In 1965

by Albert Robida

  Everything is arranged perfectly; only a few more details and we’re there. It’s set for tomorrow.

  “Come on, Zephyrin, jump with me!”

  “You’ve had enough jumping, little Topa. What about the French lesson, my friend? It’s time; you’re going to repeat to me right away the verb être…we’re up to the imperfect of the subjunctive, the easiest bit. Shall we go?”

  “Zephyrin, you’re annoying me.”

  “I’ll give you fifty lines! Come on, my subjunctive—you can gallop afterwards.”

  The little centaur raises his eyes to the havens, scratches is head, strikes he ground with his front hooves and commences in grumbling tone: “Imperfect of the subjunctive, was I being, were you being, were…were...”

  “Well, well, children, are you going to be good and follow Zephyrin’s lesson?” It’s Kapalouia, who arrives and tries to calm the turbulence of the children.

  “Yes, Papa! Yes, Papa!” cry the band. “He’s the one who doesn’t want to jump over the fountain!”

  Little Mirako sets off at a run to embrace her father; she bumps into me and can’t help knocking me over. I’m thrown to the ground by a seven-year-old child, that’s a bit much! A little more and I’d bite the dust! At that age little centaurins are already weighty fellows. If I don’t bring Bibouf and Galibou back to Europe, no one will want to believe me. But tomorrow will come.

  “Look out, little madcap, you’re going to hurt poor Zephyrin!” says Kapalouia. “Come on, my dear Zephyrin, make the decision to put on the artificial hindquarters—that will give you stability, my friend, for, in truth, I can’t understand how you maintain your equilibrium like that, on only two legs. I’d be heartbroken if little Mirako or one of her scatterbrained brothers broke your leg while playing.”

  So be it, I consent to everything. I don’t want to cause that excellent friend pain at the moment of quitting him like this, surreptitiously, with all the appearances of ingratitude, for he has truly heaped me with benefits since my arrival. If I had fallen into the hands of the two scientists Bibouf and Galibou, who knows what would have become of me already? A collection item, a rare stuffed animal offered to the admiration of crowds in a Museum? I shiver at the thought!

  A domestic brings the object, the wooden hindquarters of Mademoiselle Rakif’s former toy. I think I look utterly ridiculous with it on…but after all, it’s to please Kapalouia. The object is attached to my waist with a strong strap. Kapalouia gives me a centauran tunic in the latest fashion, which he drapes over the rump personally.

  The children clap their hands.

  “Very good, perfect,” said Kapalouia, stepping back in order to see better. “Now you’re like everyone else, a centaur of small size, it’s true, but a centaur. Walk a little.”

  It’s not very comfortable dragging that rump. It’s made of light wood and here are little castors on the legs, but all the same, it doesn’t go very well. I must make a funny sight with that, and they’d laugh uproariously in Bordeaux if they could see me. Kapalouia doesn’t laugh, he thinks I look much better already with the artificial hindquarters. For him, I look less ridiculous than I did before.

  “Would you like to take a little stroll with us like that?” asks Kapalouia. “We won’t go very far, less than an hour from here?”

  An hour, for Kapalouia, even going slowly, represents four or five leagues. I can’t go five hundred meters with my artificial hindquarters. And I don’t want to tire myself out—the great departure is set for tomorrow, I’m going to need all my vigor.

  “No, my friend,” I say, “I don’t have the habit of it yet.”

  “Well, then, you can climb into the chariot; the domestic will pull you. We’re bringing back flowers for my wife, today’s her birthday. We won’t be longer than two hours.”

  In order not to upset Kapalouia, and above all because of his wife’s birthday, I consent to go on the excursion. I still have the afternoon to make my final preparations; that’s sufficient.

  The children have left already, frolicking. Kapalouia has my carriage hitched up—no, pardon me, he has he chariot brought out: a kind of handcart, long and deep, mounted on two low wheels, with long arms. I install myself in it; a centaur domestic picks up the handles and sets off at a trot. Kapalouia trots alongside me in order to chat; the children are capering ahead and behind, laughing and playing the fool.

