The Painted Tent

by Victor Canning

  Smiler groaned inwardly. There was nothing he could do but tolerate her, avoid her as much as possible, and feel more determined than ever to stick to his vow not to go to her Christmas party which she began to talk about well in advance.

  By the time Christmas arrived there were a few horses in the stable, a couple of rosin backs and a small black pony which, given encouragement by Bill and Bob when it was in the yard, would go up on to its back legs and waltz and pirouette across the cobbles.

  Christmas came with the first light fall of snow and a frost that made the ground bone-hard and lapped the fringes of the Bullay brook with a rim of ice. Jimmy Jago was at home for Christmas and Bill and Bob came down to have Christmas dinner with them all. Afterwards they all sat around the fireplace and exchanged presents. Smiler one weekend had gone on the train to Barnstaple to buy his presents for people – and had been considerably hampered in the expedition because Sandra had got wind of it and turned up on the train with two other girls. It had seemed to him that every time he turned a street corner or went into a shop there they would be. The best Christmas present Smiler had was a quiet word from Jimmy Jago before Bill and Bob arrived.

  Jimmy said, ‘ Never mind how, but I got a mate of mine to ask at the shipping company about your Dad. Seems he missed his boat at Montevideo because he went up in the hills for a two-day trip and got fever at the hotel where he was staying. He was in hospital up there for a couple of days before they realized he was from a ship.’

  ‘But he’s all right now, isn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he is. But that isn’t the half of it. Montevideo wasn’t his lucky place. Just as he was getting over the fever, he slips on the tiles of the hospital corridor and breaks his leg.’ Jimmy grinned. ‘Would you say your old man is accident-prone?’

  ‘It’s news to me,’ said Smiler.

  ‘Well, not to worry. Everything’s all right. The company have taken care of him. He’s on another of their ships now. It picked him up on its way to Australia. My mate couldn’t find out when it’s due back in this country. He didn’t like to be any nosier in case the company began to wonder what he was so interested for.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, Mr Jimmy – I’m glad he’s all right. I mean, I knew he had to be, but it’s nice to know. Thank you very much.’

  And the worst present of a kind was a Christmas card from Sandra Parsons. Inside it was a formal invitation to Smiler to attend her party on the night after Boxing Day. When he groaned about it the Duchess, with a warm glint in her eyes, said, ‘You’re growing up, Sammy. You’ve got to learn that there are a lot of things you have to do in life out of politeness which you don’t want to do. But I’ll let you into a secret. Most of them usually turn out to be very pleasant. You write a nice thank you and say you’ll go.’ She winked. ‘But there’s no need to tell Laura about it if you don’t want to.’

  The Duchess was right, of course. When Smiler went to the party it took less than half an hour for his initial reticence and shyness to wear off. Then he began to enjoy himself. Mr and Mrs Parsons were warm-hearted, friendly people and soon made him welcome. And Sandra and her friends, now that he was amongst them and part of their accepted company, seemed less giggly and stupid than he had thought. They played games and danced to a record player and Smiler – who had not done much dancing in his life, but had a natural sense of rhythm – soon picked up the steps required of him. Although it was not part of his choosing, Smiler found that he danced with Sandra more than with the other girls and, in some mysterious way, when games were played he found himself partnered by her or on her side. This, without his knowing it, made Smiler an enemy – a big, well-built farmer’s son of eighteen called Trevor Green who regarded Sandra as his girl friend. He was far from pleased at the way Sandra and a few of the other girls had taken to the fair-haired, freckle-faced Smiler. Trevor Green was not the kind who brought his grievances out into the open. Also, he had enough intelligence to realize that if he showed his jealousy of Smiler openly then it would do him no good with Sandra and might – in the way of many females – merely provoke her to a more galling display of her liking for Smiler.

