Firesong

by William Nicholson

  ‘Aaah!’ he cried, seeming in his delight to forget the intruders. ‘That was a brave bucker, Jacko!’

  This remark was addressed to a pig that was wallowing in the pool close beside him. Strange as it was to look upon this vastly fat and naked man floating in greenish scum, it was stranger still to see him in the company of three large pink pigs. They seemed to be wallowing together as equals. There was something about their splayed forelegs and their raised snouts that echoed the fat man’s posture, in the most relaxed and intimate way.

  The pigs too were now looking at the newcomers. There was no fear apparent in their gaze, more that reproachful crease of the brow that greets an unwelcome intrusion.

  As the fat man’s floating body settled back into a gentler bobbing motion, one pudgy hand emerged from the green water to perform a slow wave. He was greeting them. Hanno Hath raised his own hand in an answering gesture.

  ‘Shipwrecked, are you?’ said the fat man.

  ‘We’re travellers,’ said Hanno. ‘Outside this valley the winter is hard. We need rest, and food, and warmth.’

  ‘Rest?’ The fat man repeated Hanno’s words in his deep, rich, almost creamy voice. ‘Food? Warmth? We have all three here. Lucky for you, eh?’

  He chuckled, as if he had made a joke. Then with slow steady motions of his hands, he propelled himself to the far side of the pool, and with much floundering effort heaved his great body out of the water. There he stood, sagging and dripping, naked but for a length of cloth wound between his legs and round his bottom, like an immense and baggy baby’s nappy. By way of drying himself, he patted his body all over, with a rapid rhythmic motion of both palms, beating a tattoo on his flesh.

  The Manth marchers stood and watched. It was a mesmerising sight.

  ‘So,’ said the fat man, as he completed his patting, ‘let’s take a look at you. Quite a crowd, I must say.’

  ‘There are thirty-one of us,’ said Hanno. ‘And our animals.’

  ‘Thirty-one mouths! And all wanting food. What do you say to that, Queenie?’ He addressed this remark to the pig that had just hauled itself out of the water to stand by his side. ‘Look closely, Queenie. You’ll see there’s not just menfolk there, but womenfolk also. And where you get menfolk in the company of womenfolk, what’s the result? Babies! More mouths! And they grow up, and they have babies of their own. Mouths coming out of mouths!’

  Hanno could make little sense of this curious speech, but he did understand that the fat man was worried about how much they would eat.

  ‘We have no plans to stay here,’ he said. ‘Once we’ve rested, and with your permission filled our wagon with provisions for our journey, we’ll continue on our way.’

  ‘On your way?’

  ‘We’re headed north, to the mountains.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what they all say. But it’s not so easy to leave the island, you’ll find. Still, time enough, time enough.’ He beamed at them. ‘Captain Canobius at your service. You are all cordially invited to join me as my guests, on the Stella Marie.’

  With these words he turned and set off at a stately waddle, accompanied by the companionable pigs. The Manth people made their way round the pool after him.

  ‘He’s mad,’ said Branco Such. ‘What’s all this about being shipwrecked?’

  ‘I expect it comes from living alone,’ said Gale Such, his wife.

  ‘He’s a fine figure of a man,’ said Mrs Chirish. ‘And a Captain, too.’

  ‘He thinks he’s on an island,’ said Mo Mimilith. ‘He must be potty.’

  ‘Fatty and potty,’ said Mo’s friend Spek Such.

  The boys broke out into giggles.

  ‘Hush!’ said Lea Mimilith. ‘Don’t upset him. We need him to help us.’

  The overgrown path now led them down a broad and beautiful glade. Here they could see the fat man waddling along a little way ahead, and beyond him a realm of brightness that seemed to promise a break in the overhanging trees. From this white distance there came a strange sound, a deep soft gurgling.

  The glade became a wide clearing. Three sides were walled by dense jungle greenery. The last side, furthest away from them, vanished into white mist. Here on the edge of the clearing stood a curious long structure. Three tall posts rose from a raised timber floor to support a series of hanging canopies that bore a distant resemblance to sails. The fat man clambered up onto the deck and busied himself opening up various chests, that formed the only furniture. Out came a voluminous cloth wrapper, which he draped about his ample form, and a stack of bowls cut from gourds.

