Virgin With Butterflies (17 page)

It was a trick elephant, too, and strong and far tamer than any mule I ever saw. A lot tamer it was than those English soldiers crowding around our car.

I didn't know they were English because it seemed like the English I had met in Calcutta spoke like us, or anyway enough to understand pretty good. But as near as I could make out from these English their army was made up of some people that didn't speak English hardly at all. They are called Cockneys and these fellas didn't look like they'd ever been to a dentist in their lives and didn't even brush 'em.

I couldn't understand 'em hardly at all, but they could understand English. You see, I got tired of sitting there with them crowding all around and cutting monkey shines over me and my silk stockings and my white clothes and making remarks in the Cockney language
and them laughing and not caring if the elephant never got their old truck from across the road. So I got a little mad and stuck my head out and I says, “Listen, big boys,” I says, “this is all a lot of fun but if you bright boys don't take your eyes off of me for a minute and get a two-by-four and a rock to bend it on and ease that back axel up till Jumbo can get a hold on it, you're going to strain a mighty good elephant.”

Well, sir, they sure looked surprised that I knew what to do in a case like that, and I guess it was funny, me all in white in that beautiful car with two men in uniforms driving me.

But they sure understood me, and they got a move on and did it just like I told 'em and it worked, and did that elephant give me a grateful look as we drove by. The Cockney boys all grinned with their snaggle teeth and gave three cheers as I waved to 'em and we drove away.

And that's how I learned what I didn't know before, that Cockneys are really Englishmen, and pretty fine Englishmen at that, as I learned from what Boggs did for Roddy and me. He saved our lives I guess by drowning himself and he did it like you wouldn't believe—smiling and making a joke.

The English are funny about a lot of things but when it came to scratch they sure were there for me.

So we kept on, till we got to where we was going to, and where we was going was something, I can tell you. Another movie palace but an A picture if I ever saw one.

All white it was, and covered with ruffles and borders of white stone lacework around the doors and windows.
And it was clean and pure looking, like the main building in Heaven.

I got out but nobody could speak English of any kind, so I couldn't tell the ones that opened the car and helped me out, or the ones at the main door of the house, who I was or what I was doing there. Come to think of it, I didn't know the name of who I had come to call on. But I guess I talked pretty loud trying to make 'em understand, so finally there was Aunt Mary and then everything was all right, because she could speak so many kinds of talk I called her Mrs. Berlitz. That's the name of a school that when Millie first saw Curly and thought he was a Spanish, she went to see about studying it. So she studied Berlitz, and look what it done for her.

Aunt Mary asked me about the prince, and I just said he had gotten delayed and we had better send the car back for him, and she did.

So we went into a big big room and that's where I met Lady Burroughs, and that's where I met her husband that I had heard about, I'll say.

He was a general and a sir, to boot, and I found out there was still another kind of an Englishman.

For Sir Gerald Burroughs wasn't silly at all, but was enough to scare you to death, barking like a Saint Bernard instead of talking. But he didn't mean it, as I found out later. And when I did, I couldn't help smiling, thinking of an old saying Pop used to say, “A barking dog will never bit.” Then Pop would laugh and say, “Or maybe it's a barking dog is worth two at a bush.”

Sirs and ladies are called a lot of different ways. For
an instance, Lady Burroughs was called that by me. She's “her ladyship” when the servants speak about her, and “my lady” when they speak right at her. And General Sir Gerald Burroughs, K.C.M.G., is just Sir Gerald to me and the servants and everybody, talking about or talking to. I asked Aunt Mary and Lady Burroughs together what the K.C.M.G. meant after his name.

Aunt Mary said it stood for Knight Commander of Michael and George, though I never found out who they were, and Lady Burroughs laughed like a horse and, “Not at all,” she says. “When you know Gerald better you'll discover that K.C.M.G. stands for Kindly Call Me God.”

I knew she was joking so I laughed, but I didn't always know when she was.

I wrote all this down in my book so as I would remember it, but I don't know why, as I don't ever expect to be able to use it, unless on Millie.

Well, I didn't see the old prince anywhere and I didn't like to ask, especially since Lady Burroughs ordered tea like it was her house. So we had it, too strong like always, but good things to eat with it and lots of 'em.

Lady Burroughs was called Agatha by Aunt Mary, and Sir Gerald she called just Gerald.

They called Aunt Mary just Mary.

Aunt Mary gave me some strawberries that were as big as my fist and cream so thick I thought it was ice cream but it wasn't.

I asked Aunt Mary if she had ever been here before and she said no, she had known Lady B. and Sir G. in England.

And Lady B. said Englishmen had to go home from India every so often or their livers got too appalling.
She said they were so glad to see Mary and to meet her charming niece because whenever they had seen her for years, she had always been telling them what a dear girl I was, and now they could see for themselves it was true.

This stumped me for a minute. Here was this English lady telling a lie and pretending to think I was what she must have known I wasn't. And old Sir Gerald agreeing too with his mouth full of toast and marmalade, though not talking, but just opening his big pale blue eyes and saying “Woof woof,” which meant, “Yes, I remember it, too.”

“Why would they do this?” I thought, especially with nobody in the big room for 'em to fool, but then I saw Mr. Bosco standing behind my chair, and I knew that this niece talk was for his benefit.

So I just ate the strawberries, like they did, by taking 'em by the stems that was left on 'em and swabbing 'em first in powdered sugar and then swabbing 'em in the thick cream and I knew I was among friends. Strawberries never give me a rash and I love 'em.

But I knew more than they did about Mr. Bosco, and he was a pretty hard little man to fool.

