A novelette by Rodeo Whiter

There once lived a small but handsome carpenter. He was all very well but for one thing – he could not speak. The good young carpenter did not even have a name because his only relative – his father, had died when he was very young and so he had not yet learned to spell, and having no one to guide him, he never would. Thus his name was dwindled away on the currents of his memory until it was but a whisper. Alan? Alfred? Camilla? Who knew? For the young carpenter surely did not. However he maintained a thriving business as his carpentry shop. Similar to Poundland, it had but one price; €100.95, which was passed on only by word of mouth. This price was non-negotiable; not even for friends. But oh! How the young carpenter wished it could be, for it would be, had he any friends. So the young carpenter suffered in desolate, desolate solitude, every day of his life.

Every night the young carpenter would dream of making social interactions, to be talked to and to talk back in return. It was all he had ever wanted. (Except for the yellow bicycle, but that’s another story) So it was to his utter surprise when a beautiful, beautiful young woman clad in the darkest of crushed velvet, and the fairest of hair, strode into his shop, ignoring every bookcase and bed-stand he had on offer, and walked directly and purposefully to his desk.

Quite taken aback, the young carpenter dropped his pen with which he was drawing a picture of a cow. The woman, seeing her opportunity to gain his trust, sank to her knees (secretly cursing him for making her dirty her dress) and retrieved his pen. She slowly stood up and serenely fluttered her midnight lashes, placing the pen in his hand.

“Why my gracious goodness! Your hands! So clean and toned! So attractive! How did a mere shop boy come to have such hands!?” she said.

The carpenter just looked at her meekly and pointed at the chisel on his desk.

“You mean to say that you made all of this furniture yourself?! Oh you brilliant, beautiful man! You must tell me your name at once! Let me kiss your hands! Oh yes!”

The young carpenter was a little scared, but he was more scared that this strange woman would go away if he didn’t oblige – he was in no position to pass up friends. And she was very beautiful… He considered adding her to his mental wank bank, then waved away the thought, trying to keep his cool. (He also wanted to keep his little carpenter in check) So saying nothing, he smiled and held his hand out as if to shake her pale, delicate hand. The mysterious woman took his hand, shook it, and looking him in the eyes, she kissed each finger a little too enthusiastically.

“What is your name?” she asked, voice like satin.

The carpenter just looked sadly at her face and shook his head.

“You cannot talk? You do not have a name? Oh what is it that ails you such!?”

The carpenter shrugged and again shook his head.

“Then I must help you at once! Come, give me 1 strand of your wonderfully conditioned hair and I shall cast you a spell!”

The boy was amused by her talk of spells, but flattered by her compliments – he did indeed use Tresemmé, so he entertained her wishes. He plucked a single hair from his head and handed it to the woman across the counter.

“Do excuse me, humble, beautiful, wonderful man.” She said, and she swallowed the hair whole and then burped in his face.

In a flourish the carpenter flapped his hands about his nose and said,

“Da fuck!? Why you burp at me!?” Then, realising he had spoken his first sentence, and realising it was a stupid sentence, his hands leaped to his mouth and silenced him.

The woman, blushing heavily said,

“I’m sorry you had to see that, noble carpenter. I trust your ailment is fixed?”

“It… it is!” the carpenter exclaimed, “However did you do it!? No, wait… Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know what goes on inside you unless it’s me! How can I ever repay you?!”

“Oh you cheeky biscuit! We can talk about that later… first I do have something you can help me with.”

“Anything.” Said the carpenter, who was not repenting his rash words one bit even though it was completely out of character for his meek and humble self.

The woman was suddenly overcome by a look of such sadness the carpenter had to fight the urge to bake her a cake.

“I have been sentenced to death for a crime I did not commit, and today, on my last day of life I have no one to spend it with.”

“Why, you must spend it with me! I will do anything you want! Please! Let me be your slave! Put me in a little box if that is what pleases you! Let me make your last hours, the best hours of your life, if it must end.”

“Will you not try to save me?”

“That too…”

“Ok, I will return in 20 minutes, then we must make haste! To the house of commons! We must protest”

“Hurry back!”

With that the mysterious woman turned, velvet swishing, straight blonde hair flicking, and left the shop as quickly as she had entered. The young carpenter’s head was reeling, yet he had not even got his mystery woman’s name. He had way too many emotions and was quite impressed with his ability to pick up speech right away AND keep his cool in front of the lady. (Well... sort of) He needed a little sit down and had all but forgotten that he was in his carpentry shop. So it was to his utter surprise when a haggard and brutally weather-beaten old woman shuffled in through the door, ringing the little bell hanging above. Instead of perusing his ornate and beautiful furniture, she shuffled purposefully up towards his desk, waving her gnarled stick which was almost as old as herself.

Not yet used to talking and thinking separately, the young carpenter said, “Who the hell are you!?” and then once more clapped his hands to his mouth, going red.

“Do not be embarrassed,” she said, “I know you have only just grasped the ability to speak and I will forgive your rudeness. I am the woman whose body was stolen by the witch you just spoke to not three minutes ago!”

