The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle (14 page)

"But what are we going to do about Ben Butcher?" Jip put in. "You had
some plan Polynesia, hadn't you?"

"Yes. What I'm afraid of is that he may hit the Doctor on the head when
he's not looking and make himself captain of the Curlew. Bad sailors do
that sometimes. Then they run the ship their own way and take it where
they want. That's what you call a mutiny."

"Yes," said Jip, "and we ought to do something pretty quick. We can't
reach the Capa Blancas before the day after to-morrow at best. I don't
like to leave the Doctor alone with him for a minute. He smells like a
very bad man to me."

"Well, I've got it all worked out," said Polynesia. "Listen: is there a
key in that door?"

We looked outside the dining-room and found that there was.

"All right," said Polynesia. "Now Bumpo lays the table for lunch and we
all go and hide. Then at twelve o'clock Bumpo rings the dinner-bell down
here. As soon as Ben hears it he'll come down expecting more salt beef.
Bumpo must hide behind the door outside. The moment that Ben is seated
at the dining-table Bumpo slams the door and locks it. Then we've got
him. See?"

"How stratagenious!" Bumpo chuckled. "As Cicero said, parrots cum
parishioners facilime congregation. I'll lay the table at once."

"Yes and take that Worcestershire sauce off the dresser with you when
you go out," said Polynesia. "Don't leave any loose eatables around.
That fellow has had enough to last any man for three days. Besides, he
won't be so inclined to start a fight when we put him ashore at the Capa
Blancas if we thin him down a bit before we let him out."

So we all went and hid ourselves in the passage where we could watch
what happened. And presently Bumpo came to the foot of the stairs and
rang the dinner-bell like mad. Then he hopped behind the dining-room
door and we all kept still and listened.

Almost immediately, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, down the stairs tramped Ben
Butcher, the able seaman. He walked into the dining-saloon, sat himself
down at the head of the table in the Doctor's place, tucked a napkin
under his fat chin and heaved a sigh of expectation.

Then, BANG! Bumpo slammed the door and locked it.

"That settles HIM for a while," said Polynesia coming out from her
hiding-place. "Now let him teach navigation to the side-board. Gosh, the
cheek of the man! I've forgotten more about the sea than that lumbering
lout will ever know. Let's go upstairs and tell the Doctor. Bumpo, you
will have to serve the meals in the cabin for the next couple of days."

And bursting into a rollicking Norwegian sea-song, she climbed up to my
shoulder and we went on deck.

WE remained three days in the Capa Blanca Islands.

There were two reasons why we stayed there so long when we were really
in such a hurry to get away. One was the shortage in our provisions
caused by the able seaman's enormous appetite. When we came to go over
the stores and make a list, we found that he had eaten a whole lot
of other things besides the beef. And having no money, we were sorely
puzzled how to buy more. The Doctor went through his trunk to see if
there was anything he could sell. But the only thing he could find
was an old watch with the hands broken and the back dented in; and we
decided this would not bring us in enough money to buy much more than
a pound of tea. Bumpo suggested that he sing comic songs in the streets
which he had learned in Jolliginki. But the Doctor said he did not think
that the islanders would care for African music.

The other thing that kept us was the bullfight. In these islands, which
belonged to Spain, they had bullfights every Sunday. It was on a Friday
that we arrived there; and after we had got rid of the able seaman we
took a walk through the town.

It was a very funny little town, quite different from any that I had
ever seen. The streets were all twisty and winding and so narrow that
a wagon could only just pass along them. The houses overhung at the top
and came so close together that people in the attics could lean out of
the windows and shake hands with their neighbors on the opposite side
of the street. The Doctor told us the town was very, very old. It was
called Monteverde.

As we had no money of course we did not go to a hotel or anything like
that. But on the second evening when we were passing by a bed-maker's
shop we noticed several beds, which the man had made, standing on
the pavement outside. The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the
bed-maker who was sitting at his door whistling to a parrot in a cage.
The Doctor and the bed-maker got very friendly talking about birds and
things. And as it grew near to supper-time the man asked us to stop and
sup with him.