  I’ll pass over the trip. Excellent. A fine garden, which I know already, furnishes us with bunches of flowers, which are put in the vehicle with me for the return journey. I disappear in the flowers and the foliage; I have the impression of receiving a triumph.

  The triumph is set for tomorrow—or rather, the departure for the triumphant return to Europe.

  In the afternoon I’ll give Bibouf and Galibou their lesson. Everything is going very well. Bibouf and Galibou will talk about the planned trip of their own accord. We’re going to fish a little further away, to the islets that can scarcely be distinguished on the horizon. We’ll have to take lunch and dinner—a veritable picnic. They’ll be laden down with food supplies; we’ll take enough for two days, in case we have to camp on those rocks.

  Bravo, very good, as much food as you wish; I warn you that at sea I always have a devouring appetite. That makes even more provisions, necessary for the great voyage.

  I have to confess now one thing that has left me with remorse. I was getting ready to abuse the confidence of the benevolent Kapalouia and take advantage of the night to raid his larder, where I had seen a considerable provision of hams, large quantities of bananas, and other fruits. All that was, in sum, necessary

  Yes, but what about probity? That tormented my conscience greatly. I ended up thinking about the hundred-franc bill that I had given Kapalouia.

  I knew the prices of things; people live very cheaply on Centaur Island. Well, I would take exactly a hundred francs’ worth! And then, later, when I had established communications between our old world and the island of the worthy centaurs, I would see Kapalouia again, I would give him my apologies for my slightly casual behavior, and he would quickly understand that I could not have one otherwise. What a pleasure I would have, in my turn, in receiving him in my estates, in my château…

  That evening we had a little family celebration in the Kapalouia house. It was the anniversary of Madame Azuli’s birth. It was very pleasant. The little ones recited very poetic compliments to their mother.

  Secretly, I had taught one of La Fontaine’s fables to Mademoiselle Mirako, and there as an explosion of bravos where the little centaurine, well-balanced on her legs, her eyes lowered, slightly emotional, commenced, in her rather amusing centauran accent: “Dear Maman, The Ant and the Grasshopper. The grasshopper, having been singing all summer, found itself very deprived...”

  Then her big sister, Mademoiselle Rakif, whom her fiancé, the captain of the centaur archers, never quit with his eyes, took her piano on her knees—I’m mistaken, took a musical instrument of bizarre form, intermediate between a guitar and a piano, or at least bearing more resemblance to those instruments than to a hunting horn—and played a very brilliant piece, which made a great deal of noise, but which I shall not permit myself to judge, my musical knowledge not going much further than Malbrough or My friend Pierrot.

  A charming soirée! The last one that I was to spend on Centaur Island—at least, I thought so! I was very cheerful. Believe me, in order to give an idea of our musical talents and to give my friends pleasure, I sang Au clair de la lune, and then the Marseillaise, and obtained as much success as Mademoiselle Rakif with her great piece.

  The boat in which we were to set firth the following morning at seven o’clock was moored in the harbor, ten minutes from the Kapalouia house. Fortunately, there was no one aboard. The sailors were asleep in their houses, we were to leave without them. Bibouf and Galibou were confident.

  When everyone was soundly asleep in the house I got up quietly and went to open the larder. Horror! I had to break in!

 
In sum, it was necessary. I made a dozen trips between the larder and the boat, and I heaped up fifteen large hams and an enormous supply of bananas in a huge crate under the deck.

  I thought about the water, I filled two barrels from the limpid river that formed the little port and went to run into the sea half a league away.

  Now, everything is ready! Tomorrow is the great day!

  XI. The Escape.

  To abduct or not to abduct?

  Zephyrin makes the acquaintance of the fist of Pingo,

  a centaur of the striped race

  The great day dawned.

  I put a short note of explanation and apologies on the drawing room table for my friend Kapalouia; I expressed—or, rather, tried to express in the centauran language—all my gratitude, and I announced to him that I would come back to see him as soon as I was able to organize an expedition…and I ran to the harbor while the family was still asleep.