Dun dun duuuun! The young carpenter was aghast.

“Wait… what?”

“Thaaat’s right!”

“No, what? You can’t just say a statement like that and expect me to understand it!”

“Oh ok. But we must make haste! She wastes no time at all at her evil plans!”

The carpenter gasped; “Evil!?”

Surely the beautiful if not slightly intense woman that he had just made the flirtations with could not be an evil witch! Who was this hideous old woman to say so anyway!?

“But surely a beautiful young woman such as her cannot be a witch! Who are you to make such accusations!? And on the last day of her life! For shame!”

“Beautiful? Oh ho ho!” Chuckled the old woman, “By calling her beautiful you flatter me! For she cursed me! This body you see before you – the body that I currently have is her real body! She wears my body only as a disguise!”

Again the carpenter gasped, “You mean to say, the woman I just spoke to is an evil enchantress filled only with malice and hate!?”

“Exactly!”

“But how can I know that it is not you that is evil and trying to lead me astray? Oh treachery!”

The old disgusting woman looked gravely into his eyes – such sorrow, and said, “Only you can decide this.”

The carpenter rubbed his temples and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“But if it is she who is condemned to death, it is you who committed the crime and so should die?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole a yellow tandem bicycle.”

A yellow bicycle? A tandem yellow bicycle? A yellow tandem bicycle! The carpenter was almost overcome with the urge to gather this woman in his arms and elope to Guadalupe – but he would much prefer to do so if she had her real body… Nonetheless! “If this woman really is who she says she is,” the carpenter though, “she may just be the woman I’ve been waiting for all my life… A yellow tandem bicycle! Now I can not only ride a yellow bicycle, but I can ride a yellow bicycle that can support me and a sexy lady comfortably!”

The carpenter continued to daydream until he felt his eyes turn heart-shaped and throb slightly. The saggy old lady beat him over the head with her cane.

“Ok you believe me now!? Good. Now I must tell you – if the witch dies, even in my body, all of her evil powers die with her – all of the reversible ones anyway, butterfly effect, butterfly effect, etc. ect.”

“So you will once more be beautiful…?”

“Yes, but you will lose the ability to speak maybe forever.”

“Shit.”

At this point they were interrupted by the ringing of the bell dangling above the door of the shop. Both heads whipped round at once. Sharp intakes of breath… It was just old man McCartney coming to collect the chair he had sent in for repairs. …Twin sighs of relief.

The beautiful, ugly, old woman and the young carpenter looked at each other and simultaneously scarpered for the door; the carpenter grabbing his raincoat and scuttling around the counter. But it was too late! Through the glass and slats of the door a flicker of velvet could be seen and those beautiful, beautiful, dark and terrible eyes locked with the carpenter’s. He was like a fox caught in the beam of headlights. He froze, the old woman froze. Old man McCartney smiled at them both, re-evaluated to a frown and pottered around to face the door. The handle turned.

“RUN!” cried the carpenter, grasping the old woman’s hand. Together they turned and made for the back room. The carpenter shuffled in front, hurrying the old woman’s hobbling steps. Soon the witch would be upon them.

“Come oooonnnn… we must make haste!” urged the carpenter, but he could hear the steady beat of the witch’s boots drawing closer and closer across his polished wood floor.

“We’re not going to make it!” panicked the carpenter, “oh god, we’re not going to-”

“Excuse me old man, you are in the way.”

The witch’s footfalls had ceased – delayed by old man McCartney!

“Yes you beautiful man!” cried the carpenter.

“You can talk!” exclaimed old man McCartney.

“Out of my way!” bellowed the witch.

“MOVE” Shouted the old woman.

They began to shuffle again, but the witch was quickly pushing and shoving her way around old man McCartney. The carpenter was overcome with the adrenaline and excitement of it all.

“FUCK THIS SHIT!” He shouted, suddenly full of power, and he scooped the old woman up with his powerful little carpenter’s arms and sprint-waddled out into the back room.

The witch screamed with rage and pushed old man McCartney over, leaping over his tangled mess of broken hips and arthritis. But too late! The carpenter was already out the back door, running down the alley like a mad thing, leaping over dust-bins, side-stepping the homeless man and the stains of vomit. The old woman flailed and beat him with the stick, “Put me down! Put me down at once!”

But he did not, he was no longer the humble carpenter, he was the adrenaline!

The old woman and the adrenaline broke into the busy market-place just as the witch stumbled out of the shop, tripping over a stool shaped like a crouching squirrel. They just had time to hear her scream of anguish before they were lost in the crowd.

~ * ~ * ~

Dodging between stalls and shoppers, our young carpenter-quickly-becoming-hero, still carrying the old woman in his arms, darted into the tent-like cover of a carpet and rug stall.

“Put. Me. DOWN!” hollered the old woman and hit him over the head with the cane again.
“Alright! Alright! Who took a shit in your curry!?” said the carpenter, but he put the woman down nonetheless.

“Now. What are we going to do?” asked the woman, keeping control of the situation as much as possible.

The carpenter considered this for a moment.

“If she is sentenced to death then why does she not conjure some way to escape this?”

