Marie And The Peacock

Marie bent down awkwardly and gathered a handful of gravel. She
leaned against the water butt to steady herself and grimaced with pain.
"Damn back," she muttered. All this time, the creature pecked and
nibbled away at the geraniums, moving deliberately through them and
trampling them with his great clawed feet.

"Take that, you scoundrel," hissed Marie as she drew her arm back and
aimed her missile at the invader. The gravel scattered all around the
big bird who squawked and flapped with more indignation than
fear.

"Get out of my sight and don't come back," Marie shouted after him. He
was destroying her few remaining flowers in his bumbling escape.
"Blasted nuisance."

She hobbled through the tiny garden, grumbling to herself, until she
reached the gate. There, she rested and watched the bird strutting
through the village towards the fountain.

"Just look at him," she muttered to herself. "He acts as though he owns
the place. Comes and goes as he pleases. Couldn't care less." She
pushed a stray strand of hair under her tattered straw hat and shook
her fist after the bird.
"Next time, I'll shoot you," she cursed and shuffled back to her
dilapidated old chair in the shade of the porch.

The heat was stifling. Marie had dropped her knitting and was dozing
quietly when a convoy of cars stopped in the square.
"Ah," she sighed, peering lazily through one eye. "The foreigners have
arrived."

A mass of sweating people emerged from the cars and descended noisily
onto the house opposite. Marie watched as they made innumerable
journeys from cars to house, carrying suitcases, canvas bags, cardboard
boxes, carrier bags. It seemed endless. She fanned herself slowly with
an old newspaper and watched the show. There was a good deal of
shrieking and shouting going on in the house. That would be the
woman.

"Charles. Where's the emergency box? You haven't forgotten it again,
have you?"
A thin stooped man tumbled down the steps and ran for the car. He
rummaged anxiously in the boot.
An even thinner woman with a shrewish face scuttled after him and
bleated, "Hurry up, Charles. I need those things now."

Marie could see that Charles had turned quite purple and was sweating
profusely. The rest of the group had gathered expectantly in the
doorway.

"I'm sorry, Amanda, I can't seem to find it." He turned to face the
exasperated woman and muttered guiltily, "Sorry, darling."

Marie sat up and snorted. "Sorry, darling," she mimicked. She watched
the woman shove her husband roughly to one side and disappear into the
boot herself. If she had treated Marcel like that in front of his
friends, she would have felt the back of his hand, and quite right too.
"These foreign men," she sneered with derision, and then it happened.
The big bird thudded down on the roof of the car with a piercing shriek
and jumped and flapped while the car shook and shuddered beneath him.
Charles shot for the house like a bullet, leaving a screaming Amanda
half in, half out of the rollicking vehicle.

The bird danced and shrieked some more and then took off triumphantly
over the hedge. Marie's shoulders heaved behind her newspaper. Screams
were still emerging from the car. Then, a posse of men scuttled from
the doorway and carried the hysterical woman to safety. Marie could
hold it no longer. She threw back her head and howled with laughter
until her sides hurt. If only Marcel could have seen that. The
scoundrel. She missed him these days.

"Madame, hello. How lovely to see you again." Marie looked up from her
weeding and saw the woman beaming at her over the hedge. Before Marie
had time to reply or put down her trowel, Amanda was through the gate
and swooping down on her. She made a great deal of kissing her on both
cheeks, leaving Marie feeling mauled and irritated. Nevertheless, she
made a polite gesture towards the chair on the porch.

"No, I can only stay a moment, Madame. We've brought lots of our
friends this year and they all think it's marvellous down here so we're
going to take them around and about and show them our favourite
places." Amanda leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "We'll
have to swear them to secrecy, of course. We don't want hordes of
ghastly tourists swarming around, do we?" She threw back her head and
whinnied with laughter.
Marie observed Amanda warily. She would never understand these people
with their strange habits.

"Well, I must rush. Lots to do. Just popped by to say hello and let you
know we're here."
Marie gave a nod of acknowledgement. Did the woman think she was
deaf?

