Flamingo Flying South

by Joyce Dingwell

  A silence grew between them, a silence, she knew angrily, that spoke for itself as far as he was concerned. She wished now she had never accepted this post. She did not like, nor ever could like, this person. The children pulled at her… all children did… but they, too, offered a stormy passage. Cyprus itself, redolent of everything that had been romantic and beautiful, offered it, too, in its relentless reminder of One Summer. No, she should not have agreed. Perhaps even now…

  'I've been in touch with my solicitor regarding your employ,' Agrippa Smith said almost as though he had guessed the progress of her thoughts. 'The papers have been finalized,' he informed her.

  'But not signed.'

  'Certainly signed. Signed Georgia Paul.'

  That fact came back to her in an indignant rush. This man saying resignedly: 'Beggars can't be choosers,' then: 'Will you write your name there, Miss Paul?'

  'Is it your custom to obtain a signature first?' she in­quired.

  'You should have checked,' he reminded her mildly. He drained his glass, called for the bill, then got up. 'A stroll round the waterfront?'

  'No, thank you.'

  'A nightclub? I'm told Limassol can supply these.'

  'No.'

  'Then-?'

  'I'll go to bed.' She started along the promenade, then politely, though reluctantly, she turned. 'And you, Mr. Smith?'

  'I'm not an early bedder, but I'll return you to the hotel.'

  'No need, Cyprus is a very woman-safe island.'

  'All the same I will return you, possibly go up myself, put in a few hours' work.'

  But after she had gone to her suite, then crossed to the window to look down, Georgia saw him emerging again, emerging into the beautiful night, the summer-remembered night, and she found an odd restlessness in herself.

  She went to bed, as she had said, but it was some hours before she slept.

  The next morning she did not make the mistake of asking the boys whether they would like to look at houses with her, she knew that their, probably a stock answer to everything, would be: 'Not much.'

  She crossed to the larger suite in time to help the hotel maid… Katarina, she was told, by that smiling Greek-Cypriot girl… to finish dressing the boys.

  'Such good boys,' said Katarina, who had some English, 'I say to them "If you sit still while I pull on the fanella"… the undervest, madam… "Katarina will find you some siokolata."'

  'Chocolate,' nodded Georgia. She smiled at Katarina. 'I think they answered when you asked if they would like that: "Not much." '

  'Yes,' said Katarina, puzzled. 'Such good boys, though, not to need—' She sought for a word she needed.

  'Bribe,' suggested Georgia with a secret sigh. She looked at the neat little boys. 'Have they had breakfast?' she asked the maid.

  'Yes. Also taken their little pills.'

  'Vitamin dragees,' came in Bish blandly. 'To supplement our diet.'

  'Katarina looked a little confused, but Georgia, accus­tomed by now to the boys' sophisticated vocabulary, was glad she had been informed. She had been considering asking their father if he thought their bored outlook could be the result of some vitamin lack, but now she wouldn't.

  'Multi,' went on Bish, 'also iron and calcium.'

  On an irresistible impulse Georgia asked, 'Do you think it benefits you?' and waited for the yawn or the 'Not much'.

  'If you don't take them you're not dead, we know that, because we tried spitting them out for a week and we were still alive.' It was Seg.

  'So then you took them again?'

  'Our mother wished us to.'

  'That was nice of you, then.'

  They both said together, and seemed to consider it was an end to a discussion, so Georgia accepted that finality: 'We don't see her much.'

  'If you're ready now,' she said, 'we'll call in on an agent. This agent has houses to let, and he'll take us around in his car.' To any other children, she thought, she would need to add: 'Please behave yourselves,' but there was no need here.

  'We've gone round before looking at houses,' said Bish.

  'In agents' cars,' said Seg.

  Georgia wanted to say: 'Boys, is there anything you haven't done before?'

  But if they did not enjoy themselves, though on the other hand they did not noticeably dislike the procedure, they simply remained the same, Georgia enjoyed herself im­mensely.

