The Pelican School of Bird and Other Stories

By Richard Batchelor

The Pelican School of Bird is a tale of unscrupulous exploitation, of exotic animals cruel, fierce and beatific, of hallucinogenic happenings and magnificent myths, of innocence and guilt, of dreams turned sour and wings grown tired, but most of all it is a story of the unshakeable bond of friendship.
Fearless Faria Gets Sucked Down The Plughole And Meets The Monsters From Hell pitches a serene and quietly self-confident girl into a nightmare world of absurd terrors and crippling red tape. A world where kindness is scant and the laws of physics are most definitely not respected. Our heroine will take all in her stride.
The Weekend is a modern French horror story where all is most definitely crooked as the protagonist stumbles and screams from one inexplicable bad trip to another.
The King of Colours is an homage to our beautiful universe, a tale of at least one genius, yet a warning against the imprudence of over-ambition, as the anti-hero of the piece falls headlong into traps already inhabited with the writhing, imprisoned bodies and lost souls of Macbeth and Professor Victor Frankenstein.
Escape to Vinyl is the story of what happens when a fairly ordinary man, seemingly oppressed by the prevailing dystopia, finds refuge in the Doctors of Madness album, Late Night Movies, All Night Brainstorms. Sprinting breathlessly through chaos, love, absurdity, depression, deprivation, camaraderie and horror to evade weird-torsoed pursuers, the protagonist of the piece realises that 'this a tale of malevolence, but I trust the storyteller.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Batchelor
• Release date: May 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9791092524017

Richard Batchelor

The Pelican School of Bird and Other Stories is Richard Batchelor’s second book and first work of fiction. His first book, The Temp Pest, a largely autobiographical half-comedy mostly set in warehouses and packing factories, is also available to download on Smashwords. Batchelor is also a musician and the front man in the longstanding rock and roll indie group, Ricky Spontane. The group have released three studio albums; Spontane Time, Hit the Town and Spontane 3, as well as a clutch of singles. A new EP, The Seeds of Doom, will hopefully be available to download by the time you’ve read this book. Batchelor has also released a solo album, Richard I. Batchelor, who currently lives in Chartres, France, is a hypochondriac, a Fats Domino obsessive and a bungler. He is both imprisoned and liberated by his own imagination. It depends on the day. He can be contacted on: mailto:[e-mail] Amendment May 2017. Though Morrissey is oft quoted and rightly so during my first book, any genius he had seems to have dissipated into idiocy and bigotry. It's a pity, but true. I have no time for the man these days.

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THE PELICAN SCHOOL OF BIRD AND OTHER STORIES

RICHARD BATCHELOR

Copyright

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law.

Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Epub ISBN 979-10-92524-01-7

Version 1.0

Published by Richard Batchelor at Smashwords

Copyright © Richard Batchelor 2018

To Joanna Lewis, whose love and moral and practical support has been invaluable during the writing and editing of these stories, I give my love and undying gratitude. She is my rock, without whom I’d probably still be scrabbling together the odd incoherent line here and there. In one way or another, the following people have either provided inspiration for these stories or have been supportive during their lengthy coming to fruition;

Lee Bradley for always having the time and energy to offer constructive advice, whatever his own workload.

Capucine Chopin for creatively seeing the humour in badly-expressed English.

Talya Davies for a certain turn of phrase.

The Doctors of Madness for musical accomplishments not seen before or after, as well as infusing many a dull and ordinary commute with the inspiring and extraordinary.

David Gould for being a top colleague and friend for always, as well as enthusing me in regards to the avian realm.

Jean de Bruges for his astonishing visions, captured on La Tapisserie d’Apocalypse.

Naicher Mann for being the soul mate yardstick every writer needs.

The Moor dudes of Granada for starting the job King Shelroneridge finishes in The King of Colours, at least in our universe.

Danilus Orwina, who could easily be somewhere between the partridge and the cuckoo in the title story.

Matthew Schafer for getting me into writing in the first place and his continual encouragement. Some might say Schafer should be severely scolded for such a deed!

