Colvenhoof: Satan's Shorts (Clovenhoof Anthology) Page 3

  “I knew you’d be no help,” said Ben.

  “Whoa, there,” said Clovenhoof. “You’ve been asked out by an attractive young woman who, for some reason, isn’t repelled by your nerdy looks or fusty odour but, after having seen her naked, you’re having second thoughts because you can now only think of her as a naked woman, not one of those sexless entities you call friends –“

  “I hope you’re not including me in that,” said Nerys.

  “- and this nakedness thing is a barrier between you.”

  Ben stared at him.

  “Yes. Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what it is.”

  “I know. This clothed / naked thing is a big fuss over nothing. There’s been nothing but trouble ever since you humans discovered it. You know I always believe in getting out the meat and two veg in any social situation.”

  “Oh, we know,” said Nerys.

  “It breaks the ice and, in the case of romantic situations, prevents any future disappointment. View before buying, I say.”

  Ben frowned.

  “Are you suggesting that I wave my wang in her face in order to even things up?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Great. Thanks for that advice. Nerys?”

  Nerys put a hand on her chin thoughtfully, daubing it with a smudge of purple paint.

  “You think she’s beautiful?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Ben.

  “And me?”

  “What?”

  She stood up.

  “Am I?”

  “Was this conversation about you?”

  “Oh, so I’m not beautiful.”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t give me that bollocks.”

  Ben, visibly struggling, rushed forward.

  “I mean, look at your painting. Have you painted Jeremy as handsome or…”

  “Absolutely bloody handsome,” put in Clovenhoof.

  Ben stood beside Nerys and looked at her painting.

  “That’s…”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Very good,” said Ben honestly.

  “You think?”

  “You’ve used a lot of red. He looks a bit sun-burned.”

  “I know. I’m not sure why I did that.”

  “And his feet are a bit blocky, almost hoof-like. And what are these two things on his head?”

  Nerys made an uncertain noise.

  “They just seemed to suit him.”

  Ben joined in with his own uncertain noise.

  “I know what you mean,” he said.

  Clovenhoof smiled and returned his gaze to the television.

  “Egridite domo, lupa!” he said happily.

  As they entered the Paradise Adult Education Centre, Ben tried to convince Nerys not to go through with her plan.

  “It’s not like you’re being paid to do it,” he said.

  “I’m doing it for the love,” replied Nerys. “Anyway, it’s all arranged with Patty.”

  “It’s obscene.”

  “Oh, so it’s okay for your girlfriend to strip off for the class but ugly Nerys should keep her hideous body under wraps?”

  “It’s not like that. It’s just that it’s you. It’ll be like seeing your mum naked.”

  Nerys stopped in the corridor and wheeled on Ben.

  “I’ve seen photographs of your mum, Ben.”

  “Naked ones?” said Clovenhoof.

  Nerys scowled at Clovenhoof and then Ben.

  “I don’t appreciate the comparisons,” she said.

  “Tell her, Jeremy,” Ben pleaded.

  Clovenhoof raised his hands.

  “I’m just glad that someone is heeding my advice. I’m going to leave you kids to it. Dr Clovenhoof has students waiting.”

  He walked to his classroom, stopping off on the way as he did each week, to greet the snake in the science lab.

  “How’s it going?” he said to the snake as he entered.

  The snake raised its head.

  Clovenhoof patted his pockets for the two dead mice he had brought with him and, after giving an “Ah-ha!” of victory as he found one of them in his wallet, opened the tank and swung the snack by its tail. The serpent struck at the rodent with a speed that never failed to impress Clovenhoof.

  “You’ve no truck with clothes, have you?” he said. “No. Well, what would you wear? A sock?”

  “What is that?” whined a voice distantly along the corridor. “Is that body glitter?”

  “Humans and this bloody need to hide their wobbly dangly bits,” said Clovenhoof, stroking the snake’s scales as it swallowed the mouse. “At least it shows He has a sense of humour.”

