:: [stories.told]

The Secret Passage - Chapt Ten

2008-03-29T20:49:00.004+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Ten
"I Want My Dad to Come Home"
by Nina Bawden

When they got home, Ben was waiting on the doorstep. Before Aunt Mabel had closed the door, he said in an excited voice, "There's a man come to see Miss Pin. He's talking to her in her room."

"Talking to Miss Pin?" Aunt Mabel said. "Whoever...?"

"Miss Pin says he's her Man of Affairs," Ben said importantly. "And he wants to see you, Aunt Mabel."

"What?" Aunt Mabel frowned. "I suppose I'd better go and see what Miss Pin has been up to. Mary - go down to the kitchen and lay the table for tea.

"Tea," John said indignantly, "But we haven't had lunch yet."

"People who get arrested by the police must expect to miss their meals," Aunt Mabel said, and walked down the passage to Miss Pin's room.

The children went down to the kitchen. "My stomach's empty," John said. "It feels like a drum. What's in the larder, Mary?"

"There's a lovely big bowl of dripping." Mary picked it up carefully and put it on the table, with the bread and the knife.

John sighed. "I feel more like steak. Still, I suppose we're lucky not to be locked up in a cold cell and fed on dry crusts and water."

"We may be yet," Mary said gloomily. "You heard what Aunt Mabel said. We'll have to come up before a magistrate. He may send us to prison."

"No he won't," Ben said suddenly. "He'll send Mr Reynolds to prison. For stealing my horse."

"He didn't steal it," John said. "Stealing is when you come stealthily, by night. He just took it because he thought it was his."

"Well it wasn't," Ben said. "And he'd no right to take it. Miss Pin said so. She says she'll see I get it back."

"She can't do anything," John said. "She's only an old woman. And just stop talking about your old horse. There are a lot of more important things to think about, like going to prison and dying of hunger." He took the knife and began to cut thick slices of bread.

Ben looked miserable and angry at the same time.

"Never mind, Ben," Mary said. "I expect you'll get Pin back, in the end. I mean - when Mr Reynolds has had a good look at it, he'll see it isn't one of his. All his horses are terribly valuable."

Ben said nothing. He just glared at John in a furious, smouldering way and tucked into the thick slice of bread and dripping Mary gave him. In spite of the prospect of prison, all their appetites were remarkably sound. Even Victoria, who had not said a word since they left the police station, had eaten her second slice of bread and dripping by the time Aunt Mabel came into the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

She had a puzzled look on her face. She said, in a hurried voice, "Ben, come here. I have something to say to you."

Ben gulped down his mouthful of bread and went up to her. She looked searchingly into his face. "Ben - what have you said to Miss Pin?"

Ben shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. "Nothing," he said.

Aunt Mabel said quickly, "I didn't mean you'd said anything wrong, Ben, you're too young to understand. But did you tell her I was poor?"

Ben went brick red. "I did in a way. She asked me, see? I wanted some money to buy something and she said couldn't you give it to me and I said, no, you couldn't. And she said she'd give me some money and she did, but it wasn't real money, only an old foreign coin."

"Will you show me the coin, Ben?" Aunt Mabel said, and Ben fumbled in his pocket and brought out the little, bright yellow coin and gave it to her. She looked at it, turned it over and looked at it again. There was an odd, bemused expression on her face as if something had happened that she didn't understand at all. She said nothing for several minutes.

Then Mary said nervously, "Is anything the matter, Aunt Mabel? Has anything happened? What has Ben done?"

Aunt Mabel looked at her as if from a great distance. "There's someone upstairs who wants to talk to Ben," she said.

She looked so vague, so flustered, so almost alarmed, that the children were afraid to ask any more questions. Ben stood still while Aunt Mabel scrubbed at his mouth with a corner of her apron and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to sleek back his tousled hair with a comb. The others followed and clustered in the doorway, feeling rather odd inside.

On one of the tables there were a great many papers, all spread out, and several thick-looking files. Behind the table sat a sharp-featured, rather dry-looking gentleman with a bald head and spectacles.

He looked at Ben.

"Is this the boy?" he asked in a cold voice. He took his spectacles off, put them on top of the papers and gave them a little flip - all without taking his eyes off Ben. They were chilly, grey eyes, the same colour as the English sea, and they regarded Ben with stern disapproval.

"Yes, Mr Green," Aunt Mabel said. "This is Ben. Benjamin Mallory."

"Come here, Benjamin," Mr Green said. "Here - on the other side of the table."

Ben glanced at Aunt Mabel who gave him a little push. He walked steadily up to the table and stood, very straight and still.

Mr Green looked at Aunt Mabel. "What have you told him?"

"Nothing," Aunt Mabel said.

Mr Green sighed and looked even more cold and disapproving.

"Very well, Mrs Haggard. Now Benjamin, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm a solicitor. Miss Pin's solicitor. Do you know what a solicitor is?"

"No," Ben said.

"Well - oh, never mind. Now - you know Miss Pin, don't you?"

Ben looked at him boldly. "Of course I do. She's my friend."

Mr Green gave his spectacles another little flip. "Your friend?" he said, giving the word a nasty, sarcastic sound. "Do you really expect me to believe that? You're only a little boy. How can an old lady be your friend?"

Ben said loudly, "She is my friend. Not my best friend, because Thomas is that, but my second best friend."

Mr Green leaned back in his chair and twirled his spectacles in his hand. He said, incredulously, "Do you mean that you like talking to her... that sort of thing?"

"We don't just talk," Ben said. "We play draughts. And she tells me stories. I like playing draughts and listening to stories."

"She's a very old lady," Mr Green said. "I shouldn't have thought a boy would have been interested in anything such a very old lady had to say."

This was such a very stupid remarj that Ben did not bother to reply to it.

Mr Green settled his spectacles back on his thin, long nose and gazed at Ben thoughtfully for a moment. Then he said, "I'm going to ask you a question, young man, and I want you to answer me quite truthfully. I shall know if you tell me a lie. Did anyone tell you to go and see Miss Pin and play draughts with her? Has your Aunt, for example, ever said that it would be a good thing if you got friendly with Miss Pin and were nice to her?"

Ben opened his mouth to answer but Aunt Mabel put in quickly, "Mr Green, I cannot believe it is necessary to take this attitude. The child has never been encouraged to visit Miss Pin. It has been entirely his own doing."

Mr Green sat up straight in his chair. He said in a weary voice, "Mrs Haggard, that may or may not be true. I am simply trying to get at the truth in order to avoid trouble in the future. Miss Pin's relations..."

"Have never bothered with her," Aunt Mabel said sharply.

"No doubt. But should she... should anything happen to her," he went on with a quick glance at the watching children, "I daresay they will bother. They may even contest the Will in the courts and try to prove that you had persuaded the boy to make friends with her for your own gain..."

The children did not understand. They stared at Mr Green and then at Aunt Mabel. Aunt Mabel's face was pale and nervous but Ben's was pale and angry.

He said furiously, "No one asked me to be friends with Miss Pin. I just wanted to be because I like her. She can't help being old. And she tells lovely stories. If you don't believe that, you must be a stupid, horrible man..."

This was dreadfully rude and John and Mary gasped, but Mr Green did not seem to mind at all. He even produced a smile - very small and rather sour, but still a smile.

He said, "I believe you, Benjamin. I am very glad you are fond of Miss Pin, because she is very, very fond of you. So fond, in fact, that she has decided to give a lot of money..."

"But she hasn't got any," Ben said. "She says she has, I mean - she thinks she has..." He felt hot and uncomfortable. It seemed very unkind to Miss Pin to tell this stiff, cold man that she didn't understand about real money. On the other hand, it might be even more unkind not to tell him. He might be terribly angry with Miss Pin for telling him stories and wasting his time. So he said, breathlessly, "You see, she has a story she tells - about her Papa and his Enemies and the Treasure he left her to look after. B-but it's just a sort of game - the treasure is only a lot of foreign coins that you can't spend in England. She doesn't know that because it's a long time since she went to the shops but I know, because she gave me one. Look..."

He put his lucky coin down on the table and watched Mr Green as he picked it up and looked at it. Ben said anxiously, "You won't be angry with Miss Pin, will you? For... for wasting your time and things..."

Mr Green's thin mouth twitched violently. Mary and John had the impression - which couldn't be true, of course, because he was such a cold, humourless man - that he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. He didn't laugh, though. He said, gently, "This isn't a foreign coin, Ben. It isn't legal either - that means you couldn't change it in a sweet shop. But its' real English money, all the same. It's a Golden Sovereign - I don't imagine you've ever seen one before." He fondled the little coin tenderly and that handed it back to Ben. He went on slowly, "Miss Pin is rich, Ben. I know she gets a little muddled sometimes, because she's old and falls asleep easily and dreams a lot - but she's not muddled about that. She is a very, very rich old lady and one day, Ben, you will be a very, very rich man..."

Aunt Mabel said in a low voice, "I don't think there is any need to go into that..."

"No," Mr Green said. "No, perhaps not." He drummed his fingers on the table top and cleared his throat. "Well. Apart from her Will, Miss Pin has instructed me to deal with all her financial affairs. The jade is not to be sold for the moment but the sovereigns will cover all her current expenses, including," - he smiled at Aunt Mabel - "the very considerable amount she clearly owes you for all the years you have cared for her."

Aunt Mabel said, in a funny, gasping voice, "And to think I thought she hadn't a penny. When all the time she was sitting on a gold mine."

"A gold mine?" John said, surprised.

Aunt Mabel smiled. "Well - not quite. I meant her jade collection. Mr Green says it's worth a lot of money."

"Priceless," Mr Green said, lovingly.

Aunt Mabel sighed. "All that old junk. Junk. That's what I thought it was. Can you imagine?"

Mr Green gave a short, dry laugh. "Do you know, Mrs Haggard, there are pieces in that trunk that have not even been unpacked!"

"Incredible!" Aunt Mabel said.

Ben said suddenly, "Do you mean my horse is really precious?"

Both Aunt Mabel and Mr Green looked at him in surprise. It was as if they had been so busy exclaiming over Miss Pin's fortune, that they had forgotten the children's presence.

"What horse?" Mr Green said.

"The one Mr Reynolds took. He shouldn't have taken it, Miss Pin gave it to me, he's a thief," Ben said.

"And he said we were," Mary burst out.

"Mr Reynolds - what has Mr Reynolds to do with it?" Mr Green said.

The children all started to talk at once but Mr Green held up his hand and said in a commanding voice, "One at a time, please." So Mary told him, rather hesitantly, about the House of Secrets and how Mr Reynolds had found them and taken Ben's horse and said they were a parcel of thieving brats and sent them down to the police station.

When she had finished, Mr Green said nothing for a few minutes except, "Hmmm," and played with his spectacles. Then he said, "Well..." and looked at them all so gravely that they began to feel very guilty and scared. He put his spectacles on and looked at John over the top of the lenses. "Tell me," he said, "you broke into this house - in itself, a very wrong thing to do, of course - but did you do any wilful damage? Did you break anything?"

John drew a deep, quivering breath and looked at Mary. There was no hope for it - they would have to explain about the broken Bust. But just as he was gathering his courage, Ben said loudly.

"I suppose if my horse really is precious, Miss Pin had better have him back. When My Reynolds gives him back to me, I mean. I don't suppose she knew he was really precious, do you? She wouldn't have given a really precious thing to a boy."

His face was very sad. Mr Green looked at Aunt Mabel and smiled. Then he said, "I think you can keep your horse, Ben. Miss Pin would like you to, I'm sure. In fact she would like you to have other things. Is there anything you want?"

Ben stared at him blankly.

"Come on, don't be shy. You're a young man of substance now," Mr Green said jokingly. "There must be something you'd like. Toys, books - anything you want."

Ben's eyes grew large and dark and shiny. "I want my Dad to come home," he said.

The Secret Passage - Chapt Nine

2007-11-22T18:46:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Nine
Locked Up in the Police Station
by Nina Bawden

The big, shiny car purred through the streets of Henstable with the four children huddled in the back, not speaking. Mary felt very miserable and scared - and hungry, too, because it was lunch time. She sat next to John and held his hand to comfort him though, in fact, John looked more thoughtful than frightened. His face was pink and his eyes were bright - almost, Mary thought, surprised, as if something extraordinarily nice and exciting had happened. He certainly didn't look like a criminal being taken to the police station.

Neither did Ben. He sat stolidly, his hands clenched on his knees. He had not spoken once and he was so furiously angry that his eyes were like hard, dark little stones. Mary knew he was angry about Pin and was glad of it; as long as he was angry he couldn't be scared, though he probably wouldn't have been scared anyway. He was too young, she thought, to understand the dreadful thing that was happening to them.

Victoria was frightened, though. She was crouching in the corner and shivering as if she was very cold. Her face looked just as it had when they first met her; a screwed up, pale, sullen face, glowering out of the window.

The car stopped. Jackson got out, opened the back door and jerked his head. "Out," he said curtly.

They went up some stone steps into a big, bare room, where there was a kind of counter and a policeman standing behind it. The children waited while Jackson spoke to the policeman in a low voice. The policeman was a tall, red-faced man with a great deal of hair; not only did he have a vast, ginger moustache, but there were spikes of red hair growing stiffly out of his ears. He looked at the children while Jackson was talking and after a bit, he beckoned to them.

They went up to the counter. It was so high that Ben could barely see over it. The policeman spoke to them. They would have to stay here for a while, he said; they were to tell him their names and addresses and their parents would be sent for.

Ben's mouth was shut tight as a clamp and John seemed speechless - not through fear, exactly, it was more as if he was far away in a world of his own. Mary glanced at Victoria because she was so obviously the oldest, but she was clasping her arms across her chest and quivering and staring at the floor.

So it was Mary who talked to the policeman. She said that their name was Mallory, she told him where they lived and Aunt Mabel's telephone number. The policeman put little questions, to encourage her; though his voice was gruff it was also quite kind and after a while Mary began to feel a good deal less frightened. When she had finished, she glanced at Victoria again and suddenly realised what John had realised earlier: that Victoria only had to say she was Victoria Reynolds and everyone would know that they weren't criminals, only rather naughty children who had broken into someone else's house. And though her grandfather might still be very angry, he would hardly send his grand-daughter's friends to prison.

She was rather surprised because Victoria didn't speak up and say who she was, but she wasn't angry. Mary had a very kind heart and was always ready to make allowances for people: she thought Victoria was silly not to tell the policeman her name but she was very sorry for her, because she looked so pale and terrified.

Perhaps the policeman was sorry for her too because he didn't question her, though he looked at her once or twice in a curious sort of way. Or perhaps he thought that she was a Mallory too.

When he had written down all the things that Mary told him, he took them behind the counter and into another room, where there was a lot of bright, scrubbed, yellow paint and a small, barred window high up in one wall. The policeman said they were to wait there for a little while. Just after he had left, another policeman - a very young one - came in with a tray on which there were four steaming cups of tea that he put down on the bench. He didn't say anything but winked at them in a cheerful way.

In spite of his wink and the tea - which was so strong and sweet none of them could drink it - the next half hour was a very unhappy time. In fact it seemed more like half a day than half an hour. None of them spoke much. Ben just said, in a quiet, ominous voice, "Just wait until Miss Pin hears of this!" and relapsed into a dark, gloomy silence. Victoria just sat and shook and John peered sideways at her from time to time - an odd, secretive glance that would have puzzled Mary, if she hadn't been so busy wondering what would happen to them. And what Aunt Mabel would say!

Perhaps even when they discovered who Victoria was, and that they hadn't stolen anything, they would still be sent to prison! Perhaps breaking into a house - Breaking and Entering, was what Mr Reynolds had said - was just as bad as stealing something. And they had broken the Bust. Perhaps once My Reynolds discovered that, they would all be thrown into jail straightaway, and not let out until they were quite old...

This thought was so alarming that she quite stopped worrying about how upset and angry Aunt Mabel was going to be, and when, finally, the door opened and Aunt Mabel was ushered in by the hairy policeman, Mary ran up to her, crying, "Please - oh, please Aunt Mabel, don't let them send us to prison."

Aunt Mabel's eyes were red and her face was pinched and cross, but she held Mary's head tightly against her side and said soothingly," There, there, my lamb, don't cry..." Then, as if she was rather ashamed of herself for being so kind and gentle, she pushed Mary away and said coldly, "I am deeply ashamed - so ashamed I don't know what to say. Your Father will have to know - everyone will know. It will be in all the papers, you will have to come up before a magistrate..."

Ben pushed Mary aside and stood in front of Aunt Mabel. He burst out, "He said we were thieves. And we're not. Miss Pin knows. I'm going to tell her."

His face was so set and burning with rage that John and Mary would have laughed, if it had been such a solemn occasion. Then he ran towards the door, butted the hairy policeman in the stomach and squeezed past him. He took everyone by surprise; he was out of the police station and in the street, almost before the policeman could turn round.

"Ben," Aunt Mabel called in a high voice, "Ben, come back here..."

She would have gone after him if the policeman had not stopped her with a loud, good-natured laugh. "Let him go, Mrs Haggard. We know where he lives, don't we? We can get hold of him when we want to." And he went out, closing the door.

Aunt Mabel said, "Well, you've got yourselves into a pretty pickle... You..." Then she saw Victoria, and her eyes sharpened with surprise.

John gave her a queer little squeak of excitement. "Aunt Mabel," he said, "this is Victoria. She is your Long Lost Daughter."

Aunt Mabel looked thunderstruck. John said, "I knew, because of the locket. She was wearing it when she was found on the steps of the church." He beamed at Aunt Mabel, very proud and happy, as if had had quite forgotten he was locked in a police station. "We went into the House of Secrets and we found the brass bedstead and the chest with your things in it and the picture of your baby that was stolen - and then we found Victoria had the locket with your picture in it..."

In a minute, he thought, when Aunt Mabel had taken in this wonderful news, she would open her arms wide and clasp Victoria to her bosom. He was a little surprised - even though perhaps he hadn't explained it very well - when Aunt Mabel did not do this. She simply stood there, her mouth opening and shutting, like a fish gasping for air.

Mary stammered, "But... but I thought Mr Reynolds was her grandfather..."

"Only her adopted grandfather," John explained. "That's not the same thing at all." He looked at Aunt Mabel solicitously. "I suppose it's an awful shock. Would you feel better if you sat down?"

But Aunt Mabel wasn't just shocked. Something was dreadfully wrong. Her face had gone a curious, mottled colour as she looked at Victoria and suddenly burst out, "Why, Vicky Clark. What have you been telling them - you wicked girl?"

Victoria burst into tears.

"I couldn't help it, I couldn't..." she sobbed. "They found me in the house and I was so scared... they kept asking questions on and on and they thought Mr Reynolds was my grandfather and I said yes, he was, because I thought otherwise they'd tell on me and I'd get into awful trouble. Then, later on, when I found they hadn't any more business being there than I had... I couldn't, I couldn't..."

John stared at her. He couldn't believe it. Why should Victoria have told such dreadful lies?

He said indignantly, "But you had that locket! You said..."

She looked at him miserably. "I took that locket out of the chest in the attic. It was so pretty, I only wanted to wear it for a little while. But - but I thought you'd think I'd stolen it. And - and anyway I'd been pretending to myself about it being my mother's locket..."

"But why did you tell us the other things? Do you mean it wasn't true, none of it - about the awful school and being adopted and your mother and father dying and everything..."

John was dreadfully angry. It was partly disappointment, of course - it had been so exciting and wonderful to think he had discovered Aunt Mabel's daughter - but he was also an upright boy who despised people who didn't tell the truth.

Victoria drew a long, sobbing breath. "I didn't - I didn't mean to tell lies, but I just started and I went on. And it was nice thinking that I lived in that lovely house and that my real parents were rich and everything. It was sort of exciting and everything's really so horrible and dull..."

Aunt Mabel's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "It wasn't all lies, John. Vicky's parents are dead. She's an orphan and she lives with her foster mother, Mrs Clark. Mrs Clark works for Mr Reynolds - she keeps the house clean for him when he's away."

But John's face stayed cold and stony. He said, "So that's how you had a key. You just came in and out through the back door. I think you're a nasty, lying little sneak. Telling us all those stories and making us sorry for you... and... eating our food..."

"I didn't want it," Victoria shouted fiercely - she wasn't crying now, but just as angry as John. "D' you think I wanted that horrible, cold egg and that horrible bread and butter all covered with dirt? It's your fault - you made me eat it, you made me..."

She looked thoroughly bad-tempered and cross but Mary felt, suddenly, rather sorry for her. It was their fault in a way, they'd wanted her to be mysterious and exciting. And it was silly of John to be angry when all Victoria had done was to pretend to be someone else - and John himself was always pretending. But of course, though it was all right to pretend, it was wrong to tell lies; sometimes it was very difficult to tell which you were doing.

Mary said, "You should have told us. I mean, it was all right to pretend in the beginning, but after we'd been found out - when Mr Reynolds had caught us, I mean - you could have told us in the car, or something..."

