Chapter 2
Riki
omeone was making a horrible noise somewhere. Neil listened for a moment and realized the gasps and rattles were the sound of his own breath. His glasses, which by some miracle he still had in one hand, were coated with salt and dirt, and his mouth, half-open like that of a haddock displayed in a shop window, was pressed into the sand so that the grains coated his teeth. He wanted to spit the stuff out, but he had no energy to sit up or move.
His eyelids fluttered, and he realized that the black bars striping his face were the shadows of the palm leaves above him, swaying in a soft breeze. “Urgh,” he said and tried to push himself up, but his hands slipped and he flopped back into the sand.
The stripes moved across his face, and Neil wondered idly how long he had been unconscious on the white beach. He could hear the gentle hiss of the waves. One lapped on his foot, soaking his flannel pant leg. “Urgh,” he said again.
With a start, he noticed that the shadows no longer lay across his face; sunlight now forced its way through the leaves and blinded him. He must have drifted in and out of sleep, but there was no was no way to tell what time it was, or how many hours had passed since he had – floated? Been pushed? – onto the beach.
There was a sudden, loud clatter behind him, and he heard the squawk of an outraged parrot as it was disturbed from its perch. The sound increased in volume, and a pair of long, brown legs passed like a rapid pair of scissors that moved quickly in and out of his vision. Someone was on his or her way, maybe to the sea. Neil tried to say something to the owner of the legs, but the sand in his mouth threatened to choke him.
The footsteps suddenly ceased, and Neil got the feeling that the person, or thing, had become aware of him. An instant later, a small shadow blocked the sun, and a gruff voice demanded, “Ipa! Jemanja!”
Neil exerted every muscle and strained to move. He managed to turn his head towards the voice. All he could see, however, was a thin silhouette, blue from the sunlight behind it.
“Ipa!” the blue silhouette demanded again. “Poyareni! Fet zenze meloza!”
He managed to push himself up on one arm, but he simply couldn’t hold his head up.
“Bwah,” the voice said in a disgusted tone. The shadow bent closer and peered at Neil; after a moment, it wound one eel-like arm under his neck and hauled him upright with surprising strength.
For a moment, Neil imagined that he had been rescued by a very tall, thin monkey with long black hair. One narrow hand pushed back the dark curtain that hung in front of her eyes, and he saw that it was a girl. Her bright, inquisitive eyes looked into his, and she nodded to herself. “Edo, kum-kum.” She stood up and pulled on his arm.
Neil staggered to his feet and almost fell again, but the skinny arm wound around his waist and supported him. “Lunewe gobe.” She dragged him away from the waves and towards a group of rocks beside a rising stone slope, surrounded by more palm trees and tall blades of bamboo. His vision still obscured from the sun, Neil squinted at where she was headed, in between two of the bigger rocks. His limbs felt more like legs instead of rubber, but Neil managed to hobble beside her. He wanted to say thanks, or even to tell her his name, but his throat was choked with severe, painful thirst.
Neil stopped. He heard it once and again, the laughing gurgle of a freshwater stream. Energy coursed through his body and he broke away from the girl towards the sound of cool, blessed water. “Ipa!” she cried.
Neil had no thought or reason left. The only thing he had in mind was to push his way towards the hidden river.
He had to go between two rocks that stood like a pair of sentinels. In his haste he banged his shoulder on one, but he no longer cared for anything except his dry throat. On the other side of the rocks, the sand ended and there was a broad expanse of deep, velvet grass. A little stream coursed down the other side of the small mountain, and Neil immediately fell down and plunged his head into it.
Water! Pure, crystal, water! He had never known how delicious it was until he swallowed that first mouthful. His hands gripped the stones and he tipped his head back, allowing the liquid to soak his head, his hair, and his clothes.
“Jemanja!” the girl called again, racing over to where he stood, gasping with the effort to drink faster.
“Riki,” someone else said behind him. Neil couldn’t stop drinking to turn and see who it was, however; it was simply physically impossible to stop.
“Chichilia!” the girl replied.
Neil pushed himself back and wiped his dripping mouth with one forearm. He was in a wide garden, and the stream from which he drank ran into a little pond where large gold and red fish swam and flicked their tails at each other.
The rocky slope on one side created a natural border, and the other side was hemmed in by a stone wall. The stones themselves had been carved with smiling heads, patterns of waves, women with tails like fish and long strands of seaweed. Flowers rioted over an arch set into the wall, obviously planted and trained to grow in ordered confusion in the garden. As he looked around in stunned silence, Neil saw more stone carvings set in among fruit trees, flowering vines and ornamental grasses. In a far corner, there was even a huge birdcage, inhabited by a large parrot. The garden, for that was where he was, gave the effect of color, shade and great beauty.
