Diplodocus (continued)

Habitat

Marsh and then Hatcher[23] assumed the animal was aquatic, because of the position of its nasal openings at the apex of the cranium. Similar aquatic behavior was commonly depicted for other large sauropods such as Brachiosaurus and Apatosaurus. The idea of an aquatic existence was later debunked, as the water pressure on the chest wall of Diplodocus was proven to have been too great for the animal to have breathed. Since the 1970s, general consensus has the sauropods as firmly terrestrial animals, browsing on trees. However, a more recent theory suggests a likely riparian habitat for Diplodocus.

Posture

The depiction of Diplodocus' posture has changed considerably over the years. For instance, a classic 1910 reconstruction by Oliver P. Hay depicts two Diplodocus with splayed lizard-like limbs on the banks of a river. Hay argued that Diplodocus had a sprawling, lizard-like gait with widely-splayed legs,[25] and was supported by Gustav Tornier. However, this hypothesis was put to rest by W. J. Holland, who demonstrated that a sprawling Diplodocus would have needed a trench to pull its belly through.[26]

Later, diplodocids were often portrayed with their necks held high up in the air, allowing them to graze from tall trees. More recently, scientists have argued that the heart would have had trouble sustaining sufficient blood pressure to oxygenate the brain. Furthermore, more recent studies have shown that the structure of the neck vertebrae would not have permitted the neck to bend far upwards As with the related genus Barosaurus, the very long neck of Diplodocus is the source of much controversy among scientists. A 1992 Columbia University study of Diplodocid neck structure indicated that the longest necks would have required a 1.6 ton heart. The study proposed that animals like these would have had rudimentary auxiliary 'hearts' in their necks, whose only purpose was to pump blood up to the next 'heart'.[3]

While the long neck has traditionally been interpreted as a feeding adaptation, a recent study[29] suggests that the oversized neck of Diplodocus and its relatives may have been primarily a sexual display, with any other feeding benefits coming second.

Diplodocus_description

One of the best known sauropods, Diplodocus was a very large long-necked quadrupedal animal, with a long, whip-like tail. Its forelimbs were slightly shorter than its hind limbs, resulting in a largely horizontal posture. The long-necked, long-tailed animal with four sturdy legs has been mechanically compared with a suspension bridge.[3] In fact, Diplodocus is the longest dinosaur known from a complete skeleton.[3] While dinosaurs such as Supersaurus were probably longer, fossil remains of these animals are only fragmentary.[4]

The skull of Diplodocus was very small, compared with the size of the animal, which could reach up to 27 metres (90 feet), of which 6 metres (20 feet) was neck.[5] Diplodocus had small, 'peg'-like teeth only at the anterior part of the jaws, which were distinctly procumbent.[6] Its braincase was small. The neck was composed of at least fifteen vertebrae and is now believed to have been generally held parallel to the ground and unable to have been elevated much past horizontal.[7] Modern mass estimates have tended to be in the 10 to 16 tonne (11–17.6 ton) range: 10 tonnes (11 tons);[8] 11.5 tonnes (12.7 tons);[9] 12.7 tonnes (14 tons);[10] and 16 tonnes (17.6 tons).[11]


Diplodocus had an extremely long tail, composed of about eighty caudal vertebrae,[12] which is almost double the number some of the earlier sauropods had in their tails (such as Shunosaurus with 43), and far more than contemporaneous macronarians had (such as Camarasaurus with 53). There has been speculation as to whether it may have had a defensive[13] or noisemaking function.[14] The tail may have served as a counterbalance for the neck. The middle part of the tail had 'double beams' (oddly-shaped bones on the underside, which gave Diplodocus its name). They may have provided support for the vertebrae, or perhaps prevented the blood vessels from being crushed if the animal's heavy tail pressed against the ground. These 'double beams' are also seen in some related dinosaurs.

Four Nights in Knaresborough

Four Nights in Knaresborough is a play written by Paul Corcoran (now known as Paul Webb) and first performed at the Tricycle Theatre, London in 1999. It recounts the aftermath of the murder of Thomas Becket by four knights making "the worst career choice in history".[1] Despite being an historical drama, the play uses modern language, including an abundance of profanity and slang.[2]

A film version of the play, scripted by Webb and titled Four Knights is to be produced by Miramax Films, directed by Paul McGuigan.


Plot

Set in 1171, Four Nights in Knaresborough opens in Canterbury Cathedral where four knights, Brito, Fitz, Morville, and Traci come to arrest Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury. However, rather than arresting him, Becket is killed by Fitz.[5] The knights then flee to Knaresborough Castle in Yorkshire where they ensconce themselves for a year to avoid the wrath of the public and the Pope.

Over the course of four evenings, in January, March, September and December, the play portrays the gradual decline of the knights, showing their repressed desires, fears and misgivings.[2] Emphasising clashes of personalities, the play glosses over the deeper political and historical consequences of the murder.[6]

Of the four knights, Morville is the one most upset by his excommunication and isolation and argues that Becket had to die as he was opposing the progressive reforms of King Henry II. He even claims that Henry is playing a careful political game but is really on the knights' side.[5]

Brito is not an aristocrat like the other knights, but is rather a "new man" who joined the others less out of conviction than of opportunism. As the most active and the youngest of the four knights, his imprisonment is a kind of rite of passage and he grows through the play. Brito is also rampantly heterosexual and, despite a mutual attraction between himself and Traci, he chases Catherine and ultimately martyrs himself for her when she succumbs to a fatal disease circulating the village of Knaresborough.[5]

Traci is the most complex character in the play. Guilt-ridden like Morville, he is also in love with Brito. In the past he has had a relationship with the fourth knight, the aristocratic Fitz, but is now very much alone.[5]

While the knights wait out their time in the castle, Catherine keeps the villagers at bay by ensuring them that her tenants are seeking penance through a constant cycle of fasting and prayer. Ultimately, she is tried as a witch by water.

Diplodocus (continued)

Diplodocus has been a famous and much-depicted dinosaur. Much of this has probably been due to its wealth of skeletal remains and former status as the longest known dinosaur. However, the donation of many mounted skeletal casts around the world a century ago[50] did much to familarise it to people worldwide. Casts of Diplodocus skeletons are still displayed in many museums worldwide, including an unusual D. hayi in the Houston Museum of Natural Science, and D. carnegiei in the Natural History Museum in London, the Natural Science Museum in Madrid, Spain, the Senckenberg Museum in Frankfurt, Germany, the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago and, of course, the original is still on display at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburgh. A mounted skeleton of D. longus is at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D. C., while a mounted skeleton of D. hallorum (formerly Seismosaurus), which may be the same as D. longus, can be found at the New Mexico Museum of Natural History and Science.

Diplodocus has been a frequent subject in dinosaur films, both factual and fictional. It was featured in the second episode of the award-winning BBC television series Walking with Dinosaurs. The episode "Time of the Titans" follows the life of a simulated Diplodocus 152 million years ago. It had cameo appearances in The Land That Time Forgot and in The Lost World (2001 version), as well as the animated film The Land Before Time VI: The Secret of Saurus Rock, the character "Doc", presumably short for Diplodocus, voiced by Kris Kristofferson, was a Diplodocus; in contrast to the "long-neck" protagonists, which were Apatosaurus. The animated feature Fantasia features many sauropods in the Rite of Spring sequence, some narrower-headed ones of which may be Diplodocus.

Diplodocus (continued)

Diet

Diplodocus has highly unusual teeth compared to other sauropods. The crowns are long and slender, elliptical in cross-section, while the apex forms a blunt triangular point.[30] The most prominent wear facet is on the apex, though unlike all other wear patterns observed within sauropods, Diplodocus wear patterns are on the labial (cheek) side of both the upper and lower teeth.[30] What this means is Diplodocus and other diplodocids had a radically different feeding mechanism than other sauropods. Unilateral branch-stripping is the most likely feeding behaviour of Diplodocus,[31][32][33] as it explains the unusual wear patterns of the teeth (coming from tooth-food contact). In unilateral branch stripping, one tooth row would have been used to strip foliage from the stem, while the other would act as a guide and stabiliser. With the elongated preorbital (in-front of the eyes) region of the skull, longer portions of stems could be stripped in a single action.[30] Also the palinal (backwards) motion of the lower jaws could have contributed two significant roles to feeding behaviour: 1) an increased gape, and 2) allowed fine adjustments of the relative positions of the tooth rows, creating a smooth stripping action.[30]

With a laterally and dorsoventrally flexible neck, and the possibilty of using its tail and rearing up on its hind limbs (tripodal ability), Diplodocus would have had the ability to browse at many levels (low, medium, and high), up to approximately 10 metres (39 ft) from the ground.[34] The neck's range of movement would have also allowed the head to graze below the level of the body, leading some scientists to speculate on whether Diplodocus grazed on submerged water plants, from riverbanks. This concept of the feeding posture is supported by the relative lengths of front and hind limbs. Furthermore, its peglike teeth may have been used for eating soft water plants