Last but not least, regards to my gentle and poetic warrior friend, Ken Timothy.

I suppose I should also thank all the scoundrels who may have inspired these pieces and who shall go unnamed. Such is the eternal balance of the universe that creativity is often born from such villainy. Despite this, any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Finally, love and gratitude to the brilliant Stephen A. Wood for providing such a beautiful cover.

This book is dedicated to my beloved son, Antoine Henry Batchelor, aged 13½.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE PELICAN SCHOOL OF BIRD

FEARLESS FARIA GETS SUCKED DOWN THE PLUGHOLE AND MEETS THE MONSTERS FROM HELL

THE WEEKEND

THE KING OF COLOURS

ESCAPE TO VINYL

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE PELICAN SCHOOL OF BIRD

A very beautiful but rather pompous pelican once lived on a glorious tropical island. This pelican thought of himself as very wise indeed, and knew everything there was to know about trade in those parts. Or at least he thought he knew, but as far as he was concerned he knew he knew and he thought all the other birds knew he knew and knew that they knew he knew, which filled him with pompous pride, which he expressed by pontificating and posturing with all the pretentious bombast of a pumped-up pontiff.

One summer, he was, in his opinion, at the height of his powers. He had honed his business acumen to the very highest and subtlest level, and his new plan was going to be testament to it. He rubbed his wings together and stuck his beak up to Heaven, delighting and revelling in his creative genius.

It was said (for these were very good times, economically) that trade between birds and sloths was booming. The sloths lived on the northern, southern, eastern and western tips of the isle, and it was rumoured that they were sitting on some pretty fantastic-tasting seed, which they could offer their winged friends as barter for feathers for their ever more luxurious pads. Sloths don’t move around much, so their homes are rather important. The problem, however, was one of communication. Sloths couldn’t speak bird, and birds would never be able to master a murmuring, muttering language such as sloth. In times of economic upturn, the service industry comes into its own, thought the pelican, rightly. His idea was to teach bird to the sloths, in exchange for seed. Ingenious and simple, it had to work! It would benefit the sloths as they would then be able to negotiate in bird and cut themselves a better deal, especially with cockatoos, who were notoriously tight-winged with their soft, luxurious feathers. The pelican could probably get some lucrative arrangements going with the cockatoos at the same time. Training in how to deal with sloth negotiation techniques, for example.

On the island was a very clever spot-nosed monkey who could speak 14 languages fluently and 27 others well enough to communicate in, so the pelican went to see him with his idea.

Sure, I speak perfect bird and pretty good sloth, the monkey said. What of it?

The pelican proudly and pompously projected his pulchritudinous plan.

Tell you what, said the monkey, I’ll help you set up terms with the sloths. Can’t do any teaching though, I’m afraid. Just too busy on monkey council business. Got meetings with gorillas all next month. Bloody nuisance, but rather necessary, I’m afraid.

Hmm, let me see, sniffed the pelican, that all sounds very well, but who can I get to do the teaching?

Why don’t you do it, old bird?

Me!

The offended pelican drew his beak upwards and puffed.

Dear monkey, I will have you know I am the best and most skilled business creature on this entire island. Are you suggesting I become a mere lackey? I am a leader, an organiser, a doer and a trader. No, monkey, that won’t do at all!

Suit y’self, it’s no skin off my spot-nose. Let me know if and when you want me. Got to get back to work. If you want me to talk to those sloths I’ll do it for a bag of fish.

Half a bag, said the pelican as a reflex. He loved to haggle and he liked to win.

Yeah, OK, whatever, said the monkey. I really must crack on now.

Deal, but hang on a minute, monkey, if I don’t teach bird, I’m sure there are other birds that could do. A bit of sign language here and scratching out signs in the dust or in tree bark there should make up for the fact that they don’t know a word of sloth. What do you reckon?

Give it a try. See you soon.

With that the spot-nosed monkey scuttled off, relieved to have got away, as he was horribly busy and a bit bored by the conversation. The pelican span around on one foot and wallowed in his perfect and pristine perspicacity.

