One Small Boy And A Kerosene Fridge
By Tim Candler
Copyright 2014 Tim Candler
Published by Tim Candler
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One Small Boy and A Kerosene Fridge
The officer's nurse was in high dudgeon. Philemon was concerned that she might be with child, and behind the staff quarters Philemon told the men of his concerns. Years ago, before the railway, he'd offered to carry loads for the Europeans. It was hard but happy work, he recalled. He saw places and people and sights he'd never expected to see, and hoped never to see some of them ever again. The food was good and there was singing and there was dancing and there were many adventures, and in those days the Europeans were a constant source of entertainment. Then, Philemon hurt his leg, which meant he couldn't carry loads, and he wondered if he'd ever get home.
"At that time," Philemon explained. "The European officers were unsettled and nomadic. At night their cooks would erect tents for them to sleep in and sometimes their encampment would remain in place for days at a time. In one such encampment I learned how to cook for the Europeans. When my leg was healed an officer asked if I wished to become his cook. He brought me here to this township and I became established in this staff quarter. It was an unsettled time. A dispute amongst the clans as to how we were to receive Europeans. As you know, I am from the northern clans, and we had no desire to befriend the European. We northerners have a greater familiarity with foreigners. For generations our warriors have defended the tribe against the Arab and their camels with little assistance from you southerners. In time our chief came to a temporary arrangement with the southerners, and this arrangement signaled the arrival of European women. The first officer I cooked for introduced his bride, and she was with child."
"It's a natural enough circumstance," one of the men suggested. "It would be very strange indeed if the European emerged into the world full grown."
"I understand that," Philemon answered. "But the European woman does not take to childbirth, or child rearing easily. She becomes helpless and demanding. She does not suckle her child or carry it around. There's a continuing need for boiling water. The washing of clothes is constant. There's fetching and carrying. And it's very possible the officer's nurse will require the assistance of a nursemaid. I don't have room in my staff quarter for a nursemaid."
"She might be pretty," one of the men teased.
"Last time there was a nursemaid in this staff quarter," Philemon answered. "The officer gave me a bed and instructed me to sleep outside. I was younger then, but now I am too old to sleep outside."
Next morning, I did get my chance to ask Philemon whether I could have a bed. He told me I was too young to sleep on a bed, it was bad for growing bones, it would make me weak and it would reduce my ability to be of service to the northern clan should ever they declare war on the Europeans or the southern clans. Then, with a pained expression on his face, he explained that he himself had been instructed to clean the kitchen. It had to be 'clean, clean, clean' he protested using the English words. And he directed me to assist the officer's nurse in the front part of the compound. The rain, he explained, had brought on growth and as though in a further confirmation of Philemon's suspicions, the Officer's nurse had decided to cut back brush.
She had her hat on her head, large shoes on her feet, gloves on her hands. She was holding a panga and she was staring at a large snake bush that had encroached upon the entrance to the officer's compound. I did my best to explain to her that snake bushes were not to be approached casually. They had to be prodded with a long stick and hissed at, but she just grinned at me and started to beat at the snake bush with the panga. The result was not as she expected, the aggravated bush produced its scent and a few blooms fell to the earth and the harder she beat at the snake bush the more blooms it surrendered and the more scent it exuded. I suggested that her understanding of the panga was flawed, and that it would be better to squat down on her haunches, chop at the bush closer to the ground so that the panga might have its chance to bite into the wood. And true, I was nervous of the snake bush, they sprout fast, grew quickly and though I had never seen one it was well known that black mamba nest in them.
When the officer's nurse handed me the panga, I stamped my foot and hissed at the snake bush, I then leant over and proceeded to chop. Delicately at first, then as hard as I could. The snake bush isn't sturdy, it gives up its branches easily, and soon it was cleared from the entrance to the officer's compound, so when the officer returned for his lunch it wouldn't scrape the side of the officer's motorcar. Then, very soon after I'd hauled the brush to behind the staff quarter there was a visitor. It was the pink woman, loud in her greeting as the officer's nurse welcomed her. I peered round the corner of the house, the European boy who spoke my language walked over to greet me.
"Hello."
"How is your bicycle?"
"It's been taken away and locked in the store." He replied.
Discourse wasn't easy between us, but we both knew we wished to talk to each other.
"We got pineapple at the market," I suggested.
"My relative will be getting electricity. It will be switched on soon. She has a new electric cold box and she is selling her old kerosene cold box to you. Her officer told her to give it to you, but she insisted on selling it. There was some discussion."
"What is a cold box." I asked him.
"Its like a fly safe that keeps food cold so that it lasts longer."
I asked him if he wanted to see my chickens, but he told me that he had been given instructions to remain in sight of the verandah, otherwise the clouds would open and hell fire would fall down upon him.
