Island - Aldous Huxley [4]
There was another burst of screaming. On its perch in the dead tree the bird was turning nervously this way and that; then, with a final screech, it dived into the air. Without taking her eyes from Will’s face, the girl held out her hand invitingly. The bird fluttered, settled, flapped wildly, found its balance, then folded its wings and immediately started to hiccup. Will looked on without surprise. Anything was possible now—anything. Even talking birds that would perch on a child’s finger. Will tried to smile at them; but his lips were still trembling, and what was meant to be a sign of friendliness must have seemed like a frightening grimace. The little boy took cover behind his sister.
The bird stopped hiccuping and began to repeat a word that Will did not understand. “Runa”—was that it? No, “karuna.” Definitely “karuna.”
He raised a trembling hand and pointed at the fruit in the round basket. Mangoes, bananas…His dry mouth was watering.
“Hungry,” he said. Then, feeling that in these exotic circumstances the child might understand him better if he put on an imitation of a musical-comedy Chinaman, “Me velly hungly,” he elaborated.
“Do you want to eat?” the child asked in perfect English.
“Yes—eat,” he repeated, “eat.”
“Fly away, mynah!” She shook her hand. The bird uttered a protesting squawk and returned to its perch on the dead tree. Lifting her thin little arms in a gesture that was like a dancer’s, the child raised the basket from her head, then lowered it to the ground. She selected a banana, peeled it and, torn between fear and compassion, advanced towards the stranger. In his incomprehensible language the little boy uttered a cry of warning and clutched at her skirt. With a reassuring word, the girl halted, well out of danger, and held up the fruit.
“Do you want it?” she asked.
Still trembling, Will Farnaby stretched out his hand. Very cautiously, she edged forward, then halted again and, crouching down, peered at him intently.
“Quick,” he said in an agony of impatience.
But the little girl was taking no chances. Eyeing his hand for the least sign of a suspicious movement, she leaned forward, she cautiously extended her arm.
“For God’s sake,” he implored.
“God?” the child repeated with sudden interest. “Which god?” she asked. “There are such a lot of them.”
“Any damned god you like,” he answered impatiently.
“I don’t really like any of them,” she answered. “I like the Compassionate One.”
“Then be compassionate to me,” he begged. “Give me that banana.”
Her expression changed. “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. Rising to her full height, she took a quick step forward and dropped the fruit into his shaking hand.
“There,” she said and, like a little animal avoiding a trap, she jumped back, out of reach.
The small boy clapped his hands and laughed aloud. She turned and said something to him. He nodded his round head, and saying “Okay, boss,” trotted away, through a barrage of blue and sulphur butterflies, into the forest shadows on the further side of the glade.
“I told Tom Krishna to go and fetch someone,” she explained.
Will finished his banana and asked for another, and then for a third. As the urgency of his hunger diminished, he felt a need to satisfy his curiosity.
“How is it that you speak such good English?” he asked.
“Because everybody speaks English,” the child answered.
“Everybody?”
“I mean, when they’re not speaking Palanese.” Finding the subject uninteresting, she turned, waved a small brown hand and whistled.
“Here and now, boys,” the bird repeated yet once more, then fluttered down from its perch on the dead tree and settled on her shoulder. The child peeled another banana, gave two-thirds of it to Will and offered what remained to the mynah.
“Is that your bird?” Will asked.
She shook her head.
“Mynahs are like the electric light,” she said. “They don’t belong to anybody.”
“Why does he say those things?”
“Because somebody taught him,” she answered patiently. What an ass! her tone seemed to imply.