Victoria gave a sniff. "I thought you'd hate me for telling those lies and think I was horrible, the way everyone else does. And I wanted us to be friends."

"But we were friends," Mary said, surprised. "So you could have told us. And you should have told us you'd only borrowed the locket because..."

Her voice trailed away. She had suddenly realised how awful it must be for Aunt Mabel when she came into the room and John said, "this is you Long Lost Daughter", when it was only a girl she knew called Vicky Clark.

She looked at Aunt Mabel anxiously, but Aunt Mabel didn't appear in the least upset. She looked grim. She gave Mary and I'll-talk-to-you-later look. But when she turned to Victoria, her expression wasn't grim at all. It was kind and pitying.

She said, "What were you doing in the house, Vicky? Did Mrs Clark know you were there?"

"Once she did," Victoria said unhappily. "She hurt her back, see, about two months ago, and she said I was to go in and dust downstairs so the place would keep clean for Mr Reynolds. He's ever such a fussy man. Mrs Clark said I was to go home after school and give the little ones their tea and put them to bed and then go along to Mr Reynolds' house and clean. I didn't want to go - I was scared because the house was shut-up and spooky - but she said I was stupid. So I went and dusted like she said - the dining room and the stairs and the hall and then I was tired and my legs ached and I thought Mr Reynolds wouldn't mind if I sat down for a little while. So I went into that room and saw the piano..."

Aunt Mabel said softly, "And then? What happened then?"

Victoria looked into Aunt Mabel's face and gave a relaxed little sigh, as if something she saw there made her feel soothed and comforted. She said, "I played it. It's a lovely piano, it's got a lovely tone. And I wanted - I wanted to play it more than anything in the world. I needed to practise. The lady next door to Mrs Clark's used to let me practise on her piano and then she got a television set and she couldn't be bothered with me any more because they wanted to watch the television... though Mrs Clark said it was because she didn't like me, she said I looked so sour and cross no one could like me. And she said it wasn't worth my having music lessons any more if I couldn't practise." She paused. "I didn't hurt the piano. I didn't do any damage."

"I'm sure you didn't," Aunt Mabel said.

She was looking at Victoria in an odd way, almost as if she wanted to cry, and Victoria looked back at her with a sad, trusting expression on her face and said piteously, "Will Mrs Clark have to know? About the police and everything? I did an awful thing, you see, I gave her the front door key but I took the key out of the back door so I could get in to play the piano without anyone knowing. I didn't do anything else except once or twice I went to sleep on the bed in the attic because I was tired - I took an alarm clock so I'd wake up before it was dark. And now Mrs Clark'll find out and she'll send me back to the orphanage." Her voice broke in a sob. "I don't like Mrs Clark, but I don't want to go back to the orphanage."

Aunt Mabel took a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. She said, "I'm afraid Mrs Clark will have to know, unless My Reynolds decides to drop the charge. But he is a very hard and difficult man."

She stared straight in front of her for a minute, as if she was thinking very hard. Then she did something that was quite unlike anything the children had ever seen her do. She went up to Victoria and put her arms round her and held her head tight against her shoulder. She said, "Don't worry, Vicky dear. I'll try and think what is the best thing to do. You can come home with us and have something to eat and before you go home I'll see Mrs Clark and try to explain to her."

"Can we go home?" John said in an astonished voice. "I thought we were going to be locked up."

Aunt Mabel said dryly, "No, John. Not that you don't deserve it. But in England, no one can be imprisoned without trial."

John sighed deeply, with relief. And Victoria clung to Aunt Mabel, just as if she had been her long lost daughter, and cried a little.

The Secret Passage - Chapt Eight

2007-05-29T19:45:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Eight
"Just a Parcel of Thieving Brats"
by Nina Bawden

The next morning Victoria was waiting for them in the garden of the house next door. This time she didn't scowl. She smiled as cheerfully as anyone and said, "I thought you were never
coming."

"We had to wait until Aunt Mabel was upstairs, doing the rooms," Mary explained. "Because we had to get out of the house with this."

In his arms, Ben was carrying a large, roundish object, wrapped in newspaper. He held it as carefully as if it were a basket of eggs.

"What is it?" Victoria asked.

"You'll see," Mary said mysteriously. "You musn't look yet. If you stay in the kitchen, we'll call when we're ready."

They went through the kitchen, upstairs and into the hall. Ben placed his bundle gently on the floor and unwrapped it. Then John picked up the Bust of the African child, stood on tiptoe and placed it on top of the empty marble column.

"Come and see," he called.

Victoria came into the hall and saw the Bust. She stared and stared. Her thin face grew quite fat and radiant as she smiled. "It's beautiful," she said in a breathless voice. "Oh - it's a beautiful thing." And she went on staring at it in a rapt, awestruck way that the Mallory's found a little absurd.

John said, "I've brought you some breakfast." He produced what he had managed to save: a boiled egg, rather squashed, and two pieces of bread and butter stuck together and a trifle
hairy from John's pocket.

"I'm afraid the egg's a bit cold," John said. "But I remembered to bring a teaspoon. There are some egg cups and plates in the glass cupboard in here."

Victoria followed him into the big, gloomy dining room. She said in a shocked voice, "But we can't use the things in that cabinet. They're valuable."

Mary said, "Surely your grandfather won't mind? Not if we're careful."

The cupboard door was unlocked; Mary opened it and took out a very pretty plate with a pattern of green and gold leaves round the rim. She chose an egg cup with pink flowers on it and put the two pieces down on the dark, polished table. "There," she said. "Sit in this big chair and you'll be like the Queen."

"And we'll be your sevants, waiting on you hand and foot." Ben said, giggled.

"I... I can't," Victoria whispered. Her voice was so low and scared that the children looked at her curiously. She was very pale and frightened and twisting her thin hands together in front of her. Mary and John began to feel nervous themselves, but Ben, who never felt shy or awkward, said loudly, "Don't be silly. It doesn't matter, eating off the table as long as you don't make a mess. And you're not a baby."

"No..." Victoria gave Ben a tremulous smile. Then she did sit down in the chair - very cautiously, on the edge. She picked up the spoon, took the shell off the egg and began to eat. She ate slowly, not like a starving person but like someone who didn't much care for cold egg and hairy bread-and-butter. John nudged Mary and said, "I think we'll go up to the attic. You can come when you've finished breakfast."

While they were climbing the twisting, wooden stairs, he explained. "It's embarrassing to be watched when you're eating."

"She didn't look very hungry," Ben said.

"Perhaps her stomach is shrunk with starvation," John suggested. "I read somewhere that if people are dreadfully hungry, it's difficult for them to eat at first. When someone has been
starving you shouldn't give them anything solid to eat to start with - just sips of sugary water."

"We haven't got any water. And she's not starving because we gave her all that food yesterday. All our tea," Mary said.

"It was only a few sandwiches. It wasn't much," John said, rather indignantly. He was feeling hungry himself and thought longingly of the boiled egg that he had slipped into his pocket when Aunt Mabel's back was turned, even though he had eaten a second helping of porridge to make up for it.

"What are we going to do?" Ben said. "It's freezing cold up here."

It was cold. There was no sun today and the attic looked very bleak and bare. Outside, the sky looked thick and felted like an army blanket and the seagulls, wheeling, were like chips of snow against the grey.

"Let's light a fire," John said. "There's wood shavings in the cellar and we could get some sticks out of the garden."

"Do you think we should?" Mary said solemnly. "The chimney might catch fire or something."

The boys regarded her with disgust.

"We'll see to the fire," John said with a superior look. "You and Victoria can clean up the attic and find the rugs and cushions. That's women's work."

Mary went downstairs rather reluctantly. She was a little shy of Victoria who was so much older than she was - indeed, except when they had been playing hide-and-seek yesterday, she hadn't seemed to Mary like a child at all. Mary didn't think that Victoria would enjoy furnishing the attic and at first it looked as if she was right.

Victoria turned her mouth down at the corners and said sullenly, "Do you mean we've got to sweep up the floors and dust? That isn't fun. I hate housework."

"I rather like it," Mary said. "We never did anything like that in Africa. I like making beds and washing up..."

"Well I don't," Victoria said roughly. "I've had to do too much of it. I..." She stopped suddenly.

Mary thought this was a little odd. Surely they didn't make you do housework at boarding-school? She said quickly, "You needn't help. It doesn't matter - it's only a game. We - we just
thought you might like to."

But Victoria followed her upstairs and after Mary had been sweeping with the dustpan and brush for a little while, she said abruptly, "I'll do that - I'll be quicker than you."

She was quicker. She was very quick and neat, like Aunt Mabel. When the floor was clean, she shook the dirt out of the attic window and said cheerfully, "Well - what do we do now?"

"We've got to find rugs and cushions." Mary remembered that even if Victoria was a sort of refugee, she was still taking refuge in her own house, so she added, politely, "If you don't mind,
I mean."

Victoria laughed. "Why should I care? I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb."

And, in fact, she collected far more things than Mary would have dared to do - bright, silken cushions from one of the bedrooms and three gaily patterned, woollen rugs. When they
staggered upstairs with their burdens, the boys had already lit the fire. The wood shavings were roaring up the chimney and John had found a stack of old, tarry road blocks in the cellar. They crackled and spat and made a delicious smell. Victoria spread a rug in front of the fire and knelt on it, her hands spread out to the flames. "Isn't it warm and lovely?" she said.

Ben knelt beside her. "Your hands are so thin I can see the fire through them," he said.

"Don't be rude, Ben," John said, but Victoria only smiled.

"He's not rude. He's a dear. I wish he was my brother." She put an arm round Ben and hugged him tight, then went rather pink and scrambled to her feet. "I know what we want," she said. "There's a brass fender downstairs. It's beautifully shiny and it'll look lovely with the fire dancing in it."

They went downstairs - it would take all four of them to carry the fender, Victoria said - and as they reached the hall, they heard something that made them freeze in their tracks.

Someone was walking up the steps to the front door. Someone was putting the key in the lock. Victoria made a low, strangled sound and fled back up the stairs. Stiff with horror, the others stayed where they were. John had turned very white.

"Hide," Ben said. He seized John's hand and dragged him into the dining room. There was a big sofa in the window, covered with a dust sheet. Quicker han it takes to tell, Ben -
who was always good in emergencies - whipped up a corner of the dust sheet and scrambled underneath, pulling John with him.

Mary thought she would hide behind the sofa, but it was too late. The front door had opened with a loud, sudden noise as if it had stuck fast through being shut for so long. Mary ran
behind the open dining room door, and pulled it against her.

Someone came into the hall - or, rather, two people did, because one of them spoke to the other.

A man's voice said, "It's probably a tramp, Mr Reynolds. Everyone in Henstable knows the house is shut up - a tramp might easily have decided to break in and hole up for the bad weather. He could've been here for ages, no one 'ud know. I suppose he got to thinking he was safe and lit a fire."

Mary shuddered behind the door. Of course. When they lit the fire, they hadn't thought of the smoke!

The other man, who must be Mr Reynolds, Mary thought, horrified, said, "Surely Mrs Clark's been in? She would have known if there had been anyone here." He had a cracked, old voice. The other man's was deeper and rougher.

"She's been off sick. Hurt her back, her husband said. She'll not have been in for a month or two."

"Taking advantage of my absence. That's much more likely. You can't rely on anyone nowadays." Mr Reynolds sounded furious and Mary thought it was rather horrid of him not to be sorry because Mrs Clark had hurt her back. "All right, Jackson," he said in a tired, irritable way, "we'll have a look around."

Their steps came along the hall and stopped. Mary realised that they were standing in the doorway of the dining room, very close to her, on the other side of the door. She held her breath and huddled back against the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. They were so close that she could hear them breathing.

Mr Reynolds said, "Good Lord, Jackson - look at this. Your tramp, or whoever he is, has been making himself at home, hasn't he? Eating off my Sheraton table..." His voice rose in an angry
squeak. "My Dresden plate..."

"Not broken, is it, Sir?" Jackson said. His voice was respectful and soothing.

"No. But it might have been. Heaven knows what else we shall find. I suppose we'd better see what damage has been done - then I shall have to get to the insurance people and the police."

Mary shook behind the door. She shook so hard that she thought that they must hear her knees knocking together. What were John and Ben feeling like, under the dust cover? Surely, if the men looked at the sofa they would be bound to see them; even if the boys were lying quite flat and still, their shapes must show. And suppose they sneezed?

"In fact," Mr Reynolds said, "I think we'd better get on to the police first. I'll wait here, Jackson, and you go straight down to the station and come back with a constable. Several. Don't let them put you off - the police are much too casual about private property. Tell them my house has been broken into and a great deal of damage done. I want the culprit arrested."

He sounded in a tearing rage and Mary clenched her fists. It would be dreadfully undignified to be caught by a police man. She was frightened, but she was also angry because Mr Reynolds had said a lot of damage had been done when they had been so careful and worked so hard to make the neglected attic look nice. She came out from behind the door and said, "There isn't any tramp, Mr Reynolds. There's only us."

She saw a tall young man in a uniform like a chauffeur's, carrying an enormous fur rug over one arm. And standing in front of him was a little old man with a thick black coat buttoned up to his chin and a black hat pulled down over his forehead so that it almost seemed to rest on a thin, hooked nose like an eagle's beak. He stared and stared at Mary with a pair of glittering, angry eyes that seemed to be boring right through her. She could think of nothing to say so she just stood miserably twisting a piece of her skirt between her fingers.

"Who the hell are you?" he said, at last. "Are you alone?"

There was a scuffling sound from the sofa, the sheet heaved and John appeared, very red in the face. He sneezed, becuase of the dust, and Ben, scrambling after him, sneezed too.

"Good Lord," Mr Reynolds said. His bright eyes stared and his skinny beak of a nose flushed scarlet. "Brats," he said to the tall young man. "Just a parcel of brats." He wheeled round to
Mary. "What do you think you're doing here? No - don't bother to tell me. The police will deal with you. The country's in a fine state when a man can't leave his house without it being broken into by a pack of delinquent brats."

"Don't excite yourself, Mr Reynolds," Jackson said in a soothing voice, but the old man took no notice of him. He was breathing hard and his eyes were bulging with fury.

"We're not delin... whatever you said," Mary said loudly. "We come from the house next door."

"Oh. You come from the house next door. That makes you respectable, does it?" he said in a very nasty voice. "Well, I don't think it does. What have you been doing here?"

"Just playing," Mary said.

"Playing? Among all my valuable things?"

"We just played up in the attic," John said. "We thought it was all right because nobody seemed to have used it for ages and ages, and some of Aunt Mabel's things were still there. We haven't done damage, really we haven't. We knew we had to be careful because of your pictures and things - we just borrowed a rug to put in front of the fire..." John stopped and went very pale. Mary and Ben, who were looking at him, knew why. Mary felt sick inside. She had forgotten the broken Bust.

"Fire," Mr Reynolds said explosively. His nose flushed red again and the blue veins stood out on his forehead. "D'you hear that, Jackson? They might have burned the house down. Fetch the police at once. Heaven knows what they've done. Breaking and entering - a parcel of thieving brats."

"We're not thieves," John said indignantly.

"Then what are you doing here?" His sharp eyes swept over the three of them and fixed on Ben. "What have you got there? In your hand."

Ben held out the green horse that he had taken out of his pocket when he was hiding under the dust cover. He had been stroking it for comfort. Mr Reynolds pounced on him, like a hawk on a mouse, and snatched it out of his hand.

He held it up triumphantly. "Not thieves, eh?" he said with a grim, pleased smile. "Then what are you doing with this? This piece of jade? You stole it, you little thief, took it out of my collection upstairs..."

"I didn't steal it, it's mine. I know it looks like some of your old things, but it's not. It was given to me..." Ben was quite as angry as Mr Reynolds. His skin was white and damp and his eyes shone dangerously.

"That's a fine story," Mr Reynolds said, and made a curious, snorting noise through his nose.

"Who on earth would give a boy a valuable piece like this?" He had put on a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and was examining the little horse and fondling it gently, as if he loved it.

"Miss Pin did." Ben looked as if he was going to burst. "I think you're very rude," he said.

Mary gave a little gasp. But though Mr Reynolds went on frowning, his nose wasn't quite as red as it had been and a ghost of a smile touched his thin mouth.

"We'll see about that, won't we?" he said, quite plesantly. Then his face went dark purple and he shouted, "Jackson - take these children down to the station. I want them charged with breaking and entering. I am going upstairs to examine my collection of jade. I want to present the inspector with a full list of what is missing."

He turned on his heel and marched out of the dining room.

Mary ran after him and caught his arm. "Please - please, Mr Reynolds, don't send us to the police. Just - just go upstairs and look in the cabinet and you'll see nothing's missing. The hourse belongs to Ben, it really does, it's called Pin and it isn't precious like your things, it's..."

Mr Reynolds said nothing at all. He just shook her hand contemptuously off his arm and went on, up the stairs.

Jackson said softly behind her, "Don't make him angrier. It won't do you a mite of good." Mary turned around, her eyes brimming with tears and he added, quite gently, "He can't tell if anything's missing just by looking. He's got so much stuff, see. He'll have to go right through all his insurance lists, it's the only way he can tell. And that'll take him hours and hours, I reckon." He sighed heavily. "In the meantime - I'm afraid I'll have to do as he says. Whatever got into you, breaking into a house like this? Does your mother know anything about it?"

"Our mother is dead," Ben said in a cold, still voice.

"Oh," Jackson said. "Oh," and looked at all three of them with a troubled expression.

John said suddenly, "Before we go, can I go upstaris? I - I want to go to the bathroom."

Jackson hesitated. "All right. But be quiet - don't let him hear you. And quick. I'll give you three minutes. You needn't try to make a dash for it. I'm hanging on to these two."

He took hold of Mary and Ben just above the elbow and held them in a firm, but not ungentle grip.

John sped up the stairs, running on the balls of his feet. Three minutes wasn't long, but it must be long enough to persuade Victoria to come down and tell her grandfather she was here. It might not make him any less angry, but if she told him they hadn't stolen anything, it might stop him sending them to the police station. She wouldn't be too frightened to do that, surely? Even if Mr Reynolds was a terrifying person - and he was - he was still her grandfather.

Victoria was crouching on the bed, all huddled up against the wall. She had her head down on the beautiful shawl and her shoulders were shaking.

John said, "Stop crying. You must. It's important."

She sat up and looked at him, her face puffy with tears. "Does he know - does he know I'm here?"

John shook his head. "No. But..."

She said quickly, "You won't tell him, will you?"

John fidgeted uneasily from one foot to the other. "I won't. But you've got to tell him." Then the words came tumbling out of him very fast. "He's dreadfully angry - he's going to send us down to the police station - he thinks we're thieves and robbers. And they'll send for Aunt Mabel and she'll be awfully upset and our father will too, and they may send us to prison for years and years - so you've got to come down and tell him we aren't thieves and that Ben didn't steal his little horse..."

"I can't," she breathed, very low. Her eyes gazed at him; they were like deep, dark wells.

John gave a long, shaky sigh. "You must, you know. He can't hurt you - even if he is cross. If you tell him everything - all about how horrid they were to you at school, he'll understand and take you away."

She shook her head, looking frightened and mulish at one and the same time and John felt suddenly hot and red with anger. She didn't care about him and Mary and Ben, she didn't care
if they were sent to prison for life. He couldn't believe that anyone could be so selfish and mean. He rushed across the attic and dragged her across the bed, shouting, "You've got to come. You're just a stupid coward. It's stupid and silly to be frightened of your grandfather."

She fought him like a mad person, pummelling his chest and scratching his face. Though she was taller and older, John was the heavier of the two and he had dragged her almost to the door of the attic when she gasped in a strangled voice, "He's not - he's not my grandfather. Oh - you've broken my locket."

The locket fell to the floor as John let go of her. He bent to pick it up. She had hurt him quite badly, his cheek was bleeding where she had scratched him, but he was far too curious to be angry. "What do you mean?" he said, astonished. "You told us..."

"I know." She bit her lower lip and her eyes looked wild and scared - like a frightened wild animal's, John thought. She said slowly, "I only meant - he's not my real grandfather." She paused, bowing her head so that her dark hair fell forward and almost hid her face. Finally she mumbled in a low, rapid voice, "My parents weren't my real parents either. My real mother abandoned me - she left me on the steps of the church, Mrs Clark says, and they adopted me. My father was Mr Reynolds' son and Mr Reynolds didn't want him to adopt a strange child - he wanted a grandson who was his flesh and blood to inherit all his art treasures. So when my parents died he didn't want to look after me - he sent me off to a horrible boarding school because he didn't want to see me - I think he almost hates me..."

Her eyes weren't wild now, but soft and dreamy. "Who's Mrs Clark?" John asked, but he didn't wait for her answer because he was looking at the little gold locket that had broken open
when it fell to the floor. Inside it, there was a picture. A picture just like the one in the photograph album, of Aunt Mabel when she was young.