"It's a sad thing to lock your bicycle in the store room. You must miss it."
"I do. I was getting the idea of riding it without falling off, now I think I might have forgotten how to. I have recently been to the land of the English, you know."
"What's it like," I asked.
"Horrible," he answered. "It is cold, it is always raining, the people are all grey, they are very unfriendly and you're not permitted to greet any of them unless you know their name, otherwise you might get stolen and sold to the French. And there are a great many people in the land of the English, so a person our size can easily get lost."
"Who are the French," I asked.
"Like the Germans, they are sworn enemies of the English. But unlike the Germans the French are not our cousins."
The arrival of public works lorry interrupted us. The lorry's brakes screeched and five men leapt from the rear. In the back of the lorry was a large green box tied together with a rope. This box was carried around the side of the house and into Philemon's kitchen. The boy and I followed, but the boy's relative hailed a loud warning at him. So I remained steadfast by his side in the front part of the compound.
"I have found," the boy said to me. "With the kerosene cold box, they do not like to be turned on their side. Yours has been travelling on its side, so it will probably not work straight away. Let it settle a while, then get men to lift it straight into the air, and without tilting it on its side give it a good shaking. Then relight its wick."
I would have asked him what he knew about electricity but the pink woman was calling him to her motorcar. "What's your name," he asked.
"I am The Mouth," I shook his hand.
"My mother tells me I am Honored of God. Most people call m
e Timotei. "
It wasn't easy to find a home for the cold box in Philemon's kitchen. The officer's nurse had a great many ideas, and to Philemon's disgust the men obliged each one of her ideas. The cold box was heavy, and they shuffled it about from one side of the kitchen to the other. First it was too close to the stove, then it was too close to the window, and then it interrupted the doorway from the house into the kitchen. In the end the fly safe was put in the store room and the cold box was put where the fly safe had stood. When the men left, the officer's nurse opened and closed the cold box door, she stroked its side and she seemed very pleased with herself, all smiling and happy. But Philemon wasn't in the least happy. I saw him cast eyes at the condition of the woman's belly, and I knew what he was wondering.
"She's stopped painting her nails," he told me. "These are all signs. When the work crew raise a banda in the compound, our future will be in ruins."
At the lunch time, the officer filled the cold box with kerosene and he growled a little at the condition of the wick, which had to be trimmed. When this was done to his satisfaction he lit the wick, he opened and closed the door a number times, grimly he put his head inside the cold box and listened, and then expressing some dissatisfaction he retired to his afternoon rest. All through the afternoon the cold box sat heavily in Philemon's kitchen. Every chance I could get I would peer at it and listen to it. Then in the evening, when the officer returned I was there to watch him open the cold box door. He put his hand inside the cold box, he felt around in a most knowing way and he then pronounced it dead. The officer looked irritated. The officer's nurse was crestfallen. Philemon was delighted. And I wanted to say something, but to do so aloud might have upset Philemon, so I whispered to him, and he listened.
"I have no desire to appear foolish!" he whispered back. "Do you believe this will resurrect the cold."
I told him I had every confidence, which wasn't true. And for some time I struggled with a growing anxiety for Philemon's reputation, which were it to trip would fall mightily upon my shoulders.
Later behind the staff quarter, Philemon extended his gratitude to the men for their assistance. Under Philemon's direction the cold box had been lifted straight up, it had been given a good shake, and the officer had relit the wick. The officer had then opened and closed the cold box door, he had put his head deep inside to listen. When he emerged the expression on his face sent a clap of applause through his nurse and in her excitement she'd patted Philemon on the back, which caused both her and Philemon to blush. Philemon, as well as the men, had each been rewarded with a bottle of Tiger Beer.
"He is a young, inexperienced officer," Philemon explained. "He still his much to learn. But when things are explained to him he does at least listen, which is more than can be said for a great many Europeans."
And before retiring to his bed, Philemon suggested that were it to rain in the night, I might like to sleep on the floor in his room, but if I chose to do so I was not permitted to snore.
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About the Author
Other books by this Author
Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it. Other Stories by Tim Candler may be found at your favorite e-book retailer.
Fishy Tales.
Halibut's End Story
Saint Haddock's Book (Coming soon)
Mr. Cod's Tanager (Coming soon)
One Small Boy. A Series of very Short Stories
One Small Boy And A Golf Ball
One Small Boy And A Turkey
One Small Boy And A Bicycle
One Small Boy and Electricity.
One Small Boy And An Electric Light (Coming soon)
The Class Of. A Series of very Short Stories
The Class of Dog (Coming soon)
The Class of Girlfriend (Coming soon)
Connect with Tim Candler
Please keep in touch if you wish to.
Gentler Angst: https://gentlerangst.blogspot.com
An English in Kentucky: https://anenglishinkentucky.com