“Well think about it – How could she? If she knocked down all in her path she would get overconfident, climb a building and eventually some hero would kill her, mostly by sheer luck and being in the right place at the right time.”

“So… we would win?”

“I suppose…” The old woman thought for a moment, “But there would be a lot of paperwork.”

“That is true, and I suppose there’s no guarantee we’d even survive her rampage.”

“Exactly, so we must stop her from becoming too strong or using magic to avoid her fate.”

The carpenter leaned out of their carpet-tent-hideaway and scanned the market for pure skin and crushed velvet. Not a trace. He ducked back in.

“She could be anywhere.”

“She could be everywhere.”

“Shit.”

At this point the carpet merchant caught sight of the pair huddled away among his stock.

“Hey! You want sit in carpets, you buy carpets!” he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at each of them. He was interrupted by a customer so simply pointed at his eyes sternly, and then pointed back at the pair.

“Ok no time” said the old woman, “What is the plan?”

They each looked around in search of inspiration, and then they turned their heads slowly, met each other’s gaze and smiled. Together they stood up and bustled to the carpet merchant’s stand.

“HEY! You buy carpet or I cut off your hand!” threatened the carpet merchant, medallion clinking about his neck.

“No wait! We buy carpet!” said the carpenter quickly, “Do you sell any… magic carpets?”

At this point a sudden hush resonated around the market place. The carpet merchant looked around begrudgedly. “What you all looking at!? Stop standing around like the lemon!”

“But I am a lemon…!” squeaked a small voice from the fruit stand. The fruit salesman slapped the lemon and covered it up with a false smile and a nervous laugh. The carpet merchant shook his head and turned back to the young carpenter and the old woman. “You meet me in back alley in 10 minutes.”

The marketplace had regained normality but the carpenter feared that maybe the silence had alerted the witch as to their whereabouts. Nonetheless, the duo slunk into the back alley behind the hand-made pots stall, unnoticed.

“So where are we going to go when we have the carpet?” wondered the young carpenter.

“I don’t know,” said the woman, “even if we can escape this place and make it to Guadalupe, we need the witch to reverse this curse herself, or die to do so.”

“Could we reason with her?”

“Pshh! Reason with her!? Don’t make me laugh! She’s rampant! She’s like a rabid chicken on speed! Have you ever reasoned with a rabid chicken on speed?”

“No…”

“Good! It’s not pretty!” retorted the old woman.

They paused in reflection.

“So. She must die.” Said the young carpenter slowly and solemnly, “weather she is executed for the crime you committed, or we kill her ourselves.”

At this moment the carpet merchant swaggered into the alley with a thin purple carpet rolled up and strapped to his back. “Alright, that will be €29.99”

“Don’t you have it in yellow?” asked the slightly disappointed carpenter.

“What do I look like, the carpet man?! Wait, wait, no. Don’t answer that. Just give me the money.”

The old woman and the young carpenter each dug into their pockets and worked out their change until they had €29.65.

“Do you take mastercard?” asked the woman, spying the card-reader hanging from his belt.

“Only visa debit.” said the carpet merchant.

The carpenter and the old woman scratched their beards for a moment.

“Oooh god! We’re 34 cents short!” worried the carpenter.

“You have not the money!? No money, no carpet! I will cut off your hand!”

“Wait!” cried the old woman, “Did you not know this is the famous carpenter boy!? We’ll throw in a stool shaped like a crouching squirrel! That is more than a fair exchange!”

At this point the carpenter chipped in, “It is worth more than €100.95!”

The carpet-merchant considered this… “Ehh you drive a hard bargain, but ok! It’s my nephew’s birthday soon anyway. He loves squirrels!”

“You will pick it up from my shop?”

“Yes ok.”

The carpenter handed the carpet merchant his business card, and in return was given the carpet. “We are open 9 til 5:30 on weekdays.”

 He bowed, took the hand of his elderly accomplice and together they left the alley.

~ * ~ * ~

Some time later, after much afternoon tea and naan, the young carpenter and the old woman sat huddled together, concealed within a rocky cave in the desert, discussing their predicament. They had left the marketplace with not a penny to their names, and with only what they stood in, with 1 magic carpet between them. Slinking away unnoticed from the hustle and bustle of the town, they fled to the outskirts and reached the desert. Luckily the old-young woman always carried a Tupperware box full of much afternoon tea and naan, in her pocket.

“Why is it that she chose my shop? I was but a humble carpenter before this madness began!” sighed the carpenter.

“Let me tell you my story…” said the old woman gently. “It seems a long time ago now that I was young and happy and beautiful. I did not realise it at the time but I suppose looking upon myself in the hindsight, my life was all but perfect. I had everything that I needed – I was a simple traveller, having to worry about no one buy myself and my bicycle. I remember I would sing and dance and tell fortunes and stories in exchange for food and shelter.”

“It sounds beautiful…”

“Don’t interrupt me, fool. It was indeed so beautiful.” A deep look of sadness flickered on the…

“sorry”

“There you go again, interrupting my thoughts. Fool.” …contours of the old…

“Sorry”

“fool.” …woman’s face. “I should never have trusted the witch.”