"This isn't your locket," he said, "It's - "

But she wouldn't let him finish. "It is mine - it is," she said passionately. "It... it was round my neck when I was found. I was dressed in beautiful clothes - all silk and lace - that's
how I've always known my real parents must have been rich people, and I was wearing this locket. I - I think it must be my mother's picture..."

John looked at her wonderingly. Something very exciting and strange had happened and he could hardly believe it. Although he had always been sure, whatever Mary said, that queer and marvellous things did happen, it was always hard to believe it when they did.

"Oh... oh..." he started to say, "oh, Victoria..."

He had no time to say any more, because there were loud, clumping steps on the stairs and Jackson appeared in the doorway of the attic. He looked very angry and bothered.

"There you are," he said. His eyes went past John, to Victoria, and opened wide in surprise. "Oh ho," he said, and regarded John grimly. "So that's what you were up to, was it? Sneaking off to warn your chum here. I suppose I might have known it. And I was fool enough to think you were just a pack of scared kids! I was even soft enough to feel a bit sorry for you..."

His face was scarlet with indignation. He took hold of John by the shoulder. "Come on you," he said to Victoria, and gave John a rough little push. "And step lively. I shan't let any of you out of my sight till we're safe at the police station."

The Secret Passage - Chapt Seven

2007-01-07T14:07:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Seven
Miss Pin's Treasure
by Nina Bawden

Ben was very quiet all through supper. He was thinking. He decided that it would be stupid to tell John and Mary what he was going to do because they would disapprove of it. And even if they approved, they would think it was silly. They didn't know what Ben knew. They didn't know Miss Pin was rich.

Ben was quite sure that she was as rich as she said she was. And since she was rich, there was no reason why she shouldn't lend him some money. Ben remembered his father telling him once that if you needed money badly, you could always borrow from the Bank. Ben knew he was too young for that - the Bank wouldn't lend him any money, but Miss Pin never seemed to be very sure how old people were. Certainly she never treated Ben like a boy. She always spoke to him as if he was a grown person.

After supper, he slipped out of the kitchen and went into Miss Pin's room.

She was singing a song to Sir Lancelot and feeding him with a piece of banana before she tucked him up in the box of hay where he slept at night.

"Good evening, Mr Mallory," she said. "Are you joining me in a game?"

They played draughts together. Ben usually won but sometimes he let Miss Pin beat him, for the sake of fairness. The happiest times came after the games, when
Ben sat on the footstool and Miss Pin told him stories, and the dark, crowded room was silent except for her cracked old voice.

Ben got out the draught board and set out the pieces. He said, "I don't suppose I shall be able to come quite so often next week."

"Why not?" Miss Pin asked.

"Because I shall be busy," Ben said. "Do you want to be white or black?"

"White. White is my lucky colour. Busy doing what?"

"Earning money," Ben said.

Miss Pin's eyes were bright and sharp as a bird's and they watched Ben closely. "What do you want to earn money for? I don't need to earn money. Consider the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin."

"That's in the Bible," Ben said. "I just need some money. There's something I need to buy. You can start if you like."

Miss Pin moved one of her pieces with the tip of her gloves finger. "If you want something, why don't you ask your Aunt?"

"Because she's poor," Ben said. "She hasn't got any money so it would be no good asking her. Your move."

"You're not paying attention," Miss Pin said, and cackled with laughter. "Look, I've taken you." She put Ben's man down beside her. Then she said, "I don't bother myself with household affairs but this seems to be quite a well run establishment. The standard of service isn't what it was, perhaps, and Mrs Haggard seems to have trouble with her staff. But by and large I've nothing to complain of."

They played in silence. Ben seemed to be having bad luck, or maybe he wasn't paying attention, because Miss Pin took four of his men, one after another.

She said, "I wouldn't have said your Aunt was poor. She is always decently clothed. Besides, poor people live in cottages."

"Not always," Ben said. "In Africa, they live in mud huts."

"There," said Miss Pin triumphantly. "One, two, three." She placed three of Ben's men neatly on top of one another.

Ben said, "And if people don't come and stay here, Aunt Mabel doesn't make any money. And if she doesn't make any money, we shall all starve."

Miss Pin frowned. She said nothing, but concentrated on winning the game, which she did in two minutes flat. She sat back and said, "Shall we have another?"

"If you like." Ben set out the pieces again, and sighed. "I don't really feel like playing tonight."

Miss Pin leaned back in her chair. There was no sound in the room except the little crackle Sir Lancelot made as he moved about in the hay.

Finally Miss Pin said, "Are you asking me for some of me Treasure, Ben?"

For once in his life, Ben felt a little nervous and strange. Miss Pin's eyes were so very bright and unwinking - and fixed on his face.

"No," he said bravely. "Just to borrow something. Like people borrow from the Bank. I can pay you back, bit by bit. I'm going to collect cockles on the beach like the men do. If you collect enough you can take them to the fish shop and make a lot of money."

"Can you really?" Miss Pin said. "What an extraordinary thing! Do you know - I used to collect cockles when I was a little girl. Dear Mama disapproved, naturally, I was always so beautifully and richly dressed. Even on the beach, I wore silken gowns and white cotton gloves."

"You must have got them awfully messy," Ben said and sighed a little, because once Miss Pin began to wander off into tales of her childhood, it was often difficult to bring her back again. But she was not wandering this evening. She said suddenly, "Go over to that box in the corner, Ben. The one with the silk rug over it. It was my Papa's chest."

Underneath the silk rug was a tin trunk with a brass lock.

"I have the key here," Miss Pin said. She unclasped a thin chain from round her neck. The key was warm from where it had rested against her powdery skin. Ben took it and carefully opened the trunk.

A perfumed, spicy smell came out of it - a smell that reminded Ben of Indian shops in small, African towns. The trunk was full of small objects wrapped in pieces of old, yellow silk. Exploring, Ben found some pale green animals and tiny figurines, like the things Miss Pin kept on the table beside her.

"There's a cloth bag at the side," Miss Pin said.

Ben felt at the side of the trunk and found a bag, made of what looked like a piece of old, blue, curtain material. It was gathered tightly at the neck by a red cord.

"Take it out and bring it to me," Miss Pin said.

Ben wanted to examine the trunk, there were so many queer, pretty things in it, but her voice was so sharp and peremptory that he didn't dare. He carried the cloth bag over to Miss Pin. It was heavy and when he put it on her lap, it collapsed with a chunk.

She untied the red cord and shook the contents of the bag into her lap, a pile of yellow coins that looked like new halfpennies, only smaller. Not quite like halfpennies though - more like some strange, foreign money. Miss Pin selected one and gave it to Ben.

"Here," she said. "I trust this will help you out of your little financial difficulty." She scooped up the other coins with trembly, gloved hands and put them back in the bag. "Put them back in the trunk," she said and gave a deep sigh. "Riches are a great responsibility, Mr Mallory. Too heavy a burden for an old woman."

Ben put the bag in the trunk and locked it up and gave the key to Miss Pin. The little coin she had given to him was hard and cold in his palm. He felt very miserable.
Miss Pin hadn't understood after all. She had given him an old foreign coin that wasn't worth anything. And he couldn't tell her so because she obviously believed it was real money. Poor Miss Pin.

He said, "Thank you very much, Miss Pin. I'll - I'll pay you back."

"It is a Gift," she said graciously. "Not a loan. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Remember that. Lending money is as bad as giving someone a knife. It cut friendships. That is what Dear Papa said, when he was forced to leave London..." Her eyes were half-closed and she began to tell Ben the story she had told him before, about how her father had lent money to a friend and the friend had gone off with it, leaving them in what Miss Pin called 'very straitened circumstances'.

Ben wondered what 'very straitened circumstances' were, but he felt too depressed to ask her.

She was saying, "But of course, we still had the Treasure. Papa would never dispose of it, though. He said it was to be my Little Capital. He was always so kind and careful of me..." He voice was sleepy and her soft, pleated mouth sagged a little. Sometimes in the middle of these stories, she would drop off into a little doze, wake up a few minutes later and go on where she had left off.

But she wasn't dozing now. She said suddenly in a brisk, clear voice - quite unlikely her story-telling voice - "Benjamin, I want you to tell me the truth, now. Are you a truthful person?"

"Yes," Ben said, rather indignantly.

"I thought you were." The feathers bobbed on her hat as she nodded her head thoughtfully. "Now, listen. Is your Aunt really poor?"

"Yes," Ben said. "We're a worry to her because we cost so much to feed."

Miss Pin said nothing for a minute. Then, "Ben, I want you to do something for me. In that bureau over there you will find paper and ink. And a pen. Bring them to me."

He opened the bureau and found a pile of mauve paper, thick and smelling of something sweet and musty, like violets. There was a thin, ivory pen-holder and a bottle of blue ink. He took them to Miss Pin and she cleared a place on the table beside her.

"Will you wait while I write a letter?" she said.

It seemed to take her a long time. Her fingers were stiff and couldn't hold the pen properly. The nib scratched and scratched, from time to time she gave a little sigh: there was no other sound in the room. When she had covered a sheet with her pointed, spidery writing, she wrote an envelope, put the letter inside and sealed it. Then she leaned back in her chair, looking crumpled and tired. She said slowly, "I want you to post this for me. Tonight. It is a letter to a solicitor. Do you know what a solicitor is, Benjamin?"

"No," Ben said.

Miss Pin smiled, a thin ghost of smile. "Never mind. You will find out, I daresay. I am tired now. Perhaps you will tell your Aunt I am ready to settle for the night."

Her eyes drooped, she seemed almost asleep already. Ben tiptoed from the room and called down the basement stairs to Aunt Mabel. "Miss Pin wants to settle."
Then he slipped out of the front door before she could tell him it was time for bed.

It was dark outside and raining in the wind. Ben ran to the nearest post box. There was a stamp machine beside it. Rather reluctantly he took three pence out of his pocket and got a stamp, stuck it on the envelope and posted the letter.

On the way back, he passed a lighted shop that sold tobacco and sweets. He stopped outside it and took the coin Miss Pin had given him out of his pocket. It was very pretty - bright yellow with a rough, milled edge like a half-crown and had a picture on one side of a man on a horse killing a dragon. It was almost certainly worthless. Ben thought for a minute, then made up his mind and marched into the shop.

"Can you change this?" he asked the fat woman behind the counter. "I want a packet of mints."

She looked at the coin he held out to her and gave a good-natured laugh. "Bless you, no, sonny. We only take good English money in this shop." She saw his disappointed face and added, "Is it all you've got, love? Go on then - take a packet of mints, if that's what you want."

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that," Ben said. His face went pink. "You see I have got some English money, only I don't want to spend it. It's - it's for something else."

She laughed again, she was a very jolly, cheerful person. "Well, I don't want your savings. Go on, have the mints. Pay me back when you've got some spare cash."
Her eyes twinkled at him and Ben thought she might be hurt if he said no. Besides, he wanted the mints.

He said politely, "It's very kind indeed. Thank you."

Outside the shop he opened the packet and put two mints in his mouth, one in each cheek. He sucked thoughtfully, feeling rather sad. Poor Miss Pin. She was just old and a bit muddled as John had said. And she was poor, too, like Aunt Mabel. He spun the little coin up in the air, caught it, and looked at it affectionately. It was very pretty and winked at him under the light of the street lamp. He said, "I'll keep it always. It can be my lucky coin." Then he ran home, whistling.

When he got back to The Haven, he pushed open the front door that he had left on the latch. He was very quiet, but Aunt Mabel must have hear him because she called out, "Ben - Ben, is that you? It's bedtime."

He screwed up his face and tiptoed, soft as a cat, down the passage to the garden. The light was blazing in Uncle Abe's shed and Uncle Abe was working on a great slab of terra-cotta on the table.

"Uncle Abe," Ben said, "can I look at your things?"

Uncle Abe barely glanced at him, he was very busy. "Look all you want to."

Ben walked slowly round the workshop. There were little statues on all the shelves and several busts. There was one Ben liked particularly. It was the head and shoulders of an African boy who looked like Thomas. Ben examined this bust for a long time and then he said, "Uncle Abe?"

"Mmm?"

"Uncle Abe - you do sell your things, don't you. Would you sell one to me?"

"What?" Uncle Abe swung round, his eyes wide and surprised. Then he smiled. "Well - which one do you like?"

"This one."

"Why?"

"It's like my friend. My friend in Africa," Ben said.

Uncle Abe shrugged his shoulders. "I daresay you can have it in your room, if you like. Might as well be there as here, if it takes your fancy."

"I didn't mean that," Ben said. "I mean - I want it for my own. To do what I like with. I want to buy it."

Uncle Abe's laugh boomed out. Then he stopped laughing and said apologetically, "Sorry, boy. Bad-mannered of me. Well - I'm always open. What's your offer?"

Ben stood up tall, his face intent. "I haven't got much money. But I thought, if I gave you what I had, then I could pay the rest by Easy Terms. Like you pay the television shop. I could earn money."

Uncle Abe stroked his chin and said nothing.

Ben said desperately, "I'd work awfully hard, I really would. I can collect cockles and run errands and... and I could work for you if you like. I could clean out your workshop."

"No, no," Uncle Abe said hastily. "Not that. But you could collect cockles, could you? Well - I daresay I owe you a bit, you've collected a good many for me."

"Oh, no," Ben said. "I wouldn't want you to pay for the cockles you've had. They were presents. But if you liked, you could pay me for the cockles I get from now on. I'd try hard to get especially nice ones."

"I suppose that's a fair bargain," Uncle Abe said slowly. "Let's say sixpence a day. Say two and sixpence a week, counting out Sundays and supposing one day to be rainy. The Bust should fetch - say seventy-five pounds. That means you'll have to collect cockles for... let's see..."

"It'll take eight weeks to collect a pound," Ben said in a dispirited voice.

Uncle Abe looked at him admiringly. "That's sharp. How long will seventy-five pounds take?"

Ben closed his eyes. "Six hundred weeks. That's about twelve years."

"Mmm. And interest, of course. Still, it depends what you've got to put down as deposit..."

Unhappily, Ben turned out his pockets. "I've got one and three halfpence. I had one and four pence halfpenny, only I had to post a letter for Miss Pin."

Uncle Abe looked at the money, laid out on Ben's grubby palm. He cleared his throat. "Well, that cuts it down a bit, certainly. Tell you what - I daresay I'm overcharging a bit. You usually make a special price for a friend. You collect the cockles and you can have the Bust. And when you become a wizard financier, as I daresay you will with your head for maths, you can pay off the remainder.

Ben's face glowed. "Here's the money," he said. "One and three halfpence. That's all I've got except for the lucky coin Miss Pin gave me." He paused and added, rather unwillingly, "You can have that too, if you really want it. It's a foreign coin, but I suppose it would come in useful if you went abroad."

"No, no - you keep it. Miss Pin gave it to you, did she? Getting lavish in her old age." Uncle Abe grinned, as if this was a huge joke. "Sure she could spare it, Ben?"

"Oh - easily," Ben said. "She's got hundreds and hundreds of coins, just like this one."

The Secret Passage - Chapt Six

2006-12-24T19:58:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Six
Victoria
by Nina Bawden

"What are you doing here?" John asked. Then an awful thought struck him. Since this girl was a real person and not a ghost, she probably lived here. "Are you Victoria Reynolds?" he said.

She didn't answer but bobbed her head in a little, uncertain nod that made her long hair swing like a curtain on either side of her pale face. Her big, dark eyes were fixed on John just as if she was scared of him. He was puzzled for a moment. Why should she be scared, when it was he who had no right to be here?

He said, " It's all right. I'm not a ghost or a burglar or anything. I'm John Mallory. Our Aunt Mabel used to live here - some of her things are still up in the old attic."

While he was saying this, he looked at her closely. She was dressed in an old brown jersey that was torn at the elbows and a pair of faded, grey jeans. The only pretty thing she was wearing was an old-fashioned locket that hung round her neck on a thin chain. Somehow she didn't look as if she belonged here, in this rich, beautiful house.

John said shyly, "We haven't touched anything else, or done any harm. But I'm afraid your father will be very cross with us. Mr Reynolds is your father, isn't he?" She said nothing, just stared at him, rather stupidly, John thought. Then he remembered that Mr Reynolds was an old man. "Or your grandfather. Or course, he must be your grandfather..."

She said, with a little gasp, "Yes - yes, he is."

John squared his shoulders. "I suppose you'll have to tell him. About us, I mean. We thought the house was empty. We thought it wouldn't matter if we came in to play, if we were careful. But I'm afraid our Aunt will be very angry." He felt suddenly very shy and nervous. "If - if I went away now - perhaps you could just forget I'd been here." He looked at her hopefully.

She said breathlessly, "I shan't tell anyone. I don't mind your being here. As long - as long as you don't tell anyone about me." She was shaking from head to foot and her thin face looked even more pinched and unhappy.

John thought she was a very mysterious sort of person. "Why?" he asked boldly. "I mean - it's your house, isn't it?"

She gulped as if her throat was lumpy. Then she clenched her fists at her sides and drew herself up, very straight and tall. "Because I shouldn't be here. He doesn't know I am. He - he lives in London and he thinks I'm at a boarding school."

"Then why aren't you?" John said, surprised. "I thought, if you were at boarding school you had to stay there - except for holidays and things."

She blinked at him. "I've run away. I'm - I'm a refugee." Her whole face brightened and she went on quickly, "A refugee from cruelty and injustice. It's a horrible place full of horrible people and I hate it."

John stammered with excitement. "B-but won't they find you? I - I m-mean, if you've escaped, won't they be looking for you?"

She gave him a sly, sideways look. "Not yet," she said slowly. "It's half term and everyone goes home for half term. I told them I was going to stay with my grandfather, so they won't know until Tuesday that I'm not coming back. That's... that's another three days."

"How did you get in?" John asked, interested. "The house is all locked up."

She scowled a little. "I've got a key to the back door."

"But how did you get into the garden? The wall's awfully high."

"There's a garage at the bottom of the garden and the catch on the window's broken. You can get through the window..."

She said this rather reluctantly. Suddenly, her scowl deepened and she glared at John in an angry, suspicious way. She burst out, "Why do you keep asking all these questions - I think you're a horrible boy."

John was amazed. Why should she mind? "I only wanted to know," he said.

"I don't see why," Victoria said crossly. "I don't see that it's any business of yours."

"Perhaps it isn't," John said in a huffy voice. "All right - I won't ask you anything else." He waited for a moment in case she wanted to apologise for being so rude, but she showed no sign of being sorry. So he said proudly, "I think I'll go home now. And I won't come back, so you needn't worry about being asked any more old questions."

He was halfway across the hall before she ran after him.

"Please don't go - please. I didn't mean to be cross." She sounded rather stiff and awkward as if she wasn't used to saying she was sorry.

John said, "I'll stay for a bit, if you like. But there's nothing wrong in asking questions. It only means you're interested in a person."

She sighed. "All right. Ask me questions if you want to." And she stood up straight and tall as she had done earlier - rather, John thought, as if she was standing with her back to a wall and waiting to be shot.

He said, "Why is your boarding school so horrid? Do they beat you, or lock you up?" John knew very little about schools of any kind but his mother had once read him Nicholas Nickleby and he thought all boarding schools were probably like that.

"No. They don't beat me. But..." She hesitated and then said in a rush, "but they won't let me play the piano. It's the only thing I like doing and they won't let me do it. They don't like me and I hate them." Her voice shook with sudden passion.

John said reasonably, 'If it's a horrid school, why don't your mother and father take you away?"

"Because they're dead," she said, not sadly, but coldly and bleakly as if she didn't care at all.

It made John feel strange. He said uncomfortably, "Why don't you tell your grandfather then?"

"He wouldn't care," she said scornfully. "He only cares about his old pictures. I hate him."

"You seem to hate a lot of people," John said. He thought this was rather odd and unpleasant of her. Surely there weren't so many nasty people about? He had never hated anybody himself, probably because everyone - except perhaps Mrs Epsom and Aunt Mabel - had always been kind and loving to him.

Victoria took no notice. Her face was puzzled. "You said - in the beginning you said, 'we thought the house was empty'. Are there more of you?" She glanced round nervously as if she half expected a horde of strange children to burst out of the dark, silent rooms.

"Only my sister and my brother," John explained. "And they're not here now because they've gone collecting for Lifeboat Day. I'll have to go home now because they'll be back for lunch. And Aunt Mabel will wonder where I am."

"Oh," she said. "Oh." She frowned. Then she went on in an off-hand way as if she didn't care much, one way or the other, "Will you come back?"

"No," John said. "We can't." He felt suddenly that he never wanted to come into the House of Secrets again, partly because it was no longer a private place and partly because Victoria was such a disagreeable girl.

"Why?" she said and stared at him.

"Because it isn't our house. Of course it wasn't before, but now we know someone's here, it's different..."

"There's no one here but me." In spite of her sullen expression she sounded rather forlorn as she said this.

"But I can't come back without Mary and Ben. And," John added rather spitefully, "you mightn't like them."

