Mountains of the Moon (8 page)

“Lulu,” Auntie Fi says, “you’re the oiliest person I’ve ever seen.”

I never knew she brung me flowers.

“Gladioli,” I says. “Thank you, Auntie Fi.”

Uncle Ike is on the grass with Baby Grady, eating daisies like delicious. I try not to look where his leg int. I put my flowers by his nose for smelling but he takes one, eats it.

“Mmmm,” he says. “My favorite.”

Don’t know how come, Uncle Ike always goes in the front room, lays down under the piana. In the back room I waits ages to arst, Mum don’t breathe when she’s talking. I make questions small so they fits in.

“Out?” I says.

She’s got Auntie Fi, she don’t need me. Her arm says—yes! Sheba wants to come but I has to shut her in the alley, case she gives me way. I get under the wire and I’m wild in the Masai Mara, long grass int stinging cos I is an impala, my feets don’t even touch the ground. I could run all day if had to, never knew no one so quick as me. Where the cows get water, I get my clay. Then I climb the fence by the sign.

I got a rope down from the back of the post, buried in the tall grass. Big Grin int easy. Rocks is bad shapes done in granite, dirts crumbly and
stones run way. I has to be steady. Blood gets drumming. Fingers and toes knows this cliff, I squashes my face on the rocks. I is a leopard, I lets go and leaps the gap. When last I get on this big smiling rock, I shake my spear and roars at the gods. Surprises me how lucky I is. The Great Rift Valley is down below and Big Grin Rock int going nowhere. I crawl into my cave, got everything nice and dry in a box, checks still there, my Africa book, scrapbook, I-Spy books. I put the red cloth on, ties a knot on one shoulder. Straight way drumming gets louder. Clay’s red and squishy and spreads on easy. I rubs it in my hair, ties it up like sausages in knots. My spear is long and straight but it int proper sharp, cos Jimmy Jackal Smithers got my penknife. Int proper. It int. The dirty Jackal said he’d tell bout Africa and everything. One day, when I get my penknife back, I spects I can kill him with it. Int proper, Pip give it me. Pearls go on with conkers, then beads done with acorns. I know when I’m ready cos I stand on the edge, int scared, int scared. I got a rope for the worstist bit, then down and down I skids, once it’s started the drumming can’t stop, like Africa here I come.

Wildebeest has all gone home. Elephants is fast sleep. I run through lakes and flamingos swirl up, they minds me of
Carousel
. I’m clouds of dust. Sand, I kicks it up. When I’m running I is sure and fine-tuned, so shush as a Rolls-Royce. Only sound is the drumming bashing and the warrior song what I got. I sees where a hyena has been and that’s how come I track it.

Come so far, can’t see Big Grin smiling no more. Don’t know where Africa ends. Wonders if it goes by Grandad’s cos airplanes is low going over. I has to be in fore dark, fore the lions stretch they’s claws. I stalk around some hippos in the Okavango Delta. Racing long the ridge I is a pack of wild dogs. Listens—hyenas laughing in the car park, behind the Portakabins. I is the wind in the Mara grasses. The sun don’t want to go in. I slip over the edge and back down to Big Grin Rock.

In my cave, the animal herds done with chalk seems like moving over the rock. They kicks up dust in my eyes but it’s just a trick. Clouds is
small and by them selfs, going fast like film cross the sun. One time went to Saturday morning pictures with Grandad. Me and Pip. I seen everything. Pip arst for a job as an ush-rette but they said come back in eight years. I look in my Africa book. Uh-huh, even on the page, the Bushmen’s animals looks like walking.
Mig-ration.
Wildebeests has all got knees up, don’t know how many knees up, I done mine the same. I turns the pages looking at Africa patterns, zigzags, swirls. Best is little lines, going long, sides by sides. The sun is like another planet, red. Razor blade is golden oringe. I is brave. Still I bites three conkers in half.

Mum got contempt of court and I has to go to school. Tonsillitis int working no more even though they still is big. Mum says they won’t teach me nothing, she learns me what’s important, sides we int no good at mornings cos Mum does talking til the milkman and I stay up and does listening. Now Pip’s gone I has to do it every night, fore we done it taking turns, long as someone looks like listening. Stories is always the same about London Palladium and olden days. One time Mum was Al Jolson for the King, even though she was little and her arm was broke.
How I love ya, how I love ya, my dear old mummy.

