264. The Culprit

 264. The Culprit  

As the next day was Sunday, I went to play golf with Grandpa, already having decided that I was going to dare to ask him to do something to help Malrose and Betabel, though I know he thinks that each rope should hold its sail, meaning people should do things themselves, and that he doesn’t take kindly to being bothered.

So when we were done playing, and he was looking content with how the morning had gone, I braved up and said, “Grandpa, are you aware of what is going on at Malrose’s orchards?”

And he said, “You think that I do know or that I don’t?”

“Is it aliens? From outer space?”

“Not on my island. Never! And no one is alien to me, you see.”

“Well, whatever this is about, what I think of  it is that someone should put a stop to it.”

“Well, you yourself can do that then. Why not? Speak to your  Aunt Jocosa,” said Grandpa.

My jaw dropped, as I suddenly realized who was behind what was happening to my poor brother and the even more to be pitied Betabel.

“Can I tell Jocosa you want her to stop fooling with my brother and his girlfriend’s sister?”

“If you feel you need to,” shrugged Grandpa. “You can, you know. Everyone puts words in my mouth. And she won’t come here to ask me if I really said this or that.”

“Why is she even allowed to live on this island?” I asked, feeling very indignant about what the Jocose Gang was doing to my brother and how they were manipulating poor, sincere Betabel.

“You want me to outlaw laughter?”

“But this isn’t funny!”

Again, Grandpa shrugged.

“I agree it’s not. But Jocosa probably finds this hilarious. Look, after you speak to her, I suggest you ask that person you consider your uncle-”

It was rude of me, but I got ahead of him.

“I can ask Uncle Gen to kick her out of here? That’s fine with you?”

“I suggest you ask that person you just mentioned to thunder and rain till it looks like the sky is falling on Chicken Little after all. So nobody will want to lynch your little friend. Or Jocosa. For doing nothing but entertain all the nitwits who don’t have enough with the peaceful, untroubled lives I have gifted them with.”

So that was how Grandpa saw it. He had turned Apple Island into a space of bliss and the people who lived there were happy with that. Once in a while, outsiders managed to sneak in and disturb the peace. There was a bit of a storm, but it cleared and things were right again almost immediately. And that was what was happening al Malrose’s.

“Try not to involve me in this mess, will you, eh? You can speak some nonsense in my name if you find you have no authority yourself, so many do, but don't go too far.” 

“I will,” I promised. “Why hasn’t Uncle Gentlerain set things right yet? Is he waiting for you to tell him to?”

“Wait? Him? Not even seated. I don’t give the individual you are calling your uncle orders. He wouldn’t take them anyway. But I know as I know him that he himself will restore everything he razes once he has stormed. Now tell me, for this does interest me, what plans does your Uncle Richearth have for the ait?”

“I don’t know, but the devils were stalking him. That’s what made me decide to speak to you. I know you don’t like for Uncle Rich to be in contact with them.”

“Hmm. They will always be stalking him. He’s exactly what they are not. My son's style  is circular, Arley. He gets, he gives. He gets again, he gives again. His hands are long but they open very easily. That’s how it should be. Problems begin when there is no reciprocity. Do tell him not to go too far with his plans for the ait. He tends to overdo everything he does, you’re aware of that, eh?  I don’t want a Disneyland on the eyot. Malrose has a right to keep his orchards and to grow his crops in peace like he has been doing. A little temple or shrine will make a pretty landmark on the thirteenth hill, and allow Betabel to save face even though the worlds haven’t ended. A picturesque, narrow path leading to it and a tiny gift shop too will do nicely. And a fountain. We ought to have a fountain, don’t you think? The potable water there is sweet and comforting, even more beneficial than anywhere else on Apple Island, because of the confluence of the two rivers. And the water we have here is the best in both worlds, so no harm in giving out little bottles of it that will inspire people to feel good and do good, is there? Or to take offerings in exchange of these. Richie will put what he gets to good use. You understand what I am suggesting you do?”

“I hope so,” I said.

“Don’t worry about the devils. They were there to claim Ruinothers and Thrivemeself and remove them from the premises. That is no business of yours right now, lad. Don’t delve into that. Let the frondeurs do their business. You do yours.”

Now, I wasn’t too confident about having to go see Aunt Jocosa. I was chicken at the thought of the booby traps she must have set round her house. But one has to do what one has to do, and after lunching with Grandpa on Rhubarbarum’s infamous shepherd’s pot pie, resource dish that he prepares whenever he is in a vile mood, and would rather not cook, I set off for the cagey woman’s ideal home. At least, to help me advance on the road, there was really good amarena and mascarpone gelato for dessert. Made with cherries from Malrose’s cherry orchards, of course.