Chapter Four - Resource Rock.
Around the corner stood his car, bulky and black (I had little interest in vehicles and so, could not tell you its type).
‘This is Drale, or Mr Drale to you, please Gareth.’ said Mr Berry, pointing to the man in a smart, grey suit with matching hat who held a passenger door open for us.
His eyes were hidden slightly under the hat but he nodded in greeting as Mr Berry introduced me to him. He had a grim smile, as if expecting danger.
We sped along the road for a while, then down a muddy track and into a field. The car stopped and I suddenly realised our location.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ I asked, confused.
The warm sunlight shone dimly now and a cold breeze brushed my cheek as I got out of the car.
‘Is this a joke?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘I thought we were going shopping?’
Mr Berry chuckled and said: ‘Follow me, dear boy.’
‘Isn’t Mr Drale coming?’ I asked, as I turned to glance at him, still sat silent in the car.
‘No, no, dear boy. He is the driver; he is waiting on my orders.’ he said, simply. ‘Don’t worry, he will probably just read his paper then get out his book of puzzles then read his Bible – to kill time.’
‘Oh, where are we going, anyway?’ I asked, irritated at this secrecy.
‘You will find out soon, dear boy. I shall not ruin the surprise.’
‘I told you.’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t like surprises.’
I followed him to the edge of the field, through a rusty gate and into a forest clearing. Large, blue-grey mountains mysteriously adorned the horizon.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, stamping my foot in anger. ‘You haven’t changed at all, have you?! And you still owe me for missing my parents’ funeral!’
‘What? Oh, I told you that I am sorry, Gareth, please forgive me. I really was detained. I had no choice.’
‘Well, you could at least have turned up another time.’
‘My dear boy, this is it – me turning up – I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner but I really have been busy.’ he said, somberly.
He stooped down to examine a rabbit hole.
‘Now what are you doing?’ I groaned, in utter annoyance. ‘I thought you said we had to go shopping.’
He pressed his hands into the earth.
‘Open, in Jesus’ name.’ he muttered.
Suddenly, the ground opened up and Mr Berry disappeared from view.
‘What?! Mr Berry!’ I yelled, concerned. ‘Where are you?’
I stood at the edge of the opening.
‘What do I do?’ I called down the tunnel it had created.
I was surprised to see that it had not crumbled in afterwards. The soil was packed together around the edges of the tunnel- as if forced together.
‘Slide down – same as I did!’ he called back.
‘Oh, alright then!’ I stomped.
I bit my lip, thinking that the tunnel would suddenly cave in.
‘Whew!’ I sighed, after a moment. Then I peered into the tunnel, muttering: ‘I hope you’re right, Dwindle.’ as I sat down slowly to push myself along.
I gained momentum surprisingly quickly and reached the bottom within seconds, rubbing dirt marks from my backside as I stood up. I noticed that the tunnel opened up into a larger tunnel, to which other rabbit-holes seemed to join.
‘You didn’t go down head first?!’ said Mr Berry, chuckling. ‘What sort of a kid are you?’ he said, incredulously.
His frown made him look incredibly old.
‘So, where are we going now?’ I asked.
‘It’s about twenty minutes this way,’ he said, as a man slid down another tunnel.
‘Oh, hi Grenwick.’ said Mr Berry.
Grenwick was a friendly looking man, looking about twenty years younger than Dwindle, and that must still have been, what, sixty? He was rather stout and short. His short, black hair was greying and receding; he had dark brown eyes with bags under them and wore a dark green dressing gown with slippers. It seemed that he was wearing pyjamas underneath too – judging from the red, white and black checked trousers underneath.
‘Good evening, Dwindle. How are you?’ Grenwick responded, turning to face him.
‘Good thank you, and yourself?’ said Mr Berry.
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘could be better – all these attacks are bad for business, Dwindle.’
‘What attacks?’ I asked, curious.
Mr Berry gave Grenwick a look which stopped him talking.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you, dear boy.’ he said, stooping. ‘It’s for your own good.’
I smiled because of his friendly nature but was inwardly irritated.
‘Another one for Yellow-?’ He asked, turning to Mr Berry, but stopping abruptly at another stern look.
‘Ah, sorry - for the school?’ he continued, with a pained look.
‘Yes Grenwick, shall we go?’ he asked. ‘Time is pressing, I’m afraid.’
‘Of course, of course.’ muttered Grenwick.
‘Uh, sir?’ I said, turning to Grenwick.
‘Yes, boy?’
‘It – it’s Gareth.’
‘Well, Gareth?’
‘Why are you wearing pyjamas, if you don’t mind me asking?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Because they are comfortable, dear boy – and I’m ready for bed. Just need to fetch some soap.’
‘But surely –‘ I began, before realising the stern look, Mr Berry was giving me. I wanted to point out that surely the slide down the tunnel would make him dirtier – surely it would create more work but I decided to drop it.
‘Yes?’ he said, urging me to continue, not noticing the look Mr Berry had given me.
‘Don’t worry.’ I said, shaking my head.
