style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I was just wondering if anyone at the fair might know what to do.’
It seemed like a normal question, for a few seconds. Then, as I ran it over in my head it sounded completely ridiculous.
‘I’m going,’ I said, and turned to walk away.
‘No, wait. Are you all right?’
I spun around. The woman had very thick eyebrows. Her face looked as if it had been moulded under extreme pressure. She could see that I was stoned, and was about to call the police. Only a stoned person would do something like this. I still had some weed in my pocket, it was higher grade and they’d think I was a dealer. The police would organise a search warrant for my house, find my setup. I’d spend the rest of my life behind bars.
I started to move faster, but then stopped. I had to try and redeem myself. I had to convince her I was normal.
‘It was just a thought,’ I said.
‘Let me see it.’
I unwrapped the bone and held it out toward her.
‘So you just came here to see if maybe . . ,’
‘Well, I didn’t know what to do. But I’ll go now, if you want.’
‘What sort of bone is it? Human? Animal?’
‘I don’t know. It came from my garden.’
‘Let me hang on to this. I think I might know someone.’
I could barely believe what I was hearing. Perhaps I wasn’t so stupid. No, suddenly it all seemed to make sense again.
‘Who?’
‘They’re an organisation. They were meant to have a stand here. But something happened at the last moment. They’re archaeological students. They’re called, something about restoring, to lost groups. Shit. I can’t remember. Do you have a number?’
I gave her my phone number and address.
‘So it looks like we should get the class under way.’
‘No. No. I have to go,’ I said, and started walking away before she could force me to participate.
What a strange woman. I was relieved that she wasn’t a police informer. Whenever I became paranoid I could literally feel the muscles in my body tensing up, and then when the paranoia passed I could feel them relaxing again, as I did now.
I started to enjoy being stoned. The sky looked beautiful, so did the trees. There was a general sense of failure about the fair. A band whined away in the hall, but no one paid any attention. The sellers sold things half-heartedly as if they didn’t really care. It was all rather melancholy. But at that moment the melancholy seemed poetic.
Then I noticed a man in a bear suit watching me as I made my way across the playground. Could he be an undercover policeman sent to look out for suspicious characters like myself?
I started to speed up. But now he was forcing the children off his legs and following me. I was terrified. I felt the muscles in my chest begin to tighten. I looked down at my feet and tried to pretend that nothing was happening. But then he was standing right next to me, looking at me with his big black plastic eyes.
‘Byron,’ the bear said.
Shit. They’d already built up a profile on me. They’d been watching.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’ the bear asked.
‘Umm …’
‘It’s me. It’s Roddy,’ the bear said.
‘Roddy!’ I screamed. I knew he’d done a lot of strange jobs in his time, but I’d never known him to dress as a bear.
‘Yes. Come. Keep walking out of here. I’ll follow you.’
I didn’t feel any relief. This could all be a part of their plan. But I kept going, out of the gate, past the lady with the tin and into the park. The bear continued to follow me. I started to pick up pace. I would run home and slam the gate behind me.
‘Slow down, Byron!’ the bear shouted again.
‘What do you want?’
‘Do you have any weed on you?’
‘No! No, no!’ I tried to run away, but the bear picked up pace.
‘It’s me, Roddy. Come here.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I just want to smoke with you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
We were standing in the middle of the park, under a low tree. The bear kept scraping its head on the top of the branches.
‘Come to the bathroom,’ he said, and pointed to a public loo.
‘Take your head off,’ I said to the bear.
‘I can’t. Not here. I don’t want to be seen like this, man!’
‘I’ve got to go.’
The bear took hold of my right sleeve and gently tugged me toward to toilet.
‘I’ll take my head off in there! Come to the bathroom.’
I cautiously followed the bear into the public toilet. It was made of dark bricks, and the inside hadn’t been cleaned in months. The toilet seat had been ripped off and the urinal stuffed with newspaper. It smelt of shit and urine.
The bear took its head off.
‘It’s me, Byron’ said Roddy.
Sure enough, it was him. His puffy white face was red and dripping with sweat. His long grey ponytail was hanging down his back. He’s a dirty man, Roddy. I’d been to his flat a few times, and I knew that he washed himself and his dishes with the same bar of soap. He smelt strongly of sweat, and greasy onions I think, but I was so relieved it wasn’t a cop that I didn’t care. He put the bear’s head down on the floor.
‘You’ll make it stink, Roddy,’ I said.
‘How you doing, Byron?’ he asked me.
‘I’m all right. The head.’ I pointed at it.
I could feel my heart slowing down and my muscles relaxing.
‘Ag,’ he said. ‘Times a bit tough at the moment. Waiting for my payment on the Beatles royalties. Then I’ll be set. For now, having to do this kind of shit. You got some weed?’
‘I do,’ I said.
I took the little dime bag out of my pocket and picked a few heads off the plant.
‘We’ll
