Figaro and Rumba and the Crocodile Cafe (8 page)

‘Take a look at this, Rumba,' he said. ‘See how all the houses and trees and kookaburras are flashing past? Just for a sec I saw Nate climbing a tree. He was all blurred. But now I can't see anything because this beetle bum mist has come up outside.'

‘That's not mist, Figaro,' said Rumba. ‘That's where you've breathed against the glass.'

‘Anyway,' said Figaro. ‘Let's go and find another compartment with no mist.'

They padded down the aisle, looking into the compartments.

‘Let's sit in here,' said Figaro, stopping suddenly. ‘There's plenty of room.'

Rumba peeped in around Figaro. The compartment was empty except for a tall crocodile sitting near the window.

‘Good morning,' said the crocodile. ‘Do make yourselves comfortable.'

‘Thanks!' said Figaro. ‘Great day for it!' And he sat down on the opposite seat.

‘Indeed,' smiled the crocodile, showing a perfect set of sharp yellow teeth.

Rumba stopped in the doorway. He waggled his eyebrows at Figaro.

‘Do come in,' the crocodile said. ‘You'll catch a chill standing there. I won't bite you.'

Rumba looked at him. He was a very elegant crocodile, no doubt about that. Rumba really liked his satin waistcoat. There were musical notes stitched all over it. And nestled between his short legs were two conga drums. Surely such a musical creature couldn't be a villain?

Rumba began to pile his things into the overhead locker.

‘Here, let me help you,' said the crocodile, reaching up. ‘I am taller.'

‘Well,' said Rumba. ‘Thank you.'

When they were settled, Rumba turned politely to the crocodile. ‘Your accent is very familiar. Do you mind if I ask where you come from?'

‘Why not at all,
amigo
. I was born in Cuba,' and he played a short salsa dance beat.

‘Cuba!' Rumba's eyes grew damp. But he couldn't help his foot tapping against the seat. ‘I myself lived there. Such wonderful music. That explains your waistcoat. Very stylish, isn't it, Figaro?'

‘Fabulous,' nodded Figaro. ‘Look, see that big lake out there? And the white boats? Oh, Rumba, you have to look straight away because this train is so fast, everything whooshes by in a second. See? Now you missed out on that volcano type thing.'

‘That was a pile of dirt,' said the crocodile.

‘I love dirt,' Figaro said. ‘I just hope we don't whoosh along so fast we drop off the edge of the world or something.'

‘The world is round like an orange, not flat, so there are no edges to drop off,' the crocodile put in.

‘I knew that already,' said Figaro. ‘I was just joking.'

‘And did you know, too, that you have drool dripping onto your shirt?' The crocodile pointed to Figaro's chest. ‘You've made a wet shape like the island of Cuba. Don't you carry a handkerchief for that?'

Figaro looked down at his chest. His eyes grew red.

Rumba gave Figaro one of the towels. ‘I lived in a little town on the coast, just out of Havana.' Rumba turned to Figaro. ‘Havana is the capital city of Cuba.'

‘I knew that,' said Figaro. He glared at the crocodile. ‘And I know what Havana is in Spanish, it's La Habana.'

‘Well,' Rumba went on, ‘I used to love watching the boats come back at dusk. The smell of fresh fish and the gold in the water – it was as if the sun had just fallen
plop
right in – oh, it was heaven. Then, of course, the whole town came alive at night. The streets were full of music – guitars strumming, drums going wild. I remember how we would stay up until three in the morning, singing in the moonlight.'

‘So why did you leave?' asked the crocodile.

Rumba sighed. ‘It's a very sad story. I don't often tell it, but …Well, you see, one day I came home from singing lessons and my family was not there. I waited and waited but when night fell I went in to ask the neighbour, Juanita, if she knew what had happened.

‘“Your family must have been catnapped!” Juanita said. “There has been a lot of it about. You've got to be careful these days, especially if you're a cat with a very good voice. They are the ones in danger. Me, personally, I am tone deaf.”

‘It was true – we had to close all our windows when Juanita sang in the shower. But my family sang in a salsa band downtown. I searched for them for two years. I looked all over Cuba, from Santa Clara to Trinidad. I was so sad I could hardly eat. But I couldn't stop looking. Then I met Figaro. He bought me a bucketful of prawns and listened to my story. And when he had to leave, I decided to come too. I had found a best friend. Dear Figaro, he became my new family.'

The crocodile looked at Figaro. Figaro looked back.

‘I can count to ten in Spanish,' said Figaro. And he did.

The crocodile smiled. ‘Congratulations.'