by Jan Michael
Joshua shrugged. As far as he knew, his father had never finished a carving.
Robert went over to him and gazed at the knife, moving rhythmically backwards and forwards, scraping and shaping the wood.
‘Please, what are you making?’ he asked politely.
There was no answer. Joshua’s father didn’t seem to notice that he was there.
Robert touched his shoulder and repeated the question, more loudly this time, ‘What are you making?’
The knife stopped moving and Joshua’s father looked up.
‘Making?’ he asked.
It was as if he was waking up, Joshua thought, watching. He never interrupted his father when he was carving. He had always felt that he shouldn’t. And by now he had become accustomed to his silence in the evenings.
‘I’m practising,’ Joshua’s father answered at last.
‘What for?’ Robert was polite but persistent.
This time he got no answer. The butcher’s head was bent over the wood. Backwards and forwards went the knife, quietly whittling.
Robert beckoned Joshua out of the light and around the corner. ‘Why won’t he tell me what he’s making?’ he asked, sounding a little annoyed. ‘He must be making something.’
‘Why must he? He just carves.’
‘But he carves every night, doesn’t he?’
Joshua nodded, bored. ‘Most nights.’
Robert looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps he carves because he hasn’t got any friends,’ he said.
‘Yes, he has,’ Joshua retorted.
‘Who, then?’
‘Well, Leon, and … Oliver.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And … er … Samuel.’
‘They’re just people he has to know for his business. They’re not real friends,’ Robert said, a bit scornfully. ‘I mean, you don’t see him playing cards and dominoes with them in the evening –’
‘He doesn’t like games!’
‘– or drinking with them,’ Robert carried on, ignoring Joshua’s interruption. ‘And they don’t come to see him, do they?’
‘When the shop opened, everyone came,’ Joshua pointed out, hurt.
‘Of course they did. Nobody wants to miss a party, even at the meatseller’s.’
Joshua stiffened.
Robert’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘Oh Joshua, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … I just meant … well, he does sell meat, after all.’
Joshua turned on his heel.
‘Hey, Josh, where are you going? Aren’t you coming to watch the tourists?’
Joshua shook his head and walked away from his friend.
CHAPTER NINE
Under the low circular roof of the millhouse a grey donkey trudged round and round. It was blinkered and harnessed to a long shaft that was connected to the big, flat millstone. On and on it walked, even though there was no one there to make it, not pausing, not slowing down. As the donkey continued in its circle, the mill turned and ground maize into flour.
Joshua kept pace alongside the donkey. He hadn’t gone to see Robert at all yesterday, nor had Robert called round to see him. He didn’t care! How dare Robert call his father names!
He jumped up to sit astride the shaft close to the animal’s neck. Round and round he went too.
The millhouse was where Joshua liked to come to think. No one would bother him here and the farmer wouldn’t be back to unhitch his donkey before lunchtime.
Sandwiched between the low roof and the shaft, Joshua could just see a segment of his surroundings as he was carried round in an unceasing circle: here the trunks of coconut tree, there a clump of low-growing bushes. At the opposite curve there was a slice of blue – the sea. Green, blue, bush, sea, round and round they went, calming him and making him drowsy.
A pair of legs appeared in his line of vision. The knees were familiar. And the skirt – Millie. ‘Hey.’ He was awake at once.
Millie ran over and jumped on the shaft beside him. ‘I thought you’d be here. We’re going over to Cascas Bay with Dad. You can come if you like.’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’ Millie jumped down and Joshua followed her. He loved going anywhere by boat, especially as his father didn’t have one. The world spun. He stopped and waited for his head to clear, then ran after Millie to the jetty.
‘Hurry up if you’re coming,’ her father called to them from the boat. Tom was already there. They ran down the steps and Tom cast off almost as soon as they were seated. Out they went. Millie’s father stood in the stern, dipping and raising the oars in short, sharp movements. After a while Tom took over. Slowly they moved parallel to the coastline, heading for the point.
