S Message in a Rocket

Message In A Rocket.

After releasing the penguin we return to the rocket in the centre of
the compound. Caractacus is waiting there.

"You'll never make it to the mainland before nightfall," he says. "You
can spend the night in the rocket if you wish."

"Ok," says Torn and my heart does a moonwalk. Ever since I was a small
child I have wanted to spend the night in a rocket. It is something of
a dream.

****

We play Scrabble until long after the night has fallen and then
Caractacus leads us up a ladder to a double bed in the nosecone. The
duvet is soft as a baby. I crawl into it and fall asleep dreaming of
the stars of Ursa Major; Alcor, Mizar, Alkaid, Alioth, Megrez, Phekda,
Merak and so on.

****

In the morning we are woken by Caractacus himself. His eyes are red and
ringed as if he spent the night gazing at stars. As he is an astronomer
I take this to be a fair assumption.

Torn helps me attach my false leg and we both pull on our underpants
and then it is down the ladder for breakfast. It is hot in the rocket
and I assume that it has some kind of central heating system although I
can see no signs of visible radiators.

Caractacus serves toast with the crusts cut off and then mentions that
he has an opportunity for us. Torn's ears prick. Torn and opportunity
are often found to be hand in glove.

****

"Nobody knows how big the universe is," says Caractacus, "but everyone
these days agrees that it is pretty big."

I nudge Torn and gesture for him to slide over the butter. He does so
with the outside of his left elbow.

"When astronomers first came to look at and record the stars they
believed that each star was fixed to the inside of a celestial sphere
that completely encircled the Earth. Of course this sphere was of
considerable size, it contained all the planets in our knowledge, but
it was finite.

"This is important. If you believe in a finite universe then you are
saying that there is a limit to knowledge and therefore everything is
understandable. I believe this and this is why I purchased this
rocket."

Torn coughs slightly. Outside the wind rocks the rocket.

"You've heard of a theodolite?" Caractacus raises his eyebrows
expectantly in our direction. He looks like a deer that has spotted a
rifle and is about to leap away.

"My uncle was a surveyor," I say. "He spent sixteen years on
Kilimanjaro measuring its troughs and peaks."

"Well then," says Caractacus. "With my theodolite I intend to measure
the angles of the stars both from here and from the moon. With this
data I will prove that the universe is indeed finite."

And then comes the opportunity. It is like a bag of Demerara after a
sugarcane blight.

"Will you go with me?" says Caractacus. "You don't have to decide now.
You can tell me after lunch."

****

Torn and I wander down to Caractacus's sanctuary for disabled animals.
I lean my arms on the gate and look to see if I can see our penguin. I
can't although an elephant with a leg in plaster ambles slowly
by.

"What do you think?" says Torn.

"It seems a long way to go," I say. "To the moon."

Torn looks over his shoulder. The nosecone of the rocket is just
visible above the treetops.

"When will we get the chance to go to the moon again?"

He has a point and I take it that our decision has been made.

****

Back at the rocket we find Caractacus bent over an open drawer. Out of
it he is taking underpant after underpant after underpant.

"It is cold on the moon, I've heard," says Caractacus. "I was thinking
of wearing two pair."

"You can't be over prepared," says Torn. "Unless of course you are on
the way to a surprise party." He laughs at this for a moment and then
looks serious. "We have one concern."

Caractacus who has a bright blue pair of underpants held up to his
nose, I imagine to check for relative cleanness, raises his eyebrows
and for a moment resembles an Arab princess caught off guard in
purdah.

"There seems to be no Mission Control," says Torn. "If anything should
happen?" He lets the words hang like bees relatively far from
pollen.

"When Apollo II first landed on the moon on July 20 1969," says
Caractacus, "the technology they had was no more sophisticated than our
most basic digital calculator. These days Mission Control is a mere
trompe d'oeil. Computing power has advanced so miraculously."

Caractacus casts the underpants he is holding aside and opens up the
front flap of a writing desk. Inside are a portable Samsung tv, a ZX
Spectrum computer and a tape deck.

Caractacus places a cassette in the tape deck and presses play. A
rainbow of lines transgress the perimeter of an oblong box on the tv
screen and the air is filled with a sound like a thousand pixies being
tortured.

"This is the launch programme," says Caractacus.

After five minutes the lines and sounds stop and in the centre of the
tv a red box flashes. The box contains a single word. It says
'Intruders'.

"Someone is approaching the island," says Caractacus.

"I thought it was a launch programme," says Torn.

"The programme is multi functional," says Caractacus. "That is the
wonder of modern technology. Come." And he passes us both a flare-nosed
blunderbuss.

