Les Animeaux - Part VII

Story — Four

Chapter One


A Remembrance of Past Things — Pyrates and Treasure

Summer had descended on Ottawa, and had hit hard. Soon it was apparent that shorts, loud cotton shirts, broad-brimmed straw hats with paisley hat bands, regimental berets and woven leather sandals were the order of the day amongst the always smartly turned out Animeaux.

Equally in vogue were lengthy discussions about the sizzling weather. Albert, Beauregard, and of course both the weather-beating Rhinosasaurises truly enjoyed the heat of the season, and spent many hours trying out new colours of zinc oxide for their noticeable noses, and looking for new, airy and distinctly fashionable chapeau.

The Queen’s Own tolerated the heat, because of the Hawaiian shirts, mirrored sun glasses, loud surfing shorts, the co-ed volley ball games in the park, but mostly because of the many trips to the specialty ice-cream stores that it apparently justified.

(They were also in the process of getting some notes together for the design for a new Summer Meandering-about Uniform, in raw silk and a fine cream linen, designed for those more formal occasions that somehow always crept into their social calendars.)

Conversely, the Imperious TeddyBears spent a lot of effort lobbying for central air conditioning, and lolly gagging about in front of the big oscillating fan that had been bought for the now seemingly communal bedroom. They held pieces of chipped ice to their wrists, sipped pitchers of spiced iced tea, and thought continually of the cooling brusqueness of the autumn winds.

All had noticed that even Colonel Dugal had been reduced to slipping ice-cubes into his late evening “bracer”, so they knew that the heat was a sore trial for him. When he was fast asleep the Dragons took turns fanning him with their wings, though he never knew of it.

In spite of summer’s distractions, Callum had returned to his studies with renewed dedication, after winning the coveted “Blindfolded Triple-Backjump-with-Three-Twists” Cup at the Spring Nationals—bringing respectability and returning a small measure of “renown” to the Royal Rhinosasauris School of Medicine.

Haemish-Mór, to his credit had captured first place in the masters’ class. The sprained ankle, wrists and black eye were quite compensated by the flood of attention showered on him by the lycra-clad French Women’s Under 18 Team.

Miss Tanya was distinctly unimpressed, and explained this to him in great depth, during a rather spontaneous conversation in front of the Sauna Francais; after which he had matching eyes and she was filled with shame and remorse, cradling a hand almost as sore as Zita’s.

This is all to say that things were as normal as possible, or even likely at our house on Holmwood.

The Perennial Problem of Cash Flow.

Truthfully, Zita was very relieved that Callum was back in his correspondence medical school, as there had been no great progress with her hand, and she wanted some in-house advice on all the seemingly endless tests the various specialists had in store for her.

Because of all this to-ing and fro-ing from the hospitals, they kept the Nova active for the entire summer so that she could get to her appointments with comfort and a modicum of style. (Beauregard bought himself a black-visored cap with matching sunglasses, and claimed Chauffeuring as a fallback vocation.)

This meant that the house was now awash in automobiles and the Animeaux’s Ferrari collection was getting seriously under foot.

Beauregard’s Super Americana, and Dugal’s old Testa Rossa were continually hood-up in the back yard, having their oil and spark plugs changed as regularly as the two Animeaux changed their socks. Together they practiced begging in Italian. This amused the self-reliant and unrepentantly “Mar’can” Blue Car to no end.

Predictably, BT-McG thought the little red cars were very pretty, and quite ridiculous. He advised that they all get together and order an assortment of GMC. Suburbans, in Sagebrush White or British Racing Green. He felt that dinky little cars with no ground clearance and even less place to put the snowmobiles were pretty preposterous in Canada — it was his “Valley” upbringing you see. He wanted four-wheel drive, dozens of lights, skid plates, a power take-off, front and rear winches, a place for the girlfriend’s motorcycle, a couple of coolers for the peanut-butter and honey sandwiches and the lemon meringue pies, large wheels for driving over big rocks and the occasional poacher -- (All the Animeaux were quite down on poachers as you can imagine. He also thought that it would help if the insurance rates were rather less then the down payment for nice log house in Scotch Corners—the very little town where he intended to retire, with loads of money and even more friends.)

Though to be honest, when pressed, he admitted that his biases rather lacked the panache of Lance Bombardier Pigs’s graduation present. Their new Doctor, LB.(Spike) Pig had, with great surprise, received an antique Gull-Wing Mercedes from his very proud parents — as a reward for his third of the communal PhD Their massive mutual dissertation on “The Battle of Gettysburg and the Resulting Culinary Implications on the Growth of Manifest Destiny.”, had been the hit of the season and the three of them were basking pleasantly in the academic limelight and thinking about book publishing contracts and signing tours.

