Hanging around street corners on an evening. The activity which Stonnie Heppac's parents seemed to believe he prize above all others. He encouraged this illusion. "Just hanging around" was a euphemism he found useful when interrogated about his plans. It disguised some of the other things he did on an evening which his parents emphatically wouldn't approve of. Nor, on occasions, would the Guards.
In fact, just hanging around was often dull and dispiriting. Especially as the corner he usually chose was the intersection of Mankho's Passage and Ashel Street. This kept him firmly inside Jakks Way, that district which managed to be both beside the world's epicentre and next to the back end of nowhere. Doing nothing all evening except watching humdrum Jakks Way conduct its menial life, Stonnie would find, confirmed your irrelevance. It stated that you had no home which was truly yours. That you had no money either and no woman. That you were still too powerless to escape your birthplace, and too timid to even visit another district after sunset. All these accusations were in fact true for Stonnie. Which meant that many nights were indeed spent "just hanging around."
Enforcing the sense of scraping a near-empty barrel this evening was the fact that he was alone with Marksen. Marksen was the default, the one could always be relied on to always be around, having even less money and even less parental control. Stonnie liked the boy in a way; he was clever, he was exciting. He preferred, however, a few of his other friends to be around as well. They acted as a buffer for Marksen's excesses and sometimes kept them in check. Alone, Marksen's cunning could turn him into a smartarse. And the recklessness which made so exciting often gave him the look of a psycho. As he matured, Stonnie was increasingly sharing the opinion which the adult world held about Marksen – he was unsettling.
For example: earlier a particularly obese man had waddled past. Both boys, of course, immediately began the chant:
"Who ate all the spuds?
You fat bastard, you fat bastard
You ate all the spuds!"
Without looking round, the man gave an equally traditional response. He waggled his right hand up and down to imply that his tormentors were unduly attached to masturbation. That for Stonnie was the end of the episode. Both parties had continued their customs and satisfied their honour. Marksen, though, started scooping up stones and hurling them at the fat man. He even pursued him a little way down the street, still hurling vigorously. All the missiles missed their target in the gloomy air. The man pretended not to notice, perhaps genuinely did not. If he had turned and confronted his assailant, however, Stonnie was sure that Marksen would continue throwing. And if the man got close enough he would probably start attacking him. Stonnie recalled that when his friend was younger he was particularly fond of torturing cats and lizards. He sometimes thought Marksen desisted because he had grown more ambitious rather than less cruel. That he was still searching for more satisfying victims.
And he was trying company even when relaxing. Stonnie had made the mistake of imparting details of the Tanson dinner party. That had been three nights ago and Marksen still hadn't shut up about it.
"What she look like again?" he demanded.
Stonnie sighed. He was rhythmically kicking a wall with his heel, his usual habit when bored. "Which one?"
"Who you think, nob-end? Not the big one. Seen that fucking dyke lumbering around mesen. The lass. Zoko or whatever."
Stonnie had already given an extensive description of Zokou. He tried capturing in words her odd dichotomies of exoticness and conformity, of timidity and confidence. He always failed and knew the only parts his friend was interested in anyway.
"How good you say her tits were?" Marksen specified helpfully.
"They're OK. Can't complain."
"Big as Lalai's?" Lalai was always used as a marker in these conversations, the girl known to have the largest breasts in their school.
"Naw, but Lalai's a fucking barrel," Stonnie said harshly. "This Zokou's pretty slim. Thin girls always have smaller tits."
"Not the dead good ones. The best ones, they're like…" Marksen sketched in the air the outline of a woman who, Stonnie felt, would be a circus freak. "An' this Zokou's their ward, you say? What the fuck's a ward?"
"Dunno. Mum said it means they're looking after her though they're not her mum an' dad."
"Sounds like bullshit. Bet they use her as a sex toy," Marksen sniggered. "Both of 'em. No way they're shagging each other."
"How d'you reckon?" Stonnie demanded.
