah screamed—but it was not him that she speared.
The scarf convulsed, writhing against his skin like a tortured worm, and released its grip. With spasm of revulsion Loofah wrenched at his neck, sending spider and scarf flying. Mrs Fulbright swung away through the viscous air, a pastel pendulum suspended from an overhanging branch, carrying her writhing prey in her forelegs. At the zenith of her swing, she dropped it neatly on her employer's snout, then scrambled away up her invisible thread.
The pig crossed his tiny blue eyes and stared at the feebly twitching scarf with undisguised distaste.
'No,' it grunted, 'Doesn't suit me at all.'
Then, with a surprisingly agile toss of its snout, it threw the limp scarf into the air and caught it on the trough-like lower jaw.
'Please—no!' cried Loofah.
But the merciless mouth clamped shut. The scarf writhed in mute agony, corkscrewing itself against the crunching jaws and splattering green slime over the satin cushions. As the flatworm died, twitching into limp flaccidity, its red silk disguise melted away revealing its shiny invertebrate integument. Loofah's mouth fell open and a strange hollowness echoed inside; even this last memento from a lost friend had not been what it seemed.
The pig kept chomping, pulling the dangling planarian into its mouth, and then swallowed. A rumbling belch burst from under the ears and it grunted contentedly.
'Delicious,' it said, 'That was decent of you, old chap, damned decent of you. I was just feeling a bit peckish there.'
'Oh, Mr B, you'll spoil your dinner,' said the spider crossly. Splay-legged, she was floating gently down from above on invisible gossamer.
'Just an appetiser, Mrs F. You know I'll always be ready for a bit of your lovely home cooking.'
Licking the last of the green slime off its lips, the pig turned to Loofah.
'Well, young man,' it said, 'One good turn deserves another, as they say. I shall lend you one of my own scarves—we can't have you catching a chill, can we? And now, you must excuse me. It's time for my pre-lunch nap and I could not bear to miss my pre-lunch nap.'
There was a finality to the pig's tone that jolted Loofah out of the tail end of his grieving. 'Is that you'll you've got to say to me then, Mr Boar?' he asked anxiously.
'If you don't mind hanging around, I could tell you about the Vandals. It was they that did for the Romans, don't you know. Came in at a quarter to four, while everybody else was still at twenty-two minutes past three—no one there to stop them, you see. Smashed all the windows and sprayed their names on the statues. Made a right mess they did, the rotten swine.'
The pig yawned luxuriously, before moving on.
'Then there's the Dark Ages—four hundred years of night-time. They didn't get much done, though they did manage to catch up on a lot of—' it yawned again '—sleep. After that came the Middle Ages with everybody putting on a bit of weight and playing lots of golf and bridge.'
It stopped and eyed him sleepily. 'But this is really degree level stuff. And I don't think you've got time for much more time, have you? You've got a job to do and I've—' another yawn '—got a nap to take.'
'But Mr Boar, what about The Woman Who Looks Both Ways? Aren't you going to tell me any more about her?'
'I am indeed,' grunted the pig, snuggling down into its cushions, 'Off you go and find her: that's what I'm—' yawn '—telling you.'
'Please don't fall asleep yet,' begged Loofah, struggling desperately against the enormous inertia of the pig's somnolence, 'I don't know what to do next.'
'If you want my advice, young sir,' mumbled the pig, 'its time you got a little—' big, deep yawn '—spiritual guidance. In my day, we believed in something—a higher power, don't you know. You'd never catch a young pig of my generation missing church. No, sir, we always had time for the—' biggest, deepest yawn '—Good Lord, I am tired.'
Loofah knew he was beaten. He slumped down onto the flowers with a long sigh of exasperation. The gentle, rhythmic snores that presently began fluttering from under the ear-shutters did not soothe him in the least. He turned to the octapedal housekeeper, who—now a delicate salmon pink—was sorting her silvery packages onto a selection of bowls and dishes.
'What did he mean by that, Mrs Fulbright?' he asked, 'All that stuff about spiritual guidance?'
'I reckon 'e's saying that a bit of religion wouldn't do you any harm,' she replied, 'Though Lord knows 'e's not the one to talk. I know for a fact that 'e hasn't been near a church since 'e were a pipsqueak weaner.'
'Well I have been to church, quite recently actually,' said Loofah, blinking away an image of an overweight vicar bellowing fire and brimstone from her pulpit, 'And it didn't seem to do me much good.'
'Ay, but that 'd 've been C of E wouldn't it? Maybe you should try sommat a bit different.'
'You mean like the Methodists or the Quakers?'
'They're alright, they are, but I reckon you want to get right back to basics. Get it from the horse's mouth, like.'
'Who do you have in mind?'
'If I were you, lad, I'd 'ave a word with the 'Oly Shepherd Himself.'
'You don't mean…?' gasped Loofah. His mission was suddenly taking on a whole new dimension of significance.
'Ay, lad, I do.'
Loofah scrambled to his feet and gazed up to the beech branch vaulting miles away. An angel choir of blackbird song lilted softly through the sacred silence and heavenly sunbeams of a thousand million colours danced in the viscous air.
'But where would I find Him, Mrs Fulbright?' he asked, in a hushed tone.
'Ee, I don't know—but I know a man who does.'