Completely Unexpected Tales

by Roald Dahl

  ‘They’ll think you’re mad.’

  ‘You wait and see.’ She was holding the cat in her arms and petting it tenderly but looking across at her husband, who now walked over to the french windows and stood there staring out into the garden. The evening was beginning, and the lawn was turning slowly from green to black, and in the distance he could see the smoke from his bonfire rising up in a white column.

  ‘No,’ he said, without turning round, ‘I’m not having it. Not in this house. It’ll make us both look perfect fools.’

  ‘Edward, what do you mean?’

  ‘Just what I say. I absolutely refuse to have you stirring up a lot of publicity about a foolish thing like this. You happen to have found a trick cat. O.K. – that’s fine. Keep it, if it pleases you. I don’t mind. But I don’t wish you to go any further than that. Do you understand me, Louisa?’

  ‘Further than what?’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more of this crazy talk. You’re acting like a lunatic’

  Louisa put the cat slowly down on the sofa. Then slowly she raised herself to her full small height and took one pace forward. ‘Damn you, Edward!’ she shouted, stamping her foot. ‘For the first time in our lives something really exciting comes along and you’re scared to death of having anything to do with it because someone may iaugh at you! That’s right, isn’t it? You can’t deny it, can you?’

  ‘Louisa,’ her husband said. ‘That’s quite enough of that. Pull yourself together now and stop this at once.’ He walked over and took a cigarette from the box on the table, then lit it with the enormous patent lighter. His wife stood watching him, and now the tears were beginning to trickle out of the inside corners of her eyes, making two little shiny rivers where they ran through the powder on her cheeks.

  ‘We’ve been having too many of these scenes just lately, Louisa,’ he was saying. ‘No no, don’t interrupt. Listen to me. I make full allowance for the fact that this may be an awkward time of life for you, and that –’

  ‘Oh, my God! You idiot! You pompous idiot! Can’t you see that this is different, this is – this is something miraculous? Can’t you see that?’

  At that point, he came across the room and took her firmly by the shoulders. He had the freshly lit cigarette between his lips, and she could see faint contours on his skin where the heavy perspiration had dried in patches. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m hungry. I’ve given up my golf and I’ve been working all day in the garden, and I’m tired and hungry and I want some supper. So do you. Off you go now to the kitchen and get us both something good to eat.’

  Louisa stepped back and put both hands to her mouth. ‘My heavens!’ she cried. ‘I forgot all about it. He must be absolutely famished. Except for some milk, I haven’t given him a thing to eat since he arrived.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Why, him, of course. I must go at once and cook something really special. I wish I knew what his favourite dishes used to be. What do you think he would like best, Edward?’

  ‘Goddamn it, Louisa!’

  ‘Now, Edward, please. I’m going to handle this my way just for once. You stay here,’ she said, bending down and touching the cat gently with her fingers. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Louisa went into the kitchen and stood for a moment, wondering what special dish she might prepare. How about a souffié? A nice cheese soufflé? Yes, that would be rather special. Of course, Edward didn’t much care for them, but that couldn’t be helped.

  She was only a fair cook and she couldn’t be sure of always having a soufflé come out well, but she took extra trouble this time and waited a long while to make certain the oven had heated fully to the correct temperature. While the soufflé was baking and she was searching around for something to go with it, it occurred to her that Liszt had probably never in his life tasted either avocado pears or grapefruit, so she decided to give him both of them at once in a salad. It would be fun to watch his reaction. It really would.

  When it was all ready, she put it on a tray and carried it into the living-room. At the exact moment she entered, she saw her husband coming in through the french windows from the garden.

  ‘Here’s his supper,’ she said, putting it on the table and turning towards the sofa. ‘Where is he?’

  Her husband closed the garden door behind him and walked across the room to get himself a cigarette.

  ‘Edward, where is he?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know who.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Yes, that’s right. Well – I’ll tell you.’ He was bending forward to light the cigarette, and his hands were cupped around the enormous patent lighter. He glanced up and saw Louisa looking at him – at his shoes and the bottoms of his khaki slacks, which were damp from walking in long grass.

