The Other Things

by Jonathan Dransfield

  Kirsten took a sip of wine and carried on. ‘When we finally broke through it was like an explosion. There was a whistle of steam. It literally knocked us over, as did the smell! When we got into the cave it had filled with mist, but thick on the walls was a brown stinking mould, which had been growing there for centuries, cut off from the outside world.’

  ‘That’s extraordinary! Did you find anything in the pool?’ asked Alim.

  Kirsten gave a look of faint regret. ‘We never got to know. We had to go for respirators and then the weather closed in, and by the time we returned we simply couldn’t find it again. Anyway, that’s where I’d look on Mars – an old vent blocked with ice, to keep the air at a sufficient pressure and warmth to hold a lake of water, just like mine in Iceland.’

  Azim enthusiastically fake-punched Ford’s arm, adding, ‘Do you think we’ll find our angels down there?’

  ‘You know that’s classified!’ Ford whispered.

  Kirsten was intrigued. ‘What angels?’

  Alim tried to recover. ‘Sorry, I meant angles,’ he said, and winked at Ford.

  Ford hissed. ‘It’s supposed to be kept under wraps until the president has made his mind up.’

  ‘About what, old man?’

  ‘Another secret…’ replied Ford in hushed tones.

  ‘Oh, I love a secret. Have another drink!’ Alim dashed off for a refill.

  ‘You are a man of mysteries, Mr Harris!’ smiled Kirsten.

  As the children slowly burrowed through the throng of chatting scientists, Buzz tried to describe to Elin the arcane rules of his card game ‘Trumpers’. ‘You put all the skills down in six categories. It can be anyone – your mom, teachers, football players – totally random. You name a skill if you have a big hand, or roll a dice. My Granf beat Albert Einstein – at flying!’

  ‘What are you good at?’

  ‘Maths and flying, like Granf!’

  ‘I’d put geology and imagination as my skills,’ she proffered proudly.

  Ducking under a swinging elbow, Buzz corrected her. ‘Imagination isn’t in a category.’

  ‘It would be in mine. OK, fighting?’

  Buzz approved. ‘Yep, that’s cool. Favourite weapons?’

  ‘Rocks!’

  ‘Hi, Granf.’ The children had finally made it through the crowd.

  ‘Mummia!’ cried Elin and jumped up at Kirsten. ‘We went to a temple where Jane kissed a prince.’

  ‘What!’ Ford said with a splutter.

  ‘I was adored once, you know.’ Jane winked as she arrived.

  ‘You still are, sweetheart!’

  She wrinkled her nose at him.

  It had been a long and dusty journey back after the conference ended and Buzz was glad to be snuggled into his bed in a compact room off the main suite. Before he knew it he was lost in slumber.

  Next door Jane crashed around the bedroom with suppressed rage. Ford had not intended to upset her – actually he’d done nothing wrong, but he should have made more of an effort. ‘Men! So inconsiderate, and so happy to plough their own furrow, oblivious to their partners!’

  Ford washed himself and brushed his teeth with mixed feelings of relief and post-exhaustion euphoria. In his army days, he’d been drilled to expect the unexpected, so he should have anticipated the pillow that hit him full in the face as he returned, beaming, to the bedroom.

  ‘That’s for not giving me any bloody credit for the paper!’ said Jane, hurling another. Thwack! ‘That’s for getting drunk without me!’

  If Ford had liked the way modern hotels stacked the beds with cushions, he was swiftly going off the idea.

  ‘But, honey…’ He ducked an orange satin blur flying across the room.

  ‘That’s for asking that bloody woman to join us in Pompeii!’

  ‘Oh, God!’ he thought, as the mirage of well-being crumpled and he realised his insensitivity. In a smart move he picked up the remaining cushions from the bed and began his apologies.

  Jane stopped to think. With horror, Ford followed her gaze. ‘Bed and breakfast next time!’ he thought, as he spied the mound of cushions on the luxurious sofa at the end of the L-shaped room. With a satin cushion in each hand, he skilfully parried the next two salvoes. Suddenly the adjoining door to Buzz’s room opened and a small pyjama-clad figure entered.