LB Pig’s car was not the only expensive German import in the house.

(The number of which actually had ceased as of late; especially after Zita had several curt telephone conversations with some wayward, and poorly informed Lufthansa representatives.)

Predictably all this automotive activity caused Callum to set about re-claiming his stored GTO - so that they could have a Fall Mercedes/Ferrari ‘From Here to an Expensive Restaurant Rally’.

(Haemish had been presented with the new Testa Rossa by the King of the Rhinosasaurises; for bringing a new page of glory and measurably good “press” to the Resplendent Redoubtables—and thereby ensuring that their small homeland was excluded from the “Fair Trade Practices Act” that had been pre-occupying the American Congress for several months before their courageous performance had occurred in New Orleans.)

This new automotive acquisition played no insignificant part in Callum’ sudden retrieval of his treasured, though neglected GTO; even though it meant having to disappoint Mademoiselle Deneuve, and miss their annual trip to the Concurs week at Monté this year. He was sure she would get over it, she had got over greater disappointments, he thought with a tinge of guilt.

Now the question of how they were going to afford the insurance and upkeep of all this automotive excess was quite beyond Craig. Each time Haemish needed to replace his rear tires, a not infrequent occurrence seeing that he usually found first gear at near 4,000 Rpm, the cost was nearly $800.00 and obviously priorities would have to be rearranged, or moderation in the driving techniques introduced — an unlikely suggestion as everyone knew.

Some nights when Craig and Zita got home late-ish, the neighbourhood air was thick with the smell of hot oil, cooling aluminum and scorched rubber. The side streets were covered in rather questionable dark stains. Inquiring about these situations typically brought a deafening silence, and upon searching the house they repeatedly found “The Guys” sitting around upstairs in the den trying to look innocent as they read aloud to each other from their collection of L.L. Bean catalogues; all smelling somewhat suspiciously of Mobile 1.

(Zita had long since started referring to Beauregard, Callum, Haemish, BT-McG and Albert, as “Her Guys” and they thought that this would be a good name for the new and very exclusive club that they were going to establish — when their ship came in. In off moments they amused themselves designing the reading room and the menus.)

Naturally, it had not escaped their attention that their funds and their entertainments were on a collision course; and a substantial influx of “the ready” was necessary in order to keep the dreaded word ‘budget’ from entering into their vocabulary. As it was, the Hagan Däs fund was dangerously low and the crucial “Just-in-case-we-need-a-present” account was overdrawn. What was more important Beauregard’s wine cellar was looking a bit thin and under-representative of some of the nicer Liberian Ports and Norwegian Burgundies, and there was a dreadful hollow sound that depressed everyone whenever Dugal tentatively tapped his walking stick on his very last casks of Glentromie or Glenmorangie. A crisis was simmering and the only solution was a more regular flow of filthy lucre.

At first they hoped to make their fortunes playing the stock market and formed their own Investment Club. It was soon apparent that it took a substantial bit of knowledge and a fair amount of attention to a bevy of magazines and newspapers if you were even going to break even. For all the fine and noble traits that the “Guys” had in abundance, patience and meticulousness were not noted as being in excess. The Saki and Dim Sum bills far out weighed any transient profits the club made in its first — and last quarter.

Chapter Two

An Infamous Tragedy is Divulged!

It was early one satiny night in June. Craig wandered into the bedroom and found virtually the entire contingent of Animeaux huddled around the middle of the bed in a ragged circle. When he asked what they were doing, there arose a united gasp of surprise and a beautifully choreographed, coordinated leap into the air.

When Dugal finally sat up and regained his composure, he said “Lord Jeeesus Laddie, but you startled me.”

The rest of them were frantically stuffing bits of paper and cloth into leather sacks, while trying to look inconspicuous and nonchalant at the same time.

“OK, OK. What’s going on here? What have your devious and exotic little minds got on the go now—the overthrow of our government, a government, any governments? A buy-out of Toyota and IBM? Taking out a patent on H-P Sauce? Come-on what gives?”

(With the Animeaux no matter how foolish or dangerous, or obtuse it sounded, you never quite knew, until it was quite over and even that usually took you by surprise.)