As the tunnel got darker, we found flaming torches in some areas and electric lighting in others.
‘Why the mix of lighting?’ I asked Mr Berry.
‘In case one type fails. If a power cut or a strong gust of wind puts one out, then we have another power source to take over. Very useful but quite expensive, I’d imagine.’ he explained.
‘What’s keeping the walls from caving in on us?’ I wondered aloud, gazing up at the now high but windowless ceiling.
‘The walls are hard clay, with rock supporting it. They shall not fall.’ explained Grenwick.
‘Ah, here we are.’ said Mr Berry. ‘Resource Rock.’
I looked down from the high ceiling with astonishment.
There in front of me was a glass front with glass doors set in. Beyond them seemed to be a circular lobby with walls and floor of black marble.
Crowds of people in various styles of clothing filled the lobby, walking from one part of the lobby to another. There were old men in shower caps, jeans and vests, or suits, daps and paper hats, women in large hats, adorned with fruit, wearing swim suits and cloaks, young men in robes, pyjamas, dressing gowns, jogging bottoms mixed with bowler hats and polo-necks. Occasionally somebody would have put on a set of clothing that actually looked compatible together – but very rarely.
In the centre of the room seemed to be a large glass pillar.
When we walked through the doors I noticed that people were walking in and out of the pillar as a large room moved up and down; it appeared to be a large elevator, able to carry at least one hundred people at a time, I would’ve thought.
On the very high ceiling shone many bright lights – these must have been run on electricity – it would have been too difficult and unreliable to have to keep re-lighting these.
‘Good meeting you, boy.’ said Grenwick, using both hands to warmly shake one of mine. ‘I’ll be off now. Goodbye, Dwindle.’
‘Goodbye, Grenwick.’ said Mr Berry, waving.
I stared at the passers-by and lost sight of Grenwick who disappeared into the crowd, remarkably quickly.
Crunch.
I stared down at my trainers. There were bits of dirt and mud all over them – in fact, now that I looked for it, most of the crowd seemed to have muddy shoes and dirt on their clothing.
‘Mr Berry?’ I said, stunned.
‘Yes, Gareth?’
‘Why is everybody dressed funny? And why don’t they clear up the mud? You’d think there’d be something they could do about it.’
‘Well, they are dressed funny because they are not worrying, or indeed, caring about what they wear. They put clothes on, depending on what seems comfortable – depending on what they feel like or what leaps out at them from their wardrobes.’
I paused for a moment – thinking of clothing leaping out of wardrobes and must have looked perplexed, as Mr Berry then said: ‘It’s a turn of phrase, dear boy.’
‘Oh, I see. They have no fashion sense.’ I said, my eyes following a pretty lady in a red dress, sandals and baseball cap.
‘They prefer not to follow any.’ he said. ‘Have you not noticed my clothing?’
‘I have, but they seemed to make sense – today it was warm, so you wore a flowery shirt. Makes sense. I haven’t seen you wear anything like this.’
‘Well, I guess not. But then I like to look good.’ said Mr Berry, with a smile. ‘And, they can do something about the dirt, by the way.’
He raised his hands and said: ‘Be clean, in Jesus’ name!’
Several passers-by looked offended and I suppressed a smirk whilst wondering if something as trivial as dirt would be cleaned in the same way as stopping a hurricane?
I scanned the floor and people for any sign of moving dirt or any cleanliness. No. The dirt was still there.
Nothing had happened.
‘Oh well, they will have to clean it the boring but character building way.’ said Mr Berry.
‘Who will?’
‘The cleaners, of course.’ he said. ‘Didn’t you know that people work here?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘No, I only know what you tell me – and usually that’s not much.’
‘What do they teach in schools?’ he muttered.
But then he remembered the urgency of the situation.
‘Ah! Right! Let’s get started, anyway. No more wondering.’ he said, jumping slightly and reaching for something in his trouser pockets.
He brought out a piece of paper with messy hand-writing on it, written in blue ink.
‘Right, so this is the list of things to get.’ he said, handing it to me. ‘What shall we get first?’
‘I dunno – you know this place better than I do. Why don’t you decide? Besides, I can’t read that. It’s too messy.’ I said, bluntly.
‘You’re incredibly rude for one so young.’ he said, sternly.
‘But you asked me a stupid question!’ I retorted.
‘Fine, I shall read out the list, shall I?’ he asked, finally showing hints of annoyance, to my delight.
‘Sounds good.’ I muttered. ‘First good idea you’ve come up with for a long time.’
‘Really?’ he said with a smile, ‘that’s unusual. I normally have lots of good ideas. Still, I suppose you haven’t known me for a long time.’
‘Oh very funny,’ I laughed, sarcastically but then muttered: ‘I’ve known you long enough to know, I reckon.’
He chuckled. ‘Anyway, the list:’ he cleared his throat. ‘One Essential Maths Book 1, one Essential Science Book 1, one –‘
‘Yes, yes, I get it – one of each book.’ I said, exasperated. ‘I’m hardly going to buy two now am I?’