  ‘I just went out to see how the bonfire was going,’ he said.

  Her eyes travelled slowly upward and rested on his hands.

  ‘It’s still burning fine,’ he went on. ‘I think it’ll keep going all night.’

  But the way she was staring made him uncomfortable.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, lowering the lighter. Then he looked down and noticed for the first time the long thin scratch that ran diagonally clear across the back of one hand, from the knuckle to the wrist.

  ‘Edward!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know. Those brambles are terrible. They tear you to pieces. Now, just a minute, Louisa. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Edward!’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, woman, sit down and keep calm. There’s nothing to get worked up about. Louisa! Louisa, sit down!’

  More Tales of the Unexpected

  Poison

  It must have been around midnight when I drove home, and as I approached the gates of the bungalow I switched off the headlamps of the car so the beam wouldn’t swing in through the window of the side bedroom and wake Harry Pope. But I needn’t have bothered. Coming up the drive I noticed his light was still on, so he was awake anyway–unless perhaps he’d dropped off while reading.

  I parked the car and went up the five steps to the balcony, counting each step carefully in the dark so I wouldn’t take an extra one which wasn’t there when I got to the top. I crossed the balcony, pushed through the screen doors into the house itself and switched on the light in the hall. I went across to the door of Harry’s room, opened it quietly, and looked in.

  He was lying on the bed and I could see he was awake. But he didn’t move. He didn’t even turn his head towards me, but I heard him say, ‘Timber, Timber, come here.’

  He spoke slowly, whispering each word carefully, separately, and I pushed the door right open and started to go quickly across the room.

  ‘Stop. Wait a moment, Timber.’ I could hardly hear what he was saying. He seemed to be straining enormously to get the words out.

  ‘What’s the matter, Harry?’

  ‘Sshhh!’ he whispered. ‘Sshhh! For God’s sake don’t make a noise. Take your shoes off before you come nearer. Please do as I say, Timber.’

  The way he was speaking reminded me of George Barling after he got shot in the stomach when he stood leaning against a crate containing a spare aeroplane engine, holding both hands on his stomach and saying things about the German pilot in just the same hoarse straining half whisper Harry was using now.

  ‘Quickly, Timber, but take your shoes off first.’

  I couldn’t understand about taking off the shoes but I figured that if he was as ill as he sounded I’d better humour him, so I bent down and removed the shoes and left them in the middle of the floor. Then I went over to his bed.

  ‘Don’t touch the bed! For God’s sake don’t touch the bed!’ He was still speaking like he’d been shot in the stomach and I could see him lying there on his back with a single sheet covering threequarters of his body. He was wearing a pair of pyjamas with blue, brown, and white stripes, and he was sweating terribly. It was a hot night and I was sweating a little myself, but not like Harry. His whole face was wet and the pillow
around his head was sodden with moisture. It looked like a bad go of malaria to me.

  ‘What is it, Harry?’

  ‘A krait,’ he said.

  ‘A krait! Oh, my God! Where’d it bite you? How long ago?’

  ‘Shut up,’ he whispered.

  ‘Listen, Harry,’ I said, and I leaned forward and touched his shoulder. ‘We’ve got to be quick. Come on now, quickly, tell me where it bit you.’ He was lying there very still and tense as though he was holding on to himself hard because of sharp pain.

  ‘I haven’t been bitten,’ he whispered. ‘Not yet. It’s on my stomach. Lying there asleep.’

  I took a quick pace backwards. I couldn’t help it, and I stared at his stomach or rather at the sheet that covered it. The sheet was rumpled in several places and it was impossible to tell if there was anything underneath.

  ‘You don’t really mean there’s a krait lying on your stomach now?’

  ‘I swear it.’

  ‘How did it get there?’ I shouldn’t have asked the question because it was easy to see he wasn’t fooling. I should have told him to keep quiet.