"Well, look at that big fucking ape. All them muscles an' stuff. Clearest fucking dyke I ever seen. She'd never be sharing a bed with a bloke."
"You're full of shit."
Marksen laughed. "She probably grabs that Zokou an' shoves her right up her fucking twat. Head first. Then pushes her in an' out." And with that he began to sing:
"Fat ugly dyke
Do I not like
Your ugly hairy body
You stick to lasses
Ones who need glasses
An' keep the fuck away from me."
He seemed about to continue but then abruptly stopped himself. Perhaps he had noticed Stonnie's habitual kicking of the wall increasing in speed and ferocity. Marksen slumped beside his friend again, giving him the occasional glance and giggling to himself.
The evening grew darker. A highly stacked delivery van clattered past. The boys watched it expectantly but the donkey was pulling it carefully and no produce bounced off the back. And they weren't going to risk raiding it just to get an armful of potatoes and swedes. In its wake, a lone youth appeared and turned down Ashel Street. He too was scrutinised closely. He was a stranger. Stonnie and Marksen exchanged looks, wondering whether to challenge him; just as they would be stopped from entering a rival district at this time of night. The youth was rather older and bulkier than they were, however. He also clearly had a short sword fastened to his belt. Even Marksen decided to let Jakks Way be violated by intruders on this occasion. An evening of just hanging around could contain a hundred such episodes. Encounters which promised excitement for just a second; before the wind shifted and evaporated it.
"Boldan's got his eyes on 'em, I heard," Marksen said eventually.
"Who?"
"Your fucking dinner mates. Ugly an' Uglier."
Stonnie pushed his anger down again. Thee was no point hitting Marksen. The boy always lost his fights. And always afterwards managed to find ways to contort his defeats into victories. "How come?"
"I dunno. Wants to know what they're playing at, I reckon. You could get in with Boldan here, you know. He's looking for anyone with info on 'em."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know shit."
"You had fucking dinner with 'em," Marksen exclaimed.
"Yeah, but they didn't say shit when I were there. Not stuff Boldan'd want to hear. Just a load of toss about Ellniss. Reckon that were all bullshit too."
Marksen often talked about 'getting in with' Boldan. It appeared to be his one ambition in life. He might eventually succeed too. Boldan's henchman occasionally joined the street corner loiterers if there was a decent crowd out. Seemingly just for the sake of it. But they always reminded Stonnie of the recruiting officers from the Forgar workshops who sometimes visited his school. Well, let them all try. He wouldn't say so out loud, not yet, but Boldan had even less chance of ensnaring him than the factory who had crippled his father. Stonnie thought that Marksen was a psychopath. He had absolutely no doubts about Cepu Boldan. He owned memories which ensured that.
"I reckon that-" Marksen began then broke off, peering down Mankho's Passage. "Hey," he called out. "Evening, lasses.
Jaricta and Nostell, both girls in their year at school, sauntered into view and stopped in front of them. Stonnie immediately fixed all his attention on Jaricta. All his thoughts and memories too. It was a sign of the flittering qualities of his nascent libido that Yaxi and Zokou were forgotten in a breath. Though possibly also an indication that he recognised the difference between the fantastic and the just about obtainable. He had been very aware of Jaricta for some time now. She was smart and clever, he thought, certainly by the standards of her peers. Her body was just the right side of plump and her breasts were emerging nicely. She had bad skin, legacy of a short but savage smallpox epidemic three years ago which had taken some of his friends. He couldn't see the little craters in the dark, however. And he hadn't been able to see them on the few occasions he had kissed her and felt her up. That was the extent of their relationship thus far, isolated entanglements facilitated by alcohol. He believed they both wanted to start an actual romance and wished at least one of them could find the nerve to begin one. It probably wouldn't happen tonight. Jaricta stared at the ground while he studied her. As soon as she glanced up, he turned away hurriedly. This occurred a lot.
He would also have to get her away from Nostell for once. Nostell always struck him as a female version of Marksen. Not as dangerous maybe, but just as smug and probably even nastier. She and Marksen also always assumed they were the superior halves of their partnerships, dominating the conversation and only addressing each other. "Hey," she answered. "You two here again?"