‘Alright then.’ he said, irritated. ‘A pad of paper, at least one pencil, at least one pen, Essential English Book 1, Essential History Book 1, Essential Geography Book 1, Essential Language Phrases, How to Forage Effectively-‘
‘What’s that for?’ I asked, confused.
‘Foraging – you know, if there are problems in the future or you just want to go camping and survive off the land.’
‘Oh cool. That’ll be interesting.’ I said. (I underestimated the importance of this lesson, greatly).
‘How to Survive the Wilderness Book 1, a copy of the Bible with Old and New Testaments, well you already have one of those so you don’t need another, Creature Handling Book 1, three black jumpers, three black pairs of trousers, one black cloak, three black pairs of socks, three black t-shirts and one first aid kit. You also have a choice of pets – only one – for protection, in the future. Nothing dangerous, mind.’
He looked stern at the last part.
‘What do you mean, ‘for protection’?’ I asked, confused.
I thought this was another ‘wilderness survival’ thing – perhaps my pet could fight against a dangerous wild animal. Although, what use would it be if mine wasn’t fearsome? I could hardly imagine a guinea pig being much use.
‘Well, hopefully we won’t need to find out.’ said Mr Berry, cheerfully.
‘Not one for letting things slip, are you?’ I said, grumpily.
‘Right, well we need to get on.’ he said, in a tone of finality.
As much as I did not want to admit it, and as much as I wanted to blame him for not being there at my parents’ funeral, I realised that I needed to show a certain amount of respect; he was, after all, paying for my school equipment. And since he was my elder, my grandma taught me that he is also my better.
‘I’ll give you a tour of the place.’ he said, decisively.
As we walked out towards the centre of the lobby, I noticed several black doors leading off – I wondered if it would be like this on every floor.
One door said ‘Brushella’s’ upon a small plaque whilst another said ‘The Manager.’ The second one seemed to hold no secrets for me but I wondered what the first one meant – perhaps a woman named Brushella lived there.
‘Actually, we are short on time.’ said Mr Berry, leading me over to the elevator. ‘Nothing that we are looking for will be on this floor.’
We waited a few minutes for the elevator, at one of its two sets of doors – it seemed surprisingly fast at distributing its passengers at the designated floors, considering how many were likely to be in there, and how high the building was.
While we waited, I heard the various conversations of those waiting with us; cries of ‘All this dirt!’ mingled with ‘two pounds an apple! Outrageous!’ and ‘Look what I bought!’
I looked at the child who was showing his friend a shiny, silver-coloured plastic sword.
His friend gazed, open mouthed at it. I had to admit that, even though it was plastic, it was a wonder for a child of eleven to behold, nonetheless. I wondered what other fascinating objects awaited me here. I looked up at Mr Berry. He had an impatient look upon his face and kept gazing down at his watch whilst we waited.
When it arrived, we stood to one side as passengers filtered out, squeezing out of the lift as fast as they could.
As we entered, I noticed a cleaning lady off to one side, holding a mop in a bucket of dirty looking water. She waited for us all to enter the lift before cleaning the floor after us and asking us all to clean our shoes on the grates around the edge of the lift.
We did so gratefully and a number of us also shook our clothes off, surreptitiously.
As I looked around the lift, I noticed a large but worn red carpet, lying in the centre with the feel of cold, hard steel beneath, detectable, even through shoes. The grates were fairly large and effective – made from slanted steel, jutting out of the iron walls and suspended over a small pit where I supposed the mud went –to be cleared out later. There were flaming torches, encased in removable glass which had a hole to supply the flame with continual oxygen. There were small glass windows high up on the wall. It felt to me like an odd, communal prison – or what I would imagine one to feel like.
One man, dressed in a black suit, paper hat and clogs, stood nearby, talking to another, who was similarly dressed, as he swept the dirt off his suit trousers: ‘Can’t believe how dirty ye get, sliding down a badger hole – they’re much bigger than a rabbit’s! Where are we meeting Mr Floodley again?’
‘Room 32.’
‘That’s the restaurant next to the fruit shop, isn’t it? What’s it called again?’
‘Sloda.’
‘Why is it that none of these shops have normal names – depicting what they sell?’
‘I dunno.’ grunted the other man. ‘I heard it was something to do with security – in case anyone ever got into this place that wasn’t meant to.’
‘Oh right. Like that’s ever going to happen. This place is just too safe. You’d need a wizard to get in!’
They both chuckled.
‘That is not a laughing matter!’ said the cleaning lady, sternly. ‘We’ll see how you feel, if one ever breaks in!’
The doors opened but Mr Berry stood still – all I could see were wall lanterns above the heads of those leaving each exit until we arrived at our floor.
I followed him swiftly only to find that each floor was the same as we stopped at another black door, plaqued ‘Glondul’.
Mr Berry knocked and an old man appeared soon after, wearing a long, brown dressing gown, tied tightly around his waist, showing only the hems of brown pyjama bottoms and brown slippers. His hair was short and white. Its messiness gave the man an air of madness. He looked serious so I kept my remark to myself.
