Westpoint Tales - Jon & Bobby's Tale, 1

(Westpoint : 2025AD)

Midday in Westpoint, a typical wet and gray Spring day. A persistent rain fell drenching the town and colouring it the same dull gray as the sky. It was, mostly, windless but occasional heavy belts of rain moved across the landscape.

All along the edges of the streets miniature rivers ran in the flooded gutters. The few people going about their business dashed between vehicles and shops, keeping as much as possible underneath the sheltering verandahs which covered much of the sidewalks along the main street.

Right on twelve, midday, as the town clock sounded the hour with the bells ringing out the Westminster Chimes, a particularly heavy shower of rain came down and a passenger coach swept across the bridge over the river. Spraying water from its wheels, the coach made its way along the main street and nosed into the open-fronted depot – Duncan Motors Ltd.

“Welcome to another lovely day in Westpoint.” The driver stood and looked back up the aisle as he addressed his passengers. “We will be here for exactly one hour. The Doo Duck Inn, café/restaurant is 2 blocks down that way. Billy’s Burgers are across the street and one block down. There are several other cafes – something for everyone’s taste. We leave for Nelson at 1pm. Don’t rely on the town clock; the silly old thing is often wrong.”

There was only one passenger leaving the service here and he followed the driver around to the rear to collect his luggage. The driver climbed up into the luggage compartment and he passed the bags out to the teenage boy standing out in the rain. There was a big case, with wheels on one end, a large, overstuffed carrier bag and a huge tramper’s backpack, complete with a bedroll, boots and other packages tied on the outside.

The boy sat the case and carrier bag down on the wet ground while he shrugged into the straps of his backpack. Then, with a damp smile and thanks to the driver, he picked up the bags and walked over to the nearest shop-front verandah on the main street.

From the shelter in the coach, the driver watched him go. A slender teenage boy, far too small to be carrying a pack that size, never mind the bags as well. He had a large black beanie seemingly permanently attached to his head – the hat hadn’t come off once during the journey despite the heat inside the coach.

He was wearing army fatigues, a big oversized jacket and baggy, multi-pocketed trousers, but the kid was definitely not in the army; he was far too young for that; despite the fact that he had paid an adult fare, (15 and over).

He reminded the driver of, (a) himself when he was much, much younger, and, (b) of a little boy dressed up in men’s clothing. So, what was he doing tripping around the country all on his own? There was no-one here to meet him, and what was with all that luggage? The bags must have weighed more that the kid did himself.

‘Ah well, none of my business anyway. ‘Bye kid, have a nice time in Westpoint – in the rain.’

The boy stood under the shelter, looking down the long street, while he put his pack on properly and buckled it up. Two other boys came across the street, water splashing from their running feet. They stopped next to him under the verandah.

“Hey,” one of the pale-skinned, black-haired boys smiled at the stranger. “Just off the bus? Welcome to Westpoint. You’ve got a great day for it. Bloody rain.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I don’t mind the rain, it keeps the dust down.”

“It does that. You won’t see much dust around here. Where are you from?”

“Far, far away. Is there a visitor information centre around here?”

“Visitor information? Oh, yeah, the I-site – there’s an office two blocks along that way, in Brigham Street, next to Mr. Roselli’s office. Just turn right at P. J’s Music Centre.”

The two boys stood waiting for the rain to ease off, but the stranger smiled his thanks and plodded off down the street with his excess baggage. He really didn’t mind the rain then?

Two blocks down, he came to P. J’s Music Centre on the corner and turned into the side street. The ‘I-Site’, information centre was easily identified by its signage and was just behind the Music Centre, in the same building, but when he reached it, it was closed. There were no lights showing inside the darkened building and the glass door was locked.

The stranger stood in the rain and studied the town-map displayed on the inside of the window, and then carried on down to the next block where the map promised that there would be a public park – Britannia Square. There should be some shelter there.

He entered the park at the corner, passing under the gray-stone arches of the Memorial Gates – a memorial to the town’s sacrificed in some long-forgotten war.

‘Gates, but no fences – go figure.’

He walked on into the park on the diagonal, tree-lined path. There were several statues along the way – old identities and fathers of the town. One was a large marble bust of some old codger who used to be the MP for the district; but the one that caught his eye was a small, bronze figure mounted on a plinth of the same gray-stone as the arches.

At first he thought that it was an elf or something, but then he realised that it was of a youth, laughing and running while his outstretched hand pointed west, to the sea.

‘Very clever. Someone pointing west in Westpoint.’

He didn’t stop to read the inscription.

The path took him out to a large, oval, rubber-coated, running track which surrounded the central sports-field. There, he stood, still in the rain, looking around. Then he hurried over to the shelter of the old grandstand at the side of the track.

Out of the persistent rain at last, he climbed up to the top of the tiered/stepped seats and thankfully sank down in the back corner of the top row. He dropped the bags, one on each side, and rested the heavy backpack on the wide ledge behind the seats. He unbuckled and shrugged out of the straps.

Next, he took off the black woolen beanie and wrung it out. His medium-length hair was white-blond. It really was literally white, the colour of freshly fallen snow, but it tended to take on the hue of whatever clothes he was wearing – currently the green/brown of his army fatigues. His hair was long on top and it also tended to take on the shape of a dandelion seed-head, which was why he wore the beanie to control it.

He took a bath towel out of the carrier bag and dried his face and hands, and then removed small packages from the pockets of the pack and proceeded to make his lunch – salad vegetables, cold rice and fruit, washed down with plain water.

