‘Table for
eight, Madam? Please, this way.’
The
young waiter motioned across the floor, the sight of the table appearing to the
boy after a few moments. The dining room was huge, three times as big as his
living room and perhaps four times that of his own bedroom - although he had
been promised a bigger one at some point and felt he might have the good
fortune to inherit his elder sister’s as early as next week when she was due to
move out.
The
boy peered up over the tabletops in between and stretched his tiptoes to gain a
surer view of the window. He was quite excited but wondered if he’d be made to
sit in one of those different chairs again, not like everybody else. He
followed his mother and she clutched his hand tight. Her long emerald dress flapped
against him and then the table legs and he wondered what they thought of it
all. He’d once heard his uncle remark that he’d like to get lost up a woman’s skirt
and the boy had thought how that could happen when his uncle was so big and so
tall.
The
boy stole passing glimpses of the other diners as he shuffled on quickly past
the occupied seats. He heard little bits of words as well as his mother talking,
and he tried to piece them together like he did in school, saying things out
loud and seeing what would come next. He could just make out the table now
against the big blue background of the sky and the waiter who stood to one side.
‘If you’d care to have this table,
Madam, I will be delighted to take your coats.’
The boy stared up at his mother to see
if she responded to the waiter because he’d just said something, but she
remained silent and kept her mouth closed. His father may have grumbled a word quickly
but the boy kept peering at his mother and the way she flicked her long dark
hair back as she removed a white chiffon scarf.
He
always had to wait for her to say a few things to his father before he could
sit down and before they all sat down after that. He often wondered what these
things were but couldn’t ever hear because it was all spoken so quietly. Today
the noise of the restaurant made it difficult to make out anything and the boy
took the chance to sneak a quick peak out the window at the grassy slopes that
tumbled down to the sea and the flurry of seabirds that shot up over the
cliffs like fired arrows or falling stones.
‘Marcus, please will you sit down so
everybody can have the chance to do so too.’
He remembered then that he must sit
down as he heard his mother scold him and that if he didn’t he might forfeit
his chance at sitting like the rest of them. He felt himself lifted a little as
he prepared himself to sit and it felt like something had been put there to
make him taller.
‘My little emperor.’
The boy looked up at his mother
smiling and felt himself smile too and all the eyes of the world seemed to be
upon him. He quite liked when the faces were all happy and nice to look at and
when this was so he sometimes let out a little giggle that seemed to please
them even more. It’d had happened before that he received most attention at the
start like this and then things turned to more adult topics and he had to wait
until it was his turn again. At least he had the window to look out of this
time and the sea and the sun and the sand.
His sister was at the far end of the
table when once before she would sit next to him. It seemed like the bigger you
got the further you were allowed but the boy would have to wait for now and
sometimes it felt like it would last forever. He liked to watch the others eat
and drink their funny liquid from the glass bottles that they all seemed to
find so very funny. Sometimes he tried to see if he could make his liquid funny
but each time he did it made him almost choke and his mother would scold him
for being so silly. She would look at him with disapproving eyes and shake her
head and he would feel sad. He would want to make it better by making her laugh
and he’d point and poke at the funny liquid on the table. She never seemed to
understand and he would be made to stop because it was all making too much noise
or by then somebody else had started talking.
When it got late and the sun began
to set, casting a warm fuzzy glow across people’s faces and the floor, he would
sometimes grab at his mother’s dress because he didn’t like the place anymore
and he wanted to go home. This time there was plenty to watch out the window
and he liked seeing the white gulls swoop onto the brick wall and peer in as if
they were looking straight at him. He liked to point to them because it made
his mother pay attention and she seemed to want to play when she opened a
window as if she’d let the silly birds in. He liked to look across at his father
to see what he thought of it all but it didn’t happen often that he’d even be
looking or appear to care at all.
The boy would know it was time to
leave when his father beckoned the waiter over and made an odd gesture with his
hand while whispering something into his ear. He wondered how it was that each
time this was understood so as to leave no room for confusion, how this
peculiar activity his father called upon each time meant any sense to anyone. He
often made a point of staring at his father to see if he could perhaps work out
his secret but each time he did this his mother would turn to him and tell him
to stop because it was all quite rude. He found then that someone would say something
to make it seem normal when he knew very well it was not and that if no one
else was going to try and find out his father’s secret it would simply have to
be him and no one would stop him.
‘Ah, that’s nice. They’ve put some
music on. And only now as we’re about to leave!’
The boy heard the soft sound of
music ripple up from behind the bar and wondered if they’d put it on for them
but strangely when they were leaving. He liked the music his mother played in
the car or at home on the long armed machine that didn’t like it when you got
too close. His uncle had told him that the machine got frightened especially if
you jumped around and that it could sometimes scratch itself because it shivered
all over. The boy wondered how music could scratch itself when you can’t even
see it and this thought made him dismiss the music for now.
Outside the window more and more
seagulls had gathered and the boy thought this funny and smiled. The waiter had
returned and was holding up a machine without a long arm and the boy considered
whether this one would scratch itself if it was held up like that.
The
boy kept his eyes on one of the gulls that appeared friendlier than the rest as
it slid along the small tiled balcony outside. No one else seemed concerned and
this provoked the boy because it was like no one was welcoming the new guest. He’d
heard his mother remark that new guests should always be made to feel welcome.
He thought the bird may like some bread so he held it up in his hand and waved
it enough so the silly thing could see it. The boy’s mother was not impressed
and it seemed like she had seen it all coming, so quick was she to remove the
bread and place it on the table. The boy kept looking at the bird and maybe he
looked hard enough to make it fly in because the silly thing came launching
through the window and dived to pick up the bread.
The
boy remained fixated on the bird and then the bread and the sounds of the music
were broken up by exclamations from his sister and his aunt. He kept looking at
the bird but it wasn’t the bread he’d got. Instead the bird had found a small
rectangle that his father had removed from his pocket only moments earlier. He
didn’t know what it was but it was important enough for his father to leap up
and take chase as it took off straight out the window, piercing the calm,
quixotic music with its miraculous, fearless shriek.
