Gerald Durrell - The Donkey Rustlers

“But, my sweet ones,” said the Mayor, starting to perspire. “it was all a joke.”

“It was not a joke,” said Papa Nikos grimly, “and you know it.”

“Yes, yes,” said Papa Yorgo, “it was not a joke.”

“You offered to pay the reward,” said Papa Nikos, “and so you must pay it. These children have earned it.”

“Yes, they have indeed. They have indeed,” chorused the villagers.

“Well,” said the Mayor in desperation, “if that’s a unanimous decision, I suppose I’ll have to, but I haven’t got the money with me here. I shall have to go into Melissa and fetch it.”

“That’s all right,” said Amanda sweetly. “We’ll come and collect it to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock.”

“Yes, yes,” echoed the villagers, “at four o’clock.”

“At four o’clock,” agreed the Mayor dismally.

So the children, having been patted and hugged and kissed by the grateful villagers of Kalanero, made their way back to the villa.

“Well,” asked the General when they appeared on the terrace, “how did it go?”

“It was splendid,” said Amanda. “I wish you could have seen the Mayor fall into the water, it was even funnier than seeing him fall off the bridge.”

“Yes, I missed that,” said David gloomily.

“And then,” Amanda said, “they were so excited at getting their donkeys back that the Mayor actually kissed his.”

“If people took more time in life to kiss donkeys,” observed the General, “the world would be a better place.”

“They had a terrible time trying to get the donkeys to swim back,” said David. “and the Mayor’s little horse kicked him in the stomach.”

“A retribution long overdue,” said the General with satisfaction.

“We got them all back,” said David, “then we asked the Mayor about the reward.”

“Ah,” said the General, “and what did he say?”

“Oh, he tried to pretend it was all a joke,” said Amanda indignantly.

“I told you he would,” said David. “I wouldn’t trust that man for anything.”

“Fortunately,” said Amanda, “the villagers all backed us up and said we had earned the reward, so eventually the Mayor had to give in. We are going down to collect it tomorrow at four o’clock.”

“Masterly,” said the General with satisfaction. “Quite masterly.”

“I am surprised at your approving of this,” said Amanda.

“Why should I disapprove?” inquired the General. “It was a well-conceived plan, carefully carried out; it hurt nobody and it is going to do Yani a lot of good. I see absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t approve of it.”

Amanda shrugged; the General’s thought processes had always been and would always remain an enigma to his daughter.

“I shall come down myself,” said the General, “and I shall bring your mother, too.”

“Where to, Henry?” inquired Mrs Finchberry-White, who had just appeared in a dazed sort of fashion on the terrace.

“Down to the village to watch Amanda and David getting their reward,” said the General.

“Reward?” said Mrs Finchberry-White. “Reward for what?”

“I spent the entire morning,” said the General irritably, “telling you on my leg drum, and I refuse to go over the whole thing again.”

“It’s just that the villagers lost their donkeys,” explained Amanda hastily, “and we found them and so we can claim the reward that they offered for them.”

“How very nice, dear,” said Mrs Finchberry-White. “Have you seen that tiny little green orchid that grows down in the trees there? I’ve a very strong feeling that it isn’t in my collection.”

The following morning the Mayor on his little horse trotted along the dusty road to Melissa and, though it seared his soul to do so, he drew twenty thousand drachma out of his account at the bank, counted it carefully and stowed it away in his wallet. Then he trotted sadly back to Kalanero.

At four o’clock there was not a single inhabitant of Kalanero (who was not too old or too young to be present) who was not assembled in the village square to watch the giving of the reward. The pleasure it gave the villagers was twofold. Firstly, because Amanda and David were such favourites in the village and secondly because the villagers were enchanted at the thought of the Mayor having to part with twenty thousand drachma. Major-General Finchberry-White and his wife walked down and stood on the outskirts of the crowd in the square and Amanda and David made their way forward to the café where the Mayor was seated behind a table covered, for this special occasion, with a white cloth, The Mayor, since he realised he was going to have to part with his money, decided to put the best possible face on things. And so, as Amanda and David came to a halt in front of the table, he rose to his feet and made a little speech.

“People of Kalanero,” he said oratorically. “It has long been the reputation of Melissa and in particular of the village of Kalanero, that they have always been eager to have strangers living in their midst and have been hospitable to them.”

“Quite right,” muttered Papa Yorgo.

“When these golden ones first came to live with us,” the Mayor continued, “we took them instantly to our hearts. Brave, noble and modest aristocrats.”

A mutter of assent ran through the village square.

“During the time they have been here,” said the Mayor, “they have done many wonderful deeds for us, the people of Kalanero, not least among these being the saving of my life when the bridge collapsed under me.”

He paused and drank a glass of water.

“Now,” he continued, throwing out his arms dramatically, “they have, through their astuteness and courage, saved the entire village of Kalanero by recovering for us our donkeys and my little horse.”

“I do wish he would shut up,” said David, who was getting increasingly embarrassed.

“Poor man, let him have his fun,” whispered Amanda.

“As you all know,” said the Mayor. “I offered a reward for the recovery of the donkeys and being a man of my word, I intend to give that reward now to these two wonderful children.”

With a flourish he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and proceeded with great care to count out two piles of hundred-drachma notes. You could hear every villager counting with the Mayor as he put the notes down. He slapped the final note on the table and threw his arms out.

“Twenty thousand drachma,” he cried in a shaking voice. “Twenty thousand drachma which I am paying for the recovery of our donkeys by the two foreigners in Melissa that we love most.”

The cheers of the crowd were deafening.

“Go on,” muttered David, “you pick up the money.”

“No, you do it,” said Amanda. who was feeling as guilty as David.

“Well, let’s do it together,” said David as a compromise. So they both stepped forward and each picked up their pile of ten thousand drachma. Instantly silence settled on the little square and it was obvious that the villagers expected the children to reply in some way to the Mayor’s speech. Amanda glanced at David, but he was red-faced and tongue-tied, so Amanda cleared her throat and began.

“People of Kalanero,” she said. “To-day we have been greatly honoured by Mayor Oizus inasmuch as he is paying us the reward for the discovery of your donkeys. Now, we know that there are many of you here who are poor, who are much poorer than us, for example, and so I and my brother feel that it would be unfair to take this money.”

The Mayor started at this and a faint feeling of hope crept over him.

“So, my brother and I,” Amanda continued, “have discussed what would be the best thing to do. You know that all the people of Kalanero are our friends, but one of our particular friends is Yani Panioti.”