“She gave you shelter.”

“She did. And so foolish and so young, I trusted her. She cast the spell while I was sleeping or maybe she poisoned my curry … I don’t know. But I awoke with only this.”

She gestured to the witch’s body, “Ugly! Ugly and worthless! I doubt I’ll live more than a month on this! I can feel this body dying beneath me.”

“It will surely be ok in the end!”

At this point the old-young woman was overcome by the vast unfairness of it all and submitted herself to the turbulent emotions beneath her skin. Gentle ragged sobs joined the crack and flicker of the fire and it was all the young carpenter could do to put his arms around her and simply hold her to his little carpenter body.

After some time the old woman’s tears had ceased and gently, the carpenter separated himself from her.

“Well it is a good thing that I bought my raincoat.” Said the carpenter with a kind smile.

“You are a good man, carpenter.” She whispered.

“And you are a good woman. But you are a fugitive, and I am harbouring you, and I intend to continue to harbour you. We must defeat the witch and restore your body. I will not let you die.”

The old woman suddenly looked him dead in the face.

“You will lose your speech forever!”

“I can live without speech. I have for a long time. But you – you are young and you are beautiful. You deserve a body to match this.”

“You think I am beautiful even without my real body?”

“You are beautiful regardless of how you may seem.”

The old woman let out a long sigh and let her head lull back onto her shoulders. She looked at the stars. “What is it we are going to do?”

“We must defeat the witch. We must be strong like the cow.”

“You are right. We cannot lose heart.”

With that the old woman who seemed so young and full of life, lay back beside the fire and closed her eyes, “We will leave at first light.” And then she rolled over and vanished into sleep.

The carpenter watched her for some time, letting the embers glow and smoulder until they too were swallowed by the dark.

When he opened his eyes the sky was beginning to grow lighter – a dense mix of dark blue and penetrating red sun. The fire had been swept over with sand, and he was alone. Alone? The young carpenter leaped up, his raincoat was still glittering from her tears. He blinked, his eyes darted around. He tried to call for her. And then he realised, he did not even know her name.

~ * ~ * ~

The carpenter was distraught. How could his life change so dramatically over the course of a single day? Yesterday he had woke up in a comfortable hammock, in his comfortable life. A humble shop-boy, with no voice and no need for one. Today he awoke stiff and browned by the desert sun. He had even gathered a few freckles. He had never liked freckles; “that is why she looked so perfect,” he realised. “She had not a single freckle.” The carpenter scanned the horizon and saw nothing. A featureless line of sand spanning for miles. Of course just above this cave was the Tesco Metro, but that was behind him. She was nowhere to be seen. “Is this how it feels to have a voice, but no one to talk to? I think maybe now I would prefer to be silent.” thought the carpenter, bitterly. But he was never the pessimistic type, so instead of lying in the sand, and waiting for a storm to engulf him, he gathered his raincoat, his magic carpet, and the Tupperware box (How strange it was that she had not taken this with her, she had been so fond of it) and he started for the town.

Climbing high onto the outcrop of rock forming the cave, the carpenter unfurled his carpet, hit the ignition and kicked it into 1st gear. He hovered for a moment and then performed a three point turn, and was lifted high above the desert and the hustle and bustle of the waking town. The wind whipped around his billowing trousers and blew a healthy breeze through his well-conditioned locks. Laying on his front, the carpenter scanned the world below for his beautiful, hideous companion, but she was nowhere to be seen. Where could she be? Where would she go? She didn’t even leave a note! “What if this mysterious woman, who has only just entered my humble life, has been eaten alive by organ-stealers, or coyotes?”  Pondered the carpenter, who was beginning to lose hope, “What if she’s been taken by... Oh wait no, it’s ok. She’s over there in the market square.”

The carpenter’s heart was lifted with joy, he was overcome with emotion. There, crossing the centre of the deserted dawn-lit market square, hobbled the hunched and bunched figure of the old woman.

 “Oh! Beautiful lady! I have found you at last!” cried the carpenter, bringing the carpet to land. “Do you know I’ve searched for over 25 minutes!? Where have you been?! I thought I’d lost you forever!” He stumbled to a stop, leaping off of his landing carpet and falling towards the woman.

“Carpenter!?”

“Yes! It is me! Now what do you think you were doing?! Don’t you know the organ-stealers come out in the early hours of the morning!? You could have become an organ-donor completely involuntarily!”

“Ah! But you fail to take into account my organ-donor card!” The woman produced a laminated organ-donor card from her pocket with a flourish.

“Ah… Nonetheless, why did you leave me?” The carpenter said with accusation, looking fiercely into her eyes.

She opened and closed her puckered, wrinkled mouth, struggling for words. “It is because… er… because.. I.. urrrmm… I love you?”

The carpenter gasped, eyes suddenly widening. “Love? No one has ever loved me before… except that one crazy cat lady… but not like this”

“Er yes! Well that is why I had to leave you, beautiful and wonderful man!”

“But why?”