“Jumanja,” the voice said again. The thin hand tugged on his sleeve, and he turned to see the girl who had rescued him beside an older woman. She would have been very attractive if it weren’t for the lines on her forehead and the worried expression in her eyes. They both stared at him, obviously expecting something.
Neil cleared his throat, and croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hullo. I’m Neil. Neil!” He banged on his chest with one hand for emphasis. “I come from – there,” he added, waving one arm towards the sea in a desperate attempt to make these island women understand what he was saying.
“Oh,” the older woman said, “of course. You speak Henry’s language. Forgive my daughter; she is young and didn’t think.”
“You speak English!” Neil blurted.
“Of course we do,” the young girl said impatiently. “Did you think that we talk in grunts?”
“Riki,” the woman said in a warning tone. “Enough now. Neil – is that right? – won’t you come inside and have a proper drink?” She gestured towards the end of the garden, where a long, low house was set in among the vines and bougainvillea.
“Is that where you live?” Neil gaped at the beautiful villa.
The girl, Riki, folded her arms and rolled her eyes upwards. “Expecting a grass hut?”
“One more word from you,” the woman said to the girl, “and I will send you to Mixiamani next week to tend the pigs, do you hear?” Riki’s only response was a scornful laugh.
The woman sighed and shook her head, and Neil quickly intervened. “She’s right, Miss, er, Mrs., uh, madam. That was very rude of me. My thirst must have gone to my –” he swayed suddenly, and his head buzzed with exhaustion and confusion. The bright garden before him swam in his vision. Instantly, the woman was at his side, and she put one hand on his arm.
“This way, Mr. Neil. My name is Chichilia, by the way. Do come inside, and you can have a drink, and a small bite to eat, and you can rest and get clean. Our home is modest, but I believe that you will find it comfortable.”
She guided him down a serpentine path as she spoke, and as they neared the house Neil gasped. “It’s beautiful!”
Riki, who skipped in front of them, turned to cast him another look of scorn, but he didn’t notice as he tipped back his head and stared.
A porch, shaded and set with seats, couches and even hanging chairs, bordered the front. Above, a balcony ran the entire length of the house, onto which at least ten sets of double doors opened. The entire structure was made of dark, rich-looking wood.
The pillars that supported the balcony above the porch were carved into more figures. There were twisting snakes, acrobatic fish and even one elongated squi
d. Long tables on both the balcony and the porch held small figurines done in the same style. Tall, elegant pedestals held vases full of flowers and bowls of fruit. Neil couldn’t help staring at one particularly ripe mango, and his stomach contracted.
“Sit down here, Mr. Neil.” Chichilia showed him a wide chair studded with cushions. Neil collapsed onto the seat and leaned his head back.
“Gosh, thanks very much,” he said. A horrid thought struck him, and he added, “I’m a little dirty, I’m afraid. Spent the night on the beach, I think. I hope I’m not –”
“You’re right,” Riki said. “You’re filthy. In my entire life, I have never seen anyone as dirty as you are right now.”
“Riki!” Chichilia said. “The pigs, do you hear me? Go and tell Odjo to bring juice and snacks.”
Riki pulled her face into an upside-down smile and thrust her tongue out at her mother when Chichilia wasn’t looking. She hopped inside the house, saying, “Pigs! Bwah! Chichilia is such a wart!”
Chichilia closed her eyes for a moment before she sat down on a chair opposite Neil. “I’m afraid she is a bit spoiled. She is the youngest of our family, and her brothers sometimes tend to over-indulge her. But now, what is your history? How did you arrive here on Lampala?”
“So this is Lampala!” Neil exclaimed. “I was afraid that I got blown off course. I set out in a boat yesterday morning, and I ran into a storm –” He reflected that he couldn’t possibly explain the reason why he had come to the island, or how he had been pushed onto the sand.
“And you came alone?” Chichilia raised one eyebrow.
“I know it sounds strange,” Neil said. “I came here because I wanted to find someone.”
Riki popped out of the door. “Told Odjo.” She jerked one thumb back towards the recesses of the house. “I’m going to go and fish now.”
“You will do no such thing.” Chichilia raised one finger and shook it at Riki. “You will sit and talk to our guest and show him some manners.”
“Don’t let me interfere with your plans,” Neil said, feeling uncomfortable.
“Of course not, Mr. Neil,” Chichilia said. “Now sit down, Riki, do you hear me?”
With more eye-rolling, Riki edged her way towards a chair as slowly as possible and sat on the very edge of it.
“Now, Mr. Neil, you were saying?” Chichilia turned back to him.