  Trevor Green, from the day of the party, worked secretly against Smiler. Sometimes in the darkness of early evening he would walk through the brook fields and leave gates open so that the cattle strayed. Another night he crept into the barnyard and punctured both tyres on Smiler’s bicycle with a fine bradawl so that Smiler would not suspect sabotage. He worked in the dark and in the way the country folk used to think the bad-tempered pixies worked when they wanted to make trouble and more work for those they disliked. He opened the hatch-gate of the disused leat which had once served the old Bullay-brook Mill. The brook was in spate and the water raced down the old leat, poured through a broken bank above the barns, and flooded the yards and the stables one night. Quietly and stealthily as the New Year came in and January wore away through wintry, roaring days of wind and rain, Trevor Green spaced his mischief and caused Smiler a great deal of extra work. But in the way of life, and without knowing it, he at last did something which, though it caused Smiler trouble and worry to begin with, in the end gave Smiler great pleasure and joy.

  One night after Smiler had made his last inspection of the animals in the barn and had returned to his bedroom, Trevor Green crept up to the barn, took the key from under the water-butt, and let himself in. He closed the door and switched on the light. The only windows in the barn were at the far end and could not be seen from the house.

  He went down the row of cages and pens and opened the doors of the Barbary ram’s pen and that of Freddie the chimpanzee. On the other side of the barn he opened the cages of the griffon, the mynah birds and of Fria. None of the animals paid much attention to him. An eye was opened from sleep and then closed. Fria stared graven-faced at him, eyes unblinking. Within a few minutes he was gone, chuckling to himself, picturing the trouble Smiler would have in the morning when he arrived and found birds and animals loose in the barn.

  It was a stupid trick, the product of a small, jealous mind – and it would have been a complete failure had it not been for Freddie. Most of the animals were so used to their captivity that they were content to stay where they were and go on sleeping. So was Freddie for a long time. He was warm and comfortable in his straw bed. He had cocked an uncurious eye at Trevor as he passed, yawned, and drifted away into sleep again.

  But at four o’clock in the morning Freddie woke and sat up blinking. That the barn lights should be on was unusual, and the unusual now stirred Freddie’s curiosity. He saw that the door of his cage was open and shambled over to it, long arms swinging, his knuckles brushing the ground, his large, old man’s mouth working soundlessly as though in silent irritation at the break in barn routine. One of the mynah birds cocked an eye at him and, giving a sleepy whistle, said, ‘Look, look at the time! Look at the time!’ Freddie gave a pout of his thick lips at the bird, scratched his head and then dropped to the floor. Grunting to himself, he made a little tour up his side of the barn, absent-mindedly picked up a piece of wood from the floor and rattled it along the bars of the tapir’s cage. At the far end of the building was a flight of wooden steps that led to a loft. Freddie went up the steps and sat on the top rung. The trap-door leading into the loft was closed. He banged on it as though it were a drum for a while and then dropped from the top steps to the ground in an easy movement. He enjoyed the exercise so much that he went up the steps and repeated the performance. He walked down the length of the bird-cages to the open door of the griffon’s cage.

  The griffon, head sunk between its shoulders, eyes half open, followed his movements, its great beak swinging slowly. Freddie raised his head to it, wrinkled his face, and chattered gently through clenched teeth. He banged his piece of wood to and fro across the open doorway. The griffon shook out its shabby plumage and sidled along its perch a few inches.

  Freddie climbed up the bars of the cage and sat on top of it. Experimentally he reached down through the bars
with his piece of wood and tried to touch the griffon.

  Reluctantly the griffon flopped down from its perch to the cage floor like a disgruntled old woman and shuffled into a far corner. Freddie carried on a little chattering conversation to himself and then crossed over to the top of the mynah birds’ cage. They turned their long beaks up to him defensively and half opened their wings to a threatening posture. One of the birds took off from its perch, swooped through the open door and flew up to the window ledge at the far end of the barn where it settled, whistled, and called, ‘Say it again! Say it again … Oh, clever bird!’

