Out-and-Out Liars, Part 2. Swen Gnillor, Swen Gnikaerb and Other Monsters. Chapter 2, Part 14.

                                                                              14.

Red blood runs from the fur of the white-eared bear, the white-bearded bear is as white as the snow is white. A circular blade implodes into its chest, cold.  Down on all fours across the rage-filled snow, now up on hind legs, rampant to catch the acrid scent of the human shaking its babies, lifeless dark shapes somersaulting against a sky, killer-whales at play with seals in a death-swoon... Ropes, dragged across a blood track, dogs licking at the trail, movement without movement, away from the  burrow, the smell of its kin increasing, the rank  intruder fading, the strange sound of distant skating over a glass-ceiling beneath which a polar bear treads water awhile amid blue mountains then turns towards home. Red blood runs from the fur of the white-eared bear, the white-bearded bear is white as the snow is white.

Chovihani opened his eyes, the tundra reflected in his tears; he had used his gift to ‘see’ the animal’s final moments, the polar bear, a mother whose pelt had upholtsred the giants sledge, the sledge from which he had been ejected, his beloved Mary Mary sailing off oblivious of his fate...or her own. Before the bindings of the sledge were unloosened, Chovihani had remote ‘read’ the  giant and had ‘seen’ things only ‘seen’ on pottery bought from the plantations of the Caribbean...that Mary Mary would add to his collection of  Mrs Rochesters was a  metaphor wasted on Chovihani. ‘”Seeing, as you do” he remembered his grandmother saying, “can also involve becoming...It must be matter of  life or death;  there is no way back, unless you retain a piece of what you were before...as the key”. The white fur wrapped around him, seeing with not only his hands, sight spread down his arms, his chest, stomach and belly, up to his crown, down to the soles of his feet through all the meridians; guy ropes harpooning across to relevant staging points of transformation;  he was trawled in. The pain in his ankle vanished.

When Mary Mary celebrity drag chanteuse was strong-armed through the entrance of the giant’s cave Mitzy sprang directly from the floor into her arms and held fast lovingly while setting up a tooth-baring low growl in the direction of the serial killer who was their host; how was Mitzy going convey to her ditzy owner that the crowning glory of her performing career would be the lead role in a Snuff Movie?

In their absence Mitzy had allowed more light into the grim mausoleum that was the giant’s frozen larder, this had the effect  of not only revealing a gallery of cryogenically preserved, if somewhat chilblained celebs, but of triggering the slow-drip process of a general thaw;  it was the sound of Graceful Perrier, American-born British Gay Forces sweetheart Army Lama and cross-dressing art critic Janet Street-Gorgon crashing through the partition in a grisly reveal, that prompted Mary Mary to declare.
Red blood runs from the fur of the white-eared bear, the white-bearded bear is as white as the snow is white. A circular blade implodes into its chest, cold.  Down on all fours across the rage-filled snow, now up on hind legs, rampant to catch the acrid scent of the human shaking its babies, lifeless dark shapes somersaulting against a sky, killer-whales at play with seals in a death-swoon... Ropes, dragged across a blood track, dogs licking at the trail, movement without movement, away from the  burrow, the smell of its kin increasing, the rank  intruder fading, the strange sound of distant skating over a glass-ceiling beneath which a polar bear treads water awhile amid blue mountains then turns towards home. Red blood runs from the fur of the white-eared bear, the white-bearded bear is white as the snow is white.


Chovihani opened his eyes, the tundra reflected in his tears; he had used his gift to ‘see’ the animal’s final moments, the polar bear, a mother whose pelt had upholtsred the giants sledge, the sledge from which he had been ejected, his beloved Mary Mary sailing off oblivious of his fate...or her own. Before the bindings of the sledge were unloosened, Chovihani had remote ‘read’ the  giant and had ‘seen’ things only ‘seen’ on pottery bought from the plantations of the Caribbean...that Mary Mary would add to his collection of  Mrs Rochesters was a  metaphor wasted on Chovihani. ‘”Seeing, as you do” he remembered his grandmother saying, “can also involve becoming...It must be matter of  life or death;  there is no way back, unless you retain a piece of what you were before...as the key”. The white fur wrapped around him, seeing with not only his hands, sight spread down his arms, his chest, stomach and belly, up to his crown, down to the soles of his feet through all the meridians; guy ropes harpooning across to relevant staging points of transformation;  he was trawled in. The pain in his ankle vanished.


When Mary Mary celebrity drag chanteuse was strong-armed through the entrance of the giant’s cave Mitzy sprang directly from the floor into her arms and held fast lovingly while setting up a tooth-baring low growl in the direction of the serial killer who was their host; how was Mitzy going convey to her ditzy owner that the crowning glory of her performing career would be the lead role in a Snuff Movie?

In their absence Mitzy had allowed more light into the grim mausoleum that was the giant’s frozen larder, this had the effect  of not only revealing a gallery of cryogenically preserved, if somewhat chilblained celebs, but of triggering the slow-drip process of a general thaw;  it was the sound of Graceful Perrier, American-born British Gay Forces sweetheart Army Lama and cross-dressing art critic Janet Street-Gorgon crashing through the partition in a grisly reveal, that prompted Mary Mary

“If you don’t mind, we would quite like to go now”.

Just as the giant was bearing down on her intent on cracking her skull between the two anvils that were his hands a roar followed by a snorting was heard coming from outside of the cave. The giant went out to explore, Mary Mary close behind.

Surrounding the giant lair over twenty polar bears stood o hind legs in a semi-circle and in centre a huge female, the like of which the giant recognized but dismissed as being the same as one recently hunted and killed. The lead bear had shown the other bears exactly what must be done. Like a boer with a bad head the giant came raging out, his former brutalities an apparent cloak of invincibility, Chovihani-transformed had guided the bears and wolves to the harpoon stores before visually transferring the human’s ability to hunt Artic bears and wolves to those inhabitants gathered. Years later Mary Mary would be so traumatized by the actual reality of what happened that day out there on the Arctic tundra that the event was forever confused in her mind with a Tennessee Williams play set on a South African plantation in which the main protagonist, an overbearing supremacist, Eugenie Tiara-Blanche was torn apart and eaten by the local young men of Cabeza de Lobo...or was it Morrocco...

The lead bear had approached a petrified Mary Mary, and rising up on hind legs gently swiped her fur coat from her shoulders to be picked up and solemnly, along with the furs in the cave, carried away. Mary Mary did not have to wonder far before a BBC reporter, the remotest correspondent in the world, passed overhead in a light aircraft. Frontrunner Simpson as he usually signed off on his rare reportage, could not believe the concentration of scoops falling into his lap, what with the sinking of The HMS England and HMS Weatherspoon, the triumphs the of the Sea Shepeard over the blood-thirsty Faroe Islanders, and the disappearance and reappearance of the Blarney Stone at the centre of the North Pole, and now this unmistakable sighting. ( He reported unashamedly of having chased Mary Mary up and down the tundra at close range for some time). The reports of Mary Mary heretofore considered dead now ensured that Mary Mary and her pet would soon take the mudslide down and emerge out of every sewer in the dead centre of every living room a bigger celebrity than when she had left, the timing could not have been better, as she stepped neatly into the shoes of the missing celebrity cruise ship singer Jane Macdonald

Breaking News: Chovihani has found a mate and has given birth to two new cubs.

                                                       THE END