  ‘Pillow fight!’ cried Buzz, vanishing, then re-entering the room with his own battery of soft furnishings. All three ended up on the bed – Ford penitent and demanding quarter be given, and Jane and Buzz cackling uncontrollably as they pummelled their prone victim.

  After two days Ford, Jane, Buzz, Kirsten and Elin finally made it to the ancient site of Pompeii.

  The looming and broken presence of Vesuvius still dominates the landscape. It is part of a ring of fire, where the African plate is forced under the bulk of the European one, where the saturated rock can generate sufficient energy to melt the underlying strata to a pressure-cooker state.

  Today it would threaten far more than two Roman towns – the teeming city of Naples with over 3 million lives. However, this is Italy and life goes on regardless, and it is a better place for it.

  They passed the gift shop, closed due to ‘excessive bureaucracy’, and then made their way into the hillside site. Before the pyroclastic flows decapitated the town’s buildings, someone could have easily mistaken Pompeii for present-day Sorrento, a reflection of the sophistication of this ancient place. They headed across the rough-paved forum towards a grid of streets. Jane led the way, chatting to Kirsten, with whom she’d now established a congenial rapport. Buzz and Elin followed, swishing ‘swords’ or acting as shopkeepers, their imaginations gripped by the echoes of the past. Ford tailed behind, distracted by the abundance of detail remaining on the walls and in the courtyards, and even by the carriage ruts worn into the rock from decades of use. He was fascinated by the brothel, with its depictions of services on offer, and the bathhouse, which would have been a health club worth joining.

  Jane kept half an eye on the kids in the labyrinth of streets, as she discussed life in the Midwest and Iceland with Kirsten. They stopped at a set of wooden barriers in front of a tall wall, which held back the remaining debris. A call brought two dusty figures out from the excavations with accompanying shrieks. ‘Elisabetta! Bello vederti!’

  ‘Jane, Jane, scusami, my hands are filthy. Solo cose felici!’ Hiding behind her, and shy at the sight of the children, was Enza. ‘Non essere timido,’ said Elisabetta. ‘Come meet the children! Remember Zia Jane?’

  In almost perfect English, Enza stepped out and shook each visitor by the hand, announcing, ‘My name is Vincenza. I am a young archaeologist and chef. This is my home. You may call me Enza.’

  Then she beckoned the kids to follow her. ‘Come see my bedroom!’ Enza vanished into the scaffolding beyond and they instinctively followed her. They wove between the half-revealed walls of a dead city. The only signs of life now were lazy cats and twittering birds, which still made Pompeii their home. They arrived at a half-buried doorway and the bedroom of ‘Lavinia’.

  ‘I just hope she survived,’ said Enza. ‘We found her poor cat in the corner. I’m scared of what we’ll find in the rest of the house…’

  Happily the only traces of Lavinia in the house that day were Enza and her mother.

  Enza would never know that when Vesuvius erupted, Lavinia’s family had been reluctant to leave their beautiful home and business, and were faced with the dilemma of braving storms of pumice or staying put.

  Her father had taken his favourite coin, a spintria. ‘Tails we leave, sex we stay,’ he thought as the act of flipping it triggered his preference for ‘tails’.

  Spintria

  Before the coin hit the floor, he resolved to take the family on the perilous journey through the hot falling ash and leave by the north-eastern gate.

  All went well until the cat, terrified by the acrid smells, squirmed out of Lavinia’s grip and shot off homeward. She gave chase and vanished from s
ight. The streets were now so thick with the grey flakes that Lavinia was totally disorientated. The loss of the cat and the bubbling fear forced a well of tears to flow. Lost and alone, she froze in terror, and even her tears solidified with a fine crust of cement that prevented them from rolling down her cheeks. Then the air was rent apart by a sickening series of booms. The very earth shuddered and she felt herself lifted high into the air – to unexpected relief, by the arms of her desperate father.

  They were lucky; they fled away from the prevailing winds and ash falls. On and on, through the dark nightmare they ran, dodging the crashing lava bombs until, after an interminable journey, they reached a place of refuge on a small hill in the grey-stained countryside. Many miles away, they could only look back in awe and grief as a 20-mile high column of billions of tons of airborne rock collapsed onto their unfortunate and vulnerable town.

  The following day another spewing, superheated mass tore apart the flanks of the fire mountain and finally engulfed their house, their neighbours, and everything they’d ever known from their previous lives – and, worst of all for Lavinia, her cat.