  Clovenhoof glanced up at the clock.

  “Class time. Gotta dash.”

  He nipped across the corridor and into his own classroom.

  “Avete, plebes,” he said, in greeting, opened his briefcase and piled his text books on his desk. He discovered the second dead mouse inside his hardback copy of Cicero’s On the Republic. It looked rather pathetic and two-dimensional.

  “Ah,” he said, wondering if he should keep it for a bookmark. He decided against it and brushed it to the floor.

  He turned to the class. Their attentive, loving eyes were fixed on him.

  “Right then, class,” he said. “Where were we up to last time?”

  “We were comparing Roman and Greek texts,” said Adrian.

  “That’s right and we were discussing why Ancient Greek literature was infinitely superior to Roman. Can anyone remember why?”

  Odette, she of the unflattering cardigan, put her hand up.

  “Odette?”

  “Knob jokes,” she said.

  “That’s right. Well done. The Greeks were masters of the knob gag, whereas the average Roman writing was as dry and dull as Western Australia.”

  “Who are you?”

  This question came from the bearded man who had appeared in the doorway. Clovenhoof thought there was something vaguely familiar about him.

  “I’m Dr Clovenhoof. This is my Classics group.”

  “I’m Dr Wiles. This is my Classics group,” said the man. “And I’ve no idea who you are.”

  Clovenhoof brow furrowed and then realisation dawned.

  “Oh, yes. I punched you in the face a couple of weeks ago, didn’t I?”

  “You?”

  “I was attacking my neighbour with an imaginary sword,” Clovenhoof explained to the class.

  “It was you!” exclaimed Dr Wiles.

  “Yes, it was. How’s the jaw?”

  Dr Wiles turned a funny shade of pink.

  “How’s my jaw? You dislocated it, you delinquent arse. I’ve spent days in agony. I’ve had to have two teeth extracted and root canal surgery on a third.”

  “Ah, well. Aegroto, dum anima est, spes esse dicitur.”

  “Aegroto…? Come here and-“

  Dr Wiles stepped forward, trod on Clovenhoof’s squashed mouse and his feet slipped out from under him. He went down onto the floor with a thud and a scream of pain and fury. The class leapt to their feet.

  “Is he all right?” asked Odette.

  “Are you all right?” Clovenhoof asked Dr Wiles.

  Dr Wiles screamed at him again in answer and, though there was still both pain and fury in that scream, the furious aspect had definitely acquired the upper hand.

  The classroom door slammed open. Nerys filled the doorframe, clothed only in a dressing gown and a faint patina of body glitter.

  “Nobody touch him!” she commanded. “I’m trained in first aid.”

  “Aren’t you meant to be getting naked next door?” said Clovenhoof.

  “I heard his cry and I came,” she said melodramatically. “I also wanted to get here ahead of that first aid class in room nine.”

  She crouched down beside the stricken Dr Wiles.

  “Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”

  “Who are you?”

&nb
sp; “I’m Nerys. That’s all you need to know.” She looked up at Clovenhoof. “You’ll need to find Ben and get him to tell our teacher that I’ve been delayed by a mission of mercy.”

  “Really?”

  “Go.” She took hold of Dr Wiles’s hand. “What appears to be the problem?”

  “He slipped on a dead mouse,” said Clovenhoof.

  Dr Wiles’s eyes goggled.

  “Are you naked?” he croaked.

  Nerys glanced down. Certainly her dressing gown was open more than was properly decent and Dr Wiles possibly had a unique floor-level view. Nerys treated her patient to an angelic smile.

  “Yes, I am,” she said.

  Clovenhoof scuttled across the way and into the art room. The rotund teacher was casting about anxiously whilst trying to deliver some meandering and aimless speech. She looked up at Clovenhoof, clearly hoping to see Nerys.

  “A slight technical hitch,” said Clovenhoof. He hooked his hand under Ben’s elbow and dragged him through the door at the head of the classroom and into the supply cupboard.

