Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [40]
“Oh, when I was your age,” Dan said, sitting down once more opposite me, “oh when, oh when, oh when …” and waved the hand that held his drink, slopping some over his fingers.
A broad-faced woman sat down beside him and kissed the side of his face. A tiny key hung from a blue ribbon about her neck. He put an arm round her waist and began to sing, throwing back his head and closing his eyes.
Western wind ablow,
Small rains rain.
My dear darling in my arms
And a warm sweet bed again.
God, he had a voice. Not your average voice, but a voice. I got the tears again, my stupid, drunk heart. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tim and a girl slip through a door. My heart gave a sigh, a sinking fall. My sweet warm bed was nowhere. The kitten had returned.
“Her name is Alice,” Dan said.
“Alice,” I echoed.
“Alice.”
Alice, oh, Alice. Where is my Alice? In my lap the kitten vibrated.
Dan Rymer’s eyes crinkled with laughter and his lips turned down. He poured me more of the strong red drink and hoicked up his collar. The woman beside him closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder, and he wore her like a cloak. When he leaned across the table, she came with him like a fox’s face on a rich lady’s stole. Speaking in a low and confidential tone, he said, “Did I ever—did I ever—ever tell you about the time I saw an angel?”
I shook my head. God, I was full. The firelight in the hollows of his face made him very old, shockingly old.
“It was in Valparaiso.”
It was almost a whisper, and I leaned forward to hear, the movement causing a lick of nausea to stir faintly in some unspecific place.
“I was lying in the gutter,” said Dan, “and a small dog had just pissed upon my shoulder.” He took a drink. “ ‘Dear God,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Thank you, my God. It could have been my face.’ ”
I spluttered. The kitten stood up and started walking round and round, digging its claws into my knees.
“Truly, truly,” Dan said, and the woman shifted on his shoulder, “thou art merciful.”
The room began to lurch about. Thin needles of kitten claw shredded my breeches and pricked my knees. Out in the night, voices played counterpoint. Someone somewhere was having a quarrel, but it didn’t sound serious.
“The moon was laughing down at me,” said Dan, getting into his stride, “sniggering from a canyon of swollen cloud.” He squared his shoulders.
I’m going to be sick, I thought. Oh no, not again, no.
“I shouted at the moon,” said Dan. “ ‘Who you laughing at?’ Throwing out an arm. ‘Fat Face? Come down here and laugh, I’ll show you what’s funny!’ ”
Dan jumped up, knocking the table skew-whiff. A bottle rolled. The cat leapt down and the woman slid sideways.
“ ‘Come down, you old Pantaloon!’ I cried.”
He stood, long coat gaping, wild head raised, a grim muzzlish look upon him.
“And it was then,” he said, sitting down again and speaking in a low voice, “that the angel came. Eight feet tall, I don’t know, a very tall creature anyway. Barefoot. Silver feet! Can you imagine that? Real feet of silver, alive. And his wings. They touched the walls on either side of the street. And do you want to know what he said to me?”
“Very much,” I said.
Dan leaned towards me, lowering his voice and speaking very seriously. “He said, ‘Get up out of that, you fool of a man. Get your bleeding arse out of it and shut your stupid bloody mouth before I shut it for you.’ And then he kicked me.” Dan grabbed his own wrist, jutted his lip. “But I grabbed his silver ankle! It was cold to the touch. And up he flew, away, up with me still hanging on, and off away back to my ship with me, and the town lights all spinning round below and the wind rushing in my ears, and the ships in the harbour all spinning round.” He sat back, picked up his drink. “And he put me down on the quarterdeck, gentle as a leaf. ‘Count yourself in luck,’ he said. ‘Next time I’ll drop you in the drink.’ And he turned the size