56. Firefly Tree and Kaphre Banyan

The little ship had a hole in it. It was a tiny hole, but we had to be throwing water back into the sea until we spied another island.

“That must be Ananas Island,” said Michael. “It’s small and unremarkable and supposed to be uninhabited. It might be safe to spend the night here. Tomorrow will be another day and we’ll see how we can get back home.”

From the water Ananas looked deserted, but once we were on it and had walked through a dense, circular fence of trees, we saw a thousand tiny lights. 

We moved cautiously towards those lights and discovered they came from hundreds of fireflies gathered together on a single tree, lighting it up as if it were Christmas. And since we were quite exhausted we fell asleep under the glowing tree, each spending the night with his own dreams.

When the sun first rose in the horizon and its first warm rays woke us gently, Michael rubbed his eyes, was first to get on his feet, and looked about him. I saw how his gaze suddenly froze, fixed on the tree that had sheltered us.

  

“Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise!” he whispered anxiously. “We have to get out of here right now without making a noise!”

“I don’t care what you’ve seen,” said Alpin loudly. “I’ve seen figs and I’m not leaving until I’ve eaten every single one up.”

“They’re not edible,” hissed Michael. “This is a false, strangler figtree. And we have to leave now. They are hollow on the inside and are often the refuge of evil spirits. If you stay, it’s you who will be breakfast. We are going to move slowly, watching where we step until we reach the fence of trees, and then, under their cover, run to the beach.

Alpin replied that he was going to eat all the figs fall who might, because he was really hungry and had a bodyguard. I suddenly remembered something my mum had once told me.

“I know what Michael means, Alpin. My mum once told me never to go near banyan trees for any reason whatever. She said they were the refuge of kaphres, outlaw spirits who cannot live in society. They respect no rules and have no conscience nor code of ethics. And they are not naturally kind-hearted. It is dangerous to deal with them because you can’t tell how they will behave.”

“I know how this one is going to react when he sees us,” said Michael. “Besides being a kaphre, which is what spirits that live in banyans are called, this fellow has turned pirate. Look at his flag.

There was a sort of clothes line tied to two branches of the tree. Two or three socks and a red cloth were hanging from it.

“You’re paranoid,” said Alpin. “That’s not the Jolly Roger. That’s probably a rag to dust the tree with. It hasn’t got a skull or bones. And it’s not black. It’s red.”

Michael explained the authentic Jolly Roger wasn’t named after a merry bloke called Roger at all. The flag had a French nickname, la jolie rougier, the pretty red flag. The real flag real pirates flew when they were done parleying and meant to attack giving no quarter was a plain red one.

“Well,” said Alpin, “so what? I mean to eat the fruit of this sinister tree even if its owner is a devil from the deep blue sea because that is why I have a bodyguard ready to die for me. C´mon, Curmudgeon, get up that tree and bring down my breakfast.”

Curmudgeon bounced to the top of the tree before Michael or I could say a word of protest. But his fingers had barely grazed the first piece of fruit he meant to pick before the earth began to tremble below us and a not distant enough voice was heard to sing.

“Arr, arr, arreee!

I love to live by the sea!

For a pirate and kaphre I be!

My self esteem reflects my might!

I make my way kicking left and right!

I take what I want and you don’t want what I give!

Arr, arr, arreee! By the sea I love to live!

For a pirate and kaphre am I!

A kaphre with a coffer is a happy man!

And my chest has more treasures than a beach grains of sand!

Arr, arr, arreee! A pirate and kaphre I be!

I needn’t rise early, I can sleep until late,

But today I’ve three sharks on my breakfast plate!

There’s killer whales to be had for lunch,

For yesterday I fished up a bunch.

And when it’s five and time for tea,

I’ll tear yer guts right out of ye,

And eat them flambéed in rum!

For a pirate and a kaphre I am!”

"What have we here?"