Читать книгу The Paninis of Pompeii - Andy Stanton - Страница 8

CAECILIUS AND BARKUS WOOFERINICUM

Now, Caecilius’s son Filius had a dog whom he’d found in a bath one day, and this scraggy devil went by the name of Barkus Wooferinicum. He had a horrid pointed snout and you could see his ribs poking through. Caecilius didn’t trust Barkus Wooferinicum but Filius loved him so the dog stayed. Mostly he slept out on the streets.

One morning, Caecilius got up at dawn to try to get the best bargains on the farts at the market, and this is where the phrase ‘the early Caecilius gets the fart’ comes from. He got out of bed, fondly stroked Vesuvius’s hair and put on his toga, sandals and Julius Caesar pendant.

Then he jumped out of the window on to the street below and broke both his legs.

‘Ouch,’ said Caecilius, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that.’

Caecilius took out his magic charm, which had been given to him by a dirty rabbit, and spoke the words:

‘Go back in time, go back in time, go back in time, that’s what I want to do.’

Immediately the magic charm lit up and Caecilius was transported back to his warm bed, ready to have another go at going out. His legs were absolutely fine.

So, just as before, he got out of bed, fondly stroked Vesuvius’s hair and put on his toga, sandals and Julius Caesar pendant. Then he jumped out of the window on to the street below and broke both his legs.

‘Ouch,’ said Caecilius. ‘I really thought I wouldn’t break my legs that time.’

Once more he took out his magic charm and spoke the words:

‘Go back in time, go back in time, go back in time, that’s what I want to do.’

Once more the magic charm lit up and Caecilius found himself back in his warm bed and ready to face the day.

So, for a third time, he got out of bed, fondly stroked Vesuvius’s hair and put on his toga, sandals and Julius Caesar pendant. This time Caecilius decided to walk down the stairs and thus he proceeded outside at last. The sun was coming up over Pompeii. In the distance a small volcano erupted and six hundred Mirror-Men came out, about average for that time of morning.

Caecilius turned left at the end of the road, then left again, then left once more and then finally left again. This meant he had walked around the block and arrived back at his own front door. It wasn’t very useful for getting to the market but, quite by accident, Caecilius had done an astounding thing – he had invented the square! So whenever you see a square, such as a town square or a sandwich or something else which is square, just think – if it hadn’t been for Caecilius, life would have been very different. And this is why Caecilius’s name means ‘The Man Who Invented the Square’. (‘Cae’ means ‘The Man’ and ‘lius’ means ‘Who Invented the Square’ and the ‘ci’ bit in the middle is just there for decoration and glue.) Would you like to see a square right now? Here’s one.

Would you like to see another twenty of them?

Here they are, they’re good, aren’t they? The man who is drawing them is called Sholto Walker. I can make him draw squares any time I feel like it.

On walked Caecilius, laughing as he did so, for he had just thought of a brilliant joke to play on Vesuvius.

I shall put a gherkin in Vesuvius’s shoe when she isn’t looking, thought Caecilius. And then, when she puts her foot in her shoe, she will say, ‘Oh, what’s this? There is something in my shoe.’ And then she’ll look inside and get the surprise of her life when she sees nothing other than – a GHERKIN!

But as Caecilius was chuckling to himself, up rushed Barkus Wooferinicum, who had been lying in wait since the very first line of the story, waiting for just this moment, and now he flew through the air, not real flying but the type of flying that just means he did a big jump, and he sank his strong teeth into Caecilius’s hairy arm.

‘That looks painful,’ said Onlyappearsinoneotherchapterus the candle-maker, who happened to be passing by at that moment. ‘Oh well, see you later.’

‘Ouch! Miserable cur!’ shouted Caecilius and he pulled out a fig and with it he beat Barkus Wooferinicum to death.

‘Get up, you silly dog,’ commanded Caecilius, but then he realised that Barkus Wooferinicum was actually dead.

‘Oh, no,’ sobbed the fart merchant, ‘I never meant to kill the hound, this was nothing more than an over-enthusiastic figging.’

Suddenly Caecilius remembered his magic charm! He pulled it out and said the words:

‘Go back in time, go back in time, go back in time, that’s what I want to do.’

But the magic charm didn’t light up. It had only had two goes in it and Caecilius had wasted them both on saving his own legs.

‘Drat,’ said Caecilius. ‘I’d better not let Filius find out about this, or he’ll be upset.’

So Caecilius quickly stuffed the dead dog under his toga and ran back to the villa as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast because he had a dead dog under his toga. In fact, I forgot to tell you this but actually he had forty-eight dead dogs under his toga, because before Barkus Wooferinicum had attacked him, forty-seven other dogs had attacked him too – one at a time, each after the other – and each time, Caecilius had beaten them to death with a fig.

As Caecilius was waddling unsteadily through the front door, Filius came out, ready to go off to school.

‘Salve, Father,’ said Filius. ‘I wonder why you have got forty-eight tails sticking out from under your toga.’

‘They are not tails,’ said Caecilius, thinking fast, ‘but hairy loaves of bread which I am keeping warm for our ugly friends, Atrium and Hortus.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said Filius. ‘By the way, Father, have you seen Barkus Wooferinicum, by the way, by the way, Father? By the way?’

‘“Barkus Wooferinicum”?’ said Caecilius, thinking quickly once more. ‘What is that? Is it the title of a new play at the theatre?’

‘No, Father,’ said Filius. ‘It is my dog, do you remember?’

‘Hmm,’ frowned Caecilius. ‘Well, I’ve never heard of him, are you sure you had a dog?’

