Short story. Jake reflects on a tale from Mad Uncle Ray, the one that gets arrested at family weddings.
Dark, evergreen trees. Clear sky. Stars.
‘Which one would you like to hear? The beast of the mountain or escape from the pirate fleet?’
‘The Beast!’ I cried, eyes wide. ‘You told us the pirate one last time.’
Uncle Ray furrowed his brow. ‘I did?’
‘At the island in the loch,’ said Jo, ‘when you said the wind had rolled in colder than a midnight mist holding fast to the Atlantic.’ He had his hood up, knees dirty from putting up his tent (he insisted on doing it himself and it had taken ages) and lay on his front like me, face lit by the flicking fire. Alex – my older, older brother – was paying no attention as usual, head in a Venom comic.
‘Well imagine the polar opposite of that,’ whispered my uncle, ‘where the nights are hot and humid, dark and alive with wild, chattering insects – mosquitos and giant, green grasshoppers kept away only by a thin gauze that hung over your bed like a ghost.’
‘What’s a gauze?’ I asked.
‘It’s a net, stupid…’ snapped Jo. ‘Stop interrupting.’
‘A very fine net,’ said Uncle Ray raising a finger, ‘as fine as silk.’ He was reaching for his wine, sloshing some out into his glass. He always had a real glass, even when we were camping. ‘This was India, back in a time when the British Empire spanned half the world, from the West Indies to the wild, antipodean frontiers of New Guinea and Australia. A young officer called Fortisque Wheeler was there in his final days with the East India Company.’
Jo and I looked at each other excitedly. ‘Why was he all the way out there?’ I asked. ‘Fighting in a war?’
Uncle Ray considered his wine. ‘There would soon be a great Indian civil war that would ravage the whole country and bring the Company to an end, but before that they were in a different war altogether… A war for tea.’
‘Tea? As in tea?’
‘Yes tea. It was a time when countries all over the world were starting to connect with trade routes and clipper ships, fast enough to cut the sea and deliver exotic new herbs and spices to Britain and Europe. It’s hard to believe now, but to the East India Company, tea was worth more than gold. They owned much of the Indian land with sprawling plantations… Land that had to protected by men like your great-great-great-great-great grandfather. Men with skill and tenacity.’
‘Ten-a-cit-y…’ I said under my breath. I’d never heard such words before, but I liked the sound of it.
‘That means badass,’ Jo whispered.
‘That’s right,’ Uncle Ray said. ‘Back then, Fortisque was badass. He ran a small band of ex-army men who protected plantations up in the mountains from bandits and wild animals. He called them the Gang of Nine. They were all soldiers that had either been thrown out of the army or should have been in jail, like The Dirty Dozen. You ever see that film? It’s a cracker.’
Jo nodded. Dad never let me stay up to watch films. Instead I’d only hear the booms and gunfire from my bed, wondering what was happening.
‘But Fortisque Wheeler kept them all in line. He showed them respect so they followed him with great loyalty. They called him Papa because he was like their father. One night, the Gang of Nine were camped out in the mountains after tracking down a great Bengal Tiger that had been preying on a local village.’
‘Nine against one?’ Alex said from nowhere. ‘Doesn’t sound very fair.’
‘Ah but if you knew of this particular Tiger, you’d think differently. It was a true master of the wild forest. Cunning and ruthless. The men had tracked it for many days, its mighty striped hide finally drying high by the fire as the men drank and made merry at their success.’
‘They killed it?’
‘Tigers are some of the deadliest animals on earth, Jake. Majestic and powerful. They had to.’
‘But why couldn’t the village just feed the Tiger and be friends?’
‘They tried, but its appetite was so huge that it wasn’t long before the villagers had no food left for themselves. The Great Tiger grew so used to the fresh meat of the village it ate every animal they had, coming back night after night. When the animals ran out…’ he leaned in close ‘…it started eating people.’
Jo and I both cried out. Ewwww… Uncle Ray smiled. ‘In the morning, they would take its pelt back to the village chief and they would be heroes, but for now the men were content to drink from their flasks and tell each other tall tales long into the night. As commander Papa Fortisque had his own tent and preferred to leave the squad to their revelry, writing instead in his diary long into the night, pages marked with infrequent drams of whisky. When the fire had burned down Papa stepped out from his tent to find all of the men asleep, the light from his lamp catching the edges of their boots. Most were outside in the open air on the grass, others only pairs of feet sticking out from the entrances of their tents.’