****

We follow Caractacus stealthily through the underbrush. A light snow
has started to fall and it is cold. At one point while Caractacus is
fumbling with an untrustworthy compass Torn pulls me to one side and
slips something from a side pocket into my hand. It is a willie warmer;
a woollen blue one with a button fastened end.

I pull it on and set off after Caractacus more jauntily. On any
important expedition it is always the small comforts that count.

We eventually come to a stop where a line of trees meet a beach.
Caractacus motions for us to get down and we lie with our stomachs flat
on the foliage.

Out at sea is a rowboat. There is a penguin in the prow and two men
rowing. One of the men I recognise as Ivor Magnasson from the Swinging
Anchor Hotel.

"Up to no good," says Caractacus.

"No doubt," says Torn.

The rowboat hits the land with a whump. Ivor Magnasson leaps out
closely followed by the other man. The penguin I notice is shackled by
a thick chain.

The party sets off into the trees.

We follow at a distance.

****

The snow is now falling like a plague of locusts. A tepid sun dances
gracelessly across the sky. Every so often Ivor consults a series of
markings on the back of the penguin. He chuckles magnificently and
slaps his mate on the back.

"Nearly there Igor," he bellows. "Nearly there."

Igor doesn't say anything but sometimes when Ivor is not looking he
will slap the penguin on the back.

"Nearly there penguin," he mouths silently. "Nearly there."

There is no humour in his incantation.

****

Night comes as a surprise throwing the forest into a pitch black
inkiness pricked only by intermittent star light. Ivor calls a stop and
perches on an upturned root while Igor clumsily constructs a
tent.

Caractacus gestures towards a tree and we climb it one by one. Despite
only having one leg I am good at climbing and I can see Caractacus is
surprised.

We take it in turns to watch the camp below.

My turn comes between three and six. I keep my eyes peeled mostly to
the penguin. It is almost impossible to see except for the white
plumage of its chest and its fantastic beak. I wonder if the beak is
God's compensation for the penguin's lack of colour elsewhere. It is
give and take in this world; more aptly give and take away. I have
learnt this to my detriment.

At six o'clock I feel Torn's arm around me and he tells me it is my
turn to sleep. He is wrong. The camp below is stirring.

Soon we are off again.

****

At shortly before midday Ivor Magnasson screams excitedly and jumps up
and down on the spot. He looks towards Igor and the penguin and then he
bends at the waist and kisses the penguin. He tells Igor to take out
his spade and dig.

Soon earth is flying into the air. The penguin watches nonplussed.
Ivor unwraps and then eats a large bar of chocolate.

Clouds scud the sky. My leg begins to ache. Igor appears from the hole
he has created clutching a rusty box roughly the size of a shoe
box.

"It doesn't look very big," says Igor.

"Untold wealth comes in different shapes and sizes," says Ivor.

Ivor takes the box and prises open the lid with a penknife from his
pocket. He takes out a book and then turns the box upsidedown. Nothing
falls from within.

"What is it?" says Igor.

Ivor shakes his head and examines the book. "'The Rubaiyat of Omar
Khayyam'" he says. He randomly opens a page and reads aloud, "'Awake!
For morning in the bowl of night, has flung the stone that puts the
stars to flight.'"

Ivor closes the book, screams 'a stone be damned', and flings it
violently towards Igor. He then turns and heads back into the forest.
Igor pauses for a moment and sets off after him.

The penguin is alone now except for us and the book.

****

It is teatime when we get back to the rocket. Caractacus lifts the
penguin gently onto the table and sets about removing its
shackle.

He places a long instrument into the base of the shackle and makes a
quick karate-like movement. There is a snap, a cry, a squawk and a
crash.

"Oh my god," says Caractacus.

"What is it?" says Torn but we can see clearly what it is.

The penguin is now free from its shackle but in freeing the penguin
Caractacus has knocked the theodolite from the table. It is lying quite
broken on the floor of the rocket.

"Do you have another one?" asks Torn.

"Not likely," says Caractacus. "The trip to the moon is off I'm
afraid."

"Oh well," says Torn.

****

Caractacus lets us spend another night in the nosecone of the
rocket.

I ask Torn if it's ok if I sleep in my false leg and he nods
agreement. Several times I awake us both either with my cries as the
plastic leg painfully twists or with Torn's cries when the leg bangs
against him. For the rest of the night I dream I am an astronaut. I
move weightlessly around space as agile as a spider in a web.

When I awake in the morning I am cradled in Torn's arms. He has these
muscles and these legs and this face and this nose.

I know them so well.

It is real.