“La, la la,” Riki loudly sang, keeping one eye on her mother, who opened her mouth to expostulate. The door opened at that moment, and a hugely fat man rolled out with at least five dishes balanced on one mighty arm. In the other hand, he bore a large pitcher, which he set in front of Chichilia.
“Vadugo, Odjo,” Chichilia said.
The giant smiled and responded, “Nulagoha, logogona.” He put down the dishes and gestured to Neil, saying, “Miruti, Jamanja! Miruti!”
Neil bobbed his head confusedly, and Chichilia repeated, “Vadugo.” The giant bowed deeply a few times, and backed away to a little cupboard, and began to pull out cups, plates and napkins.
Riki ran forward and began dipping her hand in the various plates. “Ooh, fried plantains!” She stuffed food into her mouth. “And marinated tentacles!”
“Riki,” Chichilia said again.
“Riki, Riki, Riki,” the girl chanted and cast her eyes up to the heavens again. Privately, Neil agreed; he was already tired of hearing the name Riki repeated.
Odjo, the cook, solved the problem. He returned to the table and plopped down glasses and linens. He lazily curled one pink and brown hand around Riki’s collar and lifted her up in the air to deposit her back in her seat.
“Vadugo, Odjo,” Chichilia said. The fat man bowed a few more times and retired with a broad grin on his face. “Mr. Neil, would you like some of our island delicacies?” She heaped one plate with food as she spoke.
“Gosh, yes!” Neil said. The smell from the plates made him feel faint. He tried to eat as slowly as he could, but the food was delicious, and he couldn’t help pushing it into his mouth as quickly as the vile Riki herself had done.
“Now, Riki, you may help yourself, but put it on a plate.” Chichilia poured pale orange nectar from the pitcher into a glass and setting it in front of Neil.
Riki darted forward and shoved more food onto a dish. “Are you going to live here now?” she asked Neil suddenly.
He shook his head and swallowed a mouthful of coconut rice mixed with seeds and raisins. “I must go and find someone. A friend of mine.” He took a long swallow of the orange drink, which was cold, sweet, and delicious. “Gosh, this is good! Em, besides, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense. It is no intrusion,” Chichilia said instantly. She picked up a yam fritter and bit into it delicately. “Please stay with us for as long as you require.”
As he watched her eat, Neil was reminded of his table manners. He wiped his mouth with a large, intricately embroidered napkin.
“No, I must –” A sudden, rattling yawn shook him.
Chichilia stood up. “Have a rest inside, and we can talk later,” she said. “Come with me, and I’ll show you to a room where you can sleep.” She stood and opened the door, and Neil followed reluctantly.
“I don’t want to –” Another yawn seized him, and she put a hand on his arm to draw him inside.
“We’ll talk later,” she repeated insistently, leading him into the house. Neil had a confused impression of cool darkness, huge rooms, and more beautifully carved furniture.
Riki pushed past him and ran upstairs, hopped onto the banister and slid down, and pushed her way up again. Neil braced himself as the girl darted up the steps, and Chichilia said warningly, “Riki!”
The girl, unheeding, whizzed past on the banister again. As she mounted the stairs for the third time, she asked, “Where’s he going to sleep it off? In the Serpent Room?”
“I thought the Nautilus Chamber,” Chichilia answered.
“I’m not drunk!” Neil protested.
Riki pulled down her eyelids with her long fingers and thrust her tongue out at him before she dashed down a long hallway to a set of double doors, inlaid with the usual ornate carvings, and pulled them open.
The three of them entered, and Neil exclaimed again. The room was patterned with mother of pearl so that it appeared that they had, indeed, entered the shell of a huge sea creature. In the middle of the large room, a huge bed reposed which was circular in shape, surrounded by sheer nets that hung from the high ceiling.
Chichilia gestured to the bed, and Neil said, looking down at his shirtfront, “I should really have a bath first. I don’t want to dirty your sheets.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “There are extra things in the trunk there carved with starfish. I’m sure you’ll find something that fits you.” Ignoring his protests, she gripped Riki’s shoulder, bodily dragged the girl out of the room, and closed the door behind her.
Neil shed his filthy clothes with great relief and pattered over to the chest. The lid opened to an array of fine cotton shirts, folded neatly among small bags of herbs to keep them smelling sweet. Neil grabbed one, thrust it over his head, and fell onto the bed.
Just before he fell asleep, one of the tall wooden shutters opened and a banana skin sailed into the room, past where he lay, to land directly on his flannel pants where they lay on the floor, covered in sand. The shutters were closed again. There was one final cry from outside.
“Riki!”
Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express Page 29