There was a rather guilty shuffling of digits and consciences, some staring out of windows and a soft disconcerting silence, ‘till finally Colonel Blackthorn-Badger said “Achhh, weel now, will y’a no have a seat, it’s a wee bit of lang story — ya ken.”

(When ever Dugal was about to be serious, he resurrected the cant of his youth, but years of living abroad and too many foreign film festivals had virtually submerged the youthful accent of Arisaig’s cliffs, his attempts to maintain it usually slipped after a sentence or two and his normal Sandhurst-eese took over, more polished perhaps, but there is a grace in the lilt of the Highlands that the BBC will never know.)

As the tale started to unfold, LB. Pig slipped out of the room and went downstairs to make up some cooling refreshments for everyone, as they all knew what to expect when Dugal started any story, much less one of the great pieces of Animeaux Lore.

“Now y’a may ken we’ve discovered Pyrate Treasure, or perhaps it would be a muckle more accurate to suggest that, we are sure we have discovered an approximate location. Much ta’oor shock we think the Great Loch out yon window is one of the many hide-outs of Black BillyKid and the Kidtones and perhaps the last resting place of his fabulous Treasure Hoard. Now it may surprise you to understand that Pyrates have been a staple of all our upbringings.”

He looked around and all the others, who were in the process of arranging the pillows and pulling and pushing the duvet into the right positions for an extended listen; they nodded vigorously.

“You see, we, each of us know the stories off by heart. About how the Perfidious Pyrates purloin us and turn perfectly good and happy Animeaux into simple stuffed toys, and sell them heartlessly to department stores—in bulk.”

“Or turn us into villains, like the poor misunderstood crocodile in Peter Pan,” cried out Albert, who had himself had suffered rather badly at foul Pyrate hands in the bookstore, as everyone knew.

“Or man-eating lions. Quell horreur!” Said Beauregard with indignation. This appellation particularly peeved him, as since childhood he had dinned on classical French and Northern Italian cuisine almost exclusively.

“Or pig-eyed nasty Fascist Rhinoceros — as they have in the Barbar Books.” said Haemish-Mór with the great sadness, of one who had spent his life and fortune Maintaining, Peace Order and Good Government wherever it could be found, to the detriment of his health and social standing.

“And they always try to make The Peoples think we aren’t very bright. Just look at The Three Bears story. It’s plain silly. It didn’t happen like that at all. My great second cousin was there visiting and it’s all a lie!” said the big White TeddyBear.

While all this was going on BT-McG was off comforting some of the smaller Bears who always got very upset and extremely indignant when ever the appalling Pyrate stories were told.

Dugal continued, “It’s those detestable Pyrates who spread these malodorous stories, undermining the whole basis of Animeaux life and belief. They have no respect, decency or compassion for those of us who are perhaps a wee different from them. They wash us and dry us in huge ugly contrivances, time after time ‘till there’s not a spark of intelligence or self knowledge left. Just the shell of a once proud Animeaux, dustily sitting on some department store shelf.

Now I am no saying that we are all perfect. One look at Beauregard’s cousins is enough to prove that, but all in all we have done much more good then harm in the thousands of years we’ve shared this place with you. Yon Peoples would be lucky to say as much.”

Beauregard interrupted, “Now one thing you must understand; through all these years of trial and tribulation with the repulsive Pyrates, us Animeaux have naturally acquired a good many useful skills. First and foremost of these is; being very, very good at out smarting them, and of finding their always ostentatious Pyrate Treasures. It is not truly difficult, as the Pyrates are not really exceedingly smart. They never buy Treasury Bonds or shares in Apple, or go short on wheat futures; nor do they patronize some of the more interesting private banks around Neufchatel - fortunately for us. They just pile all their ill-gotten gains into big red tin boxes, they buy from Selfridges, and bury them about, here and there. Mostly there, unfortunately, but whenever we can uproot a treasure -we devour it at once. Spending its substance helter skelter; having ourselves a good time in self-indulgent revenge; as Pyrates just hate anyone having a good time.”

Dugal took a long sip, glowered in Beauregard’s general direction, and continued.

“True as that may be, over the years we have gathered a muckle of Pyrate lore and intelligence. Maps taken from their shattered ships, captured in canny ambuscades or by simple thoughtful theft. Our kith, the Clan Rhinosasauri, in particular ‘cumulated a great storehouse of Pyrate ken, as they have oft taken the fi’t to the very gates of grubby Pyrate keeps and towers — and destroyed them — like the sudden flash that foretells the storm — first they are there — and puff and they’re gone. ‘Tis no an inconsequential name ‘The Terrible Swift Sword of the Animeaux’ that the House of Rhini bears you know.”