  The high ceiling price that Mr. Agrippa Smith had al­lowed her allowed the agent to expand himself, and they examined villa after villa of the better class, beautiful houses with sweeping views, enclosed courtyards, in some instances… and she had been influenced by this until she noted Bish's and Seg's bored little countenances when they saw them… swimming pools. Georgia took down par­ticulars in a notebook and said she would let the agent know.

  As they drove back into the city, the boys in the rear seat, Georgia beside the agent, Georgia wondered if an apartment might not be better, for that pair behind her needed none of the villa advantages supposed to be afforded to children as opposed to flat living.

  They had been examining some offerings out of town, and now the agent's car swept back in the direction of Limassol, skimming over the spectacular hills above Happy Valley, where, though the heat was dazzling, Rugby was being played at this moment by some ardent R.A.F. teams, then past the point to the Queen Mary Hospital.

  'Stop,' directed Georgia abruptly. 'Take the Plantation Road.'

  'It is a little longer,' demurred the agent.

  'I know, but…' Georgia leaned out. She was remem­bering this road clearly… barley fields running into an aquamarine sea… Kolossi Tower looking down from its stony height… bruise-blue mountains pondering over it all… then far above the carobs trying to climb those moun­tains the first of the flamingoes flying south. She and Justin had been privileged to see that lovely thing, see that un­forgettable rose-pink flight to the shallow salt lake at Sov­ereign Akrotiri, where they gathered every year before they flew to Nairobi. Afterwards, Justin had rimmed the lake, and the flamingoes had rested there, only faintly pink in re­laxation.

  Justin had talked about Kenya, where he went regularly, and its Rift Valley where the flamingoes congregated in thousands, and the way he had told her had made her think that the next time he went she would be beside him… but evidently, biting her lip now in embarrassed memory, she had not said, as she had said at Bellapais, any 'our', any 'us', for he had not become silent, and she had not guessed why.

  'Why,' came in Seg from the back seat, 'are we stopping here?'

  'There are no villas,' observed Bish.

  'There were flamingoes,' Georgia explained.

  To her surprise they did not know about them. More surprising still, they tacked on to that admission a curious 'What are they?' So they were not entirely lacklustre.

  'Birds—wading birds, very lovely birds. They're pink.' She saw that flight again, that rosy necklet in a blue Cypriot sky.

  'Why do they come here?'

  'To rest on their way south to escape the winter. From the Camargue, perhaps, in France, where there's a colony.'

  'I want to see them.' It was Bish, and for the first time Georgia saw a flicker of interest in him. A pity, she thought, that the annual flight was long over.

  'I'm sorry, darling.' She nodded for the agent to go on.

  When they returned to the Curium Palace, Agrippa Smith was standing in the avenue beside a small smart car. Georgia thanked the agent, told him she would do some considering, then turned to tell the boys to alight, for they were not the usual little boys who leapt out first.

  But today they had leapt out, and she put it down to the new car, an attraction to any old or young male, until she found that they had bypassed the car and gone into the hotel.

  At a nod from Mr. Smith, she crossed to his side.

  'Your transport,' he indicated.

  'It's new.'

  'Any objection?'

  'No… except…'

  'Frightened you'll inflict the
first scratch? Not to worry, I'm a believer in things being used. It would be almost im­possible, I should say, not to drive around this island with­out gathering a few dents.'

  'I won't look for them,' she promised, 'and though a used car would have done, still thank you very much.'

  'How did you fare with the agent?' he inquired.

  'I've taken a lot of notes for you.'

  'Nothing jumped out? No bells were rung? No house sud­denly opened in-beckoning doors?'

  'No,' she said a little stiffly. 'If you'll read the notes—'

  'Not now. Nor tonight. My publisher is flying in on his way to Jo'burg. There's to be a brief conference up at Nic­osia. I'm leaving at once and won't be back until tomorrow. Can you hold the fort here?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then here are the car keys, go where and when you please. Even though you've contacted an agent, afterwards you may care to look a second time; also often an unescorted tour will produce something new.'