She thrust her thin hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. "I might. I- I like you." The colour came up into her face and she looked almost pretty for once. She said quickly, "It's so lonely here. I haven't got any friends. How old is your sister?"

"Mary's eleven," John said. "But she's very grown-up for her age." He almost said, "and more sensible", because he couldn't imagine Mary ever being cross and touchy as Victoria, but he stopped himself just in time.

She said suddenly, "Please - oh, please come back," and then looked surprised, as if she didn't often say please to people.

He said, "I suppose we could come after lunch." He thought of something. "What are you going to have to eat? There isn't food in the house, is there?"

She turned away from him and carefully traced the pattern on the carpet with her toe. "No," she said in a low voice.

John said surprised, "Aren't you hungry?" She didn't answer, and for some reason he began to feel rather suspicious. "When did you come here? When did you run away from your school?"

She drew a deep breath and mumbled, "Day before yesterday. I got here at night and... and I slept up in the attic. I found a shawl in the chest and slept on the bed..."

"And you wound up the alarm clock?" John said.

"It's my clock. Why shouldn't I wind it up?" She stared at him belligerently.

"No reason," John said patiently. "I only mentioned it because it was ticking when we found it yesterday - and you weren't here then."

"Oh." Her eyes looked very dark in her pale face and her breath seemed to be coming very quickly. "No, I wasn't." She paused as if she was trying to work out something out in her mind - almost, John thought, as if she couldn't remember where she had been yesterday. She said rapidly, "I went out, just for a bit. I was awfully hungry. I only had a shilling left over from my train ticket so I could buy a carton of milk and a Crunchie Bar from the machines near the station."

"Is that all you've had to eat? Since yesterday?" John was horrified. "You must be dreadfully hungry."

"I'm starving," she said softly. My stomach's gone flat - look."

She did look very thin, all bones and hollows.

John said, "I haven't got any money to buy food. But I'll get something, I promise. And I'll bring it back this afternoon. And - and if you go up to the attic, you'll find a cold sausage on the mantelpiece. You can start on that."

Her mouth twisted into a nervous, half-smile as if she were secretly amused about something. But she said, "Thank you," in a polite, if stilted way. And then she sighed a little and said, "If you really are going, shall I let you out through the back door?"

"Yes please." Jon felt relieved: not only would it be much easier to leave the house that way, but he would not have to explain how he had got in. He was surprised Victoria hadn't asked him, though. She seemed to be a remarably uninquisitive person. Perhaps she just wasn't interested in other people.

She took him downstairs to the kitchen and out through the back door into the garden. It was a very enclosed garden, very wild and tangly as John had imagined it would be. The trees and bushes were so overgrown that they met overhead and made a dim, leafy avenue down the garden to the empty garage. The dusty window was shuggly in its frame and creaked noisily as Victoria opened it. It gave on to a short, cobbled alley with grass growing between the stones.

"Go along to the end," Victoria said. "Then turn left, and you'll be in the street."

She closed the window. For a moment, her face looked out, pale and blurred behind the dirty, cobwebbed pane. Then she was gone before John could say good-bye. He walked backwards across the alley and stood for a minute, staring up at the windows of the house. They looked just as blank and empty as they had always done. No one would guess someone was hiding there.

He got home just before Aunt Mabel and the others, who came in very flushed and excited. "Hundreds of people looked at us," Ben said. "Hundreds and hundreds. And they gave Aunt Mabel pounds and pounds. I should think she'll be able to buy a battleship."

He had quite forgotten how much he had hated his costume and was even unwilling to take it off.

"Can I keep it on till after lunch?" he begged. "I want to show Miss Pin."

He shot off, down the passage to her room, and Mary looked at John. "What have you been doing?" she whispered, but Aunt Mabel was standing within earshot, so he said, "Oh - nothing. Just messing about."

As there was no chance to take Mary into the secret, he decided it would be too difficult to take food off the table while they were having lunch. But if he ate very little himself, it would be quite fair to take something out of the larder afterwards.

"Aren't you hungry, John?" Aunt Mabel said, looking, with surprise at the minute piece of cold ham and the one, small baked potato he had put on his plate.

"Not very," he said, eyeing the dish in the middle and calculating what he might reasonably have been expected to eat: at least one more slice of ham and two potatoes, and several pieces of bread.

Aunt Mabel frowned. "Are you feeling all right? I thought you looked a bit pale, this morning."

"I'm naturally a pale person," John said. "It's because I've got a thick sort of skin. The blood doesn't show. And I've just got a naturally small appetite."

Mary and Ben stared at him and Aunt Mabel gave a snort of laughter. "It's the first time I've noticed it, I must say."

But to John's relief she seemed disinclined to say any more. She was too concerned to finish lunch and clear away so that she could go out flag-selling all afternoon. "There's no need for Mary and Ben to come," she said. "They did their share this morning. So you can all do what you like - as long as you don't get into mischief. Miss Pin will be all right because a friend of mine has offered to pop in and see to her tea. If you like, you can go out and take a picnic."

John almost jumped for joy. He had been thinking that a slice of ham and two baked potatoes would hardly be enough for someone who had only had a carton of milk and a Cruchie Bar since yesterday evening. While Aunt Mabel cut sandwiches, he stood by the table, watching her.

"I should think that will be enough," she said, reaching for a polythene bag.

"I don't know," John said, "we migh be awfully hungry."

"I thought you had a naturally small appetite," Aunt Mabel said.

"It might have got bigger by tea time. In fact I can feel it growing already."

She looked at him with mystified expression, then shrugged her shoulders and buttered two more slices of bread and stuck them together with marmite. "I should think this will keep you from actual starvation," she said drily.

As soon as she had gone, John rushed upstairs to where Ben and Mary were changing into their ordinary clothes. They could see that something had happened from the expression on his face but he didn't tell them about Victoria at first. John enjoyed telling stories and found it was always more exciting to keep the best part until the end.

"I went up into the attic," he said slowly, "and I opened the chest - it's full of old things that belonged to Aunt Mabel. Clothes and photograh album. I brought one photograph with me." He took the picture of Aunt Mabel out of his pocket. "I think the baby must be me."

Ben looked at the picture. "It's not you. It's Aunt Mabel's baby!"

They stared at him. "Aunt Mabel hasn't got any children," Mary said.

"She did have. Miss Pin told me. But the baby was lost - the Enemy stole her, when she was small."

Mary and John looked at each other. John said gently, "I think Miss Pin sometimes get a bit mixed up - I mean, she's old and she gets a bit muddled."

Ben said stubbornly, "She does not. She knows. She said Aunt Mabel just put the baby in the pram and when she came out, it was gone."

Mary said, "But Ben, if someone had stolen a baby, the police would find it. Babies don't just disappear."

She gave a little, disbelieving laugh that annoyed John. He hadn't believed Ben either, but now he said, "They do sometimes. Gipsies steal children. I read a story about that once - about a girl who was really the daughter of a Duke and the gipsies stole her and brought her up."

"Why?" said Mary flatly.

John looked at her prim, pretty face and sighed. It must be awfully dull to be Mary sometimes. He said patiently, "I don't know. Perhaps girls are valuable. They are in Africa. African people always want to have girls because when they marry their father gets lots of cows as a bride-price."

"I don't think that sort of thing happens in England," Mary said, and put her nose in the air.

"She's awfully stupid, isn't she, John?" Ben said sweetly. "She doesn't like to hear about exciting things."

"I do, I do," Mary protested. "Only I liked them to be true."

Her lips quivered ominously and John said quickly, "All right. If you like, I'll tell you something now. Something exciting and true."

He paused for a minute, to make it more dramatic, and then he told them about Victoria.

They couldn't find her at first. She wasn't in the garden and though they went all over the house, calling softly, she didn't seem to be there either. John began to feel rather lost and bewildered.
"Perhaps she was a ghost after all," he suggested, but Mary laughed.

"She left the back door open, didn't she?" she said. "Ghosts don't unlock doors. They go through them."

In the end, Ben found her, hiding behind the curtains in the piano room. He pulled them back and she stood there, red and dishevelled and scowling.

"This is my sister, Mary, and my brother, Ben," John said politely, and she nodded coolly, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "We've brought you some food," he went on. "Ham and baked potatoes and Aunt Mabel made us a picnic tea. So you won't be hungry tonight."

She looked at the basket but she didn't say anything. Mary thought it was rude of her not to say thank you, so she said, "John hardly ate any lunch. So we'd have more to bring you."

Victoria tossed her head. "I didn't ask him not to eat his lunch, did I?"

John said, "It doesn't matter. I wasn't very hungry." He could tell what Mary was thinking, from the expression on her face, and he felt ashamed because Victoria was behaving so badly. "Do you want to eat something now?" he asked. "Or would you rather play a game or something?"

"I don't mind," she said.

John took the napkin off the top of the basket and gave her a sandwich and a potato. She ate slowly, watching the children warily as if she was half-afraid of them. While she was eating, Mary wandered over to the piano. "Have you been playing?" she asked. "Would you play us a tune?"

Victoria swallowed the last crumb of potato and went pink. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes please," John said. He wasn't much interested in music but he thought it might make Victoria happier if she was doing something she liked to do.

She sat down at the piano and began to play - a slow, rather grand tune that reminded the children of the sea, rolling in steadily the way it does on a calm day. As she played, Victoria stopped scowling and her thin face became absorbed and calm. She was really quite pretty, Mary thought, when she didn't look so disagreeable. The Mallorys sat down on a long, high-backed sofa that was covered with a white dust sheet and listened. At first Ben wriggled a bit - he had never listened to music before - but after a little while he sat still.

The music grew louder, as if a storm was brewing over the sea; Mary fancied that she could feel the dark clouds gathering. Underneath the top notes there seemed to be a steady, low, drumming tune that grew firmer and louder until the children felt their feet tapping as if they wanted to march.

Suddenly, Victoria stopped playing. She said, "It's no good. This next bit ought to be loud and grand like... like trumpets blowing. And I can't play it like that because I have to keep the soft pedal down..." She sounded really sad - almost despairing as if it was very important to her to play the piece properly.

Mary said, "You're awfully good. I've never heard a girl play the piano like that. Like someone in a real concert."

"Did you like it?" Victoria smiled - it was the first time she had smiled and it made her look quite different.

"Yes," Mary said. She remembered what a visitor had said when Sara Epsom had played for him. "It was pretty. You must have had a lot of lessons."

The smile went from Victoria's face - just like the sun going in on a showery day. "I did have lessons. Then they stopped them. They said they were a waste of money." She brought her hands down on the keys and played a loud, ugly chord. "Beasts, beasts," she said.

John said quickly, "Play something soft - something that's meant to be soft, so it won't matter."

She frowned for a minute and then began a light, tripping tune that was so cheerful and gay that Mary found it difficult to keep still. Her legs itched to run and jump. It seemed to affect Victoria in much the same way; when the tune was finished she said, "I like that one. It makes me want to dance."

"Let's have a game," Ben said suddenly. He had liked the music but it was hard for him to sit still for long. "My legs are tired out with sitting," he said.

"A game?" Victoria said. "What sort of game?"

The Mallorys looked at each other feeling rather shy and uncomfortable. It was Victoria's house and it was up to her to suggest a game. But she stood still and waited an the sullen look was beginning to come back into her face, so Mary said diffidently, "We could play hide-and-seek."

"Hide-and-seek?" Victoria said. "I'm not a kid."

John said, "It should be quite good fun in this house. I mean there are lots of dark places. We could divide up into girls and boys - one pair hides, you see, and the other finds, and when you're found you have to get back to the Home - that could be the hall - without being caught."

"All right," Victoria said grudgingly. "I don't mind."

It wasn't much fun at first. Victoria had no idea how to play. Though she hid where Mary told her to she didn't try to escape when she was found, but just stood, looking wooden and awkward and as if she thought the whole thing beneath her dignity. She made John and Mary feel self-concious and a bit silly - perhaps this was rather a babyish game, after all! Then, quite suddenly she changed; it was impossible to tell why or how. One minute she had a sneering, bored expression on her face, the next she was shrieking and careering up and down stairs, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining, as if she had been playing this game all her life. In fact, she became much noisier and rougher than the others. Once or twice she laughed so loudly that Mary was frightened. The house was solid and the walls were thick but if they made too much noise someone might hear them out in the street.

Then an awful thing happened. Victoria was racing down the stairs with Ben after her, when she tripped and stumbled against a marble column that had a Bust - a man's head and shoulders - on top of it. The column toppled over and the Bust came down and broke in pieces on the black and white marble floor of the hall.

"Oh," Victoria said. "Oh."

They were all shocked. But Victoria - Victoria was horrified. She stood and stared, her hand pressed to her mouth.

"Perhaps it can be mended," John said hopefully, after they had stood for some time, looking at the floor in silence.

No one bothered to answer him. The Bust was broken in so many pieces that only a magician could have put it together again.

Then - this was almost more awful than the Bust being broken - Victoria began to cry. She cried with deep, silent sobs, like painful hiccoughs, that seemed to shake her whole body. She made no noise at all.

After a few minutes, John said nervously, "Don't cry. Please, Victoria, don't cry. I know it's awful, but it was an accident. Your grandfather can't be too angry. He's got so many things."

Victoria said, "You don't understand - oh, I wish I was dead, I wish I was dead."

Mary said wonderingly, "Her grandfather must be a very angry person. A - a sort of ogre." It seemed incredible that anyone could be so frightened of a relation. She drew a deep breath and sat down on the stair beside Victoria. She said, "If - if you stop crying, I'll say it was me that did it."

Slowly, Victoria lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her poor nose pink and swollen. "Would you really?" she said in a low, astonished voice. "Would you really?"

Mary nodded. Her mouth felt dry. "It won't matter - I mean he can't do anything to me."

Victoria gave a deep sigh. Then she said, nastily, "I don't suppose you will say you did it. Not when someone asks you."

Mary gasped. "Don't be so horrible," John said, standing in front of them, his eyes blazing at Victoria. "Of course Mary will say she did it - or I'll say I did. I think you're a beastly person not to believe what Mary says. Beastly and horrible."

His face was quite as cross as Victoria's. Victoria looked at him in surprise. Then she said slowly, "I just don't understand why she should take the blame, that's all."

"Because she's sorry for you," John said, "And she's sorry for you because you're so horrid and such a beastly coward, that's why. You ought to say thank you to her at once."

Victoria went red and then very white and her mouth looked screwed up and small. She stood up and for a second Mary thought she was going to fly at John and hit him. Then she controlled herself and said stiffly, "I'm sorry, Mary. I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Only - only no one's ever tried to stop me getting into trouble before."

Mary felt sorry for her, and angry with John. She said shyly, "It's all right. Don't mention it. I - I think we ought to sweep up the pieces, don't you?"

"I'll do it," Victoria said eagerly. "I know where there's a dustpan and brush. Down in the kitchen." And she ran off, down the basement stairs.

Ben sidled up to Mary and tugged her sleeve. "I don't like her," he said. He thought for a minute and added, "Do you know who she looks like? She looks like Aunt Mabel."

Mary whispered, "I think it's only because she looks sort of sour and pinched up. She looked quite different when we were playing."

Victoria came back then and swept up the pieces carefully. John stood the column up again but it looked queer and naked without the Bust on top of it.

"You can't help noticing it's gone," Mary said. She thought of how angry Aunt Mabel was going to be and it gave her a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"I know," Ben said. He jumped up and down with excitement. "I know. We can get another Bust and stick it on top. Then her horrible old grandfather won't notice."

"How can we?" said John. "Where'd we get one from?"

"Uncle Abe. He's hot lots - he makes them to sell, doesn't he? Well, why shouldn't he sell one to us?"

"We haven't got any money," Mary said. "A Bust must cost pounds and pounds."

"Easy terms," Ben said. "That's what it says in the shop where they sell television sets." He had spent quite a lot of time, his soft nose squashed against the glass of the electrician's shop, watching the television on the show set in the window. The Mallorys had never seen television before because there wasn't any television in Kenya and Aunt Mabel didn't have a set, although she said she sometimes rented one for the visitors in summer. "We could pay it off in instalments. I've got one and fourpence halfpenny," Ben said.

"And I've got five shillings in my piggy bank," Mary said, smiling to humour him.

John said, "We can't afford to use that. We may need it, to buy food for Victoria."

Mary was taken aback. John had said that Victoria was a Refugee from Injustice and that they would have to look after her and bring her food, but Mary hadn't taken this altogether seriously. Even if Victoria had run away from her boarding school, she couldn't just hide, for ever. In fact, Mary had thought it was all a sort of game but now, looking at John's solemn face and remembering how frightened Victoria was of her terrible grandfather, she saw that it wasn't a game at all. Suddenly, she felt very young and scared.

John was saying, "If we've got five shillings, we can buy milk and bread. You have to have milk for bones and teeth. And we can leave the rest of the picnic for supper and tomorrow's breakfast. And if we all -" he looked sternly at Ben, "- if we all try to eat a bit less, we can bring things from home every day." He turned to Victoria. "Shall you mind being in the house all night?"

She was standing with her hands behind her back, grinning nervously.

"I don't mind if... if..." She looked at the children one after the other and gabbled shyly, "...if you'll promise to come back tomorrow."

"Of course we'll come back," Ben said. "We've got to put the Bust back, haven't we?"

After the children had left, an odd thing happened. Victoria waited in the garage until the sound of their voices and of their feet, scampering down the cobbled alley, had quite disappeared. Then she went slowly up the garden but instead of going into the house, she locked the back door and hid the key under a mossy stone. She went back to the garage - creeping through the twilit garden like a thief in the dusk - climbed out of the window and walked slowly softly to the end of the alley. There she stopped and peered up and down the street, biting at her thumb nail. When she was quite sure the street was empty, she came out of the alley and began to run, keeping always in the shadows, towards the sea.

The Secret Passage - Chapt Five

2006-11-20T17:02:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Five
"Someone is Watching Me"
by Nina Bawden

"I'm sure Ben did it," Mary said that night after they had gone to bed and Ben was fast asleep and snoring a little because he had adenoids - so the doctor said - in his nose. "Of course he did. He probably saw the clock and wound it up while we were looking out of the window, just to tease us. It's the sort of thing he would do."

She was pretending to sound cross but she was secretly relieved that she had thought of such a sensible explanation. Mary was a very down-to-earth person who did not like mysteries, or, indeed, anything fanciful: she had always disliked fairy stories, for example, and much preferred to read about real people to whom real things happened.

John was quite different. He was too old to believe in fairies, but anything queer and unexplained fascinated him. He liked to lie awake in the dark and tell himself ghost stories; sometimes he frightened himself quite badly, but it was a nice, exciting kind of fear. He had been thrilled by the thought that someone might have been hiding in the House of Secrets - perhaps a fugitive from justice - and although he knew that what Mary said was probably true, that the ticking clock had just been one of Ben's tricks, he suddenly felt rather depressed all the same. He thought that Mary often made vague, mysterious things seem very ordinary and dull. He said, with a little sigh, "Did he really have time? We only looked out of the window for a minute."

"Ben's very quick and sort of neat, like a cat," Mary said. "And he probably wanted to get his own back because I'd said his horse wasn't valuable."

John thought for a minute. Then he said, "But he didn't have time to polish the brass bedstead, did he?" and laughed, feeling rather pleased.

But Mary had an answer to this too. "I asked Aunt Mabel about brass. She doesn't polish everything - there's a coal scuttle in the dining room and a brass jug in the hall. And she said all brass didn't have to be polished, sometimes it has a kind of varnish on it so it can stay bright for years." She stopped, feeling rather sorry and ashamed. She knew John liked to make up stories in his head and that she often spoiled them by being too matter-of-fact, but she also knew that she was made that way and couldn't help it. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter," John said. He was silent for a bit and then he said, "I mean it really doesn't matter. It's just as exciting even if there's no one else there. It's secret - no one wants that old attic. We can go there whenever we like and make it our own private place. No one will know we're there."

"We'll have to be careful," Mary warned him. "Aunt Mabel's got eyes in the back of her head." She giggled, thinking of two spare eyes peeping out through the untidy mess of Aunt Mabel's grey hair. "We could clean it up - I suppose we can't wash anything because the water must have been turned off - but we could find a broom - there must be one somewhere - and sweep the dust up. And I could paint some pictures if Uncle Abe will let me have some paints, and hang them on the walls."

John said eagerly, "And we could take some food - sausages and things - and cook them. Uncle Abe's got a little primus stove in his shed. He doesn't use it and it's almost rusted up, but we could drag it through the passage and make it work. And even if there isn't any water in the taps we could fill up one of those old lemonade bottles in the cellar and take that..."

He yawned, not because he wasn't interested in the plans he was making, but because he was simply too tired to stay awake much longer. "We could polish up that old grate in the corner - we might even light a fire - and perhaps we could borrow a rug to put in front of it. There are so many rugs all over the house, no one could mind if we just borrowed one... It'll be such fun, won't it?" he murmured drowsily, "such fun..."

Mary didn't answer because she was already asleep.

