Читать книгу Mr Landen Has No Brain - Stephen Walker - Страница 12

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yeah, babe?’

‘Where did you get that cow?’

‘I didn’t steal it.’

‘I never said you had.’

‘I found it down there.’ His sucker tipped thumb pointed back guiltily over his shoulder. He said, ‘It jumped out of a tree and landed on me.’

‘And where are you taking it?’

‘The obvious.’

‘Which is?’

‘To wallpaper it.’

In a country lane, fifteen minutes into her walk, Teena’d stopped to talk to a small grey man with a cow. His huge, black, almond shaped eyes blinked up at her from his too-large head. His spindly body wore a black turtleneck sweater and drainpipe jeans. He looked bruised, battered and bewildered, as though something had jumped out of a tree and landed on him. Mouth no more than a slit, he said, ‘It’s my destiny.’

‘What is?’

‘To win the Turner Prize.’ And a sucker tipped finger pointed to somewhere behind her.

A half turn brought her face to face with a field of cows wrapped in beige flock. It didn’t suit them.

Behind her he said, ‘It’s an installation I call Cattle Mootilation.’ She could feel his gaze on her buttocks.

‘But why wallpaper cows?’ she asked.

‘Because gorillas always tried to tear my arms off.’

She returned her attention to him. ‘Well, Mr …?’

‘McDoddy; Roddy McDoddy.’

‘Is that your real name?’

‘No.’

‘Well, Roddy.’ She grabbed his hand in hers and shook it vigorously. ‘I’m Teena Rama. And if you’re an artist, you may have heard of me.’

‘Too right I have!’ Now he was shaking her hand even more vigorously than she was shaking his. ‘You’ve won the Turner Prize three years running.’

‘And I’ll be winning it again this year.’ She yanked her hand free of his and gave it a sharp waggle to restore the blood supply.

‘Wow,’ he told her chest. ‘The Teena Rama. I can only dream of achieving your levels of artistic futility.’

‘Why thank you.’

‘And your bosoms are so pointy.’

‘Thank you for that highly relevant observation.’

He gazed at them some more like he wanted to tell them something. Then he spotted her engagement ring. ‘And you’re a spoken-for woman?’

‘I’m newly engaged, yes.’ She couldn’t resist gloating a little.

‘Wow!’ He told her chest. ‘But I didn’t know they’d even announced the Turner nominations.’

‘They haven’t but my victory’s assured. And I have to tell you that these days it takes something more daring than wallpapering cows to impress the most demanding judges in British art.’

‘It does?’ He stroked his goatee, perplexed, still watching her chest.

‘However.’ She watched the cow beside him. It gazed back at her, chewing an Action Man. Is this beast for sale?’

‘Make me an offer, babe.’

She had no intention of paying money for goods that might have been stolen. ‘Would a kiss do?’

‘Dr R,’ he enthused, ‘You’re a crazy looking chick but get kissing that cow.’

‘Roddy?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did mean would you like me to kiss you?’

‘Oh wow, man! The Dr Rama would rather snog me than my livestock.’