This of course we were very glad to do. And after the meal was over
(very nice dishes they were, mostly cooked in olive-oil—I particularly
liked the fried bananas) we sat outside on the pavement again and went
on talking far into the night.

At last when we got up, to go back to our ship, this very nice
shopkeeper wouldn't hear of our going away on any account. He said the
streets down by the harbor were very badly lighted and there was no
moon. We would surely get lost. He invited us to spend the night with
him and go back to our ship in the morning.

Well, we finally agreed; and as our good friend had no spare bedrooms,
the three of us, the Doctor, Bumpo and I, slept on the beds set out for
sale on the pavement before the shop. The night was so hot we needed
no coverings. It was great fun to fall asleep out of doors like this,
watching the people walking to and fro and the gay life of the streets.
It seemed to me that Spanish people never went to bed at all. Late as it
was, all the little restaurants and cafes around us were wide open,
with customers drinking coffee and chatting merrily at the small tables
outside. The sound of a guitar strumming softly in the distance mingled
with the clatter of chinaware and the babble of voices.

Somehow it made me think of my mother and father far away in Puddleby,
with their regular habits, the evening practise on the flute and the
rest—doing the same thing every day. I felt sort of sorry for them in
a way, because they missed the fun of this traveling life, where we
were doing something new all the time—even sleeping differently. But I
suppose if they had been invited to go to bed on a pavement in front
of a shop they wouldn't have cared for the idea at all. It is funny how
some people are.

NEXT morning we were awakened by a great racket. There was a procession
coming down the street, a number of men in very gay clothes followed
by a large crowd of admiring ladies and cheering children. I asked the
Doctor who they were.

"They are the bullfighters," he said. "There is to be a bullfight
to-morrow."

"What is a bullfight?" I asked.

To my great surprise the Doctor got red in the face with anger. It
reminded me of the time when he had spoken of the lions and tigers in
his private zoo.

"A bullfight is a stupid, cruel, disgusting business," said he. "These
Spanish people are most lovable and hospitable folk. How they can enjoy
these wretched bullfights is a thing I could never understand."

Then the Doctor went on to explain to me how a bull was first made very
angry by teasing and then allowed to run into a circus where men came
out with red cloaks, waved them at him, and ran away. Next the bull was
allowed to tire himself out by tossing and killing a lot of poor, old,
broken-down horses who couldn't defend themselves. Then, when the bull
was thoroughly out of breath and wearied by this, a man came out with a
sword and killed the bull.

"Every Sunday," said the Doctor, "in almost every big town in Spain
there are six bulls killed like that and as many horses."

"But aren't the men ever killed by the bull?" I asked.

"Unfortunately very seldom," said he. "A bull is not nearly as dangerous
as he looks, even when he's angry, if you are only quick on your feet
and don't lose your head. These bullfighters are very clever and nimble.
And the people, especially the Spanish ladies, think no end of them. A
famous bullfighter (or matador, as they call them) is a more important
man in Spain than a king—Here comes another crowd of them round
the corner, look. See the girls throwing kisses to them. Ridiculous
business!"

At that moment our friend the bed-maker came out to see the procession
go past. And while he was wishing us good morning and enquiring how
we had slept, a friend of his walked up and joined us. The bed-maker
introduced this friend to us as Don Enrique Cardenas.

Don Enrique when he heard where we were from, spoke to us in English. He
appeared to be a well-educated, gentlemanly sort of person.

"And you go to see the bullfight to-morrow, yes?" he asked the Doctor
pleasantly.

"Certainly not," said John Dolittle firmly. "I don't like
bullfights—cruel, cowardly shows."

Don Enrique nearly exploded. I never saw a man get so excited. He
told the Doctor that he didn't know what he was talking about. He said
bullfighting was a noble sport and that the matadors were the bravest
men in the world.

"Oh, rubbish!" said the Doctor. "You never give the poor bull a chance.
It is only when he is all tired and dazed that your precious matadors
dare to try and kill him."

