(You should feel deepest gratitude to those people who kindled a flame in you.)
- Albert Schweitzer
„The villa Atterton was located in a small village where there was also a pub“, Mr Tuniak said. „It was right at the border, you couldn't miss it when you drove into the village and it was called Little World. We went there on a regular basis, once every two weeks or so.“
“You four together?”, I asked.
“No, mostly just Mowgli and me”, Mr Tuniak answered. “Sarina accompanied us once or twice, but she had another favourite pub and we were never able to convince here that the beer in the Little World was the best beer in the world.”
Bill had come for a visit. He was thinking about leaving Leviathan and moving into the villa as well, but he wasn't sure about it yet. That's why he had asked to spend a week there, to see how he would fare.
Bill was greeted enthusiastically by the others already living there. He had learned to cope better with his concentration problems and wasn't as easily distracted as before. But he never left the villa alone. Alexander thought that he was worried he would forget where he was or why he had gone out, but Mowgli was sure that Bill was paranoid and believed that some kind of secret service was watching him. The truth was somewhere in the middle.
When Mowgli and Alexander wanted to visit the pub on the last day of Bill's visit, it took some convincing before he agreed to join them.
It was a Wednesday evening and there weren't that many people in the pub. Half the tables were empty. As they sat down, Mowgli whispered to Alexander that Bill had chosen a seat, where he had a wall at his back and could watch the entrance and the door to the kitchen at the same time.
The owner of the pub probably had a family name, but everyone just called him Old Jack, or O'Jack, because of his Irish ancestors. As the three young men entered, he greeted them humorously with: “The princes of India deign to visit my humble abode. And who are you?”
“Bill”, Mowgli introduced his friend, when Bill didn't answer himself. He put a hand on Bill's shoulder and shook him slightly as a sign, that he should say something.
“It... You have a very nice pub here”, Bill said.
“Oh, American”, O'Jack recognized immediately. “From Florida, I'd say.”
“Yes.” Bill was alarmed. “How do you know?”
“I've got an ear for accents”, O'Jack said. “You can call me Professor Higgins.”
“Can he really recognize someone's accent that quickly?”, Bill asked, after sitting down and ordering something do drink.
“Yes”, Alexander said. “Supposedly he has travelled the whole world, before he bought this pub here. When he is in a good mood, which he usually is, he tells stories of his often crazy adventures, but you should only believe half of what he says, if at all.”
“But the true question is: Does he have a wooden leg?”, Mowgli said.
When O'Jack came back with their drinks, all three of them tried to take a look at his legs, as discreetly as possible. He kept his right leg straight and never bent his right knee.
“Was he really paranoid?”, I asked. “Bill, I mean.”
“Yes, he was”, Mr Tuniak said. “He never told us what had happened to him in his childhood, but in the past few years he has made several remarks... Let's put it this way: I can understand why he had such difficulties leaving Leviathan. He had trouble trusting other people.”
“A big city like London... It must have been a nightmare for him then.”
“It definitely was”, Mr Tuniak said. “And for him, leaving Leviathan was the bravest thing he ever did. And everything started this one evening in the Little World.”
“Why is it called Little World?”, Bill asked.
“If you'd stop staring at the door and look around, you'd see”, Mowgli said.
“The pictures on the wall?”, Bill asked. “I saw them, when I was sitting down.”
But pictures were not only behind him, but on every free space in the whole pub. They were photos from places all round the world and maps were engraved on the table tops.
“O'Jack claims to have taken all the pictures himself”, Alexander explained.
“Claims? Don't you believe him?”, Bill asked.
“We never really asked him directly”, Mowgli admitted. “It would be too disappointing if it wasn't true.”
Bill nodded. Then he took his full glass of beer, drank all of it in one gulp and stood up. Mowgli and Alexander looked after him in surprise. Bill went to O'Jack and started talking to him. They couldn't hear what he was saying, but suddenly O'Jack burst out in loud laughter. Then he disappeared for a few moments behind the kitchen door. When he returned he was carrying several magazines in his hands. He came with Bill back to their table and sat down on an empty chair.
“So, my princes, you're not sure if you should believe me?”, he said, still laughing. “But I can assure you, everything I ever told you is true.”