“Well… errr… The witch! Yes! The witch. She is evil, so evil! I did not want for you to be hurt.”

Roses bloomed in the carpenter’s eyes. Unaware of the thorns, he could almost feel the fanfare that was playing in his head, shaking the still morning air around them. He did not notice the haggard old woman’s look of strangled disgust as she uttered her proclamations of love and kindness.

~ * ~ * ~

On the outskirts of the town, beyond the market, in the darkest alley next to Tesco Metro, the beautiful young woman frowned and groaned awake. The stagnant smell of piss had risen with the sun casting its eastern heat into the alley, and roused the woman from her sleep. She rubbed her pounding temples and scuffled and shuffled until she was sitting upright. She opened her eyes. She closed them again. Nauseated and confused, the woman gathered her memories; the carpenter. The witch. The desert. “The carpenter!” She once more opened her eyes and, ripping the black velvet gown she wore, scrambled to her unsteady feet. She swayed and steadied herself on the wall. “Black velvet?” she looked down. “Black…?” Suddenly dismayed, the woman looked quickly around her, “Where am I? Where is he?” The young and beautiful woman had returned to her body.

~ * ~ * ~

“So now that we have settled that we are in love, will you help me to find and brutally kill the witch that has so evily stolen my body?” persisted the haggard old woman.

“But of course! Anything for the woman with whom I am in… love!” sighed the carpenter.

The sun had almost fully risen in the sky, casting a strange golden light upon the town, and the first people were beginning to drift into the market square to set up their stalls.

“We must make haste! Scour the town for that evil witchster!” Cried the old woman.

So together they scuttled from the market square, into the humid shade of the town. Dodging through cluttered streets the old woman and the young carpenter searched for the faintest flash of black velvet and blonde hair. All of the local people were waking from their night-time rest and poking their heads out of cubby-holes and between drapes. Overhearing the carpenter and the woman’s talk of a beautiful witch, a little old man with a face like a newt’s bum, watched them as they hobbled quickly past his house.

“You speak of a woman with hair of sun and clothes of night?” he croaked.

“No…” began the carpenter,  “she has got straight blonde hair pale skin and she wears a black velvet dress I think…?”

But he was cut off by the old woman’s excitable cries, “Yes! You have seen her where? You must tell me, for she is evil!”

“Evil? Ah yes. Beauty is evil.” Mused the old man, stroking his rat’s tail beard. “She is not far from here.”

“Where!? I must know at once! I need her body!”

“Alright, steady on!” cried the old man, “She is behind Tesco Metro last time I check, but that was last night when I was very much toxins. Many shisha and much Appletini.”

“Ah… Tesco Metro. I should have known.” muttered the carpenter with narrowed eyes. At this point both the little old man and the weather-beaten old woman turned their confused stares to the carpenter.

“Sorry… I felt that I needed to make input.”

The old woman waved this away, “Never mind. To the Tesco Metro!” and she began to hobble briskly away from the old man’s house.

“Thank you old man, I’ll never forget you.” Said the carpenter, and bowed humbly before he ran down the street after his accomplice.

“What you talk about! I am but 25 years of age!” called the little old man down the street.

The strong and youthful carpenter was struggling to keep up with the feeble old woman’s quick-shuffling steps and she powered down through the town. “Ah, she must have finally become accustomed to her old lady body!” thought the carpenter, breathless even in his own head, “At least when she has her own body back we may use her yellow tandem bicycle until she may use her own body properly again. Oooh that bicycle. Oooohh that body!” However the carpenter soon dismissed this thought as he saw the glow of the Tesco Metro rising from the town. The duo hurried past the Tesco Metro and into the alley stretching behind it. Empty.

“No! This cannot be!” Screeched the old woman.

“Hey! This sonofabitch needs to stop taking a shit in your curry!” exclaimed the carpenter,  “Calm yourself! Even if we do not find the witch, today she is sentenced to death anyway!”

“No! You do not understand! I must kill her! The police will never catch a woman that cunning!” cried the hag. “We must find her! And we must kill her.”

“Oooh, but I do not like to kill! I am but a humble carpenter!”

“No! Do you want to be with me truly? Then you must do the deed to show me of your er.. affections.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

Although the carpenter had only just found love, doubt was already creeping into his mind. But he was so desperate to ignore it. It was nothing… it couldn’t be. He loved this woman. He loved her. “Remember last night… it will be ok. Her good side is worth her bad… No… what am I saying? There is no bad. This is not bad! She is perfect!” The carpenter’s mind was turbulent like a storm, or a small irritable donkey. Oh how he hated this doubt! It was all he could do to bury it deep inside and throw caution to the winds of the east. “She is the one. She has to be.”

Just then, as the carpenter and his womanfriend were turning a corner, their path was blocked by 3 cutlass-clad police-men. Stacked like bricks, the towering men stopped in their tracks. “Cornflakes…?” threatened the superior officer, eyes narrowing, muscles tensing and un-tensing noticeably beneath his skin.

“Curry.” Said the woman.

“Oh ok. No sign of her?” said the police-man, suddenly amiable.

“Not a sign.”

