In the dining room Michael lined up for breakfast with the other children behind thin benches made for small people. Auntie Beryl, the headmistress, led in singing grace. They all sang together, so loud, so clear; a beak-stretching dawn chorus:
All good gifts around us are sent from heaven above.
Then thank the Lord,
Oh, thank the Lord,
For or-or-all his love
Before the ‘v’ of love the children surged forward, clearing the benches as quick as hurdlers. At least once a week Auntie Beryl clapped her hands and shouted, ‘Don’t rush.’ But it was as useless as trying to hold back the swine from bolting into Galilee. Outside the morning sun melted the lake mists and warmed the red tin roof of the school; the pied crows cackled, the sunbirds splashed in the light and the mousebirds scurried busily up and down the limbs of the custard apple trees. Michael drowned his porridge with cream and spooned on the sugar. Lewis bent over his bowl and blew a deep dimple in the surface of the porridge. When his glasses steamed up he wiped each lens with the tip of his index fingers in a careful circular motion and then blew again, harder, lifting a quiff of ginger hair off his forehead. Simon gripped a fork in his fist, raised his dark peaky eyebrows under his fringe and stabbed down into the bowl. ‘Ugh. You must kill the slimy worms first.’
As the last gloops of porridge were scoured off the plates Auntie Beryl clapped her hands. Behind her winged spectacles she waited for the high hubbub to settle down.
‘As you all know,’ she said, pausing to let the first wave of excitement pass, ‘because it’s the last Saturday of term we’re all going to climb Crystal Mountain.’ She paused again to wait for the second larger wave of excitement to end. ‘We’ll all meet at the front of the school at nine o’clock sharp. Everyone is to wear their plimsolls and everyone is to wear their hats.’
Only Michael’s cheer was half-hearted.
As he left the dining room Michael looked through the windows at Crystal Mountain. Lewis said that it was just a hill, but if Michael squinted it looked a lot like a mountain; the white rocks on top were like patches of snow. He thought of Tim in the san: he was going to miss Crystal Mountain. He might have chickenpox but Michael was doubtful; Tim was always saying he was ill so that he could have a spoon of malt. Michael had to squeeze his lips really tight to get all the malt off the spoon because Nurse Janine didn’t let them lick the spoon. He thought that was a bit selfish of her.
But now he felt his left eyelid start to twitch and he felt sick. He would also be kept in today; all because of Ticking. He made his way to the bogs, saying ‘Behold, O Lord. Behold, O Lord.’ God liked His People to say ‘Behold’.
He was only just in time for Ticking. Auntie Beryl looked at him rather hard and rather long. He held back tears thinking how unfair it was: all term he had been dying to go up Crystal Mountain and all term he had been able to say yes at Ticking except for the last two days. If they said no for two mornings in a row they were told off but if they said no for three mornings in a row they were given medicine, which tasted revolting – like broccoli – but it was much worse than that: Lewis had said that anyone who needed medicine would be kept in and would miss Crystal Mountain.
He had already said no for the last two mornings.
He squeezed himself into the circle of children in the hall while Auntie Beryl read out their names from a brown book. She had a pencil to put a tick next to their names.
‘Annette?’
‘Yes.’
‘Simon?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Squeaky sniggers burst through pursed lips.
‘Simon! Do you want to be kept in today?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m very, very sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’
‘Judith?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lewis?’
‘Yes, big one.’
Even Auntie Beryl smiled, but not Michael. He was going to say yes even though he should say no. He could not miss Crystal Mountain, or he would blub for the rest of his life. It would be very annoying if he found himself in hell when he died because he had lied at Ticking but he would just have to throw himself on God’s Mercy And Grace. He decided to ask his father if that would cover this sort of thing.
Something made Michael look at the painting of Jesus on the wall behind Auntie Beryl. Jesus was holding a lantern in a dark forest and was knocking on a wooden door covered in weeds. He was looking sad, straight at Michael. Michael could see that Jesus was thinking of turning his head and walking away into the forest, lonely and disappointed.
‘Michael?’
Michael stared at Jesus. Jesus, still sad, looked back at Michael.
‘Michael? Michael?’
Jesus started to turn his head.