“Even the lake with the water so hot, you could use it for tea without heating?”, Mowgli asked and pointed to one of the pictures. It seemed to have been taken during a very foggy day and showed a lake, but O'Jack had always claimed that the fog was actually the vapour rising from the hot water.
“How were you able to travel around the world?”, Alexander asked. “How did you get the money for that?”
“Did I never tell you? I was a photographer”, O'Jack said. “I was paid for my travels. And here you have your proof.” He gave them the magazines he had brought. Many of the photos featured in those credited him as the photographer.
“And his wooden leg? Was that real?”, I asked.
“It was”, Mr Tuniak said. “But of course, it wasn't really a wooden leg, the way you imagine them when you think of pirates. It was an artificial leg, quite modern, at least for its time.”
“Did he loose his leg during one of his voyages? Was that why he had to quit and buy the pub?”
“No, he lost his leg as a young men, before all that”, Mr Tuniak said. “O'Jack was part of the invading force during D-Day. He only started his career as a photographer afterwards, despite his injury.”
O'Jack had taken off his artificial leg. To Mowgli's, Alexander's and Bill's delight it wasn't a simple prosthesis, but it actually had a secret lid with something that can only be described as a hidden storage space behind it.
“Perfect, if you want to smuggle something”, O'Jack said.
“What did you smuggle?”, Mowgli asked.
“Rolls of film”, O'Jack answered. “I was once part of a group who got permission to shoot at certain places in Nicaragua. But of course, once there, we wanted to get pictures of places that weren't on the list of things we were allowed to shoot as well. So I had to smuggle those rolls out of the country when we left.” He knocked on the artificial leg with one hand. “It's also great to put snacks in for when you're hungry. Makes everyone else jealous.” He put his leg back on. “Of course, you have to pay extra attention sometimes, because you obviously can't feel anything. Once we were taking pictures of a volcano at night that had erupted the previous day. You can see the glowing lava in the photos over there! I was so concentrated that I didn't notice that I had gotten too close to the lava and my leg had started to melt.”
“He also told us of a dangerous river in Yorkshire”, Mr Tuniak said. “Probably because he thought it would be the only place we could afford to actually visit.”
“Didn't he call you Indian princes?”, I asked.
“Yes, but that was just his nickname for us”, Mr Tuniak explained. “Contrary to most other people in the village, he never believed that was who we were. He had noticed, for instance, that we didn't have any servants at our villa. And he had actually met real Indian aristocracy during his travels and knew that we acted nothing like them.”
They were standing close to the little river and watched the water passing by. Mowgli and Alexander had convinced Sarina and Alice to join them for a weekend on a trip to Yorkshire. Bill had returned to Leviathan, but he had promised that he would come back and stay with them as soon as possible.
“That's your big, scary river?”, Alice asked.
“No one said that it would be big”, Mowgli answered. But there was a clear note of disappointment in his voice. The river Wharfe was only about two metres width. “Shall I try and jump to the other side?”
“Better not”, Alexander said. He was lying on his belly on one of the many stones that bordered the river and narrowed its bed. “It's slippery and you know what O'Jack has said.”
The former photographer had told them, that the river, although it seemed to be nothing more than a shallow brook at this place, had actually a depth of at least ten metres. Its current was so strong, that everyone who had the misfortune of falling into the water, was immediately pulled under the surface and drowned. Several people had already underestimated the river which was why warning signs had been posted at its banks.
“We should trust O'Jack. If someone, who has seen as many things as he has seen, calls this a dangerous river, I'm willing to follow his advice”, Sarina said. Secretly she was hoping that her future career as an archaeologist would enable her to go on similar journeys as the pub owner.
“Yeah, he surely was sitting his whole life in an office”, Alexander replied. “I want to become a photographer as well.”
“When I first said that, I didn't really think much about it, but that changed on our journey home”, Mr Tuniak said. “And as we returned to the Villa Atterton I was completely sure that that was what I wanted to do with my life. I quitted my job at the university and decided to learn how to become a professional photographer.”
NEXT WEEK:
Une photographie, c'est un fragment de temps qui ne reviendra pas.
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