Uncle Mjomba had not been idle while we were at the zoo. He had rigged the garden hose to a tap in the bathroom and draped it through the open window. His mime routine informed us we would now be able to shower without the inconvenience of going indoors. Man praised him for this innovation, no doubt inspired by the fun times we had enjoyed bathing with elephants. Mjomba took Man by the hand and invited us all into the kitchen where he had laid out a feast of fresh fruit and salads. It was quite the banquet.
“You have been busy,” I told him, “but we shall never eat all this.”
Mjomba slapped the frowning forehead of his mask. He gestured towards the partition wall we share with the neighbours.
“Invite Lion People?” Man interpreted.
“Capital idea!” I applauded. It would do us some good to be on better terms with Mrs Lyons, who is labouring under the delusion that we are an uncivilised pack of savages. I mean, really!
I sent Baby next door to extend the invitation.
He came back, bounding in like a springbok with a bellyful of jumping beans, carrying a newspaper and speaking so quickly I could not understand him. Man placed calming hands on Baby’s shoulders. I prised the paper from his hands and spread it on the only available surface Mjomba hadn’t covered with food.
There was a photograph of the three of us with a caption IMMIGRANTS MAKE THEMSELVES KNOWN -I didn’t care for the wording but I did look rather glamorous and Man - well, he could give any matinee idol stiff competition. There was another of Baby alone, in heroic pose he must have copied from his father under a headline that said, JUNGLE BOY FOILS SHOPLIFTING RING.
The story detailed how Sonny (13) newly arrived in Britain had fearlessly tackled two shoplifters when he saw them at work in local mega-super-hyper-market... blah, blah...
Well, it said nothing we don’t know already, and my boy did look handsome in black and white - I experienced a sudden pang for not taking photos of him as he grew - but then, how could I? Not that I would ever forget a moment of those years. Every new tooth grown in or lost, every growth spurt, every change in his features; they were all committed indelibly to memory perhaps in a way that people who entrust their memories to a family album at which they hardly ever look. Perhaps without a camera, I see things more closely, rather than taking a quick snap and moving on. Perhaps I am somehow more present in the moment rather than one who views things through a lens. I don’t know.
“It’s marvellous, darling,” I told him.
“Put on wall,” said Man.
“Is that what I really look like, Mother?” Baby couldn’t take his eyes off his likeness.
“I’m afraid so,” I teased. “But taller and in colour.”
“I wish I had hair like yours,” he pouted. “And muscles like yours, Dad.”
“Son grow,” said Man.
Baby had known ever since he was old enough to understand speech that he is not our natural son. One of his favourite stories at bedtime was the tale of how we found him in the aeroplane wreckage and decided to keep him rather than eat him all up in a stew like the cannibal tribes are purported to do - which is, in my experience, total nonsense. They haven’t the technology to make large enough cauldrons to fit a human in, so you don’t have to tell me a thing about misrepresentation.
“Rebecca says every house in Dedley gets one of these papers,” Baby was still marvelling at the whole affair. “Everyone who sees it will know my name and what I look like. That must be dozens and dozens!”
“Actually, dozens of thousands, I should say.”
His eyes grew wider than a startled bushbaby’s. He could not comprehend such numbers.
“Leaves on trees,” said Man as a helpful illustration.
“Golly!” said Baby.
Our guests arrived with two notable absentees. Mrs Lyons, her husband explained, had gone into town on an errand, the exact nature of which he could not say because he did not know. In one way I was relieved but in another I was disappointed not to have the opportunity to win her over to the family fan club. And as for Alison, well, where she had gone was anyone’s guess.
“Growing up,” Mr Lyons was philosophical. “Wants to do things on her own. Bound to.”
I felt a twinge. The time would come - of course it would - when Baby would strike out on his own. It grieved me to think of it and so I changed the subject very quickly.
“Come through,” I ushered them into the hallway. “A bit of a novelty today: we shall eat indoors!”
We sat on the floor in the front room, which we have ameliorated by the addition of several large potted plants from the supermarket and Uncle Mjomba passed platters through the serving hatch.
“This all looks very... healthy,” said Mr Lyons.
“You sound disappointed!” I laughed. “Does your wife not prepare healthy meals for you?”
Mr Lyons maintained a diplomatic silence. Wise man.
“I like what you’ve done with this room,” Rebecca was looking around. “It’s sort of jungly.”
“I’m not sure that’s a word but thank you, dear. It’s just a few plants. Of course, we haven’t quite got the humidity levels or the insects but these things take time.”
I entreated them to tuck into the fine fare Mjomba had prepared. Mr Lyons appeared more reluctant than ever. I assured him that Mjomba was scrupulous where hygiene was concerned and attested that he probably spent more time at the watering hole than the rest of us combined.
Mr Lyons sampled a sliver of mango. From the hatch, Mjomba chattered encouragingly. Rebecca Lyons did not need to be told twice. She tucked into berries and bananas with aplomb - with a plum, too.