A couple of days later the monkey did his bit and then waived on the fish as he was too busy with monkey council business to come to the pelican’s place and get it.

Just drop us a couple of fresh ones in when you’re round this way, he’d said.

The sloths, it turned out, were indeed sitting on some rather delicious seed, a sample of which the pelican savoured with some mouth-watering roasted guppy. The deal was finalised at 50 grams of seed per lesson. That was a very good rate, and the pelican congratulated himself on his perceptive piece of perfect paltering. The monkey, in fact, had done all the real bargaining.

The pelican stuck a poster on several strategically placed trees in various parts of the vicinity. He pondered upon his precious and proficient prowess in the art of advertising as he hammered the notices in hard to the bark with his great big bill. What a business genius he was, and what a roaring success this language school would be. He drew up a business plan and reckoned he’d be the wealthiest creature in the neighbourhood within three months, and the richest on the whole island in six.

The poster said:

WANTED! Birds of any shape or hue to teach bird language to sloths on the island. Excellent rates and perks. Please apply to address below to be part of an exciting new venture and a sure-fire success. Training given. Good communication required, as well as miming and drawing skills. Knowledge of sloth language a bonus.

Within hours the pelican was inundated with birds on his doorstep. Fifty-seven of them in all had applied, so he sat down and thought hard about what to do and who to hire. The island was more or less shaped like a diamond with narrow peninsulas at all four compass points. The sloths tended to live in woods a few hundred metres or so from the coasts. His home and office were situated towards the centre of the island, overlooking the great river from where he plucked his fish. Consequently, there would be no little flight involved for his employees, so he wanted robust, young to middle-aged birds with strong, healthy wings.

After much deliberation, he chose eight birds; to go North, a macaw and a yellow-billed kite; heading South, a red-tailed partridge and a cuckoo; covering East a fruit dove and a graceful pitta, while the West would be dealt with by a booby and a bulbul. The booby was a seabird and actually lived on the West Coast. He’d heard about the vacancy through a friend of a cousin of a friend of an uncle of a friend of a parrot neighbour, who’d blurted out the news without knowing what it had meant. He was adventurous and had chanced a flight to the middle of the isle. The pelican was impressed with the booby’s confidence and nous. He mentally made a note that he could be a future partner – he was sure the booby had sufficient business sense. Since he was a seabird, maybe he could set up a second office on the coast when things really took off and the sloths’ seed started rolling in in barrow loads. The pelican cut short his daydream; one step at a time, but with an overall vision, a dream of cornering the entire island’s training market. He was sure for a bird as clever as him that it was a realistic target. He stayed up all night, every night drawing flow charts, planning schedules, mapping out forecasts and projecting profit margins.

Eventually, the big day arrived and the first lessons would take place. Exhausted but excited and proud, the pelican pompously issued instructions.

Now, team, don’t forget the motto of the Pelican School of Bird. The three E’s; EXCELLENCE, EFFICIENCY and EBULLIENCE. Remember, there are never bad clients, and never a bad learner, only a bad teacher. Good luck, and off you go!

At this the pelican stood on tiptoes, arched his neck and thrust his huge beak so high into the sky, that the red-tailed partridge, from the angle he was looking at it, believed it was piercing the sun.

Alright, there, said the partridge to the cuckoo, as they flapped off towards the Southern tip.

Hi, how’s it going? What do you reckon, then?

Just a bit worried about the flying there and back, but apart from that I’m raring to go.

It’s true to say that partridges are a little on the plump side, and not the fastest flyers of the feathered realm.

Don’t worry, said the cuckoo, who was kind-hearted and thoughtful, I won’t fly off without you.

Once the two birds were in their stride they began to enjoy their flight. It was longer than they’d normally go in one day, but all was new, and they were content to ride the warm currents and soar above the breeze. Below them were streams, rocks, plains and gorgeous lush grasses which rolled into forested hills or tall orange cliffs. They were lucky to live on such a lovely island.

After a while the cuckoo asked, What do you think of the wages?

Seem OK, said the partridge.

And the training? the cuckoo enquired.