When Mum was Cinderella in rags, her tights got stuck on the safety curtain, that’s how come she went up with it and done the song from on the ceiling. Tiny ponies pulled the pumpkin coach, good, cept they pooped all over the stage. Mum done dancing with Prince Charming and got loads under her dress. Twelve o’clock came at ten past. Other Cinderella come on when Mum weren’t off yet. Lew Grade said, “You’re all fired.” After that comes Madam Butterfly, weren’t no fun, Mum had to sing “One Fine Day” and stop keep mucking around. I is a good audience. I always know what the next line is and claps in all the proper places.

Pip’s like a little boy in a story, gets his head stuck in the balcony bars. Mum always sings the song she sang while they was waiting for the
firemen.
Watch for the mail, I’ll never fail, if you don’t get a letter, then you know I’m in jail.
Don’t member that apartment, with balcony bars. I spects we has moved so many times we int sure where we is anymore. Stories go on and on in a circle, there int no place for stopping or starting. My dad int never in them. I like the one about Auntie Fi’s baby girl. She was born the week after me but Auntie Fi gave her up for adaption. I wonders what her name is, case she goes to my school. My tonsils is up bad.

Mum learned me how to iron my school shirts. I stayed wake especial but then I fell sleep. Normal Grady yells at eight o’clock cept today he oversleeped and Mum don’t get up til the sun is around the front. That’s how come I’m late and school is in Addlestone. I don’t go the long way around, Lowry Road and School Lane; I is a cheetah, cross the Mara. I races clouds in the Great Rift Valley. Stop to put my shoes and socks on fore the gate, looks like there int nobody here cept for teachers’ cars. The school gate sounds so loud as late. Magines can still hear Baby Grady crying. Wonders if eyes is watching cos my feets can’t work these shoes. The floor in the corridor is so slippy like a mistake with kids. Can’t stand up. Big lady comes out of the office, makes me jump. I hang on to her trousers to stop from going over.

“Why are you here—who sent you?” she says.

“Magistrates,” I says.

“Speak up, girl, don’t make me come down. Who sent you?”

She’s got a ginger hair growing from the wart on her chin.

“Magistrates,” I says.

Grunt brings her ear down and that’s got ginger hair as well. Hairy ears, like a pig.

“Magi-strates,” I says.

That’s how come she brung me to Miss Straight’s class and her hair’s in a doughnut. I sit down where she points me, in the middle. Kids look like trouble.

“Do up your top button and tie, “Miss Straight says and all her words is by them selfs.

I try to do the button.

“Stand up,” she says. “Do up your shirt and your tie.”

Chair falls back. My fingers is tied up, I got one stuck in the buttonhole.

“Can’t,” I says, “my conkers is too big underneath.”

Miss Straight’s ear comes around the tables.

“Conkers is too big underneath,” I says. “Can’t do up my shirt and tie.”

“Take them off.” She walks way.

I undoes my tie and put it on the desk. I take my shirt off and fold it up. Here I is all conkers and teef. Eyes go over my patterns like a blind man’s fingers.

“The
conkers
—take off the
conkers
,” Miss Straight says.

I is boiling water. The bell goes like a mergency.

“Stay where you are,” Miss Straight says.

Kids go past me like Uncle Ike’s leg. Never knew Jimmy the Jackal was here. He nods like he knows me. I put my shirt back on. Miss Straight comes over, looks for the knot in my conkers. She’s got scissors in her desk drawer. When she cuts the string the conkers drop off and bounce, all cross the floor. She helps me to pick them up.

“Should be ten.” I count them and put them in my bag.

Playtime, I tie my shoelaces together and make a longer necklace hangs down inside my shirt cept now my shoes is more useless. Teacher in the corridor arsts me where the laces is.

“Gone,” I says.

“Gone?” he says.

It’s a mystery and I has to go to lost property, case they got some shoelaces.

