Bed-Knob and Broomstick (6 page)

   
"What do you want?" he asked sleepily.

   
Carey flew to his side. "Put your dressing gown on," she whispered.
"It's time to go."
"To go where?" asked Paul in his normal voice.

   
"Shush," whispered Carey. "To the South Sea island. The coral
reef, you remember?"
"But it's so dark," objected Paul.

   
"It will be daylight there." She was putting his arms in the sleeves
of his dressing gown. "There's a good boy," she praised him. "You've
got to say, 'I wish to go to Ueepe.' Here's your net and bucket and spade. I'll
take them for you. Kneel up, Paul."
Paul knelt up, facing the head of the bed. Miss Price was firmly tucking in
the blankets. She laid her broomstick under the eiderdown. Then they all took
their places. Miss Price sat next to Paul, and Charles and Carey held on at
the foot.

   
Paul put his hand on the knob. Then he turned round. "It makes me feel
sick, when the bed goes," he announced.

   
"Oh, Paul," whispered Carey. "It's only a minute. You can bear
it. Miss Price has a nice picnic in her bag," she added as an inducement.
"Go on. Twist."
Paul twisted. The bed gave a sickening lurch. The night seemed to turn blue,
a blue that glittered like a flying tinsel ribbon, a rushing, shimmering blue
turning to gold, to light, to heat-to blinding sunshine. Sand flew stinging
past their faces as the bed skidded, then bumped, then stopped. They had arrived.

   
THE ISLAND OF UEEPE
Carey's first thought was that she wished she had brought her hat. The white
sand flung back the dazzling glare of the sunlight in such a way that she had
to screw up her eyes to see.

   
The bed had done its best for them. It had set them down on the very tip of
a horseshoe-shaped reef. They found themselves on a thin strip of fine white
sand held in place by walls of pitted coral. It was almost like being on a ship.
In the distance, across a lagoon of dazzling blue sea, they could see the other
tip of the horseshoe. In between, a mile or so away, where the front of the
horseshoe might be, were trees and low hills.

   
In among the rocks, which formed the coral walls of their narrow strip of land,
were clear pools in which glimmered seaweed of lovely colors, sea anemones,
and transparent fish. And the sand was as smooth and fine and white as icing
sugar. They had never seen sand like it. There were four great scrapes in it
where the bed had come to rest, but beyond that not a footmark, not a ripple.

   
Charles kicked off his bedroom slippers and let his bare feet sink into the
warm crust. It spurted up between his
toes. "Gosh," he said happily.

   
Carey peered over at the lagoon. It was deep and clear. They could see strange
fish swimming through the sunlit water. "How lovely!" exclaimed Carey.
"How wonderful! Do let's go and explore." Out at sea, between the
two points of the horseshoe, great waves rolled up and broke into swirls of
spray, spreading their foam into the smooth surface of the lagoon.

   
Miss Price was unpacking. She took four bottles of ginger-pop out of the string
bag and placed them in a pool to keep cool. The rest of the food, the hard-boiled
eggs and the sandwiches, she put under the bed in the shade.

   
"You two big ones can explore," she announced, "but I'm going
to sit here in the sun." She retrieved her umbrella, her book, and the
broomstick. Then sitting down on the sand, with her back against the bed, she
methodically removed her shoes and stockings. Miss Price's feet, Carey noticed,
were as pink and knobbly as her hands.

   
"Can we bathe?" asked Charles.

   
Miss Price adjusted her sun helmet and put up the umbrella. "If you've
brought your bathing suits," she said amiably, opening her book.

   
"We haven't. We didn't think of it."
"Then why ask?" said Miss Price.

   
Charles and Carey looked at each other. Both had the same thought but neither
spoke.

   
"You can paddle," went on Miss Price, relenting a little. "And
explore. I'll take care of Paul."
Paul, on the bed, was leaning over Miss Price's shoulder examining her book.
" 'Chapter Six,' " he read aloud slowly. " 'Another Man's Wife.'
" Miss Price shut the book on her finger.

   
"And you, Paul," she said rather sharply, "can take your bucket
and spade and build sand castles."
"I'd like to explore," said Paul.