I thought the Spaniard was going to strike the Doctor he got so angry.
While he was still spluttering to find words, the bed-maker came between
them and took the Doctor aside. He explained to John Dolittle in a
whisper that this Don Enrique Cardenas was a very important person; that
he it was who supplied the bulls—a special, strong black kind—from his
own farm for all the bullfights in the Capa Blancas. He was a very
rich man, the bed-maker said, a most important personage. He mustn't be
allowed to take offense on any account.

I watched the Doctor's face as the bed-maker finished, and I saw a flash
of boyish mischief come into his eyes as though an idea had struck him.
He turned to the angry Spaniard.

"Don Enrique," he said, "you tell me your bullfighters are very
brave men and skilful. It seems I have offended you by saying that
bullfighting is a poor sport. What is the name of the best matador you
have for to-morrow's show?"

"Pepito de Malaga," said Don Enrique, "one of the greatest names, one of
the bravest men, in all Spain."

"Very well," said the Doctor, "I have a proposal to make to you. I have
never fought a bull in my life. Now supposing I were to go into the ring
to-morrow with Pepito de Malaga and any other matadors you choose; and
if I can do more tricks with a bull than they can, would you promise to
do something for me?"

Don Enrique threw back his head and laughed.

"Man," he said, "you must be mad! You would be killed at once. One has
to be trained for years to become a proper bullfighter."

"Supposing I were willing to take the risk of that—You are not afraid,
I take it, to accept my offer?"

The Spaniard frowned.

"Afraid!" he cried, "Sir, if you can beat Pepito de Malaga in the
bull-ring I'll promise you anything it is possible for me to grant."

"Very good," said the Doctor, "now I understand that you are quite a
powerful man in these islands. If you wished to stop all bullfighting
here after to-morrow, you could do it, couldn't you?"

"Yes," said Don Enrique proudly—"I could."

"Well that is what I ask of you—if I win my wager," said John Dolittle.
"If I can do more with angry bulls than can Pepito de Malaga, you are
to promise me that there shall never be another bullfight in the Capa
Blancas so long as you are alive to stop it. Is it a bargain?"

The Spaniard held out his hand.

"It is a bargain," he said—"I promise. But I must warn you that you
are merely throwing your life away, for you will certainly be killed.
However, that is no more than you deserve for saying that bullfighting
is an unworthy sport. I will meet you here to-morrow morning if you
should wish to arrange any particulars. Good day, Sir."

As the Spaniard turned and walked into the shop with the bed-maker,
Polynesia, who had been listening as usual, flew up on to my shoulder
and whispered in my ear,

"I, have a plan. Get hold of Bumpo and come some place where the Doctor
can't hear us. I want to talk to you."

I nudged Bumpo's elbow and we crossed the street and pretended to look
into a jeweler's window; while the Doctor sat down upon his bed to lace
up his boots, the only part of his clothing he had taken off for the
night.

"Listen," said Polynesia, "I've been breaking my head trying to think up
some way we can get money to buy those stores with; and at last I've got
it."

"The money?" said Bumpo.

"No, stupid. The idea—to make the money with. Listen: the Doctor is
simply bound to win this game to-morrow, sure as you're alive. Now all
we have to do is to make a side bet with these Spaniards—they're great
on gambling—and the trick's done."

"What's a side bet?" I asked.

"Oh I know what that is," said Bumpo proudly. "We used to have lots of
them at Oxford when boat-racing was on. I go to Don Enrique and say,
'I bet you a hundred pounds the Doctor wins.' Then if he does win, Don
Enrique pays me a hundred pounds; and if he doesn't, I have to pay Don
Enrique."

"That's the idea," said Polynesia. "Only don't say a hundred pounds: say
two-thousand five-hundred pesetas. Now come and find old Don Ricky-ticky
and try to look rich."

So we crossed the street again and slipped into the bed-maker's shop
while the Doctor was still busy with his boots.

"Don Enrique," said Bumpo, "allow me to introduce myself. I am the Crown
Prince of Jolliginki. Would you care to have a small bet with me on
to-morrow's bullfight?"