Anders and Magic
Anders and Magic have been on the same campsite for two and a half weeks now. Anders doesn't really know why. "I don't really know why," he tells me, "it's not like it's a particularly nice site or anything, just sort of quiet. We'll hopefully move on soon." He talks about it as if it's someone else's decision. He's right though - it's not a particularly nice site.
They have come from Holland, on foot. They're going to 'somewhere in Spain, just the other side of the mountains'. That's as specific as he gets.
I don't think Magic really minds where he is, as long as he's with Anders. Magic is quite big - about hip-height - with floppy black curly fur. Not tight and delicate like a poodle, but rough and weathered, like a tough rastafarian.
They left Holland on a whim after Anders lost his job. Instead of sitting around waiting for something else to come along he decided to go out and look for it, but rather than looking through the job section of the paper, like most people, he headed South, on foot, away from Holland. "Maybe I was just fed up with Holland," he muses, still talking as if it was someone else making the decisions. Magic sits by his side, awaiting instructions. "I think I'll stay when I get to Spain," Anders continues. Does he have friends out there? I ask. "No, not really." So where is he going? "A little town just across the border." Why there though? He shrugs his shoulders and smokes his cigarette. I try and suppress my questioning instinct and settle for looking slightly baffled.
Later, I go over to their tent to let Anders look at my maps but Magic warns me back with his barking and threatening pose. Anders eventually pokes his head out of the tent, looking like he's been disturbed doing something either sordid or illegal. Maybe both. "I'd better come see you later," he tells me, cryptically.
I never do see him later, nor the next morning when I leave. Maybe I will see him again - next time I'm in the area I'll pop into the campsite, see if they're still there. Or maybe Anders will be on the news sometime.
They have come from Holland, on foot. They're going to 'somewhere in Spain, just the other side of the mountains'. That's as specific as he gets.
I don't think Magic really minds where he is, as long as he's with Anders. Magic is quite big - about hip-height - with floppy black curly fur. Not tight and delicate like a poodle, but rough and weathered, like a tough rastafarian.
They left Holland on a whim after Anders lost his job. Instead of sitting around waiting for something else to come along he decided to go out and look for it, but rather than looking through the job section of the paper, like most people, he headed South, on foot, away from Holland. "Maybe I was just fed up with Holland," he muses, still talking as if it was someone else making the decisions. Magic sits by his side, awaiting instructions. "I think I'll stay when I get to Spain," Anders continues. Does he have friends out there? I ask. "No, not really." So where is he going? "A little town just across the border." Why there though? He shrugs his shoulders and smokes his cigarette. I try and suppress my questioning instinct and settle for looking slightly baffled.
Later, I go over to their tent to let Anders look at my maps but Magic warns me back with his barking and threatening pose. Anders eventually pokes his head out of the tent, looking like he's been disturbed doing something either sordid or illegal. Maybe both. "I'd better come see you later," he tells me, cryptically.
I never do see him later, nor the next morning when I leave. Maybe I will see him again - next time I'm in the area I'll pop into the campsite, see if they're still there. Or maybe Anders will be on the news sometime.
posted by Percy Herbert @ 3:08 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home