‘No!’ Michael said, quickly.
‘Oh dear, Michael, that’s most unfortunate. It’s Nurse Janine for you today. Rosalind?’
Two
Almost the entire school of thirty-three children – in red floppy hats, plimsolls with flip-flopping laces, avocado-green shirts and blouses, cherry-red shorts and skirts – gathered on the gravel drive like a flock of excited parrots. While the aunties did what aunties have to do to get themselves ready to go, a group of jumping, jerking boys gathered around Simon.
‘Most of the crystals on the mountain are not real diamonds,’ he said. There was sighing and groaning even from those who had not known, until that moment, that the summit glinted with diamonds. Simon looked to see that no adult was near. The boys pushed closer.
‘But some are real diamonds!’ The boys went quiet. ‘Once a boy found a huge diamond.’
‘A boy from our school?’ someone asked.
‘Yes, a boy on an outing at the end of term,’ Simon said patiently.
‘What did he do with it?’
Simon checked again to ensure that the aunties were still busy striding in and out of doors getting ready. Everyone leant in towards him. ‘He sold it to an Indian and then went on lots of jet planes all over the world.’
Lewis looked doubtful.
‘With his big brother,’ Simon added.
The boys started jumping again.
‘We’ll all have to dig hard,’ warned Simon.
‘We’ll all dig and then share it when we find it,’ a first year boy shouted.
Lewis said, ‘I think it should be finders-keepers.’
‘I’m going to share mine with Michael,’ Simon said.
Michael stuck by Simon. He pulled his hat hard down on his head to contain his happiness. He was sorry now that he had thought Auntie Janine was a bit selfish. She had been very nice and said that she expected he would go for a number two tomorrow and, as an extra happiness, as he had not lied, he was not going to hell when he died. That was ‘a blessing’, as his mother would say. But even better, in the picture in the hall Jesus was no longer looking sad: he was looking at him in a kind sort of way. It was a shame about Tim, still in the san, but it showed that it was better not to tell fibs. And now he and Simon were going to find a diamond. He remembered a memory verse: ‘In the house of the righteous is much treasure.’ He yanked off his hat and held it high above his head.
Auntie Beryl led the way up Crystal Mountain, pointing out cowpats to avoid on the narrow path. Strong smells marked their ascent: the dank air of a banana grove, a baked-cereal aroma of drying millet on mats laid out in small terraced fields, warm wafts of something earthy but homely from nearby thatched huts, whiffs of wood smoke. Bugs buzzed. They briefly collected a sizeable tail of local children shouting ‘Muzungu, Muzungu’ before they reached the clean grassy-knoll air around the rocky outcrops at the summit. The children spilled from the end of the path, curving out over the hilltop like balls from a bagatelle chute, scrabbling to find diamonds amongst the crystals.
The aunties, to make themselves comfortable, laid out a blanket on a grassy slope looking out over the lakeside town. Thirty years before there had been no buildings, just a swamp, but now the town boast
ed Indian-owned shops, a Caltex filling station, government offices, a craft shop selling woven baskets and place mats, a dusty stadium with a tall concrete perimeter wall, and a whitewashed cathedral. On the summit the noises of the town rarely intruded: the occasional revving of a lorry as it climbed the hill across the valley, a hammer blow against metal from Mr Khan’s garage, a whistle from a cowherd further down the hill. The red roof of the school below lay partially hidden under the pepper trees. Canoes lay on the lake like leaf fall.
The girls, uninterested in digging, held hands and spun in circles of laughter. The diggers went quiet, scratching away at the earth with sticks and stones until a wail of disappointment went up. ‘The ground’s too hard.’
‘Don’t give up,’ Simon insisted.
Lewis cleaned a single crystal with his neatly folded handkerchief and peered into its milky interior with a magnifying glass. Becoming bored with digging, a boy rolled down a bank hollering, ‘Look at me,’ prompting Auntie Beryl to shout, ‘David, don’t do that, you’ll pick up ticks!’
Michael was especially pleased that he and Simon were going to share the diamonds because Simon would know how to find their aeroplane at the airport and would show him how to get a BOAC Junior Jet Club book; after about a year he would have the signature of every captain in the world. He dug harder.