  The Manth people approached. Closer now, they could see that the far side of the clearing, where Canobius’s structure stood, was the shore of a much larger pool or lake. The water churned and bubbled, making the deep gurgling sound that filled the air, and from its surface rose a dense white steam. The whole pool was boiling.

  ‘Come aboard, travellers!’ called Canobius.

  Hanno led his people up onto the wide deck. The captain filled a bowl with liquor drawn out of a large wooden barrel, and offered it to him.

  ‘Cane juice. Mildly stimulating, no more. Welcome to the Stella Marie.’

  Hanno drank. The drink was delicious.

  ‘This is more than cane juice.’

  ‘I flavour it with orange rind.’

  ‘It’s very good.’

  Canobius handed out full bowls to all. Shortly a new and more relaxed mood began to prevail.

  ‘So this is a hot spring, is it?’ asked Hanno, indicating the bubbling steaming water.

  ‘It’s certainly hot,’ replied Canobius. ‘I call it my kitchen. It’s a giant kettle, or cauldron. See?’

  He swung round a beam fixed to a tripod stand. At the end of the beam, tied by a cord, was a metal bucket. In demonstration, he lowered the bucket into the water.

  ‘Cook your dinner in moments.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ said Hanno.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Miller Marish. ‘You have a little paradise here.’

  ‘So I have,’ agreed Canobius. ‘All that men struggle to win by the sweat of their brow I have here for the asking.’

  ‘My goodness me!’ exclaimed Silman Pillish. ‘You don’t have to work to grow your food?’

  ‘Work?’ The captain emitted his rich laugh. ‘I have to get up on my legs, if you call that work. I have to walk a little way, and reach out my hand, and pluck the fruit, if you call that work. No, sir, there’s no work here. There’s ease, and plenty.’

  ‘It seems wrong,’ said little Scooch, his brows furrowing. ‘Not to have to work.’

  ‘So I thought also, sir, when I came here first. I fretted up and down the island, clearing and cultivating. But then I found the good things grew whether I planted them or not, and that was the end of my career as a farmer. Now I live as the birds live, on the bounty of nature, and do no work at all. You’d be astonished how quickly the habit fades.’

  ‘Work only a habit!’ Silman Pillish was even more struck by this. ‘Well, well, well. But surely you get bored?’

  ‘Bored? Why would I get bored? It’s having to work that’s boring. Slog, slog, slog, just to stay alive. Take away the slog, and you have the time and the energy to develop your interests.’

  ‘And what are your interests, Captain?’

  Canobius smiled and patted his great stomach.

  ‘I have two interests, my friend. One is cooking, and the other is eating. I have made myself a master of both.’ He drew the bucket back out of the boiling pool. ‘You shall judge for yourself. I shall make you a feast, to welcome you to the island.’

  ‘We have to fit our wagon for the winter outside,’ said Hanno, ‘and store as much food as we can. We would be glad to stay two nights.’

  ‘Two nights, you think? Never mind, never mind. I shall cook you a feast.’ His eye fell on Mrs Chirish. ‘Now that’s what I call a proper woman.’

  ‘Are you the only inhabitant of this valley?’

  ‘The only one, yes.�
� The captain’s attention was now concentrated on Mrs Chirish. ‘I say, madam, may I refill your bowl?’

  Hanno looked round for his wife. She had settled down at the side of the clearing, where she could sit with her back supported by the trunk of a tree. He joined her.

  ‘Well?’ he said, sinking down by her side.

  ‘We’re lucky to have found this place.’

  ‘We’d be dead if we hadn’t.’

  ‘We won’t stay long, will we?’ she said.

  ‘No. We’ll move on as soon as we can.’

  Hanno took her hand and stroked it. She spoke so softly these days. He remembered her great rages, her shouts and curses. Where had they gone?

  ‘Hanno, my dear,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why it is, but I can’t find my direction here. Maybe the air is too warm.’

  ‘You’ll find it again once we’re on our way. All we have to do is get our strength back. Then we’ll go.’

  Canobius’s liquor made them all sleepy after their long ordeal in the snow, and as the unseen sun faded in the misty sky, the Manth people laid themselves down in their various huddles, and slept.

