Beatrice and Croc Harry by Lawrence Hill

Author:Lawrence Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2021-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

The Navel of the Universe

Beatrice arrived half an hour after sunset. Killjoy was saying goodbye to her final patient of the day—a chimpanzee who had eaten too many bananas and developed a cavity.

“Rinse your mouth with clear spring water tonight,” Killjoy told the chimp, “but no meals until tomorrow.” The patient nodded and departed quietly.

A stream of clear water ran nearby. Killjoy kept a soft bed of grasses for patients who liked to lie down and recover. She had a bag of tools—ropes, twine, tweezers, pliers, knives and scissors—that she cleaned in boiling water between patients. She had a handwritten schedule of each day’s patients and kept it nailed to a tree.

“Beatrice,” Killjoy said, “you are my only human patient. Thank you for waiting until the end of the day. Soon it will be dark, but the moon will be full. It promises to be a cloudless night, so I trust you will be able to find your way back home without hiccups.”

Beatrice reached into her Beasack and gave Killjoy a giant bowl of raspberries.

“Thank you, child,” Killjoy said. “Now what brought you halfway up Argilia Mountain to meet me? Is your mouth well? Have you been flossing? Shall I take a look?”

“I brush and floss, yes. I came to ask if you could do my hair. And answer some questions.”

“The hair, for sure,” Killjoy said. “What would you like?”

“I want to look strong,” Beatrice said. “I want my hair to say, ‘Don’t mess with me.’ But I don’t want it falling apart on me while I travel. So I’ll have cornrows.”

Killjoy washed Beatrice’s hair. She cut up an avocado and brought out a tin container of coconut oil.

“Hey,” Beatrice said. “Where’d you get the coconut oil?”

“Not telling.

“Ah, come on. I could have used that, before.”

“Sorry. I’m the only hairdresser around, and it’s a secret.”

Killjoy mashed up the avocado and mixed it thoroughly in a wooden bowl. She added a dollop of coconut oil and mixed it all again. She rubbed it into her palms, warmed it up and slid it into Beatrice’s hair, giving her a head massage as she worked. Beatrice closed her eyes. The head rub felt good. Perhaps this was what it would feel like to return home and have someone take care of her hair.

“I have found seven clues,” Beatrice said.

Killjoy had been working behind Beatrice, but she walked around to look in her eyes.

“Seven already?” Killjoy said. “Not bad. Lucky, I suppose.”

“Why do I have to chase down all these clues?” Beatrice asked.

Killjoy returned to standing behind Beatrice as she worked. “That’s a vague question. Can you offer anything marginally more specific?”

Marginally more specific, Beatrice thought. Killjoy always spoke as if she had been born in the middle of The St. Lawrence Dictionary of Only the Best Words, Real and Concocted and had spent years promenading among the letters until she emerged with the best vocabulary in Argilia.

“I want to go home. Why all this rigmarole?”

“What makes you think I can answer that question?” Killjoy set a comb into Beatrice’s hair.

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