The Donkey Rustlers

CHAPTER 2 Arrival

All two hundred and fifty inhabitants of the village of Kalanero were, of course, aware of the impending arrival of the Finchberry-Whites and so the whole village was in a turmoil of excitement and activity. Certainly the most excited person in the village was Yani Panioti; of the same age as the children, Yani had become their particular friend, and from the very start he had fallen deeply in love with Amanda and was her devoted slave. His wiry body was burnt brown by the sun and his movements were as lithe as a cat’s. Under his thatch of hair — as black as jet and as curly as wood shavings — his huge dark eyes stared at the world with a disarming limpid innocence, or else flashed with wicked impishness. Now he whistled softly and tunefully to himself as he helped prepare the villa, and his heart was gay because Amanda was coming back to him at last.

So the great, creaking, sun-blistered shutters were thrown open in the villa and old Mama Agathi and her husband, who were caretakers, set to work sweeping up the accumulated winter’s spiders’ webs and scrubbing the white wood floors, while Yani himself supervised the sweeping and weeding of the great terrace. In fact, it is more than likely that the great terrace got more devoted sweeping and cleaning than The rest of the villa — but this was only natural since it was the General’s vantage point.

Then one morning when the villagers awoke, they knew that the great day had arrived, for the Ionian Nymph (a small vessel with a list to starboard and a large hole In Its bows, which was Melissa’s only contact with the mainland) was due to arrive. In spite of its manifest unseaworthiness, the General liked to travel on it for, as he said, each voyage became a nautical adventure worthy of Raleigh or Drake. So the Ionian Nymph docked safely in the port of Melissa and very soon Yani Panioti, perched high in the branches of an olive tree, waved and shouted to the village below that he could see the white cloud of dust created by Melissa’s one and only taxi as it conveyed the Finchberry-Whites towards Kalanero.

The exuberance with which the villagers greeted the arrival of the taxi in the main square of the village had to be seen to be believed. Even old Papa Yorgo, who (as everyone knew) was well past a hundred, had to be escorted out, tottering on two sticks, to shake hands. The Mayor, Niko Oizus, a circular man with a large walrus moustache who exuded sweat and cringing servility at the same time, was there to greet them on behalf of the village. Even Coocos, the so-called village idiot, with his round face wreathed in smiles, was there and was wearing (as it was a special occasion) the old bowler hat the General had brought. out from England the year previously. This hat was one of Coocos’s most treasured possessions, next to a goldfinch in a tiny cage which he carried everywhere with him and on which he lavished incredible love and devotion. Gifts were given by everybody. There were baskets of oranges and lemons, handkerchiefs full of eggs, almonds and walnuts and, of course, vast quantities of multi-coloured flowers of all shapes and descriptions.

Yani thought that, if anything, Amanda looked even more beautiful than she had the year before, and he followed her with a broad grin on his brown face as she ran excitedly through the village, her golden hair shining in the sun, her blue eyes brilliant with excitement as she kissed and hugged everybody. David followed her at a more sedate pace and solemnly shook hands.

“Do you like Kalanero?” said Yani teasingly, as the exuberance of the village died down, and the three children walked back towards the villa.

“Like it?” said Amanda, her eyes flashing sapphire in the sunlight. “Of course we like it. It’s our village.”

When they got to the big rusty wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to the villa, Yani’s mood of excited enthusiasm at their arrival appeared to have waned.

“What are you looking so miserable about?” asked Amanda. “Aren’t you pleased that we are back?”

“Of course I am,” said Yani. “It’s just that I’m worried.”

“What are you worried about?” asked Amanda in astonishment.

“I can’t tell you now,” he said. “I’ll meet you this evening down in the olive groves. I’ve got to go and do some work now’.

“Is it something nice?” inquired Amanda, excitedly.

“No,” said Yani. “It isn’t nice at all, and I want your advice.”

“Tell us now,” David demanded.

“No. Tonight in the olive groves where nobody can hear us,” said Yani, and he turned and ran back down to the village.

By the time the children re-entered the villa it had been happily and lovingly disorganised by Mrs Finchberry-White and Mama Agathi. In spite of the most desperate attempts, Mrs Finchberry-White had never succeeded in mastering more than four or five words of Greek and as Mama Agathi was no linguist either, a combination of the two was something that had to be heard to be believed. The General had unpacked — as far as he was concerned — the most vital portion of their luggage, his easel and paints, and had set them up on the terrace.

“Aren’t our villagers wonderful?” asked Amanda, spread-eagling herself on the flagstones in the sunshine.

