Читать книгу The Other Half of Augusta Hope - Joanna Glen - Страница 22

I knew where to find it, the thing I couldn’t find. It was up there, to the north – I just knew it was.

I headed up the hill to see Víctor, who was out in the vegetable garden, digging. Because I’d decided.

‘We have a Hutu president again, Parfait,’ he said. ‘They really are sharing power – and maybe peace is in sight!’

I watched him pull the big flappy leaves off a broccoli stalk, putting them in one basket, the little tree-like head in the other, and I thought, I’m not interested in the new president.

The chickens went on clucking about in the mud, beside the pen, and Víctor’s band of blind children were in the yard, swinging their white sticks, chanting: ‘Left foot out, stick to the right, right foot out, stick to the left.’

‘I’ve made up my mind, Víctor,’ I said. ‘I’m going to travel to your country and set up home there.’

‘Are you now?’ said Víctor, kneeling back with his buttocks resting on his heels, winking at me.

‘What’s the point of staying here?’ I said.

‘Well, it sounds a great plan, Parfait,’ said Víctor. ‘But it might be a bit ambitious for your first trip. After all, Spain is eight thousand kilometres away.’

‘We can go one step at a time,’ I said, furious at Víctor’s patronising tone, at not being taken seriously, ‘and it doesn’t matter how long it takes. There’s nothing to keep us here.’

‘You do know that there’s a sea between Africa and Spain?’ said Víctor, as if I was an idiot.

‘But it’s a very small sea,’ I said, not smiling. ‘I’ve looked on the map in my atlas, and it’s more like a river. We can cross by boat from Tangier. Have you ever been to Tangier?’

‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ said Víctor.

‘When did you go?’

‘Before I came here, at the start of my little road trip through Africa.’

‘What did you do there?’

‘I stayed with my friend – he’s a priest and he lives in the port …’

Víctor stopped talking, and he closed his eyes for a second.

‘But it can be quite dangerous at night, Parfait, thugs about, you wouldn’t want to be out late, or there at all on your own, to be frank—’

‘So your friend’s still there?’ I said.

‘I believe so,’ he said.

‘You believe or you know?’ I said, because I could see what he was up to, trying to put me off.

Víctor fiddled with the broccoli leaves.

‘Don’t say you’re not sure because you want to stop me going,’ I said. ‘I feel like your friend would be willing to help us, wouldn’t he? If I say I know you.’

Víctor creased up his eyes.

‘Maybe I just don’t want to lose you,’ said Víctor. ‘After all, I’ve only just got you helping up here, driving the van for me …’

His voice petered out.

‘You will give me his name and number, Víctor, won’t you?’ I said. ‘It feels like the whole plan is coming together.’

‘Well,’ said Víctor, ‘maybe our first job is to teach you Spanish. You’ve got English under your belt already …’

‘That was my father,’ I said. ‘And the Baptists …’

‘And Spanish is pretty similar to French …’ said Víctor.

‘So can we start now?’ I said.

‘We’ll start with the verbs,’ said Víctor.

‘Pa said I learnt quickly,’ I said. ‘He said I was like a sponge.’

This was true – if I set my mind to it, I could keep going for hours, and if I kept on repeating things, they seemed to stick.

The chickens went on clucking, and Víctor went on gardening, and the blind children went on swinging their sticks in the yard, and I sat under a eucalyptus tree, with hope in my heart, saying, ‘Hablo, hablas, habla, hablamos, habláis, hablan.’