The carpenter dumbly raised a hand, “What the fuck just happened?”

One of the lesser police-men started giggling, but was silenced by the other’s swift and sturdy back-hand to the head. The middle police-man raised a long, curling eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Sorry for my language.” Blushed the carpenter.

“Never mind that,” said the old woman quickly,  “these men are police-men. This morning I told them about our little predicament… because… er.. of course the gypsy has, as you well know,” she said meaningfully, “replicated my body, which I too have right now, in order to avoid her death sentence.”

The woman’s eyes bore into the carpenter so violently that he squirmed uncomfortably beneath them. “But… I thought… you are the beautiful gypsy girl that I love are you not?”

The police-men exchanged glances.

“No, no, silly. I am not the gypsy. I am your very nice, and very pleasant grandmother.” The old and suddenly very threatening woman’s teeth were gritted and her eyes flashed dangerously from under her ragged hair.

“You are in love with your own grandmother…?” gawked the second police-man, who was again promptly slapped.

“Is there something you’re not telling us, ma’am?” asked the lead policeman.

“I suppose there are many things I am not telling you, but my identity is not one of them.” Challenged the haggard old woman. Suddenly her attention was caught by a swish of velvet behind the police-men. “There! There she is!” she shrieked, pointing. “She must have swapped back to her own body! Oh treachery!” 

The police-men all whirled around to see a young and strikingly beautiful woman, clad in ripped and ragged velvet standing in that very street.

“Carpenter!” cried the woman, a genuine look of relief and almost simultaneous fear, crossing her face.

The carpenter gasped and launched himself between the pillar-like police-men. The beautiful, beautiful woman rushed towards him, but before she could so much as outstretch her arms to embrace him he stopped her in her tracks.

“You!” He cried. “You have cast your last bad spell, witch!”

She gasped. She balled her fists.

“Witch?!”

“GET HER!” yelled the old woman from behind the police-men.

The two lesser policemen prepared to give chase, necks bulging, but before they could charge, their commanding officer grabbed them by the shoulders. “WAIT!”

The girl scarpered.

“SHE’S GETTING AWAY!” screeched the old woman, spit flying from her grotesquely rotten gums.

“Now the woman I love will never have her true body!” raged the carpenter, shaken by the close encounter.

The commanding policeman loomed over the hunched and ugly old woman. “Of course you’d want her captured. You are the gypsy!”

“No! I am but a humble old woman!” screamed the old woman, who was in no way humble.

No one had noticed the carpenter unfurling his magic carpet and kicking it into gear. A sudden rush and the street dropped away from him. He was screeching through the morning air, spinning and wheeling over buildings, through the town. Past the Tesco Metro, over the little old man’s house, suburbia flitting past below him. He slowed, he was almost directly above the market square. THERE! In the alley behind the hand-made pots stall! There she was! Already rising into the air on her own flying carpet! And it was yellow!

Already the haggard old woman was turning into the alley – “How has she got here so fast!?” thought the carpenter, but it was too late to question! He gave chase as soon as the young woman had cleared the walls and roofs of the town. Wind flying past him, this wild, adrenaline carpenter dodged and darted, snapping at the woman’s tail, only inches away.

“You will never get away with this!” He screamed, chilly air drawing tears streaming from his eyes.

“You do not understand!” shrieked the woman, tumbling through the sky, flitting lower around the clock-tower rising from the town.

The carpenter turned a wide arc, desperately keeping on the beautiful woman’s tail. The gap between them was widening, 2 meters, 5 meters… She was getting away! Suddenly a flash of red! A third carpet had joined the chase! The old woman, fiercely gripping the corners of her red carpet, rocketed through the sky, spiralling upwards towards the young woman. She missed her by inches! Above! Below! Over! Under! The three carpets dodged and whirled mercilessly. Between! Behind! They were like vultures or eagles, flashes in the air. Breaking through the cloud they spiralled and soared.

“YOU WILL NEVER GET AWAY!” Screamed the old woman, bearing her teeth against the wind. Not even she could hear her threats –all was lost in the bellow of the wind. The young woman ducked below the cloud, followed quickly by her two opponents, just as a fourth, a fifth, a sixth carpet whistled past! Flashes of blue and red caught in the dense cloud like some terrible lightning! Sirens ripping apart the roar of the wind! And then they were plummeting. Diving, falling! The young woman whipped her carpet up inches from earth and sent it screeching to a halt, diving off, rolling across the ground! She ran, leaving her carpet behind, through the alley towards the market, but they were quick on her tail! She bombed into the already bustling market, sprinting and dodging and ducking and darting, but it was too late! She was cornered!

The young and beautiful woman stood, chest heaving, between a carpet, and a fast-assembling ring of enemies. The old woman hobbled forward, knarled finger outstreched in an accusing point.

“It is her! She is the witch! Police-men, she is the one you are looking for!”

The carpenter’s little fists were balled at his sides, his eyes were still. The three police-men stood like loaded cannons, grimaces and fists like rocks.

“This is your final hour, witch. This is your final hour!”