  “We’ll have the show on the road in just a tick,” he told the teacher and closed the door.

  Ben looked at the neat pile of Nerys’s clothes on the one chair in the supply cupboard and the tub of body glitter on top of it. He looked back at Clovenhoof.

  “What’s going on? Where’s Nerys?”

  “Bit of an emergency,” said Clovenhoof. “She’s having to deal with it. You need to step in.”

  Ben blinked.

  “Do what?”

  “Step in. Take over.”

  Ben looked at the pile of clothes again.

  “Take over?”

  “Yes. Get your clothes off.”

  Clovenhoof reached for Ben’s T-shirt and pulled it up.

  “What?” said Ben. “Me? Strip?”

  “Exactly. I don’t think you need to do the body glitter thing but, yes, strip.”

  “No, no, no. I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Clovenhoof reached for Ben’s belt and, with some nifty dexterity, whipped it off him with an audible crack.

  “I don’t want to do this,” said Ben.

  “Of course you do. In fact, this is exactly what you want to do.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve got those hangs ups about Felicity parading her naughty bits in public. Here’s how to redress the balance.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Nakedness is nothing to be ashamed of,” said Clovenhoof and, to illustrate the point, ripped his own shirt open and let his trousers drop to the floor.

  Ben trembled.

  “But they’re expecting Nerys.”

  “They’re expecting someone. You’re someone.”

  There was a rap at the door.

  “Is everything all right in there?” called the art teacher.

  “Just a minute,” replied Clovenhoof. “Almost ready.”

  “They’ll laugh at me,” hissed Ben.

  “At you?” said Clovenhoof, stepping out of his trousers and shucking off his pants. “But we’re beautiful.”

  “You’re coming out with me?”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ben shook his head but unbuttoned his jeans nonetheless.

  “I’m going to hate this.”

  “It’ll be cathartic.”

  “And Nerys needs me to do this?”

  “Her exact words.”

  Ben peeled off his jeans and lifted his T-shirt over his head. Clovenhoof looked at his neighbour, the pale weedy man with ribs like a row of speed bumps.

  “Look at you. Just as God intended you to be,” said Clovenhoof proudly. Naked, ignorant and compliant he added silently in your head.

  Ben nodded affirmatively.

  “I’m going to do this,” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m not ashamed of my body.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m happy in my skin.”

  “Well, no one else would be.”

  “What?”

  Abruptly, a piercing alarm bell began to ring, not just one but several, chorusing and echoing throughout the building.

  “Er…” said Ben.

  “Oh,” said Clovenhoof.

  The door opened and Patty, the art teacher, burst in.

  “Is there a fire?” said Ben.

  The teacher looked down at the two of them and then up.

  “Someone’s let loose a massive snake!”

  Clovenhoof looked down at himself and gave her a modest smile.

  “Why thank you for noticing.”

  The woman looked at him as though he was mad.

  “Come on then,” she said. “Out!”

  “But…” said Ben gesturing to his discarded clothing.

  She grabbed his wrist and pulled.

  “We have to evacuate. The alarm has sounded.”

  Ben was dragged out into the now empty art room. Clovenhoof followed.

  “My pants!” Ben wailed, feeling himself descending into a dream-like state of terror.

  “Pants won’t save you from a venomous snake,” said Patty.

  “I don’t think pythons are venomous,” said Clovenhoof conversationally.

  “And how do you know it’s a python?” said Ben and suddenly leapt with fright. “It’s not here, is it?”

  “Out!” commanded Patty.

  “I think I might have forgotten to put the lid on the tank,” said Clovenhoof.

  “Oh, this would be your fault,” said Ben witheringly

  “Nothing is my fault,” Clovenhoof replied.

  Pat poked and prodded them down the corridor, past the language labs, the music rooms and pottery studios. Clovenhoof grabbed a couple of items off a nearby trolley.

