Part 2, Chapter 6, of RFV.

SIX

 

    When Roger reached the small School again there was someone waiting for him and it wasn’t Hub Cap. It was a middle-aged man who was dressed in a smart dark blue pin-stripe suit, white shirt and tie. His short black hair was greying at the temples and he had a neatly trimmed grey moustache. He stood up as Roger approached.

    “Ah, Mr Roger White, I believe?” he asked in a slightly stern tone.

    Roger nodded.

    “Good, I was reliably informed I would find you here. My name is Digby Quibble and I am a lawyer,” he told Roger and offered him his business card.

    As Roger examined it, Digby removed some papers from a briefcase.

    “Correct me if I am wrong,” Digby went on, glancing at a legal looking document, “but you are the main character in a novel entitled ‘Roger’s Fabulous Voyages’?”

    “That’s correct,” said a bemused Roger. “What’s this about?”

    “My work as a lawyer requires that I investigate novels, films and television programmes,” Digby told him.

    “Investigate them for what?”

    “To ensure that every so often somebody goes to the toilet to pass urine or have a bowel movement,” Digby told him.

    Roger sniggered.

    Digby glared at him. “Well you may laugh, Mr White,” he went on,” but I have the power to stop any novel, film or television programme which has gone on for an extended period where no-one has carried out any of the aforementioned excretory functions.”

    Roger looked round. Was this a joke?

    “No it is not a joke, Mr White,” said Digby. “This novel you happen to be in has now reached page 44 and has had a time span of one month and yet not one person has been to the toilet. Does that make any sense to you?”

    “Oh puck off,” Roger muttered.

    “I beg you pardon?”

    “Nothing,” said Roger. “I was just clearing my throat.”

    “Good. Now think of it this way, Mr White. The average person visits the toilet five or six times a day. No-one has visited the toilet so far in this novel. It is completely unnatural.”

    “Well what d’you want to do about it?” Roger asked, irritated.

    “Why it’s very simple. Unless you perform both toiletry functions, I will stop this novel from proceeding any further. And believe me, I have the power to do so.”

    Roger opened his mouth to say something but a very stern glance shut him up.

    Digby reached into his briefcase and brought out a small plastic container. He unscrewed the top and handed the container to Roger. “Urine sample,” he ordered.

    Roger took the container, strolled behind some bushes, urinated and strolled back. He handed over the container.

    Digby glanced at it. He held it up to the light and noted the colour. Satisfied, he poured it into the grass. Next he handed Roger a toilet roll and a small shovel. “Don’t need to see it. Just bury it,” he instructed.

    Roger grabbed the items and disappeared behind another bush. There were the sounds of digging, muted cursing then groaning. A couple of minutes later there were more digging sounds then Roger reappeared. He handed the toilet roll and shovel back.

    “You managed?” Digby asked.

    Roger nodded. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, “but I had to dig rather a large hole.”

    “Why?”

    “Well I hadn’t had a bowel movement for 44 pages,” he explained, “so there was a substantial amount to jettison.”

    Digby glared at him again. He replaced the toilet roll and small shovel in his briefcase then brought out another legal looking document, read it then handed it to Roger. “Sign at the bottom,” he instructed Roger.

    Roger signed it then returned the document.

    Digby checked it then placed it in his briefcase, closed it and nodded to Roger. “Toilet requirements having been met, this novel can now proceed.”

    “Thank puck for that,” said Roger.

    Digby shook his head in disgust, picked up his briefcase and walked off smartly back up the path towards the village.

    “See you in another 44 pages for my next specimens,” Roger muttered after him.

    “Hey Digby, my man, how’s it goin?” a returning Hub Cap asked as he came down the path.

    Digby nodded curtly to him as they passed.

    Hub Cap strolled up to Roger. “You bin shootin the breeze wit Digby?” he asked. “Hope he wasn’t takin the piss outa you?”

    “Well…sort of,” Roger replied.

    “Shame about ole Digby,” Hub Cap went on. “Used to be a real good mechanic. Could fix anythin.”

    Roger frowned. “A mechanic?”

    “Yeah. He flipped on the long trip to Uhuruland from Eart. Head just went. Thinks he’s some kinda hot shot lawyer now. Goes round telling people they’s breakin some kinda law or other. Always orderin folk to do the strangest s**t.”

    “Yes, he did that too,” Roger muttered.

    Hub Cap threw an arm round Roger as they strolled on. “Okay my man, got some ace news for ya!” he said cheerfully.

    Roger brightened. “And what would that be?”

