The Time Tamperer (part 38)

Her recent experiences may have reduced Mincey Muir to protoplasmic glop, but far away in pea-farming country, the amnesic Tanganika Chunks was having problems of her own…

Although her memory of her life prior to escaping the wreckage of her disintegrating space ship continued to prove inaccessible, she was beginning to have doubts concerning the tales of her saviour, Lobby Lowe. Looking at her space pilot’s hands she couldn’t really believe that she had agreed to become a pea farmer’s wife. She also doubted that she would ever have found a male earplug, who liked nothing more than taking cold showers before breakfast, playing a fiddle whilst singing repetitive folk songs, and shucking peas for great fun and little profit, either attractive or vaguely interesting. Now he was inviting her to see his latest creation – his mud house.

“Come, Tanganika, my beloved.” Lobby said as he unlocked the door. “Come see where I intend to start a new hobby: fungus growing.”

Although she was far from keen to enter the damp, smelly, abode of the spore, she played the role of dutiful future-wife to the hilt…

But, despite her best efforts, she simply couldn’t feel impressed. “There’s nothing in here, Lobby.” She called to the pea farmer, who waited outside.

“There’s the red heat lamp.” Lobby’s disembodied voice replied. “And look at those high shelves: aren’t they great?”

Naturally Tanganika did as she was bid…

“Er, there appears to be four of them.” She answered non-committedly. She was about to add: “I suppose you’ll be putting the seed boxes on top of them.” when, suddenly, the farm’s wind-powered electricity generator sent a surge of energy through the flimsy wiring. It resulted in…

…a vivid flash that scorched her eyeballs and frazzled the brain behind them. “Yikes!” She exclaimed. But as the light levels resumed their normal somnolent drabness…

…Tanganika made the shock discovery that she could remember who she was, what she did for a living, her favourite colour, her preferred style of knickers, and her dislike of peas, sprouts, or any kind of small, green, spherical vegetables.

“Oh, by the Saint of All Earplugs.” She whispered sotto voce, “I have to get the heck out of here.”

“What’s that, my love?” Lobby inquired from the other side of the door.

“Nothing, Lobby, you wonderful male earplug.” Tanganika lied like a real estate agent. “I think I’d like to come back outside now.”

But several hours later, as dusk turned to night…

…Tanganika left Lobby holding his mug of sleeping-pill infused cocoa and slipped out of the front door of his cheap plastic house unobserved. From there she quickly proceeded in a westerly direction. But not before donning her precious space helmet…

And she continued to walk, at an ever-increasing pace, into the sewer system of the nearby village, from which she emerged into moonlight …

Noting  that everyone had taken to their beds, she slipped through the village…

…intent upon one thing alone: escaping to somewhere far, far away. Preferably somewhere with soft lavatory tissue.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018




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