The beautiful, beautiful young woman, in this instance, fragile as a thornless rose, stepped back until her velvet brused against the carpet-wall behind her.

“Now she must die! Carpenter! Finish her! If you truly love me you must finish her!”

The carpenter’s eyes were locked on the beautiful woman before him. Could he really destroy something so beautiful, so fragile, so... innocent? “No! She is not innocent! This is the witch that stole the body of the woman I love! How could I ever show mercy to a woman so merciless herself?” He didn’t move. Turbulent emotions crossed his face.

“FINISH HER!”

He stood. Still and silent. His fists were loaded but his feet were rooted to the floor. “I can’t do it.. I can’t do it. I know that I must, but I can’t do it!” Fear and doubt just below his skin flitted through his body sending tensing shivers convulsing through him.

“FINISH. HER!”

“Why are the police-men not interviening! They are supposed to deal with the justice! This cannot be justice!”

The police-men were captivated, they stood, bunched together, watching the scene unfold as if under a trance.

“Fine! If you cannot do it, you cannot have me! I will cut out her heart if I must! I will have her body! I will be beautiful! I will have my way, and you will have nothing!!” The old woman was spitting, raging, screaming. Her eyes were abysses of fire. The carpenter stood, eyes wide with terror, surely he could not let this woman die! He stammered forward, catching the old woman’s elbow as she advanced.

“No! You cannot do this! You cannot kill her!”

But he was tossed aside. Why was she suddenly so strong? How did she shrug his grip so easily? She snatched a cutlass from a police-man’s belt and charged. Spit flew from her snarling, gaping jaws and her eyes screamed hatred. The cutlass was raised above her head, it’s deadly point on colission course with the young and beautiful woman, standing fearful before it.

“NO!” Screamed the carpenter. The police-men huddled together, gasping and outstreaching arms. Still the old and fevrently raging woman charged, legs hobbling swiftly beneath her, face distorting into snarls of contempt. The cutlass dived, a steep arc above her head, thrusting outwards into... The young and beautitul woman ducked. She rolled. There was an audible thud and rip as the cutlass, sharp as slivers of diamond, sunk right into the carpet where the woman was standing not a moment before.

Silence. The police-men stood entwined, biting their fists, eyes were pools of disbelief. The carpenter was still poised with an arm outstreched, ready to stop the charge of his acomplice. Eyes wide, mouth wide. The beautiful and so, so young woman sat crumpled at the old woman’s feet, looking up at her with fearful eyes. The old woman, still gripping the handle of the cutlass, narrowed her eyes. She let out a growl of fury and tugged the cutlass from the carpet with incredible strength. Again she raised it above her silver head.

“This will be the last sight you see, gypsy. I may not have your body, but I will take your life!”

“Gypsy...” breathed the carpenter.

“HEY!”

All heads spun.

“WHO OF YOU IS THE ONE TO RUIN THIS CARPET!?” Yelled the carpet merchant, armed with a crossbow,  marching out from between the carpets. He looked around at the disbelieving crowd.

“YOU! You hold the blade that cut my carpet! Now you die!”

He drew the crossbow, and released.

Thud.

The sound of the arrow puncturing the old woman’s exposed flesh was so dull. She let out a soft whine of pain and the cutlass dropped. The young woman scrambled to her feet, into the carpenter’s confused arms, open in paralysis. All eyes all followed the falling woman.

“No one messes with my carpets!” announced the carpet merchant, blowing the smoke off the string of his crossbow.

The carpenter locked eyes with the beautiful woman who stood in his arms. And he said nothing.

~ * ~ * ~

The police-men slowly untangled themselves and shuffled awkwardly apart, avoiding eye contact. The woman searched the carpenter’s eyes for any sign of revelation or emotion. “I...”

The carpenter kissed her full on the mouth, drawing her in with his little carpenter arms.. No words were said, and as he had learned, long ago, no words were needed. It was only the carpet-merchant who saw as the witch’s body crumbled, slowly imploding into nothing, skin folding and sinking with her fast-decaying bones.

As the carpenter and the beautiful young woman broke apart, the golden sun, orangelike curry, burst from the gap between them. Bathed in a dream-like light the carpet merchant’s eyes sparkled from beneath his heavy brow.

“Carpenter!”  The preoccupied heads of the silent couple swivelled and the police-men who had been watching them the whole time, looked up.

“You are the famous carpenter who has a constant frog living in the oesophagus yes?”

He waited for a reply... then he remembered who he was talking to.

“Now, keep it on the down low, but I may have a little something to fix your ailment...”

“Alley in 10 minutes?” asked the woman.

The carpet merchant snapped his fingers and winked, “Gurl. You know it.”

“What happens in the alley?” challenged the head police-man, flashing his authorative eyes menacingly.

“Why don’t you come and join us? I may have something for you too...” said the carpet merchant.

So it was in precisely 10 minutes that the 6 did meet, secluded in the dank sanctity of the alley.

“Now what is is you have for me?” Asked the police-man, arms folded across his dense chest.

The carpet merchant reached into the pocket of his voluminous purple waistcoat and bought out a fat wad of euro notes. Laughing he tossed it at the police-men.