Nobody could miss Amanda. She was a loud woman for her small size, the
kind of woman Marcel had despised for lacking any feminine charm. She
must have money, he would have said, because she has nothing else that
could interest a man.

Amanda was heading for the gate when she stopped dead in her tracks.
The peacock was blocking her way out, pecking around in the ditch at
the edge of the garden. Marie picked up an old lemon from the
windowsill and aimed it.
"Be off, you beast. Keep out of my garden," she hissed. She was
unprepared for Amanda's screeching defence of her attacker.

"No, no, Madame. Don't hurt it," she wailed. "It is a sacred creature
of the gods." And she ran out of the gate in pursuit of the bird, who
had taken itself off at a trot for the coppice. Marie shook her head
slowly. No doubt that was how the woman had ensnared her poor husband.
Charles was, at that moment, standing on a chair and rubbing earnestly
at the roof of his car. He smiled indulgently after his wife as she ran
by. His mouth hung open and the sweat dripped down his hollow
cheeks.
"Sacred creature of the gods," muttered Marie to herself, and, picking
up her trowel, went back to weeding her bedraggled flowerbed and
remembering the times Marcel had pursued her through the coppice, a
long time ago.

"Be careful, Charles. What do you think you're doing?"
"I am being careful, darling, but it's terribly heavy."
Marie was curious. What was happening now in the circus across the way?
She flicked her duster over Marcel's photo and stepped out onto the
porch. Charles seemed to be singlehandedly lifting a bulky wooden crate
out of a van. Amanda was running around him, waving her arms in the air
and shouting instructions. The crate had bars down one side and
something was flopping around inside. Marie strained to see what it
was, but she was unable to get a good view because Amanda was jumping
and skipping around Charles like a soul possessed.

"Don't drop it, Charles. No. This way. This way." Amanda was frantic
and the commotion was stirring up whatever was inside the crate. It was
jumping and skipping too.

Charles was in a desperate state. "Get help," he gasped. "I can't hold
it much longer."
Amanda ran, wildly excited, towards the house. "Phyllis," she screamed.
"Darling, call the men. Quickly. Quickly." She ran back to Charles, who
was breathing heavily under the weight of the swaying crate.
"Charles," she screamed again, "you're going to have a heart attack if
you're not careful."

Charles bobbed to and fro in synchrony with the crate which had taken
on a life of its own. His face was the colour of cement now and his
eyes were blurred and confused.

"Stupid woman," grumbled Marie. "Help him or he will fall down dead."
She threw down her duster and was hobbling down the steps to help the
poor man herself, when all hell let loose. The crate and its contents
finally proved too much for Charles. He leaned just a little bit too
far to the left and the whole caboodle slid down his back and split
open, pinning him underneath it. Amanda gave out a blood-curdling
scream. The creature, which had been incarcerated in the crate, made a
dash for freedom. Marie heard the now familiar piercing scream and fell
back as yet another peacock vaulted her hedge and made a beeline for
the coppice.

Then, Amanda flew by, holding her head in her hands and shrieking,
"Catch her, catch her."
Marie leaned over the gate and wondered at the mayhem that the peacock
had created in the village.
Amanda was now running back towards the house, screeching for Charles.
"You've lost her Charles. You let her get away."

Marie shifted to get a better view.

"Charles. Charles," wailed the distraught Amanda. She was trying to
pull her husband out from the mess of wood and straw, but he was limp
and heavy. The commotion had brought out the friends who stood around
the car, rigid with shock.

Marie hesitated for a moment, then did the only sensible thing. She
hobbled back to the house to phone for the doctor.

It was not long after that the doctor called in on Marie. She was
talking to Marcel at the time, or rather talking to his photograph,
something she found herself doing more and more these days.

"Everything all right, Marie?" the doctor called from the porch. Marie
got up painfully and went over to greet him. She knew that he had heard
her talking to someone. He looked momentarily puzzled to find her alone
but she felt no need to explain. He would be old himself one day.

