Part 21 (2/2)

18.

The day moved on from afternoon to evening, touched midnight and vanished, never to return. The happy bus was parked in the middle of a crop circle, in the middle of a cornfield, in the middle of nowhere. The children were all asleep. The adults were all over the place. Bone had wandered off, in search of something or other. Louise danced all alone, to a music that only she heard. And b.o.l.l.o.c.ks made love to Candy in a field near by.

Tuppe lay on his back in the corn circle and gazed up at the stars. 'It's good here, isn't it?' he sighed.

'Splendid.' Cornelius lay beside him, chewing on a corn stalk. 'I could really get into this kind of life.'

'Oh could you?' Tuppe made a doubtful face. 'Really?'

'I could. Life on the road, you know, like Jack Kerouac. The sun never going down on you in the same place twice. The road beneath. The sky above.'

'Away with the raggle-taggle gypsies-oh.'

'That kind of thing, yes.

'A life of romance. And rheumatism. You'd hate it.'

'I would not.'

'I did. Listen, Cornelius, I spent my childhood on the road. If you've never done it, it seems like a good idea. If you have, it ain't. To quote your lost love, it sucks.'

'You were just little then,' said Cornelius.

'I'm still little,' said Tuppe. 'And it still sucks.'

'You're not little.' Cornelius touched his heart. 'Not in here you're not.'

'Oh please.' Tuppe mimed two fingers down the throat. 'You would hate a life on the road. Believe me. You would.'

'I know. But it's good for now.

'It's good for now, yes.

'They're good people.'

'They're great people.'

'Great people.'

'So what are we great people going to do?'

'We're off to see The Hairdryer'

'That's not what I mean and you know it.'

'I know it.' Cornelius raised himself on his elbows. 'Is this a real corn circle, do you think?'

'As opposed to what?'

'An unreal one, I suppose.'

'And what exactly would be the difference?'

'I don't know.'

'This one's a Thoroughgood,' said Tuppe knowl-edgeably.

'A Thoroughgood? What's that?'

'Tubby Thoroughgood. He's a wee man, like my-self. One of the Thoroughgood clan. They do most of the circles round here.'

'They what?'

'The Thoroughgoods do up here. The Rimmers do Wilts.h.i.+re. The Dovestons do Wales.

I forget who does Suss.e.x. The McCartneys I think.'

'What? You mean they're all fake?'

'Of course they're not fake. It's all real corn.

'That's not what I mean and you know it.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Tuppe. 'They are circles in cornfields. They're art. They mystify. They intrigue. They excite controversy and debate. They entertain. And above all, they are beautiful to behold.''But some people think-'

'Some people think that hedgehogs fall out of the sky - your dad for one. Whatever some people think, is up to them. As long as they pay the one-pound admission fee, that's all right with the farmer. He respects the artist's right to remain anonymous, and gives him ten per cent of the take. You can make more money exhibiting corn circles nowadays than harvesting the crop.

'That's outrageous,' said Cornelius.

'I know. In my opinion the artist should get fifty per cent of the take.'

'And that's not what I meant either.'

Big Bone appeared on the scene with two flagons of cider.

'I've got some scrumpy,' he said. 'Where's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks?'

'He's in the next field, s.h.a.gging your wife,' said Tuppe helpfully.

'We'll save him some for later then,' said Bone. 'He'll need it.'

'Outrageous,' said Cornelius once more.

'You haven't tasted it yet,' said Bone.

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