"Best place in the world."
"Yeah, whatever. What you up to?"
"Just hanging around. Looking for some kicks."
"Found any yet?"
"Maybe have now," Marksen leered. "Now you're here."
Nostell snorted. She did at least have the sense to treat Marksen's suggestive comments with suitable contempt. Stonnie looked up again and managed to hold Jaricta's gaze for a few seconds.
"All right, Jarry," he offered.
"All right, Stonnie," came the shy reply.
"'All right Jarry all right Stonnie,'" Marksen mimicked in a grotesque falsetto. Stonnie started kicking the wall again.
"You hear about Olbaran?" Nostell asked.
"Heard he got kicked out for twatting a teacher," Marksen said. "Old No-Dick weren't it?"
"Yeah. He did more than take a swing at him though. He went fucking psycho. Jarry saw it all. Just launched himself at him. Even fucking bit him."
"That No-Dick's a fucking wanker."
"Yeah, but biting him," Nostell insisted. "What sort of poof does that. He must be a right headcase."
"I dunno," Marksen shrugged. "Sometimes a bloke gets hungry. An' there's plenty of meat on No-Dick."
Nostell giggled. "You're a headcase yourself. Surprised they ha'n't chucked you out yet."
"If they knew half the stuff I'd done…"
Nostell rolled her eyes. "Yeah, big man. Whatever."
The conversation expired. Marksen seemed to want to do more bragging but couldn't find an excuse. Nostell wasn't inclined to give him an opening. Stonnie knew his friend had an eye on her but didn't believe girls of her cast ever went for boys their own age. "OK, we're off," she announced eventually. "Good luck finding them kicks."
"Bye, Stonnie."
"Bye, Jarry."They managed to exchange one more glance as she was walking away. She stared over her shoulder shyly, perhaps wistfully. And then she turned back, guided by Nostell's firm arm, and quickly vanished into the darkness. Stonnie continued gazing after her, ignoring Marksen's predictable parody of their farewell. Moments promising excitement for a second, he thought. Then the wind shifts.
In fact, just hanging around was often dull and dispiriting. Especially as the corner he usually chose was the intersection of Mankho's Passage and Ashel Street. This kept him firmly inside Jakks Way, that district which managed to be both beside the world's epicentre and next to the back end of nowhere. Doing nothing all evening except watching humdrum Jakks Way conduct its menial life, Stonnie would find, confirmed your irrelevance. It stated that you had no home which was truly yours. That you had no money either and no woman. That you were still too powerless to escape your birthplace, and too timid to even visit another district after sunset. All these accusations were in fact true for Stonnie. Which meant that many nights were indeed spent "just hanging around."
Enforcing the sense of scraping a near-empty barrel this evening was the fact that he was alone with Marksen. Marksen was the default, the one could always be relied on to always be around, having even less money and even less parental control. Stonnie liked the boy in a way; he was clever, he was exciting. He preferred, however, a few of his other friends to be around as well. They acted as a buffer for Marksen's excesses and sometimes kept them in check. Alone, Marksen's cunning could turn him into a smartarse. And the recklessness which made so exciting often gave him the look of a psycho. As he matured, Stonnie was increasingly sharing the opinion which the adult world held about Marksen – he was unsettling.
For example: earlier a particularly obese man had waddled past. Both boys, of course, immediately began the chant:
"Who ate all the spuds?
You fat bastard, you fat bastard
You ate all the spuds!"
Without looking round, the man gave an equally traditional response. He waggled his right hand up and down to imply that his tormentors were unduly attached to masturbation. That for Stonnie was the end of the episode. Both parties had continued their customs and satisfied their honour. Marksen, though, started scooping up stones and hurling them at the fat man. He even pursued him a little way down the street, still hurling vigorously. All the missiles missed their target in the gloomy air. The man pretended not to notice, perhaps genuinely did not. If he had turned and confronted his assailant, however, Stonnie was sure that Marksen would continue throwing. And if the man got close enough he would probably start attacking him. Stonnie recalled that when his friend was younger he was particularly fond of torturing cats and lizards. He sometimes thought Marksen desisted because he had grown more ambitious rather than less cruel. That he was still searching for more satisfying victims.
