Part Two

Fernando, Commandante y jefe

“Elbows off the table,” instructed Katrina then added “Please.” 

Table manners had never really been Levi’s forte and he suspected that it may have been one of the reasons his late father, Esau, had seemed slightly hesitant to take him out to restaurants or dinner parties.    

“It tastes good Mum,” he commented prodding the Conejo al Salmorjo with his fork.
Compliments were useful pacifiers whenever she was in one of her moods.  “Very rabbity.” 

“Fernando says he got the recipe from one of his aunts in San Gregorio, Zaragoza...that’s in Spain, sweetheart.”

“I just sure hope this is not one of the Easter Bunnies’ relations. Bet we’d never get anymore chocolate eggs from him if that was the case.”

“Don’t be silly Levi…now sit up straight and eat you dinner. It’s bad for your back to slouch.”

Levi had done his best to dress nicely for dinner and was now wearing what he liked to refer to as his traffic-light suit: a red jersey, amber shirt and a pair of dark green trousers. Also, at the insistence of Katrina he had agreed to wear his bowtie; the one he’d got for his previous birthday but stuffed away in a seldom used toy-box hoping she would eventually forget all about it, which she did until the bedroom swap.

Katrina was also dollied up. She wore a long silken dress with glittering imitation diamonds and a cameo broach; both past anniversary presents from Esau. Her hair had been tied in a ponytail and lips the same glossy pigment as like her fingers nails. Around her neck hung a pearl necklace whilst her lobes were bejewelled with what looked to be recently acquired earrings.

Fernando sat at the head of the table wearing a navy blue suit with gold cufflinks, a creamy white shirt and tan shoes. Similar to the type of clothing Esau would favour whenever he went out somewhere formal. 

“Mummy, what do you call a rabbit in a bag shop without any legs?”

“Don’t talk with your mouthful!”

“A hop-less case,”

“Levi I just told you not to talk with your mouth full. You’ll start choking on your food and spit it back up if you’re not careful, and I would have wasted all that time cooking this afternoon.”

He could feel himself wearying under her constant nagging; tears began to swell. It seemed nearly everything he had said or done since sitting at the table was the wrong thing, but he was determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing him cry. 

Distraction seemed preferable. He glanced over at the model aircraft sitting in the middle of the table with a tiny umbrella from Katrina’s drinks cabinet attached to it; his humble centrepiece contribution.   It was meant to be his artistic interpretation of how “the rain in Spain stayed mainly on the plane”. Katrina and Fernando had both praised his imaginative prowess.

“Mum, why does it rain on the plane in Spain”

“The expression isn’t really meant to be taken literally. It comes from "My Fair Lady" explained Katrina refilling her glass with red wine. The bottle was almost empty and her cheeks had taken on a reddish hue. “Mr Higgins is teaching Eliza Doolittle how to pronounce her words properly. Sort of like how your Daddy used to get you to practice saying “soda, soldier, shoulder," when you were little.”

“Soda shojer showda...Was Elijah, Doctor Doolittle’s wife?”

“No sweetie. That was a different story all together.” 

“So one talked to the animals and the other had trouble talking? Soda sholder soldcha” 

“Something along those lines"

"Soda...soldier...shoulder."
  
"Clever boy… now come on honey, you’ve barely touched your rabbit.”

“Soda, soldier, shoulder. I’m not all that hungry…maybe we could send it to Daruka.”  

“Just eat your dinner.”

When Levi was about seven he developed an acute dislike of vegetables and refused to be swayed by proofs of their merits or even threats of punishment. Clutching at straws Esau told him a story about a starving little boy from Bangladesh named Daruka who prayed each night for a chance to have the very vegetables that Levi was too spoilt to show appreciation for.

Unfortunately the story impacted more than Esau had intended. One day after school when no one was watching Levi cut up some raw vegetables and placed them in an A4 envelope; which he addressed “Darucar, the starving boy from Bangadesh.” He also wrote a return address on the back as he had seen Katrina do many times. He then stuck a half dozen stamps to the package and mailed it the next day on the way to school.

A few days later it was returned unopened and he had no choice other than to admit that he was the one who sent it. Esau commended his empathy, but Katrina was angry that he had helped himself to stationery without permission and assigned him an eight and a half minute timeout: one minute for each stamp he had wasted and a further two and a half for wasting the postman’s time. She let him off with the envelope because she did not want to sweat the small stuff.   

Levi’s memories were abruptly interrupted as a fly suddenly buzzed into the dining room, no doubt attracted by the smorgasbord of odours. It circled the table several times and bounced off the walls and ceiling then honed back in on the table again.

“I’ve got it!” yelled Levi as the fly neared his plate. He went to swat it away but missed and hit Katina’s glass over instead. A sizeable pool of wine soaked into the tablecloth. Seconds later, Fernando’s open palm connected sharply with the back of his head. 

 “Just look what you’ve done to your Mother’s best table cloth, you clumsy little brat!”
“Leave him alone, Fernando! It was just an accident” beseeched Katrina, “No use crying over spilled wine.”

“He should be crying over your lap with a stinging backside…if you want my opinion.”  

“Are you going to let this jumped up thug get away with hitting you?” incited  VOM.

Rage overcame Levi’s self-control. Gritting his teeth and snarling like a ravaging dog he snatched a handful of Conejo from his plate and threw it.

“Take that you bully!” he taunted as the greasy meat splattered across Fernando’s face. 

“Shot!” cheered VOM “Atta-boy,”

“You apologise to Fernando right this minute young man!” scolded Katrina.

“He started it,” retorted Levi, folding his arms defiantly.

“Apologise or you’ll be severely punished!”

His pupils shifted from her scowl to Fernando then back again.

“Don’t give either of them the satisfaction,” advised VOM “You’re the victim here.”

“Best do as she says. You know what she’s like after a few wines,” countered VOR.    

“No,” he pouted, siding with VOM. “Fernando’s the one who should say sorry."  

“Go wait for me in your room!”

“Fine, I hate this meal anyways.”

Levi sprang to his feet, toppling his chair like an enraged cowboy engaging in a saloon-gunfight, and hastened to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and kicked a toy soldier against the far wall before leaping facedown onto the bed and sobbing bitterly.

Time passed by and he slowly settled down. He wiped away the few remaining tears with his hands, and crept to the bedroom door. Straining his ears he could just make out the clanking of cutlery and what sounded like the clink of a glass bottle against crystal. More wine, fuelling her temper, like Popeye’s strength intensifying with spinach. Spinach that he imagined Daruka still prayed nightly for.

Levi’s stomach churned as he dwelt on the consequences his transgression may have unleashed. He suspected that this was all part of the over-all punishment; to make him sweat it out whilst he awaited his inevitable reprimand. Like Wanda she seldom ever resorted to corporal punishment and preferred to tongue lashings, but given her present inebriation anything was possible. Fear finally got the better of him.

“I’ve had enough of this” affirmed Levi as he snipped the door locked. He then changed into a long sleeved tee shirt, faded jeans and a hooded sweat top. “I’m not hanging round for her to take her shit out on.”              

He slipped on his sandshoes (the laces were already tied from when he had kicked them off earlier without bothering to untie them), and then climbed out through the window. His room was on the ground floor, which made times fleeing a lot easier than it would have been if he was still in his previous upstairs bedroom.

A distant owl hooted as Levi fetched his bike from the shed and quietly wheeled it passed the gate. He drew a heavy sigh, mounted the bike and pedalled up the road for all he was worth with the words soda, soldier shoulder repeating over and over in his troubled mind.

Continues

Next Part Three Musings on the Beach