A bobbing tin debbi appeared lower down the hill, balanced on the head of Godfrey, the general hand and emergency night-watchman. He carried sandwiches from the kitchen in a canvas bag and orange juice in the debbi. He looked tired.
Simon looked up and shouted, ‘Hey boy, bring them over here.’
Godfrey ignored him but Michael saw Auntie Beryl standing up like a collapsed crane righting itself. She went rigid, and the wings on her glasses became even more pointy. ‘Simon, come here!’
The boys stopped digging and the girls stopped turning because Auntie Beryl was breathing hard and going tomato red. She filled her chest to speak and Michael could see that a detention or, worse, a letter to his parents was coming down on Simon like a steam engine. Michael understood: Godfrey was old enough to be Simon’s grandfather, and he had seen Godfrey’s grandchildren bend their knees when he passed.
One of Simon’s peaky eyebrows looked worried. ‘Please, my dad always says boy.’
Auntie Beryl held the steamy air in her chest. No one moved.
After a long time (towards the end of which Michael thought that Auntie Beryl could win a breath-holding competition), her chest emptied suddenly in a short puff like a tyre with a blow-out. ‘At school we’re to talk to everyone politely.’
‘How was I to know the rules are different at school?’
‘You’re too smart for your own good, young Simon. Go and say sorry to Godfrey.’
‘Why do I have to when my dad . . .’ Simon’s voice trailed off as rapidly as Auntie Beryl’s chest filled up again.
Simon turned and walked with a stomping step over to Godfrey, who had been flapping his hands at Auntie Beryl while she spoke to Simon as if he did not want her to make a fuss.
All the children waited. Michael put a hand to his face so that he couldn’t see – his best friend was the funniest friend he had but sometimes he was just too funny-rude. It was not Simon’s fault. Lewis had said that Simon’s father was a giant man with hair as black as a crow and red eyes like a dragon, and Michael was sure that he had never heard of the Kingdom of God – so he wouldn’t have told Simon about it. The Kingdom of God was very polite.
Michael heard Simon mumble something. He looked though his fingers. Godfrey turned his hands out towards Simon. ‘You are welcome, Simon,’ he said.
A short squeal punctured the pressured air. ‘A snake, a snake, there’s a snake!’ Rosalind was pointing to the base of a rock. The aunties turned their heads, brows suddenly creased and eyes anxious.
Lewis ran towards the rock shouting, ‘Let me see. Don’t scare it.’
Michael followed, a little wary. A flash in the grass, quick as sun on a steel blade, and then it was gone.
‘Did you see it?’ Rosalind screamed.
‘Nah. Why did you shout? You scared it.’ Lewis pummelled his fists on his head.
Auntie Beryl came over to the rock. Michael thought she must be coming to check that the snake didn’t have an angry father hiding in a hole. ‘It’s all right, it’s gone.’
‘It’s not all right, she scared it away. Why did she have to scream?’ Lewis pushed his hands deep into his pockets and swung his foot against the rock so that he nearly overbalanced.
‘If you got bitten you’d scream,’ Rosalind said. ‘Snakes can kill you. They’re creepy.’
‘Eve didn’t scream when she saw the snake in the Garden of Eden,’ Lewis answered quickly.
‘The snake was just talking to her, that’s why. I bet Adam screamed when God told him to get out of the garden.’
Michael said, ‘It doesn’t say in the Bible that he screamed.’ He knew when people made mistakes about the Bible; he and Simon were the best in the school at memory verses, even though Simon didn’t have to learn them.
‘Well, it doesn’t say he didn’t. Anyway, he would have screamed if he hadn’t been so thick.’
Auntie Beryl had been standing there listening. She said, ‘The story’s a powerful allegory.’
Auntie Beryl was very brainy and Michael found he could not always understand what she said. His mother said that Auntie Beryl had been teaching at the cleverest university in England and given it all up to come out to Africa to be In The Lord’s Service.
Auntie Beryl had a faraway look, but then her eyes squinted at the children. ‘It’s a picture story to tell us something important. It tells us that we’re different from the animals because we can choose whether to be bad or whether to be good. That for us there are such things as bad and good.’