   
"No, you stay here and play by me. Jump down, and I'll roll up your pajama
legs."
In the end it was agreed that Carey and Charles should go off by themselves,
each with a bottle of ginger-pop, a hard-boiled egg, and a sandwich, and that
they should all meet by the bed at about an hour before sunset. "And don't
be late." Miss Price warned them. "There's no twilight on these islands."
Carey and Charles raced down the strip of sand toward the mainland. On one side
of them lay the still lagoon, on the other the breakers broke on the coral rocks;
and as they ran, the children breathed the heady smell of spray. A faint breeze
ran up their pajama legs and down their sleeves, an airy coolness on their skin.

   
"Isn't this gorgeous?" cried Carey, increasing her speed.

   
"I'll say!" Charles shouted back.

   
The main beach, when they reached it, was fascinating. They found queer things
among the flotsam and jetsam- bits of old spars, a bottle, sharks' eggs. The
trees came down almost to the water's edge. A huge turtle scuttled by them into
the sea, almost before they realized what it was. There were land crabs among
the stones. Under the trees, as they went inland, the ground was smooth, a mixture
of earth and sand. They found fallen coconuts and broke them on stones. They
nearly went wild with delight when they found their first breadfruit tree. They
had read so much about breadfruit.

   
"I don't think it's a bit like bread," said Charles as he tasted it.
"It's more like spongy custard."
They found a fresh-water stream, and following it up, through the rocks and
creepers, they came to a silent pool. It was a lovely pool, where the roots
of trees writhed down into the clear water, and in the middle of it was a smooth
and sunlit rock. "For diving," said Charles. They were hot and tired,
so, in spite of Miss Price, they threw off their pajamas and bathed.

   
Once in the water, it was almost impossible to leave it. They dived and swam
and sun-bathed. They ate their sandwiches and drank their ginger-pop. It tasted
odd after so much coconut milk. Carey's braids had come undone, and her wet
hair streaked about her like a mermaid's. They dozed a bit on the rock and talked,
and then they swam again.

   
"This can be our place for always," said Carey. "Our secret island.
I never want to go anywhere else."
There was no hurry to explore it all. They could come back again and again.
They could build a house here, bring books, bring cooking things. . . .

   
When at last they dressed, the sun was lower in the sky and the shadows had
crept across the pool. Only in one corner gleamed a patch of golden light. They
felt tired as they made their way once more toward the beach, climbing from
rock to rock along the bed of the stream. Strange birds flew in and out among
the dimness of the trees, and once they heard a hollow, almost human, call.
Carey shivered a little in her thin pajamas. Her skin tingled from the sun and
water, and her legs felt scratched.

   
When they came out of the shadows of the trees, the beach was no longer white
but warm gold in the deep glow of the setting sun.

   
"I think we're a bit late," said Carey. They shaded their eyes with
their hands and looked across the lagoon toward
the place where they had left the bed. "There it is," said Carey,
almost with relief. "But I don't see-" She hesitated. "Can you
see Miss Price and Paul?"
Charles strained his eyes. "No. Not unless they're tucked up in bed."
he added.

   
"Then they did go exploring after all," said Carey. "We're back
first anyway, even if we are late. Come on."
"Wait a minute," said Charles. He was staring across the lagoon. His
face looked odd and blank.

   
"I say, Carey-"
"What?"
"The water's come up over that bar of sand."
"What?" said Carey again. She followed the direction of his eyes.
Smooth rollers were pouring over what had been their path, the spit of sand
and coral along which they had raced so gaily that morning; smooth, combed-looking
rollers that poured into the smoothness of the lagoon, breaking a little where
the coral ridge had held the sand. The bed, black against the glittering sea,
stood as they had left it on a rising slope-an island, cut off.

   
Carey's face, in that golden light, looked expressionless and strange. They
were silent, staring out across the water.

   
"Could you swim the lagoon?" asked Charles after a moment. Carey swallowed.
"I don't know," she said huskily.

   
"We might try it," Charles suggested rather uncertainly.

   
"What about Paul and Miss Price?" Carey reminded him.

   
"They may be tucked up. in bed." Charles screwed up his eyes. "It's
impossible to see from here."
"You'd see a lump or something. The outline of the bed looks too thin.
Oh, dear, Charles," Carey burst out unhappily, "it'll be dark soon."
"Carey!" cried Charles suddenly.