Other anatomical aspects


The head of Diplodocus has been widely depicted with the nostrils on top due to the position of the nasal openings at the apex of the skull. There has been speculation over whether such a configuration meant that Diplodocus may have had a trunk.[35] A recent study[36] surmised there was no paleoneuroanatomical evidence for a trunk. It noted that the facial nerve in an animal with a trunk, such as an elephant, is large as it innervates the trunk. The evidence suggests that the facial nerve is very small in Diplodocus. Studies by Lawrence Witmer (2001) indicated that, while the nasal openings were high on the head, the actual, fleshy nostrils were situated much lower down on the snout.[37]

Recent discoveries have suggested that Diplodocus and other diplodocids may have had narrow, pointed keratinous spines lining their back, much like those on an iguana.[38][39] This radically different look has been incorporated into recent reconstructions, notably Walking with Dinosaurs. It is unknown exactly how many diplodocids had this trait, and whether it was present in other sauropods

Diplodocus

Diplodocus (pronounced /ˌdɪploʊˈdoʊkəs/ or /dɪˈplɔdəkəs/) is a genus of diplodocid sauropod dinosaur whose fossilised skeleton was first discovered in 1878. The generic name refers to its double-beamed chevron bones (Greek diplos/διπλος meaning 'double' and dokos/δοκος meaning 'wooden beam' or 'bar') located in the underside of the tail.[1] They were initially believed to be unique to Diplodocus; however, they have since then been discovered in other members of the diplodocid family.

It lived in what is now western North America at the end of the Jurassic Period. Diplodocus was one of the more common dinosaurs found in the Upper Morrison Formation, about 150 to 147 million years ago, in what is now termed the Kimmeridgian and Tithonian stages. This was an environment and time dominated by gigantic sauropod dinosaurs such as Camarasaurus, Barosaurus, Apatosaurus and Brachiosaurus.[2]

Diplodocus is among the most easily identifiable dinosaurs, with its classic dinosaur shape, long neck and tail and four sturdy legs. For many years, it was the longest dinosaur known. Its great size may have been a deterrent to the predators Allosaurus and Ceratosaurus: their remains have been found in the same strata, which suggests they coexisted with Diplodocus.

A.C Milan_stadium

The team's current stadium is the 82,955 seater San Siro, officially known as Stadio Giuseppe Meazza after the former player who represented both Milan and Internazionale. The name San Siro comes from the district where it's located. The stadium is shared with Inter, the other major football club in Milan. The stadium is well known for its fantastic atmosphere due to the closeness of the stands to the pitch. Another feature of the stadium is the use of flares by the fans which can sometimes cause trouble.

On 19 December 2005, AC Milan vice-president and executive director Adriano Galliani announced that the team is seriously working to move out from San Siro. He said that Milan's new stadium will be largely based on the Veltins-Arena and following the standards of football stadia in the United States, Germany and Spain. It will likely be a stadium for football purposes only (with no athletics track). The new stadium is supposed to be named after a sponsor. [3] It remains to see if this plan will proceed or if this is just a ploy to force the owners (Comune di Milano) to sell the stadium to Milan for a nominal fee so as to proceed with extensive renovations. Rumours have also surfaced of Inter's intention to also build a new stadium which may also affect this decision.[4]

A.C Milan_Colours and badge

Colours and badge

AC Milan's official colours have been red and black since its foundation. These colours were chosen to represent the fiery ardour that is part of the team members and the opponents' fear to challenge the team. The badge represents the club colours and the flag of the Comune di Milano (Municipality of Milan), with the acronym ACM at the top and the foundation year (1899) at the bottom.

The home jersey is red and black vertical striped, with white shorts and black socks. The away strip has always been completely white. The latter is considered by both the fans and the club as their "lucky" strip in Champions League finals, due to the fact that Milan won seven finals out of nine in an all white strip (losing only to Ajax in 1995 and Liverpool in 2005), while lost both the finals played in their home strip. The third kit changes yearly and is black with red trim for the current season, but it is rarely used. The Goalkeeper kit is either green or yellow shirt, black shorts and black socks.

The Austrian on-line betting company bwin are currently Milan's main jersey sponsors after signing a 4 year deal at the start of the 2006/2007 season. [1] Previous to this deal, the German car manufacturer, Opel had sponsored Milan for 12 seasons. For most of them, Opel was displayed on the front of the jersey, but in the 2003-04 and the 2005-06 seasons respectively, Meriva and Zafira (two cars from their range) were displayed.

The current jerseys are supplied by German sportswear manufacturer Adidas, whose deal runs to the end of the 2007/2008 season. [2] The deal makes Adidas the official manufacturer of all kits, training equipment and replica outfits. Prior to Adidas, the Italian sports company, Lotto produced Milan's sportswear.

A.C Milan_history

Associazione Calcio Milan is an Italian football club based in Milan. They play in red and black stripes, giving them the nickname Rossoneri ("red-blacks"). The team is known colloquially as Milan, while its city rivals are known in English, simply as Inter. One of the most successful clubs in the world, A.C. Milan has won the prestigious UEFA Champions League (or equivalent) seven times, the World Club crown (Intercontinental Cup) 3 times, the Serie A title 17 times (only rivals Juventus F.C. have more Scudetti) and the Coppa Italia (Italian Cup) five times. In total they have won 12 European trophies, sharing the record with Real Madrid. It is also one of the most supported football clubs in the world, and along with Juventus and Inter are one of the most popular teams in Italy.

The club was founded as a cricket club in 1899 by Alfred Edwards, a British expatriate. In honour of its origins, the club has retained the English spelling of its city's name, instead of changing it to the Italian Milano (though it was forced to do it during the fascist regime, like Genoa and Inter); it should be noted that the Italian pronunciation is actually MEE-lahn, even though the English one is the same as in the local dialect and many other dialects of Northern Italy.

Historically, AC Milan was supported by the city's working class and trade unionists many of whom were migrants from the South of Italy. Inter, the other big club from the city was mainly supported by the more prosperous and typically Milanese middle-class. However, in recent years, the clubs have seen a notable reversal in their political positions, since Milan is now owned by media magnate and past conservative Prime Minister of Italy Silvio Berlusconi, while Inter is now owned by a centre-left oil businessperson, Massimo Moratti. However, AC Milan's fans still tend to be mainly left-wing as opposed to Inter Milan fans who always have been traditionally right-wing. Milan were involved in the 2006 Serie A scandal where five teams were accused of fixing matches by selecting favourable referees. Milan were punished with a 15 point deduction, which was later reduced to 8 points on appeal. In 1980 Milan were involved in the Totonero scandal and were relegated to Serie B as punishment. The scandal was centred on a betting syndicate paying players and officials to fix the outcome of matches. On 23 May 2007, A.C. Milan won the UEFA Champions League for the seventh time, against Liverpool, 2-1, with two goals from Filippo Inzaghi.

Kirk o' Field

Kirk o' Field in Edinburgh, Scotland, is best known as the site of the murder of Lord Darnley, second husband of Mary Queen of Scots in 1567.

The site was occupied by the collegiate church of St Mary in the Fields, or the Kirk o' Field. It was approximately ten minutes' walk from Holyrood Palace, just adjacent to the city wall, near to the Cowgate. On his return to Edinburgh with Mary early in 1567, Darnley took residence in the Old Provost's lodging, a comfortable two storey house within the church quadrangle.

Early in the morning of 10 February, the house was destroyed by a gunpowder explosion while Mary was at Holyrood attending a wedding celebration. The partially clothed bodies of Darnley and his servant were found in a nearby orchard, apparently strangled but unharmed by the explosion. A contemporaneous drawing of the murder scene at Kirk o' Field illustrates at the top left the infant James VI sitting up in his cot praying: "Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord"; in the centre lie the rubble remains of the house; to the right Darnley and his servant lie dead in the orchard; below, the townspeople of Edinburgh gather round and four soldiers remove a body for burial.

Suspicion immediately fell upon Mary and James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, one of her closest and most trusted Noblemen. Although Bothwell was considered to be the lead conspirator, he was subsequently found not guilty at trial by the Privy council of Scotland in April, 1567. Mary married Bothwell the following month, just three months after Darnley's murder.

This led to great public disquiet and ultimately proved to be a major factor in her rapid decline in power and ultimate loss of the Scottish crown. Darnley's death remains one of the great unsolved historical mysteries, compounded by the discovery and controversy surrounding the "Casket Letters" apparently incriminating Mary in the murder plot.