They woke up the next morning, their heads full of ideas as if their brains had been working all the time they were asleep. John was going to collect some nails from the cellar, and some pieces of wood to make shelves so that they would have somewhere to put books, when they had books; Mary decided to ask Aunt Mabel if she had any old pieces of material that she could stuff with rags and make into cushions. If the oak chest was polished up and had cushions on it, and there were bookshelves in the corner, the attic would look beautifully bright and comfortable. As for food - it would be unfair to take anything out of the larder, but it would be quite all right if they each saved something from their breakfast, a piece of bread or a sausage or something. "Just something that we would have eaten anyway," John explained. "So it doesn't cost Aunt Mabel anything extra."

It seemed more sensible not to tell Ben anything until breakfast was over and Aunt Mabel had gone out to sell flags for Lifeboat Day. Although Ben was quite good at keeping secrets he was only young. Snatching food from the breakfast table would make him excited and giggly; he might easily give the whole show away.

They had quite forgotten that Aunt Mabel had asked them to help her on Lifeboat Day and she didn't mention it. But when they were halfway through breakfast - just as John had managed to slip a beef sausage into the pocket of his shirt - Uncle Abe appeared in the kitchen.

"I want some volunteers," he said in a loud voice.

The children looked up from their plates and stared.

He looked quite extraordinary. He was wearing a long, pale green tunic fastened at the waist - or where his waist would have been if he had one - by a broad, golden belt. His big, freckled arms were bare, so were his enormous, pale feet. On his head he wore a curious, green head-dress with pieces of real seaweed pinned on to it, and in one hand he held what looked like a huge, three-pronged fork. He grinned at the children a little sheepishly. "I'm supposed to be Neptune," he said. "This is my Trident." He waved it in the air and gave a short laugh. "Well - what d'you think of the outfit, eh?"

The children were silent for a moment. Their faces had gone pink and John's cheeks looked strangely puffed out and tight as a balloon. Finally Mary spoke, in a funny, prim sort of voice because she was trying so hard not to laugh. "I think you look very nice, Uncle Abe," she said.

John made an extraordinary sound, like a bursting paper bag. Then he got up from the table and clatter down the passage towards the garden, whooping with hysterical laughter.

Uncle Abe drew his brows together. "Well," he said. "I knew this rig didn't exactly suit my figure but I didn't think I looked as funny as all that. Dignified, that was the effect we were aiming at. Dignified and striking." At that moment, Aunt Mabel came into the kitchen, carrying a large paper parcel. Uncle Abe said to her, "It doesn't look, you know, as if I'm going to be quite the attraction we thought. Looks as if it might have quite the opposite effect, in fact. Young John has just rushed intemperately from the room." He looked at Aunt Mabel hopefully. "Shall we call the whole thing off? I don't mind making a first class fool of myself - I'm not complaining about that - but we don't want to drive people away, do we?"

"You won't do that," Aunt Mabel said calmly. "You look very..." She paused and looked at Uncle Abe consideringly. "Very - er - suitable," she finished.

Ben said suddenly, "What did he mean about volunteers?"

Aunt Mabel gave him a quick little smile. "We're having a ceremony, Ben," she said. "We want to get as much money as possible for the Lifeboat. So we're having a band, and Uncle Abe is going to sit in a boat at the end of the jetty and when the band strikes up, he's going to get out of the boat and walk up the jetty..."

"Neptune, rising from the sea," Uncle Abe said in a sad, resigned voice. "Striking terror into the hearts of the young men and maidens. An imaginative lot, the Lifeboat committee." He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

"...and he is going to have two attendant Sea Sprites," went on Aunt Mabel firmly. "They were to have been the grocer's little boy and girl, but unfortunately they have German measles." She put the brown paper parcel down on the end of the table, unwrapped it, and shook out two filmy green tunics. She held them up thoughtfully. "I should think they will fit Mary and Ben quite nicely."

"ME," Ben said in a horrified voice. "ME. You mean I'VE got to wear a DRESS?"

Aunt Mabel nodded. "They're a bit thin and transparent. You'll have to wear a petticoat under them."

"PETTICOAT?"

"Yes. And a good warm vest underneath so you don't catch cold."

"VEST?" Ben said. Uncle Abe winked at him but Ben didn't smile.

Aunt Mabel said, "Yes, Ben. Tunic, petticoat and vest. You'll be warm and you'll be pretty."

"PRETTY," Ben shouted. His face was so red and disgusted that Mary almost laughed although she really felt rather sorry for him: most boys hate dressing up but Ben hated it more than most.

She said soothingly, "Perhaps you can have seaweed in your hair. And a trident, like Uncle Abe. Then everyone will see you're a boy sea sprite."

Ben looked at Aunt Mabel with deep suspicion. "Can I have a trident?" he asked.

"You can have mine," Uncle Abe said quickly. "You can be my Bearer."

"It's an awfully Good Cause," Mary said. "It's to help all the poor sailors who might drown at sea." She glanced shyly at Aunt Mabel as she said this, afraid that it might make her unhappy. But Aunt Mabel was looking just as she usually did: poker-faced and a little cross.

Ben said nothing for a minute. He just glowered round the room, his lower lip stucked out. Then he drew a deep breath and said, very unenthusiastically, "All right. I don't mind."

Mary gave a little sigh of relief. Once Ben had made up his mind, he stuck to it. He didn't look exactly happy - his grim, resigned expression suggested a Roman Gladiator facing certain death in the arena - but he stood quite still while Aunt Mabel dressed him up in the tunic and tied a gold sash round his waist and pinned a few strands of seaweed in his tousled, dark hair. Then he sat glumly in a chair and watched Mary change into her costume.

Mary enjoyed dressing up. It was a pity that the expedition to the House of Secrets would have to be put off for another day but by the time she had fastened the gold belt round the filmy green dress she had quite forgotten her disappointment and was feeling very cheerful and happy. Mary liked pleasing people and it would please Aunt Mabel if she and Ben helped to collect a lot of money for the Lifeboat. She spread out her skirts and danced round the room. "Do I look all right, Aunt Mabel?" she said.

Aunt Mabel looked at her smiling face. "Very pretty," she said. "Pretty as a picture." She swallowed and added, in an odd voice, "You need something for your hair. I won't be a minute."

When she had gone out of the room, Ben said, "Why don't you paint a picture of Mary, Uncle Abe. Aunt Mabel says you used to paint pictures."

"I did once." Uncle Abe gave one of his deep, gusty sighs.

"Did you sell them? That's what you do with your statues, isn't it?"

Uncle Abe grinned. "I try to sell them. But does anyone buy them? That's the point."

"I thought that's why you went up to London yesterday," Ben said.

Mary frowned at him; she thought it was rude of Ben to be so inquisitive. But Uncle Abe didn't seem to mind. He just shrugged his shoulders and said cheerfully. "That's right. But it was fruitless errand, as they say." He scowled at Ben in his mock-fierce way. "Take my advice, my boy, and learn a good trade. Ben a plumber or a greengrocer."

"I'm going to be a man in a Bank," Ben said promptly. "Because they always have money." He thought for a minute and added, "Couldn't we collect money? Like we're going to collect for the Lifeboat - only we could collect just for ourselves?"

Uncle Abe regarded him thoughtfully. "We might, at that. We could dress you up in rags and old newpapers and stand you on the pavement with a notice. 'Starving Family to Support.' How would that do, eh?"

Ben eyes gleamed. "I could cover my face with powder so I'd look pale and sick and go without shoes. I could paint my feet with red paint, so it would look like blood - as if I'd cut my poor feet on the hard stones."

"Fine," Uncle Abe said approvingly. "You've got a flair, Ben. The right touch of inspired imagination. You'll go far."

Ben looked pleased and Mary said quickly, "Oh don't Uncle Abe. If you say things like that he'll think you mean it and he'll go and do it - he'll go collect money and then the police might can and he'd get into dreadful trouble."

"I would not," Ben said crossly. "If I saw a policeman come I'd run. I'd run so fast he couldn't catch me."

"Not in bare feet you wouldn't," Uncle Abe said. "Mary's right, Ben. Begging isn't thought a respectable profession in England." He laughed loudly, wiping his eyes, and when Aunt Mabel came back she eyes him suspiciously. "What's the joke?" she asked.

Uncle Abe hiccoughed. "Not on you'd enjoy, Mabel. Isn't it time we were off?"

"Yes. In a minute. Come here, Mary," Aunt Mabel said, her voice soft and her hands gentle as she smoothed Mary's hair back from her forehead and showed her a little pearl band. The pearls were sewn on black velvet stretched over a stiff frame. "To keep your hair back," Aunt Mabel said. "You can keep it, afterwards."

Mary thought it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She drew a deep, happy breath. "Oh, Aunt Mabel, it's lovely." She stood still while Aunt Mabel fitted it over her head and then stepped back to look at her, with a queer, thoughtful expression in her eyes.

"Was it yours, when you were a girl?" Mary asked. "It is nice of you to give it to me." She felt awkward and shy suddenly and said, "Thank you - oh thank you," under her breath.

Aunt Mabel said, "Yes, it was mine. But there's no need to thank me. It's only an old thing I hadn't any use for. Come on - it's time we were off. I don't know what John's doing. I found him skulking in the garden - I told him to keep an eye on Miss Pin."

"Here's your Trident," Uncle Abe said to Ben. "Carry it over your shoulder. And try to look as if you were enjoying yourself."

Ben looked at him in disdain and made no reply.

John waited for about half an hour after the others had gone partly because of Miss Pin and partly because he wanted to savour the thought that he would be in the House of Secrets, all alone. John had alway found that almost the best part of doing something was the excitement of thinking about it beforehand. His heart thumped away inside him all the time he was looking after Miss Pin, taking her the warm milk she always had at ten o'clock and the chopped lettuce and sliced banana for Sir Lancelot. Miss Pin didn't talk to John as she talked to Ben but treated him as a kind of servant; when he had finished filling her kettles she said, "You may go now," in a very grand, regal way.

But John didn't go. He stood by the door where she couldn't see him and waited until he heard a little, fluttery, snoring sound. Then he peeped round the clothes-horse that screened her and saw she was asleep. She would sleep like this, huddled up small in her gay shawl, the feathered hat nodding on her head, until lunch time. John went out, very quietly, and closed the door.

He didn't take any of the things with him that he had planned to take. It would be more sensible to put up the bookshelves another time, when Mary and Ben would be there to help him. He thought he might look for a rug to put in front of the fireplace and perhaps find a broom to sweep up the attic, but first of all he just wanted to be there, by himself, looking at the sea from the window and thinking his own thoughts without anyone bothering him.

John never minded being alone. In a queer way, he was much less nervous of strange and lonely places when he was by himself; as he climbed the big, dark staircase of the house next door, he thought that if there were ghosts - as there well might be in this old house - he wouldn't mind at all. He would creep quietly past without disturbing them, just as if he were a ghost himself.

He didn't go into any of the rooms. He went straight up to the sunny attic, climbed on to the oak chest and pushed open the creaky old window. It was a warmer day than usual and the air felt soft and fresh. It was very enclosed up here with the old roof slanting up on either side of the window, and very private. John liked the feeling that he was shut right away from the world and that no one knew where he was.

He stood on the chest for a long time, blinking drowsily like an owl in the sun. He thought if Mary and Ben were here, they wouldn't let him be so lazy and quiet. They would be talking loudly and wanting to do things. He sighed a little and began to feel guilty. When they knew he had spent the morning in the attic, they would expect him to have cleaned up a bit or done something to make it look nice and homely.

He wondered if there would be anything inside the oak chest that would do to furnish the attic. The lid was heavy and creaked as he opened it and a strong and musty smell came from the inside.

It seemed to be full of old clothes - several pairs of dark trousers and two jackets with gold buttons and gold trimmings - and some bundles and found an old tweed hat with a label fastened on to the side with a pin. The label said, 'Father's gardening hat'. It was a very old hat with moth holes in it - a funny thing to keep so carefully wrapped up, John thought. In another newspaper bundle he found a pair of girl's satin slippers, dirty white with tarnished buckles on the front. He put the slippers and the hat back in their newspaper wrappings, lifted out the trousers and the jackets and found, at the bottom of the chest an odd mixture of things: a wooden box with chess men in it, a packet of seeds, an old hammer and a photograph album tied up with a red ribbon.

John untied the ribbon and opened the album. The photographs were rather brown and faded, and showed stiff looking people in old-fashioned clothes. As he turned the pages, the photographs became less faded and the clothes the people were wearing were much more modern. There was a photograph of two girls, one tall and frowning, one short and plump and smiling. Underneath was written, Mabel and Hetty. John stared at the picture; then, suddenly, his heart seemed to jump right up into his throat. Hetty was his mother's name. It gave him a very strange feeling to see what she looked like as a little girl, with a short dress and bows in her hair. Slowly, he turned over more pages but there were no more pictures of his mother. There was one of Aunt Mabel in a long white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers and several of a big, smiling man in naval uniform. The last page of the album was torn a little and looked as if someone had torn out a photograph rather roughly - a corner had been left behind. John wondered who it was a photograph of and what had happened to it. He closed the album and looked inside the chest. He found it in a corner, screwed up and squashed with all the things that had been lying on top of it. He smoothed it out on his knee and looked at it carefully. It was a picture of Aunt Mabel - a young, pretty Aunt Mabel whose hair was short and curly instead of scragged back from her face. She was smiling and holding a tiny baby wrapped in a lacy shawl.

John wondered who the baby was and thought, perhaps it was himself. He had been born in England and Aunt Mabel had known him when he was small. But why had she torn the photograph out of the album and left it loose in her chest? He knew now that this must be Aunt Mabel's chest. She had packed all these things away in it and left them behind when she sold the house and no one had touched them since. The jackets with the gold buttons must have been her husband's naval uniform; the gardening hat probably belonged to her father. Perhaps she had wanted to keep it, when he died, to remember him by.

John put the things back in the chest, folding the clothes as carefully as he could. He put the photograph of Aunt Mabel and the baby in his trouser pocket; he thought Ben and Mary would be interested to see it. When he had closed the lid, he suddenly felt rather lonely and miserable. For the first time that morning he wished that Mary and Ben were with him and he decided that he would go back home to wait for them.

He went slowly down the attic stairs and opened the door on to the top landing.

And then he stopped, holding his breath.

He could hear something: a slow pretty tune that seemed to float gently up the dark stair well to where he was standing. Someone, somewhere in the house, was playing a piano. There was a piano, he remembered, in one of the big rooms on the ground floor. But who was playing it? It couldn't be a burglar - not an ordinary burglar, anyway, because no ordinary burglar would stop to play the piano. Could it be a ghost? The tune was soft and somehow mournful; the sort of tune a ghost would play if a ghost could play.

For a few minutes John stood where he was, very still and quiet. Then slowly - very slowly - he began to creep down the stairs. His heart was thumping but he was more curious than frightened.

When he reached the hall, he could hear quite plainly where the music was coming from: the big room at the back where there was the picture of the man on the white horse. John went slowly to the door of this room and looked in. There was a large, gilt-frame mirror opposite the door and he could see the piano reflected in it and the person who was playing it. It was a girl in a high-necked brown jersey; a girl with very long, straight, dark hair, a pinched, monkeyish face and big, dark eyes, rather like Ben's. The eyes were looking at John in the mirror, but John couldn't believe she was really seeing him because she went on playing. But the tune got slower and slower and at last she stopped altogether and stood up.

John drew a long breath and went into the room. She was standing by the piano, facing him. She was tall - taller than he was.

"Who are you?" she said. "I thought - I thought someone was watching me."

She wasn't a ghost. Her voice was quite ordinary and she was just as nervous as John was.

He said boldly, "Who are you?"

She didn't answer for a minute, but stood, looking at John and hugging her elbows as if she was feeling shivery. Then she said in a low, breathless voice, "I am Victoria."

The Secret Passage - Chapt Four

2006-11-16T12:43:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Four
The House of Secrets
by Nina Bawden

"Perhaps one of those old keys will fit," John panted as they wriggled back through the tunnel. He was not at all frightened now, he was much too excited. He had been in the cellar the House of Secrets. He only had to find a key - just one key - and he would be in the house itself!

Mary had left the bunch of keys on the bench in their own cellar, but when she scrambled out of the cubby hole and went to fetch them, the keys were gone. "I'm sure I left them here," she said in a loud, surprised voice.

"Be quiet - oh be quiet," John hissed behind her. He was looking up at the cellar door, his eyes wide with alarm. It stood ajar and a familiar, rattling noise came from the kitchen. "It's Aunt Mabel, stoking the Beast," he said.

Mary whispered, "She must have moved the keys, Yes - there they are, back on the nail."

She and John looked at each other in horror. They were filthy; their clothes were black and their hair and eyebrows were whitish grey with dust.

"We're awfully dirty. She'll be hopping mad," Ben said cheerfully.

"She'll find out about the passage," John said. This thought made his heart thump very fast. If Aunt Mabel knew where they had been she would almost certainly stop them going through the tunnel again and he would never see the house next door - never, never. He clenched his fists and muttered, "I couldn't bear it, I couldn't." He looked frantically at Mary. "What can we say? She must have been down here to get the coke for the Beast - she'll know we weren't just playing in the cellar."

Mary drew a deep breath. "Just don't say anything," she said. "Or you either, Ben. Just leave it to me."

Her back was very striaght and her head held very high as she marched up the cellar steps and into the kitchen. John and Ben followed her; John felt very scared, but Ben hummed a jaunty little tune under his breath. Aunt Mabel looked at them, her mouth open. "Whatever..." she began.

Mary gabbled very fast, "I'm sorry we got so dirty, Aunt Mabel. But we've been hiding in the cellar - in the cubby hole." It was almost true, she thought, they had been hiding in the cubby hole, but all the same the colour came and went in her cheeks and she stared guiltily at the floor.

"So that's where you were." Aunt Mabel said. "I wondered what you'd been doing with those old keys."

John said quickly, "Do you mind us playing with them, Aunt Mabel?"

Aunt Mabel shrugged her shouldres. "They're no use to me. Just a bunch of keys I've had for years. As a matter of fact, I think I brought most of them from the house next door - they won't fit many of the locks here."

John gave a little gasp, then a slow smile appeared on his face. It really was possible, then, that one of the keys would fit that cellar door. This made him feel so excited and happy that he stood, grinning to himself and looking rather foolish. Aunt Mabel gave him a curious look. Then she glanced at Mary and Ben and her lips twitched slightly. "You look as if you'd been climbing chimneys," she said. "It's good thing you had some old clothes on."

Her tone was quite uncomplaining and Mary suddenly realised that Aunt Mabel was not in the least like Mrs Epsom; she never made a fuss when they got dirty or tore their clothes. Then she saw a flimsy blue envelope on the table and everything else went out of her mind. "Is that from Daddy?" she cried.

"No," Aunt Mabel said. "It's from Mrs Epsom. Your father has gone on leave - Mrs Epsom says he's on safaru in the Northern Frontier District." She picked the letter up and put it in her apron pocket. "I expect he'll send you a postcard."

Ben laughed. "He won't be able to buy postcards there," he said scornfully.

"Won't he? I don't know much about Africa." Aunt Mabel looked at the children, frowning a little as if something was worrying her. Then she said sharply, "Run along and have a good, hot bath. Use plenty of soap. You look as if you could do with it."

When they had gone, she sat down, took the letter out of her pocket and read it. When Uncle Abe came in for his supper a little later, she was still sitting there, staring thoughtfully and somehow sadly in front of her, the letter still in her hand.

"Anything wrong?" he asked, surprised. Aunt Mabel didn't often sit like this, doing nothing.

Aunt Mabel glanced at him. "You'd better read this," she said shortly.

Uncle Abe took the letter and read it. Then he folded it carefully and handed it back to her. "Poor little beggars," he said softly. "Do they miss their father very much?"

"I think so," Aunt Mabel said. "They don't talk about him - but Mary runs to the letter box every morning. I hear her feet scampering down the passage and then coming back, very slowly. He hasn't written to them, not once. It looks as if he has quite forgotten about them. You saw what Mrs Epsom said? He seemed half out of his mind with grief..."

Uncle Abe blew his nose very loudly. He said, "He must have loved their mother very much."

He'd have fetched her the moon out of the sky, if he could," Aunt Mabel said in a dry voice. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair in the way she often she did when she was thinking very hard about something. "He wasn't in a fit state to go off into the wilds on his own. Suppose something happends to him? What will happen to the children then?"

"I daresay he'll turn up safe and sound," Uncle Abe said slowly.

Aunt Mabel sighed. "I hope so. They're my sister's children and I shall do my best to do my duty by them. But it won't be easy. They expect such a lot - their parents adored them, spoiled them, to my mind."

"They don't seem spoiled to me. What do you mean?" Uncle Abe said.

Aunt Mabel shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Oh - they just seem to expect everyone to love them. I haven't got time to fuss over children. I can just about afford to feed them as long as they're not particular but I can't afford to give them a lot of clothes and toys. I can't afford to give them anything..."