    “Looks like I’m gonna get laid tonight!” Hub Cap replied and laughed.

    “Well yes. I could see how that’s good news,” Roger said.

    “Oh but it is. Rememba Teacha �" that foxy chick I strolled off wit?”

    Roger nodded.

    “Well she turns out to be one horny chick. We’s meetin up afta you bin executed.”

    Roger stopped and stared at him. “But I thought you said--”

    “Relax, bro,” Hub Cap told him. “Teacha’s fatha happens to be the official  Executiona hea.”

    “Oh yes?”

    “Teacha an me, we’s bin talkin it ova. We don’t think it cool that Big Lucas executin you jus cos you wite. So we fixin things for ya.”

    “And I won’t be executed?”

    Hub Cap nodded. “I aint’s gonna tell you how we doin it cos it’s got to look real.”

    “You mean they’ll actually go through with it then?”

    Hub Cap nodded again. “That’s all I can say, Rog but believe me, you’ll be okay.”

    They strolled on, Roger with a slightly worried look on his face.

    “Now you seen the village, Ah’ll take you to the small town where the regula folks live,” said Hub Cap. “It’s down here aways, along the river.”

    They walked on, admiring the scenery. There was the lush forest on one side and the turbulent river on the other.

    “Fine riva, ain’t it?” Hub Cap asked.

    “It certainly is,” agreed Roger.

    “The riva named afta two of the famous bruthas from Eart.”

    “Really? Who were they?”

    “Two dudes by the names of Zam and Bezi.”

    Roger thought about it. Mouthed the names. Comprehension dawned. “Ah, so it’s called--”

    “The Bezizam,” Hub Cap said, shooting a quick glance at him.

    Roger took the bait. He looked puzzled. “The Bezizam? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

    “Wot, the Mazizeb?”

    “No. I mean putting the first name--”

    “You mean the dudes first names? Leroy an Thomas? The Leroythomas Riva? Na, don’t sound right, man.”

    “I think we’re getting a bit confus--”

    Hub Cap laughed. “I’s only jiving wit you, bro!” he said. “It ain’t called the Bezizam.”

    Roger frowned. “So what’s it called then?”

    “The Obama.”

    “The Obama?”

    “Yeah. It’s brown an fulla s**t.”

    “Oh. I see,” muttered Roger but he didn’t.

    As they meandered on beside the meandering Zambezi, the river began to narrow until it was only a few feet across. This was very convenient as a man came out of the forest on the opposite bank and Hub Cap recognized him.

    “My man Clarence!” he called, waving.

    Clarence grinned and waved back. “Yo Hub Cap! Yo wite boy!” he yelled, strolling over to the river bank.

    Roger and Hub Cap wandered over to their side of the bank and they were then pretty close to Clarence.

    “We’s headin for town,” Hub Cap told him. “You holdin any weed?”

    Clarence patted a bulging pocket. “If you holdin money, Ah’s holdin honey!” he replied.

    Hub Cap laughed. Roger didn’t.

    “That’s Clarence’s patch across the riva,” Hub Cap told Roger, pointing to a wide area of the forest. “He grows some mighty fine weed thea.”

    Roger frowned. “What, you mean he actually grows weeds? That sounds a bit strange.”

    Hub Cap was about to explain weed to Roger when he spotted two youths strolling along the path towards Clarence.

    “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “Could be trouble brewin hea,” he told Roger. “Them two dudes just bad asses. They raidin Clarence’s ganja patch befoa.”

    As the youths approached Clarence, he held up his hand and stopped them. “That’s as far as you two walkin,” he said.

    The youths just laughed.

    “We walkin where we likes,” the first youth told him.

    Clarence waved his hand behind him in a wide arc, indicating the nearby forest. “All this land,” he said, “mine,” and tapped his chest.

    The youths laughed again.

    “Bullsheet!” said the first.

    “Yeah, this Uhuruland,” added the second. “Nobody ownin no land.”

    They tried to get past Clarence but he stopped them. “Land mine!” he told them again more forcefully.

    The youths became angry.

    “This land ain’t yours!” the first yelled and started pushing him.

    “This everybody’s land!” yelled the second and joined in the pushing.

    The two of them slapped Clarence around then pushed him into some bushes.

    Pleased with their work, they laughed and strolled on. They had only walked a short distance when there was a loud explosion on the path. The screaming youths were blown into the air and bits of them splashed into the river.

    Clarence picked himself up and dusted himself down. He stared at the bits of bodies now floating in the river then back at the smouldering blood splattered hole in the path with other body bits scattered round it. “Land mine,” he said then turned and strolled on.