‘Do you know what time it is?’ I asked, making no attempt to
disguise my irritation.
‘Of course not. Why would I? Llamas have no use for time.
It’s a curiously human obsession.’
‘Well I’m human and I do have use for it, and it’s four o’clock
in the bloody morning so I’m curious to know what the hell you’re doing here.’
‘I’ve come to take you out.’
‘Out?’
‘Out.’
‘Where to?’
‘I seem to recall learning once that, in your language,
ending a sentence on a preposition is frowned upon, and that the correct
enquiry should be “whence?” Do people still say “whence?”’
‘No.’
‘I see, then I will accede to answering your grammatically
dubious question. Out to a few of the places which you are in the habit of
visiting.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’m not quite sure. I didn’t plan any of this, you see.
Let’s see… erm… a couple of charity shops and a coffee shop should do.’
‘Not a trip to Peru, then?’
‘No.’
‘Just a couple of local shops?’
‘Yes.’
‘You do realise they’ll be closed at this hour of the
night?’
‘That won’t be a problem. Time is an illusion to a llama.’
‘Really? How interesting. And what purpose will this little
local jaunt serve?’
‘It will be an attempt to re-evaluate your somewhat jaded
attitude to people in general and Christmas in particular.’
‘Isn’t that a bit presumptuous of you?’
‘Presumptuous, yes. But it’s none of my doing.’
‘So whose doing is it?’
‘Never mind. Are you ready?’
‘Hang on a minute. No, I’m not ready. Suppose I refuse?’
‘You won’t refuse.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you.’
‘Go on.’
‘Firstly, because you’re intrigued. And secondly, because my
will is stronger than yours.’
And then he looked at me in a way which reminded me of the
woman with amazingly dark eyes who introduced us all those years ago.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I expect you’re right. So how do we go
about it? Do I ride on your back?’
‘Good heavens, no. How very antediluvian.’
‘So how, then?’
‘You place your right hand behind my left ear and grip it
gently.’
I did as I was asked, and suddenly the scene brightened. We
were standing in one of the charity shops which I frequent, and there was a
Christmas song playing on the PA.
‘I wonder that poor woman doesn’t get heartily tired of
hearing this sort of thing all day,’ I remarked.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you find it seasonal?’
‘Oh, it’s seasonal all right. That’s the problem. It’s the words
I can’t stand.’
‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘Oh, come on. Mary’s boy child Jesus Christ was born on
Christmas Day? How imbecilic can you get?’
‘Hmm… I thought a little Christmas music might kindle a
spark of Christmas spirit. Never mind. Let’s try another one.’
The scene changed to another of my charity shop haunts. A
man was entering the shop just as we arrived, at which point another man came
skipping along with a jolly ‘morning’ on his lips. He didn’t merely say it,
though; he sang it, approximately at an interval of a falling 3rd I
would say. ‘MOR-ning.’
‘Hateful,’ I remarked under my breath.
‘Hateful?’ queried the llama.
‘Hateful. It sounds contrived, artificially jolly,
pretentiously over-projected. You name it, it sounds it. Hateful.’
‘Maybe he’s happy. Maybe he’s filled with the spirit of
generosity and goodwill to which the season is supposedly in thrall.’
‘Maybe he’s a prat.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear. I’m not all sure this is working quite as
intended. We’ll try one more.’
We found ourselves standing in the counter queue at my
favourite coffee shop. There was a middle aged woman standing in front of us,
and she kept looking around as though she was expecting company. A second woman
soon appeared and was soundly hugged. And then a man arrived, and he was
treated to an almighty hug too.
‘I think we’re standing dangerously close,’ I said to the
llama. ‘She might hug me next.’
‘Hardly likely, dear boy. She can’t see you.’
‘Can’t she? Oh, good.’
‘Would it be such an imposition if she did?’
‘What? Being swamped by a great lump of unattractive
woman? Dead right it’d be an
imposition.’
The llama looked at me again, but his expression had
changed. No command this time, just resignation.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said. ‘Take hold of my ear again.’
We were back in my bedroom. The clock still showed 4.
‘So are you disappointed by my lack of redemption?’ I asked
him.
‘Disappointed? Not at all. I have no personal interest in
the matter. We llamas are not in the habit of cultivating the Christmas spirit
or celebrating the season. We’re far too advanced for that sort of thing.’
‘And what about my attitude to people?’
‘That doesn’t concern me either. People are, indeed, a
rather strange set of beings. Most of them are probably best avoided.’
‘So please tell me why you did all this?’
‘They asked me to make the attempt.’
‘They? Who are “they?”’
‘That would take a lot of explaining. Another time, perhaps.
Compliments of the season to you - I think that’s the right
expression - and goodnight.’
‘It is, and probably the least onerous version of several. And the same to you.’
‘Mmm.’
And then he shrank in an instant to a tiny speck of light
and flew through the window without breaking the glass. I’ve never seen a llama
do that before. Getting back to sleep wasn’t easy.
* * *
And on a related note, I just watched the second episode of
the BBC’s new adaptation of A Christmas
Carol. I mentioned it a few days ago here.
Let me say that just occasionally – usually at intervals of
several years – the TV offers something of great moment, something special
which is fit to join the pantheon of Outstanding Television Events. With two
episodes of three now concluded, this is the latest addition to that list. The
writer has taken the body of the original story, stripped away the flesh apart
from a few fragments at the core of the plot, and then re-arranged the bones
into something dark, powerful and intelligent. He’s even managed to include a
few references to modern issues, and done so seamlessly.
I could embark on an expanded critique, but what would be
the point? Suffice it to say that in my opinion it’s quite magnificent. The
only way to settle on agreement or disagreement would be to watch it.
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