The lands at Kirk o' Field went on to be granted to the city specifically for the foundation of a new university. The University of Edinburgh was founded by King James VI in 1582, and the Kirk o' Field site has long been considered to be at the current location of the Old College. Recent archaeological investigations following the Cowgate fire of 2002 have raised some questions about the true location of the house, and possibly the true identities of the murder conspirators

today's picture

The skyline of Toledo , Spain, at sunset, with the Alcázar on the left and Cathedral on the right. The city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is the capital of the province of Toledo and of the autonomous community of Castile-La Mancha. It is one of the former capitals of the Spanish Empire and a place of coexistence of Christian, Jewish and Moorish cultures.

Jack the Giant Killer (part2)

Jack continued his journey, and fell in before long with the son of King Arthur, who had come into Wales to deliver a lovely lady from a magician who held her captive. Jack offered his services and the prince was glad, of course, to accept them.

They came to the castle of a giant who had three heads, and by his own account could whip five hundred men. Jack told the prince to stay behind while he went to ask for lodging. He knocked loudly and the giant roared: "Who is there?" "Only your cousin Jack come with news," was the reply.

The giant, as Jack happened to know, had, so many cousins that he could not keep track of them, so he said: "Well, what news cousin Jack?" "Dreadful news, dear cousin," said Jack. "King Arthur is coming with ten thousand men to kill you."

The giant was really an awful coward; and, if he did have three heads, was not gifted with very much brains. When he heard this news he trembled so that his heads began to knock one another very hard, at which Jack could scarcely help laughing in his face-I should say in his faces.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! What shall I do?" said the giant. "I'll go and hide in the cellar until they are gone. Here are my key-cousin. Lock me in, and let me know when it is safe to come out.'

So off he went to hide, and Jack, after he had locked him up, led the prince in. They stayed all night, and in the morning Jack opened the giant's treasure-room, and helped the prince to a good share of the treasure, after which he started him on his way. Then he went and told his "cousin" that the coast was clear, and took great credit to himself for helping him to escape. The giant was very grateful, and told Jack that he would give him something precious for a reward. He brought forth a coat, a sword, and a pair of shoes, and said: "When you put on the coat no one can so you, the sword will cut through anything, and with the shoes you can run with the speed of the wind."

With the help of these useful articles, Jack and the prince soon found the magician, and overcame him, and set the lady free. The prince led her to his father's court, where he married her; while Jack, for his gallantry, was made a Knight of the Round Table.

But Jack would not be idle while there were any giants left; so be soon set out once more to do battle against them. One day as he passed through a wood he saw a giant dragging a knight and a handsome lady along by their hair. Jack put on his magic coat of darkness, and drawing his sword of sharpness, thrust it into the giant's leg, and gave him such a wound that he fell to the ground, upon which Jack cut his great ugly head off.

The knight and his lady invited Jack to their castle, but he said that before he went he wished to see the giant's den.

"Oh do not go near it!" said the lady. "He has a brother there fiercer and stronger than himself."

But this only made Jack more determined to go. He found the cave easily enough, for the giant was sitting at the mouth of it, with a great spiked club in his hands. Jack ran up and gave him a stab with his sword. The giant could see nobody, but began laying blows all about with his club. Jack easily kept out of the way, and, meanwhile, continued slashing him with his sword until he killed him. Then he cut off his head, and sent it along with his brother's to the king, in a wagon--and a good big wagon-load they made.
rip van winkle picture story
Then Jack went to the castle of the knight and the lady. While he was there the news came that Thundel, a savage giant, and a cousin of the two others, was coming to avenge their deaths. Everyone except Jack was filled with terror. He assured them that he would dispose of Thundel, and gave orders that the drawbridge over the moat around the castle should be sawn nearly through, so that it would barely stand, and that a rope with a loop at the end should be made ready. Then, after putting on his shoes of swiftness, he went out to meet the giant. As soon as he came within hearing, Jack began to taunt him, and when the giant started in chase, he ran back to the castle and over the drawbridge, which remained strong enough to support his light weight. But when the giant followed, it crashed beneath him, and down he went in the water. As soon as his head bobbed up, Jack threw the loop of the rope over it, and drew him to the bank and cut his head off.

After spending a few days with the knight and his lady, Jack set out again. He met with an old hermit who told him of a giant named Galligantus, who lived on a hill near by, and whose destruction would be a task worthy of him.

"He is a magician," said he, "and always goes about with a great owl on his shoulder. He has an enchanted castle, in which he holds captive a number of knights and ladies, whom, by his magic, he has turned into beasts. The means of breaking the enchantment is engraved on the inner doorway of the castle, and may be read by anyone who can pass the outer gates; but these are guarded by two griffins who dart fire from their mouths, and have destroyed all the brave knights who have yet tried to enter. But with your coat of darkness you can safely pass them, and once in, you will easily manage the rest.

Jack promised to do his best, and started the next morning for the top of the mountain. There he saw the two fiery griffins, but as he had on his magical coat he passed between them unhurt. Then he came to the inner doorway, where hung a golden trumpet, under which was written:

"Whoever can this trumpet blow
Shall cause the giant's overthrow."

Jack seized it and blew with all his might. It rung out loud and clear, and the doors flew open with a crash. The giant ran trembling to hide when he heard the trumpet, knowing that his enchantments would no longer avail him. But Jack found him, and with his sword of sharpness quickly put an end to him. The captives were all changed back to their own shapes when the trumpet sounded, and now Jack went through the castle and set them free. Among them there was a beautiful young lady, the daughter of a duke, and Jack thought he would see her safely to her father's castle. Upon the way he fell deeply in love with her; and finding that she returned his affection, he asked her father's consent to their marriage, and it was given. King Arthur, for his great services, made him a baron, and gave him estates and a castle, in which he and his fair wife lived long in content and happiness.

Jack the Giant Killer (part1)

IN the days when King Arthur ruled in Britain, there were many giants in the land--huge, fierce monsters, who kept folks in constant terror. It was at this time that our hero, Jack, was born. He grew up a brave, fearless, little fellow; and before he was ten years old, he had made up his mind to gain a name for himself by ridding the land of some of the giants.giant killer picture story of jack

Of all those in Jack's part of the country, no giant was dreaded more than one named Cormoran, who dwelt on a hill called St. Michael's Mount, which rises out of the sea near the coast of Cornwall. He was so tall that when the tide was low, he could walk through the sea from his cave over to Cornwall, and this he did quite often--never going back without carrying along some poor farmer's cattle or sheep.

Jack set his wits to work, and at last thought he had a plan by which he would be able to put an end to the misdeeds of this monster. He took, one evening, a pickaxe and shovel, a lantern, and a horn, and getting on a raft, paddled over to St. Michael's Mount. He went to work at once and dug a deep pit in front of the giant's cave. Next he placed sticks across the top of the pit, and on the sticks spread straw, while over the straw he strewed loose earth until all looked like solid ground.

By this time day had dawned; so Jack stepped back a short distance, and blew a loud blast upon his horn. It awaked Cormoran, who came out to see what it meant, and when he beheld Jack was in a great rage.

"You saucy little imp," said he "just wait a moment, and I'll broil you for my breakfast."

With this he came running to catch Jack; but the pit was right in his way, and the instant he set foot on the earth covering it, the sticks broke, and down he crashed, over his head into it.

"There, Mr. Cormoran," said Jack, "you see it is sometimes a bad thing to be in too much of a hurry for your breakfast."

At this the giant began to make frantic efforts to climb out, so Jack ran up with his pickaxe and gave him a blow on the head which killed him.Jack the giant killer, fairy tale picture

Jack returned home, and when the news spread of what he had done, the people were full of joy, and made a great hero of Jack, giving him the title of JACK THE GIANT KILLER; while the Duke of Cornwall made him a present of a sword and belt, upon which, in golden letters, were the words:--

"This is the gallant Cornish man
Who slew the Giant Cormoran."

But this only made Jack crave for more glory; so he started for Wales, where the number of giants was very great indeed. One day, as night fell, he came to a fine large house where he thought he would ask for lodgings. He knocked at the door, and was startled when a giant with two heads came to answer. He was civil, however, and asked Jack in, and gave him his supper and a bed; but Jack did not trust him altogether, and made up his mind not to go to sleep. The giant seemed to have a habit of talking to himself--as would be natural to one having two heads--and presently he began to sing a kind of duet, some of which Jack was able to make out. First, one head sang, in a soft tenor voice:

"Although with me he stays this night,
He shall not see the morning light."

And then the other head growled, in a deep bass:

"For as he lies asleep in bed,
With my trusty club I'll smash his head."

"Oho!" said Jack, "that's your game is it, Mr. Giant? Now for a plan to fool you."

Jack thought a moment, and then went to the fire-place, where he found a log of wood. He put this in his place in the bed, covered it up well, and then crawled under the bed.

