Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

‘Um…’ I cleared my throat. ‘Is this going to go on for long? Not that I mind - you have fun with your staring contest, if you want. I’d just like to have an opportunity to step behind a bush for certain necessary business in the not-too-distant future, if you get my meaning.’

Mr Ambrose gave a snort. ‘I’m surprised you’d bother with a bush! Why don’t you just do it here?’

Beside me, I saw all colour drain from Karim’s face.

‘Now, that wouldn’t be at all ladylike, would it?’ I asked, sweet as sugar. ‘Can you please speed things up? You can growl at each other to find out who is the more manly man later.’

‘Very well, Mr Linton. Let’s see what this leader of theirs has to say.’ Showing the big Indian both of his hands, presumably to demonstrate he was unarmed, Mr Ambrose took a step forward and asked: ‘Você fala português?’

The Indian studied him for a moment - then shook his head. Motioning for us to follow, he ducked into the hut. The three of us followed, Karim and I throwing each other puzzled glances. But our confusion didn’t last long. Inside the gloomy hut, a hunched figure sat on the ground, legs crossed. As we approached, the figure lifted his head-

And I saw it wasn’t his head at all.

It was hers.

The old woman smiled a crooked, gap-toothed smile. The big Indian marched to her side, gestured down and said, in a voice that brooked no argument: ‘Português!’

Behind Mr Ambrose, I grinned. ‘Oh yes, let’s see what that leader of theirs has to say, Sir. Go ahead, Sir. This should be interesting.’

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Be silent!’

‘Yes, Sir! As you wish, Sir!’

A muscle in his cheek twitching, Mr Ambrose folded his long legs and settled down in front of the old woman, who met his icy glare with another gap-tooth smile, totally unperturbed.

I liked these Indians already.

*~*~**~*~*

It took a while to get the preliminaries out of the way. Apparently, the natives in these parts had certain customs which included having the face of any passing visitor you welcomed into your home painted with red and yellow stripes. I m

ust say, I hadn’t thought these diplomatic negotiations would be that much fun. Mr Ambrose, suffering in silence, glaring at a wall of the hut as if it were solely to blame for all the problems of the world, was one of the most amazing sights I had ever seen. Karim was nearly as much fun. When the old lady was done with him, he looked like a demon from (a very colourful part of) hell.

‘You look very handsome, Sir,’ I congratulated Mr Ambrose when my own makeup was finished, trying my best not to laugh.

His icy gaze cut into me like a knife into butter. ‘I would not have put up with this tomfoolery,’ he growled, ‘if it did not have some practical value!’

‘Practical value?’

‘Why do you think they paint the faces of their guests?’

‘Um…because they like to watch people squirm?’

‘No. Because it’s a signal to the whole tribe that they shouldn’t kill you at first sight.’

‘Oh.’

Yes, I could see how that could have some practical value. Indeed.

‘So, they have decided not to kill us?’

‘For now, Mr Linton. The paint can easily be washed off.’

‘True. So…what now?’