  At a quarter to seven I was on the boat and I was all ready to raise anchor as soon as Bibouf and Galibou were aboard.

  Finally, here they come; I perceive them in the distance advancing gravely, followed by a striped centaur, their domestic, carrying an enormous basket of food under each arm. Very good.

  Handshakes. I laugh as I look at them and they laugh too. For me, it’s in thinking about the expressions on their faces when they find themselves in the open sea and begin to understand. O joy! I have them! I’m abducting my two enemies and taking them to Europe as pieces of evidence!

  If I didn’t have them with me, would anyone believe me in my homeland when I revealed my great discovery, the race of the centaurs of legend surviving far away, far away on the other side of the world, on a great island forming a sixth continent? No, I can see it from here; I’d be treated as a joker and people would laugh in my face!

  But when people see them disembark, it will be necessary to yield to the evidence. What a surprise, what excitement in Bordeaux, in Paris, and in the Academies and Institutes of the entire world! What a triumph for me! Honors and a fortune, millions and medals, crowns and statues!

  What will Bibouf and Galibou make of it all? I don’t want to tell them anything before arriving in some port. Well, it’s necessary to avoid a revolt on board. Even if they’re laid out by sea-sickness, the two of them might inconvenience me. I have the intention, in any case, on the pretext of fearing bad weather and heavy seas, of locking them in the hold.

  Have I to feel guilty about them? They’re my personal enemies, they treat me as an improved chimpanzee and talk about having me stuffed for their Museum! My own intentions aren’t as black...

  I laugh internally and I can’t help rubbing my hands. In spite of their habitual gravity, they manifest a certain gaiety.

  “Everything is ready. Are you ready, Messieurs?”

  “We’re here, everything is perfectly in order,” says Bibouf, rubbing the tip of his nose. “Everything is in order, isn’t it, Galibou?”

  “Admirably arranged,” replied Galibou, departing from his habitual gravity with sniggers that make his spectacles jump up and down.

  “Let’s go, then! But what is your domestic waiting for before going ashore?”

  “Our domestic? Pingo is coming with us. We’re taking him—he might perhaps be useful to us in our little excursion. He knows how to sail; that might be of service if the occasion arises. Isn’t that so, Pingo?”

  “Yes,” Pingo replies.

  “But we have no need of him. I’m quite sufficient, as in our other fishing trips...”

  “Bah! One never knows…it’s a long way out to sea, where we’re going...”

  Oh yes, it’s a long way, longer than you suspect, Bibouf, longer than you think, Galibou!

  Argument. They absolutely insist on taking Pingo. That annoys me. I hesitate... I fear alarming them with a formal refusal. What if they were to renounce the excursion? Everything would be spoiled, all my plans overturned...

  I reflect. After all, one passenger more is a complication, it increases the difficulty, even considerably… yes, but that further increases the triumph... Pingo is a centaur of the striped race, a race considered here as inferior, an enemy race that lives on the other side of the mountains, in regions less favored by nature, to which it has been driven back centuries ago after long and terrible wars. Here, that striped race primarily furnishes artisans of petty métiers, like sailing...

  Well, what do the difficulties matter? It’s an admirable opportunity that my two enemies are benevolently furnishing me, to bring back to Europe with them this specimen of the striped race. I examine Pingo from the corner of my eye; he looks very good, a superb specimen, vigorous and seemingly tough; his hindquarters display fine strips alternately black and white—a yellowish white and a bluish black. He’ll have as much effect as the others in Bordeaux.

  What luck that they have thought of Pingo! Let’s go! Always provided that the worthy Pingo doesn’t have sea-legs. I wish him a jolly sea-sickness in order that he doesn’t inconvenience me too much.

  The anchor is raised. A nice little breeze takes us gently down the river, and here comes the blue line of the ocean. A bar to cross and the boat will be skimming lightly over the first waves...

  The weather is superb. The breeze fills my lungs and inflates our sails, the boat obeys the tiller meekly. Forward ho! Adieu—or rather, au revoir—charming island of good centaurs, magnificent land that I shall reveal to our old world! Au revoir, excellent Kapalouia, amiable family…don’t think too badly of me, don’t accuse me of ingratitude. I’ll be back some day!