‘But everyone knows that, Auntie Beryl,’ Michael said.
Michael did not hear her reply because he had remembered something: he had never seen a picture story showing Adam and Eve with all their clothes off, and he had checked in the books in his father’s office. He didn’t think his Bible picture stories were much good. They never showed him what he really wanted to see: the things his mother didn’t want to talk about, like people drowning in the bubbly water around Noah’s ark, or John the Baptist’s head on the plate, or Abraham spilling his seed.
A cloud cast a shadow on the mountain and a cool stirring of air forewarned of rain. The lake shifted as if brushed by dark forces. All the canoes pointed to the town. The aunties gathered up their blankets, put the thermos and plastic mugs in the grass basket from the craft shop and told the children to get ready to leave.
‘Oh no, not yet.’ Michael hadn’t found a single diamond, although Simon had been stuffing his pockets. He returned to the scratchings he had made, stuck his fingers into a clump of grass and yanked as hard as he could. He felt his face go red, as it had that morning trying to do the number two before Ticking. The grass came up with some earth. They weren’t that big, the diamonds underneath, but there were three of them. He picked them out and pressed them into his palm. They were hard and had flat edges like the diamonds in his mother’s ring. ‘Yes!’
‘Quick now, it’s going to rain,’ Auntie Beryl shouted.
The cloud purpled. A thick chill moved over the summit. The aunties hurried themselves up but the digging party stopped and stared. Diamonds were springing from the ground. ‘Hail, it’s hailing,’ Lewis screamed. They all held out their hands to cup the little balls of dancing ice.
‘You can eat them. It’s manna from heaven,’ Michael said.
‘No, they’re diamonds, we’re rich,’ Simon said.
They all became frantic collecting the hail, even the girls. Michael put some in his pocket with his crystals, and then he put his head back and opened his mouth wide to catch and swallow them.
Simon said, ‘Don’t swallow them or you’ll have to look in your poo for the diamonds. Your wife won’t want to wear
the ring you give her ’cause of where the diamond’s been.’
Michael snapped his mouth shut. Funny-rude, that was what Simon was – that was why he was his best friend.
‘We’re going now,’ Auntie Beryl said, and set off down the hill, although the squall had passed as quickly as it came. Michael fell into line with the others. Auntie Cynthia was behind them. Michael heard her say, ‘Oh, my knees! It’s possible to pray too much.’
The sides of Michael’s shorts were becoming wet. He said gloomily, ‘Our treasure’s melting.’
‘Our treasure in heaven won’t melt,’ Auntie Cynthia said as she bounced down the path behind him.
Simon drew alongside him. ‘These haven’t melted.’ He opened his hand to show a palm full of stones. Michael fingered the three small wet diamonds in his own pocket and gasped at Simon’s collection. Some were probably just crystals but the two chunky ones were obviously diamonds.
‘I found them all under a rock. Now we must go and see Mr Patel to see which ones are diamonds. Then he’ll buy them and we’ll be rich.’
Something made Michael unsure about seeing Mr Patel; he had been so close to making Jesus sad already that day. ‘But we aren’t allowed to go to Mr Patel on our own.’
‘We are allowed, because we’ll just be passing his shop after church tomorrow. We won’t be going to buy anything on our own, we’ll just be walking by and saying hello, just being friendly.’
Michael looked doubtful.
‘If they’re diamonds your dad can get a Zephyr 6.’
‘Yes! Then he can go in the East African Safari.’
Because Michael’s parents were missionaries and were not selling Kenwood Chefs to the Africans like Simon’s father, they didn’t have a Citroën DS or a Zephyr 6. They had an Anglia. Some very kind ladies in a place called Box Hill – which he would like to climb some day to look for the boxes – gave them the money for it. It would have been better if the ladies had given them just a little bit more so they could get a Zephyr 6. Anglias were slug-slow and would never beat a Zephyr 6 in the East African Safari. His father had laughed when Michael said that he should do the East African Safari, but Michael thought him a daring driver. If he had a Zephyr 6 he could win easily. If he won then the ladies up Box Hill would be extra pleased. He had been praying every night for a whole term for his father to get a Zephyr 6.
The Ghosts of Eden Page 10
