Last Tango in Aberystwyth by Malcolm Pryce Page B

he said, ‘The girl! Suffer the girl to come to me!’
    My brow furrowed. ‘Which girl?’
    And then he flung himself at the bars like a furious caged beast and rattled and kicked them and screamed, ‘Calamity! Calamity! Calamity!’
    As I climbed the steps up to the street level I could hear far off from the depths of the dungeon the sound of a wolf howling.
    * * *
    There was a message waiting for me when I got back, from Llunos asking me to go down and bail Calamity. I groaned. This was the third time in six weeks, and I knew I’d just about run out of favours. It had taken me ages to explain to his satisfaction how I came to be in that cupboard at the Rock Wholesaler’s.
    A little hole had appeared in the threadbare woollen jersey of cloud, and a disc of light bathed the length of the Prom from the castle to the harbour. The railings and chrome bumpers of the cars sparkled. Eeyore was leaning against the kiosk, reading to Sospan from a book. He closed it when I arrived and greeted me.
    â€˜He’s been telling me about Sitting Bull,’ said Sospan. ‘Very interesting man. What’ll you have?’
    â€˜What’s good this week?’
    Eeyore held up his ice.
    â€˜Flavour of the month,’ said Sospan.
    â€˜Looks like chocolate.’
    â€˜But it sure doesn’t taste like it. It’s Xocolatl. The original Aztec recipe. That flavour dispensed elsewhere on the Prom under the name of chocolate is but a vulgar abasement.’
    â€˜What’s in it?’
    â€˜Cocoa, pepper, chillies, vanilla, honey and dried flowers. They used to drink it out of a golden beaker that was used once and then thrown in the lake.’
    â€˜Are you going to introduce that system?’
    â€˜I’ve no objection so long as you bring your own cup.’
    I ordered and when it arrived Eeyore and I chinked cornets like they were mugs of beer.
    â€˜So what’s with the book, Pop?’
    Eeyore placed his hand on it and said, ‘Medicine Line.’
    â€˜Oh yeah, what’s that?’
    â€˜It’s a concept from the Old West, you see. From the old days when there weren’t any frontiers and things. Apparently they had this team of men who crossed the continent surveyingthe boundary between America and Canada and marking it with little cairns of stones. When the Red Indians asked them what they were doing they said they were making medicine for Queen Victoria, the Great Mother across the Ocean. That’s what I was reading about.’
    â€˜So what’s so interesting about it?’
    â€˜Well, the funny thing was, them Indians weren’t all that impressed at the time – little piles of stones … it didn’t seem like powerful medicine at all. But when they went horse-stealing south of the border the following spring, they made an amazing discovery. They found that when the sheriff and his men chased them the posse stopped up short at the piles of stone and couldn’t pass. It was as if there was a glass wall there or something. For the life of them, those Indians couldn’t see what was stopping the lawmen, but they had to admit the Great Mother across the Water had heap big powerful medicine. They called it the Medicine Line. That’s where Sitting Bull took them after the Battle of the Little Bighorn. Up beyond the Medicine Line to Canada where they’d be safe.’
    â€˜That’s a nice story, Dad.’
    â€˜I was just saying to Sospan, I reckon a lot of people in this town have medicine lines inside their heads.’
    â€˜I don’t get you.’
    â€˜You know, they live their lives penned in by fear – never get to know more than a tiny part of who they are … never realise the things that distinguish a man in this life lie wrapped in danger and wonder in the continent beyond the line.’
    â€˜I’ve never really thought about it like that,’ I said. And added, ‘But I wish someone would