Well actually, I haven’t either, but that’s what I smell like.
I’m in a sleeping bag. In a tent. I feel unwell.
Actually, it’s worse than that. My head aches and my eyes are sore, judging by the effect of the sunlight seeping through the thin canvas. Nausea pulls backflips in my stomach. And I’m drenched in sweat, which is perhaps why I’m smelling somewhat ripe.
Why do I feel so grotty? I’m still half asleep, and have no idea.
What time is it?
I try to sit up, but the headroom in here is limited. As I flop back down, my senses spinning from effort, I briefly spot Yavin sitting at the other end of the tent. He has the doorflap open. I hear my friend the badger stand and head over, swimming into vision. Touching the brim of his tweed cap in a cheery good morning, he passes me a glass of water. Rolling onto my side, I shuffle up onto one elbow and take a few experimental sips as he feels the back of my neck. His old eyes regard me inquisitively.
I’m feeling pretty crappy, Yavin.
He nods and waves a paw across his nose.
Yeah, I know, I don’t smell so g...
I make a sudden gloomph noise as a thermometer is thrust gently into my mouth.
The badger shushes my attempt to talk round the thermometer. Taking my wrist deftly, he starts to count, nodding each pulse as he keeps time on his magnificent wristwatch. It’s polished gold and steel, with a well-loved chestnut-leather strap that looks hand-stitched. The watch lacks any face behind its glass, and I marvel at the beautiful mechanism that it contains. Three of the hands mark the traditional time divisions, while a fourth spins a rotation counter-clockwise every few seconds.
Interesting. It looks like something iDifficult would wear.The thermometer is tugged out unexpectedly while my mind is wandering. Yavin views it with the measured, unemotive gaze of a seasoned medical professional.
How’s it all looking? My voice it almost a whisper.
The badger offers up an equally seasoned medical professional shrug that encompasses both my pulse and temperature. A vague upward gesture with one paw tells me that both are a little elevated. Despite this, he still has a better bedside manner than my regular doctor.
This thought is followed by a new wave of nausea. I groan.
Yavin reaches inside his dungarees and extracts a rectangle of heavy paper. With an expect finesse, it reveals itself as an airline sick bag. He offers it with a concerned look in his kind dark eyes.
I shake my head, No, I’m fine, thanks.
He frowns and moves the bag a little further towards me. An eyebrow is raised.
I know, I know, better out than in, right? I’ll see how I go. The feeling is passing. The badger nods sagely. So why do I feel so lousy?
He coughs and gestures outside before stepping out of the tent.
Shivering, I unzip the sleeping bag and start to dress.
Two minutes later, I ease my clothed form out of the tent and struggle to my feet. I have no idea where my shoes are. The great outdoors is exactly where I left it, however. Despite my general grottiness, I can’t fail to be moved by the beautiful meadow in which we’re camped. The long stretch of riverbank disappears round a long, gentle bend in either direction, and the uncut grass slopes down to the water. The blades of grass have held the dew, and are cool against my feet. I’m suddenly pleased to have mislaid my shoes.
A low, flat boat is moored to a willow tree that overhangs the river. Memories start to seep back. We came along the river yesterday. Yes, a beautiful sunny day of fishing and relaxing on the lazy river. We stopped here at sunset because there were daisies everywhere. I love daisies.
Looking about, I see Yavin rooting about in the boat. Locating something, he waves me over. I amble over to the boat, and stand in the shade of the tree. Immediately, my head and eyes feel better. I absently notice the remains of a campfire further along the flat mud of the bank. Looking back towards my short friend, I realise he’s waving something at me; an empty wine bottle. Seeing he has my attention, he points at it and then at me.
No, it wasn’t the wine. I opened it, but I knocked the bottle over while you were at the top of the meadow with… I look about, suddenly puzzled. Where’s Sollust and Hoth? Are they still here?
Yavin makes an expansive gesture towards the top of the meadow, which clearly indicates that his twin nephews are off exploring somewhere, and probably up to no good. They’re good lads, says his eye-rolling shrug, but kids at the end of the day.
A quiet bleep from his wristwatch draws his attention for a moment. He gives it no more than a cursory glance, but I notice that the oddball fourth hand has slowed slightly. He surveys the air expectantly for a moment, but then hops onto the shore carrying a canteen of water. I accept it when he offers, thanking him with a nod, and take a glug. It’s cool and refreshing.
As I continue to enjoy the shade, Yavin moves up the bank to the remains of the campfire. I watch as he stoops a little and pokes at the cold remnants with a paw. A memory drifts through my head, something to do with the fire. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s making my stomach churn. I belch charmlessly. Yavin looks my way disapprovingly, but then points at something with a charred stick.
