The Tour Guide

The Tour Guide

— What’s the name of that mountain? Quiz time again. I lazed my way over to the balcony, taking with me the shampoo bottle I had been examining for the last few minutes.
— Huh?
— What’s that mountain called?
— I don’t know.
— Do you know the names of any of those mountains?
— No. I just know Mt. Gali, but it’s not over there.
— What about those birds?
— What birds?
— Those birds. He meant the small black cormorants that floated together on the surface, taking turns disappearing under the water.
— Oh those. Those are cormorants.
— Can they fly?
— Sure they can fly.
— Why aren’t they flying?
— I don’t know. Maybe they don’t feel like it.
— I can fly! He said, and he ran back into the room with his arms spread out, leaping onto the bed as though he was in training for the Olympics.
— I can fly! I can fly!
— Hey, Matt. You’re getting my bed dirty.
— No I’m not.
— What do you mean, you’re not? You’ve been running all over the place with those shoes.
— Okay, he said. He hopped off the bed. And I thought, amazing, he listens. But then he jumped back up, without his shoes, bouncing higher and higher on the bed, yelling, flapping his arms.
— I’ve got to use the bathroom, I said. And I closed the door behind me, ran some water into the sink, and stared into the mirror. Eventually the bedsprings went silent and I heard his voice.
— I’m going to my room now.
Finally.
— Okay. See you later.
I left the bathroom, locked the door to the room, fell onto the bed, and exhaled. A half hour later the phone rang. Dan, wondering what I had in mind for dinner. The kids need to eat soon, he said. He thought maybe we could just eat whatever the hotel has, wait till tomorrow to go to the fishing village I had mentioned.
The hotel dining room was big enough to host wedding parties and the like, but late on this afternoon, a few weeks after the vacation season, we had the room to ourselves, except for one family. Probably out of the city for the weekend, just finishing a late lunch. They were two couples, actually, with a small girl, about Zack’s age, who stood and wiggled shyly by her mother’s chair, smiling at us, then ducking under the table. While we waited for our food, Matt began another interrogation. How many hotels were on the lake, whether we were in the biggest, how come we weren’t. A scintillating conversation. Dan and Marie, meanwhile, tried to marry off their younger son.
— Go on, Zackie, you can play with her. But he wanted to rip open packets of sugar and make a sticky white mound on his plate. Or mostly on his plate. Matt wasn’t afraid of any of these local girls, though, so he started running laps around the table of the other family. Unperturbed, they sipped their after-meal coffee. Soon Zack ran after Matt, then the girl loosened up and got into the act. It was like I’d been held captive in a kindergarten, with three screaming kids running around, hiding behind curtains, crawling under tables.
The other people glanced over at us. I could read their thoughts: we’re permissive foreigners, anything goes with us, we come to these places and think we own them. Before long they collected their girl and left, nodding to us as they passed by. But their smiles were strained, not noticeably friendly. Who could blame them? Trouble was, I looked like an accomplice.
After we ate, Dan decided we should drive into town for a look at the shops, maybe get some dessert. I gave him directions, the car keys, and an excuse about some work I had with me. I got a bottle of wine and went to my room, where I tried to drink myself into drowsiness while playing with the TV remote.
The next day we did go to my favorite place for local trout. We parked the car on the main road and made our way through the narrows lanes of a fishing village, down to a restaurant on the lake. We sat at an outside table and ordered what should have been one of the best meals of my life.
— Look how many times I can make this rock skip. Matt, the child prodigy, down on the edge of the water. Then he ran up to us and started tugging at my jacket. Come and find some flat rocks, he said. So there I was skimming stones on the water with my two playmates.
Soon Zack had to have his wet socks hung on the edge of our table, then he ran off barefoot and started crying hysterically when his feet hit the pebbles on the beach. Then he calmed down when he saw a bunch of grapes that someone had dropped on the pathway. They had a footprint right in the middle of them, but I suppose the juicy purple smear looked appetizing, because he hunkered down for a snack.
— Look what he’s doing, Dan. The Lavers were always having discussions about how to control their kids. The discussions never went anywhere of course.
— Oh, he’s okay.
— But look at him. He’s eating off the ground. Marie let out a little giggle when she pointed this out. She’s probably never said the word no in her whole life.
— He found some grapes. Grapes are good for him.
— He’s got dirt all over his face! Come here, Zackie. Mommy will wipe your face.
So just as our grilled trout arrived and I was trying to catch up with the salad course that I had to postpone for a rock-skipping lesson, Marie started dipping a napkin in her water glass and scrubbing her kid’s face. Which just started him crying again.
The salad, the cheese, the fish soup, the trout, the wine, all of it was just a blur to me, since I always got poked just when my hand was half-way to my mouth and I’d have to answer another stupid question. And I couldn’t hear myself think because the other one kept finding another reason to start bawling.

