The Peaceful Affair: Chapter 32
“Mommy, Mommy, I want bubble gum,” cried the seven-year-old, “or a poodle called Sylvester.”
Annabelle Doe sighed. “Why do you always have to be so ambiguous, May Day?”
“What’s big you us, Mommy?” asked May Day, jumping hither and thither in the waiting lounge.
“Will you please stop jumping hither and thither, and sit down, young lady,” protested her mother. “You’re making my head spin like a wild banana.”
The young girl stopped leaping sideways and began hopping up and down, crying, “I’m Mr. Banana, I’m Mr. Banana, I’m Mr. Banana.”
“Miss Banana,” corrected Doe, and grabbed hold of her swinging daughter. “Now sit down, and stop being so ambi-gendered.”
“Can I be ambivalent, Mommy?” asked the girl innocently.
“No,” answered Doe firmly, only to give in a moment later as her daughter’s tears began to congregate. “Okay, okay,” she said softly, and handed May Day three different-colored balls, “you can practice being ambidextrous.”
Five minutes later, the blue ball was on its way to Paris, the red ball was on its way to Rome, and the green ball was in the way of a tall grim-looking man, who had been biding his time until now. He extracted the ball from his left nostril, and remarked somberly, “One should not engage in a recreational activity involving spherical bodies inside an airport.” Ominously, he went back to reading the Local Time.
Just then a dingdong echoed throughout the lounge, followed by a woman’s voice. “All passengers flying with pilot Jimmy to New York, kindly proceed to Lizzy’s friendly gate.” The voice cleared its throat and then yelled, “ON THE DOUBLE, FOLKS!” at which the bleak gentleman sprang to his feet and disappeared like a green witch.
“What an unpleasant fellow,” remarked Doe, and added contentedly, “I’m glad you were enjoying yourself, May Day. Time flies when you’re having fun.”
Not quite in agreement over the “fun” bit, the girl was about to deliver a lecture titled The Bother of Losing One’s Balls when the dingdong resounded, and the woman’s voice announced, “All passengers flying with pilot James to London, kindly proceed to Elizabeth’s rainy gate.” The voice cleared its throat and then added quietly, “Please be courteous and display good breeding.”
Annabelle and May Day proceeded to the drizzling gate, and joined the line of passengers waiting to board the waiting aeroplane.
“What’s an aeroplane, Mommy?” asked the girl.
“It’s like an airplane, only British,” replied her mother explanatorily.
“Is that why it has a baguette under the left wing?” questioned May Day.
By now they had reached the head of the line. The ground attendant examined their tickets, and said laughingly, “Oh, no. You see, we just got here from France, where the aeroplane had bought the baguette.”
“I know, I know, my mother taught me all about France,” the little girl avowed somberly with pride. “It’s in Paris, right? Or is Paris in London, and France is a cute little monkey called Monsieur Singe?”
“There you go again with that ambivalence of yours,” sighed Doe, as the two stepped into the wide bus headed for the plane. A short person sitting beside a taller person was playing with a toy airplane, making whooshing sounds, and crying, “Castling missive launched. Ra ta ta ta ta. Rook locket fired. Ta ra ra ra ra.” The tall person, who turned out to be the short person’s mother, said to the short person, who turned out to be the tall person’s son, “Godsave, will you please stop that infernal racket. You’re bothering everyone.”
“I’m not bothered,” said May Day, as she and her mother took seats opposite the pair, “or maybe I am.”
The tall person smiled apologetically at Doe, and said, “I’m sorry about the noise. My Godsave here wants to be a pilot when he grows up, and he makes sure everybody within shouting distance knows this. I’m Mrs. Queen, by the way.” She extended her foot.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Mrs. Doe.” The two shook feet. “Don’t worry about the rumpus,” smiled Doe. “I’ve got my own ambulant racket-maker, as you can see.”
By now May Day and Godsave were quietly negotiating how they would combine their rackety forces into one.
“And what does yours want to be when she grows up?” smiled Mrs. Queen.
“She keeps saying she wants to be a winner or a loser,” replied Doe.
“Good for her,” said Queen blithely. “Always hedge your bets.”
On the plane, the two parties discovered they were seated side by side. By the time the airliner landed in Heathrow, Godsave had saved the world from nuclear peace three times, and May Day had helped him twice. Or once. Or thrice.
Having passed customs, Mrs. Queen said, “It’s been a pleasure. You must pay us a visit next time you’re in London.”
“Oh, can we, Mommy? Can’t we?” jumped May Day.