I go for dinner but my name int on the list. Only person missing is called King. I member that’s who I is, but the dinner lady don’t believe me. After no dinner we got PE, cept I int got a PE kit, lucky I know where lost property is. We play rounders, girl with a head like a box throws to me, I’m backstop, I catch and throw it. Girl on first base looks like Auntie Fi cos of basin haircut, I throw low, case I break her glasses. When it’s
my turn for batting, I hit the ball out. Surprises me. Ball comes back in Sheba’s mouth, and she won’t drop it, stead she gets five rounders. Miss Parker tries to grab her but she’s left holding hair. Even when Sheba drops the ball, no one wants to pick it up. I tends I don’t know her but then she comes and sits on my feets. When I’m upstairs having history, I see Sheba playing netball. Wonders how things is with Baby Grady. Zebras is chasing a rabbit on the football pitch, vultures is waiting, case, high up on the rugby posts. Mr. Brownlow talks like history is all a terrible shame. Lucky Mum learned me how to sleep with my mouth and my eyes wide open. Class ends like waking up.

Mum’s singing Kismet, so beautiful sound in the alley hurts my heart. I leans gainst the wall to listen. Now Pip’s gone she has to play the piana and sing. Piana takes all the front room but I int allowed to touch it. One time Pip said Mum was scared case I turned out good at something. I open the back door and listens for Baby Grady but he int crying. I run upstairs, he int in bed but Sheba is. I spects he’s in the front room under the piana. While Mum’s a Stranger in Paradise, I go in the kitchen and has five slices of bread and jam, stomach thinks my throats been cut. I make Mum a cup of tea and waits for her to sing my favorite. Uh-huh. I love this song cos it hovers and swoops, high as birds and glass bells…
So that–someday–he may–buy me a ring–ring-a-linga–I’ve heard–that’s where it leads–wearing baubles, bangles and beads
…I wait til the last bird has flied so high that it can’t be seen any more, then push the door. Baby Grady is under the piana, eating the rubber off his slippers. He’s pleased to see me cos his hands is chubby and claps together. I puts kisses in his dimples, once I started can’t stop, never knew nothing so soft. Now Mum is Calamity Jane, she sits up on the piana top, tends it’s the whip-crack-way wagon. I sit on the windersill; look at the beech trees over the road.

Mr. Baldwin told Pip one time that the beech trees is two hundred years old. I reckon up there you can see the Mara and all of Africa. Keep trying but can’t get up. There int no branches lower down, just bushes in the
way and fence posts. Yesterday I got stuck. The Sandwich Man from around the back came past, trousers was wet from the river gain. He seen me there halfway, hanging on a hole like a woodpecker.

“Having trouble getting down?” he arst.

“No,” I said, “got trouble getting up.”

After “Secret Love” I claps and then arsts to go out. Mum don’t answer. She lights a cigarette, smoke all come out one nostil.

“So,” she says, “did they teach you anything?”

I int sure what the proper answer is. I get off the windersill and then back on it. My fingers is cat’s cradle. I look for the answer in the beech trees. Mum’s tapping her lighter, waiting, lucky Baby Grady chokes on a bit of rubber off his slipper. By the time we has brung him back to life, Mum’s forgot what she arst me. And now she’s doing
The Jarma Game
.

I see Jimmy Smithers in the Humps; he comes cross the road trotting like the Jackal he is. I spects him to go past home but he don’t. He comes to where our gate used to be, looks like he’s coming in. The winders is open, I try to tell him with my eyes that I int coming out but he knocks on the door like a bay leaf. Then I members. He seen my patterns at school. My tonsils swallow me whole. Mum wraps her dressing gown around tighter and leans out the winder.

“Is she coming out?” says the Jackal.

He int never come around fore.

“No,” Mum says. “She’s busy.”

“Oh.” He rolls a stone under his feets. “Is she coming out later?”

“No,” Mum says.

Jackal always looks like the sun is shining in his eyes, hands in his pockets makes his trousers half down.

“Is she coming out tomorrow?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Mum says.

“I’ll come back tomorrow see if you decided,” he says.

“Will you?” Mum turns in to me. “Your little boyfriend is ballsy,” she says.

I folds outside in. Mum shuts the winder cos shows must go on.