My father the King

My father the King.
Rico and Ijabelle walked across the bridge over the water that surrounded the palace. The huge doors opened as soon as Ijabelle neared them and they walked inside.
"It is the biggest building I have ever been in. Rico declared. "I cannot believe you live here alone. The staircase by their feet dwarfed and dazzled them, every step was painted a different colour.
"My brothers and sisters all have palaces of their own on separate islands.
Rico looked out of the window. He could see no other building; just water, trees and sand. The trees looked taller and thinner than the ones near his own cottage, the fruit that they bore looked juicier, and the sight of them made him thirsty, on seeing it he longed to squeeze the juice from the skin and taste it for himself. As he looked out, he realised how long it had been since he had had eaten, since he had anything to drink. As though sensing his hunger, Ijabelle opened a door to a huge banqueting hall, where food was laid out on a table as though it was to feed a thousand.

"This is the dining room." Ijabelle explained. "We have two cooks. Ijabelle told Rico, sensing the amazement on his face as he weighed up the amount of food. "An old lady and her daughter, who have looked after me since I was born. They come here three times a day to lay the table with food. Even if I am not here, if I am in Lelle or Erore or Sehhey, they still prepare the food and take great care in its presentation.
"Why? Rico asked, placing a diced pieced of lopuy into his mouth.
"It is how it has always been done. she explained, motioning towards Rico to sit down. He took the seat opposite the Princesses, after taking time to ponder his many options around the huge table. Rico filled his plate, not certain what he was eating. A triangular silver dish contained a piping hot liquid, steam clouded the air in the shape of exclamation marks. A wooden board overflowed with cheye bones. Rico picked one up between his thumb and middle finger and brought it to his mouth, juice dripped over the silk that covered the table, making the cloth pink and blotchy.
"Do not worry about making a mess. the Princess reassured Rico, noticing him trying to wipe away the marks with the sleeve of his shirt. "It is the best part of eating.
Next was the cheye fur, which was golden and fluffy. Rico held back on sampling it for himself until he had seen Ijabelle take some. He watched as she used a tiny knife to slice a square from the stretched out roll that covered a quarter of the table. She folded the square once, twice and rolled it around her tongue. He copied her actions exactly, and she smiled as he did so, amused by the repetition.
"You will never have tried these foods before?
Rico nodded.
"I will give you a treat. she told him, and covered Rico's eyes with a serviette from the table. She knotted it tightly, waggling her fingers in front of his covered retinas to make sure that he did not flinch, that he could not see a thing. She spoon-fed him from a golden pot that acted as a centre-piece to the table. The crusts of the balls were as blue as Ijabelle's eyes, the texture of them as soft as her skin. As she eased the dezure balls into his mouth, he nodded in approval at the sensation against his tongue, and as he sunk his teeth in, the juice was gooey and warm. Before he had even finished the fist dezure ball, she put another into his mouth. He managed to chew, chew and digest, but Ijabelle giggled and squeezed a third into his mouth, followed by another, and then another. Unable to either breathe or swallow, Rico wriggled free from her and desperately tried to digest the food, but she infected him with the giggles, and even the most basic action proved to be beyond him. Unable to breathe, he coughed the dezure balls into his cupped hands. Ijabelle untied the blindfold and Rico looked at her, his laughter stopping abruptly by the discomfort of the sensation of goo in his hands in front of a Princess. She whistled in a high, continuous shrill, and a bird flew in, landing on Rico's wrist, and pecked at the dezure mush as though it was a meal prepared specially for it.

The bird had long plumes of cherry red, it's breast was sapphire blue. It looked like it had been painted by a child. As it made contact with Rico's skin, it looked up at the Princesses face, and both Ijabelle and the bird flashed identical smiles, and their eyes glinted with the same sparkle.

