by Jan Michael
‘What’s the hurry?’ Oliver asked, surprised.
‘Our shop’s opening. Will you come?’
‘Sure.’
Joshua had barely waited for his answer before he was running back down the path, heading for the hospital. He ran round and stood under the window, panting. He counted to two hundred. He looked in the sand, under the bushes.
Nothing.
He ought to be going. He whistled. He counted one more hundred.
Still nothing.
By the time he got back, all was ready. His father had arranged the different cuts of pork on the wide shelf beneath the counter. There were sausages too, thick and shiny in their skins, and glistening liver and heart and kidneys, all laid out under a fine net to stop the flies getting at them. There were pigs’ trotters, tied together in pairs, and there was fat, which Joshua’s father had melted down and put into tins that Joshua had salvaged from the rubbish heap and scrubbed thoroughly. It all looked so smart and new and exciting that Joshua forgot his disappointment over the mountain man.
‘We’ve done well, Josh,’ his father said. ‘Thanks for all your help.’
Joshua stood proudly beside his father, waiting to see who would be first to visit the shop. It smelled different in here. Outside, the smell of the meat had mingled with the salty breeze from the sea, the hot dust and the scent of ripe fruit. Here there was cool stone, and the tang of newly laid morter made his nostrils tingle. There was no wind this morning; the fishnet curtain over the doorway hung perfectly still.
A figure appeared outside. Old Mama Siska. She shuffled in, pulling the curtain with her. As she reached the counter, the fishnet slid from her shoulders and swung back into position. She peered at the pair behind the counter and made the sign of the cross. Her eyes flickered over the shop, examining it, looking for changes made since the netting on the window and door had blocked it from her eyes. Joshua shifted his feet uneasily. He had never seen her smile, and she wasn’t now.
‘No meat for me,’ she said in a throaty whisper. ‘Can’t chew it. Anyway, I don’t like the stuff. Can’t think why you want to sell it.’ She paused for breath.
Joshua and his father waited. His father’s smile didn’t waver.
‘I’ve brought you something,’ she went on. Her hands fumbled at her long, wide skirt, plucking at the folds, searching.
‘Help her.’ Joshua’s father gave him a push in her direction.
Reluctantly, Joshua went round the other side of the counter and stood close to the old lady. Mama Siska was shorter even than he was and the cotton of her head-cloth was so old and threadbare that he could see her white hair through it. He thought she must be at least ninety. As she hunted, she mumbled something to herself.
‘Can I help, old Mama?’ Joshua asked.
She examined him through screwed up eyes. ‘Anna’s little boy,’ she said. ‘Yes, you’ve got her mouth. Pretty mouth. But your hair isn’t hers. Or your eyes.’
Joshua glanced at his father for reassurance. People didn’t often mention his mother to him.
‘She was a good girl,’ Mama Siska went on. ‘A good girl. Now, what was it I wanted?’
Joshua felt a nervous giggle coming on, but a frown from his father stopped it just in time. ‘You were looking for something,’ he prompted.
‘Ah, yes. ‘Here …’ She lifted a fold of her skirt towards Joshua. ‘You look for my pocket. Tell me when you find it.’
Joshua went round her slowly, holding her long skirt out a little at a time, searching for a thickening in the seam that would indicate a pocket. On the third fold he found it.
‘Here, old Mama,’ he said, putting it in her hands.
‘Thank you, my darling,’ she said.
His job done, Joshua stepped back. He didn’t feel quite sure of himself with Mama Siska, never had.
With a flourish, her hands pulled something from her pocket and pushed it on to the counter. There was a rattle of glass. Joshua’s father picked up the offering. A round, lacy cover, with coloured glass beads hanging from the edges, dangled from his fingers.
‘I taught your Anna to crochet when she was a girl. About your Joshua’s age,’ she added, almost smiling at Joshua. ‘You have it now. It will be useful for the flies.’
Joshua’s father reached under the counter, moved aside a corner of the net sheeting and put the pretty cover over a container of fat.