When the four men had taken the tea things away, Sir G. took Aunt Mary away down to the other end of the room, about half a square away, and Mr. Bosco and Lady B. and me sat down.

Lady B. smoked one cigarette right after another and talked about the war, and I was sure surprised at things she said about her own government. “Stupid, bungling British war office,” she says, and, “Damned old British fuddy-duddies at Singapore that are so busy singing
Brittania Rules the Wave, they never think of looking up to ask who rules the sky.”

She cussed and swore, all the time lighting one cigarette from the other and swearing worse than Millie when Curly left her.

So I thought she was maybe against her own country and for the Japanese, but I was pretty ignorant about the English then.

I didn't really understand 'em till we was on that rubber boat for so long, and me getting cooked in the sun like a piece of veal. It was then that I asked Sir Rodney Carmichael about it, and he did the same thing, talking about the government like that. It seems that all the English do it, and they go right on doing it all the time, and die like heros to keep anybody from changing the very things they have spent their lives cussing at, and that's England. Roddy tried to explain it, but I still can't quite understand it.

Lady B. had on an old black georgette dress, long but not the same length all around. It had a pattern of pink tulips on it and a pink satin girdle and two pink bows on the sleeves. It had been cleaned pretty often, but not often enough, so it was pretty limp. Her gray hair had never been done, it was just twisted up. Her shoes were gray kid oxfords with flat heels and her skin was like a piece of leather with brown spots on it. She had too many teeth and they were long and pretty crooked. She had a lot of gums too but her eyes was as bright and pretty as they had ever been. And somehow even with all of this she looked like a queen, and wasn't scared of the devil.

“You Burmese are going to be the crux of the whole thing in the East,” she says, looking down at Mr. Bosco.

“Granted,” says Mr. Bosco, “but fortunate for you, some of us are very loyal to your side.”

“I hope so,” says Lady B. and that was that.

Sir Gerald barked at Mr. Bosco to go and find out what time dinner was as if he was Simon Lagree in a play we gave at school. But Mr. Bosco didn't get mad like he might of, seeing as he was as rich as Rockefeller; he just got up and went to find out.

“Well,” says Lady Burroughs, “you are an extraordinarily beautiful child.”

“Thank you,” I says.

“I thought all American girls were apainted, like our own,” she says. “Why is your face so clean like a peach?”

“I wash it,” I says, and she laughed.

“Listen,” she says, “how much do you know about all of this business?”

“What business?” I says.

“This Indian business,” she says. “Have you got any idea of marrying Halla Bandah?”

“No, ma'am,” I says.

“Good,” she says, “I was afraid you might have. He's rich and very powerful,” she says, “but we aren't sure of him,” she says. “That's why you are here, you know that.”

I didn't know what to say so I kept quiet.

“You see,” she says, “no matter how beautiful his eyes are, he'd still have to go to jail if he is arrested.”

“He's really not like his brother,” I says.

“That remains to be seen,” she says. “Do you smoke?”

“No, ma'am,” I says.

“Filthy habit,” says Lady B. “Go over there and ask Sir Gerald to send me another packet of mine, and don't trip over that damned tiger's head on that rug.”

When I got the cigarettes, Aunt Mary says, “I asked Lady Burroughs to explain some things to you.” So I came back for more.

Lady B. didn't say “Thank you,” but the way she said “Sit here,” meant “Thank you,” I guess.

“As I say,” she began, “the old prince is all right, and we are reasonably sure of him. You see, he went to Oxford.”

She didn't say when, and I didn't know where that was or whether he hadn't gotten back yet, but I didn't ask any questions.

“As I say,” she says, “Halla Bandah is our problem. His brother is a stinker, a proper stinker,” she says. “You see, their states being so near to Burma, they could be dangerous. So my husband, whose job it is know about such things, tried to get around Halla Bandah to find out their sympathies in all this business and he simply ran into a stone wall. Halla Bandah became a perfect clam. Before Gerald could learn anything, off went Halla Bandah to England. And Gerald found out that he was hoping to get a lot of money in your country, taking with him enough precious stones to sink a channel boat. And so your aunt Mary got the job of flying to America. Of course the prince didn't know he was being followed. Her job was to find out whether the money was to help the Japanese or not. Then he picked up the plane that our fat-headed intelligence didn't even know he had ordered, and then your Aunt Mary was troubled as he was about
to get away from her altogether. But then this young American,” says Lady B., meaning Mr. Wens, “thought up this fantastic scheme about you, so from then on your aunt Mary could not only follow him but travel with him. Is this all a great surprise to you?” she says.

“No,” I says, “except that it seems like Aunt Mary is working for England in this. Is that right?”

“Yes,” she says.

“What about Mr. Bosco?” I says.

“Who?” she says, and I told her I called him that.

“A good name for him,” she says. “We don't quite know, but that little tea caddy knows quite a lot.”

“He's nice,” I says.

“Nice, yes,” she says, “but nice to which side? We do know that Halla Bandah's brother is building an airfield, but whether Mr. Bosco is in on it, we are not sure. He's lived in Japan, did you know that?”

“He's all right,” I says.

“Well,” she says, “if Halla Bandah hasn't given us the slip he will be here at dinner, and when he comes don't be surprised if things pop.”

“I won't,” I says. “Do you think maybe he's run away?”

“Time will tell,” says Lady B.

“I guess you work for the government,” I says.

“My husband does,” she says, “and though you'd never think it, he's very good at his job.”

Mr. Bosco came back about then and said dinner will be at eight and that the old prince would ask to be excused from seeing all of them till then. But the old prince would like to see me right now in his room.