Callum McCallum stood up, raised his hand and said, “We Rhinosasaurises don’t want you to think us too proud. All the other Animeaux have more then done their part, as I am sure you must know. I believe that our own BT-McG has accomplished more then should be have been rightly asked. His worn arm is the result of wounds gathered during a major and successful intercession he led in the mountains of Mysterious South Eastern Wastes. And you must remember that his cousins, The Great FuryBears have kept the far Arctic free from Pyrates Holds for eons. Look at our own McOinqle’s; from Caledonia’s Western Isles, who have patrolled the far North Atlantic for near two thousand years — their small numbers testify to those frightful dangers. Then there is Dugal and his two cousins — who have since retired to the quiet life in Toronto. All Present and Active in the Great Gwent Canal Battle, that sent the Pyrates scurrying back to their shockingly wrinkled lairs for ‘most thirty years. No we have all done what was needed when called. You must understand it’s a no big thing.”

If Craig could have given them a standing ovation he would have. He did however shake all their hands, called down and asked Zita to send out for as much pizza, coffee ice cream and chocolate syrup as was necessary, and to come up and join the party.

If the truth be known, and it very seldom is, the Animeaux had been afraid that none would believe them about their tribulations with the Pyrates. They had long kept this a secret and it was only years of living with Craig and Zita that gave them the confidence to talk of such matters to Peoples. Of course now that it was out in the open they all had their private stories about how grand nephew Claude had succumbed to evil companions and sold his family to the Pyrates, or how cousin Bertie just missed finding the biggest diamond ever stolen.

As they settled down Haemish stood up and recited from memory, the tragic tale of how Chinese Gordon and Haemish’s own Great-uncle, the famed “Fire-Mike” DunnAch had fallen to the Pyrate hordes at the siege of Khartomb, defending to their very last breath, the kitchen of the Alliance Francais, where all the Animeaux infants had vainly taken refuge.

“It was this evil event that culminated in that famed eleven day forced march by DunnAch’s own regiment, The Formidable Fencibles (Buffs and Greys). They came upon the terrible scene almost a day too late—and disbanded on the spot in grief and shame. It later came out that each and everyone of them volunteered to serve under that English General Kitchener when his expeditionary force re-took the city many years later. It is reliably reported that they, and they alone knew how the Madhi died, and where he was buried—having participated in the event—en mass. Their debt of honour finally settled, those gallant few who remained retired to Paris, and with financial help from some of the resident Bears, founded the famous Follies BearGere!”

As was usual, this well known story broke the tension and cheered them all up.

Then the larger of the two Australian DropBears stood up, and stepped into the centre, and said “Our kind fled to the Antipodes many years ago trying to escape the Pyrates, and with the very kind assistance of Bush-Peoples, prospered until we were discovered by some scoundrels sailing with Captain Cook, about a hundred years ago, and we have suffered cruelly ever since. If it wasn’t for those nice Quantas flight attendants changing the waybill on our container we would now be in some dirty, dusty, synthetic petting zoo in a Kansas City Toys-R-Us. They told us how to high tail it, and how contact their “friend” THE Colonel Dugal, who was now living in the great North Woods with some peculiar friends. We were very pleased to be welcomed here, as you all know.”

(Fortunately they had also remembered their instructions, and had passed on the “Loads and Loads of thanks— and a kiss for the memories. With Love from Amy and Jenn.” to Dugal when they arrived a few months earlier. This had perked him up greatly and caused him not a few sleepless nights, wondering about long past decisions.)

The rest of the group applauded and slapped him on the back and the other DropBear nodded its head energetically, and waved from her perch on the far shelf.

It seemed as if all had a story or a half remembered part of a hushed conversation heard late at night about the awful and slovenly Pyrates and their squalid boats.

Each had been infected by the Pyrate stories and it had caused many a restless night or badly digested lobster au gratin for all Animeaux.

It was not all just an unleashing of Animeaux angst. For the next two hours they heard marvelous stories of huge treasures discovered and untold wealth dug from the ground; parties that lasted for months, yachts built, islands bought, a residence in Tokyo paid for, fashion houses subsidized and restaurants by the score bought and run for ages—all with Pyrate loot. Even Lemans had been won on occasion by unlikely entrants running on liberated Pyrate plunder. (It was long rumoured that Woolf Barnato had made discrete use of his obvious Animeaux connections to underwrite the development of the Speed Six Bentleys… Auntie Jean’s hand was obvious in the final look… or so Dugal claims.)