As the bird finished off the last remnant of dezure goo, Ijabelle filled two glasses with wine, took a sip from one and left the other for Rico.
"What is it? Rico asked, not entirely comfortable with the creature covering the palms of his hands with spit.
"It is my chemore. She has lived here since before I was born. She belonged to my father, the King.
"She is tiny.
"Yes. She flew into our home when my father was a boy, and he insisted that they keep her. His mother was completely against it. She hated all animals, and most humans too. So they came to an agreement, they would keep the chemore, but let the creature itself decide whether or not to stay. They would not cage her, and all windows would be left at least partially open. And the bird has stayed in the Palace ever since. She has never been caged, has never been further than the water that surrounds the Palace, where she drinks water every morning.
The chemore flew from Rico's hands and rested on the thumb of the Princesses left hand, as though she knew she was being talked about. Rico took the opportunity to sip his wine.
"Its breed and origin we do not know; nobody has ever seen another bird that even remotely resembles it. 'The Royal Bird' is how it has officially been named. An expert on birds requested to come to our Palace to inspect it for himself. He collects names of all birds, and sketches them. He has over seven thousand drawings, all of which are stunningly life like, as though the pages could fold over and the birds would fly away. It is possible he has visited Gtani. His aim was to visit every island he could.
Rico nodded. "I have heard my father speak of him. I remember seeing him myself
"He was a fascinating man. He sat in the seat you are in now.
Rico looked down at where he was sat, and at how close it was to Ijabelle's chair.
"Do you have many visitors? Rico asked, not wanting to speak of the bird man any longer, remembering the way he had been in Gtani, the way he had looked at Amando's eldest daughters and Sarilla.
Ijabelle shook her head to his question. "I very rarely have company. Princes and Princesses from other islands come occasionally, but they are not occasions which I look forward to. I think I am at my happiest here, alone. Or perhaps on Lelle in front of thousands, like this morning.
"I hope you are not too unhappy here with me now? Rico asked. Ijabelle laughed, and he was pleased she had taken his worry to be a light hearted aside.
"I am happy here with you. she said, and offered him the bowl of dezure balls. He waved his hands as though the idea disgusted him, his mouth still burning with the flavours, his hands still sticky with the residue. Ijabelle put two dezure balls into her mouth and allowed them to bulge on the inside of both cheeks. It was a sight that Lelle would never see. Rico watched her disregard vanity as she flapped her arms like a dezure, glaring at him with her puffed out cheeks as though he were her prey. As Rico finished the last of the food on his plate, Ijabelle stood up and the chemore flew away through an archway into another room.
"There are many rooms in this palace. she announced. "It would be a shame to spend so much time in just one. Besides, by the time I have shown you around there will be a new spread of food for us to gorge on. Rico wiped his mouth with the serviette that had covered his eyes, and got to his feet.

"This is the balcony. the Princess said to Rico. The chemore was already there, perched on the rails that they leant on as they looked out at the view. The double doors lead on from the dining room, and with their backs to the dezure balls and cheye fur, they could see across the whole island.
"It feels like we are the only people here. Rico said, admiring the view.
"We are. Ijabelle told him.
"I do not mean in the palace. I mean on the island.
"We are. Ijabelle repeated, enjoying the confusion on Rico's face. "It is only me who lives on the island. I have it completely to myself. Rico was amazed. "It has always been this way. My father hated anything which interfered with his privacy. It is why he had the island emptied. One day he assembled all of his boats on the shore, a lot of which had been specially made. Every islander was instructed to leave the island that very afternoon. They were allocated boats, and the north side of the island went to Lelle, the south to Hopo, the east to Huranki and the west were told they had to set sail to Antigua. And since that day no-one outside of our family has lived here.
"I can scarcely believe it.
"I did not realise how bad it was until recently. I was only a small girl when it happened. I think he did it out of worry for me. He was always very concerned about me.
"Clearly!
The Princess laughed but it had not been intended to be a joke. She still laughed as they walked back through the dining room, up the steps and into the room that lay at the far end of the corridor, the door closed.