‘Have you seen Robert today?’ Joshua asked Tom, as casually as possible.
‘No,’ Tom answered.
Joshua shrugged, as if neither the question nor the answer mattered. He looked back towards the island. Seen from this distance it was a mass of green. The only buildings he could identify were the few stone houses near the jetty and the hotel a bit further along. Above them, the green grew darker and colder, leading to the jagged, black mountains. Somewhere up there lived the mountain people.
‘Josh! Hey, Josh!’
Millie was slapping him on the arm. ‘Do you want to row?’
‘Can I?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I just asked, didn’t I?’
Johua stood up in Tom’s place and took the oars. He tried to manoeuvre them the way he had seen Tom do it. But they were heavy and awkward and he got confused about how he was supposed to move them. The water seemed to be fighting him.
He lost his balance and toppled over. Millie burst into peals of giggles while her father grabbed for the oars and caught them just before they fell ino the sea.
‘Millie, you show him,’ her father instructed. Seeing Joshua’s embarrassment, he turned away, adding, ‘I won’t look.’
‘Put your hands like this,’ Millie advised, placing Joshua’s hands into the correct position, high up on one oar. Then she clambered round and stood in front of him, grasping the other oar. ‘Copy me,’ she commanded.
Joshua watched the way Millie worked the oar and tried to mimic her movements. It began to get easier, and eventually he fell into her rhythm; push in, pull up, out, in, push …
‘Let him try again on his own,’ her father suggested.
Millie sat down, handing the second oar to Joshua. He did his best, but he soon got hopelessly muddled and had to be rescued again. He felt he hadn’t learned a thing.
Millie’s father had seen enough.
‘Tom, you take over,’ he ordered.
He patted Joshua on the shoulder. ‘Never mind, Joshua,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘With your blood, you can’t help it.’
Joshua surrendered the oars to Tom and sat down. He wondered what Millie’s father had meant by ‘your blood’. What was wrong with his blood? Perhaps it had something to do with his father, and the fact that he wasn’t a fisherman. He pictured him as he had been the night before, lost in a world of his own, carving. Carving like the mountain man carved. Could there be some kind of link between his father and the stone carvings? That would explain why the mountain man’s carvings had come to him …
‘Here, Josh!’ Millie was thrusting a rope at him.
‘Stop dreaming and tie up the boat to the buoy,’ her father told him.
They had reached the point and the yellow buoy that marked the position of the fishing baskets. Tom and his father pulled on a rope and hauled up the baskets, which were constructed of split bamboo. They made perfect fish traps; the fish swam in through the top, but once they were in they couldn’t get out again. Today’s catch was a good one. They all helped to empty the flapping fish into the boat and then lowered the baskets back into the water.
On the journey home Joshua’s thoughts returned to the mountain man. If the carvings had been meant for him, was there something he was supposed to do with them? Or perhaps they had been meant not as a sign but as a gift. Maybe his father would have an expl
anation.
When he got back, his father was outside their hut, squatting in front of a large log, knife in hand. Curls of wood lay on the ground, gouged out by the sharp blade.
‘Dad.’
His father did not respond.
Joshua moved closer. ‘Dad,’ he repeated.
Still the knife went on, the movements passionate.
Joshua gazed down at his father’s head in its battered hat and thought about how he spent every night carving. Robert was right, he realised suddenly, no one came to visit.
To his surprise, Joshua saw that a shape was emerging from the block of wood. Perhaps his father really would make something, this time. He moved round to get a better look at the carving.
His father frowned at the shadow cast on the wood, looked up and saw him.
‘I’m hungry, Dad,’ Joshua said. ‘I’ve been out on the boat with Tom and Millie. Can we eat?’
His words seemed to break the spell. His father pushed the log to one side and got to his feet.
Soon there were two pieces of pork sizzling in the pan.