  I set a course north-eastwards, by estimation, since I have no compass. I count on conserving that direction, with the permission of the wind, and reaching the great equatorial current, which, accelerating my speed, will carry me toward the western coast of South America.

  After two hours of navigation, we’ve already covered a good distance. We can see a wide expanse of coast behind us. Centaur Island shows us a very jagged coast, a succession of points and capes, with large, deeply indented bays, beautiful extents of sand, rocky inlets in which verdure sometimes overflows to overhang the waves, and cliffs are sometimes superimposed on cliffs.

  While steering I admire the landscape. I look forward in the direction of the old world, but from time to time my eyes turn back almost with regret toward the delightful island, the pleasant homeland of the good centaurs, which I’m fleeing thus...

  The long chain of mountains stands out more clearly from here, fading away to the right and left into the blue, while in the center, in the background, above the blue-tinted ridges, white peaks loom up majestically, with long streaks of snow on their shoulders, floating over the entire island like an august assembly of patriarchs.

  Perhaps I’m wrong to go; it’s funny, I feel quite melancholy now.

  It’s Galibou who pulls me out of my reverie by scratching with his hoof behind me.

  “Shall we have lunch?” he says.

  I recover all the energy of my will. I revert to my plan. I’m on my way to triumph; let’s not allow ourselves to be weakened by vain regrets.

  “Let’s have lunch,” I say, joyfully.

  Bibouf and Galibou don’t seem to be suffering overmuch from sea-sickness today; they’re only little pale. As for Pingo, the striped centaur, he doesn’t appear to perceive in the slightest that he has quit the land…of centaurs.

  We make a start on lunch: a game pâté, pancakes and tasty fruits, enormous grapes and bananas brought by those I’m already calling my victims. The sea-breeze gives one an appetite, and we honor the lunch fully. But be careful; a little moderation—let’s not make too large a breach in our provisions!

  Pingo, above all, exhibits an indiscreet appetite. He laughs, uncovering formidable teeth that worry me. That’s because we have a long voyage in front of us and it’s necessary not to empty the food-locker as soon as we leave. I can’t say anything, but I wish them all a bout of sea-sickness to distract their appetite.

  As I
linger to dart one last glance in the direction of the island, Pingo takes hold of the tiller.

  “Leave that, my friend,” I say to him. “That’s my affair.”

  “It’s my turn,” he replied. “I know, you’ll see…”

  And with a solid fist, he grabs my arm and moves me away.

  Slightly anxious, I resign myself to letting him take the tiller. He does, in fact, know how to sail. Perhaps I shall have a few difficulties with this passenger. It’s necessary that I find a way before this evening to make my three centaurs go down below the deck and lock them in. Not easy—but it’s necessary!

  Suddenly, I perceive that we’re deviating from the route. We’re bearing too far eastwards.

  “Pingo, helm to port!” I say, with an authoritarian air.

  Pingo doesn’t seem to hear it. On the contrary, the boat veers more deliberately eastwards. We double a cape and a new coastline appears. It’s the northern shore of the island. Instead of heading north-eastwards, the boat starts following the shore-line.

  “Not that way,” I say. “Pingo, give the tiller back to me.”

  “No!” says Bibouf, then.

  “No!” says Galibou.

  “That’s not our route!”

  “Yes. We’ve changed our plan, the fishing trip won’t tell us anything more. You see, my friend Zephyrin, we’ve decided to show you the country. We’re going that way, look, toward those great rockslides, can you see? That promontory is hiding the mouth of a river that comes from Zibor, our capital…a great city with fine monuments, academies, institutes and museums. Well, we’re going to show you all that; you’ll be delighted, it will interest you greatly.”

  “Come on, you’re joking; we’re only going for a little excursion.”

  “Kapalouia should have shown you all that a long time ago. And then again, you’re expected; there’s already been a great deal of talk about you out there—our report, you know…”