Draw Of The Cutlass

We cannot let Nose and Kobo go shopping for shorts and not follow them.

It's too intriguing.

How will it go?

Nose has a good nose for shopping.

She travels slowly for the sake of her passenger.

This way, says Nose.

I'm glad you think so, says Kobo. I would have gone the other way.

No, says Nose. I have a long nose and I know where the shops are.

She heads straight for the main shopping street in Bridgetown.

It is bustling with shoppers, some of whom are pointing.

Pay no attention, says Nose.

To what? asks Kobo.

That's it. You're doing it, says Nose. Look, there's a shorts shop.

It is indeed a shorts shop. They go inside.

Can I help you two lovelies? asks a woman who has been rearranging the shorts piles.

Yes, I want some shorts, please, says Nose. I like those ones.

She points to small pair of shorts, pale blue, patterned all over with tiny cutlasses.

Those are boy's ones, says the woman. Are they for your brother?

NO, says Nose. They're for me.

You go, girl, says the woman. But you know, there may be a problem.

Problem? says Nose.

You're big in the beam, sweetheart, says the woman. Don't get me wrong. I'm big in the beam myself. It's natural. Just you might need a bigger size to get them shorts over your bottom.

Nose had not particularly thought about getting them over her bottom.

They're the only ones with cutlasses.

Try them on, dear, says Kobo, climbing down off her.

Nose struggles into the cutlass shorts. They are loose at the waist, tight round the bottom, and they don't have a tail hole.

I can fix you a tail hole, says the woman. Do you want them?

I want them, says Nose.

Twenty Bajan dollars, says the woman.

I'll come back, says Nose.

She hurries out of the shorts shop.

Hey! says the woman. Well, bless me!

Has she gone ? asks Kobo.

She has, with the shorts on, says the woman. And no tail hole, and she hasn't paid me the money.

She'll be back, says Kobo.

She would have been better with souvenir shorts, observes the woman.

What are they? asks Kobo.

Pirate pantaloons, says the woman. Drawstring. Red and white stripes. Baggy.

We'll take them, says Kobo.

I don't sell 'em, says the woman. That's next door.

Will you take me? asks Kobo.

Sorry babe, says the woman. I can't leave the shop.

I'll mind it, says Kobo.

Yeah. A fossilised clam. Still, I'll only be away a minute. Okay, there's the till. No... wait on, if you make a sale, hold on to the customer.

She goes out, leaving Kobo excited.