Our talk was dominated by Baby’s appearance in the newspaper. We, the proud parents, crowed about his heroism. Mr Lyons pointed out that Rebecca had once been in the newspaper too.
“What was it, bab? Sewing or something, wasn’t it?”
“Not exactly,” the girl looked embarrassed. “We had to dress up at school as a character from a book. I made my own costume. I went as Dorothy Gale.”
She registered our blank expressions. “You know: from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.”
It meant nothing to us but this did not deter the girl from continuing. “I had a stuffed dog in a basket and everything. I was up half the night gluing red sequins to my plimsolls. I got third prize.”
“Well done!” I thought that was called for.
“You stuffed a dog?” Baby was puzzled.
“Well, no, it was a toy.” Rebecca’s explanation was interrupted by knocking at the front door. I pushed aside a palm frond and peered through the window. I recognised some of the faces from the day before and I was certainly familiar with their equipment.
“The reporters are back. What shall we do?”
Baby got to his feet with a hurrah.
“Your ladyship, I don’t think it’s wise to let those people into your home,” Mr Lyons also stood. “I’ll send them packing, shall I?”
Man waved him down. He was, after all, the Man of the house. Together, the three of us went to the front door and opened it. Flashes went off in our faces.
“Sonny eating,” said Man. “Come back later.”
But it turned out it was not our son they were clamouring for.
“Have you any experience as a lion tamer?” asked one reporter.
“Which gym do you go to?” asked another.
It appeared my husband’s heroics at the zoo had attracted the interest of the media. Unfortunately for them, Man was not interested in them. He closed the door, shoving the reporters off the doorstep. He leaned against the door while I bolted and chained it.
“Camera shy, is he?” said Mr Lyons. “He’s not one of those who believes the camera takes a bit of your wossname, is he?”
I sent him a withering l
ook. “Perhaps you had better leave by the back door,” I told them. “Try to distract them with tales of your daughter who stuffs dogs into baskets.”
“Er...” said Rebecca.
“She’s joking,” said Baby. “But I’ll see you tomorrow perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” said Rebecca. “Thanks for the fruit, your ladyship.” She followed her father through the kitchen where Uncle Mjomba held open the doors to facilitate their egress.
“Oh dear, darling,” I nibbled my knuckle. “Perhaps you should speak to them.”
Man shook his head.
“Or just pose for a photograph. I should like one to put on the wall next to Baby’s.”
He shook his head again.
“Man not save blue boy for fame.”
“I know, darling, but if you tell them that, then everyone will know what your intentions were.”
“Lady misunderstand.”
He went upstairs, reaching the top in three bounds. He shut himself in the bathroom. Baby and I exchanged a look of concern.
“I shall talk to them,” Baby reached for the door chain. “I shall tell them Dad is unavailable.”
“I’m not sure, darling,” I put my hand over his.
“But they like me; they’ll listen to me.”
“Oh, darling... ”
How could I tell him that the fickle spotlight of fame had already left him in obscurity?
Uncle Mjomba tapped us on the shoulders. He was offering to go out there and shoo them away. Baby and I agreed it wouldn’t do for them to get wind of Mjomba, in a figurative or a literal sense.
So we sat on the hall floor, our backs to the wall, waiting for the reporters to give up and go away.
“We’ve become the zoo animals,” Baby mused. “People wanting to look at us whether we wish it or no.”
I put my arm around him and, pressing him to my side, planted a kiss on his mop of curls.
***
Later, when Man emerged from a long, contemplative soak in the tub, we lay on our backs in the jungle room, looking at the ceiling. In the kitchen, Mjomba tidied up. He really is a treasure.
“The reporters are all gone, darling. What shall we do for the rest of the day? I could read us a book?”
Man did not answer. Which means No, I have learned.
“We could go to the supermarket. I believe they have proteins there.”
Man had developed an aversion - one that I shared - to the packaged portions of meat that form an important part of the diet of the people around here. He does not like to eat an animal with which he is not personally acquainted. If he has tracked, chased and killed it himself, he is sure of its provenance. Those pink lumps in plastic wrapping could be anything at all. I told him of the packets of protein I had seen; they were soya based.
I can’t have my Man losing his perfect physique.
“We could go for a run,” suggested Baby.
“From what?” said Man, speaking as someone more accustomed to running after something as opposed to away from.
“Just for the exercise,” said Baby. “I have seen some of the natives run past our house. Nothing was giving chase. Perhaps they are preparing in case one day there is an outbreak from the zoo.”
Man chuckled. A zoo outbreak sounded like a good idea to him.
“It would be good to get out into the fresh air - well, the open air - well, the air, anyway,” I said in support of Baby’s suggestion. “And the more we are seen out and about, well, the faster the natives will grow accustomed to us. We won’t be the object of so much scrutiny once they get used to us.”
Man gave my words some consideration and changed the subject.
“Son make stars for ceiling,” he pointed at the blank space overhead. “Remember stars from home.”
“Rather!” Baby jumped up, keen to make a start on this new project. “Do they sell paints in the supermarket?”
“I should imagine so. We can ask Carl or that nice manager.”