“Now you can go away and not tell anyone about this that you are seeing! Or on second thoughts, you could spread the word, but keep it away from the authorities such as yourselves!” He stroked his goatee thoughtfully and there was a moment of pensive silence.

“How the fuck did you get so much money!?” gawked the woman.

At this the carpet merchant failed to surpress a beam of pride. He puffed out his chest and stood straight, throwing his arms out and announcing, “I am no longer a simple carpet merchant! I, Muhammed Abu-Dali Llama, am a carpet barron!” He glowed with pride, “It was you! All of you bought my magic carpets, my business is thriving! Thankyou all very very much!”

Everyone nodded aprovingly, and the two lesser police-men clapped politely from the corner.

“Now!” Said the carpet barron, “I think you will benefit from a little magic, carpenter.”

In his hand, he held a small purple bottle, capped with a gold stopper.

“This, my friend, should solve all of your problems which you have.” And he handed the carpenter the bottle. He produced a small leaflet from his pocket. “The instruction manual.” He said, handing it over.

Looking confused for a moment, the carpenter read the instruction manual. He pocketed the leaflet, and raising the bottle high above his head he closed his eyes and thought the single word, “KAMLEAAAAA!” He threw the bottle down, smashing it on the cobbled stone of the alley. The glass shattered and from it seeped a swirling pool of deepest gold. A thick golden mist rose from the puddle, clogging the air. Sightless, the 6 stood coughing and spluttering. The air was thick with the smell of cinnamon. As the golden fog cleared, a figure could be seen, floating cross-legged. The carpenter could not make out any-details, his vision was still obscured by the mysterious mist. A bright light seemed to shine from within this figure, and suddenly, it was as if a window had been opened; the mist dispersed into the air and was carried away, glittering into the sky. There, amid a pool of light, floated a small golden monkey, dressed from head to toe, in doctor’s atire. About his neck hung a stethoscope, and his head was crowned with a spiraling circle, mounted on a head-band. His long white coat was pristine, with two biros in the breast-pocket.

All mouths were open, gasping in awe at the serene aperition hovering before then.

“What the hell!? I thought you were supposed to be a genie!” Cried the carpet barron, waving his arm in confusion.

The monkey turned his golden head, and smiled serenely, so wisely, at the carpet barron.

“No, Muhammed Abu-Dali Llama, I am the ghost of Arbed – the doctor-monkey.”

The carpet barron considered this, “Oh ok.”

Now the serene monkey turned his calm, ocean-like gaze on the carpenter. “It was you who summoned me, carpenter.”

The carpenter nodded.

“You cannot speak?”

It was as if the doctor-monkey-ghost had read his mind.

“Yes, I have. Now, let me see... I’m sure I can come up with a diagnosis...”

The monkey unfolded his legs and hovered to the ground. When his feet reached earth all of the golden light flowing from his fur seemed to vanish, as if switched off. He padded towards the carpenter, and taking the stethoscope from his neck, examined the carpenter. The carpenter stood still, frozen in fright; he had never liked doctors, and this one was climbing all over him. The monkey’s head-band medalion was spinning hypnotically as he stroked his chin wisely, a subtle frown of concentration spreading across his wise face.

“Aha!” He said, snapping his monkey fingers.

“I have just the cure! You have laringitis, my boy! Here, let me assist you, and don’t you give me any “I don’t need a voice, I’m ok how I am” mumbo jimbo. Let old Arbed work his magic!”

Leaping from the carpenter’s shoulders, the monkey pulled a maraca from his coat and waved it about the air. An ornte wooden mask seemed to grow from his very face, and he danced, spinning and jumping around the carpenter, rattling his little maraca.

“KALAMALOOOOO!! Punja masala!” Cried the monkey, “Targa HUH HUH! Alooooo! HUH!” and he took 1 last leap, landing heavily infront of the carpenter, pointing his maraca at the young man’s throught.

The carpenter looked around awkwardly. “What? Why are you all looking at me thus?” He askd. 5 grins cracked across the faces of his friends, and the monkey, maskless and serene as ever, nodded in aproval.

“AHA! I am making to speak!” He cried. “Ahh! Thankyou! Thankyou very much! My most humble thankyou to you Arbed the doctor-monkey-ghost!” He grabbed the monkey by the armpits and swung him into a tight and heart-felt hug. Arbed climbed onto the carpenter’s head, and waving his maraca shouted, “And now! A party!”

~ * ~ * ~

It was a wild night. The carpenter was off his chops. Arbed was all over the shop, and everyone present had a whale of a time. The party raged from 7:30am, all the way to 12 noon the next day. Everyone had to have at least 6 fry-ups and many tactical chunders before they could even face walking out in the mid-day sunlight. The 25 year-old man from the alley was the only one able to maintain his normality, sitting in the corner, cuddling his bong.

It was a night to remember. And the carpenter never forgot. Even after he and his beautiful womanfriend had bid goodbye to their new found friends, and set off for Guatalupe, cycling  into the red light of the setting sun, on their yellow tandem bicycle.

~ * ~ * ~

The end.