Have you Tea?

“Good Day! Good Day!” Bettina called.

Claire had given up berating her siblings and was wishing for a bucket so she could throw water over them. She was scanning the boat for something useful when she noticed Bettina waving madly and calling to the shore. She followed her sister’s line of sight.

“Oh my God!”

Since Claire’s language was impeccably polite, this actually achieved that which all her shouting could not. The arguing children stopped abusing each other to see what had caused Claire’s outburst. In the sudden quiet Bettina’s small voice rang out.

“Have you tea?”

They approached a wooden dock jutting into the river. On it stood a man. His skin was a purplish red and appeared pocked. He was hairless and naked to the waist, with rough-textured trousers covering his lower extremities. The children gaped. The man smiled and waved to Bettina. The children recovered their manners and waved back.

Adolphus grabbed the pole and maneuvered them towards the dock. Gerhardt, muttering warnings, armed his crossbow and shifted to leave easy access to his pocket of ammunition.

The man threw them a line. Claire and Adolphus pulled the boat alongside and improvised a cleat by driving the geology pick into the flesh of the mushroom. Mirabelle tied it off with a cleat hitch. Gerhardt uttered dire warning under his breath about rendering the pick useless as a weapon, but the others were too beguiled by the red man’s open smile, friendly wave, and fields of what might be food behind him.

The man bowed and started talking. From his tone they knew he was asking questions, but he wasn’t speaking German, English, or French.

“I beg your pardon?” Claire said when he stopped.

He began again, and the twins looked at each other in astonishment. Mirabelle shoved at her sister, encouraging her to stand. (Annabelle often acted as the spokesperson of the two.) Annabelle addressed the man. Mirabelle translated to her siblings.

“She’s telling him we’re lost and hungry. We came from far away and can’t get back. We will work on his farm in exchange for food.”

“This guy speaks that crazy moon language of yours?” Adolphus demanded.

“It’s like Welsh,” Mirabelle confirmed in an undertone. “Mostly. Bizarre accent though, nothing like Mr. Evans.”

Mr. Evans, the twins’ Welsh tutor had retired from the Coed-y-Moeth colliery in Cwmsyfiog. He came aboard to exchange language lessons for a trip around the world. “Spent all my life down mine,” he’d say, “I’d like to spend some time above the earth before I leave it.” He traveled with them eighteen months, but never made it all the way around the world. When the Schöneluft flew over Bora Bora he asked to be set down. For all they knew he was still there, richly tattooed and luxuriating in the tropic clime.

“He says to come and eat,” Annabelle reported. “We can work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure he said eat,” Gerhardt said, “not be eaten? You’re not so great with verb conjugation.”