Old Filth - Jane Gardam [16]
“It began years ago.”
“Nothing in the least to worry about now,” said Sir, cranking an iron handle in front of the bonnet, then flinging it over the car into the dickie, just missing Eddie’s head, and leaping behind the wheel to keep the engine alive. Without a toot or a wave or a word of farewell he reversed on the springy grass and flung the car back into the stony lane and went bounding between the low walls and out of sight; leaving a considerable silence.
It was Babs who burst into tears.
“Now then, this stammer,” said Sir, an hour or so later, “I suppose it’s never mentioned. That’s the current policy.”
“It—it—it was. At the sch-school.”
“Ah, well they were Welsh. The Welsh have an easy flow and cadence. They can’t understand those of us who haven’t. I, for example, am not musical. Are you?”
“I d-don’t know.”
“Chapel? Chapel?”
“I d-didn’t sing. If I did they all turned and l-l-looked. Babs sang. B-b-b can sing.”
“The dark one?”
“She sang clear and sh-sh-sharp. Not at all sweet. Not Welsh singing. They d-didn’t like it. So she went on.”
“A prima donna. Girls are very difficult. Hush. Stop a minute. I see swifts.”
He stopped the car in the middle of a leafy lane with trees. Swooping about in high pleasure were some dart-shaped birds cutting the air high and low and gathering invisible flies. “Listen!” said Sir. “Hear that?”
“It’s rather like b-bells.”
“Good, good. You will never forget swifts now. There are birds, you know, who actually do sound like bells. They’re bell birds and they call to each other across the rainforests of Eastern Australia. Don’t let them tell you there are no rainforests in Australia. I have been there. Is that understood? I dare say?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Good. And it is writhing with dragons.”
“D-d-, Sir?”
“They are a form of armadillo, enlarged wood-lice. (The common prawn is related to the wood-louse.) Fat low beasts and over-confident. Rather disgustingly beautiful.”
“Like the lizards in Kotakinakulu?” said Eddie, amazing himself by the memory of the platinum lizards with crocodiles’ merciless eyes, steel slit of a long mouth, not seen since . . .
“Seen some, have you? Interested Darwin. You’ll have to tell the others, stammer or no stammer. Claudius had a stammer. Have you come across Claudius?”
“Claudius who?”
“Who, Sir. Claudius the Emperor of Rome. Splendid fellow. The Prince of Wales has a stammer. He’s having lessons for it.”
“Did he get it in Wales?”
“I shouldn’t wonder. Pity they didn’t send him to me.”
On sped the car. When they reached main roads conversation ceased. Sir’s long scarf kept flapping behind him into Eddie’s face. A precarious mirror hooked to the car at the height of Sir’s ear but in front of him showed Sir with concentrated gravity clenching his teeth on a curly pipe, unlit. Now and then he squeezed a grey rubber bulb attached to a small trumpet and a high bleat sounded off.
The rubber thing reminded Eddie of something vile. Old Mr. Didds’s constipation. Eddie’s face disappeared from Sir’s mirror, and Sir drew to the side of the road and stopped. “Just letting her cool down somewhat. Where are you? On the floor, I dare say?”
Eddie was squashed down on the floor of the dickie, knees to chin and pale green.
“Feeling sick? Not unnatural. Breathe slowly. It may be the car. Others have felt the same.”
After a while Eddie scrambled up.
“You could come and sit beside me but I never allow it. You are in my care. Do you know much about cars?”
“It’s the f-f-first—”
“First time in a car? Excellent. You can write the experience down. Did they teach you to write?”
“Yes. In a w-ay.”
“You mean they struck you with rulers? Beat you about the head?”
“Y-yes.”
“This does not happen in my Outfit. If you do not work—do not try—then Mr. Smith takes you for a run. All weathers. Along the shores of the lake.”
“D-do we wear labels?”
“Labels?”