  “Here,” he shouted over the noisy alarm. “Cover your shame.”

  Ben placed the pottery cup over his groin, only just managing to cover the barest of his essentials.

  “How come you get a vase?” he said.

  Clovenhoof swaggered along with large clay flower vase in his hand.

  “Each shall be given according to his needs,” he said.

  They went out through the fire doors and down into the car park where several dozen people milled in the dark.

  “Brrr. Cold out here,” said Clovenhoof. “Look, I’ve got nipples like chapel hat pegs.”

  Several dozen pairs of eyes had turned to look at the two naked men.

  “Oh, God,” Ben whimpered. He felt his manhood shrivel up and try to retreat into his body and it was not entirely because of the cold.

  Across the way, Nerys, not much better dressed than he, stood with the injured Dr Wiles clinging to her.

  And beyond, standing in the faint glow of the streetlights on Paradise Street, was another woman, wrapped up in a thick winter coat and a very long scarf. It was hard to tell at such distant but Ben guessed the expression on her face to be something between confusion and disgust.

  “Oh, God,” he whimpered again. “I was happy here for a while, Jeremy. And you ruined it.”

  “That’s right. Blame me. Don’t blame yourself. Or her.”

  Felicity stepped backwards, fading into the night.

  “To hell with you,” snorted Ben angrily.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Clovenhoof wearily. “Hey.” He elbowed Ben in the ribs and gestured to his vase. “Look. No hands.”

  Patron Saint of Nothing At All

  “St Christopher,” said the Archangel. “Do come in. Take a seat.”

  Christopher gave him a broad grin, nervous around the edges.

  “Where would you like me to take it? I can take it anywhere. I can lift anything. Did you know I once carried the infant Christ across a raging river?”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned it once or–“

  “Right heavy, he were. Like a lead ball.”

  “Yes,” said the Archangel. “Do just sit. You obviously saw the memo.”

  “I can�
��t say I rightly understood it,” said the huge saint, carefully lowering himself onto the small swivel chair.

  “Well.” The archangel fiddled briefly with his quill. “First of all, let me say how pleased we all are with you work you’ve done over the centuries, both on earth and here in the Celestial City. As patron saint of travel and transport you’ve-“

  “And storms.”

  “And storms.”

  “And Vilnius, Brunswick and the Island of St Kitts.”

  “Really? That’s very good.”

  “And toothache.”

  “What? Sorry?”

  “I am the patron saint of toothache and gum ulcers. S’true. You can look it up.”

  “People with toothache and ulcers pray to you then?”

  “Aye,” the giant saint nodded modestly. “Bonjella. That were my idea.”

  The archangel smiled brightly.

  “It’s quite a career you had.”

  “Why thank you, Archa-“ He stopped. “Had?”

  The archangel made a noise.

  “Yes, well, you see. As in… let me put it this way. Tell me about your childhood.”

  “My childhood?”

  “Yes. What kind of upbringing you had, what kind of child you were. Where were you born?”

  “Born. Yes.” Saint Christopher frowned. “I can’t quite recall. It were over sixteen hundred years ago.”

  “Of course. So, tell me something else about your life.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything.”

  St Christopher sat in thought for some time.

  “Ah,” he said, wagging his enormous finger. “There was this one time, after I decided to devote my life to serving the Lord by helping people across this river. Big river. Deep. Wide. Anyroad, this young child comes up to me and asks me to help him cross.”

  The archangel nodded.

  “Is this the story about when you carried the infant Christ?”

  “Have I told you before?”

  “You may have done,” said the archangel patiently.

  “Because, not a lot of people know that my name, Christopher, means ‘carrier of Christ.’”

  “Ah. And that’s the name you were given after your noble deed.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did people call you before that?”

  “Before they called me Christopher?”

  “Mmm. Yes.”

  St Christopher puffed out his cheeks.

  “I… you see, it were a long time ago. It can be hard to remember.”