Part man, part 3

Jonathon the Shaman

It is undoubtedly a dark omen to be returning home at three in the morning from a club, sick with dancing related exertion and possibly alcohol, with a thesis defence in two weeks and to top it all having had one's favourite hat stolen by an impishly grinning foreign girl. Some might say then that it was especially foolish for me to cycle through town, instead of going quickly home on the quieter back streets. In hindsight I can't say I disagree.

As I rounded the corner of one of the colleges and started up one of the main streets in the town, where a few late revellers were still heading home, I heard a common cry.

"Excuse me, can you help me?"

This is a classic beggar line and usually leads to a request for change, so I was mainly being polite when I stopped cycling and replied, "Probably not". Tangentially my opinion of beggars in town had been coloured by the number of fakes, including a svelte young lady dressed for a night out who claimed to be seven months pregnant and kindly suggested "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you".

I found myself looking at a tall muscular man wearing a burberry cap and tattoos. His piercing stare would have been unnerving if he hadn't been swaying quite so much from side to side.

"Can you help me?"

"I don't know, what do you need?"

I now noticed that the few other people out had all crossed to the other side of the street to avoid this person. Shit.

"Can you help me?"

"With what?" Double shit, he's completely off his head.

"It's my girlfriend."

Triple shit. What the hell had he done with his girlfriend? Maybe it was best not to find out, or I could be viewed as an accomplice. I didn't really want to spend the weeks before my thesis defence preparing a legal defence. Best to feign incomprehension.

"Sorry, what?"

"My name's Jonathon."

"Good." I could cope with this.

"Shall I tell you something?"

"I expect so."

"I'm a shaman."

Oh for crap's sake. "That's nice."

"I'm a shaman."

At this point Jonathon grabbed my hand, stared into an approximation of my eyes and slurred, "And you're one too." Bleeding marvellous. Then Jonathon smiled and farted.

"Will you help me?"

"That depends, what help do you need with your girlfriend?"

"She needs me to be a man."

What are we up to now? Quadruple shit?

"How can I help you with that?"

"Will you help me?"

"I'm not sure I can be man for your girlfriend."

Jonathon seemed to understand this on some level and stopped to consider his next move.

I had refrained from simply leaving partly because I was concerned that he was incapable of finding his way home and partly because I thought if I just cycled off he might try to grab me and cause an accident. Suddenly I had an idea, why not make him someone else's problem?

"Where is your girlfriend?"

"She's at Dan's."

Ah yes Dan's. I thought this might be a further complication so I changed tack: "Where do you live?"

"I'm staying at Dan's."

"I can go with you there if you want?" I decided I'd walk him home and then make a break for it.

"Thank you so much, you're the best person ever."

Well I like to think so. "Shall we go then, where is it?"

Jonathon indicated that Dan's was just around the corner, about five minutes away. I managed to get him walking and pedalled slowly by his side, so as to be able to head off at speed if necessary.

Every so often Jonathon would go into a little cycle of expressing remorse, "I'm sorry for being such a prick", before grabbing my arm and thanking me again "You're the best person ever".

In one of his occasional departures from form he returned to an old subject, "I'm a shaman."

"Yes, you told me."

"I'm a shaman."

I tried a new approach, "What does being a shaman involve?"
There was a long pause, eventually followed by, "I'm not sure... but I like to think it involves being a good person."

Sometimes Jonathon would get very serious, and at one point he glared at me and while crushing my wrist demanded, "Do I look like a prick to you?" As is so often the case, self preservation lost a brief battle with sarcasm and I only offered, "Not especially." Luckily by this time Jonathon's poor mistreated mind had already moved on and he was staring at the floor lamenting, "..'ve done a lot of acid."

We arrived outside the gate of some college accommodation. Jonathon was as sure as a mere shell of a man could be that it was where Dan lived.

"Do you know which number he lives in?" I was glad that there had been no recent mention of being a man or girlfriends.

"No."

Quintuple shit. Now into bonus points.

"I'll ring him", suggested Jonathon.

I could only agree that this was a good idea.

Jonathon then began a valiant battle with inebriation and tiny buttons. After a not insignificant period of time, he seemed to emerge victorious and put the phone to his ear.

Nothing happened. Perhaps there was no answer, perhaps he hadn't rung anyone.

"Did you ring him?"

"Look, look!" Jonathon proceeded to show me the calendar on his phone.

I decided Jonathon was near enough salvation and would probably remember where he was staying eventually.

"Jonathon I've got to go home."

"Ok, ok. Look, I want to give you my number."

"Sure." I made no effort to get out my phone and instead looked at him questioningly.

"Here." Jonathon showed me the calendar again, then after some thought managed to reach the media player and eventually the address book. Scrolling up and down randomly, he somehow found 'Jonathon'. As I was pretending to memorise the number, Jonathon giggled and pressed the call button. This of course led to a missed call and some resulting confusion for one of us.

Feeling sorry for him, I was about to suggest he try Dan again, when two dog walkers strolled past on the other side of the street, which was odd because it was 3am. Jonathon, being a friendly individual, called out to them, "Hi, how's it going?". They ignored us and hurried on.

"That's so rude!" Jonathon was not impressed.

"Yes." I agreed.

"So rude. You know what they are?"

"Rude?" I ventured.

"Smack heads", said Jonathon authoritatively.

Somehow I managed to persuade Jonathon to go into the apartment complex and try ringing again. Once he had disappeared through the gate I quickly cycled home. The next day I saw him in a pub. He didn't recognise me, and I didn't make any effort to remedy his failing.