In the middle of the night the giant stole into the room with a club in his hands. Drawing near the bed, he raised the club and gave the log of wood a number of terrible whacks. Then, thinking Jack must surely be dead, he went away.

When Jack appeared in the morning, without a sign of hurt upon him, the giant could hardly believe his eyes.

"How did you sleep?" he asked. "Did anything disturb you during the night?"

"Oh, at one time I thought I felt a rat switch me with his tail," said Jack, "but for the rest, I slept very soundly."

The giant went to get breakfast ready; and while he was away Jack caught sight of a leather bag in a corner of the room. He thought of another trick to play on the giant; so he put the bag under his coat, which was quite loose. The giant brought in two big bowls of porridge, to which he and Jack sat down. The giant took a spoon in each hand, and began to feed both mouths at once, which made his porridge go pretty fast; but not any faster than Jack's did, for he was stowing his away in the bag. The giant was so busy feeding that he did not take much notice of Jack until he had finished his bowl, when he looked up and was greatly surprised to find that the little fellow had emptied his also. While he was still wondering, Jack said:--

"Now I'll show you something strange. I can cut off my head or legs, or any other part of my body, and put them on again a good as ever. Just see this, for instance." And he took a knife and cut the bag, so that all the porridge tumbled out on the floor.

The giant's conceit had already been very much hurt as being outdone by such a little chap as Jack, and now he lost his wits completely. "Ods splutter my nails," said he, "I can do that myself." So he took the knife, and stuck it in where his porridge was--and dropped dead on the floor.

The Story of Robinson Crusoe (part2)

Thus years and years passed away. Although I had, to some extent, become contented with my solitary lot, yet at times a terrible sense of loneliness and desolation would come over me. Many times I would go to the top of a hill where I could look out to sea in hopes of catching sight of a ship. Then I would fancy that, at a vast distance, I spied a sail. I would please myself with the hopes of it, and after looking at it steadily, till I was almost blind, would lose it quite, and sit down and weep like a child, and thus increase my misery by my folly.robinson crusoe island picture, adventure story

But one day I saw a sight which turned my thoughts in a new channel. It was the print of a naked foot upon the sand near the shore. It filled me with fear, for it showed that the island must sometimes be visited by savages.

One morning, going out quite early, I could see the light of a fire about two miles away. I went to the top of the hill and looked in the direction of the fire. I saw that five canoes were drawn up on the shore, while a swarm of naked savages were dancing about the fire. Presently they dragged two poor wretches from the boats. One of them was knocked down at once, and several of the savages set to work to cut him up. They were evidently cannibals, and were going to hold one of their horrible feasts on their captives. The other captive was left standing for a moment, and seeing a chance to escape, started to run. I was greatly alarmed when I saw that he was coming directly toward me, but when I saw that only two pursued him, and that he gained upon them, I made up my mind to help him. When they were near enough, I took a short eut down the hill, and placed myself between pursuers and pursued. Then I advanced on the foremost, and knocked him down with the stock of my gun. The other took his bow and was going to shoot me, when I fired at him and killed him. Then I made signs to the poor runaway to come to me, and he did so in fear and trembling, kneeling at my feet and setting my foot upon his head, as a sign that he was my slave.

I had now a companion, and in a short time I began to teach him to speak to me. First I let him know that his name was to be Friday, for that was the day I saved his life. Then I taught him everything that I thought would make him useful, handy, and helpful. I clothed him in a suit made of goatskins, and he seemed to be greatly pleased to be dressed like myself.

After some time had passed over, Friday came running to me one morning to say that there was a ship in sight. Welcome as this news was, I thought I would not show myself until I could learn what had brought the ship there, and it was well that I did not. I watched in concealment and saw a boat leave the ship and make for the shore. Eleven men landed, and I saw that three of them were bound as captives. They were laid upon the ground while the rest dispersed about therobinson crusoe adventure picture island. I approached the captives and questioned them, and found they were English, that one was the captain, and the others were the mate and a passenger, and that there had been a mutiny on the ship, and that the men, as a favor, instead of killing them, were going to leave them on the island.

I offered to aid them to recover the ship, and going back to the castle, I brought guns and gave them to them. When the men returned to the boat we shot two, who the captain said were the leaders, and the rest, taken by surprise, yielded to us. The captain made them swear that they would obey him faithfully, and then returned to the ship. Those on board were equally surprised at the turn affairs had taken, and when one of the worst was killed, were glad to return to their duty. Then the captain came back to the island, and told me that the ship and all that he had was at my service, in return for what I had done for him. I told him that all I asked was a free passage for Friday and myself back to England. To this he gladly assented. He provided me with clothing from his own wardrobe, and after I had arranged all my affairs, Friday and I went aboard. Thus, I left the island, twenty-eight years, two months, and nineteen days after I had landed upon it.

Three days after we set sail, we saw a great fleet of small boats, full of savages, come paddling toward us as if to attack us. I told Friday to go on deck and speak to them in his own language; but he had no sooner spoken than they let fly a cloud of arrows at him, three of which hit him, and the poor fellow fell dead. In a rage, I ordered the ship's guns to be fired into the fleet. Half of the canoes were destroyed, while the rest scoured away so fast that in a short time none of them could be seen. Poor honest Friday we buried in the sea, with all the honor possible. So ended the life of the most grateful, faithful, and affectionate servant that ever man had.

And now there is little more to tell. I arrived safely in England, glad to be back in my old home once more, and desiring nothing but to spend the rest of my days in peace and quietness.

The Story of Robinson Crusoe (part1)

I WAS born in the city of York, in England, in the year 1632. My father was a man of some wealth, able to give me a good home and send me to school. It was his wish that I should be a lawyer buy my head began to be filled very early with thoughts of rambling, and I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea. My father gave me strong and earnest counsel against it, but with little effect. One day, being at Hull, I met arobinson crusoe picture children fairy tale school-fellow who was about to sail for London in his father's ship, and he prompted me to go with him, and in an evil hour, without asking God's blessing or my father's, I went on board.

On the way to London, a storm arose, the ship was wrecked, and we barely escaped with our lives. I went on foot to London, where I met with the master of a vessel which traded to the coast of Africa. He took a fancy to me, and offered me a chance to go with him on his voyages, which I gladly accepted.

A great storm came up, and the ship was tossed about for many days, until we did not know where we were. Suddenly we struck a bank of sand, and the sea broke over the ship in such a way that we could not hope to have her hold many moments without breaking into pieces. In this distress we launched a boat. After we had been driven four or five miles, a raging wave struck us so furiously that it overset the boat at once. Though I swam well the waves were so strong that I was dashed against a rock with such force that it left me senseless. But I recovered a little before the waves returned, and, running forward, got to the mainland safely.

Then I began to look about to see if any of my comrades had escaped, but I could see no sign of any of them.

The night coming on, I climbed into a thick, bushy tree to sleep, not knowing but that there might be ravenous beasts there. When I awoke, next morning, the sea was clam, and I could see the ship about a mile from the shore; and when the tide ebbed, I swam out to her. I found that all the provisions were dry, and being very hungry, I filled my pockets with biscuit, and eat as I went about other things; for I saw that I must lose no time in getting ashore all that I could from the ship. I first threw overboard several spare yards and spars. Then I went down the ship's side and tied them together, and laying a few short pieces of plank upon them, I had a raft strong enough to bear a moderate weight. Next I lowered upon it three seamen's chests, and filed them with provisions. After a long search I found the carpenter's chest, which was a great prize to me. I lowered it upon the raft, and then secured a supply of guns and gunpowder. With this cargo I started for the shore, and, with a great deal of trouble, succeeded in landing it safely.robinson crusoe picture adventure story for kids

My next work was to view the country and seek a proper place to stow my goods. I knew not yet where I was, whether on the continent or an island. There was a hill not over a mile away, very steep and high; and I climbed to the top of it, and saw that I was on an island, barren, and as I saw good reason to believe, uninhabited.

Every day, for twelve days, I made a trip to the vessel, bringing ashore all that I thought would be useful to me. The night of the twelfth day there was a violent wind, and when I awoke in the morning the ship was nowhere to be seen.

Then I gave my thoughts to providing myself with a safe habitation. I found a little plain, on the side of a hill, whose front towards the plain was very steep, and had in it a hollow place like the door of a cave. Here I resolved to pitch my tent, which I made of sails that I had brought from the ship. Around it I drew a half circle, and drove two rows of piles into the ground, making a kind of fortress. I left no entrance, but used a short ladder to go over the top, and when I was in, lifted it over after me. Then I enlarged the hollow place I have spoken of until I had made quite a cave, which served as a cellar for my house, which 'I called my castle.

I had found aboard a dog and two cats. I carried the cats ashore on the raft, but as for the dog he swam ashore himself, and was a trusty servant to me for many years. Besides the company of these pets, I had that of a parrot which I caught, and which I taught to speak; and it often gave me much amusement.