‘Thank you, old Mama,’ he said, coming over and giving her his hand as she turned to go. ‘That is very kind of you.’
‘It’s for luck,’ she wheezed, looking up at him. ‘For her sake, mind. You’ll need it, meatseller.’
Joshua saw a shadow cross his father’s face. To the villagers, ‘meatseller’ was a bad word; if they used it at all it was as a curse. But Mama Siska had said it so gently that it had sounded more like a warning.
She turned and looked at Joshua. ‘Son of meatseller,’ she whispered. She crossed herself again, and went out.
He shivered and joined his father behind the counter once more. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father semed so far away that he decided not to and closed it again without saying a word.
A fly landed on the counter. And another. His father handed him the new fly swat. ‘They must have come in with her,’ he said. ‘Kill them.’
By the end of the morning there were lots more flies to contend with; they sneaked in every time the curtain was pulled aside. But there were still far fewer than there would have been outside at the table. Joshua was kept busy swatting them and flicking them on to the floor, in between wrapping up pieces of meat – a bit of liver here, a chop there, a large lump of stewing meat.
Business had never been so brisk. Some people had come to buy, others just wanted to see and admire the new shop. And once they were there they stayed to gossip, enjoying the novelty. It got so full that Joshua was almost suffocated in the press of people.
Someone brought a jar of toddy. Someone else produced five glasses, which were shared out among the crowd. Robert arrived with his mother.
The party spilled out of the shop and into the clearing. A drum was produced, Leon, Robert’s mother’s boyfriend, began to play a homemade fiddle. Old Mama Siska shuffled forward from the edge of the crowd and was the first to begin dancing, her wrinkles almost relaxing into a smile. The threadbare ruffles at the bottom of her skirt flounced to the swaying of her scrawny hips. More toddy appeared and was passed around.
Children came running into the clearing, including some of the orphans from Joshua’s school. Joshua waved to them. Simon, the old fisherman, produced a bamboo flute and began a haunting, lilting tune that the fiddle and drum followed. Another drummer joined them. The band swelled and soon everyone was dancing.
Mama Calla sashayed over to Joshua. ‘Give us a song, Joshua.’
Her large body shook and swayed to the music. ‘Let’s have it then,’ she said encouragingly.
He wasn’t sure which song to sing, but as soon as he opened his mouth the voice and words just came. The musicians and dancers picked up the tune. Joshua grinned, stamped his feet, weaved and ducked, clapping his hands to the beat.
He halted in mid-turn. The priest was coming across the square, an aspergill of holy water hanging from his hands on a chain. He had come to bless the new building, as was the custom.
Joshua ran over to his father and grabbed his arm. ‘Dad,’ he said urgently. ‘Father Peter is here. Dad!’
His father hastily wiped his lips. He signalled to the musicians to stop and went forward to greet the priest.
‘Thank you for coming, Father.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Father Peter said, waving the thanks away. ‘Is that toddy you’ve got there? Good. I’ll have some of that later if I may. Come along now. Show me this shop of yours.’ He headed purposefully for the shop entrance. Joshua ran in front of him, pulled the curtain aside and stood back to let the priest in first. His father followed and the crowd squashed in behind. Joshua could feel their breath hot on his neck and the sm
ell of their sweat was strong from the dancing.
Father Peter took the sprinkler from the bronze aspergill and flicked it in one arc, and then another, making the sign of the cross. Drops of holy water flew through the air. ‘Bless this shop,’ he cried.
Marius, one of the orphans, sneezed and everyone laughed. It was a good sign. The priest dipped the sprinkler in again and flicked water expertly in the direction of each corner in turn. ‘Bless this corner; bless the counter,’ flick, flick, ‘bless the window,’ flick, ‘bless the door and those who come through it,’ flick. Drops fell on the onlookers who hastily made the sign of the cross. The chant swelled. ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.’
Father Peter put the sprinkler back in the aspergill and set them down on the counter. ‘Right. That’s done,’ he said briskly. He looked round. ‘Now where’s that toddy?’ he asked, bustling towards the door. ‘And music. Let’s have more music!’