"This is where my father slept. she told him. "I do not go in here anymore. Ijabelle's voice was graver than Rico had heard it before. "I do not even know why I brought you in here. I am sure you do not wish to see the scene of an old man's death.
She giggled nervously.

The room rippled with grandeur. The crowns he once wore were placed on a ledge, every jewel gleamed as though it had been polished that morning. A drawing hung on the wall, a King in full regal costume. Rico gestured towards it. "Is that him? he asked. Ijabelle nodded, but Rico had already worked out that it was. He had never seen a man with white skin before. The appearance intrigued him.
"Who drew the picture?
"I did. the Princess said proudly. "Drawing is something I am passionate about. More so than anything else. My work as a Princess is something which I cherish, and governing Lelle is a huge honour which thrills me every day. But it is when I am drawing that I am happiest. Do you draw?
"Badly.
"You should try more. Keep practising, you will improve. My father encouraged me to draw a different object every day. A bed. My chemore. Rose petals. A human hand. And one day I decided to draw him. This picture¦ she said, pointing back at the drawing on the wall, the vivid colours, the glorious shapes, the life like wrinkles and glints "was completed in the time it took my father to drink a single glass of wine. And he drinks even quicker than you. I drew it shortly before he died and is the possession that I could not do without. It has been a great comfort to me since his death. You miss your father.
It was a question rather than a statement. As she asked it the chemore flew in and circled the room as though there was going to be a storm. It settled on a cushion on the bed
"It is a shame he is not here. Rico admitted. "He would love a picture like that of himself. I would too. It would be the most precious thing either of us ever owned.
"Then I will draw one.
Rico looked at her, confused. Ijabelle sensed this. "You would like to know how!
Rico nodded. "It is simple. she said, and walked out of the room, returning a moment later with a blank jjen canvas and a tiny pencil.
"Think of him smiling. she said, sitting down and resting the canvas on her knee. "Picture one occasion in the past when he was happy. Do not tell me about it, just hold the pictures inside your mind. she said, pencil poised. Rico sat where he was, and searched through his memories as though it was a scrapbook.
Rico thought of standing in the fields behind his cottage as a child. He was with his brother Wayah. The adults in Gtani had challenged the youngsters to a balli match. It had been Amando's idea, and ultimately he was the one responsible for the adults losing, as the men of the island regularly reminded him. Rico had played well, everybody had said so, excluding Jessiah. But the look in the great man's eyes and the comfort in the pat on the back at the end of the game told Rico that his father was proud. At the end of the game, when Heranga Ale was flowing and Rico received the plaudits of a lifetime, Jessiah did not say a word. He sipped his drink and listened contentedly, nodding his head with the rhythm of the conversation.

But Ijabelle did not draw a thing. The thoughts in Rico's head stumbled to nothing, and soon the pictures in his mind were not of the fields behind the cottage, the way he ran with the balliball at his feet. He could no longer taste the Heranga Ale, smell the freshly mowed grass and the scent of victory. He could just see the Princess and the pencil in her hand.
"Think of another occasion. she told him, her voice soft.
Thinking of more times in which Jessiah was happy was not difficult. Rico pictured the day the tobben were born. Yehudi the Carpenter bred the animals himself in the meadow at the back of his workshop. The most lively tobben with the most vivid colours he would keep in one part of the garden, where he would feed them and play with them throughout the day. When tobs were born, Yehudi would keep some of them for himself until they were fully grown tobben. The brightest and quickest tobben he would reserve for special friends, the rest he would make available at the market. Almost every tob and tobben on Gtani was a product of Yehudi. When Jessiah had requested two new born tobben, it was a pleasure for Yehudi to pick his finest two tobben, nurture them, feed them and breed them. Jessiah insisted on being at their birth, the howling of the female unsettled him slightly, he hated to see pain. But when the tobben came out, with fur the colours of a sunset he was delighted. He played with them from waking up until falling asleep. They would sleep with him in the bedroom, they would visit the villagers with him, they would eat and drink with him. Jessiah was rarely without his tobben.