  All lay undisturbed for almost two millennia. The toss of a coin and a father’s intuition not only saved Lavinia’s life, but also Enza’s.

  Over the centuries and for 82 generations, Lavinia’s children and their offspring always bore at least one girl. They would never know it, but Enza and her mother were direct descendants in the female line of the little girl whose bedroom they were so carefully revealing to the modern world.

  Buzz and Elin followed Enza’s vivid description of the bedroom, comparing it to their own. It seemed so stark, without furnishings, gadgets or even bedding. Suddenly their young guide drew them closer and reached into her canvas drawing bag.

  ‘Look at this,’ she smirked, ‘I found it under a load of charcoal…’ In her hand was a small coin with the Roman numerals VI on it. Before they could wonder what the fuss was about, she turned it over.

  ‘Yeuch!’ said Buzz, while Elin just giggled.

  ‘Talk about tails!’ she exclaimed, as she made out the tiny embossed rounded bottoms of the two lovers.

  ‘Well, it makes a change from Abraham Lincoln,’ offered Buzz.

  ‘Or fish!’ added Elin.

  The Romans had the concept of genius to describe the essential nature of a place, person or even a thing. As a powerful force of nature, Vesuvius had genius and so does Pompeii. It must have been a wonderful place to live, and even today the genius or magic of the place still hangs on to every nook and cranny.

  Each of our visitors felt its presence strongly as they wandered dreamily past the avenue of graves towards Elisabetta’s restaurant. Enza took liberties all the way, rushing beyond any barriers into the ruins to show her new friends her favourite haunts. Elisabetta turned a blind eye. She was walking close to Jane, chatting animatedly about the intervening years since they’d last met. Lagging behind the group was Ford, lost in a world of his own. Kirsten waited for him. Her ‘Hi’ didn’t register, and she waved in front of his eyes to brake the trance.

  ‘What’s the big secret, then? The one Alim was asking you about?’

  Secrets are tyrants willing to be dethroned and as Ford kicked an ancient stone down the dusty road, he decided he could trust her.

  He examined Kirsten’s face. ‘You’ve security clearance with NASA, haven’t you?’

  ‘Sure, grade four,’ she replied.

  ‘OK. They’ve found a fossil on Mars and the president’s asked me to plan a manned mission to investigate.’

  Kirsten’s eyebrows arched. ‘What’s the problem? That’s fantastic!’

  ‘We have to do it within three years!’

  ‘Fokk! No wonder you’re looking tired!’ she said with a laugh, then added, ‘Go for it! Why not?!’

  Ford crooked his head, as if to the skies above. ‘No budget, no rocket, no time, and we can’t get the crew back!’

  Kirsten picked up the ancient stone Ford had just kicked. ‘My country was founded by a desperate people. They had no resources, and guess what? They did it, risking their lives to voyage to a godforsaken place and make it their home! That’s my blood. Can I help?’

  He looked thankfully at Kirsten Gunnarsdottir, and then to the restaurant. ‘That would be so very kind, but first, lunchtime!’

  Jane couldn’t hide anything from her dear friend Elisabetta, so by the time they all sat down, there was the biggest elephant in the room since Hannibal. When Elisabetta returned from the kitchen with her husband, he was in on it too.

  Buzz took no notice. Enza had provided them with crayons and paper, which he was rapidly converting into ‘Trumpers’ cards.

  He guided the girls through their skills. He was more than happy to fill them out on the cards, especially as he was ‘No way!’ going to eat the whitebait first course. He scored himself high on ‘pilot’, ‘computers’ and ‘navigation’.

  Enza’s strengths were ‘artist/photographer’, ‘archaeologist’ and ‘cook’, and Elin’s, ‘geologist’, ‘orienteering’, ‘adventurer’ and ‘storyteller’.

  Enza retreated into the kitchen with her father. They returned with steaming bowls of delicious homemade pasta, while Buzz finished the cards. He loved pasta and this was a real treat. He chatted with the girls, paying no attention to the adults, until he caught the words ‘I hear you’re planning a trip to Mars?’ from the garrulous Giulio.

  Italian Meal

  Ford recalled Benjamin Franklin’s words ‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead’ and realised that all the adults now knew.