“We’ll see,” laughed Doe, as she and Mrs. Queen shook feet and turned their separate ways. “Come along, now, May Day, we’ve got a train to catch.”
They marched through the winding pathways of the huge airport for several minutes, until arriving at a small sign reading Boats To Let. Doe rented a small schooner and sailed into the open sea with her daughter. When she deemed them to be sufficiently offshore, she anchored the vessel and cast her net wide. After a patient wait Doe brought the net up and sifted through the squirming trains. “Ah, here’s what we seek,” she finally cried triumphantly. “I’ve caught a train to Cardiff.” Without further ado, they mounted a second-class carriage in the back and chugged along, the beautiful English countryside greeting them cheerily as the cars bearing the famous logo, British Rail — An Ocean Of Comfort, rolled by.
As soon as the train entered the Cardiff railway station, braking to a mellow halt, Doe spotted Lord Dogsworth on the platform and waved through the open window.
“Annabelle,” cried Dogsworth in delight, and jumped onto the carriage, making his way through the descending crowd until he reached mother and daughter.
“Old Man,” called Doe, and wrapped her arms around Dogsworth in a warm hug.
“Here, let me help you with these,” said the lord, and took hold of Doe’s two suitcases. “Come, now, off we go, before this train departs.”
“Will the train leave or won’t it?” asked May Day.
Doe took her daughter’s hand. “Come on, you heard Old Man. We must get off immediately.”
On the platform stood a sulking teenager with his hands in his pockets. “Annabelle, May Day,” introduced Dogsworth, “meet Douglas, my son, and the future Lord Dogsworth.”
The adolescent took one hand out of one pocket and shook it with Doe’s hand, which had seen no pockets of late. “May I leave now, Father?” he asked sullenly.
“Is everything okay, Douglas?” Doe asked the youngster worriedly.
“Leave him be, Annabelle,” said Dogsworth dismissively. “He’s fine.”
“Then why does he look like his favorite cat Rex has just fallen off a cliff?” questioned Doe.
“He’s fifteen years old,” explained Dogsworth.
“I understand,” smiled Doe.
“And besides,” continued Dogsworth evenly, “his favorite cat Rex has just fallen off a cliff.”
They exited the station to find a magnificent coach aching to convey. “That’s my man Hansom,” Dogsworth introduced the driver on the elevated seat up front, “and these are Bum and Bee,” he pointed to the two horses who provided the much needed horsepower.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Doe and young May Day,” said Bum in a low bass voice.
“Contrariwise,” called Bee who — being the tenor of the duo — had a higher voice. “Meat is not pleasing at all. Hay — there’s nothing better for your health. Especially in its hay day.”
By now the gang-of-four had entered the carriage, and Hansom, who had been a Labour whip in his youth, sternly enforced party discipline. The horsefull carriage began galloping.
Before long, they arrived at a T-junction with a sign pointing right that said Dogsworth Manor, and a sign pointing left that said Dogsworth Manor.
“The logical course to follow is the right one,” said Bum solemnly.
Bee shook his head vigorously. “If you left off dreaming you would concede forthwith that the right path is quite illogical. Logic dictates we turn left.”
“It would serve you right if you went left!” pranced Bum.
Bee pointed his right foreleg to the left, and proclaimed firmly, “If you left me alone, I would most certainly find myself on the right track.”
Without another word the two horses removed their respective bridles. Ignoring Hansom’s promise of a roll in the hay, Bum and Bee each followed his own path.
Hansom descended the driver’s seat and opened the carriage door. “I’m sorry, milord, but it seems you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
“Drat,” mumbled Douglas as they got out of the coach.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle,” apologized Dogsworth humbly. “Sometimes the left horse does not approve what the right horse is doing.”
“That’s okay,” smiled Doe. “I love to walk.”
“Splendid,” cried Dogsworth, and the four walked over the lawn up to the front door.
“These flowers are lovely,” said Doe, pointing to two large vases flanking the entrance. “Who arranged them?”
“The butler did it,” replied Dogsworth matter-of-factly. “Ah, there’s the chap now,” he called, as the door opened to reveal a butler-like gentleman. “Meet Loaf.”
“No thank you,” said Doe. “I’m not hungry. We had a big meal on the plane.”
“No, no,” explained Dogsworth, “this is Loaf, my butler.”
Doe turned to the man. “Pleased to meet you, Loaf.”
In a butler-like tone, the man said, “May I take your coat, madam?”