Very useful, replied the partridge.

Hmm, we’ll see, uttered the cuckoo, unconvinced.

The birds’ salary would be six grams of seed per lesson.

Eventually, after a couple of hours flying, the two birds, who were fast becoming friends, were greeted with a breathtaking view, as the sea became visible through a dip between two wooded cliffs. The sloths lived somewhere in those woods.

Got a busy day, then? asked the partridge.

Three sloths to teach according to my programme. Tree numbers 123, 47 and then 74.

Me too, I’ve got three as well. I hope those sloths have labelled their trees alright, else we’ll never find them, will we?!

Sloths, being of course – well – slothful, hadn’t labelled their trees but the spot-nosed monkey, who was well-organised and left few stones unturned, had arranged it all with a tapir who owed him a favour. Tapirs have their own logic though, and immediately the birds were stumped by the numbering system. If a certain tree was numbered one, then number two would be diagonal at about forty-five degrees to the right and the third about ten tapir paces south of that. The fourth and the fifth were simply close by, after which the system restarted with the next one at more or less forty-five degrees. Eventually the two birds (the partridge in particular was really extremely bright and skilled in logic, mathematics and nutritional science as well as being an expert in bird language) sussed out the strange system and went their separate ways to find their respective trees.

There we are, muttered the partridge with relief as he saw a plaque bearing the words ‘Number 59’ nailed to a tree, a majestic red cecropia. He settled on a branch where a dozing sloth was hanging. What a beautiful, lovely, friendly and benevolent creature it seemed to be, with what appeared to be a cheeky grin under those half-closed eyes. Its brownish grey fur glistened with a hint of algae. The partridge’s sensitive heart welled up with tenderness and good feeling for the fine animal, as any sensitive heart probably would have done, nine times out of ten.

Sorry, I’m a bit late, said the partridge. It took a while to get used to the tree-numbering system. I know it now, so it won’t happen again. As he said this in bird the sloth didn’t understand a word. The sloth in turn then said, in the characteristic low, slow murmur of its tongue, Are you late? I really don’t know the time. I think I dropped off. Anyway, it really doesn’t matter. Hello. The partridge just heard a series of monotonic rumbles which could have meant anything or nothing or quite a lot or not very much at all.

Now the partridge wasn’t cut out for long flights and he was also rather shy, so maybe he wasn’t altogether perfect for this position, but he knew his language inside out and back to front and was a fine teacher. He drew good, clear drawings in the bark dust, or etched out images on leaves, and he knew when to mime and point and repeat it until the sloth got it. After an hour the sloth had learned the words ‘tree’, ‘leaf’, ‘bark’, ‘trunk’, ‘eat’, ‘sloth’, ‘bird’, ‘partridge,’ ‘cockatoo’, ‘wood,’ ‘seed’, ‘sleep’, ‘doze,’ ‘feather’ and ‘hang’, not necessarily in that order. He could also say ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ and most courteously thanked the partridge at the end of the lesson. In fact, he burbled the word for ‘thank you’ no less than seventeen times. Then he widened his grin and fell asleep.

Next stop was tree number 77, where a sloth was munching a leaf torturously slowly. The partridge had to wait twenty minutes until the leaf was fully ingested, so the sloth only got forty minutes to learn bird. This sloth was slower and less co-operative than the first, but seemed a sweet enough old girl.

Feeling rather tired, the partridge arrived at tree number 8 where a sloth was going to the toilet at the foot of the trunk. Sloths are known to stay hanging on their branches for up to five days at a time, only venturing down for this reason. By the time the sloth had clambered painstakingly back to his perch, thirty minutes had been wasted. The partridge did what he could.

He met up with the cuckoo after work.

I’m exhausted, said the cuckoo.

Me too, but I enjoyed it. They’re nice creatures, aren’t they? They don’t have a malicious bone in their bodies.

Lovely animals, agreed the cuckoo, adding, Not very dynamic, though. You have to push a lot, don’t you?

The partridge had probably found it slightly easier than the cuckoo as he was a somewhat better teacher, but he could see his point all the same.

