The Green Man

Jo Field

Brian has finished telling the story of his Aunt and her Sixty-Seven Suitors. He takes a last pull at his pint and leans back in his chair exhausted.

            Alan stands to gather the glasses.

            'My round,' he says.

            The Green Man's jam-packed, bursting at the seams. They've been lucky to find three seats - the ones by the fire, avoided by others because of the intense heat. Tony won't be parted from his pale linen jacket, which is  crumpling nicely; Brian, in his Great Bustard T-shirt, is red and sweaty. Alan seems glad to escape to the bar.

            He's gone for some time. Brian embarks on the tale of his great-grandfather (or maybe great-great) and his Get-Rich-Quick Scheme with the Monkeys.

            'Blimey,' Alan says, slapping down the glasses. 'That was a marathon. Sorry. They're a bit on the empty side.'

            Brian licks his lips and flourishes a little finger ready to address his beer.

            'You'll never guess who I bumped into over there,' says Alan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Mike Ratcliffe!'

            'Mike Who?' says Brian.

            'Mike Ratcliffe. You remember Mike?'

            'Not Mike with the Jag and the patio?' Brian says.

            'The very same. Haven't seen him in here for months.'

            Tony says, 'Where's this Mike? I need a Jimmy. I'll check him out. See if I remember him.'

            'You'll remember him,' says Alan.

            Brian's only got as far as the fourth monkey when Tony's back.

            'That's never Mike Ratcliffe,' he says. 'He's way too young.'

            'Ah,' says Alan. 'I can tell you a story about that.'

            And, although Brian has another sixteen monkeys to attend to, so he does.

           'About a year ago,' he says, 'Mike's having trouble with his missus, whatsername . . . Eileen.'

            'Ailsa,' says Tony.

            'Yeah, Ailsa. Anyway, he's pretty sure she's having an affair. And he starts to get worried; you know, sort of a mid-life crisis. So he buys himself a pair of leather trousers.'

            'What good'll that do?' says Brian.

            'None at all.' 

            'He's got 'em on now!' Tony says. 'I noticed that. What a prat.'

            'Anyway, the man in the leather-trouser shop, let's call him Mr A, sees what old Mike's up to - seen it all before - and he says to him, on the quiet sort of: "I can recommend something to go with those, sir."'

            'Nudge nudge, wink wink,' puts in Brian.

            'And this guy slips a piece of folded paper into Mike's hand with his receipt. When Mike gets back to his Jag . . .'

            'It's only an old X-type, that Jag,' says Brian.

            'When he gets back to his car, he opens up the piece of paper Mr A gave him and there's a telephone number on it. Well he's got to ring it, hasn't he?'

            'Why?' says Tony.

            'Wouldn't you?' Brian says. 'Of course you would!'

            'And this sexy woman's voice at the other end says "Ye-e-e-s?". "Mr A told me to ring this number," says Mike. "Something to do with my leather trousers." So the woman - we'll call her Miss B - gives him her address and tells him to come right on down. When she's hung up, Mike's not too sure about the whole thing, but he figures nothing ventured and all that and he drives over, getting pretty excited on the way. It's this big old house with a flight of steps up to the front door and one of those iron bell-pulls. When the door opens, it isn't a woman there. It's a man, very tall and thin, in a dark suit and a face that's all sunken and yellow.'

            'Oh go on!' says Brian. 'That's over-egging it.'

            'Straight up. A bit of a downer for poor old Mike isn't it. "Mr A sent me," he says, a bit nonplussed, and the man - Mr C - tells him "Of course, come in", in the very same voice that was on the telephone.'

            'So you're saying there's no Miss B at all?'

            'Miss B was a red herring.'

            'Huh!' snorts Brian.

            'Mr C ushers him in and opens this other creaky door and takes him down some stone stairs and into a cellar.'

            'And he just follows on tamely behind? Pull the other one!'

            'In the cellar it's lit up like Piccadilly Circus, and there are these ancient computers all around the walls, each one the size of a Mini.'

            'A what?'

            'A Mini. A small car. And here there is a woman, but she's about sixty and not attractive, and she's wearing one of those white coats. This is Doctor . . . umm . . .'

            'D?' Tony says.

            'When Dr D turns round, Mike sees that she's got a kind of blank look to her. Not much behind the eyes. And there's something weird about her neck.'

            'A scarf?'

            'No. Her neck is weird.'

            'Weird in what way?'

            'Folded, sort of, and badly scarred. Dr D asks him to follow her and she leads him off between all these chuntering computers and opens another door. They go through into a smaller room with a desk, and when Dr D closes the door it's completely silent. She makes Mike sit down, and she sits facing him across the desk. "I need to find out a bit about you," she says to him, and he's getting intrigued now so he says "Fire away". She asks him his age and he says, I don't know, forty-nine, fifty.'