  Intrigued, the children’s chatter stopped as they tuned into the conversation.

  The long story of the president and the project came out, lubricated by the wine produced from the very vines that surrounded them.

  The children grasped the enormity of Ford’s story and a thrill erupted among them.

  A manned trip to Mars! Then their imaginations were squashed as Ford recounted the brick wall he’d met with. ‘Goddammit! The mission needs a crew of six to be done properly and we’d struggle to get even two astronauts back off the planet!’ Ford looked around the table. ‘As my friend Alim told me, “You’re basically stuffed, squire!”’

  Giulio laughed. ‘Nessun problema, invia piccolo popolo! Send small people!’

  Ford thought ‘That’s very easy to say,’ but replied, ‘What do you mean? Dwarfs? Hobbits? You’ve been watching too many films lately.’

  The three children stared intently at each other, then down at their cards, their skills laid out before them. Slowly their eyes met again with a recognition of the answer. The adults jumped with surprise as the ‘Trumpers’ cards hit the table with a loud smack, and ‘the small people’ shouted in unison: ‘Send us! We can do it!’

  Trumpers Cards

  The adults in the room laughed with indulgent mirth, as Ford thoughtfully studied the cards. The president had selected him to ‘think outside of the box’. Ford scrutinised the children, his curious brain churning, and then considered the adults, now distractedly chatting. There was a second pile of cards, which he thumbed through with amusement, for they were the scores for each of the ‘growps’ – Buzz’s term for grown-ups. Enza had drawn a cameo of them above their skills.

  Ford placed Enza and Elisabetta’s cards together. ‘So, just how good is Enza at archaeology?’ he asked Elisabetta.

  ‘Oh, brillante! She has such an eye! And her drawings are exquisite. We make a grande team!’ Regarding the empty bowl, he knew she could cook.

  He turned to Kirsten. ‘And Elin at geology?’

  ‘Like a fish in a fjord. I get twice as much done when she’s around. She’s like a sponge, and she’s as tough as shark skin.’

  Ford shuffled to Buzz’s card. ‘And why’ve you scored yourself more than me at flying, young man?’

  Buzz blushed. ‘Not saying.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Not in front of everyone.’

  Ford leaned forward. ‘Whisper it.’ />
  With a deep breath he said, ‘I don’t fall asleep in the cockpit!’

  ‘Between us, young man.’ Ford winked.

  At this point Giulio returned with the carne. Ford said silently to himself, ‘Well, that’s food for thought…’ And suddenly a subconscious burden lifted from his shoulders. He could now enjoy tucking into the pig’s liver with gusto.

  Chapter 14

  Out of Africa

  Zulu and the Stars

  The thorn thicket rustled. Zulu squatted on the vivid lichen-speckled rocks. ‘Monkey see, monkey do!’ he whispered.

  The corpulent couple bent low and urgently asked, ‘Do you think it’s a lion?’

  ‘Follow me!’ Zulu scrambled to a wind-sculpted boulder while they tagged behind, like desperate ducklings. The three heads peered around the crystalline curve of their refuge. Suddenly, from behind the bush, trotted the forms of three zebras: a stallion, mare and foal. Their black coarse manes and pyjama stripes vividly contrasted with the dappled canvas around them. Zulu rose slowly and crept forward towards the family, followed by the tourists. They faced each other for several minutes until the animals sniffed the wind and trotted off.

  Kurt looked down at his camera, happy that he had many shots to enjoy back home. Rising, he caught Zulu’s full attention. ‘What would you have done if it had been a lion?’ He was desperate for a frisson of danger.

  Zulu gave it some thought. ‘Ach! I’d run very fast in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Wow! No way! You can’t run faster than a lion?’ Kurt responded incredulously.

  Zulu gave his broad, gleaming white smile. ‘No… just faster than you!’

  Zulu’s pride in their windmill, still humming happily in the background, had not assuaged the uneasy feeling he’d had over the last few weeks. Mr Herman was acting uncomfortably around him, almost too nice and polite. A feeling of dread dropped over his thoughts like a blackout blind. Suddenly he saw a scrawny little figure, arms waving and shouting his name. Zulu needed to report to Mr Herman’s office ‘at once’.