  Freddie, stirred now by his unusual liberty, chattered with excitement and sidled quickly along the top of the cages, moving in a sideways, hump-backed posture. He did a little jumping dance on top of the griffon’s cage. Then he dropped to the floor, ran along the barn, climbed the loft steps on the rear side, swung from a rung with one foot and dropped to the floor. He landed outside Fria’s cage.

  Fria, wide awake now and disturbed by all the unusual movement, looked down at him and gaped silently through her strong hooked beak. Freddie rattled his stick against the open door. Fria, alarmed, edged along her perch to the side of the cage. Freddie, grunting, hauled himself up into the open doorway of the cage and walked in, keeping well away from Fria. He leaned over her shallow tin bath and took a drink of the water. Then, with a sudden movement, he seized the side of the bath and up-ended it. Water streamed all over the floor and the bath went half-rolling, half-sliding towards Fria. Freddie gave a sudden scream of excitement and leapt after it.

  Fria moved with her characteristic swift peregrine shuffle across her perch. As Freddie came after her, waving his stick, she launched herself towards the open door. She flew awkwardly and weakly, losing height and landed clumsily in a heap in the dust and straw alongside the ram’s pen.

  Freddie sat in the doorway of her cage and watched her. Fria straightened herself up, shook her wings into place, and stared at him.

  Highly excited now, Freddie did a chattering dance in the doorway, dropped to the ground, and went after Fria. Alarmed, Fria ran along the ground, wings half open for flight. As Freddie came swiftly for her, she launched herself again. This time her wings beat more strongly as she strove to lift herself above the pursuing chimpanzee.

  She made the top rung of the barn ladder, hitting it clumsily, and just managing to hold on with her talons. Freddie eyed her from the bottom of the ladder, grunting with pleasure at this new-found game. Then he went up after her.

  Fria spread her dark slate-grey wings and flew awkwardly half the length of the barn, aiming for the top of the griffon’s cage. She missed it, tried out of some dim instinct for the mechanics of flight to check herself with a braking of her wings, hit the side of the cage and fell to the floor. The mynah birds, now thoroughly astir, shrieked and whistled and Freddie came chattering after her.

  Frightened, her heart beating with near-panic strength, Fria jumped into the air as Freddie neared her. Fear gave her enough strength to take her up and into a clumsy half-turn. She came out of it awkwardly and flew in slow wing-beats down the barn to the loft steps again. After her, delighted with the game, came Freddie.

  It was Freddie’s delight in his antics that benefited Fria. In her own cage she had never done more than exercise her wings now and then by flapping them as she sat on her perch, and using them to half-jump, half-fly to and from the cage floor. She had never known the pure wonder of a peregrine’s real flight, knew nothing of the mastery of the air which is the supreme gift of the falcons, had never as an eyas stood ready for the first essay in flight on some eyrie lip with a deep drop below and the freedom of the skies above, nerving herself for the first launching into space to take her place alongside tiercel and falcon winging and wailing encouragement as they quartered the air a few feet out from the eyrie. Her wing muscles were stiff, unused, and untrained in co-ordination. When it came to flying she had almost everything to learn. With Freddie pursuing her now, she was forced into a series of panic lessons. For the next half-hour Freddie kept up his assaults and each time Fria was forced to make her escape, and each time she did some little of the stiffness and awkwardness of her wings dropped from her.

  In the end whether from design, from the forced exercise of her natural wit, or from pure luck she escaped him by finding the ledge of an old bricked-up window high above the door which led into the barn, where Freddie, grumbling and chattering with frustration, could not reach her.

  She sat there trembling with nervous and physical exhaustion while Freddie danced below her for a while. Then, as though tired of the taste of freedom, Freddie shambled off down the barn, jumped into his cage and bundled himself up in his straw bed and slept.

  The mynahs which had escaped swooped down and into their cage. Fria sat on her ledge and slowly the fear she had known began to leave her. But as it died away, so did some part of the old Fria. For the first time in months she had known a kind of freedom and its unusual touch had stirred something in her spirit.

