ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 1, CHAPTER 5. (standard:humor, 3509 words) [5/6] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 11 2012	Views/Reads: 1919/1435	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger, Norman and the Albanians.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

more pompoms on your silly footwear.” 

“Sorry,” Roger told him. “I really don't mean you any harm. In answer to
your earlier question – no I'm not an Albanian. I don't want to be an 
Albanian. I've come to warn you about the Black Cloud.” 

“Don't want to be an Albanian!?” Korab repeated, stunned. “He doesn't
want to be an Albanian, Zog. Listen to Mister High and Mighty. Bein an 
Albanian's too good for you, is it mate? Used to better things, are 
we?” 

“What's wrong with being an Albanian?” Zog piped up. 

“Nothing,” Roger replied quickly. “It's not that I don't want to be an
Albanian. I just said that to pacify you.” 

“I want to be an Albanian!” Norman told them. “I'd be proud to be an--” 

“Don't you start!” Korab warned him. “We've heard all that from you
before. You can't join us so piss off.” 

“But I--” 

“Look!” Korab said forcefully. “I've already told you to piss off! We've
got a lot of border to patrol an we can't hang around bandyin words 
with the likes of you. We've got to patrol away up there to the north,” 
he said, pointing to the west, “then along our eastern boundary, then 
all the bloody coast bit, then back down there to the south,” he 
finished, pointing to the east. 

“But we've come to warn you,” Roger persisted. 

“Warn us? What about?” Korab asked suspiciously. 

“The Black Cloud.” 

“Black Cloud? You mean it might rain? Ha! That's nothin!” Korab scoffed.
“We're used to things like that. Hardy race, we Albanians.” 

“No no!” Roger said in exasperation. “The Black Cloud from outer space.
It's approaching Earth and everybody's gone because the planet's going 
to be destroyed. You're the only ones left.” 

Korab and Zog looked at each other. 

“Come on, Zog - he's fuckin nuts,” Korab the Wise announced. 

They started to walk off. 

“It's true!” Norman shouted. “You'll be destroyed. Greater Albania as
well.” 

Korab and Zog halted, looked at each other then strolled back. 

“Did you say Greater Albania?” Korab called. 

“Yes, Greater Albania,” Norman said, slightly panicky. “I've renamed
Earth as Greater Albania in honour of the mother country.” 

“Greater Albania?” Korab repeated. 

Norman nodded. 

“Over there, where you are?” 

Norman nodded harder. 

So where's this over here then?” Korab asked. “Lesser Albania?” 

“No...it's...I meant to say...it's...” Norman stuttered, looking round
desperately. 

“It's what?” Korab asked, unmoved by his discomfort. 

“I didn't say Greater Albania,” Norman burbled. “You must have misheard
me. I said Later Albania.” 

“Later Albania?” Korab mused, stroking his chin. “As in, this is the
original Albania and over there,” he indicated the other side of the 
fence, “is Later Albania?” 

“That's it!” Norman gushed thankfully. “Later Albania. Completely
inferior to the original but determined to serve as a satellite to the 
mother country and founder.” 

Korab looked at him. “Fuckin crawler,” he said derisively. 

Zog tittered. 

“An you say everybody's left this, this--” 

“Later Albania,” Norman supplied, unabashed by the insult. 

“Everybody's left Later Albania. Well then, how did they leave?” 

“In Ships,” Roger told him. 

“In ships!” Korab repeated and laughed. “Bloody ships! Well you can kiss
them goodbye, mate. They'll have gone over the edge by now.” 

“The edge of what?” asked a puzzled Roger. 

“The edge of the fuckin world! What d'you think I meant – the edge of my
bleedin nose!?” 

Roger flushed. Norman beamed. Zog tittered. 

“But how can things go over the edge of the world?” Roger asked. 

Korab sighed. “Tell him, Zog.” 

“Everybody knows the Earth's flat,” Zog said patiently, “and if you go
out to sea in a ship eventually you come to the edge and go over it.” 

“The Earth's flat!” Roger repeated in amazement. “How silly. Where have
you people been all these years?” 

“Here mate,” Korab intoned, “in Lesser Alb, in bloody Albania. And proud
of it.” 

“He didn't mean ships that go out to sea,” Norman said helpfully. “He
meant ones that go up in the air. Space Ships.” 

“Ships that go up in the air!? That's good that! Up in the air! Good
that, eh, Zog!?” 

They both laughed. 

“Don't you know that space has been colonised?” Roger asked
incredulously. 

“What space?” Korab asked. “You mean that bit of land up next to Latvia?
Told you didn't I, Zog? I said one day those bloody capitalists would 
move in, didn't I?” 