   
She wheeled round, frightened by the note in his voice. He was looking up the
beach towards the shadow of the trees. Three figures stood there, silent, and
none of them was Miss Price or Paul; three dark figures, so still that at first
Carey thought they could not be human. Then she shrieked, "Cannibals!"
and ran toward the sea. She did not stop to see if Charles was following her;
she ran without thinking, without hearing, and almost without seeing, as a rabbit
runs from the hunter or the cook from a mouse.

   
They caught her at the water's edge. She felt their breath on the back of her
neck, and then they gripped her by the arms. She screamed and kicked and bit
and wriggled. There was nothing ladylike about Carey for quite five minutes.
Then, all at once, she gave in. Sobbing and panting, she let them carry her
up the beach, head downwards. In spite of her terror, she tried to look around
for Charles. They had got him too, in the same position. "Charles! Charles!"
she cried. He did not, or could not, reply.

   
The man who had caught her made for the woods, and at each stride he took, her
head bumped dizzily against his spine. He smelt of coconut oil and wore a belt
of threaded teeth, which, after a while, she took hold of to steady herself
a little as she hung down his back. She could see the legs of Charles's captor
and glimpses of the third man who ran along beside them. It was very dark in
the woods, and, after a while, she heard the faint sound of drums. Of one thing
we may be certain; Carey thought very little of the man who had described the
island as being uninhabited. "People should be careful," she almost
sobbed, pressing her face against the oily back to keep it out of the way of
scratchy creepers, "what they write in encyclopedias."
"Charles!" she called once when it had grown too dark to see.

   
"I'm here," he shouted back in a panting, suffocated voice.

   
After a while, as the throb of the drums grew closer, she heard another sound,
the chant of human voices: "Ay oh ... ay oh ... ay ... oh. . . ."
Then she saw a gleam of light. It shone on the boles of trees and the fronds
of creepers. It became stronger and brighter until, at last, they found themselves
in an open, firelit space where shadows moved and danced, and the earth vibrated
to their dancing. "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh ... ay ... oh," went the
voices.

   
It seemed to Carey, from what she could see in her upside-down position, that
they had broken through the ring of dancers, because the firelight shone straight
in her eyes, and the voices, without changing their tune, swelled to a shout
of pleased surprise-"Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh."
Bump. Her captor let her drop on her head, as if she were a sack of potatoes.
Dizzily she rolled into a sitting position and looked around for Charles. He
crawled up to her. His forehead was bleeding, and he looked quite stunned.

   
Suddenly something pulled her hair. She jumped as if a snake had bitten her.
She turned-and there was Paul. He looked very dirty-she could see that even
by firelight-but he was smiling and saying something that she couldn't hear
because of the noise of drums and voices.

   
"Paul!" she cried, and suddenly she felt less frightened. "Where's
Miss Price?"
Paul pointed-it was the easiest way. There sat poor Miss Price in the very middle
of the circle. She was trussed up like
a chicken, tied hand and foot with creepers. She still wore her sun helmet and
a pair of dark glasses, which glinted in the firelight.

   
Paul was shouting something in Carey's ear. She leaned closer.

   
"They're going to eat us," Paul was saying. "They've got the
pot back there. They're cannibals."
Carey marveled at Paul's cheerfulness. "Perhaps he imagines it's a dream,"
she thought wonderingly.

   
The dance began to quicken. The writhing bodies twisted and swayed. The voices
became babbling so that the "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh" became one word,
and the drums increased their speed to a single humming note. There was a sudden
shout. Then the dance stopped. There was a shuffling of feet; then silence.

   
Paul crept up between Charles and Carey. Carey took his hand.

   
The dancers stood quite still, like statues. They all looked inwards toward
the children. Carey never knew what made her do it, but after a moment's hesitation,
she let go Paul's hand and began to clap. Charles followed suit, and Paul joined
in, enthusiastically, as if he were at the theater.

   
The dancers smiled, and looked quite shy. Then there was a mumble of unintelligible
conversation, and everybody sat down cross-legged, like boy scouts round a campfire.
Miss Price was in the middle of the circle and nearest to the fire. The three
children were grouped together, a little to one side.