By Petros Cowley

The first in a sequence of very important stories for the edification of mankind.

A whiskey dusk poured down over the horizon, bathing the crowns of the birch ahead, their golden leaves. A road of stone ran away before these trees, and the grass before that grew unseasonably green. Little saffron florae suffered through the blades, where the swooping forays of the blackbirds snatched up gloopy, wriggling, glutinous things, and then an awful sound came belching through the scene. A tractor came veering along the road. Who was the slouching carcass piloting this vehicle? Who was in that tractor shouting things so obscene at the countryside and nobody? It was Nobbo the drunk. And by God was he drunk, driving around in his tractor. Off he bloody went, pulverising a rabbit with his enormous back wheel.

            Ten minutes or so later came along another man. It was Abraham. What was Abraham of all people doing out here, so far from the town? Abraham looked down at the two-dimensional rabbit and sighed; he felt the same sort of way. Back in town, about an hour earlier, Abraham was begrudgingly making his way to the shops after running out food again back at the flat when a man in a pork pie hat stopped right before him. I’m sorry to bother you. Can I ask you a favour? Abraham looked him up and down. Depends what the favour is, replied Abraham. Look, mate, if I give you a hundred quid, can you take this – the man took out a strange … from his jacket, proffering it to Abraham – to a village called Jangly Bottom? Abraham considered the man’s words. How far away is this Jangly Bottom? And where in this Jangly Bottom am I supposed to take it? And the man replied, scratching his head in some manner: Jangly Bottom is about three miles south of here along the big road. When you’re nearby you should hear it. Take that up to the church, leave it with them and they’ll take it where it needs to go. Abraham then inquired: I should hear it? The man explained that there weren’t any road signs for Jangly Bottom, but that after about three miles along the road, Abraham would arrive at a big tree and hear a lot of noise from the west, and that he should follow this noise west to the village of Jangly Bottom. Abraham considered the offer a little more – he really didn’t want to go out into the middle of nowhere to take this … to some strange village, but he’d very little money and so with a sigh took the … and then the hundred pounds that the man had then taken out of another pocket. How do you know, asked Abraham, taking the money, that I’m not just going to take the money? The man told him not to be silly and get on his way before it grew dark. Then the man ran away. Abraham looked down at this … to try now and ascertain what exactly it was meant to be. He squinted his eyes at it, turned it over. But he had no idea. He couldn’t even say exactly what colour it was, or how big it was, or how heavy it was, or even just where exactlyit was. A woman was walking past, and he asked the woman if she could figure out what on earth this … was. The woman looked at the …, squinted her eyes, adjusted the position of her glasses, craned her head forward towards the … and squinted one last time before looking back up to Abraham, shaking her head, apologising, and then walking away. So he put it into his jacket, this …, and turned around to make his way with it to Jangly Bottom. And where we found him looking down at that rabbit, he was still on his way to Jangly Bottom, had been for fifty-seven minutes. The road was not so big anymore.

            Abraham, was very tired. And it was getting nippy out there in those hinterlands.

            He looked over towards the birches through which the downward daylight drooled, and with chattering teeth noticed through these trees a little structure. It was made of glass, or some other transparent material, the light diffracting through it quite resplendently. It was rather far away, erected in an apparently arbitrary place somewhere in a field. He walked off the road, onto the grass, through the pale boles and under the golden canopy, and once he was through the birches hopped over a trench of pooey mud and out into this field which rose ahead of him brownly until its dissolution in the sunset. He approached this transparent structure. It was a greenhouse.