I went out every day with my gun to hunt for food. I found that there were goats running wild on the island, and often succeeded in shooting one. But I saw that my ammunition would in time all be gone, and that to have a steady supply of goat's flesh, I must breed them in flocks. So I set a trap to take some alive, and succeeded in catching several. I enclosed a piece of ground for them to run in; and in course of time, had a large flock, which furnished me with all the meat I needed.

I saved the skins of all the creatures I shot, and dried them; and when my clothes were worn out, replaced them with garments made of these. Then, at the expense of a great deal of time and trouble, I made an umbrella, also of skins, which I needed much to keep off both sun and rain.

For a long time I brooded over the idea of making a canoe of the trunk of a tree, as the Indians do, and at last set to work at the task. I cut a large tree, and spent over three months shaping it into the form of a boat. Then I found it too large to move to the water. I afterwards made a smaller one, and succeeded in launching it, and set out to make a tour around the island in it. But when I had been out three days, such a storm arose that I was near being lost. At last I was able to bring my boat to the shore, in a little cove; and there I left it, and went across the island, on foot, to my castle, not caring to go to sea again in such an unsafe vessel.

RIP VAN WINKLE (continued)

Their hats looked odd, each with sugar-loaf crown,
And their eyes were small, and their beards hung down,
While their high-heeled shoes all had peaked toes,
And their legs were covered with blood-red hose;
Their noses were long, like a porker's snout,
And they nodded and winked as they moved about
They tapped the keg, and the liquor flowed,
And up to the brim of each flagon glowed;
And a queer old man made a sign to Rip,
As much as to say, "Will you take a nip?"
Nor did he linger or stop to think,
For Rip was thirsty and wanted a drink.
"I'll risk it," thought he; "it can be no sin;
And it smells like the best of Holland gin;"
So he tipped his cup to a grim old chap,
And drained it; then, for a quiet nap,
He stretched himself on the mossy ground,
And soon was wrapped in a sleep profound.
At last he woke; 'twas a sunny morn,
And the strange old man of the glen was gone:
He saw the young birds flutter and hop,
And an eagle wheeled round the mountain-top;
Then he rubbed his eyes for another sight--
"Surely," said he, "I have slept all night."
"Ie thought of the flagon and nine-pin game;
"Oh! what shall I say to my fiery dame!"
He, faintly faltered; "I know that she
Has a fearful lecture in store for me."
He took up his gun, and strange to say,
The wood had rotted and worn away:
He raised to his feet, and his joints were sore;
"Said he, "I must go to my home once more."
Then, with trembling step, he wandered down,
Amazed, he entered his native town.
The people looked with a wondering stare,
For Rip, alas! was a stranger there;
He tottered up to his cottage-door,
But his wife was dead, and could scold no more;
And down at the tavern he sought in vain
For the chums he would never meet again;
He looked, as he passed, at a group of girls
For the laughing eye and the flaxen curls
Of the child he loved as he loved his life,
But she was a thrifty farmer's wife;
And when they met, and her hand he took,
She blushed and gave him a puzzled look;
But she knew her father and kissed his brow,
All covered with marks and wrinkles now;
For Rip Van Winkle was old and gray,
And twenty summers had passed away--
Yes, twenty winters of snow and frost
Had he in his mountain slumber lost;
Yet his love for stories was all the same,
And he often told of the nine-pin game.
But the age was getting a little fast--
The Revolution had come and passed,
And Young America, gathered about,
Received his tales with many a doubt,
Awhile he hobbled about the town;
Then, worn and weary, at last laid down,
For his locks were white and his limbs were sore--
And RIP VAN WINKLE will wake no more.

Rip Van Winkle

NEAR to the town, in a cottage small,
Lived RIP VAN WINKLE, known to all
As a harmless, drinking, shiftless lout,
Who never would work, but roamed about,
Always ready with jest and song-
Idling, tippling all day long.
"Shame on you, Rip!" cried the scolding vrows;
And old men muttered and knit their brows.
Not so with the boys, for they would shout,
And follow their hero, Rip, about,
Early or late--it was all the same,
They gave him a place in every game.
At ball he was ready to throw or catch;
At marbles, too, he was quite their match;
And many an urchin's face grew bright,
When Rip took hold of his twine and Kite.
And so he frittered the time away--
"Good natured enough," they all would say.
But the village parson heaved a sigh
As Rip, in his cups, went reeling by,
With a silly and a drunken leer--
His good dog Schneider always near.
Rip was fond of his rod and line,
And many a time, when the day was fine,
He would wander out to some neighb'ring stream,
And there, with his dog, would sit and dream;
Hour after hour, would he dozing wait,
And woe to the fish that touched his bait.
But the stream of his life ran sometimes rough,
And his good "Vrow" gave him many a cuff,
For she was never a gentle dame,
And Rip was a toper, and much to blame.
But little did Rip Van Winkle care
For his wife or his home--he was seldom there--
But tried in his cups his cares to drown;
His scolding wife, with her threat'ning frown,
At his cottage-door he was sure to see--
"Ah! this," said Rip, "is no place for me."
So down to the tavern to drink his rum,
And waste his time with some red-nosed chum,
He was sure to go; for he knew that there
He would find a glass and a vacant chair,
And jolly fellows, who liked his fun,
And the tales he told of his dog and gun.
But his was still but a sorry life,
For, sot as he was, he loved his wife;
But he would tipple both day and night,
And she would scold him with all her might
Thus Rip Van Winkle had many a grief,
And up 'mongst the mountains sought relief.
For lowering clouds or a burning sun
He cared but little; his dog and gun
Were his friends, he knew; while they were near
He roamed the forests, and felt no fear.
If tired at last, and a seat he took,
And his dog came up with a hungry look,
He had always a crust or bone to spare,
And Schneider was certain to get his share.
And then if a squirrel chanced to stray
In range of his gun, he would blaze away,
And he held it too with a steady aim--
Rip never was known to miss his game.
But over his ills he would sometimes brood,
And scale the peaks in a gloomy mood;
And once he had climbed to a dizzy height,
When the sun went down, and the shades of night
Came up from the vale, and the pine-trees tall,
And the old gray rocks, and the waterfall
Gr w dusky and dim, and faded away,
Till night, like a pall, on the mountain lay.
Full many a mile he had strayed that day,
And up in the mountains had lost his way;
And there he must stay through the gloomy night,
And shiver and wait for the morning light.
He thought of the stories, strange and old,
Which the graybeards down in the village told;
"And what," said he, "if the tale were true
I have heard so oft of a phantom crew,
Who up in the Catskills, all night long,
Frolick and revel with wine and song."
Just then a voice from a neighb'ring hill
Cried, "Rip Van Winkle!" and all was still
Then he looked above and he looked below,
And saw not a thing but a lonely crow.
"Ho, Rip Van Winkle!" the voice still cried,
And Schneider skulked to his master's side.
Just then from a thicket a man came out--
His legs were short and his body stout,
He looked like a Dutchman in days of yore,
With buttons behind and buttons before;
And held a keg with an iron grip,
And beckoned for help to the gazing Rip.
Rip had his fears, but at last complied,
And bore the keg up the mountain side;
And now and then, when a thunder-peal
Made the mountain tremble, Rip would steal.
A look at his guide, but never a word
From the lips of the queer old man was heard.
Up, up they clambered, until, at last,
The stranger halted. Rip quickly cast
A glance around, and as strange a crew
As ever a mortal man did view
Were playing at nine-pins; at every ball
'Twas fun to see how the pins would fall;
And they rolled and rolled, without speaking a word,
And this was the thunder Rip had heard.

The Chapel (part3)

"I might arrange something for the baby once it's born. But it must be born, my dear. Your daughter is slimly built. She's young, a child herself. To you she looks barely three months pregnant. Don't fool yourself, if the dates she's given us are correct, in three months she'll be full term. Anything now would be too, too messy."

"And if it's born," asked Mrs Narine falteringly, "if it's born, what does happen then?"

"No, Ma, I want it anyway, I want to keep it," said Ginnie quietly.

"Don't be a fool, child."

"It's my baby. Ma. I want to have it. I want to keep it."

"And who's to look after you, and pay for the baby? Even if that Kirjani does agrees to pay, who does you hope to marry?"

"I'll marry, don't worry."

"You'll marry! You does be a fool. Who will you marry?"

"Kirjani, Ma. I's going to marry Ravi Kirjani."

Doctor Khan gave a chuckle.

"So, your daughter is not such a fool as you think," he said. "I told you to marry her off. And the Kirjani boy's worth a try. What does she have to lose? She's too, too clever!"

