Page 254 of Storm over the Caribbean
Correction: there is no “perhaps” about it.
“Appearances can be deceptive, Mrs Ambrose.”
She gave me a stern look. “You haven’t eaten in days.”
I didn’t even blink. “Biological facts can be deceptive, too.”
“For me? Please?”
Then she opened her eyes wide and gave me the sweetest, most innocent expression I had ever seen on anything that wasn’t a newborn kitten with a pink bow on its head. My little finger twitched. Taking a deep breath, I held her gaze. I would not relent. I would not.
I managed to resist for exactly three point two seven seconds.
Under my wife’s eager and happy gaze, I grabbed another scrap of fish and stuffed it into my mouth.
Instant. Regret.
On the other hand, that expression of happiness on Lillian’s face…
Right then and there I decided that, even if I had to work in the kitchen for the remainder of my life, I would never allow my wife to cook again. The threat posed to my and my future son’s wellbeing was simply too great to ignore.
It took me over an hour to squeeze the indescribable substance my wife called “food” into my stomach. When I was finally done and had successfully suppressed the urge to decorate the cave in half-digested fish scraps, I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on my wife. There was a question that needed answering.
“Where did you get it from, Mrs Ambrose? And I amnottalking about your amazing new recipe.”
So she told me. She told me about how she went catching fish with her bare hands. Told me all about the outrageous adventure she had experienced (and barely survived) during the last few days. During the whole hair-raising story, I switched between wanting to strangle her for risking her life and myself for putting her in that situation in the first place.
Then she happily told me about how she had met and befriended the dog that had spent half an hour licking my face, and I decided strangling her was the better plan.
“I could have done without the last part,” I informed her icily.
“I know.” She nodded happily. “But I couldn’t. By the way, you look a little dry. Would you like your face moisturised?”
My fingers twitched in yearning. Too bad my arms were not ready to cooperate quite yet.
“I would like some water.Water, not saliva.”
Over the next few days, the same kind of torture continued. One unspeakable dish after another was served to me by my wife. Or could you even call it a dish if there weren’t any actual dishes present, let alone cutlery?
Suffice it to say, eating from a stone slab didn’t really make the raw fish more palatable. After five days of this, I thought back wistfully to that poisoned fruit that had nearly killed me. Would it be really such a bad idea to try again? Perhaps I had gained immunity to the poison.
I was abruptly and thoroughly pulled from my thoughts by a long tongue licking my face from top to bottom.
“As soon as I can arrange it, you will go belly-up.”
“Woof?”
“I know that expression is only for fish. I don’t care.”
“Woof!”
Just then, Lillian entered the cave with water stains all over her clothes. Her expression brightened when she saw the dog and I staring at each other.
“Ah! So the two of you are getting along? Spiffing!”
“Yes. We are…” I sent the dog a warning look that told him what would happen if he squealed. “…getting along splendidly.”
“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands! “And I’ve got good news as well, look! Dinner!”