‘Sorry to bother you at this late hour, Mr Marshall, but we have urgent business to attend to.’ said Mr Berry, in a grave tone. ‘Young Gareth needs some books.’ (I was quite confused by what Mr Berry meant by calling the hour late – it was only the afternoon – but I soon found out that this is how you greet men who are dressed, ready for bed when you want to interrupt them).
‘Business is always open to you, my friend.’ he said, breaking into a smile and extending a hand. (Which is the appropriate reply in this scenario).
‘Good.’ said Mr Berry, shaking his hand briskly.
‘So, what will it be first?’ asked Mr Marshall, a glint in his eye.
‘Books One of the Essentials, please.’
Mr Marshall disappeared inside his shop, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Through the gap I saw rows upon rows of books of various sizes, shapes and colours. But I only got a brief glimpse. It was like taking a peek at the gold in a dragon’s den for those who love books (not that I expected dragons to have dens full of gold).
Mr Marshall was back within seconds, holding a stack of books of varying sizes.
‘Er, would you like a bag?’ he hesitated in asking this question.
‘Yes please, Dino.’ said Mr Berry, in a business-like tone.
‘Say, what happened to your staff?’ Mr Marshall asked, handing over the books in a large, blue plastic bag.
‘Broke.’ said Mr Berry, with a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Still, that is a story for another time.’
He sniffed near the end of this statement but returned to his tone meaning business.
‘Thanks, now I would like Essential Language Phrases by Ren Holm and How to Forage Effectively by Ryoko Chin, please.’
‘Gladly.’ said Mr Marshall. ‘Shame about the staff – you had it such a long time.’
Once we had our list of books, I asked if it was normal for everybody to go to bed so early but Mr Berry explained that it was only the very old who did so, to which I nearly replied: ‘so why aren’t you wearing pyjamas?’ before stopping myself.
I did, however, grumble about carrying the heavy bag of books, to which Mr Berry replied: ‘We are never given more than we can cope with.’
I assumed that this was from the Bible and thought of such quotes as: ‘Love your neighbour like yourself’ but remembered that he was paying for all of it and so, kept back my complaint.
We got into the elevator again and went up another floor, this time getting out straight away, at my surprise.
We circled around the outside of the elevator for a while, before coming to an unusually large doorway.
We arrived, just as a rather tall man emerged from it, having just thanked the owner.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ asked the shrewd looking old lady who smiled at the man who just left.
She wore black robes, wrapped tightly around her small frame. Her grey hair was in a bun with a pin, looking rather like a chopstick through it to hold it in place. Her hands were placed together in a business-like fashion.
This time I wondered why she was not wearing pyjamas but again, thought better than to ask.
Mr Berry reeled off the list quickly.
‘Okay, okay, slow down.’ said the woman, hastily. ‘One at a time – I’ll go and fetch that stuff but slow down when I come back.’
From what I could see from the shop, it was not much larger than Mr Marshall’s had been – only it had drawers and drawers of clothing. Each drawer had a label on, indicating the contents in spidery handwriting. At the sides of the drawers was a hook attached, wherever possible, to hang extra clothing. I assumed that only the best would be hung there, as most of it seemed to be either smart, various coloured suits or sparkly and sequined dresses.
The old lady also returned rather swiftly with the clothing, already in a bag.
‘How do you know my size?’ I blurted out.
‘Oh please, it wasn’t hard to guess, boy.’ she said, as if I was being silly. ‘I’m experienced at this, you know!’
We soon had the rest of the clothing and it was now that I noticed the unusual currency for this place – I was too distracted, trying to look inside Mr Marshall’s shop last time. But this time I noticed that Mr Berry handed over coins that were red in colour and circular in shape. They also seemed to have some sort of inscription. Some were as large as the heads of ladles whilst others were as small as five pence pieces. I wondered how they had all fit inside his trouser pockets. I thought to ask but decided that it was best not to. I felt unlikely to get an answer.
The next shop was only next door. This one was labelled ‘Chosa’.
The door opened as soon as Mr Berry knocked, making us jump. A young lady stood there, probably in her twenties. She wore a pink, sparkly scarf, pink high heels, a long, light blue dress and gold, circle-shaped ear-rings. The scarf was draped around her neck, purely as a fashion accessory.
She stood there blowing pink bubbles and looked unimpressed at being disturbed.
‘What?’ she said, with a stormy expression.
I had flash-backs of the fire breathing dragons, imagining her nose snorting fire and her eyes full of angry flames.
‘Miss Esmerelda.’ he said, as if it were a statement by itself. ‘I wish to purchase a first aid kit, please.’
The only unusual features in this room were the dark blue ladybirds with white spots, painted on the black walls and the multiplicity of posters of famous bands.
‘There,’ she said, thrusting the first aid kit into Mr Berry’s hands. ‘Yer happy? That’ll be two small tokens.’
Mr Berry handed over the tokens hastily, his face pale and his hands shaking.
She took them and slammed the door.
‘Whew!’ I said, as soon as the door shut. ‘Well, I wouldn’ta chosa her!’
Mr Berry chuckled and colour returned to his face.