Boy, I’m hungry, said the partridge, realising he hadn’t eaten.

No decent fruit in that wood, I looked earlier when I had a minute. Shall we fly on a bit? the cuckoo suggested.

Eventually they stopped on a green plain, hoping to catch some juicy worms. They weren’t any, however, so they had to spend a couple of hours scrabbling around for other, lesser insects, which only half satisfied their hunger.

Let’s just get back and eat at home, said the cuckoo, sensing the day was drawing on.

The return flight was tough as a breeze blew against them, but the two birds landed back in their neighbourhood, satisfied with a decent day’s work and glad to be home. A glorious sunset filtered through their humble little copse of sausage trees. It was an early start tomorrow, so the partridge munched a couple of buds he’d hidden in his nest and fell asleep in a flash. He’d never slept so soundly …

The next day all the birds met at the pelican’s office and were handed their schedules. It was to be a long day. There would be five new sloths to meet.

The day after there were four, then four more on Thursday, and five on Friday.

On Friday evening the partridge and the cuckoo arrived back at the pelican’s office shattered but happy. The job had been going well and dealing with sloths was pleasant and heart-warming. Now it was payday and time to reap the rewards of their labour.

The pelican wasn’t there.

Look, the sun’s almost completely down, remarked the cuckoo. Maybe we’re too late.

It’s my fault, said the partridge. If only I could fly faster. I’m holding you back, aren’t I?

Don’t worry. I prefer the company to the speed, my friend. What I could do though is rush on without you just on Fridays, and pick up pay for the both of us. As long as you don’t mind being left alone on that last stretch.

That sounds good, let’s proceed like that, agreed the partridge.

Let’s try and find the pelican, suggested the cuckoo. He can’t be far from that precious river of his, I imagine.

Well, I was so looking forward to that seed for the weekend, replied the partridge. OK, we’ll scout around a bit.

Unbeknown to the two feathered pals, a kestrel was storming away from sloth wood in the South, laden down with seed. In all he had 2.1 kilograms of the stuff on his back. The sloths had paid up for the week. It was a tough job and only a bird of prey could possibly do it, but he was well rewarded for it. You can’t push birds of prey around and the pelican knew it.

Meanwhile, the partridge and the cuckoo came upon a posh restaurant run by some mandrills, which had the reputation of being one of the best on the whole island. Poking their heads inside, they saw the pelican dining with the booby. They tentatively went in and approached the table. The cuckoo, who was more assertive than the partridge, said,

Hello, boss. Was wondering if you could pay us.

Sorry, dear cuckoo, said the pelican, a little uppity, It does state in the contract, section 3, paragraph 47, sub-section 8C, that you must sign to receive your wages, and we can’t do that because the office is closed. It is stated in the handbook that on Fridays the office will close an hour before sunset. Section 1, paragraph 17. Why don’t you collect them on Monday morning? Do have a good weekend. Thank you for your efforts this week.

Well, said the cuckoo, we were rather hoping that … but his voice tailed off as he saw the pelican had turned his back on them and was engrossed in conversation with the booby. An onlooker would have seen a pelican waxing lyrical and going on and on and on, mainly about himself, and a booby with a sly expression, nodding every now and then and absorbing all the information. An onlooker would also have noticed the pelican becoming ever more garrulous with each glass of wine and the booby sticking to water.

Come on, you two, hop it if you ain’t eating, snorted a mandrill waiter who spoke fluent bird. Its sky blue and bright red snout sniffed ominously and its huge mouth opened menacingly to reveal two monstrous teeth. He could have gobbled up the partridge and the cuckoo in seconds flat. Its beady yellow eyes greedily surveyed the fat partridge’s flesh.

Not surprisingly, the two birds were out of there in a jiffy.

The partridge rested his wings over the weekend and ate modestly, so when Monday morning came he was light and ready for work. He met up with the cuckoo on the way to the pelican’s office, and when they arrived the pelican was weighing out their wages in little cloth bags.

126 grams for you, and 126 grams for you, he said, handing the birds their dues. Now sign here, both of you.