But our preparations for a visit to the supermarket (which comprise mainly of me securing my gold card in my bikini top) were interrupted by further knocking at the front door.
“More reporters?” said Baby.
I looked through the window and saw our neighbour, Mrs Lyons and another woman I did not recognise.
“She’s a bit late for luncheon. If we are quiet, perhaps she will go away.”
We froze like rheas in the night, keeping still to avoid predators. It’s a good trick but unlike most predators, Mrs Lyons was not bound by etiquette.
Mjomba let out a warning shriek from the kitchen. Mrs Lyons and the woman appeared at the back door, the forever open, forever unlocked back door.
“I thought you were in,” she said with a sneer. “I did knock.”
“Lyon Woman not take hint,” said Man.
“Never mind that, darling,” I wrung my hands. There was something about the stern expression of the stranger and the briefcase she was carrying that was giving me misgivings. “I’m Lady Jane. What can I do for you?”
The woman placed her briefcase onto a surface Mjomba had just wiped clean. She thumbed open the latches and withdrew a sheaf of papers.
“Janice Driscoll, Dedley Council Child Protection Services. We have reason to believe this child is at risk.”
“What child?”
“The boy known as Son or Sonny. This young gentleman here with no clothes to speak of. No shoes. Why, such is the extent of your neglect, you haven’t even graced him with a surname!”
“Son at risk? Zoo outbreak?”
“I’ll handle this, darling.” Man pulled Baby closer to him. “Of course, we didn’t give him a surname. There’s no need for such luxuries in the jungle. Besides which, he’s not really ours - strictly speaking.”
“What does this mean, Mother?”
“I have the power to take the child into protective custody while the, ah, situation is investigated.” The Driscoll woman had a countenance that could frighten a silverback. The Lyons woman appeared to be looking at her with admiration.
“No!” Baby cried, clinging to Man. “I won’t go!”
“He can come with me now, without any fuss, or can I come back with the police.”
“This is outrageous! He is our Baby! Always has been and always will be.” I joined my husband in performing a human shield around our son. Uncle Mjomba nodded towards the block of knives on the counter. I shook my head.
“Then if you will show me the adoption papers... ”
“Adoption papers?”
“I thought not. Get your things, Sonny; that shouldn’t take you long.” Driscoll allowed herself a brief snicker. Mrs Lyons laughed outright. I rounded on her.
“You’re behind this!” I would have flung myself at her smirking face and scratched her stony eyes out, were it not for the restraining hands of my husband. I flung myself against him instead, sobbing my own eyes out. How dare she! How dare she report us for the way we are bringing up Baby! When one of her own daughters is spending the night away from home on what seems like a frequent basis! Perhaps I should have mentioned that to this Driscoll dragon - but my loyalty to Alison and the trust she had shown in me prohibited such a disclosure.
“Mother?” Baby’s voice was shaky. “Perhaps I should go. It’s a misunderstanding, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”
Oh, my brave boy!
Man hugged us both to him. He looked the Lyons woman squarely in the eye.
“Get police,” he said.
Chapter Ten
In which we meet a new friend and Man saves our lives
It was one occasion when Policeman Andy could not assist. He threw up his hands in despair when I told him they had taken Baby away from us and said he felt helpless. So, Man an
d I ended up consoling him until he could pull himself together. None of this was helping us to get our boy back.
Mr Lyons was furious with his wife but only seemed willing to express his anger when she was not present. He came around to our house as soon as he learned what had happened and said, as our legal representative, he would fight on our behalf.
“Combat?” said Man, thinking he would be the better contestant.
“No, no, not exactly. Here people fight with words and bits of paper.”
“Pity,” said Man. I knew he was thinking of his appearance in the Ant People’s bloody arena, where he quickly established himself as champion, and received the rapturous acclaim of those savages, before declining their invitation to stay and rule them and razing their entire village, arena and all, to the ground.
“What must we do, Mr Lyons?” I squeezed his forearm and sought his eyes. “Whatever it takes, we will do it.”
“Whatever,” said Man.
Mr Lyons let out a long, slow exhalation. “You’re not going to like it,” he said.
Uncle Mjomba blew a raspberry.
***
A sleepless and fretful night on the shed roof led to a skipped breakfast the next morning. None of us had any appetite. Without Baby bouncing around, the house seemed less like the jungle and more like a desert.
Mr Lyons appeared as he had promised, bringing the things he had foretold.
“And this will work?” I laid out the clothes he had supplied.
“You’ll look a knockout,” he said, before blushing and adding, “your ladyship.”
I began to unhook my bikini top. The poor man nearly exploded with embarrassment, so I paused and left the room. People here can be so uptight about the human body. You are probably uptight about your own. Let me tell you, there is no need. Whatever your size and shape, accept it. Be healthful, to be sure, but don’t hide away your scars and imperfections, as you see them, because they make you feel inferior or -
“Lady ready?” Man called up the stairs. He sounded a little impatient, which is not like him. I suppose the stress of being without our Baby was taking its toll even on his even temperament.
Jungle Out There Page 10