  ‘I was reading,’ Harry said, and he spoke very slowly, taking each word in turn and speaking it carefully so as not to moye the muscles of his stomach. ‘Lying on my back reading and I felt something on my chest, behind the book. Sort of tickling. Then out of the corner of my eye saw this little krait sliding over my pyjamas. Small, about ten inches. Knew I mustn’t move. Couldn’t have anyway. Lay there watching it. Thought it would go over top of the sheet.’ Harry paused and was silent for a few moments. His eyes looked down along his body towards the place where the sheet covered his stomach, and I could see he was watching to make sure his whispering wasn’t disturbing the thing that lay there.

  ‘There was a fold in the sheet,’ he said, speaking more slowly than ever now and so softly I had to lean close to hear him. ‘See it, it’s still there. It went under that. I could feel it through my pyjamas, moving on my stomach. Then it stopped moving and now it’s lying there in the warmth. Probably asleep. I’ve been waiting for you.’ He raised his eyes and looked at me.

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Hours,’ he whispered. ‘Hours and bloody hours and hours. I can’t keep still much longer. I’ve been wanting to cough.’

  There was not much doubt about the truth of Harry’s story. As a matter of fact it wasn’t a surprising thing for a krait to do. They hang around people’s houses and they go for the warm places. The surprising thing was that Harry hadn’t been bitten. The bite is quite deadly except sometimes when you catch it at once and they kill a fair number of people each year in Bengal, mostly in the villages.

  ‘All right, Harry,’ I said, and now I was whispering too. ‘Don’t move and don’t talk any more unless you have to. You know it won’t bite unless it’s frightened. We’ll fix it in no time.’

  I went softly out of the room in my stocking feet and fetched a small sharp knife from the kitchen. I put it in my trouser pocket ready to use instantly in case something went wrong while we were still thinking out a plan. If Harry coughed or moved or did something to frighten the krait and got bitten, I was going to be ready to cut the bitten place and try to suck the venom out. I came back to the bedroom and Harry was still lying there very quiet and sweating all over his face. His eyes followed me as I moved across the room to his bed and I could see he was wondering what I’d been up to, I stood beside him, trying to think of the best thing to do.

  ‘Harry,’ I said, and now when I spoke I put my mouth almost on his ear so I wouldn’t have to raise my voice above the softest whisper, ‘I think the best thing to do is for me to draw the sheet back very, very gently. Then we could have a look first. I think I could do that without disturbing it.’

  ‘Don’t be a damn fool.’ There was no expression in his voice. He spoke each word too slowly, too carefully, and too softly for that. The expression was in the eyes and around the corners of the mouth.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The light would frighten him. It’s dark under there now.’

  ‘Then how about whipping the sheet back quick and brushing it off before it has time to strike?’

  ‘Why don’t you get a doctor?’ Harry said. The way he looked at me told me I should have thought of that myself in the first place.

  ‘A doctor. Of course. That’s it. I’ll get Ganderbai.’

  I tiptoed out of the hall, looked up Ganderbai’s number in the book, lifted the phone and told the operator to hurry.

  ‘Dr Ganderbai,’ I said. ‘This is Timber Woods.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Woods. You not in bed yet?’

  ‘Look, could you come round at once? And bring serum – for a krait bite.’

  ‘Who’s been bitten?’ The question came so sharply it was like a small explosion in my ear.

  ‘No one. No one yet. But Harry Pope’s in bed and he’s got one lying on his stomach – asleep under the sheet on his stomach.’

  For about three seconds there was silence on the line. Then speaking slowly, not like an explosion now but slowly, precisely, Ganderbai said, ‘Tell him to keep quite still. He is not to move or to talk. Do you understand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll come at once!’ He rang off and I went back to the bedroom. Harry’s eyes watched me as I walked across to his bed.

  ‘Ganderbai’s coming. He said for you to lie still.’

  ‘What in God’s name does he think I’m doing!’

  ‘Look, Harry, he said no talking. Absolutely no talking. Either of us.’