Uncle Abe was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. He said suddenly, "You can give them a home. That's the most important thing. I know that - after all, you've given me one. Oh - I know I'm supposed to be a lodger, but when did I last pay my rent? Tell me that?" He threw out his chest and thumped it with his big fist.

"Oh - don't ask silly questions," Aunt Mabel said. She got up from her chair and started to lay the table for supper, putting down the knives and forks with a lot of unnecessary noise.

Uncle Abe said, "It's not a silly question. I owe you a lot of money - money that you need now, for the children."

Aunt Mabel took no notice. Her cheeks were rather red and her eyes very bright.

Uncle Abe cleared his throat and said loudly, "As a matter of fact, I may be able to pay you back sooner than you expect. I've got an interview tomorrow, with a man who runs a big Art Gallery in London. He wrote and said he's like to see some of my stuff."

Aunt Mabel smiled. She didn't often smile, but when she did it was usually Uncle Abe who reminded her of her young husband who had been drowned at sea. Mr Haggard had been younger than Uncle Abewhen he died, but he had been a big, brawny man too, with flaming red hair.

She said, "In that case, you'd better remember to put on a clean shirt when you get up in the morning. And wash your neck thoroughly and clean your nails. They look as if they could do with it."

She spoke to Uncle Abe in the same sharp, almost angry way that she spoke to the children but Uncle Abe didn't mind because he was used to it.

John had the bunch of keys fastened to his belt. They were all wearing the dirty clothes they had worn the day before but they couldn't get into the passage until Aunt Mabel was out of the house.

They thought she would never go. Usually she went shopping as soon as breakfast was cleared away but today she had taken it into her head to turn out one of the kirchen cupboards and put clean paper on all the shelves. John and Mary hung around, trying to hurry her up by helping her, but she seemed maddeningly slow, taking down each piece of china from the top shelf and wiping it carefully before she put it back again.

Mary said, "Aunt Mabel, you really ought to get out in the open air. It's good for you."

From her perch at the top of the step ladder, Aunt Mabel looked down at Mary's pink face.

"Well," she said. "Since when have you been interested in my health, may I ask?"

John said innocently, "We've been thinking you looked a bit peaky, Aunt Mabel."

Aunt Mabel gave a funny little snort. "I'll go out when I'm good and ready. Not before. I've got a lot to do because it's Lifeboat Day tomorrow and I shall be busy selling flags."

"To pay for the new Lifeboat? The one that's down on the front, near the pier?"

Aunt Mabel nodded. "It isn't fitted out yet, though. We shall need to collect a lot of money."

"Will you be out selling flags all day tomorrow?" John asked eagerly. He grinned at Mary, whose eyes shone. They could only get into the passage when Aunt Mabel wasn't there and even if she went shopping she might easily get back before they did and find out what they were doing. If she was going to be out all day, tomorrow would be a wonderful opportunity.

"Most of the time, I expect," Aunt Mabel said. She gave them a small smile. "As a matter of fact, I thought you might like to help..."

"Oh," said John and Mary together. Their response was hardly enthusiastic and Aunt Mabel looked at their crestfallen faces in surprise. Although she believe they were spoiled, she had almost without realising it, come to think of Mary and John as very helpful children who were usually willing to do things for people. She said, rathet crossly, "Well - we'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm sure I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Mary said quickly, "It's not that we don't want to, Aunt Mabel. We didn't mean..."

"Never mind what you meant," Aunt Mabel said. "I'm too busy to talk about it now. Run along and play - and take Ben with you. What's Ben doing?"

"Sitting with Miss Pin," John said, with a little sigh.

Ben had been with Miss Pin for the last hour. She was talking about Aunt Mabel. The oil stove threw a yellow, feathery pattern on the high, dim ceiling; Ben sat close to its lovely warmth, on the leather footstool, and listened. From time to time, he fed the tortoise, Sir Lancelot, with a piece of fresh lettuce.

Miss Pin was saying, "You should have seen you Aunt Mabel when she was young. She was the prettiest girl in Henstable. Tall and bonny, with long, graceful legs, like a deer. I used to sit here, in this room - it was just after my arthritis had laid hold of me properly - and listen to her, singing in the big garden next door. She sang all day, such sweet, pretty songs, to amuse her little sister. That was your Dear Mamma, Ben. I never saw any two sisters so loving. When your Aunt Mabel was married, your Mamma was her bridesmaid, in a pretty dress of white lace. They asked me to the wedding - such a pretty card, with gold bells all over it. Of course I couldn't go. Even if it hadn't been for my arthritis, it wouldn't have been Safe. I daren't leave Papa's treasure, you see. I'd promised him I would guard it always. But your Aunt Mabel came in to see me afterwards and brought me a piece of wedding cake. I've still got it somewhere - in that old chest in the corner, I think. She was wearing such a pretty dress..."

"Get on to the sad bit," Ben said. He was much more interested in hearing how Mr Haggard's ship had gone down in a great storm in the Pacific Ocean, than he was in the dress Aunt Mabel was wearing when she got married.

Miss Pin frowned. "Don't be impatient, boy. All in good time. Just fill my kettle first, will you, dear?" She waited while Ben put a kettle on the oil stove and gave her a new one for her lap. Then she put her hat straight on her head, tucked her bright shawl firmly about her, and went on. "For about a year, Ben dear, your Aunt and her nice young husband were happy as the day is long. My Dear Mamma used to say you can only have so much happiness in this life. Your Aunt Mabel had it all - in one short year."

She sighed deeply, but Ben knew she was enjoying herself. Like Ben, Miss Pin thought sad things were more interesting than happy ones. She huddled up in her chair, looking like an aging parrot, and went on in a low, trembling voice. "It came to an end so suddenly. That terrible storm at sea - I can see it, Ben. The great, purple waves breaking over the ship, the fierce winds buffeting it, the poor sailors... The storm only lasted about an hour, but long before it was over, all was lost. They sent out S.O.S messages, but there was no ship near enough to help them. The ship broke up completely, and went down with the brave Captain standing on the bridge, saluting. The crew took to the boats, but no lifeboat could last in that sea. No one was saved except the ship's cat who came floating ashore at some island or other, riding on an old plank and miaowing like a banshee. Just think, Ben! Your poor Aunt had only been married a year." Miss Pin raised a corner of her shawl to her eyes as if to wipe away a tear. "Until fourteen years ago, she was the merriest creature you ever saw. Then, suddenly, everything changed. In one
month - one short month, Ben, her poor husband died and she lost her little girl. Of couse your Mamma was still with her, to comfort her, but she wan't there long. She married just after - out of the school-room..."

"Lost what?" Ben interrupted her in an astonished voice. This was part of the story he hadn't heard before. "I didn't know Aunt Mabel had a girl."

"Indeed she did. The prettiest little thing. Very delicate, of course - like a little doll. Your Aunt and your Mamma were living in the big house next door - their parents were dead long since, you know - and your Aunt put the dear baby out in her pram while she got ready to go shopping. When she came out, the child was gone."

Ben's eyes were large and round as saucers. He whispered, "Did the Enemy take it? The baby, I mean?"

Miss Pin looked at him. There was a queer, sharp look in her boot-button eyes. She said slowly, "I suppose he did, Ben dear. But I shouldn't have told you. Mrs Haggard will be cross with me."

"Her bark is worse than her bite," Ben said kindly. "But you needn't worry. I won't tell her I know."

He was going to ask Miss Pin if Aunt Mabel hadn't looked for her lost baby and why the police hadn't found it, but just at that moment the door opoened a crack and John's face peered through it.

He said, in a carrying whisper, "Ben, she's gone out. Hurry..."

Ben stood up. "I've got to go now, Miss Pin. Thank you for having me," he said politely.

"It's been a pleasure, Mr Mallory," she said in her queenly way. "I shall be delighted to see you again. Have you still got the little horse?"

Ben dived into his pocket and brought out some rubber bands, a mint toffee that he had half sucked and put back in its paper, a nail or two and the green horse.

"What do you call him?" Miss Pin asked.

"I call him Pin," Ben said, rather shyly. He was afraid she might not like this.

But she didn't seem to mind. Her black eyes snapped and she said, "Guard him well. He is part of my Papa's Treasure. He will bring you luck."

This time, the passage did not seem nearly so dark, nor so long. In case the torch gave out, they had bought a new battery with half a crown John had found in the pocket of his best suit. And Mary had a wet flannel, rolled in a polythene bag and stuffed under her jersey. "We can't go into someone else's house with our hands all dirty," she explained.

So before they tried to open the door at the head of the stairs, they stood in the cellar of the next door house and solemnly tried to clean up their faces and hands by the light of the torch. The result was rather streaky and the flannel looked very black indeed. Mary put it back in the polythene bag and left it by the cellar steps. Then she ran up to stand behind John while he tried to open the door.

It wasn't as quick and easy a business as they had expected. There were a great many keys in the big bunch, but none of them seemed to fit. John didn't say anything, but his face began to lose its cheerful expression and became determined and sad as he went on, trying one key after another.

"We could saw the door down," Ben suggestion. "There's and old saw in our cellar."

"Don't be silly," Mary said crossly. "You can't damage someone else's house. You'd be a kinf od burglar."

"Well, we are burglars, aren't we?" Ben said, looking at her with such an innocent-looking-pretending smile on his face that she could have pushed him down the stairs.

She set her lips and said, "Not really. I mean, we're not going to steal anything. And it isn't as if anyone lived here. We can't be doing any harm."

John said in a despairing voice, "There's no point in talking about it because it doesn't look as if we're going to get in."

Suddenly, he threw the bunch of keys away from him and they landed with a crash in the middle of the cellar floor. He stumped past Mary and Ben to pick them up and then stood, staring in front of him with misery written all over his face.

Mary went down to him. "Have you tried them all?" she asked. It made her feel sad inside to see John looking so unhappy. She knew that although she wanted to get inside the house, she didn't want it as badly as John did. She put her hand on his arm and he looked at her with a shaky little smile and said, "It's horrid, isn't it? But I suppose it was nice thinking we might be able to see inside. It was better than nothing."

Ben said, from the top of the stairs, "But the door's not locked at all!"

They looked up and saw a crack of light at the top of the steps. The crack widened and they saw Ben's figure outlined against the crack from the opening door.

"But it was locked. I'm sure it was locked," John cried.

"Well, it isn't now," Ben shouted back impatiently. "Come on. It's your old house, John. Don't you want to go first?"

John made a funny, choking sound in his throat and was up the stairs in two long leaps. He rushed through the door but once he was over the threshold he suddenly stopped, so that Ben bumped into him.

"Ouch," he said.

John turned on him. "Ssh. Don't make such a noise."

"I couldn't help it," Ben grumbled. "I banged myself on the nobbles of your spine. You're so thin." He was rubbing his poor nose and his eyes were watering.

"Sorry," John said. "But I just . . . I just feel we shouldn't rush and shout and bang about. The . . . the house mightn't like it. It's been shut up so long that it isn't used to a lot of noise..."

He had such a solemn look on his face that Mary and Ben did as he said, walking behind him on tiptoe and speaking in whispers. And, as a matter of fact, once they had come out of the ice-cold, bare old kitchen into which the cellar door had opened, they walked quietly and spoke in hushed whispers quite naturally.

It was such a very splendid house. It was cold as a tomb and dark because most of the curtains were drawn but once their eyes got used to the dimness they could see that the rooms were full of beautiful things. There were deep, soft carpets on the floor; in the wide hall there was even a carpet hanging on the wall, fine and soft and patterned with glowing red and gold colours. There were gold cabinets full of delicate china birds and shepherdness and shelves that reached up to the ceilings full of old, beautiful books, and statues standing in the hal and on slender, marble columns in the big drawing room, and pictures - pictures on all the walls. Some of them were small and full of light, dancing colours and some were large and dark, in heavy carved gold frames. There was a picture of a boy in a dark velvet suit holding a dove on his wrist that Mary felt she could look at for ever and ever, and one of a man in a great, scarlet cloak, sitting on a proud, white horse. John stood in front of this picture for a long time. "The man's eyes are so sad," he said. "It makes me feel funny - sort of sad and happy at the same time."

They went into all the rooms downstairs and then climbed to the first floor up a wide, curving staircase. The bedrooms were all very big and full of pictures like the rooms downstairs and had high, old-fashioned beds with curtains hanging round them. Ben tugged at one of the curtains and a little shower of dust fell. "No one's slept here for ages," he said.

"Of course they haven't," Mary said. "Mr Reynolds - the old man the house belongs to - hasn't been here for ages," he said.

"Two years," John said. "That's what Aunt Mabel told me. Can you imagine anyone having a lovely house like this and all these pictures and just leaving it?" He stared round wonderingly at the room they were in, which was very pretty with blue, velvet curtains at the windows and a black and gold cabinet with glass doors tha had a collection of small ornaments inside. Ben went up to the cabinet and pressed his nose against the glass. "They're like Miss Pin's," he said. "Look Mary - there's a little horse like mine, it's exactly the same colour."
"It looks the same," Mary agreed. "But it can't be, quite. These must be very valuable things. That's why they're all locked up."

"My horse is valuable too," Ben muttered mutinously. "And I think he's prettier," He took out Pin and fondled him lovingly.

"He is pretty," Mary said consolingly. "But he can't be so precious. Otherwise Miss Pin wouldn't have given him to you."

Ben said nothing but scowled at her fiercely and stumped up the next flight of stairs, glowering and dragging his feet.

There was a bathroom on the next floor with a big marble washstand and an enormous bath that had four gold lion's paws for feet. There were more bedrooms, but they were not so big and grand as the ones on the first floor, and the furniture was plainer. At the corner of the landing there was a door; John opened it and they saw a narrow flight of stairs, curving up round and round, as if it led up a tower. There was no carpet on the stairs and though the wall had been painted, it must have been a very long time ago because the paint was peeling off and there were holes in the plaster; in one place a big piece had fallen down and the laths were showing through. They climbed up, round and round, until the backs of their legs felt tired. Then, quite suddenly, the stairway took a final twist and they found themselves standing in a pool of brilliant sunlight that made them blink.

"It's the attic," John cried in a high, excited voice.

They were at the very top of the house, in a big, long room with sloping ceilings and a wide window through which the dusty shafts of sunlight streamed. It was a bare, neglected place; there was worn, green lino on the floor and several panes of glass were missing from the windows. The corners of the ceiling were grey with cobwebs. There was a dusty chest standing under the window and against one wall there was an old brass bedstead. It had a thin mattress that was half hidden by a red silk shawl with bright coloured birds embroidered on it. The shawl had been arranged carefully over the mattress as if to cover it up as much as possible.

Mary stared and stared at the bedstead. Her breath came very fast and she was suddenly so excited that she could hardly speak.

She said in a choking voice, "That must be the bed Aunt Mabel was talking about. The one she and mother used to play on. Do you remember? She told us about it in the train - she said it might still be here."

"I wonder," John said. "I wonder..." He went up to the bed and touched the silk shawl. It made him feel queer to think of his mother and Aunt Mabel being young and playing games on this old bed. His face was very grave. He said, "Perhaps no one has been up here since Aunt Mabel went away. That would be years and years..."

"Fourteen years," Ben said suddenly.

"How do you know?" Mary asked.

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "I just do."

Mary and John looked at each other. They saw Ben was annoyed about something so it was no good trying to make him explain how he knew.

"Aunt Mabel said she sold the house after her husband died," John said slowly. "Perhaps that was fourteen years ago. It's an awfully long time. I wonder if we're the first people to come here - in all these years."

"Of course we aren't, stupid," Ben said.

"We might be," Mary said. "After all, if Mr Reymolds had come up here and seen what a nice room it is, he's have painted it up and hung pictures in it."

"Perhaps he didn't think it was nice," John said. But that didn't seem likely, because it was nice room, sunny and bright, with a friendly feeling to it. The window was high up in the roof and when John and Mary stood on the oak chest, they found they could see the sea, just as Aunt Mabel had said. It was very dark blue; the sun, shining on it, made sparkles of light that were so bright it almost hurt to look at them. John and Mary stood in silence, watching the seagulls and a tiny steamer, moving slowly across the horizon. After a little while, John said, "It's lovely here. Mr Reynolds can't have seen how lovely it is - he can't have come up here at all."

"Someone else has been up here, though," Ben said.

They turned from the window and looked at him. He was sitting on the bed, his hands in his pockets, smiling to himself.

Mary sat down on the bed beside him. "Please tell us, Ben dear," she said pleadingly. "I'm sorry I was rude about Pin. I think he's a beautiful horse and much nicer than the one in the room downstairs."

Ben whistled a little bit longer. Then he relented, partly because Mary was looking at him so coaxingly, and partly because he couldn't resist showing his brother and sister how clever he was.

"You know Aunt Mabel's got some brass candlesticks in the dining room?" he said. "Well - you know she's always polishing them. She says they go dull if you don't. Well - this brass bed is all shiny and bright, isn't it?" Just as if it had been polished yesterday."

It was quite true. John and Mary were a little bit ashamed because they hadn't thought of this for themselves. "You are clever," Mary said.

"Yes," Ben said smugly. He grinned so broadly that Mary thought it must make his cheeks ache.

"That isn't the only thing," he said. "Just listen."

They listened. At first, they could only hear the singing of the birds which was very loud because the attic window was up in the roof and birds were beginning to nest under the caves. Then they heard something else. Something so ordinary that they really hadn't noticed it. It was a ticking clock.

John found it. It was lying on its back on the bed, hidden under the embroidered shawl. It was a cheap-looking alarm clock with a fat, loud tick.

Ben said triumphantly, "You see? That sort of clock has to be wound up every day."

Mary said, "Perhaps we jogged it - perhaps we sort of jogged it when we sat down on the bed and it started going by itself..."

John shook his head. "No," he said. "No. It must have been wound up." His eyes blazed bright. "Someone must have been here," he said.

The Secret Passage - Chapt Three

2006-11-12T22:03:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Three
The Secret Passage
by Nina Bawden

The house next door belonged to a man called Mr Reynolds. He was an art collector, Aunt Mabel told John, and the house was full of paintings and other tresures he had brought from all over the world.

"He's got a big house in London as well," Aunt Mabel said, "and a castle somewhere in France. It's my belief that he bought my house chiefly to have somewhere else to hang all his pictures - though what pleasure he gets out of them, I can't think. He hasn't been down here for at least two years."

It seemed queer to John that someone should buy a lot of pictures and hang them up in a house he never visited. It made the house next door seem more mysterious than ever. John wished he could get inside it to find out what it was like but he didn't say so to Mary. He was afraid she would laugh at him, as she had laughed when he told her he had seen the face at the window. He had only seen it for a moment, a dim, pale blur at one of the top floor windows, and after a little while he began to think he must have imagined it. No one could possibly get inside the house; it seemed so very empty and shut up and the garden walls were so high. John thought it was sad that a house should be so silent and unwanted and wondered if it would feel different from other houses that were used and lived in.

It was partly because he was an imaginative boy that he thought so much about the house, and partly because he had very little else to do. Mary was busy helping Aunt Mabel - she made the beds and went shopping and washed up the dishes - and Ben spent as much time as he could with Miss Pin. Neither Mary nor John knew what they talked about, shut up in that dark, stuffy room, but they could hear their voices droning on and on behind the clsoed door, like bees on a summer day.

"What do you talk about all the time?" John asked Ben.

"Oh - just things," Ben said mysteriously. "About olden times when she was a girl. It's like a story. She tells lovely stories."

Aunt Mabel seemed to be glad tha Ben like Miss Pin. She let him carry in her trays at meal-times and fill up her kettles and answer the little brass cow bell that she rang whenever she wanted anything. "It saves my legs," Aunt Mabel said.

One Saturday morning, when the children had been in Henstable for two months, Aunt Mabel was busier than ever. A man had telephoned from London the night before to ask for a room for the weekend; he had said that if he like The Haven, he might stay longer. Aunt Mabel said it was a stroke of luck to get someone at this time of the year; she asked Mary to help her clean out one of the guest rooms and make the bed and she sent John to buy a chicken from the fishmonger.

The visitor arrived just before lunchtime. Peeping over the banisters, the children saw a small, pale man with a high, bald forehead and two pointed, yellow teeth that stuck out in front of his mouth. He didn't come upstairs to see the room that Mary had helped Aunt Mabel get ready for him, but went straight into the dining room, leaving his suitcase standing in the hall. Aunt Mabel showed him to a table, then came out again and whispered up to the children, "You'll have to wait for your lunch."

The children waited, crouching together on the stairs. They saw Aunt Mabel come up from the basement carrying the visitor's lunch on a tray. There was a chicken, brown and still spitting from the oven and separate little dishes of peas, carrots and potatoes, all glistening with butter. Ben's mouth watered. "Do you think he'll eat it all? Every bit??" he said wistfully.

Aunt Mabel came out of dining room with an empty tray and disappeared down to the kitchen. When she reappeared, ten minutes later, she was carrying the pudding - crusty apple pie with a jug of wrinkled, yellow cream. She smiled cheerfully at the children before she went into the dining room but when she came out again she didn't look cheerful at all. Her face was stiff and anxious. On the tray was the lovely, crisp chicken. It was barely touched.