            'How come he doesn't know?'

            'He does know. It's me that doesn't. It doesn't matter anyway.'

            'Reckon he's fifty,' Brian says. 'Fifty if he's a day. Must be.'

            'OK, he says fifty.'

            'He doesn't look fifty,' says Tony.

            'Mind you,' says Brian, 'this was a year ago you say?'

            'OK. Forty-nine. And this Dr Um . . .'

            'D.'

            'Dr D, she says: "And you don't like being fifty?'

            'Forty-nine.'

            'Forty-nine. And Mike says no he doesn't, much. Dr D asks him how old he'd prefer to be and he thinks a bit and says thirty-two was a good age for him. He's just met Eileen . . .'

            'Ailsa.'

            'But he's not tied down yet, you know? Work's going well . . .'

            'What's he do?'

            'What?'

            'Mike. What kind of work's he do?'

            'Search me. Something in the building line I think. Whatever it is, it's good, back when he was thirty-three.'

            'Two.'

            'Thirty-two.'

            'I wouldn't be thirty-two again, not if you paid me,' Brian says.

            'And then she says . . .'

            'Thirty-two was bad for me, I remember. Thirty-seven, now. Thirty-seven was better.'

            'And then she says . . .'

            'But twenty-eight. Ah, twenty-eight! Now you're talking. What I wouldn't give to be twenty-eight again!'

            'Shut up Brian,' says Tony. 'Let him get on with it or we'll be here all night.'

            'She says, "We can make it happen. We here at RetroTherapyâ can make you thirty-whatever again." Well, naturally Mike's flabbergasted, not to say sceptical. "And how can you do that?" he asks. She tells him, with a combination of hypnotism and a little light laser work.'

            'Surgery?'

            'Yeah sort of. Well, Mike, he stands up quick to go, being someone who faints at the sight of a needle. But she calms him down, says it doesn't hurt, the computers work it all out, and then there's Professor . . . F, is it?'

            'Probably E.'

            'There's Professor E's input, which is like magic and has a lot to do with the non-physical. "But how much will it cost?" asks Mike. Notice he says "will". He's tempted. Dr D prevaricates. She says, "How did you feel when you were thirty-three?"'

            'Thirty-two.'

            'On reflection, I think it was thirty-three after all. He says he doesn't remember exactly, just good. "Wouldn't you like to feel that good again?" says Dr . . . the doctor. Mike agrees yes he would, of course he would. "And so you can," she says. "How much?" asks Mike. "Absolutely nothing," she says.'

            'Pah!' scoffs Brian.

            'Absolutely nothing in monetary terms. "All we need is for you to give us your wife, Eil . . . Ailsa. Which shouldn't trouble you much since things are bad between you and she's having an affair with . . . with somebody else anyway."'

            'Who's she having it away with?' demands Brian.

            'Just get on with it,' says Tony.

            'We'll call him Mr F. Well Mike can see the logic in that, he doesn't have to think about it too long. "What'll happen to her?" he asks. "Oh she'll be OK . . . eventually," says the good doctor. "And Mr F?" asks Mike. "Ah," she says. "That's another story."'

            'Oh come off it!'  Brian objects.

            'I'm going out for a smoke,' Tony says. He mops his forehead with a grimy handkerchief, gropes in his pocket. 'It's too damn hot in here.'

            'Not so fast,' says Alan, draining his glass. 'It's your round, isn't it?'

            While Tony's gone, Brian pursues his Monkey story.

            'For God's sake,' says Alan. 'How long's he going to be? He hasn't sneaked off for that fag after all has he?'

            'He's meant to be giving up,' Brian says.

            'Mike Ratcliffe's gone.' Tony's back, carefully placing the glasses on their beer mats and looking longingly towards the back door.

            'Sit down,' Brian tells him. 'You don't need a smoke. What're you doing with that packet in your pocket?'

            'I've got a lot on my mind. It relaxes me.'

            'Don't you want to hear about Mike?' says Alan. 'That should be relaxing.'

            Reluctantly, Tony sinks into his chair again.

            'Where was I? Ah yes. So Mike goes off, promising to bring Ei . . . Ailsa to the house the following evening.'

            'What for?'

            'Dr D insisted. Keep up Tony. When he gets home, he tells Ailsa he's made an appointment for them with a marriage counsellor and the next day he comes back with her to the big house.'

            'Is he wearing his leather trousers?' Brian asks.

            'Probably not. Not yet. They're met by Mr . . . C, and this time he shows them into a different room where there's this older guy with a beard who turns out to be Professor D.'

            'I thought it was Professor E.'

            'That's right. Professor E asks Ailsa what she thinks is wrong with their marriage and she says it's a bit dull, although she appreciates that Mike's not a bad chap really in spite of the fact that he's been slightly strange recently.'

            'How strange?'