So Ravi Kirjani was confronted with the pregnant Ginnie and reminded of that Sunday afternoon in the dry season when the canes were ready for harvesting. To the surprise of the Narines he did not argue at all. He offered at once to marry Ginnie. It may be that for him it was a welcome opportunity to escape a connubial arrangement for which he had little appetite. Though Sunita Moorpalani indisputably had background, nobody ever pretended that she had looks. Or possibly he foresaw awkward police questions that might have been difficult to answer once the fruit of his desire saw the light of day. Mrs Narine was staggered. Even Ginnie was surprised at how little resistance he put up.

"Perhaps," she thought with a wry smile, "he's not really so bad."

Whatever his reasons, you had to admit Ravi acted honourably. And so did the jilted Moorpalani family. If privately they felt their humiliation keenly, publicly they bore it with composure, and people were amazed that they remained on speaking terms with the man who had insulted one of their women and broken her heart.

Sunita's five brothers even invited Ravi to spend a day with them at their seaside villa in Mayaro. And as Ravi had been a friend of the family all his life he saw no reason to refuse.

The Moorpalani brothers chose a Tuesday for the outing - there was little point, they said, in going at the weekend when the working people littered the beach - and one of their LandRovers for the twenty mile drive from Rio Cristalino. They were in high spirits and joked with Ravi while their servants stowed cold chicken and salad beneath the rear bench seats and packed the iceboxes with beer and puncheon rum. Then they scanned the sky for clouds and congratulated themselves on choosing such a fine day. Suraj, the oldest brother, looked at his watch and his feet shifted uneasily as he said:

"It's time to hit the road."

His brothers gave a laugh and clambered on board. It was an odd, sardonic laugh.

The hardtop LandRover cruised through Rio Cristalino to the cross roads at the town centre. Already the market traders were pitching their roadside stalls and erecting great canvas umbrellas to shield them from sun or rain. The promise of commerce was in the air and the traders looked about expectantly as they loaded their stalls with fresh mangos or put the finishing touches to displays of giant melons whose fleshy pink innards glistened succulently under cellophane.

The LandRover turned east towards Mayaro and moments later was passing the cemetery on the edge of town. The road to the coast was busy with traffic in both directions still carrying produce to market, and the frequent bends and potholes made the journey slow. At last, on an uphill straight about six miles from Mayaro, the LandRover was able to pick up speed. Its ribbed tyres beat on the reflector studs like a drumroll and the early morning sun flashed through the coconut palms. Suddenly a terrible thing happened. The rear door of the LandRover swung open and Ravi Kirjani tumbled out, falling helplessly beneath the wheels of a heavily laden truck.

At the inquest the coroner acknowledged that the nature and extent of Ravi's injuries made it impossible to determine whether he was killed instantly by the fall or subsequently by the truck. But it was clear at least, he felt, that Ravi had been alive when he fell from the LandRover. The verdict was death due to misadventure.

Three days later Ravi's remains were cremated according to Hindu rights. As usual, a crush of people from all over Trinidad - distant relatives, old classmates, anyone claiming even the most tenuous connection with the dead man - came to mourn at the riverside pyre outside Mayaro. Some of them were convinced that they could see in Ravi's death the hands of the gods - and they pointed for evidence to the grey sky and the unseasonal rain. But the flames defied the rain and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. A few spoke darkly of murder. Did not the Moorpalanis have a compelling motive? And not by chance did they have the opportunity, and the means. But mostly they agreed that it was a tragic accident. It made little difference that it was a Moorpalani truck that had finished Ravi off. Moorpalani trucks were everywhere.

Then they watched as the ashes were thrown into the muddy Otoire River, soon to be lost in the warm waters of the Atlantic.

"Anyway," said one old mourner with a shrug, "who are we to ask questions? The police closed their files on the case before the boy was cold." And he shook the last of the rain from his umbrella and slapped impatiently at a mosquito.

You might have thought that the shock of Ravi's death would have induced in Ginnie a premature delivery. But quite the reverse. She attended the inquest and she mourned at the funeral. The expected date came and went. Six more weeks elapsed before Ginnie, by now thirteen, gave birth to a son at the public maternity hospital in San Fernando. When they saw the baby, the nurses glanced anxiously at each other. Then they took him away without letting Ginnie see him.

Eventually they returned with one of the doctors, a big Creole, who assumed his most unruffled bedside manner to reassure Ginnie that the baby was well.

"It's true he's a little pasty, my dear," he said as a nurse placed the baby in Ginnie's arms, "but, you see, that'll be the late delivery. And don't forget, you're very young . . . and you've both had a rough time. Wait a day . . . three days . . . his eyes'll turn, he'll soon have a healthy colour."

Ginnie looked into her son's blue eyes and kissed them, and in doing so a tremendous feeling of tiredness suddenly came over her. They were so very, very blue, so like Father Olivier's. She sighed at the irony of it all, the waste of it all. Was the Creole doctor really so stupid? Surely he knew as well as she did that the pallid looks could never go.

© Josef Essberger 2002

The Chapel (part2)

When Ginnie heard of Ravi's engagement the loathing she had conceived for him grew into a sort of numb hatred. She was soon haunted by a longing to repay that heartless, arrogant brute. She would give anything to humiliate him, to see that leering, conceited grin wiped from his face. But outwardly she was unmoved. On weekdays she went to school and on Sundays she went still to Father Olivier's afternoon service.

"Girl, you sure does have a lot to confess to that whitie," her mother would say to her each time she came home late from chapel.

"He's not a whitie, he's a man of God."

"That's as may be, child, but don't forget he does be a man first."

The months passed and she did not see Ravi again.

And then it rained. All through August the rain hardly stopped. It rattled persistently on the galvanized roofs until you thought you would go mad with the noise. And if it stopped the air was as sticky as treacle and you prayed for it to rain again.

Then one day in October, towards the end of the wet season, when Ginnie's family were celebrating her only brother's eighteenth birthday, something happened that she had been dreading for weeks. She was lying in the hammock on the balcony, playing with her six-year old nephew Pinni.

Suddenly, Pinni cried out: "Ginnie, why are you so fat?"

Throughout the little frame house all celebration stopped. On the balcony curious eyes were turned upon Ginnie. And you could see what the boy meant.

"Gods have mercy on you, Virginia! Watch the shape of your belly," cried Mrs Narine, exploding with indignation and pulling her daughter indoors, away from the prying neighbours' ears. Her voice was loud and hard and there was a blackness in her eyes like the blackness of the skies before thunder. How could she have been so blind? She cursed herself for it and harsh questions burst from her lips.

"How does you bring such shame upon us, girl? What worthless layabouts does you throw yourself upon? What man'll have you now? No decent man, that does be sure. And why does you blacken your father's name like this, at your age? The man as didn't even live to see you born. Thank the gods he didn't have to know of this. You sure got some explaining to your precious man of God, child."

At last her words were exhausted and she sat down heavily, her weak heart pounding dangerously and her chest heaving from the exertion of her outburst.

Then Ginnie told her mother of the afternoon that Ravi Kirjani had raped her. There was a long silence after that and all you could hear was Mrs Narine wheezing. When at last she spoke, her words were heavy and disjointed.

"If anybody have to get damnation that Kirjani boy'll get it," she said.

Ginnie's sisters were awestruck.

"Shall we take her over to the health centre, Ma?" asked Indra. "The midwife comes today."

"Is you crazy, girl? You all does know how that woman does run she mouth like a duck's bottom. You all leave this to me."

That night Mrs Narine took her young daughter to see Doctor Khan, an old friend of her husband whose discretion she could count on.

There was no doubt about it. The child was pregnant.

"And what can us do, Dr Khan?" asked Mrs Narine.

"Marry her off, quick as you can," the lean old doctor replied bluntly.

Mrs Narine scoffed.

"Who would take her now, Doctor? I does beg you. There's nothing? Nothing you can do for us?"

A welcome breeze came through the slats of the surgery windows. Outside you could hear the shrill, persistent sound of cicadas, while mosquitoes crowded at the screens, attracted by the bare bulb over the simple desk. Dr Khan sighed and peered over the frames of his glasses. Then he lowered his voice and spoke wearily, like a man who has said the same thing many times.

The Chapel (3000 words) (part1)

She was walking lazily, for the fierce April sun was directly overhead. Her umbrella blocked its rays but nothing blocked the heat - the sort of raw, wild heat that crushes you with its energy. A few buffalo were tethered under coconuts, browsing the parched verges. Occasionally a car went past, leaving its treads in the melting pitch like the wake of a ship at sea. Otherwise it was quiet, and she saw no-one.

In her long white Sunday dress you might have taken Ginnie Narine for fourteen or fifteen. In fact she was twelve, a happy, uncomplicated child with a nature as open as the red hibiscus that decorated her black, waist-length hair. Generations earlier her family had come to Trinidad from India as overseers on the sugar plantations. Her father had had some success through buying and clearing land around Rio Cristalino and planting it with coffee.