Wandering over, I follow the badger’s pointer and see the blackened bones of a fish.
A fish?
Oh good grief, the fish.
The bile rises in me again as I remember gutting and cooking one of the trout we’d caught during the day. Yavin had already gone to bed, and I dozed off after putting it over the fire. When I woke, I was unsure how long the fish had been cooking, but it was black and smelled terrific, so I figured it would be okay.
I remember the juicy, tasty flesh, but I also recall also wondering whether it was hot enough.
I stifle a wet belch, and Yavin swiftly offers the airline barf bag again. I lean over and heave a couple of times, but quash the urge to purge with a swig of water.
I stand and gasp, beaded with sweat, but pleased that the nausea has passed. My badger amigo seems disappointed. He’s probably thinking I should shift whatever it is that has upset me. He may be right.
Just then, there’s commotion at the top of the meadow as Hoth and Sollust rush into view. They leap through a five-barred wooden gate just as a bull crashes into it. The bull is vast, a towering dark red monstrosity with foaming lips. Its facial tattoos are tribal and rather unsettling. The gate holds, and the two black-and-white scamps slow and glance back with obvious relief. The bull roars something unintelligible at them and makes an obscene gesture with a hoof.
The pair giggle at the bull’s rudeness and turn towards us. Then, seeing me, they wave and start to run. This is always a nice part of any day, even when I’m feeling crappy; these lads are always pleased to see me. My spirits are buoyed as the two young badgers crash into me excitedly, hugging my legs and dashing between them repeatedly.
Yavin coughs quietly to calm the pair and then indicates the tin cans they they’re both carrying. The two, mindful of their uncle, untangle themselves from my legs and step before me. Hoth, easily recognisable from his white tufted quiff, passes me the can he’s carrying. The green-and-orange paper label proclaims that it once contained baked beans. On closer inspection I see it’s now full of leaves, roots and herbs. The young badger clearly signals that I should eat them. He grins.
I look at the contents of the tin can again. Everything is washed clean; they must have collected and prepared them further round the river.
So, this is going to help me feel better?
Hoth nods emphatically and points towards his uncle. Clearly the elder badger sent them out to forage for these supplies. I catch Yavin’s eye and he nods imperceptibly.
My tummy gurgles expectantly, unhappily. This sounds like a bad idea. But I start to eat all the same. Gingerly at first, but then with a more measured pace. It’s not so bad. There’s quite a bit of texture variation, and the flavours are fairly bland.
But it’s all rather dry. I cough and gag a little.
Yavin offers the paper bag again, his face a vision of expectant concern. I shake my head and wave at my mouth, finally managing to croak Dry. I expect the canteen to be passed my way again, but the badger simply nods at his second nephew. Sollust moves front and centre, his black crew cut working better than a nametag.
Another tin can is raised.
Worms. Big fat juicy ones. There’s a smacking of lips from the youngster.These succulent fauna are to help me wash the dry flora down. Yum.
My stomach spins, the nausea rising unstoppably this time.
The sick bag wanders into vision, on cue. Yavin feigns innocence. I don’t refuse his help this time. On the contrary, I grab at it.
A minute later, doubled up, as I cough and spit the last of my distress into the paper bag, I feel exhausted but somewhat relieved. Yavin wanders over and pats me on the back a few times. He finally hands me a tissue and the canteen of water.
I raise my head to his level and give him a weary look.
Oh, that was mean of you. I heave a heavy sigh. But thank you.
He smiles and touches the brim of his cap for the second time today.
As I wipe and take a drink, another quick beep from his watch draws both our attention. Raising his wrist, he points to the counter-spinning fourth hand, which slows and finally stops. Unaware of its significance, I can only watch as he surveys the meadow knowingly.
There is a sense of stillness. No breeze. No birdsong. Even the river seems to have stopped. Only Hoth and Sollust, now wrestling oblivious among the daisies, are immune.
With a low boom that I feel more than hear, there is a curious wobble in the air, and iDifficult’s pyramid materialises twenty feet away. It floats impossibly, though of course this is normal. With a clang and no ceremony, the hatch in the underside of the gold and blue edifice opens, and a hefty anchor on a chain is tossed out.
From inside comes the sound of iDifficult’s off-key operatic singing, and the accompanying falsetto wail of a dozen-strong ferret chorus.
There is also the delicious smell of pizza.
My tummy rumbles pleasantly.
Yavin nudges me forward, keen for me to indulge my newfound appetite, but immediately hurries past me on his way to claim the first slice.
Camping, good friends and pizza?
The day is looking up.
Indigo
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2010