            'Just slightly. Taking an interest in the pop charts, that kind of thing. Then Professor E asks Mike the same question, and he agrees the marriage is dull and complains about Ailsa having an affair, which of course she denies. Hotly. "But we know about Mr F," says the Professor, which puts her on the spot somewhat. "You must come with me," the Professor tells her, and he leads her through a small door in the corner which they haven't noticed before, and Mike sits and waits. While he's waiting he's dreaming up all sorts of horrible things that could happen to Mr F. Eventually the Professor comes back through the door alone. "She won't be troubling you any longer," he says. "What have you done with her?" shouts Mike. There's a smell of burning, he notices, and he's understandably concerned.'

            'Ridiculous,' says Tony.

            'Now the Prof asks him all sorts of questions, and takes measurements and looks at his photographs.'

            'Whose photographs?'

            'Mike's.'

            'What photographs? You didn't say anything about photographs.'

            'Dr D had asked him to bring photos of himself at thirty-two.'

            'Thirty-three.'

            'You never said she did.'

            'Well she did. And the Professor reckons he can make a really good job of it and says he'll just get Dr D to feed the information into the computer and then they can get started. So Mr C's called in, and he takes Mike upstairs, where things look a bit more modern, and tells him to undress and get into bed.'

            'Nudge nudge,' says Brian.

            'Mr C gives Mike something to send him to sleep and when he wakes up he's in another room, like a cave.'

            'Look, Alan,' Tony says. 'How long's this going to take? And just what's the point of it anyway?'

            'Point? What makes you think there's a point, Tony? It's a story, that's all. You didn't ask about the point of Brian's aunt's seventy-six suitors, did you?'

            'Sixty-seven.'

            'It felt like more. What's your hurry? You haven't got to get home for anything have you? No one to get back to is there? So, Mike can smell that burning smell, and there's a sudden gout of flame that shoots out from the wall and scorches him in the face. And when he opens his eyes again, everything looks different. Everything feels different.'

            'How different?'

            'Different like he's thirty-something again. He feels great, and when he looks down at his body, it looks the way it hasn't looked for years, all taut and smooth, and when he puts his hands up to his face, that feels new too. He leaps off the bed and grabs his clothes, which don't fit so well any more, they're loose and baggy. There doesn't seem to be a way out, not that he can find. He feels around the walls, which are rough stone, but he can't find any sign of a door. He's getting a bit panicky when he hears Mr C's voice. "Look up," says Mr C. "Look above you." So he does, and way above him, about thirty feet up where he hasn't looked before . . .'

            'How come he didn't notice when he was face up on the bed?'

            'He was too busy exploring his new body.'

            'Oi oi!' Brian says.

            'Way up there he sees all these faces peering down at him: The Professor and Mr C and Dr D. Even Mr A's up there. And along with them there's a face he doesn't recognise because it's not actually a face at all, it's just a blank on the front of a head, which scares him. "Get me out of here!" he yells, and the Professor asks him how he's feeling. He says he was feeling fine but now he wants to get out thank you very much. "Start climbing then," the Professor says. "You can manage it with your new young body." And by way of an extra incentive, Mr A waves a pair of leather trousers at him. "These'll fit you better," he says. "Be quick though," the doctor tells him, "because the flame's due to burn again in three minutes and nineteen seconds precisely, and you won't be able to withstand any more of that. All our efforts will be wasted if it catches you."'

            Tony is sitting with his head in his hands. Brian's eyes are wandering to the bar.

            'With one bound he's free. But he's chased all the way home by this faceless zombie-thing, and when he gets there, of course there's no, er, Ailsa. The house feels very empty. Well, because he's in the state that he was just after he'd first met her, when he was mad in love with her, this is a disaster. He's got everything he wanted, but what he wants more than anything he realises now, is that woman, Ailsa. Then he notices that the Faceless One is very reminiscent of his wife.'

            'How can he tell?' Brian asks.

            'Its clothes are the same. And its shape. "What have they done to you Ailsa?" he's crying. But of course she can't speak, she just mumbles.  "Mmmmblmmmbl." And he's devastated, but, being a decent man at heart, he pledges himself to care for her, nurse her back to health. Which he does. So naturally she's choked with remorse. Gradually, very gradually, she gets back to normal, except for her neck, about which, to this day, there's something weird. And a certain blankness behind the eyes.'

            'She was never very bright, as I recall,' Brian says.

            Tony looks at his watch.

            'Gotta get going,' he says.

            'But now,' says Alan, 'Mike's bent on giving Mr F his comeuppance.'

            Tony stands up.

            'How's he going to do that?' he says.

            'You off?' says Alan. 'Mind how you go - it's pretty dark out there. Make sure you watch out for faceless zombie-things and the like.'

            They watch as Tony elbows his way to the door, hesitating only briefly before opening it.

            'Pool table's free,' Alan says.