‘Yes,’ said Filius, ‘I’m certain. I’ve had him for about a year, remember?’

‘Are you absolutely sure though?’ said Caecilius. ‘Memory can play strange tricks of the mind on your mind. Perhaps you only thought you had a dog, when in actual fact you really had nothing more than an ant.’

‘No, he was definitely a dog,’ sighed Filius. ‘Oh, well, I’d better go off to school.’

‘Drat and figs,’ said Caecilius as he waddled through the villa into the back garden. ‘Filius is a bright boy. I tried to fool him into thinking he’d never had a dog but he wasn’t having any of it.’

The next four hours were very boring for Caecilius because he spent them digging an enormous hole in the lawn, using only his big toes. Then he threw all the dead dogs in and covered them over with earth, using only his big toes. But when it was done, he had a horrible realisation, using only his big toes.

Filius will come back from school at lunchtime, Caecilius’s big toes thought to themselves, and he will expect to play with Barkus Wooferinicum. And when the dog is not to be found, he will grow suspicious. And when he grows suspicious, he will grow more suspicious. And when he has grown more suspicious, he will grow even more suspicious and start asking questions. And when he has asked all the questions, we don’t know what he will do next, we are only big toes and not that clever.

But still, Caecilius and his big toes were on the right track – if Barkus Wooferinicum were not around at lunchtime, Filius would soon discover the awful truth that his animal friend was no longer of this earth, but was instead under this earth.

Now, at that moment, a dog which looked exactly like Barkus Wooferinicum happened to walk through the garden and this gave Caecilius a crafty idea. In a flash he pounced on the animal and shaved off all its fur, using a fig. Then he stuck the fur all over his own body and waited for Filius to come home for lunch.

Soon Filius came home for lunch.

Exactly what I was waiting for, thought Caecilius.

‘Salve, Filius,’ he heard Vesuvius say from the kitchen, where she was busy sticking together thousands and thousands of pencils with a rubber on the end so that she could reach up into the sky and draw a face on the moon. (It took Vesuvius another week of sticking pencils together but eventually she managed it, and she drew a very fine face on the moon indeed. And even today, if you look up at the moon you will be able to see the face that Vesuvius drew all those years ago! We know him as ‘The Man in the Moon’ but she called him ‘Bobbling Ed’.)

‘How was your morning at school?’

‘It was excellent,’ said Filius. ‘We learnt about a brand-new shape that’s just been invented. It is called a “square”. Now, where is my faithful dog, I wish to play with him – ah, there you are,’ he beamed, as Caecilius came running in to the kitchen on all fours, barking merrily away.

Well, Filius and ‘Barkus Wooferinicum’ played together for the whole lunch hour that day.

And the next day, and the next day too. This went on for over three weeks, and then Caecilius began to get bored.

‘Vesuvius,’ he said to his wife one evening as they were preparing for bed, ‘I have done something dreadful.’

And he told her the whole sorry story of how he had accidentally killed Barkus Wooferinicum and forty-seven other dogs. And how, rather than admit this to Filius, he had instead been dressing up as a dog for the past three weeks.

‘I am a turtle fighter,’ sighed Caecilius. ‘I mean, I am a terrible father.’ He scooped up a grade ‘B’ fart and looked at it sadly. ‘No, no, I don’t even deserve this,’ he sighed, and threw the fart down the toilet, which for farts is a sort of nightclub where they can dance with all their friends.

‘Perhaps you are not as terrible as you think, my dear husband,’ smiled Vesuvius, and she flung open the window with her mind to reveal an unexpected sight. It was Filius, and he was playing with forty-eight dogs in the garden. And the biggest and shiniest of all the dogs was –

‘Barkus Wooferinicum!’ laughed Caecilius. ‘He’s not dead at all! And neither are the other dogs I thought I’d killed!’

‘Actually the other forty-seven dogs are dead,’ said Vesuvius sadly. ‘The ones Filius is playing with are a different forty-seven dogs. But you are quite right – Barkus Wooferinicum himself is absolutely fine.’

‘See, Father, you only stunned him with that fig!’ cried Filius from the garden.

‘So you knew the whole story all along,’ laughed Caecilius, fondly stroking his son’s hair even though he wasn’t standing anywhere near Filius and couldn’t possibly have reached him. ‘And yet you made me dress up as a dog for three whole weeks!’

‘Yes, Father,’ replied Filius seriously. ‘For the moral of Ancient Pompeii is this: “Be thou honest in thy dealings”.’

‘It is true,’ said Caecilius thoughtfully. ‘I was not honest with you, Filius, and for that I apologise. I am sorry I killed your dog.’

‘But you didn’t kill him, remember?’ said Filius.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Caecilius. ‘Well, then, I am sorry I didn’t kill your dog.’

‘Hold on,’ said Filius, ‘you’re sorry you didn’t kill him?’

‘No, that came out wrong,’ said Caecilius, ‘but the important thing is, I’m tired, I’m going to bed. Goodnighticus, everyoneicus.’

So Caecilius and Vesuvius went to bed and slept, and dreamt their happy dreams. Caecilius dreamt he was a chef.

The next morning Vesuvius woke up and when she put on her shoe, she said, ‘Oh, what’s this? There is something in my shoe.’ And when she looked inside she got the surprise of her life because she found nothing other than –

‘A GHERKIN!’ cried Vesuvius, aghast. ‘How in the name of Jupiter did that get there?’

But only one man in the whole of Pompeii knew the answer, and that man was already well on his way to market to get the early fart, chuckling as he went.

THE END