  'Yes, you're right. Thank you, Mr. Smith.'

  He nodded briefly, turned to a chauffeured car that he had evidently ordered, for it was now drawn up at the kerb, then got in and left without another word or look.

  Georgia went in, too. Examining places to live in was a rather exhausting business, and she ran a warm bath and soaked for a long time. House? Apartment? She considered each in turn. The house seemed likely to win, not because of the boys, for if ever children were apartment-slanted chil­dren those two were, but because… well, an apartment seemed more exposed, more—more intimate. She felt she could not live in such a place, however large, with Mr. Agr­ippa Smith. In a villa you had patios to escape to gardens… courtyards. You had a better chance of not run­ning into a tall, broad, pipe-smoking (cigarette at night) individual with an odd twist to his mouth and narrowed, baiting eyes.

  There was a knock on the door. Georgia was inclined to disregard it, until it came again… again.

  'Wait, please,' she called, then got out of the bath, dabbed off the surplus moisture and climbed into a towelling robe.

  She went to the door and opened it a bare inch. When she saw Katarina there, she opened it further and told the maid to come in. It would be concerning the boys, she thought, probably refusing to eat supper. Certainly it would be some­thing of that sort, never anything actually naughty.

  But it was naughty. More than that, it was alarming. Katarina was alarmed. Her big black eyes were swimming with tears.

  'The two children,' she wept, 'they are not here. More than that, they have left the hotel. That small Bish and Seg, madam, they are gone!'

  CHAPTER THREE

  The first thing, Georgia told herself, was to placate Kata­rina; these Cypriot women were very tenderhearted, very emotional. If she showed the girl the concern she was feel­ing, for one had to be concerned, even this soon, about chil­dren, she could start a panic.

  Telling her to go back to the suite, that the boys might be playing jokes with her… jokes? that pair?… she dressed quickly, then joined Katarina in the apartment across the passage.

  'They run in,' related Katarina at once, 'so I go down to the kitchen for milk and biscuits for them, then when I come back…' She spread her hands in despair. 'I look every­where. I know boys, I have brothers of my own. Under beds, behind doors, in cupboards. They are not there, not any­where.'

  'They'll be in the garden.' The hotel had attractive sur­rounds.

  'I have looked.'

  'Then up the street, along the by-pass. There's a toy shop, and you know what children are.'—But not these children, Georgia thought bleakly, not these probably toy-saturated small humans.

  'The desk did not see them go out,' fretted Katarina.—Oh dear, Georgia thought now, I hope she didn't make too much of it when she asked.

  'They would creep out the back way, through the kitchen.' A little desperately, trying to convince Katarina, she repeated, 'You know what children are.'

  'They are good boys, never naughty ones.' As before, the girl looked a little puzzled over that.

  'I think,' lied Georgia, 'in fact I'm sure I know the very spot'

  'Madam can find them?'

  'Yes. And they certainly would have returned themselves in time'… she tried to make it airy, casual… 'but all the same, I'll go and collect them.'

  'Yes, madam, do. Mr. Smith set me to look after the small ones, and when they are not here to look after I am anxious.'

  'All a storm in a teacup,' Georgia reassured her.

  'What do you say, madam?'

  Georgia remembered a piece of old Cypriot wisdom Justin had told her; Justin had been a keen folk scholar, undoubtedly wherever he went he had soaked himself in the country's lore. This Cypriot saying had been: 'If you don't say boo in a well, it does not respond boo.' Meaning if you do not start trouble, you will not be troubled. She said this now to Katarina, and the girl smiled her understanding at once and became composed again. As she left her fussing around the room, Georgia thought gratefully of Justin and his Cypriot sayings. She remembered other sayings from Justin… some from Nairobi, Nairobi to where the flam­ingoes flew south when they left here. She wondered why in her present trouble—for, away from Katarina, she had to admit it was trouble—that that had occurred.