‘Pass me the salt,’ his father said, intent on his cooking.
Joshua picked up a jar and gave it to him.
‘Now the plates. And give me the toddy.’
Joshua did as he was told. His father forked meat on to the plates and handed Joshua his. Joshua sat crosslegged on the ground with the plate on his lap.
His father unscrewed the jar of toddy and poured some into a tin mug. He took a mouthful of the drink.
‘Dad,’ Joshua had a new question for his father.
‘Mmm?’
‘Why haven’t you got any friends?’
A look of surprise crossed his father’s face. ‘Who says I haven’t?’
‘Robert.’
‘Ah.’ He looked thoughtful. His eyebrows came together in the way they did when he was worried or concentrating on some problem. He set down his plate and patted a place on the bench beside him. ‘Come and sit here with me.’
Joshua took his plate and sat close to his father; so close that he could feel the steady beat of his heart through the thin shirt.
‘Not everyone needs friends, Joshua. I’m happy enough without.’
Joshua digested that. It didn’t answer his question. ‘But why haven’t you got any?’ he persisted.
‘Because I’ve got you, silly.’ His father put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him hard. ‘You’re all I need. Now, finish your dinner before it goes cold.’
Next morning Joshua was sweeping the floor of the shop when Robert came in.
‘Hello Robert,’ his father greeted him. ‘Come to do the table for me?’
Joshua barely looked up. He still felt a bit cross with his friend.
Robert brushed past. ‘Hi,’ he said.
Joshua moved aside to let him by. Out of the corner of his eye he watched him sprinkle sand on the table, dribble water over it, pick up the hard brush and begin to scrub. Joshua’s father whistled away as he worked, not noticing the awkward silence between the two boys.
When Joshua had finished the floor he began to polish the counter with a soft rag. His father went out. For a while all you could hear was the squeak of clean cloth on glass and the rasp of Robert’s brush on the table.
‘I’m bored with this,’ Robert said, throwing down the brush.
‘No one asked you to clean it.’
‘Your father did.’
‘Well, okay,’ Joshua conceded. ‘But you didn’t have to come in the first place.’
‘Look, I said sorry.’
‘You insulted my father.’
‘Didn’t you hear me? I said sorry. Your father’s okay. I wouldn’t come here if he wasn’t.’
‘Why did you come, anyway?’ Joshua knew he sounded rude, but couldn’t seem to change the way he was behaving.
‘If you must know, I came to tell you about the mountain man.’
‘Well, what about him?’ Joshua asked, trying not to sound interested.
‘He’s dead.’
‘What?’ Joshua stopped polishing.
‘He died last night.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I heard Leon say so.’
‘How did he know?’
‘Maybe from one of the porters.’
‘Why didn’t you come and tell me?’ Joshua felt cheated.
‘Come on, Josh, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?’
But Joshua hadn’t waited for his answer. He was out of the shop and running across the clearing.
‘Josh! Wait!’
He stopped for Robert to catch up, then set off again.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’ Joshua retorted. He ran straight up the steps when they got to the hospital, Robert at his heels, and barged into a porter at the top.
‘Hey! Where do you think you’re going?’
‘The mountain man,’ Joshua panted.
‘What about him?’
‘Is it true he’s dead?’
The porter just looked at him, not answering.
A nun appeared from behind the porter.
‘Is it true?’ Joshua appealed to her.
But it was the porter who answered. ‘Yes.’
‘But he … I mean –,’ Joshua stammered.
‘Now calm down. What’s it to you? He was only a mountain man, for goodness sake.’
‘John!’ The nun was shocked. ‘We are all equal in the sight of God, John.’
‘Of course, Sister. I didn’t mean it.’
‘You may return to your duties,’ she dismissed him.
He turned on his heel and left, not without first pulling a sour face at at Joshua.
‘When did he die?’ Joshua asked the nun.
