As Pious was spending most of his time up at Martin’s house, I felt secure since I knew that he would do the job perfectly, even if it meant assaulting Jesus’ feelings.
The evening before the D.C.’s arrival we had another council of war to check on all our various activities, and everything appeared to be running like clockwork. The porcupines had been smoked and smelt delicious even though they were uncooked. My hunter friend had come back with an enormous array of forest orchids and plants which Mary was keeping in her lavatory as it was the coolest part of her house. As an experiment, we opened one of the tins of caviar and it proved to our surprise to be edible, and Robin had also unearthed a packet of small biscuits. This, together with peanuts, we felt, would be suitable for the drinks before dinner. Robin’s candelabras turned out to be extremely elegant pieces of brasswork, polished and gleaming, that would grace any dining-room. I coveted them myself. He also had sufficient candles, as McGrade sagely observed, to light up the whole of Vatican City.
We had all thrown ourselves into these tasks, partly because of our affection for Martin but also rather like children at Christmas time. I was probably the only one who had any excitement each day because I never knew what strange habit I might observe among my animals but, by and large, the others led dull, routine lives in a most unpleasant climate. So, although we all pretended that the arrival of the D.C. was a terrible bore and kept piling curses on his head, we all really rather enjoyed ourselves. That is, with the exception of Martin, who looked more and more shaky as the day approached.
When the fatal day actually arrived we were all quite casually standing under a sour-sour tree which commanded a convenient view of the entrance to Martin’s residence. We all talked nervously about animal behaviour, the rising cost of manufactured cloth, the difficulty of building a bridge, and Mary gave us a long lecture on the art of cookery. Nobody listened to anybody else for we were waiting with bated breath for the arrival of the D.C.
At last, to our immense relief, his large and elegant car arrived, swept up the drive and came to a halt in front of the house.
“By God, those pot-holes held,” said McGrade. “I was worried about them.”
We saw Martin come out and the D.C. emerged from his car. From a distance he looked like a small caterpillar emerging from a large black cocoon. Martin looked immaculate. Then he ushered the D.C. into the house and we all heaved sighs of relief.
“I’m sure he’ll like the avocados,” said Mary. “Do you know I went through forty-three of them to pick out the best.”
“And my pot-holes held,” said McGrade proudly. “Takes an Irishman to do a job like that.”
“You wait till he gets to the caviar,” said Robin, “that, as far as I’m concerned, will be the highpoint of the evening.”
“What about my smoked porcupine?” I said indignantly.
“And what about my flower arrangements?” said Mary. “One would think that you’d done everything, Robin.”
“Well, I have, virtually,” said Robin. “I have contributed my brain.”
Then we all went our separate ways to our late breakfasts.
We could do nothing further until the evening. The rest was in Martin’s hands and we knew that, being the person that he was, the D.C. would find very little wrong in the way Martin was handling the district.
At five o’clock Pious materialised at my elbow just as I had been bitten in the thumb by an indignant pouched rat whom I had been inspecting to see whether she was pregnant.
“Sah,” said Pious.
“Na what’ee?” I said, sucking the blood off my thumb.
“Barf ready, sah.”
“Why the hell are you passing me a bath at this time of the day?” I asked, having completely forgotten what an auspicious occasion it was.
Pious looked at me with surprise. “You got to be at D.O.’s for six o’clock, sah,” he said.
“Damn,” I said, “I’d forgotten all about it. Have you organised my clothes?”
“Yes, sah,” said Pious. “Small boy has ironed your trousers. Clean shirt, sah. Your jacket is ready and your tie.”
“God in Heaven,” I said, suddenly struck by a thought. “I don’t think I’ve brought any socks with me.”
“I buy you socks, sah, for market, sah,” said Pious. “I done clean your shoes.”
Reluctantly leaving investigations into the possible pregnancy of my pouched rat, I went and had my bath, which was rather like a canvas coffin into which they had poured lukewarm water. In spite of this and the hour of the day, I was dripping with sweat and bath water in equal quantities. I flopped into a chair in a vague endeavour to cool off and thought about the evening that stretched before me. The thought was so appalling that it made me shudder.
“Pious,” I shouted.
“Sah,” he said.
“Pass me a drink,” I said.
“Beer, sah?”
“No,” I said, “a very big whisky with water.”
I drank this sustaining liquid and began to feel in a merrier mood. I dressed with care, though because of the heat and the sweat the beautifully laundered pearl-white shirt that I put on became grey and damp almost immediately. The socks that Pious had purchased for me were apparently the hunting colours of one of the remoter Scottish clans and clashed abominably with my tie. I did not put on my jacket but slung it over my shoulder for I knew that in my short climb up to Martin’s house, if I wore the jacket, I would end up meeting the D.C. looking like a seal newly emerged from the ocean. Pious walked up with me.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?” I asked.
“Yes sah,” he said. “But the D.O.’s boys, sah, they not really good boys.”
“I know that,” I said. “That’s why I put you in charge.”
“Yes, sah. Please, sah, Jesus goes funny.”
Dear God, I thought, what can happen now? “What do you mean, he goes funny?”
“He’s a good man,” said Pious earnestly, “but he’s an old man and so when he go make dis sort of ting he go funny.”
“You mean he gets frightened?” I said.
“Yes, sah,” said Pious.
“So you think he might make a bad chop?”
“Yes, sah,” said Pious.
“Well, what are we going to do about that?” I asked.
“I done send our cook up, sah,” said Pious. “ ’E go help Jesus and then Jesus go be all right.”
“Good,” I said, “a very good idea.”
Pious beamed with pride. We walked on for a bit in silence.
“Please, sah.”
“What’ee?” I asked irritably.
“I send our small boy too, sah,” said Pious. “Dat small boy is good boy but Amos never teach um.”
“Excellent,” I said, “I’ll have you recommended for the New Year’s Honours List.”
“Tank you, sah,” said Pious, not understanding but judging from the way I spoke that these decisions which he had made and carried out on his own met with my full support.
When we got to Martin’s place Pious, who had done himself up in his best uniform — for which I had paid an exorbitant amount of money and added brass buttons too — and which he so seldom had an opportunity to display, dematerialised from my elbow and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
The front door was open and on one side of it stood my own small boy. His shorts and tunic had been laundered and ironed with such care that they looked like a Swiss ski slope before the beginning of a season.
“Iseeya, sah,” he said, beaming at me.
“Iseeya, Ben,” I said, “and make sure that you work hard tonight or I go kill you to-morrow.”
“Yes, sah,” he said smiling.
I found that, owing to my dilatoriness in taking a slow bath, a slow whisky and a slow and reluctant entry into clothes that were totally unsuitable for the climate, the others had arrived before me and were all sitting on the veranda.