  She got into the new little car, in her deep absorption not worrying about the familiarity or otherwise of gears. Before she realized it she was out of Byron Street and proceeding along the port road at such a snail's pace that anyone would think she was either a learner driver or unsure of her direc­tion. In actuality she was straining her eyes from right to left for a glimpse of two small boys in blue shorts, white shirts and sandals. Where did little boys go? That was easily answered. They poked around the water… but not on this occasion, she saw, knowing, too, that she would have been surprised had she seen that pair there. The balloon-seller? No, she had offered them balloons once today and they had been supremely bored. She looked up to the giant figure in the park advertising the Wine Festival, and remembered how small boys were fascinated by his size and how they stood beside him trying to measure up their own height. She had stopped the car, and now she walked into the Gardens. But no small boys, or at least her small boys, rewarded her.

  Perhaps in the attached zoo. She looked in vain. The aviary. She looked again, and though in vain not so much in vain as before. For something had begun to nag at her. Bish. Bish showing his very-first-interest-ever. Bish asking of the flamingoes: 'What are they?' Finally: 'I want to see them.'

  It was a long shot, but that very-first-interest-ever could not be pushed aside. Georgia went back to the car, got in, released the brake, then began the journey to Akrotiri, thankful that Cyprus summer days were long, and that she could expect bright sunlight for some hours yet She did not point out to herself the absurdity of two little boys covering the considerable distance to the salt lake, for knowing these little boys now, she knew she could expect anything this amazing from them. Suspect anything. Suspect that the empty taxi that had just passed her had not been empty on its forward journey. Had she thought of it quicker she would have stopped the taxi and asked the driver if two small people had driven out with him from Limassol, for although they were only six and seven that was exactly what that sophisticated pair were capable of.

  And, she saw, rounding a bend, actually had done. For there they squatted in some meagre brush beside the now dry lake, two little boys, Bish and Seg, and… and she could not believe it, not this long after migration, not four months after as she remembered from her last time… a flamingo. Just one flamingo, and flamingoes went in large flights. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true, but there they were, two boys and a slender pink bird.

  She came carefully across and sat down quietly beside them. It gratified her more than she could have thought possible that they accepted her without question, did not even consider it necessary to put small fingers to their lips for silence. She knew… and glowed foolishly because of it… that in this moment she was one of them.<
br />
  She watched them watching the bird, not taking their eyes off the bird, absorbed, engrossed at last. Engrossed for the first time in their blasé lives?

  Then she, too, gave her attention to the flamingo. How, she wondered, was it still here? She supposed it must have been either too young or too weak for the flight south. Perhaps it had started with the others, fallen behind, lost its way, so came back. Perhaps it had been rejected because of its fragility, not included in the southern contingent… oh, there were scores of reasons one could attach to that slender, beautiful thing of white and rose-pink.

  But if it had been young and weak once, it appeared full-size and robust enough (if robust could ever be applied to a slender flamingo) now. She glanced around her and knew there would be worms for the scratching in the surrounds where it had lodged itself, small molluscs left over from the lake after it lost its winter-wet and became summer-dry.

  But it was still a marvel it had survived; there were the inevitable marauding animals, certainly rodents, on the island, and the open season for shooting would have been still on for weeks after its companions had flown south.

  Another marvel, and a greater marvel, was its calm ac­ceptance of them. Even as Georgia watched, the flamingo allowed Bish to stroke its long down-curved bill.

  'It doesn't mind you talking,' permitted Seg to her.

  Georgia asked: 'Can I touch it?'

  'Yes.'

  She did.

  'Did you come out in a taxi?' she asked as casually as she could, and they nodded back just as casually. Probably it was the sort of thing they had been used to doing all their lives, but it was the sort of thing she must stop them doing. It was unthinkable that children of six and seven could travel by themselves in taxis, unthinkable that they carried that kind of money. She was surprised that Agrippa Smith had not checked their pockets and restricted them to jingling money, not the folding variety that a trip from Lim­assol to Akrotiri would entail.

  But— 'He was a good taxi man,' related Seg. When we told him when we got out that he must go to the Hotel to be paid, he said he would.'