The crowd surged back outside, Joshua too. He turned and looked back at the shop. Something was bothering him. He went over to the priest. ‘Father Peter,’ he said, tugging at the priest’s sleeve. ‘Father Peter.’
‘Yes, Joshua, what is it?’ The priest turned from his conversation and bent down to him.
‘You forgot to bless the outside.’
The priest smiled and started to answer him, but a woman came up and interrupted him, and whatever he was about to say was lost.
Joshua waited patiently for the woman to finish, but then more people came and engaged the priest in conversation. The music had his feet tapping and he could no longer remember why blessing the outside of the shop had felt important, so he went back to the dancing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun came up over the horizon, bright and powerful, throwing shafts of light across the clearing and catching Robert’s head and shoulders in its glare. He was standing outside Joshua’s window, a pebble in his hand.
A shaft of sunlight passed through the window and lit up Joshua’s foot where it lay outside the sheet. The foot jumped suddenly as Robert’s stone hit its target, and Joshua sat up with a start. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered out of the window. There was Robert, his arm raised, about to launch another missile.
‘Get up!’ Robert hissed at him. ‘The fishing boats are coming in!’
Joshua looked across the room. His father was snoring in snorts, the way he did shortly before waking up. He turned back to the window and waved. ‘Coming!’
He scrambled out of bed. He picked his shorts and shirt off the chair where he had left them the previous night and shook them. A beetle dropped to the floor and scuttled away. He shook them again. Satisfied that no more insects were lurking in the folds, he put them on.
He was almost at the door when he thought of the snake. Perhaps he would show it to Robert after all. For a moment he dithered. Then he went back and scrabbled in the box under his bed for the carving. Tucking it under his arm, he ducked beneath the cotton curtain that covered the doorway and clasped hands outside with Robert.
‘I have something to show you,’ he whispered, opening the paper bag.
‘Can’t it wait?’ Robert was impatient to get going.
‘No,’ Joshua said firmly. Now that he’d decided to share his find, he wanted to do it straight away. ‘Look.’ He held it out.
Robert gazed at the snake. His eyes widened. One hand reached out. ‘May I hold it?
‘Okay.’ Joshua shrugged. He watched anxiously as Robert examined the carving, turning it over in his hands and tracing the coils, just as he had done himself. And he felt relieved when Robert handed it back all in one piece.
‘Where’d you get it?’ Robert asked.
‘Wait,’ Joshua said. He tiptoed back into the room. His father was still snoring. He put the snake under the bed and went outside.
‘Where did you get it?’ Robert asked again.
‘At the hospital. Where we were looking the other day. I went back. I reckon the mountain man threw it out to try to tell me something.’
‘Really?’ Robert looked intrigued; this was much more exciting than the fishing boats. ‘So let’s go there now. Maybe there’s another one.’
At the hospital they searched the ground under the mountain man’s window, inch by inch. They used their hands as much as their eyes, turning over stones, uprooting straggly weeds. They ducked underneath sweet-smelling oleander bushes and scrabbled among the drifts of dried blossom and leaves on the ground. There was no sign of a carving.
‘Hey!’
They turned. Millie was running towards them.
‘Shh!’ Robert hissed at her, his finger to his lips.
She skidded to a stop in the sand and looked questioningly at them.
‘Mountain man.’ Joshua spoke in an undertone, jabbing upwards with his thumb.
‘We think he’s trying to speak to us. Well … not speak, but communicate,’ Robert explained.
Millie looked puzzled.
‘He threw me a carving, you see,’ Joshua told her.
Millie didn’t see at all, but she nodded as if she did. She must tell Tom and see what he made of it.
Joshua felt that nothing would happen while the three of them were there. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
‘No!’ Robert’s firmness seemed to surprise even himself. ‘We mustn’t give up so easily. He just doesn’t know we’re here. Maybe we can communicate with him. Let’s spread out.’
