“We have liftoff!” the man shouted.
I lifted my gaze automatically and felt a thrill of delight as six kites rose into the sky in quick succession, each one more fantastic than the last. A red dragon bobbed in the rising breeze beside a skeletal, bat-winged biplane. A goldfish swam sinuously beneath a tall ship with billowing sails. Above them all soared a pair of complex and colorful box kites, breathtaking examples of geometry in motion. I couldn’t see who the kite-flyers were, but I was grateful to them for adding such a marvelous spectacle to an already magical day.
If I hadn’t been entranced by the kite ballet, I might have avoided the pothole. As it was, I pushed the pram straight into the gnarly cavity, hit its jagged lip at an unfortunate angle, and watched helplessly as the front wheel parted company with its axle and bounced merrily down the track ahead of us.
Bess gave a cry of alarm. To avoid frightening her further, I swallowed my own startled yelp and as a result emitted a sound that wasn’t quite human. The jarring bump and the scary noise Mummy made were too much for a baby to bear. Bess opened her rosy mouth and began to wail.
The only thing that kept me from banging my stupid head against the stone wall was my need to comfort my child. I propped the pram’s front fork on the left-hand bank, undid Bess’s harness, lifted her into my arms, and sat with her beside the broken pram, murmuring soothing and deeply apologetic words to her as I rocked her from side to side. Another snack seemed advisable and as soon as Bess latched on to me, she relaxed.
While my daughter regained her composure, I contemplated our plight. I didn’t like the thought of pushing a two-wheeled pram all the way back to civilization, but I liked the thought of telephoning Bill even less.
“The track’s too rough for a car, so he’ll send a helicopter to rescue us,” I said bleakly to Bess. “Everyone in Finch will see it whirling over the village and they’ll know before nightfall that I got us into another scrape. Six farmyards and a helicopter?” I gave a self-pitying moan. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”
I was so absorbed in my gloomy thoughts that I paid scant attention to the grunts and the scraping noises coming from the far side of the wall until a deep voice spoke from on high.
“May I be of assistance?”
I looked up and saw a man seated atop the stone wall. His short hair was white, as were his closely clipped beard and mustache, and his gray eyes were surrounded by wrinkles, but he didn’t dress like a grizzled old man. His rumpled blue shirt, grass-stained khaki trousers, and soiled sneakers reminded me of the clothes worn by my energetic young sons, but his most striking adornment was a wreath of dried grapevines sprinkled with buttercups and wound around his head like a crown.
The sight of the garlanded figure silhouetted against a sky dotted with dancing kites left me temporarily speechless. While I gazed upward in mute astonishment, the man regarded me politely, as if he routinely clambered up walls to rescue nursing mothers in distress.
“I heard a baby’s cry,” he continued, “and thought I might help in some way.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to stare at his wreath, “but I’m not sure you can help us.” I tipped the pram back with one hand and swung it around to reveal the full extent of the tragedy. “Can you mend it?”
The man studied the pram’s empty fork for a moment, then nodded.
“Sit tight,” he said with a friendly wink. “Back in a jiffy.”
He dropped out of sight before I could ask his name.
I gazed at the spot where the man had been, wondering if I’d conjured him out of thin air. The sound of his voice advising the kite-flyers to “Keep your lines taut!” assured me that he wasn’t a figment of my imagination, but I still wasn’t sure what to make of him. Could he repair the pram? I asked myself. Would he make it possible for me to walk home on my own two feet, with my head held high?
I exchanged glances with Bess and chose to be optimistic. Though the man’s grapevine wreath was a bit peculiar, I wouldn’t have cared if he’d reappeared clad in a grass skirt and a bowler hat. If he could spare me the humiliation of calling on Bill for support, I decided, he would be my friend forever.
I propped the pram on the bank again and looked down at Bess.
“Your grandfather’s neighbor appears to be related to Bacchus,” I said. “Bacchus, for your information, is the god of wine and wild parties. Maybe that’s why Grandpa William never talks about him. Wild parties aren’t really your grandfather’s thing.”