Still Ijabelle had not etched a mark onto the jjen canvas. "Think again. she said. Rico nodded. But this time it was not so easy. There was not one single event, nothing equivalent to the balli match entered his mind, nothing had replicated the birth of the tobben for pure pleasure in the old man's life. The only image Rico could muster was of his father, sat alone on the wooden porch of the cottage with a glass of Tang's red wine in his hand, reading Li Tikka. It was a scene he had witnessed often, sometimes he would sit there with his father, not saying anything, just enjoying the old man's presence, watching the way his beard jostled when he laughed, looking at the patterns of the ripples on the surface of the wine as Jessiah's laugh reverberated from the floorboards. As he recalled this, the Princess started to draw.
"You must not tell me what you are thinking. At least not now. she told him. "Just hold it in there. And the two sat in silence, one of them sketching, the other reminiscing. Rico could picture the scene with such clarity, smell the wine, hear the chuckle. It was as though his companion was not the Princess, but his father, the setting not a palace but his own cottage. Curious, he tried to crane his neck to see what the artiste was sketching.
"Do not look! she said, sternly, but with a laugh. "It will spoil the surprise. And besides, we are not done yet. I need you to concentrate some more. I have a new task for you to do. Think of a time¦ she said, cross hatching detail into her sketch, "¦that your father was sad. But this time you need to tell me about it. I need to hear the words you chose.
Rico sat back in his chair. The picture of his father on the wooden porch had relaxed him. This had made him feel uncomfortable again.
"It was when my mother died. he said. He had needed no time to think of his words. The occasion was all to vivid to him. "She had an accident while riding her horse. It stumbled and she catapulted across into bracken. Me and my father saw it all. The worst thing, he said, in a voice so grave that Ijabelle stopped her sketching. "was when they told us she was getting better. Even the chemore looked at the floor. "After she died my father could not be consoled, there was no comfort in him anymore. Our cottage turned icy cold. To the people of Jessiah he had not changed at all, he still spoke to them as though he was the happiest man on the island.
Ijabelle sketched frantically.
"Inside, Rico continued, "bits of us gradually heat up. And then finally, inside, we melt. That is what happened to him the day my mother died.
Ijabelle made her final swoosh on the jjen canvas, and with it her piece was complete. Teasing Rico, she turned it to him so gradually that the portrait on the canvas aged while she did so.

When he was face to face with his father again after such a long time he was so stunned he could not say a word. After a moment, Ijabelle nudged him.
"And? she asked, keen for a critique.
"How? he asked, incredulously.
"It was not difficult. she explained.
"It is the background. Rico told her. "It is Gtani. The cottage in the distance, he pointed at it, the size of a fingernail. "It is ours. The tiny chimney, the green shutters, the inscom fence. How did you know?
"You pictured it while you were thinking of your childhood. It is why I asked you to do it. the Princess explained, as though she were explaining something elementary. "But you have chosen the exact colour. he told her, pointing at the mountains that soared behind the main focus of the drawing. Ijabelle grinned coyly.
"And that is your father? she asked. Rico looked at the length of the hair, the darkness of the skin, and a shiver went down his spine. The lips had been captured with such clarity that he sensed they were about to say 'hello.' The small details were all so life-like, the freckle on the rosy earlobes, the nail bitten fingers. Ijabelle presented the jjen canvas to him, as though he had won it in a competition.
"For you. she said. "To take back to Gtani.
"Sometimes, he told her, "I feel I have no desire to ever be in Gtani again. Ijabelle smiled. She rested the drawing by the wall, underneath the one of her own father. As though perturbed by the two men's presence, the Princess walked out of the room, and Rico followed her. The chemore stayed where she was.

"This is my bedroom. she said. Rico's heart skipped a beat. He ran his fingers along the outline of the four poster bed, and thought the sheets to be the softest he had ever touched.