Ben whispered, "Golly - did you see? There'll be lots left for us!" He smacked his lips with a juicy noise and rubbed his stomach.

"Don't be silly," Mary said sharply. "If he hasn't eaten the chicken - it means he doesn't like it. And if he doesn't like the food, he won't stay."

John said, "Perhaps he doesn't like first courses. Perhaps he only likes pudding. And it's a lovely apple pie."

They watched anxiously while Aunt Mabel took in the coffee and brought outthe remains of the pudding.He had hardly eaten anything - just the smallest hole had been made in the side of the sugar-dusted crust. Aunt Mabel didn't look up at the children. She stumped straight down to the kitchen.

"Perhaps he wasn't hungry. Or perhaps he's a vegetarian," John suggested hopefully.

"Vegetarians eat apple pie," Mary said.

They were silent for a minute. Then Ben said, "He'll have to pay for it anyway, won't he?"

"I don't know." There was a little frown on Mary's forehead. She was thinking of how hard Aunt Mabel had worked to make the house look nice and cook a good lunch. And of how much the chicken and the cream had cost. Everything cose a lot - even gas, for cooking. The Gas Bill had arrived at breakfast time and Aunt Mabel had sighed when she saw it.

Then the visitor came out into the hall. He was wiping his mouth with his handkerchief and looking round him in a lost sort of way.

John whispered, "Perhaps he wants to go to the bathroom."

Mary stood up. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to say but she knew she was going to say something and it made her feel shaky and queer. She went a little way down the stairs and said in a loud voice, "Do you want anything?" The man looked up, startled, and she went on quickly, "I'm afraid you didn't eat much of your nice lunch. I hope it was because you just weren't hungry, not because you didn't like it."

The man didn't answer. He simply stared at Mary with his pale eyes. Although he had eaten so little, he hadn't been very tidy about it: there were food stains on his waistcoat and on his tie. Mary felt dreadfully nervous but she took a deep breath and went on, "We hope you'll like our boarding house and stay here for a long time because Aunt Mabel needs lots of money to pay the Gas Bill and things like that."

"Good heavens," the visitor said. "Good heavens." He looked quite atonished and rather angry. He glared at Aunt Mabel who had come into the hall while Mary had been talking. She gave him a stiff, apologetic smile, marched to the foot of the stairs and said in an icy voice, "Mary - all of you - go down to the kitchen this minute."

They went, in silence. Aunt Mabel followed them. When she had closed the kitchen door she said, "Mary, you are a naughty, impertinent girl. Please remember in future that you are not to speak to my guests or bother them in any way. This gentleman is an important man in the City - he has come down here to have a rest, not to be badgered by rude children." She was very white and shaking.

Ben said, "He doesn't look like an important man. He looks just like a rabbit." And he giggled suddenly, his hand across his mouth.

"He looks like your bread and butter," Aunt Mabel said. "Don't you forget it." And she went out and shut the door.

No one spoke for a minute. Mary was staring hard at the floor, the blood burning in her cheeks.

Then Ben said, "What did she mean? Why does he looke like our bread and butter?"

John looked at Mary and said slowly, "I think she means what she said in the train - that she gets all her money from visitors who come and stay here. And unless people come and stay and pay her for it, she can't buy food for us."

Ben shrugged his shoulders. "I don't like bread and butter," he said. "I like bread and butter and jam."

In the afternoon, Aunt Mabel sent them down to the sea and told them to stay out of the visitor's way until tea time.

It was very cold. Although it was March, none of the daffodils in the gardens had opened and even the buds looked pinched and cold as if the sharp winds had frozen them. As for the sea - the children thought they had never seen anything so grey and wild, not at all like the sea at Mombasa in Kenya where you could swim all day and see marvellous fish and rocks if you dived under the clear, blue water.

Since they came to England, they had spent a great deal of time by this chilly sea because Aunt Mabel had decided they were not to go to school until the Summer Term. They had all caught coughs and colds and when she took them to the doctor, he said, "No school for a bit. They're perfectly healthy, but they've live in Africa for so long that they haven't any resistance to English germs. Let them run about and get used to the climate."

They had to run about most of the time, to keep warm. It was so cold that Mary and John and chilblains on theur fingers and toes that itched and burned whenever tey were indoors by the fire. Aunt Mabel put ointment on the chilblains and gave them cough mixture for their chests. She was kind to them in that sort of way - a brisk, rather impersonal way like a nurse or a schoolteacher. But she never once kissed them good night or asked if they were happy. Mary sometimes thought that if she hadn't got John and Ben, she might have felt very sad and lonely indeed.

"She's not cross, exactly," she said to John, "I think it's just that she doesn't like us much."

They were sitting on the beach in the shelter of a slimy green breakwater, throwing stones into an old tin can that John had stuck up on a pole. Ben was looking for cockles in a patch of shiny mud left by the outgoing tide. He was crouching on his haunches, watching for the tell-tale wriggle in the mud and then burrowing with his fingers to find the tiny, pink-shelled creatures that Uncle Abe liked to eat for tea.

"She's not used to liking people," John said. "I mean - she's never had a family to practise on, has she? And I think she's worried because it costs so much to feed us and mend our shoes and that sort of thing."

"Why doesn't Dad send her some money, then?"

John frowned. "Perhaps he hasn't got any. After all, the house was swept away and everything. Or perhaps he hasn't thought about it. You know how vague he is - Mother always paid the bills, didn't she?" He went rather pink, suddenly, and threw a stone very hard at the tin.

"Well, what about Uncle Abe and Miss Pin? I mean - if the rabbity man looked like our bread-and-butter why don't that?"

"I don't think they pay anything," John said surprisingly. "You remember Uncle Abe said she was an angel? Well, it couldn't be because she's so sweet and kind, could it? So I think he said it because she lets him stay free."

"Did he tell you that?" Mary said.

"No. I guessed because he never sells any of his statues and all his clothes are so awful. But he did tell me about Miss Pin. He was showing me how to model a head in his workshop yesterday and he said, where was Ben, and I said he was helping Aunt Mabel clean Miss Pin's room - you know she lets him dust her little animals and things - and Uncle Abe said it was a blessing Ben got on so well with the old lady because it took some of the weight off Aunt Mabel's shoulders. I asked him if Miss Pin had always lived here and he said yes, she's been a lodger at The Haven for as long as anyone could remember. Long before Aunt Mabel bought it. Uncle Abe said Miss Pin had a niece who used to pay her bills, but when Aunt Mabel took over the boarding house, the niece came down to see her and said she couldn't afford to pay any longer and Miss Pin would have to go into a Home. But Aunt Mabel wouldn't hear of it; she said as long as she had her health and strength the poor old soul could stay with her, and welcome."

"I think that was very nice of Aunt Mabel," Mary said slowly.

"Uncle Abe said she has a heart of gold. But as soon as he'd said it, he gave one of his funny laughs and said he must admit it didn't show. Then he stopped laughing and said I'd learn when I got older that people weren't always what they seemed to be. He said Aunt Mabel was really a very loving sort of person but she hadn't had anyone to love for so long that she'd got out of the habit."

Mary said, "I suppose she must have been awfully sad when her husband was drowned. I remember Dad said he was quite young and they hadn't been married long." Mary felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She turned her head away so that John should't see and said, "There's one thing I don't understand, though. Ben says Miss Pin is rich."

"She's batty," John said scornfully.

Ben heard him say that. He had just come up with his pail full of cockles. "She's not," he said angrily. "She's nice. And she knows a lot of things you don't know. She's told me some of them. She knows something you don't know about the house."

"What?"

"Shan't tell you." Ben glared at John. He had got thinner since they had come to Henstable and his eyes looked bigger and darker than they used to look. He stamped his foot and said, "She wouldn't tell you either. You're too mean and horrible."

"You tell me, then," John said. He got up and advanced on Ben who jumped over the breakwater and stuck out his tongue. John scrambled after him and grabbed hold of his arm. "Come on," he said, giving Ben a little shake, "tell me."

"I won't. It's a secret," Ben said. He shook himself free and faced his brother, his dark eyes blazing.

"Stop it, both of you," Mary said. She felt suddenly that she couldn't bear it if they quarrelled. She said coaxingly, "Let's go home - we've got to cook the cockles and it must be mearly time for tea."

But tea wasn't ready. As they walked towards The Haven, they saw that a taxi had stopped outside and that the rabbity man was getting into it. Aunt Mabel was standing on the step, watching him go.

"Is he leaving?" Mary asked as they came up to her.

Aunt Mabel didn't seem to hear, she just turned on her heel and went indoors. It wasn't until they were all downstairs in the kitchen that she said, "Yes, he's gone. Mary, lay the table, will you?"

She put the kettle on and lit the grill to make toast for tea. Her expression was so stiff and forbidding that none of the children dared say anything. When tea was ready, they sat down at the table with downcast eyes. None of them felt in the least hungry.

After about five minutes, Mary said nervously, "Aunt Mabel - did the man go away because of what I said?"

Aunt Mabel glanced at her briefly - "No - no, of course not. He left because his bedroom was too cold." She gave a short laugh. "As if a grown man would bother about what a little girl said!"

Mary felt a little better, but not much. It was kind of Aunt Mabel to say it wasn't her fault, but she had spoken in such a cold, angry way that she still felt very miserable. She sat, staring at her plate and so did John and Ben.

Looking at their faces, Aunt Mabel thought they were sulking. It didn't occur to her that they were unhappy because they thought she was dreadfully cross with them. She didn't even know she had sounded cross. She had had such a lonely, worrying life - it was even more worrying now she had three children to look after - that she had grown rather prickly and sharp-voiced without realising it. She was a stiff, rather shy sort of person and although she would have liked to be kinder and more loving to the children, she did not really know how to begin. As a result, her brisk, unaffectionate ways froze up even Mary's kind heart and, as she sat, eating her toast, she began to think that it was all very well for Uncle Abe to say Aunt Mabel was nice and loving underneath. But it didn't make her any easier to live with.

After tea, Aunt Mabel went down to the shops to get fresh fish for Miss Pin's supper. The only kind of fish Miss Pin liked was plaice, boned and steamed in butter. As soon as she was gone, Ben said in an excited voice, "I've got an idea." He was very pink and his eyes shone. "It's an idea how to make money."

Mary and John looked at each other. They remembered that it had been Ben who had asked Aunt Mabel if she was really poor, when they were in the train coming to Henstable. He had never mentioned it since, but that was like Ben. If he had a problem he didn't talk about it, but turned it over and over in his mind until he had an answer to it. He said now, "We can collect cockles. I saw some men on the beach collecting cockles and they said they sold them to the fish shop. We could do that, then Aunt Mabel would have enough money to buy lots of bread and butter."

John said, "But you can't collect enough cockles in a pail. Not enough to sell."

"We want a sack, like the men had. There are lots of sacks in the cellar."

Ben ran to the door at the far end of the kitchen, opened it, and disappeared. Mary and John followed. They had never been in the cellar and they peered cautiously down the flight of wooden stairs that led down into darkness. Ben's voice floated up to them. "Put the light on. The switch is just inside the door."

John switched on the light and went down the stairs. The cellar was a low, rambling, pleasant place that smelt of dry wood and dust. There was a pile of coke for the Beast in one corner, a stack of wood in another and a bench against one wall with a saw and some nails on it. Under the bench, John found a pile of sacks; he and Mary began shaking them out and choosing the two best ones.

Meanwhile, Ben roamed round the cellar. Set in the brick wall at one end, were two arched little doors - very low, as if they had been made for dwarfs or children. Ben opened one of the doors and found a cubby hole with an earth floor and a wooden ceiling; a tiny room that would have made a splendid hide-away if it had not been full of packing cases and empty lemonade bottles. He wondered if there was another room behind the door but when he tried to open it, it seemed to be locked or stuck.

He called out to John and Mary, "Come and help. I think it's locked."

"There are some keys here," Mary said. There was a big bunch of keys hanging on a nail above the bench. She took them down and went over to the little door. John tried several keys before he found a small one that exactly fitted the lock. It was rusty and stiff; it took two hands and all his strength to turn the key, but it did turn and the door swung creakily open.

There was a small room behind this door, just as there was behind the other one. At first, the only difference seemed to be that this room was empty and when the children peered in, the air inside felt colder than the air in the cellar. Then they saw that high up in the wall at the back was a small, square, dark hole. A chill little wind blew out of it and a queer smell - a mixture of earth and mice and shut-upness.

"What is it?" Mary whispered.

No one answered for a minute. Then BEn said in a low, awestruck voice, "It's the Secret Passage." There was a bright, mysterious look in his eyes. He said, very fast, "I couldn't tell you because Miss Pin asked me not to. But now you've found it for yourselves, it's all right, isn't it?"

He looked anxiously at Mary who took his hard little hand and said, "Of course it's all right. But a passage must go somewhere. Does Miss Pin know where it goes?"

Ben shook his head. "She just said it was a place to hide. But we could go and see couldn't we?"

Mary said, "I've got a torch. It was hanging up with the keys." She looked at John. "You go first..."

John drew a deep breath. It was stupid to be scared, he told himself. He was eleven, nearly twelve - nearly grownup.

Ben said eagerly, "I'll go. I'd like to go." The menacing dark hole didn't worry him at all. What could be there, after all, except a mouse or two?

John said quickly, "No. It may be dangerous. I'm the eldest. I'll go."

As he pulled himself up to the hole, the torch in his hand, he grinned to himself in spite of feeling so sick and clammy. If he wasn't so frightened he would be quite ready to let Ben go ahead - it would be more sensible, really. Ben was smaller and less likely to get stuck.

The hole led to a tunnel which was just high enough for John to crawl through, knees scraping on rubble. It was very short; after about two yards it opened into a much bigger place, high enough for John to kneel up. He swept the torch round and saw brick walls and rafters above his head.

"We're under the house," Mary said, wriggling beside him. "Oh blow - I've torn my dress. It must be the foundations of the house."

"What a swizz," John said in a cheerful, grumbling tone, secretly rather relieved that this was all there was - just this dry, clean place with the floors of the house above.

But it wasn't all. "Look," Ben squeaked. "Give me the torch..."

At one side there was another hole, just above the level of the ground. This time there was no doubt about who was to go first. Ben snatched the torch from John and crawled in. His muffled voice came back to them. "Come on - it goes on an awfully long way."

This tunnel was very low and it was more difficult for Mary and John to get through it than for Ben. They had to squirm along on their stomachs, using their elbows and knees, and it was rather alarming because Ben was so far ahead that they couldn't see the light from the torch. Mary was so closed behind John that his feet kicked dust and earth back into her face. At one place the tunnel seemed to be almost blocked by a mess of brick and rubble as if someone had tried to wall it up at some time. John called, "Ben..." and Ben's voice sounded hollow and strange. "Come on... come on, it's not far now."

Quite suddenly, the tunnel ended. It just stopped, high up in a wall. Ben was shining the torch and John and Mary crawled out, head first, and pitched on to a pile of wood shavings. "Just as well that was there," John said, sitting up. "Or we'd banged our heads horribly hard. Give me the torch, Ben."

They were in quite a big room, very dry, with a brick floor. It opened into another room with a series of cubby holes along one side, stacked with wine bottles lying on their sides. At the far end was a flight of wooden steps and a closed door at the top. John shone the torch up the steps. He caught his breath.

"Mary," he shouted, "Mary - do you know where we are? We're in the cellar of the house next door. We're in the House of Secrets."

He ran up the stairs and tugged at the handle of the door, quite forgetting to be frightened in the excitement of being in the very place he had so longed to see. But the cellar door was locked.

The Secret Passage - Chapt Two

2006-11-06T22:02:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter Two
Mr Agnew, Miss Pin and the Face at the Window
by Nina Bawden

John was awake before the others the next morning. The bare attic was flooded with clear sunlight and when he climbed up on to the rickety chair to look out of the window, he saw a pale blue sky with little clouds floating high up in it, like puffs of smoke. At the end of the garden was a line of houses with blue slate roofs and, behind them, a darker blue line where the sky met the sea. Everywhere, gulls were diving and screaming, making a tremendous noise that almost drowned the rhythmic sucking sound of the sea on the beach.

The garden immediately below the window was long and bare and narrow; at the end of it, there was a wooden shed. The garden of the big house on the other side of the high brick wall, was much larger and looked dense and overgrown with a thick shrubbery of dark, speckly evergreens.

John jumped off the chair. "Wake up," he said, "Mary, wake up. Come and look at the sea."

Mary yawned sleepily and rolled over in bed.

Ben sat up and sneezed so hard that his bed rattled.

Mary opened her eyes. "You've caught a cold," she said accusingly.

"I habend." Ben glared at her before he sneezed again. He said in a hoarse voice, "I habend gotta code."

Aunt Mabel thought differently.

"You'll stay indoors this morning," she said, after Ben had sneezed his way through breakfast. (Ben had never had a cold before and he had no idea how to be polite about it. When he wanted to sneeze, he just sneezed: it was like sitting at a table with an erupting volcano.) "John and Mary can go out," Aunt Mabel went on. "But you must stay with me."

"I don't want to," Ben said. "I want to go out. It'll make me worse to stay in a stuffy old house."

"You'll do as you're told," Aunt Mabel said.

She spoke rather sharply. She thought Ben was likely to be more difficult to control than John and Mary. She was probably right. Ben wasn't really spoiled or even particularly naughty, but he was tough, determined little boy who had been simply used to having his own way. Up to now, there had been no real reason why he shouldn't have it. In Africa, there had been no need for a lot of tiresome rules; since his parents had known Ben was sensible enough to keep out of danger, they had let him go more or less where he liked and do what he liked. The first person who had tried to hedge him in was Mrs Epsom with her endless, boring, "Don't do this . . . don't do that." It seemed to Ben, suddenly, that Aunt Mabel was going to be just like her, and he went dark red with anger.

"I won't," he said. "I won't. I wan' to go and look at the sea. I habend gotta code." And he gave a simply tremendous sneeze.

Perhaps if Aunt Mabel had laughed at him, it would have been all right. But she didn't. She was too worried in case Ben would not obey her. She knew very little about children; certainly, she had no idea how to manage Ben any more than she would have known how to manage a strange wild animal suddenly dumped down in her kitchen.

She said briskly, "Don't be stupid. I won't have it. If you go out, you might get pneumonia and I've got enough to do without nursing a sick child. If you don't do what you're told, you'll have to go straight up to your room and stay there."

Ben looked at Aunt Mabel and Aunt Mabel looked at Ben. If Mary hadn't been so nervous about what was going to happen, she might have noticed that they both looked rather alike for the moment, staring at each other with the same angry, determined expression in their brown eyes. Then the colour vanished from Ben's face and he looked as white as a piece of paper, with two dark holes for eyes.

"I hate you," he said. "I hate you." And he flew at Aunt Mabel, whirling his arms like a small windmill in a gale.

She caught hold of him by the wrists. She slapped him once, on his bare, sturdy legs. Then she took him by the collar and marched him out of the room with a grim expression on her face.

Mary and John stood still, feeling shocked and unhappy. John crept to the door and listened, but there was no sound from upstairs. They waited for about five minutes, until Aunt Mabel came back into the kitchen, stalked past them without a glance and bent over to poke the Beast. She riddled violently, so many hair pins tinkling on to the floor that her bun became unfastened and her hair fell down like a curling grey snake. She slammed the boiler door and turned to face them, two red spots high up on her cheeks, hands on hips, feet firmly planted at ten to two. She was wearing a pair of flat, flappy houseshoes; Mary thought that they made her look rather like a pair of kippers She said curtly, "Ben's got to learn to do what he's told. But that's no reason why you should hang about looking like a pair of miseries. Get your coats on and go down to the sea - a bit of air will do you good."

Mary said nervously. "If you don't mind, Aunt Mabel, we - we'd rather not go without Ben the first time. We'd rather wait until his cold is better."

Aunt Mabel looked at her. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said grudgingly, "All right. I don't mind what you do as long as you clear out from under my feet." She began to clear the table. Mary started to help her, but she said, "I'll do this - if you want to help you can go and tell Mr Agnew his breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."

John looked doubtfully at Mary. "Where is Mr Agnew?"

"Shed at bottom of garden. Put your coats on. Wind's bitter."

They went up the basement stairs and along the passage to the back door. The long, thin garden was empty and bare-looking, even when the summer came, John thought, nothing much would ever grow there. A sound of hammering came from the wooden shed and on a nail outside the open door a man's jacket was hanging. It wasn't an ordinary looking jacket - it was huge, immense, more like an over-coat. The children stared at it, amazed. John whispered, "He must be the biggest man in the world..."

"Ssh," Mary said, because Mr Agnew had suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was big - a vast, red-haired giant with piercing blue eyes under shaggy eyebrows and great, hairy, gingery arms emerging from a short-sleeved red shirt. "Well," he said. "What is it? Who are you?" He looked and sounded very fierce.