‘Scary woman.’ he said with a shiver.
‘This is Drale, or Mr Drale to you, please Gareth.’ said Mr Berry, pointing to the man in a smart, grey suit with matching hat who held a passenger door open for us.
His eyes were hidden slightly under the hat but he nodded in greeting as Mr Berry introduced me to him. He had a grim smile, as if expecting danger.
We sped along the road for a while, then down a muddy track and into a field. The car stopped and I suddenly realised our location.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ I asked, confused.
The warm sunlight shone dimly now and a cold breeze brushed my cheek as I got out of the car.
‘Is this a joke?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘I thought we were going shopping?’
Mr Berry chuckled and said: ‘Follow me, dear boy.’
‘Isn’t Mr Drale coming?’ I asked, as I turned to glance at him, still sat silent in the car.
‘No, no, dear boy. He is the driver; he is waiting on my orders.’ he said, simply. ‘Don’t worry, he will probably just read his paper then get out his book of puzzles then read his Bible – to kill time.’
‘Oh, where are we going, anyway?’ I asked, irritated at this secrecy.
‘You will find out soon, dear boy. I shall not ruin the surprise.’
‘I told you.’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t like surprises.’
I followed him to the edge of the field, through a rusty gate and into a forest clearing. Large, blue-grey mountains mysteriously adorned the horizon.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, stamping my foot in anger. ‘You haven’t changed at all, have you?! And you still owe me for missing my parents’ funeral!’
‘What? Oh, I told you that I am sorry, Gareth, please forgive me. I really was detained. I had no choice.’
‘Well, you could at least have turned up another time.’
‘My dear boy, this is it – me turning up – I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner but I really have been busy.’ he said, somberly.
He stooped down to examine a rabbit hole.
‘Now what are you doing?’ I groaned, in utter annoyance. ‘I thought you said we had to go shopping.’
He pressed his hands into the earth.
‘Open, in Jesus’ name.’ he muttered.
Suddenly, the ground opened up and Mr Berry disappeared from view.
‘What?! Mr Berry!’ I yelled, concerned. ‘Where are you?’
I stood at the edge of the opening.
‘What do I do?’ I called down the tunnel it had created.
I was surprised to see that it had not crumbled in afterwards. The soil was packed together around the edges of the tunnel- as if forced together.
‘Slide down – same as I did!’ he called back.
‘Oh, alright then!’ I stomped.
I bit my lip, thinking that the tunnel would suddenly cave in.
‘Whew!’ I sighed, after a moment. Then I peered into the tunnel, muttering: ‘I hope you’re right, Dwindle.’ as I sat down slowly to push myself along.
I gained momentum surprisingly quickly and reached the bottom within seconds, rubbing dirt marks from my backside as I stood up. I noticed that the tunnel opened up into a larger tunnel, to which other rabbit-holes seemed to join.
‘You didn’t go down head first?!’ said Mr Berry, chuckling. ‘What sort of a kid are you?’ he said, incredulously.
His frown made him look incredibly old.
‘So, where are we going now?’ I asked.
‘It’s about twenty minutes this way,’ he said, as a man slid down another tunnel.
‘Oh, hi Grenwick.’ said Mr Berry.
Grenwick was a friendly looking man, looking about twenty years younger than Dwindle, and that must still have been, what, sixty? He was rather stout and short. His short, black hair was greying and receding; he had dark brown eyes with bags under them and wore a dark green dressing gown with slippers. It seemed that he was wearing pyjamas underneath too – judging from the red, white and black checked trousers underneath.
‘Good evening, Dwindle. How are you?’ Grenwick responded, turning to face him.
‘Good thank you, and yourself?’ said Mr Berry.
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘could be better – all these attacks are bad for business, Dwindle.’
‘What attacks?’ I asked, curious.
Mr Berry gave Grenwick a look which stopped him talking.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you, dear boy.’ he said, stooping. ‘It’s for your own good.’
I smiled because of his friendly nature but was inwardly irritated.
‘Another one for Yellow-?’ He asked, turning to Mr Berry, but stopping abruptly at another stern look.
‘Ah, sorry - for the school?’ he continued, with a pained look.
‘Yes Grenwick, shall we go?’ he asked. ‘Time is pressing, I’m afraid.’
‘Of course, of course.’ muttered Grenwick.
‘Uh, sir?’ I said, turning to Grenwick.
‘Yes, boy?’
‘It – it’s Gareth.’
‘Well, Gareth?’
‘Why are you wearing pyjamas, if you don’t mind me asking?’ I asked, tentatively.
‘Because they are comfortable, dear boy – and I’m ready for bed. Just need to fetch some soap.’
‘But surely –‘ I began, before realising the stern look, Mr Berry was giving me. I wanted to point out that surely the slide down the tunnel would make him dirtier – surely it would create more work but I decided to drop it.
‘Yes?’ he said, urging me to continue, not noticing the look Mr Berry had given me.
‘Don’t worry.’ I said, shaking my head.
As the tunnel got darker, we found flaming torches in some areas and electric lighting in others.