‘They were all drunk,’ Jo said to me.
‘I know that!’ I said loudly. ‘You don’t have to explain everything to me. The pirates always drank rum until they fall over.’
‘A lot of pirates would be paid in rum,’ Uncle Ray said ‘I think I know the feeling.’ He said that last part in a mumble, like it was for himself.
‘You mean instead of money? That’s silly.’
‘Yes it is,’ Uncle Ray said reaching for more wine. ‘But Papa Fortisque decided to let it go, just this once. His men had chased the tiger for three days with little rest and he thought they’d earned it. It was good for morale, after all. He retired back into his tent, content that today had been a good day, finally settling down to get some well-deserved sleep. But the night had other ideas.’
Even Alex was listening now. Somehow our camp had become super quiet, with only the occasional soft crack of the fire and an amber glow in all of our faces. ‘The great tiger wouldn’t leave Papa Fortisque’s mind. He lay in his bunk trying to sleep but he kept seeing its face and hearing its final, furious roars when he’d commanded the men to fire. They’d buried it deep in the forest. It wasn’t coming back. Could it have a brother? A sister? Did animals harbour revenge as foolish people did? From what he’d seen they were solitary animals, yet still he lay there, his ears picking up on the tiniest noise or scuffle outside. Papa became furious with himself. Only a child would bother themselves with this nonsense! he muttered under his mustache climbing from his bed in only a nightshirt and bare feet. There was no moon in the sky. He’d never felt the need to sleep armed, but the only way he’d get any sleep would be to retrieve his service revolver from its holster and keep it close.’
‘Was there another tiger outside?’ I blurted, instantly silenced by angry ‘Shh!’ noises from both brothers.
Uncle Ray contained a smile. ‘Fortisque thought so. He was a rational man, but, revolver in hand, he felt the compulsion to check. There was a presence, like when you’re alone in an empty house but somehow you can feel that someone is watching you. The fire was ashes. The sound of the jungle had settled into a low hiss. No animals. No sounds. Papa lowered his revolver. Utter nonsense, he told himself. He was glad the men hadn’t witnessed any of this. In the morning he would laugh… A fine story to tell everyone back at the club. He turned back into his tent and then A BEAR!’
We all jumped. I held my sleeping bag tight. Jo looked ragin because he’d lost his cool.
‘A black bear! Six feet tall and standing upright, right in his face. Bristling with claws and teeth… Its face like a murderer, ripping hell-for-leather through the tent canvas, the very image of the devil himself. In pure shock the gun slipped from Papa’s hand, a shot cracking off when it hit the ground. It was like the earth was shaking… The beast of the mountain!’
‘What did he do?’ I gasped.
‘He did the only thing he could do... Instinct took over. He punched the bear right in the face.’
‘No…!’
‘The bear reeled back on its heels. It gave a shocked look and hung there for a split second, then turned and fled. Fortisque bent down for his revolver and watched its huge furry behind disappear into the trees. There was a forty-five caliber hole in his favourite boots. All of the men had been startled awake, grabbing for their bayonets and rifles, frantically looking left and right for an enemy that wasn’t there. Fortisque told them to stand down… To put their guns away.’
‘And did they?’
‘Of course they did. Whatever he said was law to the Gang of Nine. The second in command was a rough-looking man with half an ear called Lieutenant Melcher. He approached his commander, who was still standing half-dressed in the night and helpless with laughter, asking ‘ev’rything all right, sir?’
Just entertaining an evening guest,’ Fortisque told him. And they never saw the bear again.
Alex had gone back to his comic. ‘That was a stupid story.’
Jo was horrified. ‘What would you know? Anything without super powers in it and you’ll hate it.’
Uncle Ray didn’t seem bothered. He actually looked pretty pleased with himself, pouring out the last of his wine. ‘Well I thought it was an amazing story, Uncle Ray,’ I said. ‘Now can you tell us the one about the pirates again?’
Notes:
An excerpt from the novel Boxhead, out soon. For more Boxhead-related characters and scenes check out:
Photo by Jorg Vieli