            Abraham hobbled in and hubbled, huddled on the floor amidst the plants, shutting the door behind him. It was lovely and warm in the green house. Its air was throbbing, hot. The leaves of the plants hung ponderously about his head. All very cosy. Some tomatoes were growing in there. He only intended to sit in there a few minutes, just to get his bones warmed back up a little, and to have enough time to make it to Jangly Bottom before dark. It wasn’t that he minded walking about after dark. That was perfectly fine for him. He was going to have to walk back through the dark, anyway. But the man who had given him the … had been a curious fellow and so Abraham thought it best to follow his exact instructions and get there before dark, in case of any unwanted consequences or complications or whatnot. The … being mentioned, Abraham took it out of his jacket again and set it down on the ground before himself to have another crack at looking at the thing well. Once more he failed at this, but he gave it a name at least: a “Jangler”; after its terminus, you see. So Abraham looked up from his Jangler, beginning to warm, and looked out at the sky-treacle. Nice and snug in the greenhouse, his eyelids followed the light down into darkness.

            About half an hour or so later Abraham awoke to a noise. It was himself. He’d said something in his sleep. He cursed the darkness as he rubbed his eyes and rose to his feet, turned and exited the greenhouse to trudge his way back to the road and continue on to Jangly bottom. It was indeed rather dark now, not quite night yet but well past evening, a navy-blue sort of thing above him, but as he was trudging through that field back towards the birches, he noticed to his right a glow upon the horizon. He considered where he was and surmised that, yes, he was west of the road.

            There came first over the horizon a treetop, and its trunk followed, and its trunk kept going, and kept going as Abraham neared the horizon, until Abraham heard a noise, and with a few steps more, there it was – Jangly Bottom. The village itself was a somewhat average looking thing for an English village – a smattering of black-and-white houses with thatched-roofs. All their little windows were flickering like candle-lights in the near night gloom, giving the village in their combination what from the top of the hill where Abraham now stood looked a sort of fuzzy orange cocoon. He wasn’t very far from the village, for that matter; only the hill dropped rather steeply before him. The church he had to reach was atop a large heath on the opposite side of the village, which caused Abraham some amount of consternation. He made his way to go down the hill. Going down this hill was a stone path with a bannister which he bounced his hand along. And the noise? What was the noise of this Jangly Bottom? It wasn’t a constant noise. Abraham so far had only heard it the one time, but bloody hell did he hear it. It was an omnipresent, disembodied voice, which called out the following: Hannah Housetrout, your tea is ready. Get back home now, will you?  It was a Tannoy system blasting out announcements over the village. There came another: Peter’s newsagents will be shut tomorrow until the early afternoon. Pete and Annie need to go to the city about some matter of their own. And while Abraham was massaging his perplexity over this particular, so lost in bewilderment that he didn’t even hear the footsteps crunching up behind him, a hand thumped upon his shoulder. It was a massive hand.

            Oh! went Abraham, spinning around to be greeted with a pair of wellington boots, a tartan shirt, a beard and bright bald scalp, a monster of a man holding onto a staff of what looked like driftwood. A gnashing stench of drink was issuing from this giant. Hello there, the man began in a lurid accent, though not sounding particularly drunk. Haven’t seen you about these parts before. Abraham collected himself. Gave me quite a fright there. No, no, I was just passing through. The man continued to Abraham’s bemusement: I’m Wallace V! and Wallace V thrust forth another of his enormous hands for Abraham to shake. With no reason not to, Abraham obliged, and told the man his own name. Do you like our new system, eh? Wallace V asked, alluding to the Tannoy set-up they’d got booming through the sky as another message came through about whatever it was. I won’t say it’s not impressive, Wallace, Abraham replied, but I must say I’m rather confused by it. The two men started walking again, down the stone hill-path towards the village of Jangly Bottom. Can’t you just use your phones or something? Wallace V gave a short but titanic laugh at this and explained to Abraham that: Oh, we’ve given up using phones here in the Jangly. We stopped that last year. It was a matter of principle, not of convenience or practicality. We do have landlines, of course. When Abraham turned to ask a further question, a flask had materialised in the big Wallace’s hand, which Wallace proceeded to sip from regularly for the remaining duration of their walk. Wallace offered Abraham some, but Abraham politely refused.