"Come in, Jean-Jacques," she invited warmly. She had known him since he
was a boy. "And how is our neighbour?"
"Oh, he is fine now. He just needs to rest and to get away from his
wife for a while." The doctor chuckled. "I told her that he must stay
in bed and do nothing for a week. She looked very cross."
Marie looked sternly at him. "You always were a wicked boy," she
teased. "But you did well. She treats him badly, that one."

"Did you know that she sent him off to buy a wife for that damned
peacock?" The doctor gave a snort of indignation. "She's a crazy
woman." He raised his hands in mock despair and headed out to the porch
again. Marie followed, shaking her head wryly.
"You mean that I shall soon have a whole peacock family trampling
through my flowerbeds?" she protested.
"Don't worry about it," he replied breezily. "I'm sure they wiil be off
soon."

He waved from the gate and was gone, but Marie was left with
uncomfortable memories from long ago, memories that she would rather
have kept locked away. She was surprised that the pain stabbed her as
sharply as it had done fifty years ago when Marcel had returned to the
village with a young wife.

Marie did not know where the peacock and his hen had gone but she was
relieved not to have them in her garden. The foreigners were more
subdued. Charles lay supine most of the day on a low bed under a tree
and Amanda had grown very affectionate towards him, staying by his side
reading and holding his hand. The friends had moved on after the
accident. Marie thought she might wander over and see how the
unfortunate Charles was recuperating.

"Shhh." Amanda tiptoed over to the hedge when she saw Marie. "The
doctor said that Charles must rest" She glanced back at her husband
with a strained expression. "I almost lost him, you know." Her eyes
grew large and plaintive. "It was frightful."

Marie looked from one to the other and despaired of understanding
anything.
"And the peacocks&;#8230;?" she enquired delicately.

"Peacocks," exclaimed Amanda. "Don't mention those peacocks." She
glanced again at Charles. "They almost killed Charles." She wrung her
hands and put on a tortured face. "I've got to get him home soon. He
must see a specialist."
Charles groaned a little and turned his head.

"No, don't move, darling. I'm right here." Amanda grasped Marie's hand
for a moment, gave her an alarming smile and scuttled back to Charles.
"I'm coming, darling. Don't worry."

Marie ambled back through her garden. It was true. Women always looked
after their men. They couldn't help it. Look at her and Marcel. He
always came back to her when his luck ran out and she always took him
in. What else could she do?

The shutters were closed in the house opposite. Amanda had taken
Charles home to see his specialist. Marie sat on the porch and thought
of them. They seemed so ridiculous but they did care for each other
after all. There was no telling sometimes. Everyone had been down on
Marcel too, with his comings and goings, and his women, but he had come
home in the end. He had come back to her, even if he had been dying. At
least she could say that she had made his last days comfortable. She
was getting maudlin now,so she picked up her trowel and went down to
the garden to tidy up her flowerbeds. And there she saw them, coming
down the road. She came first, an ordinary looking thing, drab even.
Then he came behind, dragging his glorious tale through the dust,
following her every move. She pecked in the dirt, ignoring him, but he
kept her in sight every moment. Marie stood quietly watching them. Who
would have guessed? She had captured his heart. Well, for now at least.
The peacock and his wife. Marie wondered if Charles and Amanda would
like to know that their mission had been successful. Perhaps not, after
all that had happened. The peacock reminded her for all the world of
Marcel, following her around, waiting for her to show him affection. He
could be an angel at times. She watched them go by, opening her gate
and stepping into the lane to watch them until they were out of
sight.

When Marie went back to her house in the fading light, she left her
gate open. She glanced back from the porch at the open gate, at the
bedraggled garden. She looked over at the closed shutters of the house
opposite. She remembered the foreigners. She remembered Marcel, the
strong smell of his cigarettes. She could smell them now, the pungent
mustiness that inpregnated his clothes. She settled down in her chair
on the porch and pulled Marcel's old blanket tightly around her. She
felt very happy there as she waited for him to come home.