Soul Cakes

 

 

It was Noodle who first brought the subject up, mutely; with round eyed-wonder. There was a documentary about Hallowe'en on a couple of days beforehand and they were watching it in 2-D's room, her and Stu; accompanied by the long slow crunching noise of popcorn. Noodle seemed entranced by the idea. 2-D noticed the look on her face- surprise, delight, a little bit of wickedness- and quietly stole it; squirrelling it away in his pocket and putting it back on like a mummer's mask as he pitched the idea to Russel and Murdoc later, in the smoky depths of Murdoc's winnebago. Murdoc, seated cross-legged on the bed like some sort of dark, scruffy shaman, said nothing. Russel chuckled and opined that it would probably be fun. "And anyway," he said, daring Murdoc to prove otherwise; "us Americans invented trick or treating. Someone's got to show you how it's done properly."

 

Murdoc scowled. He always felt particularly Satanic around Hallowe'en; and a little subtle street anarchy would be kind of nice, in a way. Bloody Russel, though! He took another drag on his cigarette and replied, "no. You just commercialised it. That's different "; knowing that it would start another long, complex, tired, pointless round of Brits versus Yanks cultural Top Trumps but not really caring. There was no malice in the argument, it simply ran along old and well-known grooves at 33rpm, each one of its crackles, pops and whistles as familiar as a piece of sound. Occasionally the argument remixed itself around different issues, this latest being the Hallowe'en Dub; but the melody line remained constant, always; Murdoc and Russel each playing their parts faultlessly. Bass/drum symbiosis.

 

2-D watched them, like a kitten watches a game of Pong, scruffy pixel-chips of hair flicking as his twilight gaze ticked back and forth between them. It was cold outside, bright with stars and the drifting sparks of autumn's leaves; but within the winnebago the world smelled of Calor gas, vinyl LPs, cigarette smoke and hot air. It was like all of summer's warmth had congregated here, at the very last edge of the season; and squeezed itself into this tiny space with them to wait out the cold. The sauna smell of hot plywood from the walls, the vague tang through a window-crack of autumn's frosty, sugar-scented night air; the steady, rhythmic soundtrack of Murdoc and Russel arguing- "discussing", they would both say, later- it was nice. 2-D lounged contentedly on the floor, thinking of nothing. Murdoc made a sudden claim on his name. 2-D looked up, sleepily.

 

"I said, what did this thing you were watching say about it?"

"About what?"

"Trick or treating, pumpkin brain. About whether it was British or American..."

"Oh!" 2-D tried to remember. Eventually he said "there was cakes. And a song."

 

Murdoc rolled his eyes, bloodshot Bowie orbs, to the ceiling. "What song?"

 

2-D's eyes flickered a moment as he searched what could definitely be called his randomly active memory.

 

"In D, three part harmony and a lute. Male voices, tenor, baritone, bass. Soprano over the top in a descant-" he hums the melody line, tone perfect, da-da-das the harmonies. "That version sounds sixteenth century, northern European. The melody's older though, I think. Folk song."

 

Murdoc and Russel had long ceased to be shocked by 2-D's strange wild talent of musical recall. Instead, Russel merely commented that 2-D thinking would rock the world on its foundations with shock; and made some vague comment about the Salem Witch Trials during the sixteenth century. Murdoc countered with the reply that if people were getting burned as witches they weren't likely to be going around asking for sweeties for it; which the British obviously were because numb-nuts got a song about it off the telly; so therefore the Brits were doing it first; at which point Russel ordered 2-D to recount the lyrics. 2-D, brought back into the world and time again from his drifting little nothing place on the floor, looked up, soulfully.

 

"Can't remember," he said.

 

Murdoc flopped back onto the bed. "Why?" he howled suddenly at the ceiling in mock agony. "Why, cruel gods, do you torment me so with this muppet, this brainless oaf, this lackwit, this..."

 

"Drama queen," said Russel. Murdoc, still recumbent; offered him a two-fingered salute by way of reply.

 

"Google it, dumbass. The only other thing he's gonna remember is the theme tune. Don't-" Russel intoned warningly as 2-D took a breath to begin humming it. Murdoc fished under the bed, came up with his laptop. He returned to his sitting position on the bed, creaking the laptop open and slotting a wireless adaptor into the usb slot at the back; all the while making wordless flickering gestures with his left hand which 2-D successfully translated as "Stu, pass me the choccie biccies".

 

A couple of error noises and swearwords later and Murdoc eventually got his laptop online.

 

"I googled myself once," said 2-D.

"Pervert," replied Murdoc. "Riiiiight, Indienet Exploder..."

"It was a load of old bum, what it said about me."

"I'm sure it was Stu, I'm sure it was..." Murdoc, in that distracted manner all users of laptops affect, was busy opening Google. "Right. Hallowe'en, a song, trick or treating, cakes. What was it about the cakes, lackbrain?"

"Cakes?"

"You said something about cakes...?"

 

2-D paused to think again. Russel quietly acquired the chocolate biscuits from Murdoc. "Why are the cakes so important, Muds?"

 

"One, they'd prove that the British were giving out sugar products at Hallowe'en before you guys, once more making me right and king and lord of the universe; and two, Hallowe'en is Noodle's birthday. Birthday, cakes. See the connection? Come on Russel grab for it you're nearly there..." Murdoc's stream of sudden, mocking enthusiasm was abruptly cut off by a clout round the ear from Russel. The Niccals made a small snorting noise which in lesser men would have been called a giggle.

 

"Cakes," said 2-D suddenly, remembering. "They got special cakes for doing it. Trickletreatinging with the song. They were like little people-shaped hot cross buns and they looked like they smelled all spicy and nice." Now hungry, 2-D grabbed the chocolate biscuits from Russel. Murdoc, looking back to the results of his Google search, peered with sudden intensity at one particular entry.

 

"Bugger me. He's only bloody right. They're called Soul Cakes, Russ."