Every Animeaux family had benefited at one time or another from the proceeds, and in a small way it managed to make up for the depredations of the ruthless Pyrates. It was not the money that made the Animeaux feel glorious, it was spending it — having a very good time, making the very best out of the enjoyment that only the importantly trivial can bring; expensive cars, long vacations, indiscreetly long week-ends with Isabella Rossellini, huge houses with dozens of high balconies, turrets and secret passages, hideously expensive tone arms, leather bound first editions of banned books, Purdy shotguns and very expensive, young, wispy, blond English women who at 17 appear in ‘Country Life’ and spend the rest of their lives in Tweeds and on horses (and out-of-Tweeds and in flagrante, if we are to credit Haemish!)

All of these were the weapons of Animeaux vengeance. Pyrates hated to spend money, or even invest it. They were often driven to despair and suicide at the sight of an elegant white yacht, bedecked with spoiled, bronzed nubiles, straight from private finishing schools in Switzerland, being docked in Cannes by its Animeaux owner, knowing only too well that their nefarious works had come to naught, and were actually underwriting the unfolding escapade of negligent excess.

(It seemed that Haemish-Mór alone had accounted for countless attacks of Pyrate apoplexy, during his stay - one was loath to say studies - at Sandhurst simply by consorting and cavorting with arm-fulls of monochrome debutantes named Pamela, Fiona or Alison in his Aston-Martin Shooting Brake, usually on Darby days.)

Predictably Zita was not surprised that these instruments of revenge had been English and blonde. Occasionally there was some justice in this world she thought to herself. She absent mindedly started whistling “The Rising of the Moon”.

Dugal continued, “Now for your info. For the last several months, we have been sitting down after tea and comparing notes, and we have pieced together the most amazing story. Though the Pyrates roam the whole world, they seem to spend their free time in the Caribbean Sea, playing snakes and ladders for money, and making up new recipes of rum and fruit concoctions to sell to Club Med. (Some of the more despicable ones ghostwrite Joan Collins screen plays and script Sunday morning revival shows.)

Now you might think this a light work load, but it seriously tasks the mental agility of the Pyrates, so each year they return home to Romania for their five week paid vacation. Well as you can imagine they are not the charitable kind and have no intention of sharing their booty with the starving peasants in their own villages, and therefore they always had need to secrete it somewhere on route—easy to find again. They being none too quick, as you will remember. Now after careful comparison of our various family’s collections of Pyrate treasure maps we find certain congruities, prime and of most interest to us, is the fact that our canal is on many of the maps — with Donn’s Loch missing!

Well this is typical of Pyrate subtly and cunning — they draw a treasure map and then leave off the place where they have hidden the treasure and think they have fooled everyone — usually what happens is that they forget what they left off or when it is stolen or lost in the infamous Snakes and Ladder debauches, it is entirely opaque as to the treasure’s location. With a small amount of cross tabulation and with statistical assistance from the Doctors Pig and some cautiously conducted preliminary excavations, we have concluded our Loch is missing from far too many Pyrate maps, and is therefore most probably a Treasure Trove!”

Callum called out from the back row, where he was attempting to study anatomy and follow the discussion, “We are all sure that we will find treasure hidden somewhere along is edges, or its depths.”

Dugal put down his mug with a clang, “The swag will solve all our misfortunes — resolving our penury and getting all things back into a proper state of affairs; all the Ferraris running, licensed and on the road in time for the Rally. A generous restocking of the “Supplies”, tons of silk, linen and a Bernina for Miss Zita, a Long wheelbase Range Rover, in metallic red for BT-McG, our own set of Ultra-lights, the smaller of the Cray computers for The Imperious TBs, an AGA cooker for Beauregard, some fuel injections for the Blue car, some new paint for the Nova, some landing lights on the roof for the Dragons, trips home for everyone, a couple of Hellfire guided-missiles — just in case — American Express Corporate Accounts for The Queen’s Own, even more very old tube amplifiers for Craig, a three-wheeled Morgan for the TeddyBear-with-GreenFeet, a Spitfire MK. VII for me — and a reasonably sized donation to Miss Moudrouch’s School for Young Women of Gentle-birth (London S.W.1). We must replenish the necessities of reasonable living!”
Dugal sat down and reached for the chocolate sauce and a tub of ice cream. All the Animeaux cheered and stomped on the floor.

(Zita wanted to know a lot more about this Miss Moudrouch’s School.)