  Smiler was the first into the barn the next morning. One glance told him that things were not right. The light was still on and, more obviously, Freddie was sitting on the lowest rung of the loft ladder placidly chewing at an onion – his favourite food – which he had taken from a string of these vegetables which was hung up over the grain-store bin beneath the far window.

  Freddie looked up, gave Smiler a welcoming grunt, and then shambled across to him, holding the half-eaten onion in his mouth. Before Smiler could do anything Freddie shinned up him, clamped one long arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his face into Smiler’s neck affectionately, almost choking him with the strong odour of onion.

  Smiler took one look down the row of cages and saw the mischief that had been done. With Freddie in his arms he went down the barnside, shutting pen doors and cages. He prised Freddie from him and put him in his cage, where he retired happily to his straw bed to finish the onion.

  Smiler crossed the barn and closed up the griffon’s and the mynah birds’ cages and then stood in front of Fria’s cage. It was empty and the upturned bath lay across the damp boards at the back of the cage. Smiler, feeling angry at whoever had come into the barn to cause trouble, turned slowly round with a grim face. In the dim, early morning light from the far window he saw Fria sitting on her ledge about sixteen feet from the ground. Her eyes were open, watching him but her head was sunk into her shoulders and her feathers had been shaken out so that she looked like some disreputable old owl.

  Smiler stood there, not knowing what to do. He had left the barn door open and he knew that he would have to go back along the length of the barn to close it before he could attempt to catch Fria. Once the barn door was shut he could unhook the loft ladder and set it against the wall, take a sack and go up to Fria. With luck, he could throw it over her before she moved. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he began to move slowly up the barn. Fria watched him unmoving.

  With a feeling of relief Smiler reached the door and shut it. Trying to keep his movements easy and unalarming, he found a sack and then unhooked the loft ladder. Very slowly he raised it against the wall. As the top of the ladder came to rest a foot below her Fria suddenly half-flapped her wings and, lowering her head, bated at the ladder top below her. Smiler kept still and waited until she had calmed down. Then very slowly he began to climb the ladder. As far as Fria was concerned he would have gladly let her go to her freedom had she been able to fly properly and look after herself by killing, but he knew that once she was loose outside she would have only the slimmest chance of survival.

  Smiler crept up the ladder, making a soft clicking sound at the back of his throat – something which for weeks now he had taken to doing when he fed Fria. It was a sound she understood. It meant food. Smiler prayed that she was hungry enough now to stay where she was in the hope of being fed.

  When he was four rungs from the top of the ladder Smiler halted. Taking his weight on his feet, his knees pressed ag
ainst a ladder-rung to give him a firm balance, he slowly got both hands to the sack and with an unhurried movement spread it wide so that he could swamp the falcon with it.

  Slowly he began to raise the sack and Fria watched as it came level with her feet. Then, just as Smiler was poised to make his bid to capture her, from far down the barn Freddie, his onion finished, and greedy for another, suddenly began to chatter loudly and shake at the bars of his cage. The sound disturbed Fria. All her fears during the night chase had been associated with it. As Smiler made a lunge to cover her, she ran sideways along the ledge and launched herself downwards. Smiler, just saving himself from falling from the ladder, turned and saw her wing clumsily down the barn towards the far window. She rose awkwardly to the light coming through. Then, realizing it offered no escape, she made a scrabbling turn, so close to the glass that her left wing flight feathers swept away an accumulation of old spiders’ webs. She lost a couple of feet on the turn and, the panic she had known during the night returning to her, she swept back up the barn. She was faced with an awkward turning manoeuvre to avoid the end wall of the barn. She made a mess of the turn, hit the wall lightly, and tried to cling to it. For a moment or two she hung, wings beating, her talons scrabbling against the surface for a hold, spread-eagled like some awkward bat. Then she fell away sideways, and flew straight for the barn door, half-dazed with fear and shock.