The Labours of Hero Cules

Cules had managed to walk from Wimpole Street to Baker Street without being accosted by the many possibilities on the way. This was no mean feat as he had only just discovered a few truths about himself that rather put a new perspective on things. One of these being that he was a bubble on the waters of life. This in itself may not seem a thought to be shaken by, until one sees that the bubble has no separate identity apart from the water, and from the commotion that spawned it. At its dissolution it returns to what it has always been – water.

But Cules was not concerned about this at present. After all, he had just braved the memory of having his tonsils out, which anyone will admit, takes courage. Of course if you dont believe in spells, you might think nothing of it. Cules had been bewitched due to the ignorance of his parents in not protecting him from the evil practice of tonsil pulling. It is a dastardly cunning scheme, one of the many practised by Them, of tying ones soul in knots at an early age. So Cules had been taken from his parents (who if they had witnessed it themselves, would never have let it happen), fasted for the purposes of the magic, stupefied into a semiconscious state to make his usually healthy soul open to the spell, then held head backwards against the soft breasts and thighs of a young woman, who was not a virgin, then had his mouth clamped open, while part of his throat was torn out.

Those versed in magic will see the dastardly aim of this particular ritual. Even the uninitiated will clearly see that the stimulation of his fears at the unexpected loss of his parents, allied with the stimulation of his youthful sexual feelings by the bosomy nurse, linking with the pain of his torn throat, while in a condition rendering him unable to remember the evil done, was a pretty potent spell. Some may say that it is not one of the worst spells they can think of. But considering it could be used for mass production, with little or no social risk to those doing it, it has its points.

So Cules, having remembered the whole ritual, thus rendering it less potent, felt himself something of a hero. Recognising that the spell had linked his sexual feelings with the pain of death, Cules was able to defuse some of its power.

He had also uncovered a somewhat less powerful move on the part of one of his female cousins. During his most sensitive years, and while still an unwilling virgin himself, she had stood before him in a dressing gown, and under the pretext of demonstrating a rather rhythmic swimming motion, had let her gown fall open revealing her naked body.

Cules had naturally always remembered this event very clearly. But as his schooling had been rather poor on the soul binding powers of spells, he had not realised its magical influence. Of course it was a lesser spell, performed by a girl new to her pubic hair, and not realising fully her possibilities. Nevertheless it is easy to see how it could fixate the budding energies of Cules upon her lithe young body, and the mute calling into itself issuing from her maturing passions. It would have been a straight love spell were it not for the taboo placed upon cousins by the Holy Ones of yore – reverence to their power. It is at least an example of the influence great ones can have upon all time. Even the youngest child is now bound to feel it is not the thing to lust for relatives in that way.

Getting back to Culess arrival at Baker Street, his single-mindedness was most likely due to having been in the company of a friend. A friend had in fact prevailed upon Cules to accompany him home. However, on arrival at the station, Culess friend took another direction and left Cules to find his own way.

On walking away from his companion, Cules at first thought the magic of the day had faded. But on walking towards Paddington Station, this certainty was gradually stolen from him. This began as he was walking towards a huge billboard announcing the wonders of an Olivetti typewriter. On the billboard a more than life-size young woman was apparently running toward him with her arms stretched out in a loving manner. What this had to do with a typewriter Cules never found out, because the beautiful female suddenly took on the form of Sally running to embrace him. Cules had never properly embraced Sally, but he certainly longed to. He needed her now to love and hold him, for the magic was pulling him backward into his childhood. And when he left, and the young woman was still apparently running towards any person who looked at her, he was gradually becoming younger.

Being five is not in itself a problem. But Cules, swimming through the magic tides that were pulling at him, lost his way in the streets of London. The building of the new overpass to the A 40 had torn away the familiar streets he knew, leaving him bewildered and frightened. Feeling lost, Cules asked somebody on the street what was the way to Paddington station. The woman thought for a moment, then said, “If you go straight ahead and turn left at the next turning you should reach the station.” She then hesitated and said, “Well, you could go that way. But if you go back the way you came, and take the first turning on the right, I think that will lead you to the station.”

Cules, slipping back in years beyond even five, started walking ahead but lost confidence, turned around, walked in the direction he had come, and then stood completely still, more lost than ever. He thought he glimpsed a man in uniform behind him, and knowing magic was illegal in this land, he hurried into the nearest shop doorway, heart thumping. The shop happened to be one selling heavy drills and metalwork equipment. The man standing at the counter looked to Cules as if he were very grown-up and knew his way around London. So Cules asked him the way to Paddington Station. The man said that if Cules turned left out of the shop, took the next left-hand road, the entrance to the station was along that road. Somehow all of the uncertainty Cules had felt disappeared. The man looked so solid and without malice. So Cules left the shop, noticed that the man in uniform was only a traffic warden and not a policeman, and managed to walk all the way to the station without feeling attacked by any further doubts.

Cules lived in Devon by the edge of the sea. But his home in Combe Martin felt to him as he entered the station, as if it were beyond the furthest mountains. Being so young the time that existed between Paddington and home had stretched, and stretched into an unknowable distance. As if they were lions and goblins, lurking fears and doubts scurried about in the shadows of the journey ahead. Nevertheless Cules managed to get on the train and find a seat.

There was in fact only one seat left. It was in the middle of four other people, facing a row of five other people opposite him. Cules made his whole body tight, trying to control the magic tides that were still flowing through him like changing winds and waters. He felt sure that if he didnt do this, the magic would overwhelm him and cause him to cry like the frightened young boy he now was. What made it more difficult was that directly opposite him sat a very motherly looking woman with wonderfully ample bosoms who smiled sweetly at Cules. The magic tore at Cules to fall forward on to his knees and sink his face into her lap so that she would hold and protect him. He had to look away from her and fold his arms very hard to keep control.

Then the train started to move, and this seemed to make things a little easier for him. Even so he wondered with some dread how he was going to make the journey. Then the train entered the long tunnels leading away from the station toward the outskirts of London. Holding hard on to his own arms, Cules watched the darkness outside the window intersperse occasionally with brilliant light as the train passed through the large open air ducts. Suddenly the train entered another of these ducts, and there in brilliant sunlight was a huge billboard with what felt like a direct message from God to Cules written across it in huge letters. It said, “TAKE COURAGE!” Then Cules knew he would survive the journey.

Courage is the name of a British beer.