On the dusty verge twenty yards ahead of Ginnie a car pulled up. She had noticed it cruise by once before but she did not recognize it and could not make out the driver through its dark windows, themselves as black as its gleaming paintwork. As she walked past it, the driver's glass started to open.

"Hello, Ginnie," she heard behind her.

She paused and turned. A slight colour rose beneath her dusky skin. Ravi Kirjani was tall and lean, and always well-dressed. His black eyes and large, white teeth flashed in the sunlight as he spoke. Everyone in Rio Cristalino knew Ravi. Ginnie often heard her unmarried sisters talk ruefully of him, of how, if only their father were alive and they still had land, one of them might marry him. And then they would squabble over who it might be and laugh at Ginnie because she was too simple for any man to want.

"How do you know my name, Ravi?" she asked with a thrill.

"How do you know mine?"

"Everyone knows your name. You're Mr Kirjani's son."

"Right. And where're you going Ginnie?"

She hesitated and looked down at the ground again.

"To chapel," she said with a faint smile.

"But Ginnie, good Hindus go to the temple." His rich, cultured voice was gently mocking as he added with a laugh: "Or maybe the temple pundits aren't your taste in colour."

She blushed more deeply at the reference to Father Olivier. She did not know how to reply. It was true that she liked the young French priest, with his funny accent and blue eyes, but she had been going to the Catholic chapel for months before he arrived. She loved its cheerful hymns, and its simple creed of one god - so different from those miserable Hindu gods who squabbled with each other like her sisters at home. But, added to that, the vulgarity of Ravi's remark bewildered her because his family were known for their breeding. People always said that Ravi would be a man of honour, like his father.

Ravi looked suddenly grave. His dark skin seemed even darker. It may be that he regretted his words. Possibly he saw the confusion in Ginnie's wide brown eyes. In any case, he did not wait for an answer.

"Can I offer you a lift to chapel - in my twenty-first birthday present?" he asked, putting his sunglasses back on. She noticed how thick their frames were. Real gold, she thought, like the big, fat watch on his wrist.

"It's a Mercedes, from Papa. Do you like it?" he added nonchalantly.

From the shade of her umbrella Ginnie peered up at a small lone cloud that hung motionless above them. The sun was beating down mercilessly and there was an urge in the air and an overpowering sense of growth. With a handkerchief she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Ravi gave a tug at his collar.

"It's air-conditioned, Ginnie. And you won't be late for chapel," he continued, reading her mind.

But chapel must have been the last thing on Ravi's mind when Ginnie, after a moment's hesitation, accepted his offer. For he drove her instead to a quiet sugar field outside town and there, with the Mercedes concealed among the sugar canes, he introduced himself into her. Ginnie was in a daze. Young as she was, she barely understood what was happening to her. The beat of calypso filled her ears and the sugar canes towered over her as the cold draught from the air-conditioner played against her knees. Afterwards, clutching the ragged flower that had been torn from her hair, she lay among the tall, sweet-smelling canes and sobbed until the brief tropical twilight turned to starry night.

But she told no-one, not even Father Olivier.

Two weeks later the little market town of Rio Cristalino was alive with gossip. Ravi Kirjani had been promised the hand of Sunita Moorpalani. Like the Kirjanis, the Moorpalanis were an established Indian family, one of the wealthiest in the Caribbean. But while the Kirjanis were diplomats, the Moorpalanis were a commercial family. They had made their fortune in retailing long before the collapse in oil prices had emptied their customers" pockets; and now Moorpalani stores were scattered throughout Trinidad and some of the other islands. Prudently, they had diversified into banking and insurance, and as a result their influence was felt at the highest level. It was a benevolent influence, of course, never abused, for people always said the Moorpalanis were a respectable family, and well above reproach. They had houses in Port-of-Spain, Tobago and Barbados, as well as in England and India, but their main residence was a magnificent, sprawling, colonial style mansion just to the north of Rio Cristalino. The arranged marriage would be the social event of the following year.

The Winepress (part 2)

At the age of twenty-one, Pierre - that was the name he gave the winegrower - had been sent by his father to spend some time with his uncle in Madagascar. Within two weeks he had fallen for a local girl called Faniry, or "Desire" in Malagasy. You could not blame him. At seventeen she was ravishing. In the Malagasy sunlight her skin was golden. Her black, waist-length hair, which hung straight beside her cheeks, framed large, fathomless eyes. It was a genuine coup de foudre, for both of them. Within five months they were married. Faniry had no family, but Pierre's parents came out from France for the wedding, even though they did not strictly approve of it, and for three years the young couple lived very happily on the island of Madagascar. Then, one day, a telegram came from France. Pierre's parents and his only brother had been killed in a car crash. Pierre took the next flight home to attend the funeral and manage the vineyard left by his father.

Faniry followed two weeks later. Pierre was grief-stricken, but with Faniry he settled down to running the vineyard. His family, and the lazy, idyllic days under a tropical sun, were gone forever. But he was very happily married, and he was very well-off. Perhaps, he reasoned, life in Bordeaux would not be so bad.

But he was wrong. It soon became obvious that Faniry was jealous. In Madagascar she had no match. In France she was jealous of everyone. Of the maids. Of the secretary. Even of the peasant girls who picked the grapes and giggled at her funny accent. She convinced herself that Pierre made love to each of them in turn.

She started with insinuations, simple, artless ones that Pierre hardly even recognized. Then she tried blunt accusation in the privacy of their bedroom. When he denied that, she resorted to violent, humiliating denouncements in the kitchens, the winery, the plantations. The angel that Pierre had married in Madagascar had become a termagant, blinded by jealousy. Nothing he did or said could help. Often, she would refuse to speak for a week or more, and when at last she spoke it would only be to scream yet more abuse or swear again her intention to leave him. By the third vine-harvest it was obvious to everyone that they loathed each other.

One Friday evening, Pierre was down in the winery, working on a new electric winepress. He was alone. The grape-pickers had left. Suddenly the door opened and Faniry entered, excessively made up. She walked straight up to Pierre, flung her arms around his neck, and pressed herself against him. Even above the fumes from the pressed grapes he could smell that she had been drinking.

"Darling," she sighed, "what shall we do?"

He badly wanted her, but all the past insults and humiliating scenes welled up inside him. He pushed her away.

"But, darling, I'm going to have a baby."

"Don't be absurd. Go to bed! You're drunk. And take that paint off. It makes you look like a tart."

Faniry's face blackened, and she threw herself at him with new accusations. He had never cared for her. He cared only about sex. He was obsessed with it. And with white women. But the women in France, the white women, they were the tarts, and he was welcome to them. She snatched a knife from the wall and lunged at him with it. She was in tears, but it took all his strength to keep the knife from his throat. Eventually he pushed her off, and she stumbled towards the winepress. Pierre stood, breathing heavily, as the screw of the press caught at her hair and dragged her in. She screamed, struggling to free herself. The screw bit slowly into her shoulder and she screamed again. Then she fainted, though whether from the pain or the fumes he was not sure. He looked away until a sickening sound told him it was over. Then he raised his arm and switched the current off.

The guests shuddered visibly and de Gruse paused in his story.

"Well, I won't go into the details at table," he said. "Pierre fed the rest of the body into the press and tidied up. Then he went up to the house, had a bath, ate a meal, and went to bed. The next day, he told everyone Faniry had finally left him and gone back to Madagascar. No-one was surprised."

He paused again. His guests sat motionless, their eyes turned towards him.

"Of course," he continued, "Sixty-five was a bad year for red Bordeaux. Except for Pierre's. That was the extraordinary thing. It won award after award, and nobody could understand why."

The general's wife cleared her throat.

"But, surely," she said, "you didn't taste it?"

"No, I didn't taste it, though Pierre did assure me his wife had lent the wine an incomparable aroma."

"And you didn't, er, buy any?" asked the general.

"How could I refuse? It isn't every day that one finds such a pedigree."

There was a long silence. The Dutchman shifted awkwardly in his seat, his glass poised midway between the table and his open lips. The other guests looked around uneasily at each other. They did not understand.

"But look here, Gruse," said the general at last, "you don't mean to tell me we're drinking this damned woman now, d'you?"

De Gruse gazed impassively at the Englishman.

"Heaven forbid, General," he said slowly. "Everyone knows that the best vintage should always come first."

© Josef Essberger 2002

The Winepress ( 1000 words) (part 1)

"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize one," he would add with a laugh.

After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.

This evening's guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.

The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.

"Come on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you say?"

"Yes, General. Bags!"

Without another word, de Gruse picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a moment he looked up with watery eyes.

"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."

The four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever tasted.

One by one the little white lights along the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could see the brightly lit bateaux-mouches passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.

"Can you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"

"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.

"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."

"But how? How can anyone be sure?"

"I like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way to know what you're drinking."