Zog nodded. 

“Bloody capitalist bastards!” Korab spat. “If it wasn't for us
vigilantly patrollin this border you'd overrun us as well an then what 
would it be like? The place would be full of capitalist crap. Like food 
in the shops, new clothes, spare parts for machines...” 

“Spare parts for machines,” echoed Zog. 

“...topless nightclubs,” went on Korab. 

“Topless nightclubs,” echoed Zog again then he looked puzzled. “What are
these topless nightclubs like, Korab?” he asked. 

“Horrible!” Korab answered. “Bloody horrible. Waitresses serving beer
with their upper dangly bits hangin out. Horrible.” 

Zog's eyebrows lifted and a dreamy smile appeared on his face. “Sounds
quite nice actually,” he muttered. 

Roger however was amazed by the blatant ignorance of the Albanians as a
hole. “I say,” he sayd, “don't you know what's going on out here at 
all?” 

“Course we do!” retorted Korab. “The Boss puts up a notice in the
cowshed every year tellin us what's happenin. We know the Earth's flat 
an things like that.” 

“But it's round,” Roger insisted. 

“Look, we've already been through that,” Korab said impatiently. “We all
know it's flat.” 

“But it's round! It's round! It's round!” Roger ranted. 

“Oh! The capitalist's throwin a tantrum, is he?” Korab said. “It's
round! It's round! It's round!” he mimicked. 

Zog sniggered appreciatively. 

“Okay smart arse, if it's round how come hundreds of people disappear
from Albania every year when they go out to sea?” Korab asked and 
turned to Zog, smiling triumphantly. 

“You've got him there, Korab,” Zog said admiringly. 

“Hundreds of people disappear when they go out to sea?” Roger repeated,
puzzled. “What's that got to do with the Earth being flat?” 

“Every year hundreds of people disappear from Albania,” Korab explained.
“When we ask where they've gone, the Boss tells us the silly bastards 
have gone out to sea. They never come back, which proves they've gone 
over the edge, which proves the Earth's flat.” 

Roger gave up. 

“We know about things like goin to sea,” Korab went on, shooting a quick
glance at Zog, “because we've got a bit of coast here.” He paused and 
glanced again at the Under Peasant. “We're not like some land-locked 
Balkan States I could mention.” 

Zog sniggered. “Stop it, Korab.” 

“Like Macedonia.” 

Zog sniggered again. 

“Or Serbia.” 

More sniggering. 

“Or Moldova.” 

They both leaned against their spears and doubled over in hysterical
laughter. 

“Like that about the land-locked Balkan States don't you, Zog?” Korab
asked when they'd recovered. 

Zog nodded, wiping some tears from his eyes. 

“Fine sense of humour these sturdy people,” Norman said to Roger. “I
could listen to them all day.” 

“Looks like we're going to,” Roger muttered resignedly, gazing across at
the rolling Albanian countryside and waiting patiently for the Border 
Patrol to recover. 

“So we have got a bit of coast then, Korab?” Zog asked when they had. 

“Course we have!” the Wise One told him proudly. “Lovely bit of rugged
coast it is. You'll see it when we patrol there.” 

A rapturous look crossed Zog's face. He clasped his hands. “And does it
have seagulls and things?” 

Korab nodded. 

“And guillemots and puffins?” 

Korab nodded again but looked at Zog suspiciously. 

“And sandpipers and--” 

“What's this fuckin fixation you have with the winged fauna of the
coast, Zog? “ Korab asked pointedly. 

“It's not a fixation,” Zog said quickly. Too quickly. “It's just an
interest.” 

“It's a bloody fixation!” Korab maintained. “For instance last week when
we were patrollin our western border I was tellin you about the uprisin 
of 1912 an how thousands of people died layin the foundations of our 
beloved modern Albania an what did you ask? You didn't ask who the 
important martyrs were, you didn't ask where the main battles took 
place, you didn't ask any questions which a true student of Albanian 
history might have done...you asked if any double-crested cormorants 
got killed! That's a fixation mate and a bloody unhealthy one at that!” 


Zog sighed. Deep down he realised he couldn't get away with it any
longer. It was confession time. “Well to be honest, Korab,” he said, “I 
feel very much in tune with seabirds.” 

“In tune with seabirds!” Korab exclaimed. “You must be out your fuckin
tree!” 

“Crevice,” Zog corrected. “We guillemots live in small crevices,
preferably in cliffs next to the sea. We don't live in trees.” 

“We Guillemots!?” Korab picked up. “What d'you mean, we guillemots!?” 

Zog looked a bit uneasy and toyed with his spear. “Well...oh I suppose
I'd best tell you...actually I am a guillemot.” 