            So Abraham and Wallace V colloquized in a sort-of manner as they walked into the village, passing into its orange cocoon of light. Abraham was learning a lot from this Wallace V fellow, who had a lot of worthy things to say about the value of community with his deep and booming voice. He became quite eloquent at points. For one: There is a pleasure in company for its own sake, a pleasure overlooked too often. Restlessness and boredom, whatever else, these are only a matter of wanting what just isn’t there. People these days are too keen to forget the pointlessness of their doings, and so they never manage to settle down into anything, nothing they really like, at least. Old age needn’t be such a horror. Accepting the pointlessness of this life allows one to choose what matters, you know. There’s a freedom in pointlessness. So, we chose what is simplest here, most readily joyous – the familiar company of others.

            Abraham thought it sweet and pleasant how warmly the villagers who were out in the streets greeted him and Wallace as they passed by. On one of the little thatched-roof houses, to his surprise, Abraham noted a blue plaque. Wallace explained that the eminent philosopher Arthur Grant had grown up in Jangly Bottom and that that house which bore the plaque was the philosopher’s childhood home. The plaque had recently been put there by some frowning men who arrived in a van. Abraham had heard of the philosopher but wasn’t sure exactly as to what any of his theories were. Wallace wasn’t so sure either, but told Abraham that the man found his success a decade or so back with a work of some title or other. I wouldn’t know about these things now. But we’re very proud of him, even if he doesn’t come to see us so often anymore, what with him being famous and all that. I knew the man as a boy. Even then he was always inside reading his books and whatnot. A studious little chap he was. Very shy, but with a kind heart. We were all very sad when his family left us here in the Jangly. You know his brother died. Little Simon Grant. Ah, well, of course you don’t, but he was a right good laugh when we were boys and I thought I’d bring him up. Abraham expressed his condolences and then Wallace asked him more about himself. Abraham told him he was a student at the Warwick University, studying physics, but that he rather hated his studies, found them awfully dull; he told Wallace that he’d been living up in Leamington with some friends since the previous year, but that next year he’d be finishing university and probably moving back home. Wallace asked him if he’d grown attached to Leamington, and Abraham told him in a way. But I wouldn’t say that I’ve grown attached to it, rather that it’s attached itself to me. Like some sort of rust. Or a parasite. Wallace chuckled but told him not to be so down and to enjoy the company of his friends.Anyway, shortly the pair of them drew up to the village pub. It really was dark now. Wallace made to go in.

            Well, said Abraham, I must be going now, Wallace. It was lovely speaking to you. But Wallace looked taken aback, upset, even. You mean you’re not coming in, Abraham?! Abraham stood there in a confusion. Come on now, continued Wallace, you can’t stop by the Jangly and not have a drink with us. It’d make us all very sad. I’ll buy you one as a welcome. Abraham felt loved.

            It was warm room of modest size from the 1970’s. It smelt of petrichor and at moments pastries. The half a dozen or so people sat at the tables were partaking all together in soft conversation and smoking. Wallace greeted everyone as he entered, and they all greeted him. They greeted Abraham, too, and Wallace told them Abraham was from out of the village, just passing through. With smiles they all assured Abraham that he was most welcome any time and got back to their conversation. Behind the bar was an enormous woman, about as large as the Wallace himself, glaring at Wallace in jest with her hands at her hips. Wallace laughed, nudging Abraham, almost knocking him over. Don’t be frightened of her now, Abraham. That’s just Helen the Hurler. Helen tutted, again in jest, and told Wallace not to go frightening people away from her pub with that ridiculous name you’ve given me. She turned to address Abraham. Don’t you listen to what this silly man says about me, now. Wallace laughed affectionately at Abraham’s side. He’s always making fun of my bigness. ‘Helen the Hurler’. The thing doesn’t even rhyme. Wallace’s laugh amplified – Wallace was evidently very pleased with his name for Helen. He repeated it a few times to himself as he laughed. Helen laughed too. Now, my lovelies, she continued, what can I get for you both? Wallace turned to Abraham and winked at him, turning back to Helen. Two pints of the trouncer, your hurliness. Wallace looked again to Abraham. And are you hungry, Abraham? Helen makes a bloody marvellous pie. You got any in there now, Helen? Helen said she always does and that they’d only need wait five minutes. Piping hot and homely, she assured the men that the pies would be. Abraham felt a little embarrassed but said why not. Helen poured their pints of ‘the trouncer’ – which was some sort of opaque cider with a smell almost of chlorine. The men thanked her affably and went over to the other characters who were sat about conversing.