‘In the night. It was a peaceful death. Now, I have patients to attend to, and I’m sure you two have something better to do than hang around a hospital.’ She bustled them out.
The boys walked back in silence. ‘What about the carvings?’ Joshua said as they drew near the shop, thinking of the stone creatures under his bed.
‘What about them?’
‘I mean what should we do about them? I’ll go on keeping them, shall I?’ After all, Joshua thought, they felt as if they were his.
‘Sure,’ Robert answered airily. He went back to his scrubbing. He said something that Joshua couldn’t hear above the noise of the brush.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I said we’ll collect some more next time a mountain man’s brought in.’
‘And they’ll go on being a secret.’
Robert looked shocked. ‘Of course,’ he said passionately. ‘They’re important, aren’t they? Who knows, maybe they’re some sort of magic.’
‘Maybe,’ Joshua agreed.
They grinned at each other, and began to feel friends again. That night and over the next few nights, Joshua’s father carved more purposefully than before. A creature began to form. Its flanks were firm and strong, its snout was stumpy, its tail short and curly. Joshua loved watching it emerge, loved seeing the warm, intent expression on his father’s face as he worked on the carving. It was becoming a pig.
CHAPTER TEN
Old Mama Siska peered out from her doorway into the darkness. A light appeared from the back of the butcher’s house. Joshua’s father came into view, bearing a lamp which he hung on a hook above the shop door. He disappeared out of sight again, and when he returned with his son they were carrying something between them. Mama Siska’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. It was a wooden pig; a pig only a little smaller than the real ones that the butcher killed.
They put it down by the doorway. Joshua’s father patted its smooth flanks and looked up, eyes narrowed. His face relaxed into a rare smile. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’ll look good up there, above the shop. I need brackets, and there are some long screws wrapped in newspaper in the tool box. Will you fetch them?’
When Joshua got back, his father was propping a lad
der against the front of the shop. ‘Help me bring out the table,’ he said.
Together they dragged it out and lifted the pig up on it. His father screwed the pig’s feet into a plank.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now, you stand on the table.’
Joshua climbed on the table and helped bear some of the weight of the pig as his father climbed the ladder.
‘Hold it still.’
It was difficult. Joshua’s arms ached and trembled. The carving seemed to take forever to fix. At last the brackets were secure and the screws tightened and the ladder and table were back in their places.
Joshua’s father produced a bottle filled with toddy. ‘Bring the glasses,’ he said.
‘The glasses?’ Joshua queried. They were for special occasions. They usually drank from tin mugs.
‘Of course. We have something to celebrate.’
His father filled his own glass, and then poured two fingerfuls for Joshua. They stood, glasses in hand, his father’s arm loosely around his shoulders.
‘To Pig!’ the butcher said, toasting the carving.
‘To Pig!’ Joshua echoed, raising his glass and taking a sip. He screwed up his face as the sharp alcohol bit the inside of his mouth and tongue. He handed the glass back quickly to his father, who laughed.
Father and son looked up at Pig in his place of pride, then went to bed, well pleased with their work.
‘I’m going swimming, Dad.’ Joshua put his head round the shop door the following afternoon.
‘Fine. But I want you back before sunset.’ His father didn’t look up from the newspaper he was reading with deep concentration.
With a glance at Pig, silhouetted proudly against the sky, Joshua ran off to the sea.
When he got to the beach, Robert’s mother was there looking out at Leon’s old boat bobbing in the choppy water. Joshua spotted Robert’s dark head and shoulders, weaving and ducking as he baled water from the leaky boat.
‘He’s ignoring me,’ Robert’s mother complained to Joshua. ‘Will you go and tell him I need him home to chop wood?’
He nodded, staring at the patch under her armpits where sweat darkened the faded blue flowers of her cotton dress.
‘What are you looking at?’ she chided him. Her voice was rough but she held out an arm to him and he went and nestled against her, breathing in sweat and soap and the coconut oil she rubbed in her long plaited hair.