Korab looked at him then burst out laughing. “A guillemot!” he said to
Roger and Norman. “He thinks he's a fuckin guillemot!” 

“And you want to join them?” Roger muttered to Norman. 

“I wouldn't mind being a guillemot,” Norman replied. “An Albanian
guillemot.” 

“Oh Christ, don't you start!” Korab told him. “I've got enough problems
with this tit, I mean guillemot here.” He turned to Zog. “Okay, if 
you're a guillemot, fly over the fence an back. Go on, fly over...Stand 
back you two!” he shouted to Roger and Norman. “This ex-peasant who has 
now revealed his true feathers is goin to fly over the fence.” He 
turned back to Zog. “Well go on, fly you little bastard. What are you 
waitin for – the migratory flocks headin south for the winter?” 

“I can't fly over the fence,” Zog said, looking uncomfortable. 

“Ha! Told you! You see, you're not a bird.” 

“It isn't that,” Zog explained. “I can't fly over the fence because I
haven't got an Exit Visa.” 

“An Exit Visa! A fuckin Exit Visa! Balls!” Korab roared. “You can't fly
over the fence because you haven't got fuckin wings!” 

“I have,” Zog began, “I mean I used to have them but...but--” 

“But what?” 

“Some boys captured me when I was a nestling and clipped them.” 

Korab laughed derisively. 

“Alright so I'm a grounded guillemot,” Zog responded, hurt by the Head
Peasant's mockery. 

Korab shook his head and looked at him. “Always thought there was
somethin odd about you, Zog,” he said, stroking his chin. “My 
suspicions were first aroused years ago when you wouldn't sleep on a 
comfortable bed of straw in the cowshed with the rest of us but 
preferred to be up in the eaves with the roostin starlings.” 

Zog shuffled uneasily. Confession was one thing. Humiliation was
another. 

“And I should know,” Roger said then wondered why. 

The others turned and stared at him. 

Korab shook his head then turned back to Zog. “Then there was that time
in brainwashin class with the Boss,” he continued. “The Boss said to 
us, ‘Who are the sworn enemies of all Albanians?' I of course replied, 
‘The capitalist imperialist swine of the west,' but what did you say, 
eh, what did you say, Zog?...'Big black-headed sea hawks'!” 

Zog stared at the ground and toyed with his spear. 

Korab sighed. “You are not a fuckin guillemot, Zog,” he explained
patiently. “You are an Albanian peasant, patrollin the border of our 
beloved country with me, your friend, Korab Alt Prennushi, a 
ring-tailed lemur. Oh shit!!” he muttered and clapped a hand to his 
forehead. 

Roger looked at Norman. Zog looked at Korab. 

“The first ring-tailed lemur ever seen in Albania!” Norman gushed.
“Isn't it wonderful?” 

“So you're a ring-tailed lemur then, Korab?” Zog asked quietly. 

Korab sighed. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm a bloody ring-tailed lemur!” he
admitted unwillingly. “I fought it for awhile, I mean it's a bit silly, 
a grown man wantin to be a ring-tailed lemur but I found myself 
gradually bein attracted to things like hangin upside down in trees, 
sleepin durin the day an comin out at night to forage for edible 
berries an chase small rodents. The non-prehensile tail is a bit of a 
disadvantage but heck,” he shrugged, “you can't have everythin.” 

Zog smiled. “Funny old world, isn't it, Korab? I mean, you being a
ring-tailed lemur and me being a guillemot. It's a little creature I've 
always admired, the lemur. 

“Always had a soft spot for them myself,” Korab admitted. “Great ariel
ability plus a nice lifestyle – eatin insects an fruit, unlimited 
shaggin, makin strange background noises in natural history 
documentaries, that sort of trip.” 

Zog laid a hand on Korab's arm. “Perhaps we could be friends, Korab?” he
said gently. “Guillemots quite like ring-tailed lemurs you know.” 

Korab smiled gently in return. For a few seconds. “Oh fuck off!!” he
yelled, brushing Zog's hand away. “Guillemots an ring-tailed fuckin 
lemurs!” he roared. “You stupid twat! I'm not a lemur an you're not a 
fuckin guillemot!” 

“You mean you were lying?” Zog asked, hurt. 

“Of course I was lyin, you prat. Get it through your bird-brained, your
thick head that I'm not an arboreal primate an you're not a soddin 
guillemot. We're two Albanian peasants on border patrol.” 

“But Korab I--” 

“Don't you ‘but Korab' me! I don't want to hear anymore. Honestly,” he
said, shaking his head, “a guillemot, a friggin guillemot. May the Boss 
preserve me from psychotic peasants.” 