  The next morning when they woke, refreshed by a good night’s sleep, the terrors of the winter seemed far away. The morning temperature was pleasant, not yet too warm. The mist lay thick and white over the bubbling lake, but elsewhere shafts of lights from the invisible sun pierced the lid of clouds. Bees were out, humming in the air, and bright birds darted through the high green tree caverns above.

  The Manth people rose, each in their own time, and washed themselves at one of the many gurgling brooks that came tumbling out of the hillside. Then they ventured into the groves of trees in search of fruit for breakfast. Miller Marish brought back a plump orange melon for his girls, which they ate so eagerly that the sweet juice ran all down their chins, and their father had to dangle them upside down in a small waterfall.

  Little Fin Marish said to her father,

  ‘I think this must be the homeland. Everyone’s so happy.’

  ‘It might as well be,’ said Miller Marish. ‘I don’t see how any place could make a better home than this.’

  At Ira Hath’s suggestion, Mumpo and Rollo Shim stripped off their clothes and waded into the green pool where the marchers had first met Captain Canobius. Lying here, wrapped in warm water and rocked by bubbles rising from the depths, their wounds were soothed. Some of the others, seeing how comfortable they looked, joined them in the pool. Relaxing in the water they spread their limbs, and gently jostled each other, gazing up at the green canopy above.

  Scooch passed by the pool and stopped to watch.

  ‘You look like an uncooked sausage,’ he said to Lunki, one of the bathers.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Lunki, ‘I shall be cooked by and by.’

  ‘Pleasant, is it?’

  ‘Try it for yourself.’

  So little Scooch stripped to his underwear and plopped himself in by her side.

  Hanno Hath, Bowman, and Tanner Amos headed away into the trees with axes, to cut timbers for the onward journey.

  One by one the others came drifting back to the wagon in the clearing, their arms laden with fruit, all with tales to tell of the fertility of the valley.

  ‘Where is the good captain?’ said Branco Such, laying two large coconuts on the ground. ‘Where is our strange but amiable host?’

  ‘He’s gone off with Mrs Chirish,’ said Creoth, scowling.

  Branco Such attacked the coconuts with his knife. The outer rind proved to be tougher than he had expected. Also his mind was on other things.

  ‘There’s space for us all here,’ he said. ‘For all and to spare. And I doubt if I’ve ventured into the smallest part of the valley.’

  ‘There’s space all right,’ muttered Creoth. ‘If space is what you want.’

  ‘Space for homes,’ pursued Branco Such. ‘Land for homes.’ He hacked unavailingly at the coconut.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ said Creoth.

  ‘It’s what we all want, isn’t it? Land for homes. A homeland.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Silman Pillish. ‘I was wondering who would be the first to say that.’

  ‘Well, Pillish. What do you say?’

  ‘I say we should see what Hanno Hath says.’

  ‘Hanno Hath is a good man, but he’s only one man. Isn’t your say as good as his? Or mine?’

  Captain Canobius and Mrs Chirish now appeared, walking arm in arm with every appearance of satisfaction.

  ‘Been showing the good lady the sights of the island,’ he said.

  ‘Such a place!’ exclaimed Mrs Chirish. ‘Everything a body could wish for, hanging on the trees!’

  ‘Now you don’t want to do it like that.’

  Canobius had seen how Branco Such was attacking the coconut.

  ‘You find the two dimples – here, you see? – and you prick them through – like this, you see? – and you drink off the milk.’

  He demonstrated, holding the coconut above his fleshy mouth, so that the thin jet of milk spurted into it. Then he laid the coconut down on a hard section of ground.

  ‘Then you hit it with a rock.’

  He picked up a rock, and with a quick neat blow, split the coconut in two.

  ‘And there’s the meat.’

  ‘I’m most grateful,’ said Branco Such, handing the sections of nut to his children. ‘I take it there are plenty more where that came from.’

  ‘As many as you could ever want.’

  ‘So would you say, Captain, that a group of sensible people such as us would be able to keep ourselves alive on this – er – island?’

  ‘Why, there’s a coincidence!’ cried Mrs Chirish. ‘The captain has been proposing the very same thing.’