            A little word on these figures now: In the far corner was Freddy the Bladder, who was the village postman and a great frequenter of the toilet. He would assure the others that there was nothing wrong with him, that he just drinks a lot of water, but Wallace, or some other character we’re yet to meet would remind him that he’d been in this tavern the last six hours drying himself out with cigarettes. Freddy would chuckle and hobble off into the toilet. Then there was Annie the Anvil, who worked in Pete’s newsagents down the road, and was the wife of Pete, who we’ll come to next. Annie was a small and faint little woman with the sweetest of smiles so her epithet Abraham had thought to be ironic, but as Freddy explained to him she had earned that name after one time when she was walking up by the church and a chunk of the wall came loose, crashing down onto her head; Annie was totally fine but for a scratch or two; the same could not be said for chunk of wall: Annie’s head had rent the thing in two! Annie blushed thoroughly throughout the telling of this story, but in a way that betrayed pride; everyone felt very pleased for Annie. She would start almost all of her sentences with ‘you see’. Then there was Pete the Newsagents (with the s) called so for obvious reasons. His main contributions to the conversation consisted of winding up the gentleman sat next to him every now and again for his own and the rest of the party’s amusement, an old man named Jerome the Joyous whom the others referred to mainly as ‘the Joy’, and who possessed a particular hatred for the French language – Pete was rather fluent and found a tickle in replying to old Jerome’s questions in French. Jerome turned bright red at one point and Annie quipped: You see, you should have entered your old self into the tomato competition last week; that old head of yours is twice the size of the monster Wally here won with! Old Jerome snapped back with: I’ll see to it that it’s the whole church next time! and everyone laughed. The final character was the cousin of Freddy the Bladder, Martin the Mad whom was called so for his lazy eye. He had little shame about it and would even use it to his advantage. For instance, at one point he was speaking to Freddy about his painting that he does here and again, and Freddy made some remark to the effect of oh, not your paintings again. At that moment Helen the Hurler was coming around with Abraham’s and Wallace V’s pies so Martin told Freddy that he wasn’t talking to him, but to Helen, and that Freddy wouldn’t know a bloody thing about fine art. But Freddy was quick to reply that well you can’t even see the bloody art, fine it may or not be. Even Martin laughed at that one. Abraham asked Wallace what his epithet was, and Wallace reminded him that he was Wallace the fifth. Not because of his lineage or anything. Nobody could remember why; it had stuck before any memories.

            So what was it that brought you into these parts again, Abraham? inquired Helen after she’d sat down to join the company herself. Well, began Abraham, I was instructed by a man back in Leamington to bring a certain item up to the church here, I presume the one on the heath up there. I’ve got it with me now; I wonder if any of you might be able to tell me what on earth it is, this peculiar thing I’ve been tasked with delivering. I’ve called it a Jangler, after Jangly Bottom, for lack of a better name. Let me show it to you now. Abraham took another swig of his opaque cider and, placing the mug back down onto the table, reached into his jacket to retrieve the thing. But it wasn’t there. He tried his other pocket. And his other ones, too. But no, it was gone. Oh dear, said Abraham, it’s gone. The others asked what it looked like, but he reminded them that that’s just what he was hoping they could have told him. He remembered then taking it out in the greenhouse and half deflated in his seat. Ah. I know where I left it. It’s rather nearby. When I finish this, I’ll go and get it; it won’t take me twenty minutes. Wallace insisted that he’d come with him since it was dark and all and Abraham thanked him for the company.