‘Why the mix of lighting?’ I asked Mr Berry.
‘In case one type fails. If a power cut or a strong gust of wind puts one out, then we have another power source to take over. Very useful but quite expensive, I’d imagine.’ he explained.
‘What’s keeping the walls from caving in on us?’ I wondered aloud, gazing up at the now high but windowless ceiling.
‘The walls are hard clay, with rock supporting it. They shall not fall.’ explained Grenwick.
‘Ah, here we are.’ said Mr Berry. ‘Resource Rock.’
I looked down from the high ceiling with astonishment.
There in front of me was a glass front with glass doors set in. Beyond them seemed to be a circular lobby with walls and floor of black marble.
Crowds of people in various styles of clothing filled the lobby, walking from one part of the lobby to another. There were old men in shower caps, jeans and vests, or suits, daps and paper hats, women in large hats, adorned with fruit, wearing swim suits and cloaks, young men in robes, pyjamas, dressing gowns, jogging bottoms mixed with bowler hats and polo-necks. Occasionally somebody would have put on a set of clothing that actually looked compatible together – but very rarely.
In the centre of the room seemed to be a large glass pillar.
When we walked through the doors I noticed that people were walking in and out of the pillar as a large room moved up and down; it appeared to be a large elevator, able to carry at least one hundred people at a time, I would’ve thought.
On the very high ceiling shone many bright lights – these must have been run on electricity – it would have been too difficult and unreliable to have to keep re-lighting these.
‘Good meeting you, boy.’ said Grenwick, using both hands to warmly shake one of mine. ‘I’ll be off now. Goodbye, Dwindle.’
‘Goodbye, Grenwick.’ said Mr Berry, waving.
I stared at the passers-by and lost sight of Grenwick who disappeared into the crowd, remarkably quickly.
Crunch.
I stared down at my trainers. There were bits of dirt and mud all over them – in fact, now that I looked for it, most of the crowd seemed to have muddy shoes and dirt on their clothing.
‘Mr Berry?’ I said, stunned.
‘Yes, Gareth?’
‘Why is everybody dressed funny? And why don’t they clear up the mud? You’d think there’d be something they could do about it.’
‘Well, they are dressed funny because they are not worrying, or indeed, caring about what they wear. They put clothes on, depending on what seems comfortable – depending on what they feel like or what leaps out at them from their wardrobes.’
I paused for a moment – thinking of clothing leaping out of wardrobes and must have looked perplexed, as Mr Berry then said: ‘It’s a turn of phrase, dear boy.’
‘Oh, I see. They have no fashion sense.’ I said, my eyes following a pretty lady in a red dress, sandals and baseball cap.
‘They prefer not to follow any.’ he said. ‘Have you not noticed my clothing?’
‘I have, but they seemed to make sense – today it was warm, so you wore a flowery shirt. Makes sense. I haven’t seen you wear anything like this.’
‘Well, I guess not. But then I like to look good.’ said Mr Berry, with a smile. ‘And, they can do something about the dirt, by the way.’
He raised his hands and said: ‘Be clean, in Jesus’ name!’
Several passers-by looked offended and I suppressed a smirk whilst wondering if something as trivial as dirt would be cleaned in the same way as stopping a hurricane?
I scanned the floor and people for any sign of moving dirt or any cleanliness. No. The dirt was still there.
Nothing had happened.
‘Oh well, they will have to clean it the boring but character building way.’ said Mr Berry.
‘Who will?’
‘The cleaners, of course.’ he said. ‘Didn’t you know that people work here?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘No, I only know what you tell me – and usually that’s not much.’
‘What do they teach in schools?’ he muttered.
But then he remembered the urgency of the situation.
‘Ah! Right! Let’s get started, anyway. No more wondering.’ he said, jumping slightly and reaching for something in his trouser pockets.
He brought out a piece of paper with messy hand-writing on it, written in blue ink.
‘Right, so this is the list of things to get.’ he said, handing it to me. ‘What shall we get first?’
‘I dunno – you know this place better than I do. Why don’t you decide? Besides, I can’t read that. It’s too messy.’ I said, bluntly.
‘You’re incredibly rude for one so young.’ he said, sternly.
‘But you asked me a stupid question!’ I retorted.
‘Fine, I shall read out the list, shall I?’ he asked, finally showing hints of annoyance, to my delight.
‘Sounds good.’ I muttered. ‘First good idea you’ve come up with for a long time.’
‘Really?’ he said with a smile, ‘that’s unusual. I normally have lots of good ideas. Still, I suppose you haven’t known me for a long time.’
‘Oh very funny,’ I laughed, sarcastically but then muttered: ‘I’ve known you long enough to know, I reckon.’
He chuckled. ‘Anyway, the list:’ he cleared his throat. ‘One Essential Maths Book 1, one Essential Science Book 1, one –‘
‘Yes, yes, I get it – one of each book.’ I said, exasperated. ‘I’m hardly going to buy two now am I?’