The week passed quickly and the partridge really got into his stride as a tutor. He had 26 sloths and those he’d had before remembered most of what he’d taught them the previous week. As for the seed, it was utterly delicious, and he couldn’t wait for the sloths to be good enough to tell him in bird language exactly where they’d got it. He tried to get his students to teach him a few words of sloth, but each word sounded exactly the same and he soon abandoned the idea.

On Friday evening, the cuckoo flew on ahead so as to reach the office before closing time as they’d agreed.

There you are, said the pelican. 26 hours times six, that makes 156 grams. He’d bought himself some glasses which made him stick his beak in the air even more than before, and so he looked more pompous than ever. The booby was there, one eye on the cuckoo, the other on some paperwork. None of the teacher birds really knew what the booby’s role was, and since they preferred a simple life they didn’t much care to find out.

Can I get the partridge’s wages while I’m here, boss? He’s a slow flyer and he won’t get here on time.

Absolutely not, I’m afraid. No signature, no pay.

Can’t you make an exception? He’s the best teacher you’ve got, you know.

I will not break the rules or favour one bird over another, said the pelican.

Well, why is the signature so important? asked the cuckoo.

If he doesn’t sign he could come back later and say, ‘I haven’t signed, so I haven’t been paid, and demand another lot of seed, couldn’t he?

I suppose so, conceded the cuckoo, but he’s as honest as the day is long.

That may well be so, but a contract is a contract, was the huffy reply. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a table booked at the restaurant in ten minutes. Thank you for your work this week, and do have an enjoyable weekend.

The cuckoo understood the pelican’s logic, but emotionally he found it hard to accept, and felt his wings and claws tense in anger. He thought the pelican was being somewhat petty. As the pelican swept gracefully and exaggeratedly away, the cuckoo took one last look in the office and caught the booby smiling unpleasantly. The booby noticed the cuckoo and looked down immediately, pretending to continue with some paperwork. The cuckoo flew leisurely towards his copse and noticed a kestrel powerfully swoop into the office.

‘That’s odd’, he thought, ‘I don’t remember having a kestrel on the team.’

He went to see the partridge.

Get back alright?

Sure, said the partridge, but my wings are killing me now.

You’ll probably be alright after a rest. Have you got any seed left?

No, I ate it all during the week. It was so delicious I got greedy. Did you get the latest lot, then?

Sorry, he wouldn’t let me have yours without the blasted signature. He’s a bit of a stickler – you know what pelicans are like. Here, borrow some of mine for the weekend.

Thanks, you’re a good lad, said the partridge.

The weeks passed and the partridge and the cuckoo were content enough, and the sloths, particularly those taught by the partridge, progressed well, despite their natural idleness. Good feedback went back to the pelican, and everyone was more or less happy, it seemed. One weekend, the partridge was thinking heavily and realised he’d been eating better than ever, with this gorgeous seed. He went for a fly and it felt different, and difficult, like the air was water and needed to be waded through. He went and weighed himself. Partridges weigh themselves by standing on the thin end of a branch and seeing how far it bends downwards. He’d put on some pounds. He was also extraordinarily tired by all the jaunts to the Southern tip and back. He needed a break and hoped he’d get one soon.

One Thursday evening a couple of months later, there was a staff meeting. Nobody wanted to go to it as it was after work.

I know it’s late, so I shan’t keep you longer than necessary, said the pelican, officiously. First, I would like to introduce you to a new member of staff.

A red-crested turaco nervously squeaked a ‘hello, everybody’ and flapped its wings.

She will be our new trainer for the Western sloths. The booby here has been appointed as my assistant and all administrative matters, issues, complaints, questions and queries must pass through him. The booby had just shuffled out silently from the shadows of the office. He nodded almost imperceptibly and said nothing.

Anyway, continued the pelican, a big well done, team, the clients are very happy and custom is building. A new contract with the snakes of the North Western woods could be in the offing soon. That will mean more work and more pay for everybody.

"One thing has come to my notice. Remember, these sloths are not schoolchildren, and