He gestured to his left. ‘Millie, you stand over there,’ he ordered. ‘And you stay here,’ he said to Joshua, ‘I’ll stand between you.’
Millie looked uncertain. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ she asked.
‘Look up,’ he urged her.
Robert might be right, Joshua thought. If they all looked up, it was three times more likely that the mountain man would try to get in touch. ‘Think hard,’ he whispered across to Millie. ‘Make him hear your thoughts.’
Nothing happened, and after a while they went away.
They came back the next day. And the next.
On the fourth day Joshua had to help his father in the shop. By the time he reached the hospital, Robert was already there. So were Millie and Tom, as well as Robert’s sister, Miriam. They grinned at each other briefly, not speaking.
Joshua joined their semi-circle in the shade of the oleander bushes where the ground was still cool. He looked at the open window above their heads. The sun bounced off the whitewashed hospital walls, almost blinding him. He screwed up his eyes and stared intently, trying to throw his thoughts out to the mountain man inside.
The white habit of a nun flashed past the window, distracting him. He glanced away. When he looked back, the ceiling fan had been turned on. Its blades clanked, spun, gathered speed and whirred. Watching it spin made him dizzy. His concentration was gone. He ground his left heel into the sand and rubbed his right toes against his ankle where an old mosquito bite suddenly itched. His stomach rumbled.
Tom and Millie had their heads together and were whispering. Joshua took a step towards them.
‘Hey, you three!’ Robert hissed. ‘You’ve got to think!’
Tom, Millie and Miriam obediently resumed their staring. Joshua scowled. If it hadn’t been for him, they wouldn’t even be here now, he thought resentfully. But Robert always had to be in charge of everything.
He looked up at the window, the sun blinking back at him from the walls. In the background he could hear the waves breaking on the beach. He must concentrate. He forced himself to picture the mountain man as he had seen him being led in to the hospital. He remembered how the man had stumbled, saw again the fear and the appeal in his eyes. Holding that image in his mind, he tried to force his will through the open window to the patient lying inside.
Now he was able to shut out his friends, the sea, the sun, the building, until all that was left in the world was Joshua and the mountain man.
Something came flying out of the window and fell right at Joshua�
��s feet, kicking up a little puff of dust as it landed. None of his friends moved, but he could feel their eyes on him. Joshua stooped and picked up the blue-grey stone, placing it carefully in the palm of his left hand.
Slowly he transferred it to his right hand and polished it on his tattered shorts. Then he held it up and the others gathered round to admire. The figure had four legs, horns on its head, and the lines etched on its back and sides suggested a shaggy coat. Joshua didn’t know what it was. Like the snake, it too was flawed; one of the legs had snapped off at the knee and only a stump remained of the left horn. Millie reached out to stroke the carving.
‘Careful!’ Joshua said.
‘I am being careful,’ she answered, delicately running her fingers over its head. He watched her jealously and pulled the carving away as soon as he could. All of a sudden he didn’t like her touching it. The carving was clearly meant for him. He wished he had never shared his secret.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the early darkness cockroaches converged on a piece of fish that had fallen to the ground. They clambered on top of each other in their haste to get at it, antennae waving wildly. Footsteps approached. The greedier ones, busily gorging, didn’t notice until it was too late and a large foot landed on top of them.
Robert felt a crunchy squelch beneath his toes. ‘Ugh.’ He rubbed his foot hard on the earth to clean off the mess. Round the corner of the shop he could hear water gurgling. He found Joshua at the standpipe, scouring a pan under the tap. Robert stuck his foot under the running water. ‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello, big feet.’ Joshua picked up another handful of earth and scrubbed it into the pan until it was clean. Satisfied, he rinsed it out.
‘Want to come and watch the tourists from the ship?’ Robert asked.
‘Sure,’ he said.
But Robert wasn’t listening. He was staring at Joshua’s father who was seated on a bench in a pool of light, whittling away at a piece of wood that he held jammed between his knees.
‘What’s he making?’ Robert asked.