‘Alright then.’ he said, irritated. ‘A pad of paper, at least one pencil, at least one pen, Essential English Book 1, Essential History Book 1, Essential Geography Book 1, Essential Language Phrases, How to Forage Effectively-‘
‘What’s that for?’ I asked, confused.
‘Foraging – you know, if there are problems in the future or you just want to go camping and survive off the land.’
‘Oh cool. That’ll be interesting.’ I said. (I underestimated the importance of this lesson, greatly).
‘How to Survive the Wilderness Book 1, a copy of the Bible with Old and New Testaments, well you already have one of those so you don’t need another, Creature Handling Book 1, three black jumpers, three black pairs of trousers, one black cloak, three black pairs of socks, three black t-shirts and one first aid kit. You also have a choice of pets – only one – for protection, in the future. Nothing dangerous, mind.’
He looked stern at the last part.
‘What do you mean, ‘for protection’?’ I asked, confused.
I thought this was another ‘wilderness survival’ thing – perhaps my pet could fight against a dangerous wild animal. Although, what use would it be if mine wasn’t fearsome? I could hardly imagine a guinea pig being much use.
‘Well, hopefully we won’t need to find out.’ said Mr Berry, cheerfully.
‘Not one for letting things slip, are you?’ I said, grumpily.
‘Right, well we need to get on.’ he said, in a tone of finality.
As much as I did not want to admit it, and as much as I wanted to blame him for not being there at my parents’ funeral, I realised that I needed to show a certain amount of respect; he was, after all, paying for my school equipment. And since he was my elder, my grandma taught me that he is also my better.
‘I’ll give you a tour of the place.’ he said, decisively.
As we walked out towards the centre of the lobby, I noticed several black doors leading off – I wondered if it would be like this on every floor.
One door said ‘Brushella’s’ upon a small plaque whilst another said ‘The Manager.’ The second one seemed to hold no secrets for me but I wondered what the first one meant – perhaps a woman named Brushella lived there.
‘Actually, we are short on time.’ said Mr Berry, leading me over to the elevator. ‘Nothing that we are looking for will be on this floor.’
We waited a few minutes for the elevator, at one of its two sets of doors – it seemed surprisingly fast at distributing its passengers at the designated floors, considering how many were likely to be in there, and how high the building was.
While we waited, I heard the various conversations of those waiting with us; cries of ‘All this dirt!’ mingled with ‘two pounds an apple! Outrageous!’ and ‘Look what I bought!’
I looked at the child who was showing his friend a shiny, silver-coloured plastic sword.
His friend gazed, open mouthed at it. I had to admit that, even though it was plastic, it was a wonder for a child of eleven to behold, nonetheless. I wondered what other fascinating objects awaited me here. I looked up at Mr Berry. He had an impatient look upon his face and kept gazing down at his watch whilst we waited.
When it arrived, we stood to one side as passengers filtered out, squeezing out of the lift as fast as they could.
As we entered, I noticed a cleaning lady off to one side, holding a mop in a bucket of dirty looking water. She waited for us all to enter the lift before cleaning the floor after us and asking us all to clean our shoes on the grates around the edge of the lift.
We did so gratefully and a number of us also shook our clothes off, surreptitiously.
As I looked around the lift, I noticed a large but worn red carpet, lying in the centre with the feel of cold, hard steel beneath, detectable, even through shoes. The grates were fairly large and effective – made from slanted steel, jutting out of the iron walls and suspended over a small pit where I supposed the mud went –to be cleared out later. There were flaming torches, encased in removable glass which had a hole to supply the flame with continual oxygen. There were small glass windows high up on the wall. It felt to me like an odd, communal prison – or what I would imagine one to feel like.
One man, dressed in a black suit, paper hat and clogs, stood nearby, talking to another, who was similarly dressed, as he swept the dirt off his suit trousers: ‘Can’t believe how dirty ye get, sliding down a badger hole – they’re much bigger than a rabbit’s! Where are we meeting Mr Floodley again?’
‘Room 32.’
‘That’s the restaurant next to the fruit shop, isn’t it? What’s it called again?’
‘Sloda.’
‘Why is it that none of these shops have normal names – depicting what they sell?’
‘I dunno.’ grunted the other man. ‘I heard it was something to do with security – in case anyone ever got into this place that wasn’t meant to.’
‘Oh right. Like that’s ever going to happen. This place is just too safe. You’d need a wizard to get in!’
They both chuckled.
‘That is not a laughing matter!’ said the cleaning lady, sternly. ‘We’ll see how you feel, if one ever breaks in!’
The doors opened but Mr Berry stood still – all I could see were wall lanterns above the heads of those leaving each exit until we arrived at our floor.
I followed him swiftly only to find that each floor was the same as we stopped at another black door, plaqued ‘Glondul’.
Mr Berry knocked and an old man appeared soon after, wearing a long, brown dressing gown, tied tightly around his waist, showing only the hems of brown pyjama bottoms and brown slippers. His hair was short and white. Its messiness gave the man an air of madness. He looked serious so I kept my remark to myself.