“Very kind,” said the General, carefully drawing another cypress tree with great precision and complete inaccuracy.

“Father, you aren’t going to paint another one of those awful pictures, are you?” asked David. “Why don’t you paint it from some different angle? And you’re getting the trees all wrong too.”

“When my senility requires me to have an lessons from you, David, I shall not keep you unapprised of the fact,” said the General, painting away unconcernedly.

“I think you ought to do things like Picasso does,” said Amanda, “because then nobody would notice how badly you draw.”

“Why don’t you go and help your mother?” asked the General, “otherwise, with her command of the Greek tongue, I doubt whether we will ever get any breakfast.”

Amanda sighed a resigned sigh and wandered through the great echoing rooms to where her mother, in the kitchen, was endeavouring, without very much success, to explain what scrambled eggs were to Mama Agathi. As far as Mama Agathi was concerned, there were two kinds of eggs: one kind was raw and the other was hardboiled and dyed red for Easter.

“Mother, you are hopeless,” said Amanda, impatiently. “Even if you can’t learn to speak Greek, you might at least stop confusing her by asking for things she has never even heard of.”

“But my dear, everybody’s heard of scrambled eggs,” said Mrs Finchberry-White, startled. “But everybody. Why, when I was a gal, we had them every day for breakfast.”

“There are some interesting little pinky sort of flowers in the other room that Yani gave me,” said Amanda, “why don’t you go and put them in water and I’ll organise the breakfast.”

Happy to be released from the irksome burden of scrambled eggs, Mrs Finchberry-White drifted out of the kitchen to add the flowers to her collection, while Amanda with a few quick decisive phrases organised the sort of breakfast that the General desired.

Presently the table was laid on the terrace and the General, smelling strongly of turpentine, took his place at the head of it and devoured great mountains of sunset-gold scrambled eggs, huge’ brown pieces of toast dripping with butter and covered thickly with a layer of the special marmalade that he had brought out with him for the purpose.

“What are you children going to do to-day?” inquired Mrs Finchberry-White.

“I want to go out to Hesperides,” said Amanda.

“No,” David said firmly. “We can’t go to Hesperides without Yani and Yani is working to-day.”

“But I want to swim,” said Amanda.

“Well, you can swim, but we are not going to Hesperides without Yani.”

It was curious that, in most things. Amanda was the more domineering character of the two children, but on the very rare occasion when her younger brother adopted that tone of voice with her, Amanda would give in meekly.

“All right,” she said resignedly.

The children had discovered Hesperides their first summer there. It was a tiny island lying off the coast near the village, thick with cypress trees so that it protruded from the water like a little furry isosceles triangle. Right on the very top was a terraced area with a minute church, such as you so frequently find in Greece, which would comfortably accommodate a congregation of three, provided no priest was present. Next to it were two small white-washed rooms in which for many years had lived a very old monk. He had long since died and although the Archbishop of Melissa had written to Athens for a replacement, no reply had been forthcoming. So, as the Archbishop had not heard from Athens within two years, he had presumed his letter had gone astray. He had made a mental note to write again but had forgotten about it and so the tiny island was completely deserted. It was within easy swimming distance of the coast and the first time the children had swum out there and Amanda had hauled herself, brown and dripping, ashore, she had seen, at the bottom of the flight of steps that led up to the church, a tangerine tree, heavy with fruit.

“Look, David!” she had shouted, her blue eyes getting almost black with excitement, “just look! Golden apples!”

David had gravely inspected the tree. “They’re not apples, you clot,” he had said. “They’re tangerines.”

“Well, we can petend they’re apples,” she said conceding this point, “and we’ll call this place Hesperides.”

And so, from then on. the island became known as Hesperides and even the villagers had started calling it by this name. Prior to this the island had never been christened and had just been known, somewhat unfairly, as “the island with the monk on it.”

“Are you going out for the whole day, dear?” inquired Mrs Finchberry-White. “If so, I’ll pack you up a picnic.”

“Yes, we’ll go out for the whole day,” said Amanda, “but don’t bother, mother, it’s quicker if I pack up the picnic.”

“Good, dear,” said Mrs Finchberry-White with relief, “because I’ve got any number of flowers the villagers gave me that I want to press, and your father wants to paint.”

“Yes,” said the General, with satisfaction, swivelling round in his chair, screwing his monocle into his eye and peering at his hideous canvas with every evidence of satisfaction. “Should be able to knock that one off by sunset.”

“Well, come on, David,” said Amanda impatiently, “I want to get down to the sea.”