* * *

The tour ended at our next stop, on the waters of the southern tip of the lake, at the monastery set on a low-lying hill. We intended to visit the church and stroll the grounds, with its tapered cedars, rose gardens, and iridescent peacocks. We couldn’t enter the church right away, because a wedding was going on. So we sat on the stone wall that surrounded the monastery and looked out at the lake, soaking up the sun. Dan and Marie appreciated the place and were glad I brought them there. They’re okay. I really have nothing against them.
Matt and Zack, though, given to chase anything that moves, found the peacocks. I cringed when I saw them running toward them. Then I saw a large bird puff out its feathers, flap about two times, and pounce on Zack’s head. The kid let out a high-pitched shriek. Marie ran. When she got to him she just wrapped him up in her arms. She looked scared, red-faced and breathing fast. When he stopped screaming she found the courage to have a look.
— Let Mommy see, baby.
You could tell that he was okay. Just from the way he was forcing himself to keep on crying. There were two red claw marks down his face, not deep cuts, just scratches.
— Oh, man. That was close. That’s all Dan said. He was pale. I didn’t say anything, but I knew he was talking about how close the bird got to the kid’s eye.
— If that bird comes near him again, he’ll have one angry mother to deal with, Marie said. I could see she cared about her kids. I guess it’s a mother’s love and all that. But I kept thinking that a little use of a whippin’ stick once in a while would keep them under control. And give us all a little peace and quiet. I admit that I sympathized with the bird.
The wedding party was leaving the church, and Zack was back to normal, when Marie said something to me. I remember it exactly.
— Dan and I would like to have a look inside, okay? That’s all she said. I guess she meant would I mind watching the kids. But that’s not what she said. Just “okay?” I remember exactly, because I felt a little annoyed with the way she put it. Honestly, that’s all she said.
— Good idea, I said. I meant that I knew about the centuries-old frescoes, that they would like seeing them. And the tomb of the founder, the patron saint of the church. I didn’t mean it was a good idea for me to watch the kids while they visited the church. So why should I be expected to take the job? She’s not on record asking me to do it.
They walked toward the building, and I more or less looked after the kids anyway. Not that I was supposed to. Zack had revived completely, but he seemed to have learned something about messing with peacocks.
Matt pointed out the lizards warming themselves on the wall between the church and the drop down to the lake.
— If you can catch one of them I’ll give you a dollar. That was my idea, to keep him busy. They were harmless reptiles, not about to scratch out an eye. Also, they were fast. I didn’t think Matt, much less Zack, would have a chance.
I kept one eye on Zack, because the same peacock was in the area. But I wanted to know about the wedding, who had gotten married, what the ceremony was like. I started talking to a man and woman. Relatives of the newlyweds, it turned out. They were telling me about the ceremony of the crowns, how there’s a loaf of bread on a table, some wine. We talked for a few minutes, that’s all it was. To be honest, my language isn’t good enough to go into a whole lot of detail anyway. Then from near the edge of the wall, a man’s frantic shout. I’ll never forget how it sounded.
My first thought was Zack, but I could still see him a few yards in front of me, poking in the dirt.
By the time I got to the woman pointing down at the water, there were a lot of people around. Then Marie came flying from out of nowhere, face flushed, glaring at me as she went by. I thought she was going to be the next one to fall onto the rocks on the water’s edge.

* * *

They’re calling it a compound fracture of the forearm, with some bruised ribs. At the desk they told me he’ll be released in a day or two. He must have lost his balance on the wall. I don’t know if he was trying to catch a lizard. Maybe he was trying to fly. Matt’s parents and little brother got a ride in the van that served as an ambulance.
After a couple of hours I took the rental car over to the clinic to ask some questions, but for now I’ll just stay here at the hotel. I guess it’s a little late to tell them how to raise their kids. Some people just learn the hard way.

AuthorRichard Gaughran
2018-08-21T17:23:56+00:00 January 1st, 2000|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 12|0 Comments