‘Sorry to bother you at this late hour, Mr Marshall, but we have urgent business to attend to.’ said Mr Berry, in a grave tone. ‘Young Gareth needs some books.’ (I was quite confused by what Mr Berry meant by calling the hour late – it was only the afternoon – but I soon found out that this is how you greet men who are dressed, ready for bed when you want to interrupt them).
‘Business is always open to you, my friend.’ he said, breaking into a smile and extending a hand. (Which is the appropriate reply in this scenario).
‘Good.’ said Mr Berry, shaking his hand briskly.
‘So, what will it be first?’ asked Mr Marshall, a glint in his eye.
‘Books One of the Essentials, please.’
Mr Marshall disappeared inside his shop, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Through the gap I saw rows upon rows of books of various sizes, shapes and colours. But I only got a brief glimpse. It was like taking a peek at the gold in a dragon’s den for those who love books (not that I expected dragons to have dens full of gold).
Mr Marshall was back within seconds, holding a stack of books of varying sizes.
‘Er, would you like a bag?’ he hesitated in asking this question.
‘Yes please, Dino.’ said Mr Berry, in a business-like tone.
‘Say, what happened to your staff?’ Mr Marshall asked, handing over the books in a large, blue plastic bag.
‘Broke.’ said Mr Berry, with a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Still, that is a story for another time.’
He sniffed near the end of this statement but returned to his tone meaning business.
‘Thanks, now I would like Essential Language Phrases by Ren Holm and How to Forage Effectively by Ryoko Chin, please.’
‘Gladly.’ said Mr Marshall. ‘Shame about the staff – you had it such a long time.’
Once we had our list of books, I asked if it was normal for everybody to go to bed so early but Mr Berry explained that it was only the very old who did so, to which I nearly replied: ‘so why aren’t you wearing pyjamas?’ before stopping myself.
I did, however, grumble about carrying the heavy bag of books, to which Mr Berry replied: ‘We are never given more than we can cope with.’
I assumed that this was from the Bible and thought of such quotes as: ‘Love your neighbour like yourself’ but remembered that he was paying for all of it and so, kept back my complaint.
We got into the elevator again and went up another floor, this time getting out straight away, at my surprise.
We circled around the outside of the elevator for a while, before coming to an unusually large doorway.
We arrived, just as a rather tall man emerged from it, having just thanked the owner.
‘Yes, what do you want?’ asked the shrewd looking old lady who smiled at the man who just left.
She wore black robes, wrapped tightly around her small frame. Her grey hair was in a bun with a pin, looking rather like a chopstick through it to hold it in place. Her hands were placed together in a business-like fashion.
This time I wondered why she was not wearing pyjamas but again, thought better than to ask.
Mr Berry reeled off the list quickly.
‘Okay, okay, slow down.’ said the woman, hastily. ‘One at a time – I’ll go and fetch that stuff but slow down when I come back.’
From what I could see from the shop, it was not much larger than Mr Marshall’s had been – only it had drawers and drawers of clothing. Each drawer had a label on, indicating the contents in spidery handwriting. At the sides of the drawers was a hook attached, wherever possible, to hang extra clothing. I assumed that only the best would be hung there, as most of it seemed to be either smart, various coloured suits or sparkly and sequined dresses.
The old lady also returned rather swiftly with the clothing, already in a bag.
‘How do you know my size?’ I blurted out.
‘Oh please, it wasn’t hard to guess, boy.’ she said, as if I was being silly. ‘I’m experienced at this, you know!’
We soon had the rest of the clothing and it was now that I noticed the unusual currency for this place – I was too distracted, trying to look inside Mr Marshall’s shop last time. But this time I noticed that Mr Berry handed over coins that were red in colour and circular in shape. They also seemed to have some sort of inscription. Some were as large as the heads of ladles whilst others were as small as five pence pieces. I wondered how they had all fit inside his trouser pockets. I thought to ask but decided that it was best not to. I felt unlikely to get an answer.
The next shop was only next door. This one was labelled ‘Chosa’.
The door opened as soon as Mr Berry knocked, making us jump. A young lady stood there, probably in her twenties. She wore a pink, sparkly scarf, pink high heels, a long, light blue dress and gold, circle-shaped ear-rings. The scarf was draped around her neck, purely as a fashion accessory.
She stood there blowing pink bubbles and looked unimpressed at being disturbed.
‘What?’ she said, with a stormy expression.
I had flash-backs of the fire breathing dragons, imagining her nose snorting fire and her eyes full of angry flames.
‘Miss Esmerelda.’ he said, as if it were a statement by itself. ‘I wish to purchase a first aid kit, please.’
The only unusual features in this room were the dark blue ladybirds with white spots, painted on the black walls and the multiplicity of posters of famous bands.
‘There,’ she said, thrusting the first aid kit into Mr Berry’s hands. ‘Yer happy? That’ll be two small tokens.’
Mr Berry handed over the tokens hastily, his face pale and his hands shaking.
She took them and slammed the door.
‘Whew!’ I said, as soon as the door shut. ‘Well, I wouldn’ta chosa her!’
Mr Berry chuckled and colour returned to his face.
‘Scary woman.’ he said with a shiver.