"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.

"This fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken, "always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed. Then he made the strangest statement.

"'The wine in this cask,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the world. But it started its life far from the country where it was grown.'"

De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.

"Well?" said the Dutchman.

De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.

"Do tell them, mon chéri," she said.

De Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.

The Winepress ( 1000 words) (part 1)

"You don't have to be French to enjoy a decent red wine," Charles Jousselin de Gruse used to tell his foreign guests whenever he entertained them in Paris. "But you do have to be French to recognize one," he would add with a laugh.

After a lifetime in the French diplomatic corps, the Count de Gruse lived with his wife in an elegant townhouse on Quai Voltaire. He was a likeable man, cultivated of course, with a well deserved reputation as a generous host and an amusing raconteur.

This evening's guests were all European and all equally convinced that immigration was at the root of Europe's problems. Charles de Gruse said nothing. He had always concealed his contempt for such ideas. And, in any case, he had never much cared for these particular guests.

The first of the red Bordeaux was being served with the veal, and one of the guests turned to de Gruse.

"Come on, Charles, it's simple arithmetic. Nothing to do with race or colour. You must've had bags of experience of this sort of thing. What d'you say?"

"Yes, General. Bags!"

Without another word, de Gruse picked up his glass and introduced his bulbous, winey nose. After a moment he looked up with watery eyes.

"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he said warmly, "a wine among wines."

The four guests held their glasses to the light and studied their blood-red contents. They all agreed that it was the best wine they had ever tasted.

One by one the little white lights along the Seine were coming on, and from the first-floor windows you could see the brightly lit bateaux-mouches passing through the arches of the Pont du Carrousel. The party moved on to a dish of game served with a more vigorous claret.

"Can you imagine," asked de Gruse, as the claret was poured, "that there are people who actually serve wines they know nothing about?"

"Really?" said one of the guests, a German politician.

"Personally, before I uncork a bottle I like to know what's in it."

"But how? How can anyone be sure?"

"I like to hunt around the vineyards. Take this place I used to visit in Bordeaux. I got to know the winegrower there personally. That's the way to know what you're drinking."

"A matter of pedigree, Charles," said the other politician.

"This fellow," continued de Gruse as though the Dutchman had not spoken, "always gave you the story behind his wines. One of them was the most extraordinary story I ever heard. We were tasting, in his winery, and we came to a cask that made him frown. He asked if I agreed with him that red Bordeaux was the best wine in the world. Of course, I agreed. Then he made the strangest statement.

"'The wine in this cask,' he said, and there were tears in his eyes, 'is the best vintage in the world. But it started its life far from the country where it was grown.'"

De Gruse paused to check that his guests were being served.

"Well?" said the Dutchman.

De Gruse and his wife exchanged glances.

"Do tell them, mon chéri," she said.

De Gruse leaned forwards, took another sip of wine, and dabbed his lips with the corner of his napkin. This is the story he told them.

The Métro (part5)

"Inspector Dutruelle?" said the voice at the other end.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sorry to disturb you at this time of the morning, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. It's the Préfecture."

"Never mind the time," said Inspector Dutruelle with as much irritation as his whispering voice could convey. "I'm off duty today."

"Well, that's the point, Inspector. The Préfet's ordered us to call you specially. He appreciates you're not on duty, but he wants you anyway."

"It's quite impossible."

"I'm afraid he insists, sir."

"Why?"

"He insists you come on duty immediately, sir. We're sending a car round for you."

"Yes, yes, I understand, but why?"

"It's the Métro again, sir."

"The Métro?"

"Yes, sir. They've found another corpse on the line, decapitated again."

Inspector Dutruelle did not reply. He was cursing to himself. He was cursing the Préfet, the police, this homicidal maniac, his wife. Why today? Why ever today?

"Sir? Hello sir? The car'll be with you in five minutes."

"Yes, all right. I'll be ready in five minutes."

The big black Citroen was soon speeding away from Rue Dauphine and heading north across Pont Neuf. Inspector Dutruelle looked at the winter mists rising from the Seine. His dreams, it seemed, were evaporating just as surely.

"You'd better brief me on this as quick as you can," he said wearily to the Detective Sergeant he had found waiting for him in the car. "Where was the body found?"

"Barbes Rochechouart, sir."

A cold shiver passed through the Inspector.

"I presume it's the same as the others?" he asked.

"Well, in as much as there's nothing to go on, it's the same, sir. Otherwise it couldn't be more different. For a start, we've just heard they've found two of them now. And this time they're women. One white, in her forties, and one black. A young black girl - still in her teens, by the look of things."

But Inspector Dutruelle was not listening. He was staring blankly through the glass to his right, and as they turned at Place du Châtelet the empty streets were no more than a cold, grey blur to him. The car swung onto the broad Boulevard de Sébastopol and accelerated northwards to cover the three kilometres to Métro Barbes Rochechouart. It was the route he should have been taking in his own car.

Outside the station, now closed to passengers, people were standing around under the street lights with their collars up. Inspector Dutruelle got out of the car. He hesitated. He glanced towards Rue Beldamme (just a stone's throw away across the bleak Boulevard de Rochechouart) where the Professor would be waiting for him. He shrugged and went down the station steps.

Underground, on the number four line, there was an air of gloom. Both bodies lay where they had been spotted by the first train-drivers through that morning. Inspector Dutruelle looked impassively at the first one. It was the body of a middle-aged woman, quite unexceptional, coarse and wiry, like his wife.

"She's forty-seven, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," said somebody beside him. "French. Name of Madame Catherine Dubur. Not like the other one."

"The other one?" said the Inspector blankly.

"I told you in the car, sir," said the Detective Sergeant at his ear, "there's two of them."

"You'd better show me."

They strolled in their overcoats to the other end of the platform and went down the little steps that led to the track. A uniformed policeman pulled back the blanket that covered the second body, which lay on its back. Inspector Dutruelle stared dispassionately at the stiff, black limbs that stuck out awkwardly across the railway lines. Suddenly he shuddered in alarm. Even in the dim lights of the train that was pulled up beyond you could see the resemblance to Vololona.

"Identity?" he asked. He tried to control his voice.

"We don't know, sir - this is all we found," said a policeman, handing him a tattered greetings card. Inside, in large, green handwriting, were the words: "Happy Nineteenth Birthday, from Everyone in Antananarivo."

"D'you think she's Malagasy, sir?" asked the policeman. The Inspector shrugged his shoulders, then held out an open hand.

"Your torch, please," he said.

He played its beam over the body, up and down the long, slender legs, across the clothes. At least he did not recognise the clothes. Yet the body's size, its build, its colour, everything pointed to Vololona. He bent down and flashed the light onto the fingers of the left hand and laughed weakly to himself as he saw the tawdry rings that glinted back at him. He stood up in relief. That was certainly not Vololona. Yet it was uncanny how this body reminded him of her - and the other of Agnes, for that matter. Even the ages were the same.

He smoked as he stood staring at the headless corpse. He could not understand. Was the magic of Madagascar really so strong that now he saw Vololona everywhere? And what of Agnes? How would Professor Dhiakobli explain that? How could he explain it, when you came to think of it? When you came to think of it, he had explained very little. He had been happy enough to take the money, and free enough with his words - all those grandiose notions of mission and sacrifice and spiritual tête-à-têtes . . .

Inspector Dutruelle gasped.

"The devil," he muttered to himself. Suddenly he understood everything.

"The what, sir?" said somebody beside him.

"Never mind," he answered quietly, putting his hand to his breast pocket. His heart had started to pound with a sense of danger and his head suddenly ached with questions. He took out his cigarette case and lit another Gauloise. Through its curling blue smoke, back-lit by the lights of the train, the black limbs were splayed out in a grotesque dance, while beside him men's voices were thrumming in his ear. Why was there no time to think, to extricate himself from this nightmare? He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? He cursed his wife and Vololona. And Professor Dhiakobli. What madness had driven him to this? Then he cursed himself again, and turned abruptly to one of the men babbling at his side.

"What time is it?"

"Six-fifteen, sir."

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he called for the Detective Sergeant who was with the photographer at the other body.

"Écoute Guy, when he's got his pictures they can move the bodies and fix things up," he said. "Now get me the Préfet."

The Préfet was beside himself with rage at this further disturbance to his sleep, and he exploded with indignation when Inspector Dutruelle offered his resignation.

"Are you insane, man? You're in the middle of an investigation!"

"The investigation is over, Monsieur le Préfet."

"So, you have the killer at last!"

"In fifteen minutes, monsieur, in fifteen minutes."

"Then why in the name of God are you asking to be relieved from duty?"

"Monsieur le Préfet, my position is impossible. On this occasion it was I that paid the killer," he answered calmly as he took another cigarette from his silver cigarette case.

© Josef Essberger 2002