And he was trying company even when relaxing. Stonnie had made the mistake of imparting details of the Tanson dinner party. That had been three nights ago and Marksen still hadn't shut up about it.
"What she look like again?" he demanded.
Stonnie sighed. He was rhythmically kicking a wall with his heel, his usual habit when bored. "Which one?"
"Who you think, nob-end? Not the big one. Seen that fucking dyke lumbering around mesen. The lass. Zoko or whatever."
Stonnie had already given an extensive description of Zokou. He tried capturing in words her odd dichotomies of exoticness and conformity, of timidity and confidence. He always failed and knew the only parts his friend was interested in anyway.
"How good you say her tits were?" Marksen specified helpfully.
"They're OK. Can't complain."
"Big as Lalai's?" Lalai was always used as a marker in these conversations, the girl known to have the largest breasts in their school.
"Naw, but Lalai's a fucking barrel," Stonnie said harshly. "This Zokou's pretty slim. Thin girls always have smaller tits."
"Not the dead good ones. The best ones, they're like…" Marksen sketched in the air the outline of a woman who, Stonnie felt, would be a circus freak. "An' this Zokou's their ward, you say? What the fuck's a ward?"
"Dunno. Mum said it means they're looking after her though they're not her mum an' dad."
"Sounds like bullshit. Bet they use her as a sex toy," Marksen sniggered. "Both of 'em. No way they're shagging each other."
"How d'you reckon?" Stonnie demanded.
"Well, look at that big fucking ape. All them muscles an' stuff. Clearest fucking dyke I ever seen. She'd never be sharing a bed with a bloke."
"You're full of shit."
Marksen laughed. "She probably grabs that Zokou an' shoves her right up her fucking twat. Head first. Then pushes her in an' out." And with that he began to sing:
"Fat ugly dyke
Do I not like
Your ugly hairy body
You stick to lasses
Ones who need glasses
An' keep the fuck away from me."
He seemed about to continue but then abruptly stopped himself. Perhaps he had noticed Stonnie's habitual kicking of the wall increasing in speed and ferocity. Marksen slumped beside his friend again, giving him the occasional glance and giggling to himself.
The evening grew darker. A highly stacked delivery van clattered past. The boys watched it expectantly but the donkey was pulling it carefully and no produce bounced off the back. And they weren't going to risk raiding it just to get an armful of potatoes and swedes. In its wake, a lone youth appeared and turned down Ashel Street. He too was scrutinised closely. He was a stranger. Stonnie and Marksen exchanged looks, wondering whether to challenge him; just as they would be stopped from entering a rival district at this time of night. The youth was rather older and bulkier than they were, however. He also clearly had a short sword fastened to his belt. Even Marksen decided to let Jakks Way be violated by intruders on this occasion. An evening of just hanging around could contain a hundred such episodes. Encounters which promised excitement for just a second; before the wind shifted and evaporated it.
"Boldan's got his eyes on 'em, I heard," Marksen said eventually.
"Who?"
"Your fucking dinner mates. Ugly an' Uglier."
Stonnie pushed his anger down again. Thee was no point hitting Marksen. The boy always lost his fights. And always afterwards managed to find ways to contort his defeats into victories. "How come?"
"I dunno. Wants to know what they're playing at, I reckon. You could get in with Boldan here, you know. He's looking for anyone with info on 'em."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know shit."
"You had fucking dinner with 'em," Marksen exclaimed.
"Yeah, but they didn't say shit when I were there. Not stuff Boldan'd want to hear. Just a load of toss about Ellniss. Reckon that were all bullshit too."
