Read Online The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code by Robert Rankin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Rankin
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There’s something really special about walking around the park first thing, before it’s opened to the public. It’s, well, it’s
untainted
, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do,’ said Jonny. ‘Have you worked here long?’
‘Five years,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘I left school and applied tothe police, but I failed the entrance exam. Have you ever wondered why people become traffic wardens?’
‘Actually, yes,’ said Jonny. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do a job that consists of little other than making people miserable.’
‘They’re folk who’ve failed the police entrance exam. The examiners know that they are not bright enough to be policemen, but they do so want a job that involves wearing a uniform and bullying the public, so—’
‘So how come you didn’t become a traffic warden?’
‘I failed that exam as well.’
‘They have an exam for
that
?’
‘I didn’t try very hard. Next down the line is park keeper, or park ranger as we are now rather romantically called. And I love it. Ken is a bit of a nutter, but he’s got a good heart. And where else are you going to get all this?’ And Ranger Hawtrey gestured all around and about.
‘It
is
beautiful,’ said Jonny. ‘You think you’d have a go at this psycho, then? If you came face to face with him again?’
‘Not without a very big sword. I’d run like a girlie.’
Jonny chuckled. And then Jonny paused. He’d just had a little chuckle there. A moment of lightness, considering the direness of his situation.
But then, perhaps that’s what it was. In this beautiful park, in the earliness of the morning. Just for one moment.
‘Surely you’re a bit old to be a student,’ said Ranger Hawtrey.
And the moment was gone.
‘Failed the police exam,’ said Jonny.
‘No way!’
‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t seem to be in control.’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘You sound like my mad brother.’
‘Your mad brother?’
‘Everyone seems to have a mad brother, don’t they? I think it’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something.’
Jonny Hooker nodded.
‘My brother has this thing about machines. All kinds of machines,or appliances, really. Anything that plugs into the electric and does something. Radio, TV, iron, hair-straighteners. He gets the messages.’
‘The messages?’ said Jonny. Slowly.
‘He says that messages are being beamed into his head through the electrical appliances. They’ve got his frequency.’
‘They?’
‘The controllers. The ones who control the folk who control us. My brother says that he’s onto them, so they torment him day and night, beam these voices and images into this head.’
‘He’s a paranoid schizophrenic,’ said Jonny.
‘That’s what the doctors say, yes.’
‘But you don’t agree?’
‘I don’t know. There’s stuff he says that makes a lot of sense. Stuff he knows.’
‘Is he your older brother?’ Jonny asked.
Ranger Hawtrey nodded. And spied a stick on a grassy knoll and picked it up and waved it.
‘What kind of stuff does he know?’ Jonny asked.
‘Mad stuff,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘But it does make some kind of sense. He reckons it’s all to do with holes. He reckons that there’s another world, one that for the most part we can’t see or hear. But the folk of that world can see and hear us and they love to torment us. But mostly they can’t because human beings are born with these inbuilt mental screens to keep them out. It’s an evolutionary thing. But some people, so-called paranoid schizophrenics, they have little holes in their mental shields and so these beasties, or demons, or whatever they are, are able to squeeze through and torment them. Drive them to do mad things. That’s his theory, anyway.’
‘It’s a popular theory,’ said Jonny.
‘
It is?
’
‘Amongst a certain fraction of society.’
‘It’s feasible,’ said Ranger
untainted
, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do,’ said Jonny. ‘Have you worked here long?’
‘Five years,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘I left school and applied tothe police, but I failed the entrance exam. Have you ever wondered why people become traffic wardens?’
‘Actually, yes,’ said Jonny. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do a job that consists of little other than making people miserable.’
‘They’re folk who’ve failed the police entrance exam. The examiners know that they are not bright enough to be policemen, but they do so want a job that involves wearing a uniform and bullying the public, so—’
‘So how come you didn’t become a traffic warden?’
‘I failed that exam as well.’
‘They have an exam for
that
?’
‘I didn’t try very hard. Next down the line is park keeper, or park ranger as we are now rather romantically called. And I love it. Ken is a bit of a nutter, but he’s got a good heart. And where else are you going to get all this?’ And Ranger Hawtrey gestured all around and about.
‘It
is
beautiful,’ said Jonny. ‘You think you’d have a go at this psycho, then? If you came face to face with him again?’
‘Not without a very big sword. I’d run like a girlie.’
Jonny chuckled. And then Jonny paused. He’d just had a little chuckle there. A moment of lightness, considering the direness of his situation.
But then, perhaps that’s what it was. In this beautiful park, in the earliness of the morning. Just for one moment.
‘Surely you’re a bit old to be a student,’ said Ranger Hawtrey.
And the moment was gone.
‘Failed the police exam,’ said Jonny.
‘No way!’
‘No,’ said Jonny. ‘I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t seem to be in control.’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘You sound like my mad brother.’
‘Your mad brother?’
‘Everyone seems to have a mad brother, don’t they? I think it’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something.’
Jonny Hooker nodded.
‘My brother has this thing about machines. All kinds of machines,or appliances, really. Anything that plugs into the electric and does something. Radio, TV, iron, hair-straighteners. He gets the messages.’
‘The messages?’ said Jonny. Slowly.
‘He says that messages are being beamed into his head through the electrical appliances. They’ve got his frequency.’
‘They?’
‘The controllers. The ones who control the folk who control us. My brother says that he’s onto them, so they torment him day and night, beam these voices and images into this head.’
‘He’s a paranoid schizophrenic,’ said Jonny.
‘That’s what the doctors say, yes.’
‘But you don’t agree?’
‘I don’t know. There’s stuff he says that makes a lot of sense. Stuff he knows.’
‘Is he your older brother?’ Jonny asked.
Ranger Hawtrey nodded. And spied a stick on a grassy knoll and picked it up and waved it.
‘What kind of stuff does he know?’ Jonny asked.
‘Mad stuff,’ said Ranger Hawtrey. ‘But it does make some kind of sense. He reckons it’s all to do with holes. He reckons that there’s another world, one that for the most part we can’t see or hear. But the folk of that world can see and hear us and they love to torment us. But mostly they can’t because human beings are born with these inbuilt mental screens to keep them out. It’s an evolutionary thing. But some people, so-called paranoid schizophrenics, they have little holes in their mental shields and so these beasties, or demons, or whatever they are, are able to squeeze through and torment them. Drive them to do mad things. That’s his theory, anyway.’
‘It’s a popular theory,’ said Jonny.
‘
It is?
’
‘Amongst a certain fraction of society.’
‘It’s feasible,’ said Ranger
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