The kitcar had reposed inside the hut for such a great length of time that its innards seemed to have seized up. Under the driver's gentle ministrations the engine coughed vigorously several times and then ceased. The large crowd round the vehicle clustered closer, all shouting instructions to him, while he leant out of the window and abused them roundly. This went on for some time, and then the driver climbed out and tried to crank her up. This was even less successful, and when he had exhausted himself, he handed the crank to a councillor and went and sat on the running-board for a rest. The councillor hitched up his robes and struggled manfully with the crank, but was unable to rouse the engine to life.
The crowd, which now numbered about fifty people, all clamoured for a turn, so the councillor handed the job over to them and joined the driver on the running-board. A disgraceful fight broke out among the crowd as to who would have first turn, and everyone was shouting and pushing and snatching the crank from one another. The uproar attracted the attention of the Fon, and he drained his glass and stalked over to the veranda rail, scowling angrily. He leant over and glared down at the road.
Wah I he roared suddenly. Start dat motor!
The crowd fell silent, and all turned to look up at the veranda, while the driver and council member jumped off the running-board and rushed round to the front of the car with an amazing display of enthusiasm. This was somewhat spoilt by the fact that when they did arrive there, the crank was missing. Uproar started again, with everyone accusing everyone else of having lost it. It was found eventually, and the two of them made several more ineffectual attempts to get the engine started.
By now I was beginning to feel rather ill and not at all brave. My hand and forearm had swollen considerably, and were inflamed and painful. I was also getting shooting pains across my shoulders, and my hand felt as though it was grasping a red-hot coal.
It would take me about an hour to reach the doctor, I thought, and if the kitcar did not start soon, there would be little point in going at all. The driver, having nearly ruptured himself in his efforts to crank, was suddenly struck by a brilliant idea. They would push the car. He explained his idea to the crowd, and it was greeted with exclamations of delight and acclamation. The driver got in and the crowd swarmed round behind the kitcar and began to push. Grunting rhythmically, they pushed the kitcar slowly down the road, round the corner, and out of sight.
Soon e go start, smiled the Fon encouragingly, pouring me some more brandy, den you go reach doctor one time.
you tink e go start? I asked sceptically.
yes, yes, ma friend, said the Fon, looking hurt; na my kitcar dis, na foine one. e go start small time, no go fear.
Presently we heard the grunting again, and, on looking over the veranda rail, we saw the kitcar appear round the corner, still being propelled by what seemed to be the entire population of Bafut. It crept towards us like a snail, and then, just as it reached the bottom step, the engine gave a couple of preliminary hiccoughs and then roared into life. The crowd screamed with delight and began to caper about in the road.
E done start, explained the Fon proudly, in case I had missed the point of the celebrations.
The driver manoeuvred the car through the archway into the courtyard, turned her round, and swept out on to the road again, impatiently tootling his horn and narrowly missing his erstwhile helpers. The Fon and I drained our glasses and then marched down the seventy-five steps. At the bottom the Fon clasped me to his bosom and gazed earnestly into my face. It was obvious that he wanted to say something that would encourage and sustain me on my journey. He thought deeply for a moment.
My friend, he said at last, if you go die I get sorry too much.
Not daring to trust my voice, I clasped his hand in what I hoped was a suitably affected manner, climbed into the kitcar and we were off, bouncing and jerking down the road, leaving the Fon and his subjects enveloped in a large cloud of red dust.
Three-quarters of an hour later we drew up outside the doctor's house with an impressive squealing of brakes. The doctor was standing outside gloomily surveying a flower-bed.
He looked at me in surprise when I appeared, and then, coming forward to greet me, he peered closely into my face.
what have you been bitten by? he inquired.
how did you know I'd been bitten? I asked, rather startled by this rapid diagnosis.
your pupils are tremendously distended, explained the doctor with professional relish. what was it?
a snake. I don't know what kind, but it hurts like hell. I don't suppose there was really much use in my coming in to you. There's no serum to be had, is there?
Василий Кузьмич Фетисов , Евгений Ильич Ильин , Ирина Анатольевна Михайлова , Константин Никандрович Фарутин , Михаил Евграфович Салтыков-Щедрин , Софья Борисовна Радзиевская
Приключения / Публицистика / Детская литература / Детская образовательная литература / Природа и животные / Книги Для Детей