So Far Away

Not so long ago a storm hit the coast here and knocked over the local zoo's bird enclosure, freeing the parrots who took to the locality very nicely thank you very much and now every morning around six they shriek and bark and if anyone cared for a long lie then the squabbling of the parrots over the bird food left out for them would soon put paid to that.

By ten thirty they'd tired of their fighting and taken off to fly in great arcs of green and yellow across the bright blue sky, swooping down into the palm trees every now and then to remind us they were there and that no matter the noise they made, we used to coop them up so owe them one and had better not forget the bird feed for the next morning.

I was pondering this while loafing on an old hammock stretched between two trees in the garden of my winter hide away. The old ropes were thin but taut and toasted black in parts, bleached in others by the relentless sun which burned even at this early hour. Bay windows lay open with the white cotton curtains stirring into the house from the breeze which wafted in from the plains carrying the slight scent of perfume from some unknown and exotic plant. From inside echoed the plaintive strains of a trumpet which faded as the languid voice of Astrud Gilberto sang of distant stars and oceans meeting the sky. I listened, a smile on my face as I dozed on my little rope bed and for a brief moment I dreamt that I was in a cold barn in Scotland struggling to build a trampoline but a parrot flew past squawking and woke me from my reverie and I thanked my luck that it was just a strange dream and that this was my life, not that freezing vision and then the music stopped as someone kicked over the old gramophone player and I heard boots marching across the tiles and from the curtains appeared Lawwell in his desert fatigues and jackboots.

"Think you're on holiday, cunt squeak?" he sneered and booted me off the hammock and before I knew it I was driving through the sands and brush to hunt a pack of wild Keevins.

A great cloud of dust kicked up behind us as our jeep roared across the arid plains and the heat, bearable in the green of our garden was stifling here in the open with no shade for miles. And nowhere to hide for the Keevins as we saw them grazing on a small patch of dry grass in the distance as Lawwell let out a whoop of delight and triumph and turned the jeep towards them with one hand while pulling up his rifle with the other.

Keevins are slow and stupid creatures and they stood watching us as we thundered towards them and only scattered at the crack of Lawwell's first shot which missed, kicking up a little puff of yellow dirt which startled the Keevins who then bolted, jostling and shoving and forming almost a perfect protective circle, the ones on the outside bleating and cursing their luck.

"Here, take the wheel Stinky, I see a beauty right there," shouted Lawwell and I took over to let him get a better shot with both hands and time to aim. Another shot rang out and a Keevins jerked and fell and was trampled by the herd as they changed direction creating a dust cloud of their own which made Lawwell's next shot more difficult. He took the kick of the shot through the butt and into his shoulder and grinned as another Keevins shrieked and disappeared in the melee of trampling feet and choking dust and he kept on grinning: grinning and firing until there were no more Keevins left except one, standing defiant on its own amongst the bodies of its kin as their blood baked in the midday sun.

"That's the one for me," said Lawwell and jumped off the back of the jeep and approached the last Keevins as it stood broken and helpless in the face of a determined onslaught from Lawwell who kicked it to the ground and tied its legs before dragging it to our jeep and taking it home to work for him on the Daily Record.

It had been a strange and curious Christmas day and I wondered about it as I lay again on my hammock, dozing, too tired to reach for the gin and tonic lying in the grass; I wasn't sure what had disturbed me more, Lawwell's bloodlust or the dream about the trampoline which had left me with a longing for something just out of reach, just beyond my comprehension. I did know something else though, I could now comprehend how Lawwell controlled his Keevins.