42. Among Celebrities

Jim picked up the portrait and looked at it carefully.
“This is a beautiful thing, you know.” He scratched the surface gently with his fingernail. “Where did you get something like this?”
“A friend of mine painted it.”

“I would like one of these.” He said thoughtfully. “Do you think he could make one for me?”
“I’m afraid that would be impossible,” I answered, taking the picture back and replacing it in my document wallet, “because my friend is no longer alive and that is the only one of its kind.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” He paused, “That is very sad. Your friend must have been a very talented man.”
“Actually, a woman. And yes, she was brilliantly talented but that was a long time ago, before the war.”
“I would give anything to own a picture like that.” Jim said.
“I could never part with it.”

Fortunately, before the conversation continued any further on these lines, a servant came over to say that lunch was served, reminding Jim of his obligations as a host.
“Come inside,” he said, “take a plate and help yourself. There’s avocado and pineapple salad with prawns and I can recommend the mai-mai. It is served with a spicy coconut sauce – or try the tako poke. The mai-mai is fresh this morning and the octopus was caught in the rocks below the cliff. Both delicious.”
“Thank you.” I answered, seizing a dish and joining the group helping themselves from the table.

I found myself seated with the footballers to whom I had been introduced earlier. Kara, the girl who had been told to look after me, came over and joined us, handing me a bowl of fruit punch.
“You have to have more than pineapple juice with your meal.” she said, “But have I said something wrong? You seem to have been avoiding me.”
“Not at all.” I took a mouthful of the fruit, which provided a delicious mixture of sweet and tart tastes, “I just have to confess that I’ve been a little out of my depth. Everything here is quite astonishing.”

“It’s an amazing place. But what do you do, Tommu?” Kara asked, smiling at me. “Are you involved in football?”
“I’m afraid not,” I answered, swallowing another mouthful of punch, “I’m a Reader.”
“A Reader?” the girl was puzzled, “What is that?”

“When the Americans went home, they left many books.” Seeing the look of incomprehension on her face, I showed her my notebook, “Like these. You see these marks? They are the pictures of words, of sounds. Here is what Jim said earlier, ‘My father was an American airman and I was born after he had been recalled’.”

“And those marks are pictures of what Jim said?” Kara looked carefully at the writing, “That is the most creepy thing I ever saw. You must be the cleverest man in the world.
Now I know why Jim has brought you here. He has to have the best of everything. The best footballers, the best chef, everything.”
“Well the food is wonderful.” I said, “I don’t think I have tasted anything like it since before the war. The flavours on the fish and the octopus are magical and it is so tender.”

Rombo, the quarterback looked up from his plate.
“Yes,” he commented, “everything here is the best. You just have to look at the furniture. Solid wood and every joint perfect. And the place is so clean; none of the mess and the beggars and vagrants that you get in the village.”

“Yes, it’s disgusting the way that they just throw rubbish down in the streets.” Kara agreed with him, “Half eaten melons, rotting in the gutter, bananas squashed in the road. You can’t walk into the market without getting your feet covered in chicken poop.”

“They should pay some of the beggars to keep the place clean.” One of the other girls had come over to join the conversation. I thought she was the one who had been sunbathing naked, although I had not looked at her closely and, now she had a cloth wrapped round her, I wasn’t sure.

“Showing off their scars and diseases.” Sato, the other footballer, added. “And all of them have been wounded in the war, of course. No-one who just happened accidentally to cut themselves with a machete.”

The group laughed encouragingly and he continued, putting on a whining voice.
“Please sir, I have been fighting for you. Give me some money for food. I have twenty children and they are all hungry, sir. Do not forget that you owe me your safety and comfort.
And of course you know that anything you give him will go straight down his own throat.”

“And it isn’t even as if we are all that safe.” Rombo said. “If we were, they might have a point but, as it is, my uncle’s house was burned to the ground last month. So where does that leave us?”
I had been listening to this conversation as I ate my meal but now I put down my bowl.

“We shouldn’t be too cynical,” I said, “Do you know the man who sells toy birds at the top end of the market?”
“Old One Foot?” Sato laughed, “You need a nice duck, sir? See how it wobbles? ‘Must have lost its leg in the jungle, then.’ I always tell him.”
“Well Tahmo Lukuni told him that he was the bravest man he knew.” I said, “and gave him a medal.”