She went into the kitchen and rapidly and methodically packed a small haversack with the various foods that she thought were necessary for herself and her brother. She did not bother to take water, for the beach to which they were going had a spring that burst from the red and yellow cliffs, sparkled briefly across the sand and was then lost in the blue waters of the bay.

Amanda and David walked the half mile or so down the hillside to the beach. It was curious that though both brother and sister were devoted to each other, they very rarely spoke when they were alone together. It was only when they were out with Yani that they became exuberant and loquacious. They walked slowly down the rough track that led to the beach, happy in each other’s company and busy with their own thoughts. Amanda’s eyes darted everywhere as she made mental notes of the various wild flowers she saw and which she would collect on the return journey to take back to her mother. David watched the brown and blue lizards that scuttled everywhere under their sandalled feet and wondered how many lizards it would take — if all were suitably harnessed — to pull a cart. The air was warm and full of the scent of thyme and myrtle. They deposited their belongings on the beach, took off their clothes and plunged into the blue, lukewarm water.

Both in their different ways enjoyed their first day in Melissa; David found a baby octopus under a stone and they teased it very gently with a stick so that it would blush pink and iridescent green with annoyance and finally shoot off into deeper waters, like a balloon trailing its ropes behind it, leaving a smoke screen of black ink that hung and drifted in the still waters. Amanda found a contorted olive branch that had been washed clean and sandpapered by the sea and then bleached astonishingly white by the sun.

“I wonder why it is,” she said musingly to David, “that when nature produces something like this, it looks beautiful. And yet when Father tries to draw the same sort of tree, it looks so awful.”

“That’s because Father can’t draw as well as nature can,” said David, very seriously.

The two children stared at each other for a moment and then were convulsed with laughter and rolled giggling hysterically on the sand. Exhausted by their mirth they lay and drowsed in the sun for a bit, then ate their food, and swam a little more and then drowsed once again.

“Don’t forget we’ve got to meet Yani,” said Amanda, suddenly sitting up.

“Did he say what time?” asked David sleepily.

“No,” said Amanda, “but I suppose he means round about firefly time.”

“Well, we’d better be getting back then,” said David, squinting at the sun.

They trudged back up the hill slowly, sun-drugged, their bodies feeling rough from the salt as it dried on their skin. By the time they reached the villa, Amanda had gathered a large bunch of flowers for her mother and David had worked out, as well as he could without the aid of pencil and paper, that it would take 6,842,000 lizards to pull a cart He was a bit worried as to the exact number for, as he confessed to himself, he was not sure exactly of the pulling power of one lizard. He made a note that he would have to catch one and experiment.

“Oh, there you are,” said Mrs Finchberry-White. “I was just coming to look for you.”

The fact that she had not the faintest idea as to where the children had gone and that she would have had to search the entire island of Melissa in order to find them had apparently not occurred to her.

“What lovely flowers, dear. Thank you so much,” she went on. “I have had such a good day to-day. I found three new species just down below the terrace there.”

What did you have for lunch?” inquired Amanda.

“Lunch!” asked Mrs Finchberry-White, bewildered. “Oh, lunch. Well, we had something or other.”

“Did you have any lunch!” inquired Amanda ominously.

“I can’t quite remember, dear,” said Mrs Finchberry-White, contritely. “Ask your father.”

The General was out on the terrace putting the finishing touches to his painting by adding a virulent sunset behind badly drawn cypress trees.

“Did Mother give you any lunch!” inquired Amanda.

“Oh, there you are, my dear,” said the General. He stepped back and pointed at the canvas.

“What do you think of that, then?” he asked. “Powerful, don’t you think! Powerful.”

“Over powerful,” said Amanda callously. “Did you have any lunch!”

“Yes, they did,” said David, quietly materialising. “I checked with Agathi.”

“Well now,” said the General, splashing turpentine in vast quantities all over himself. “Did you have a good day?”

“Very good,” said Amanda. She glanced down at the olive grove and saw the first greeny, pulsating lights of the fireflies starting.

“It’s time we went to meet Yani,” she whispered to David. “Just go and make sure Agathi’s cooked us something for supper.”

“Why don’t you do it!” asked David.

“No,” said Amanda, with a certain self-consciousness. “I simply must comb my hair. It’s full of salt.”

So while Amanda combed her long golden hair and put on a frock which she thought suited her rather well, David gravely organised the menu with Mama Agathi; then, shouting to their oblivious parents that they were just going out for a minute, they made their way down through the darkening olive groves where the trees leaned in contorted attitudes as though gossiping to each other, and where every dark corner contained the friendly green light of a firefly passing by.