A couple of minutes later, as he sat eating, with his fingers from a paper plate, two boys came running in out of the rain – the same two boys he had spoken to outside the bus station.

“Hello again, Boy-Off-the-Bus,” one of them smiled as they climbed up the seats towards him. “You’ve found yourself a dry spot then.”

“And there’s not many of them about,” the other boy agreed. “Did you get what you wanted from the I-Site? You did find it, didn’t you?”

“Hey,” he replied. “Yes I found your I-Site all right, but it was closed. There’s no-one there.”

“Closed? Maybe they’ve gone for lunch; I think they do that sometimes. There can’t be many tourists wandering around on a day like this.”

“You should try again, after lunch,” the second boy said “They’ll probably be back then. Maybe.”

The two boys sat/knelt down on the row of seats below the stranger, one on either side of him. Two pairs of identical blue eyes looked up into his green eyes. Their shiny black hair hung around their faces in jagged spikes, dripping water.

“What a day to arrive in town! It’s not always like this you know,” said the first.

“No, it’s not,” the other agreed. “Sometimes it’s wet AND cold.”

“That’s okay,” the stranger smiled. “I quite like the rain.”

“You do? Well I think you’re going to love it here!”

“Maybe,” said he stranger. He handed the towel to one of the boys and took out a second towel from the bag and offered it to the other. “Here. Dry your heads. Get rid of some of that water.”

“Cool. Thanks.” They both wiped their faces and rubbed vigorously to dry their sodden hair.

“Do you always carry towels around with you?”

“You’ve got your lunch stuff too. What else have you got in those enormous bags?”

“All my worldly goods – everything I own. I’m like a snail with my house on my back.”

“Everything you own? So are you here for good? Going to live here are you?”

“Maybe. We’ll see what we see.”

“You could do worse. Westpoint’s a pretty cool town, if you like small towns. So, what’s your name? I’m Bobby Lyons and this is Billy. We’re brothers and we’re 14 and 15.”

“My name is Jon. J. O. N. Jon.”

“Jon who?”

“Just Jon. Nothing else.”

“But you must have a second name, a family name, everybody does.”

“Not everybody, I don’t. I used to but I don’t have a family anymore, so no family name.”

“So you’re Just Jon from far away.”

“That’s me. Jon Nobody. You two are brothers, one year apart? I thought that you were twins actually.

“No,” Bobby grinned. “Lots of people make that mistake because we’re in the same class at school. We get called ‘the twins’ all the time, but we’re not really. Billy is 10 months older than I am.”

“Billy’s 15 and Bobby’s 14. How come you’re both in the same class?”

“When we were little, Billy wouldn’t start school until I did, so we’ve always been together. For 2 months of the year we’re the same age. I’ll turn 15 in November and we’ll both be 15 until Billy is 16 in January.”

“That’s very cool. I had a brother, we were very close, but he was always 3 years older than me.”

“You HAD a brother? What happened, did you lose him?”

“Yes, I lost him. Paul is dead.”

“He’s dead? That’s too bad. I’m sorry. How did he die?”

“Horribly. Fucking dolphins killed him.”

“Dolphins? The fishy things? But dolphins are friendly aren’t they? They help people.”

“Friendly? That’s what Paul thought too. Bastards. They’re predators and nasty, vicious killers. I hate dolphins.”

“Yeah. That’s understandable, I guess.” Billy was really embarrassed now and wishing that they’d never started this conversation. Bobby was a bit quicker, he changed the subject.

“What did you want to ask the I-Site people? Maybe we can help you. We’ve always lived around here, so we might know what you want.”

“Okay. Where are the seals? I heard that there was a colony around here where they live and breed on the shore.”

“The seals?” Bobby exclaimed. “That’s what brought you to Westpoint, the seals?”

“Yes, of course. I came to see the seals.”

“But why? Seals are horrible things. They’re dangerous and they stink. Great fat lumbering things, like dogs’ head on slugs’ bodies. They steal fish too. Fishermen all hate them. Horrible things, seals.”

Jon looked intently at Bobby, and then he shrugged. “Well that’s you finished. Seals do not stink, they’re cleaner than you are. Their breath smells of fish just like yours would if that was all you ate. They are clumsy when they are on land, but when they’re in their natural element, in the water, they are the most graceful creatures under the sun.

The worst killers out at sea come out there in boats, stealing other creatures’ food supply that they have lived on, and conserved, for thousands of years – since long before there were any men here, or any of their nasty, vicious offspring either.”

He turned his back on Bobby and addressed Billy. “Do you know where I can find the seal colony?”

“You, umm. You go back out of town, over the bridge but don’t turn left to the highway at the end. You just go straight ahead, past Carver’s Beach and on out to the Cape. I think you’ll find that it’s signposted. Just follow the signs from the bridge.”

“Okay, thank you. How far is it?”

“I think it’s about 15k. You’re never going to walk all that way with all your luggage.”

“15k? You’re right, I wouldn’t want to walk that far. Is there a bus service out that way?”

“No, absolutely not. No buses go anywhere near it.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Bobby squawked. “What do you mean, nasty vicious offspring of men? Are you talking about me? And what do you mean, that’s me finished?”

“The friends of my friends are my friends and their enemies are my enemies. I have no desire to know you. I’ve never seen you before today and, hopefully, I’ll never see you again. I have finished with you.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? I don’t want to know you either. You’re a bloody weirdo!”