  ‘Why don’t you shut up then?’ When he said this, one side of his mouth started twitching with rapid little downward movements that continued for a while after he finished speaking. I took out my handkerchief and very gently I wiped the sweat off his face and neck, and I could feel the slight twitching of the muscle – the one he used for smiling – as my fingers passed over it with the handkerchief.

  I slipped out to the kitchen, got some ice from the ice-box, rolled it up in a napkin, and began to crush it small. That business of the mouth, I didn’t like that. Or the way he talked, either. I carried the ice pack back to the bedroom and laid it across Harry’s forehead.

  ‘Keep you cool.’

  He screwed up his eyes and drew breath sharply through his teeth. ‘Take it away,’ he whispered. ‘Make me cough.’ His smilingmuscle began to twitch again.

  The beam of a headlamp shone through the window as Ganderbai’s car swung around to the front of the bungalow. I went out to meet him, holding the ice pack with both hands.

  ‘How is it?’ Ganderbai asked, but he didn’t stop to talk, he walked on past me across the balcony and through the screen doors into the hall. ‘Where is he? Which room?’

  He put his bag down on a chair in the hall and followed me into Harry’s room. He was wearing soft-soled bedroom slippers and he walked across the floor noiselessly, delicately, like a careful cat. Harry watched him out of the sides of his eyes. When Ganderbai reached the bed he looked down at Harry and smiled, confident and reassuring, nodding his head to tell Harry it was a simple matter and he was not to worry but just to leave it to Dr Ganderbai. Then he turned and went back to the hall and I followed him.

  ‘First thing is to try to get some serum into him,’ he said, and he opened his bag and started to make preparations. ‘Intravenously. But I must do it neatly. Don’t want to make him flinch.’

  We went into the kitchen and he sterilized a needle. He had a hypodermic syringe in one hand and a small bottle in the other and he stuck the needle through the rubber top of the bottle and began drawing a pale yellow liquid up into the syringe by pulling out the plunger. Then he handed the syringe to me.

  ‘Hold that till I ask for it.’

  He picked up the bag and together we returned to the room. Harry’s eyes were bright now and wide open. Ganderbai bent over Harry and very cautiously, like a man handling sixteenth-century lace, he rolled up the pyjama sleeve to the elbow witho
ut moving the arm. I noticed he stood well away from the bed.

  He whispered, ‘I’m going to give you an injection. Serum. Just a prick but try not to move. Don’t tighten your stomach muscles. Let them go limp.’

  Harry looked at the syringe.

  Ganderbai took a piece of red rubber tubing from his bag and slid one end under and up and around Harry’s biceps; then he tied the tubing tight with a knot. He sponged a small area of the bare forearm with alcohol, handed the swab to me and took the syringe from my hand. He held it up to the light, squinting at the calibrations, squirting out some of the yellow fluid. I stood still beside him, watching. Harry was watching too and sweating all over his face so it shone like it was smeared thick with face cream melting on his skin and running down on to the pillow.

  I could see the blue vein on the inside of Harry’s forearm, swollen now because of the tourniquet, and then I saw the needle above the vein, Ganderbai holding the syringe almost flat against the arm, sliding the needle in sideways through the skin into the blue vein, sliding it slowly but so firmly it went in smooth as into cheese. Harry looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes and opened them again, but he didn’t move.

  When it was finished Ganderbai leaned forward putting his mouth close to Harry’s ear. ‘Now you’ll be all right even if you are bitten. But don’t move. Please don’t move. I’ll be back in a moment.’

  He picked up his bag and went out to the hall and I followed.

  ‘Is he safe now?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How safe is he?’

  The little Indian doctor stood there in the hall rubbing his lower lip.

  ‘It must give some protection, mustn’t it?’ I asked.

  He turned away and walked to the screen doors that led on to the verandah. I thought he was going through them, but he stopped this side of the doors and stood looking out into the night.

  ‘Isn’t the serum very good?’ I asked.

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ he answered without turning round. ‘It might save him. It might not. I am trying to think of something else to do.’