            Soon enough Abraham and Wallace, Wallace’s bald head glinting under the moon and his staff in hand, headed back out towards the hill to ascend the path and venture out into the fields up there.Wallace had brought a torch with him. As they rose up the hill-path by the crumbling of its stones under their feet and by the illumination of Wallace’s torch, Wallace turned to Abraham with a warning look. I hope you’re not taking me out into old Willy’s land now. Abraham looked at Wallace confused. Willy owns a field up here. Me and him had a big falling out after the tomato competition last week and so I wouldn’t want to run into the man again now. I’m a big human myself – but so is he, and he’s a cunning bastard at that so I don’t know what tricks he’ll try to play on me. Abraham inquired about this ‘tomato competition’ that had had mention back in the pub, too. And Wallace explained that in Jangly Bottom we take great pride in our cultivation of tomatoes – those of the larger variety, you know. Now every year we have a competition to see who in the village can grow the largest tomato. I believe Annie back there mentioned in passing that I won this year. And so I did. You should have seen the thing. It was about thirty inches in its circumference. My best yet. Watch your step now. There you go. Anyway, big Willy came second. He accused me of cheating and pumping my tomatoes full of steroids and whatnot. And then he squashed my poor tomato with his boot, so a great old brawl ensued. He lives on the outskirts of the Jangly and every year something like this happens when he resurfaces for the tomato competition. He’s something of a nemesis of mine, if you will now. So where abouts did you leave this ‘peculiar thing’ of yours then? Abraham responded saying that he’d left it in a greenhouse just up there over the ridge of the hill and Wallace’s mouth went into a right twist. That’s Willy’s land alright. We ought to be quick about this. Now are you sure you left it in there, Abraham? Abraham nodded his head and explained that he’d taken it out for the looking at when he’d gone in there to warm up during his long walk from the town but that he didn’t remember picking it back up again. Wallace sighed. Alright then, Abe. To Willy’s fields we go.

            As they rounded the steepness of the field, they began to notice fresh tractor trails scrawled about through the mud. These tractor trails led them into Willy’s field where immediately to the side of these tracks was a pile of glass and plant matter that Abraham concluded must have been the greenhouse which he’d slept in. They both agreed it a glad thing that Abraham hadn’t still been inside. They picked about in the rubble to look for Abraham’s Jangler, but the thing was nowhere to be found. It was a thorough search they conducted but it was a failed one, too. They gave up and headed back to the Jangly Bottom and its pub, Wallace relating to Abraham of the many episodes of his feud with the big Willy, whose greenhouse that had been.

            They re-entered the pub where the others were eagerly awaiting theirs and the Jangler’s arrival. We couldn’t find the scheming thing, said Wallace V, to the others’ disappointment. And I think old Nobbo’s been on the drink again. We found Willy’s greenhouse trampled into the mud just by a fresh set of tractor trails. Anybody seen Nobbo driving about today? Those sat stuck out their lower lips and shook their heads. Oh well, continued Wallace, somebody’s destroyed that gobshite’s greenhouse. The bastard will be livid. Helen the Hurler rose and walked over to the bar. Come now, Wally, let me pour you and our friend Abraham here another mug of the old trouncer. The two entrants thanked her and returned to their chairs, where a new character had since joined in their absence. This woman was Gerty the Garden Gnome, a little woman who was the sister of Pete, no steeper than four-foot-tall in her little entirety, and who, as the others relayed, much like her brother Pete would’ve, had addressed the Joy upon her entry with a Bonsoir, transmuting the old man purple. I’ll squash you, you little arse, had replied the Joy, the Gnome then seating herself with a gnomly little chuckle. The Joy looked quite pleased for a fleeting moment with how Annie had portrayed him in her recount of that interaction.