He leaned his head wearily against his spear and closed his eyes. Roger
gave him a few moments respite. “I say,” he began hesitatingly, trying 
to attract the Wise One's attention. 

Korab lifted his head and stared at him and Norman. “You two still
here?” he asked. 

“Of course we're still here,” Roger explained. “We're still trying to
warn you about the Black Cloud.” 

“Still on about that Cloud, eh?” 

“It's true,” Roger said, glad to back in the story again. “Everybody's
left Earth. You must leave or you'll be killed.” 

“Piss off,” Korab said, irritated. “Think we're daft? It's a trick to
get us out of Albania.” 

“Told you they wouldn't leave,” Norman said proudly. “Makes you proud to
be an Alb--” 

Korab glared at him fiercely. 

“...to be a Later Albanian,” Norman finished. He turned to Roger. “We
might as well go. I told you they wouldn't leave.” 

“Well at least send out the women and children,” Roger said to Korab. 

Korab looked puzzled. “What women and children?” 

“The ones in Albania.” 

“There aren't any.” 

“No women and children?” 

“Nope. None.” 

Roger perused this fact. He scratched his head. Something had just
occurred to him. “If there are no women left,” he began then realised 
that facts like the one he was about to broach always caused him quite 
a lot of embarrassment. He flushed and stuttered on. “If there are no 
women left in Albania...how do you...who does...” 

“The cookin?” Korab suggested. 

Roger shook his head. 

“The washin?” the ex-guillemot suggested. 

“No. How do you--” 

“Make the tea? Ha! We can do that ourselves, can't we, Zog?” 

Zog nodded. 

“Not the tea,” Roger said, wishing he'd never broached the subject. “I
mean, if there are no women, who do you...I mean, how do you...” 

Korab grinned. “You mean who do we shag!?” 

Roger flushed. 

Korab laughed. “Who we always shag,” he told him and glanced
meaningfully at a sheep that was wandering past. “Why bother with women 
when you can get the real thing, that's what I always say!” 

Roger flushed further into a rather fetching deep scarlet. The sheep saw
Korab staring at it and immediately trotted off. 

“Well if that's everythin, we'll be off,” Korab said pleasantly. “Nice
talkin to you.” 

“Wait a minute,” the Scarlet Lad called. “If there are no women and
children, how many of you are left?” 

Korab puffed out his cheeks. He turned to Zog and they had a low
muttering conversation which involved much counting on fingers. 

Korab eventually turned back to Roger. “There are three of us,” he told
him. “Me, Zog an the Boss.” 

“And there's a flock of seagu--” Zog started to say. 

Korab shot him a withering look. 

“Forget it,” Zog wisely conceded. 

“So you refuse to leave? All three of you?” Roger asked. 

“We'll never leave the Homeland and that's final,” Korab said flatly.
“So why don't you piss off and take that would-be Albanian with you.” 

“Alright,” Roger agreed, giving up. “If you don't want to leave we can't
force you.” He turned to Norman. “Let's go.” 

“Bye!” Zog called, waving. 

Roger waved back. 

Norman stiffened to attention and saluted. “Goodbye fellow Alb--” 

“Watch it!” Korab warned him, brandishing his spear. 

Norman turned and followed Roger. As they walked back to the air-mobile,
Korab and Zog resumed their patrol along the dilapidated border fence. 

Korab ran his eye over it as they strolled along. “This fence is in some
state,” he remarked. 

“I know!” Zog proudly agreed. “The glorious State of Albania!” 

“I didn't mean that...have they gone?” 

Zog glanced over his shoulder. Roger and Norman were just getting into
the air-mobile. 

“Yeah, they're just takin off.” 

They both turned and watched till the air-mobile took off, picked up
speed  then coasted out of sight. They tossed their spears away, turned 
and looked at each other and fell about laughing. 

“Christ that was good!” Korab said when they'd recovered. 

“You were brilliant!” Zog told him. 

“So were you. That stuff about bein a guillemot – loved it!” 

“And you – a ring-tailed lemur! I nearly pissed myself!” 

Korab sniggered. “No women in Albania!” 

“People go out to sea and over the edge!” 

“And that tit wantin to be a bloody Albanian!” 

They both laughed again then Korab took out his watch. “Hey, we better
start headin back. It's nearly four.” 

“Is it? We better go then if we want a few drinks before the last flight
leaves.” “Yeah. Get out of these rags, grab a shower and get suited-up 
before we go.” 

“Yes, sadly it's time to leave Greater Albania for good!” Zog said. 

Korab laughed and they both turned and headed away from the fence over
towards some trees where they'd hidden their air-mobile. 


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