“Oh, the medal!” Sato shouted. “Oh the medal!”
The group howled with laughter and Sato stood up and limped round in a circle, waving an imaginary medal.
“Tahmo Lukuni, himself! He spoke to me!” he crowed. “Tahmo Lukuni.”
“No,” I protested, “he has been cheated. Tahmo Lukuni told him that it was made of rare feathers.”

“Rare feathers! Tommu, you are a born comedian.” Kara said as they all laughed again.
“Rare feathers,” I said indignantly, “and really it is just dyed chicken feathers.”
“Chicken feathers!” Sato hooted, “Chicken feathers! Oh Tommu, you are too much!”

He continued to hobble in a circle, now making clucking sounds.
“Cawk! Cawk! Cawk! Pawk! Pawk!” he flapped his arms in imitation of the chicken. “Chicken feathers! Wait until I see that beggar next! Cawk! Cawk! Cawk! Chicken feathers.”

I looked around the circle of faces. There was something grotesque in the way they were laughing, their mouths gaping round their perfect white teeth. My bowl was empty even though the girl, Kara, had been keeping it topped up. I realised that the delicious fruit must have disguised a concoction of nearly pure spirits. Goodness knows how much I had consumed. I felt a sudden pain in my head and knew that I had to leave the room.

“Excuse me,” I said, “can someone tell me the way to the bathroom?”
“To the left of the bar, go down the corridor,” Kara answered, “Second door on your right into another short corridor, and then at the end, right and left.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, getting to my feet and steadying myself on the back of a chair.

As I left the room, I could hear them laughing and Kara saying something about the ‘cleverest man in the world’.
‘Second door on the right, right and left.’ I told myself as I tried to steer a steady course down the corridors. At last I found the bathroom and leaned against the door before opening it and going in. I carefully locked it behind me and unbuttoned my shorts, resting the top of my head on the wall over the bowl to stop it from moving around.

‘Why on earth did I mention Manesh?’ I berated myself. The poor fellow was obviously already the butt of jokes and, I should never have thought that anyone here would understand what he might have been through. My head was beginning to hurt badly and the room would not keep still. I thought that it really had been too early for me and I should certainly have stuck to pineapple juice. Pity the poor Orang-utan. So much for the ‘cleverest man in the world’!

I turned round and sat down, resting my head in my hands until, after five minutes I reflected that I would not want anyone to come looking for me, so I tidied myself up as best I could, washed my hands, carefully, and went out of the door.
‘Left,’ I turned into the corridor, ‘and then left again.’ I opened a door but it was a bedroom, with women’s clothing scattered across the bed and the floor. When I found the second corridor, it seemed longer than it had on the way to the bathroom. At the end, the door was sticking but I threw myself against it and half jumped, half fell through as it suddenly gave under my weight.

I found myself outside. Somewhere, I had taken a wrong turning.
At first I was disoriented as I expected to be facing the sea, but then I realised that this was the back of the house. Over lunch, the weather had changed and rain was pouring down, so heavily that I could hardly see the wall of Our Granny’s house, ten yards away. I was instantly drenched to the skin.

I retreated under the eves where the thatch overhung the back wall. How could I go back into the dining room, wet through and dripping, I wondered. To the left, I could just discern an outbuilding, standing in the rain away from the main house. I could see washing lines and, against the side of the house, a pile of deck chairs.

I watched as a woman, a vague shape walking under an umbrella, emerged from the other building. She made her way through the downpour towards the main house. My best hope, I thought, was to ask her if I could borrow a towel and maybe even some dry clothing.

“Excuse me!” I called to her as she was about to go past, “Excuse me! Can you perhaps help me?”
“Yes?” She altered direction to walk towards me through the rain but then, suddenly, she put her hand over her mouth.
“Tommu!” she said, “what are you doing here? You have to promise not to tell anyone that you have seen me! Oh No! You have to promise.”

I looked at her through the rain and wondered who it was that could possibly have recognised me. Then suddenly it all made sense. I understood why the menu had reminded me of the time, long ago, before the war.

I had eaten those very dishes at Langanipa and Fasi’s house. No wonder the taste of the mai-mai and the tako poke had been familiar. Without realising it, the spices and the aroma of the food had stirred my memory of the times when Bahla and I had regularly spent our evenings with them.

The woman was Iliva.