"Robert Rankin - Snuff Fiction" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

ROBERT RANKIN

Snuff Fiction
 1

The first man ever to be arrested for smoking was Rocirigo de Jerez, who sailed with Columbus on
his first voyage. His fellow townsmen of Aymonte observed the smoke issuing from his mouth and nose
and denounced him as a minion of the devil. He was imprisoned by the Inquisition. The year was 1504.



The school keeperтАЩs name was Mr Blot. Charles Henry Blot to be precise, although this was only
ever revealed at his trial. To the children of Grange Junior School he was Mr Blot and you called him sir
when you met him.
You met him unexpectedly. In the corridor, in the toilets, in the alleyway that ran down to where the
dustbins were kept and you werenтАЩt supposed to be. He loomed at you, sniffed at you, muttered at you,
then he was gone. Leaving behind him an odd smell in the air.
The source of BlotтАЩs smell was a matter for debate. A lad called Billy, who knew more than was
healthy for one of his age, said that the smell was sulphur and that it came from certain glands situated
close to BlotтАЩs arse. All male adults had these glands, according to Billy, and used them for marking their
territory. Much in the manner of tom cats.
And this was why Blot sniffed at you, to check whether you had developed your glands yet. And if
you had, he would report you to the headmistress and she would make you see the school nurse and
your parents would have to come up to the school and fill out a special fonn.
This particular disclosure led to a rather embarrassing incident, when I was caught by my mother in
the bathroom, trousers around my ankles, bent double before the mirror, head between my legs and
sniffing.
I lost a lot of faith in Billy after that.
Exactly what Mr Blot really did smell of was anybodyтАЩs guess. He didnтАЩt smell like other grown-ups
and other grown-ups smelled pretty strong. When Oscar Wilde wrote that youth is wasted on the young,
he was only part of the way there. ItтАЩs the senses that are really wasted, because nobody tells you that
theyтАЩre going to fade.
When youтАЩre a child, the world is a very colourful place. ItтАЩs extremely noisy and it smells incredible.
By the time youтАЩre a teenager youтАЩve lost nearly ten per cent of your sense of colour and sound and smell
and you donтАЩt even notice.
ItтАЩs probably something to do with your glands.
But Blot smelled odd and that was that.
Of course he looked odd too. School keepers always look odd. ItтАЩs a tradition, or an old charter, or
something. You donтАЩt get the job if you donтАЩt look odd. And Blot got the job and he kept it. He must
have been well over six feet six. My father was a big man, but Blot loomed over him. Blot loomed and
fairly dwindled. His head seemed the size of an onion and closely resembled one too. He wore a boiler
suit of September grey with a matching cap and a blue woollen muffler, which made him look like an
engine driver.
Billy explained to us that this had indeed once been BlotтАЩs pro-fession. He had been the driver of the
Trans-Siberian Express. A terrible incident had occurred which led to Blot fleeing Russia. His train had
run into a snowdrift in midwinter a thousand miles from anywhere. The crew had eventually been forced
to dine upon the passengers, who were mostly peasants and used to that kind of thing. By the time the
spring thaw came and the train could get moving again, Blot was the only survivor. Although the
authorities were willing to forgive the consumption of passengers, as peasants had never been in short
supply, they took a dim view of Blot having filled his stomach with trained railwaymen.