  ‘There is a certain sort of person that does very well here,’ said Canobius cautiously. ‘And the good lady is that sort of person.’

  ‘He means fat,’ said Mrs Chirish, blushing and dimpling.

  ‘Well, and if I do, where’s the shame in that?’ Canobius slapped his immense belly with both hands, making it quake. ‘The fatter I get, the happier I become. Who would choose to be thin? Thinness is misery. Thinness can never be satisfied. Fatness is generous. Fatness is kind. Hurrah for bulging bellies! Hurrah for broad behinds! Fatness is happiness!’

  ‘Hurrah!’ cried Mrs Chirish.

  The Manth people smiled as they looked on.

  ‘You’re a fine advertisement for this life,’ said Branco Such. ‘Clearly you eat well here.’

  ‘And so shall you! I am preparing such a feast for all of you! I think of marinating some palm hearts. The marinade is a time-consuming business. I must get on.’

  He bustled off to his deck, where he kept a store of large pots. Branco Such turned to speak to the others.

  ‘Friends,’ he said. ‘I have a proposal to put to you all. Why don’t we stay and make our homes right where we are?’

  As he spoke, he turned to look towards Ira Hath. She sat with her daughters and Sisi, sharing a breakfast of bananas and honey. She seemed not to have heard him.

  Kestrel too was watching her mother closely.

  ‘You don’t like it here, do you, Ma?’

  ‘No,’ said Ira. ‘This isn’t a good place.’

  ‘What is it you feel?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to find it, but I can’t.’ She wrinkled her brow and tried to explain. ‘Everything here is squashy. Even the air is squashy.’

  ‘You mean fat,’ said Pinto. ‘Everything here is fat. Look at the bananas. They’re enormous.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean fat,’ said Ira. ‘I mean squashy. It’s not the same. Fat can be sturdy and reliable. But squashy – you can’t rely on squashy. Squashy will let you down.’

  She looked across at the group round Branco Such. They were deep into an animated discussion. Ira Hath did not need to hear their voices to know what they were saying. She reached out to clasp Kestrel’s hand, and her voice suddenly sounded urgent.

&nbs
p; ‘Promise me,’ she said, ‘whatever the others do, and however weak I get, you’ll take me away from this place.’

  ‘I promise, ma,’ said Kestrel, frightened.

  9

  Talking with pigs

  While Hanno Hath and Bowman and Tanner Amos worked away with their axes, felling and stripping a tree for long straight timbers, Mist the cat went in search of his own breakfast. Mist was no fruit eater, but he soon found that the birds here flew too high and too fast for him to track. Simply watching them darting about gave him an ache in his neck. So after a while he went hunting for small creatures in the undergrowth. His keen sense of smell led him to a small plant concealed under larger plants, which he had never encountered before. It had fat soft dark-green leaves that curled around small yellow fruits, a little like tomatoes. The fruits he ignored. It was the leaves that interested him. They smelled ripe, rotten even, in an excitingly gamey way. He nibbled the end of one leaf, but found the taste too sharp, and ate no more.

  By the time he had returned to the others, he was feeling light-headed.

  ‘Oh, there you are, Mist,’ said Bowman. ‘We’re ready to go back.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ said Mist. ‘You’re wonderful. Everything’s wonderful.’

  He curled up at Bowman’s feet and fell asleep. Bowman poked him.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep now. At least get back to the wagon.’

  But the cat could not be woken. So Bowman picked him up and carried him in his arms, leaving his father and Tanner Amos to haul the cut timber between them.

  ‘Poor Mist,’ he said. ‘He’s exhausted.’

  On their return to the clearing, he laid the sleeping cat gently on the blanket pile in the wagon. Mumpo was standing by the wagon, semi-naked and dripping, having just come back from the pool. He was drying himself with a blanket, patting carefully round his wounds.

  ‘Better for your soak?’ said Bowman.

  Mumpo nodded. ‘Much better.’

  Bowman examined his wounds, to see how they were healing.

  ‘Soon be good as new.’

  Looking up, he met Mumpo’s eyes and blushed. They both knew that the stomach wound was serious, and that Mumpo would never again have the strength and agility that had made him a champion fighter.