Marksen often talked about 'getting in with' Boldan. It appeared to be his one ambition in life. He might eventually succeed too. Boldan's henchman occasionally joined the street corner loiterers if there was a decent crowd out. Seemingly just for the sake of it. But they always reminded Stonnie of the recruiting officers from the Forgar workshops who sometimes visited his school. Well, let them all try. He wouldn't say so out loud, not yet, but Boldan had even less chance of ensnaring him than the factory who had crippled his father. Stonnie thought that Marksen was a psychopath. He had absolutely no doubts about Cepu Boldan. He owned memories which ensured that.
"I reckon that-" Marksen began then broke off, peering down Mankho's Passage. "Hey," he called out. "Evening, lasses.
Jaricta and Nostell, both girls in their year at school, sauntered into view and stopped in front of them. Stonnie immediately fixed all his attention on Jaricta. All his thoughts and memories too. It was a sign of the flittering qualities of his nascent libido that Yaxi and Zokou were forgotten in a breath. Though possibly also an indication that he recognised the difference between the fantastic and the just about obtainable. He had been very aware of Jaricta for some time now. She was smart and clever, he thought, certainly by the standards of her peers. Her body was just the right side of plump and her breasts were emerging nicely. She had bad skin, legacy of a short but savage smallpox epidemic three years ago which had taken some of his friends. He couldn't see the little craters in the dark, however. And he hadn't been able to see them on the few occasions he had kissed her and felt her up. That was the extent of their relationship thus far, isolated entanglements facilitated by alcohol. He believed they both wanted to start an actual romance and wished at least one of them could find the nerve to begin one. It probably wouldn't happen tonight. Jaricta stared at the ground while he studied her. As soon as she glanced up, he turned away hurriedly. This occurred a lot.
He would also have to get her away from Nostell for once. Nostell always struck him as a female version of Marksen. Not as dangerous maybe, but just as smug and probably even nastier. She and Marksen also always assumed they were the superior halves of their partnerships, dominating the conversation and only addressing each other. "Hey," she answered. "You two here again?"
"Best place in the world."
"Yeah, whatever. What you up to?"
"Just hanging around. Looking for some kicks."
"Found any yet?"
"Maybe have now," Marksen leered. "Now you're here."
Nostell snorted. She did at least have the sense to treat Marksen's suggestive comments with suitable contempt. Stonnie looked up again and managed to hold Jaricta's gaze for a few seconds.
"All right, Jarry," he offered.
"All right, Stonnie," came the shy reply.
"'All right Jarry all right Stonnie,'" Marksen mimicked in a grotesque falsetto. Stonnie started kicking the wall again.
"You hear about Olbaran?" Nostell asked.
"Heard he got kicked out for twatting a teacher," Marksen said. "Old No-Dick weren't it?"
"Yeah. He did more than take a swing at him though. He went fucking psycho. Jarry saw it all. Just launched himself at him. Even fucking bit him."
"That No-Dick's a fucking wanker."
"Yeah, but biting him," Nostell insisted. "What sort of poof does that. He must be a right headcase."
"I dunno," Marksen shrugged. "Sometimes a bloke gets hungry. An' there's plenty of meat on No-Dick."
Nostell giggled. "You're a headcase yourself. Surprised they ha'n't chucked you out yet."
"If they knew half the stuff I'd done…"
Nostell rolled her eyes. "Yeah, big man. Whatever."
The conversation expired. Marksen seemed to want to do more bragging but couldn't find an excuse. Nostell wasn't inclined to give him an opening. Stonnie knew his friend had an eye on her but didn't believe girls of her cast ever went for boys their own age. "OK, we're off," she announced eventually. "Good luck finding them kicks."
"Bye, Stonnie."
"Bye, Jarry."They managed to exchange one more glance as she was walking away. She stared over her shoulder shyly, perhaps wistfully. And then she turned back, guided by Nostell's firm arm, and quickly vanished into the darkness. Stonnie continued gazing after her, ignoring Marksen's predictable parody of their farewell. Moments promising excitement for a second, he thought. Then the wind shifts.
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