            The company spoke a little more in a pleasant old way; these people of Jangly Bottom seemed in possession of an endless stock of anecdotes. After a story about the time a man who wasn’t there that night named Bruce the Brute had met a near doppelganger of himself and played a little scheme on Martin the Mad, the conversation turned to the old philosopher who’d once lived in the town, the Arthur Grant, and the tragic fate of his little brother Simon Grant. He was a Catholic Bishop, you know. He’d apparently been out for a walk somewhere in London when a plank came down and flung him up into the sky. He died a little after landing back down. Martin the Mad perked up at this topic and asked if anyone had read the philosopher’s supposed masterpiece, The Gangway to Truth, or however it was called by Martin. Nobody had. Martin assured them that it was a hell of a read – it took him a month to get the meaning of the first sentence; he tried explaining it, but by that point the others had lost him. In any case, whatever words would have followed there were severed from the conversation by a rude interruption.

            The doors burst open and another enormous bald man wondered in with a cow. Oh god, it’s Willy, someone said. Now you look here, began Helen, we don’t want any trouble now, Willy. And what have you brought that bastard cow of yours in here for? The pub is no good place for a beast of that sort. Might you want a drink, Willy? Might your cow want a drink? We can all g- But Helen was interrupted when Willy roared across the room: Wallace! Wallace sighed and rose from his chair, turning to face big Willy on his feet. What in God’s glorious name do you want, Willy? Willy caused an evil smile with his mouth and pulled something out from his jacket. It was the Jangler! What’s that you’ve got, asked Wallace, beginning to approach Willy, you envious shite? Willy raised it into the air for all to behold. Everyone looked rather baffled. You left this behind, Wallace, when you came to enact your revenge on my lovely greenhouse. And Wallace said: What are you talking about, you mess of a man? What even is that bloody thing you’ve got there? I can hardly make it out. And Willy said: I don’t know but I can tell it’s yours, you bastard! And with that Willy threw it directly into Wallace V’s face. Wallace scrambled about a moment but then charged into Willy. They fell to the ground and tumbled about in a cloud of roaring dust. Helen rushed over to separate the raging bald men but got a boot in the eye from somewhere. And when Pete came over to make sure she was alright, she was in such a state of panic that she gave Pete a bodge in the head there out of instinct, sending him down into the brawl on the ground, Helen diving in after him. Annie rushed in and headbutted Helen, and one by one the others joined too, even Freddy the Bladder when he came back out from the toilet. The cow did what it could, too.

            Abraham thought it best to leave, all that violence and bovinity going on.

            He crept around them and slipped out into the street where the Tannoy system was making some final announcement over the racket booming out of the pub: The Tannoy system will be switched off for the night. Sleep tight, Jangly Bottom. Coming down the street Abraham saw a tractor now swerving about. That must be Nobbo, thought Abraham. Nobbo crashed into the front wall of the pub with his tractor and then stumbled in for a drink or whatnot. A few moments later Nobbo came back out through the window, along with the cow, the pair of them splattering out into the road and making a right gruesome mess with themselves. Through the empty frame Abraham saw Helen with her arms raised forth.

            Anyway, Abraham made himself scarce here and went up to the church with his Jangler – oh yes, he’d picked it up on his way out. When he got to the top of the heath the vicar was strolling about the premises of the church. The orange glow of the windows girdled the building lazily. Abraham approached him and presented the man with the Jangler. The vicar was baffled by the object, and told Abraham that a church was no place for such a monstrosity of God’s law as that, but the vicar was quite willing to have a chat with Abraham so long as he put it well away. Walking with the vicar atop the heath, around the church, beneath the night’s stars, Abraham explained that a man had told him to bring it here, but the vicar refused this entirely. Abraham then got to telling the vicar about much of what you’ve read here.