“If you don’t mind I’d rather hold on to it,” replied Doe, lovingly clutching the garment in question.
To be sure, Loaf minded very much; he was not at all pleased with this breach of etiquette. The butler approached Doe and with a swift movement evincing his masterly proficiency at butler-jitsu he grabbed the coat without Doe’s being aware it had gone missing.
“Who took my coat?” she cried a moment later, when the article’s disappearance had finally become manifest.
“The butler did it,” replied Dogsworth impassively.
“Mommy, Mommy, can I play or eat fish ’n’ chips?” cried May Day.
Dogsworth turned to his son and said, “Douglas, why don’t you accompany this charming young lady and show her the artsy kennel you built?”
The teenager shrugged his shoulders and muttered, “Whatever.”
“What’s a kennel?” asked May Day, trying hard to keep up with Douglas’s fast pace.
“A doghouse,” replied the lad curtly, not missing a pace.
“You dug it yourself?”
“Not dug house, doghouse, you twerp,” replied the lad angrily, his accent still remaining a sore point, even after five accented years in Cardiff.
By and by, they arrived at the construction in question. Had May Day been architecturally minded she would have recognized the Bauwauhaus style immediately. As it was, she simply asked, “Where are the dogs?”
“This is England,” snorted Douglas. “We don’t have dogs. We have hounds.”
“Okay,” said May Day undauntedly, “then where are the ounds?”
“It’s hounds, twerp, and you don’t keep ’em in a doghouse. You keep ’em in the House of Commons.”
“What’s commons?”
“It’s a big dining hall.”
“That’s where you keep the dogs?”
“Hounds.”
“Gesundheit. Can we go see the dogs?”
“Whatever.”
Douglas led May Day back into the manor, and through a maze of passageways, until they reached a large sunbathed hall. Several dogs were seated along elongated tables, drinking sherry and holding a heated debate.
“We cannot agree to such radical amendments. It’s downright unconstitutional!” cried one hound, his large drooping ears flapping like the wings of a Boeing 747.
“You, sir, are barking up the wrong tree,” replied another hound, her large drooping ears flapping like the wings of an Airbus A380.
“I say, damn those Tories — their bark is worse than their bite. Let’s take them head-on!” cried a third dog, his large drooping ears not flapping at all.
“I’m out of here,” announced Douglas. “Can’t stand these raucous dogs.”
“Hounds,” whispered May Day. “I love them. They’re so cute. Can I stay for a while or not?”
Douglas shrugged his shoulders and provided his time-proven reply. “Whatever.”
“Whoopee!” cried May Day, and did a handstand to emphasize her delight. When her feet reached their apex, something dropped onto the floor with a clang. Douglas swiftly picked up the fallen object and examined it.
“Cute medallion,” he commented. “Can I keep it?”
“Give me that!” shouted May Day crossly.
“Want it?” said Douglas meanly.
“Give it back! Give it back!”
“Then come and get it.”
The lad began running through the hallways, with a tearful May Day at his heels. He did not notice the patter of small feet had stopped at some point.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Dogsworth grabbed hold of his son at the entrance to the powder room, where he had been industriously showing Doe his renowned collection of chili powder. “How many times must I tell you: An English nobleman does not trot along like some common trout!”
“I apologize, Father,” said Douglas humbly, lowering his head in shame.
“Where’s May Day?” asked Annabelle anxiously.
“She’s right behind me,” replied the lad and handed the medallion to Doe. “It was just a game. Really.”
Peering over his son’s shoulder, the lord averred frostily, “Manifestly, she is not directly behind you.”
Doe was already running past the two, in search of her daughter. “May Day! May Day!” she shouted, rushing through passages and corridors, eventually stopping cold at the top of a short flight of stairs. “Good heavens!”
“What is it?” cried Dogsworth, who had abandoned the admonishment in favor of the urgent search. But Doe had already disappeared, having descended the short flight of stairs in a flash. At the bottom lay the child, unconscious.
Annabelle embraced her daughter tightly. “May Day, May Day, wake up, darling.”
“Douglas, tell Loaf to get the doctor — and be quick about it,” ordered Dogsworth. The lad was only too happy to vanish from the scene.
Just then the girl came to. “Give me back my medallion!” she cried weakly.
“Thank God, thank God,” called Doe, and tightened her hold.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me, lady,” cried the girl.
Doe cast a puzzled look at her daughter. “ ‘Lady’? Don’t you recognize me, dear?”
May Day gazed at her mother vacantly and repeated, “Lady, please let go — you’re hurting me!”