"Please," Mary said in a small voice, "Please, Aunt Mabel said to tell you breakfast is almost ready."

He looked down at her, frowning. Then his brow cleared and he laughed, a great, resounding laugh that echoed round the narrow, walled garden like thunder. The children understood why his snore was so loud - everything about Mr Agnew was larger than life. "Why - it's the Orphanage," he said. He clapped a big, hammy hand on each of their shoulders. "Come in," he said. "Come into the workshop."

"We're not orphans," John said with dignity, but Mr Agnew did not appear to hear him. He propelled them into the shed. In the centre of the wooden floor stood a great lump of some sort of stone, taller even than Mr Agnew. "Well," he said, "what do you think of it? Don't be afraid - just tell me."

The children looked at the statue in silence.

"What is it?" Mary said.

Mr Agnew gave an explosive snort. "Can't you see? D'you mean to tell me you can't see?"

"I can," John said unexpectedly.

Mr Agnew bent his bright blue gaze upon him. "Well?" he said in a threatening voice.

"It's a fat woman," John said. "Kneeling."

They didn't understand why Mr Agnew should laugh at that, but he did, longer and louder than he had laughed before. His big stomach shook like jelly, tears streamed down his cheeks, he began to gasp for breath and ended in a kind of hoot like a ship's siren, Hoo, hoo, hoo... John and Mary watched him, astonished. Finally, he wiped his eyes and said in a choking voice, "That's good. That's rich. My Venus, my beautiful Venus - fat woman, kneeling. Hoo, hoo..." He slapped the statue affectionately with his hand. That's brought me down a peg. D'you know, I think that's what I shall call her."

He stood for a moment, gazing at the statue and rasping his hand over his plump, unshaven chin. He seemed to have forgotten the children altogether.

John said, "Your breakfast's ready, Mr Agnew."

"What?" Oh..." He smiled at John. "Don't call me Mr Agnew. Call me Uncle Abe. Honorary Uncle." He reached his jacket down from the hook and began to put it on. "Do you like messing about with clay? There's some terracotta on that bench. See what you can do with it."

He picked up two lumps of the red clay, big as footballs, and tossed one to each of them. Mary looked at hers, and then at the front of her coat. "It's very kind of you," she said. "But - but Aunt Mabel might be cross." She thought of Mrs Epsom. "If we get dirty, I mean."

Uncle Abe drew his bristly eyebrows together. "You're not afraid of Mabel, surely?" He looked searchingly at their downcast faces. "Good lord - I believe you are." He sounded as if the idea astonished him and made him rather angry. "You needn't be, y'know," he said, frowning sternly. "Your Aunt's an angel. Understand that? An Angel." He glared at them, turned on his heel and marched towards the house.

"She's a funny sort of angel," John said thoughtfully.

"Yes." Mary sighed and looked up at the top floor of The Haven, at the tiny attic window that glinted in the sun. "Poor Ben. He must be awfully miserable," she said.

But Ben wasn't miserable, he was far too angry. No one had ever slapped him before or punished him in any way. He sat on the edge of his little bed, rebellion and fury burning in his heart, muttering crossly under his breath. He had sneezed so much that his head ached. When he had been angry in Africa, he had always gone off on his own, with Balthazar, until he felt better. He began to think about Balthazar and how he would probably never see him again and after a little while he began to feel comfortably sad and a lot less angry. He thought it had been rather unkind of him to tell Aunt Mabel that he hated her. Perhaps it had made her cry. He hadn't really meant to make her cry. He thought she had probably not meant to be so cross with him and that she might easily feel unhappy about it now. He decided that he would go and find her - not to say he was sorry, because he didn't think he had done anything wrong - but so that she could say she was sorry to him.

He crept down the stairs, rather cautiously just in case she wasn't feeling as sorry as she ought to feel, just yet, and stood at the top of the basement stairs. He was just going to start down to the kitchen when he heard a deep, man's voice and then Aunt Mabel's, answering him. Ben sighed. It was no good going down to the kirchen if she wasn't alone, she would just shoo him back to his room. He decided to explore a little instead. He peered into the big, silent dining room that smelt musty and shut up and had lots of tables with chairs stuck up on top of them. There was a big, dark sideboard with lots of bottles of sauce on it and a grandfather clock in the corner that ticked with a fat, comfortable sound. Ben unscrewed the tops of some of the bottles and tasted the sauces with his tongue. Then he found a glass and a spoon in a cupboard in the sideboard and tried making a mixture to drink. He mixed and tasted and mixed and tasted until his tongue felt rather sore. So he cleaned the glass and the spoon, very carefully with his dirty handkerchief, and put them back.

Further along the passage, there was a closed door. Ben wondered if it led into another empty room; he was just about to turn the handle when he thought he heard someone talking inside. Not quite someone, though - it had been a thin, squeaky sound, rather like a mouse talking. He waited for a little, then, very quietly, he opened the door and went in.

He must have been wrong, he thought, because there was no one there. It was a small roon, and very dark. Thick velvet curtains hung at the window, leaving only a narrow slit for the light to come through. The walls seemed to be hung with rich, dark red material that had gold thread woven into it. Above the mantelpiece there was a big picture in a heavy gilt frame, but it was so dark that Ben could not see what it was meant to be. The room was very full of chests and little tables - so full, in fact, that there was barely room to walk. In front of the fireplace there was a perfectly ordinary woodern towel horse with clothes folded over it that looked out of place, Ben thought, inthis rather grand, gloomy room. Near the towel hourse, Ben saw something that interested him. On a small, carved table, there was a collection of miniature china and some small, pretty figures carved in a kind of green, cloudy glass. Ben threaded his way through the furniture, being very careful not to knock anything over, and picked up a tiny cup painted with freen and yellow flowers.

Behind him a voice said, "Careful, Boy. That piece is valuable."

He was startled that he almost dropped the cup. He put it down gently on the table and said, severely, "You made me jump."

There was someone in the room after all, watching him with eyes that were dark and shiny as boot buttons. The clothes horse was being used as a screen, and inside that screen, in front of a tall oil stove, sat a little old woman in a brilliantly coloured shawl and a queer hat that was all feathers. Beneath the hat her tiny face peeped out; it was wrinkled all over and a pale, yellowish colour. Although she was wearing a shawl and the feather hat, her feet were bare and resting in an enamel bath steaming with hot water. She held a kettle in her lap; another sizzled on the top of the oil stove.

"Who are you?" Ben said, rather rudely.

The old woman's eyes snapped. "I think that is a question I should ask you."

"I'm Ben Mallory," Ben said.

She bowed her head in a queenly way so that all the feathers dipped and waved.

"I am Muriel Pin. Delighted to make your aquaintance."

She was wearing long, black gloves. Very slowly, she took the right one off. Her fingers were thin and frail looking and covered with rings that flashed as she held out her hand. Ben took it and they shook hands gravely.

"Are you cold?" Ben said.

"Yes, I am, Mr Mallory. How very intelligent of you to observe - people seldom do. Mrs Haggard, now, thinks I am simply eccentric." Her voice sank to a thread of a whisper. "I believe she thinks I am a little mad. Mad Muriel, she calss me behind my back - she thinks I don't know it. Servants have no respect nowadays."

"I'm cold too," Ben said. He thought the hot bath and the kettles were a very sensible way of keeping warm. "I've been cold ever since I came to England."

Miss Pin placed her ungloved hand against the side of the kettle on her lap. "Getting cool," she said. She exchanged it for the kettle on the oil stove, poured more hot water into the bath and then held the empty kettle towards Ben. "Would you mind filling this up for me, Mr Mallory. Over in the corner - there." She pointed with a scrawny finger.

In the corner there was a brown velvet curtain that rattled back on brass rings and revealed a washbasin. Ben filled the kettle creafully - it was rather a tricky business - and took it back.

"Put it down here," the old lady commanded. "No, no, stupid boy... can't you see?" She bent sideways and picked up something from the floor. "This is Sir Lancelot," she said. She showed him a small tortoise with a green ribbon tied round his shell. She spoke to it in the thin, squeaky voice Ben had heard through the door. "Sir Lancelot - meet Mr Benjamin Mallory." The tortoise slid out his scaly old head and blinked black eyes at Ben. "He suffers with the cold, as I do. Sometimes I give him baths in warm olive oil. You may stroke his chin, if you care to."

Gently, Ben stroked the dry old chin. He said, "Do tortoises like that? I wish I had a pet. In Africa, I had a chameleon." He thought perhaps Miss Pin would like to hear about Balthazar, so he sat down on a red leather stool beside the enamel bath, and told her about him. She seemed very interested.

"Tell me about Africa," she said, her boot-button eyes glistening. "It must be a very wild, strange place. I have always wished to travel but my Dear Papa never allowed it, though he, of course, spent much of his life in India. Until his Enemies hounded him out, of course. When that happened, we fled to Henstable." She gave a little sigh. "We came here when I was a child of ten and I have never left it since."

"How old are you?" Ben asked.

"Eighty-two."

Ben drew a deep breath. He looked at her face and her shawl and her feathered hat and thought he had never seen anyone so odd-looking, or so old. "Who are the Enemies?" he said.

"Hush." Miss Pin leaned forward in her chair, hunching herself up until she looked like a crooked old witch. "Don't speak so loud. They are all around us - watchinng and listening. You need not be afraid, though. We are quite safe, her in this hous. That is why Dear Papa named it The Haven. Even should They force their way in, there are places to hide. Places where They would never find us. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Of course not," Ben said boldly, though her secretive, whispering voice sent delicious shivers running up and down his spine. "If They came in, though - the Enemies, I mean, where would you hide?"

She said slowly, "I don't know that I should tell you. Can you keep a secret?" She looked at him thoughtfully. "I believe you can. You're a sensible boy, aren't you?"

Ben nodded, hugging his knees. He thought she was the most interesting grown-up he had met for a long time.

She took the kettle off the oil stove, tested the temperature, and placed it on her lap. "When we came here," she said, "I thought this a very old house. So poky - so different from our grand house in London. I was a very lonely child - Dear Papa would not allow me mix with other children in case I should meet an Enemy, you see. I had everything a child could want, we were very rich, you see, because of all the treasure Papa had brought home from India, but for most of the time I was very dull. Then, one afternoon when Cook was out, I discovered the secret passage. I was exploring the cellar..."

"What is a cellar?" Ben said.

In his excitement, he spoke much too loudly. Aunt Mabel who was outside in the passage, heard him and thrust open the door. "Ben, you naughty boy," she said in an exasperated voice. "I thought I told you to stay in your room?" She seized Ben's arm and jerked him crossly up from his stool. "Do as I tell you another time. I'm sorry he's bothered you, Miss Pin."

Miss Pin was sitting very upright in her chair. In spite of her funny hat and her bare feet and the kettle in her lap, Ben thought she looked grand and imperious, rather like a queen. She spoke like a queen, too.

"You are exceeding your duties, Mrs Haggard. Mr Mallory is a friend of mine. I am pleased to have him visit me."

"Oh. Oh well, if you say so..." Aunt Mabel sounded rather flustered. "But you'll tire yourself - you know the doctor said you weren't to tire yourself." In spite of her grumpy voice, Ben saw that she was very gentle as she plumped up the cushions behind the old lady's back and settled her more comfortably against them.

"It tires me far more to be lonely all day," Muriel Pin said. She looked at Ben. "You'll come again, won't you?" She sounded quavery and humble, suddenly, not queenly at all.

"Yes, I'll come back," Ben said.

"I'd like to give you a present," the old lady said. "Come here."

Ben stood beside her, while she selected a tiny horse from the little table beside her. "Look after him," she said. "Papa brought him back from India."

The horse felt cool in his hand. "Thank you," Ben said, "He's lovely. I'll take care of him for ever."

"Come along Ben, do," Aunt Mabel said, from the door.

When they were outside in the passage, she marched him along it until they were safely out of earshot. Then she took his shoulder and turned him to face her. She said sternly, "Listen to me, Ben. You're not to bother Miss Pin, whatever she says. She's old and sick. Let me see what she gave you."

Rather reluctantly, Ben showed her the little, pale green horse.

Aunt Mabel sighed. "Well, I suppose she can spare that, she's got enough old junk. It'll be one thing less for me to dust. But you're not to take anything else. Or ask for anything. Do you understand that? She's a poor woman and she can't afford to give greedy little boys presents."
Ben was furiously angry. "I wouldn't ask for presents. And anyway, she's not poor. She's rich. She told me." He was so cross that he went red, right to the tips of his ears.

Aunt Mabel looked at him. Then she shrugged her shoulders. She said, half to herself, "I suppose it's harmless enough." She glanced at her watch. "Your cold sounds better to me. It won't hurt you to run along into the garden with the others."

When Ben ran into the garden, he was bursting to tell Mary and John about Miss Pin and to show them his little horse. But they were far too preoccupied to listen to him. They were standing halfway down the garden, staring up at the big, neglected old house on the other side of the high brick wall. The sun had moved round in the sky and the windows were all in shadow. They looked very blank and empty.

"But I did see it," John was saying in an excited voice. "I did, I did."

"What did you see?" Ben panted up to them, the little horse clasped tightly in his hand.

Mary laughed. "John thinks he saw someone in the house next door but he couldn't have, because the house is empty. Aunt Mabel said so. So he's just being silly."

"I'm not." John went red. He hated it when Mary laughed at him. He was breathing rather fast and his hands were clenched in front of him. "I'm sure I saw a face - a face at the window."

The Secret Passage - Chapt One

2006-11-02T13:53:00.000+08:00

The Secret Passage - Chapter One
"England Must be a Very Small Place"
by Nina Bawden

When John and Mary and Ben Mallory first saw their Aunt Mabel they thought she looked very disagreeable. She was tall and thin with a long, thin face and grey hair insecurely fastened in a straggly bun at the back of her neck. Whenever she turned her head, a little shower of hairpins fell out. When she met the children at London Airport, she was wearing a faded brown coat and stockings that wrinkled on her skinny legs as if they had been intended for a much fatter person.

John thought she probably looked like that, so shabby and cross, because she was a widow. His father had told him that her husband, Mr Haggard, had been drowned at sea. But Ben thought it must be because she lives in England. He had lived in Africa all his life; this was his first visit to England and he had decided, almost as soon as he got off the plane, that he didn't like it. How horrible it was, not at all like Africa - so cold and grey and sunless. No wonder Aunt Mabel looked pinched and hunched-up and pale.

Her voice sounded disagreeable too. The very first thing she said to them was, "Here you are! I thought you were never coming. Your plane is two hours late."

It did not occur to the children that she had been worried. They thought she was simply angry.

"I'm sorry," Mary said timidly. There was a hard, uncomfortable lump in her throat and she had a funny, fluttery feeling in her stomach - sick and hungry at the same time. They were coming to live here, with Aunt Mabel becuase their mother had died of pneumonia and their father was ill. Mrs Epsom, the district commissioner's wife, who had looked after the children when their mother went to the hospital, had told them he had had a nervous breakdown. Mary had not understood what that meant; she only knew that her father had seemed very silent and strange when he had put them on the plane in Nairobi. She had cried and clung to him and begged him to let her stay, but he had kissed her and told her to be a brave girl and give his love to Aunt Mabel. So although it was exciting to come to England - as exciting as visiting a foreign country - it had been a sad journey too. All the long hours in the plane Mary had felt the sad part and the exciting part churning around inside her. And now that she had seen Aunt Mabel she felt she wanted to cry.

"Oh - it's not your fault," Aunt Mabel said. She looked at Mary and then bent to kiss her cheek. It was a clumsy little peck as if she was not really used to kissing people. She shook hands with John and said, "I expect all grownups tell you that you've grown. As far as I'm concerned, you really have. You were fifteen months old when I last saw you. That was just before you went out to Kenya."

"I'm afraid I don't remember you," John said very politely. "But I was very young and it was a long time ago. I'm twelve now and Mary's eleven. Ben's only seven, but he's big for his age."

"He certainly is," Aunt Mabel said. She glanced rather nervously at Ben, who was glaring at her in the fierce way he had when he was wondering what people were like. Aunt Mabel thought he looked more like an African boy than an English one, with his dark, sunburnt skin and dark eyes. She said, "You need a hair-cut."

It wasn't a very encouraging remark, but Ben grinned at her and took her hand as they went out to the airport bus.

John and Mary were quiet in the bus. They felt that their aunt was not very pleased to see them. But Ben bounced and wriggled on the seat, looking out of the window and squealing with excitement. He had never seen so many houses and roads and cars before.

"England must be a very small place," he said suddenly.

"What a funny thing to say," Aunt Mabel said. It didn't sound as if she thought it was funny, her voice was slightly annoyed, but after a minute she smiled at Ben just the same. It is difficult not to smile at someone who expects you to smile at him. She didn't understand what he meant, but John and Mary did. The hundreds and hundreds of houses were all so small and cramped together that it looked as if there couldn't be enough space for the people to live comfortably.

"Wherever do all the children play?" Ben said in an astonished voice.

Aunt Mabel glanced out of the window. "In the gardens, if they're lucky enough to have them. If not, in the streets or the parks."

"But there's no room," Ben said. "Round our house there was miles and miles and miles."

Their farm, in Kenya, was near a river at the foot of a mountain. From the bungalow they could see snow-capped peaks, a range of lower, blue coloured-hills, and the African village on the ridge across the valley - a group of conical-shaped straw huts that steamed sometimes in the damp weather as if they were on fire. There were no dangerous snakes, and though there were lions and elephants and rhinos, they hid deep in the forests, high up the mountains, so John and Mary and Ben had been free to go wherever they liked. The blue hills, the wide, beautiful valley, had been their playground.

"Well, there's no room here," Aunt Mabel said shortly. "Certainly not in the towns, and in the country there are fields full of crops and you aren't allowed to play in those, let me tell you."

Ben wrinkled his nose. "It sounds horrid," he said.

John and Mary looked at each other. It did sound depressing and it looked depressing too. The sky was lead grey and seemed to press down low over the little houses and the crowded streets and the hurrying people. It was all very flat, there were no hills and only a few dead-looking trees - John thought they were dead until he remembered that in England the trees lost their green leaves in winter. Their bus swept into London over the Hammersmith Flyover.

"Look!" shouted Ben, kneeling up on his seat. "The cars are going underneath. We're up in the air."

John and Mary might have been excited by this too if they had not been so cold. Even Aunt Mabel, who didn't seem inclined to notice things about people, saw that they were cold. When they got out of the bus and were waiting for a taxi to take them to the railway station, she turned Mary's collar up round her neck and said, "That coat isn't warm enough. Your blood must have got thin with being in Africa."

"Mrs Epsom said you would get us some warm clothes," John said.

"She said you would probably buy us some toys too," Ben added with a happy grin. In Africa he had had very few toys of the kind English children play with. He had had a stone called William that he painted faces on and dressed up in bits of his mother's old dresses and a chameleon called Balthazar, who had a loosely fitting skin like a pair of very baggy trousers and two bright pinpoint eyes that swivelled round to watch you when you moved, as if they were on ball bearings. Mrs Epsom had told him Aunt Mabel would buy him toys, to comfort him when he realised he would have to leave Balthazar behind.

"Oh, she did, did she?" Aunt Mabel said. She didn't say anything else until they were sitting in the train and eating the ham sandwiches she produced out of a brown carrier bad. While they ate she watched them thoughtfully and rather anxiously with her sharp brown eyes. She was thinking of the letter Mrs Epsom had written to her.

'I imagine that their father will eventually make some financial arrangement for the children, but at the moment he is in no state to do so. He is quite broken up by his wife's death and we are afraid that unless he recovers soon the farm will go to rack and ruin. He talks of selling the farm, but it is unlikely he will find a buyer in the present political situation. He seems to have no money in the bank. We think he has always lived beyond his income. The children seem always to have had everything they want. You will find them very spoiled as well as uneducated. Their mother taught them at home instead of sending them to school. My husband has advanced money for their fares and a few clothes. I have asked Mr Mallory over and over again if you can afford to support the children, but all he says is: There is no one else...'

Aunt Mabel said in a brusque voice, "You may as well know - I can't afford to buy you a lot of clothes and toys and things."

They looked at her in surprise and she went on in an odd, almost indignant, way, "Mrs Epsom says you've been used to have everything you want. I think we'd better get it straight from the beginning. You'll not go without anything you really need, but there's no money for frills. I hope you'll understand that."

"Yes, Aunt Mabel," Mary said, though she didn't really understand at all. She supposed they always had had everything they wanted, but it had never seemed to cost much money. After all, there were so few shops where they lived, in Africa, that it would have been difficult to spend a lot of money. She wondered if Aunt Mabel was really poor and if they would all have to live in a mud hut, but she didn't like to ask her.

Ben wasn't so tactful. He said, looking bright and interested, "Are you a beggar, then?"

Aunt Mabel's face went very red. "Certainly not."

John said quickly, "He didn't mean to be rude. He just wanted to know if you were really poor like some of the Africans are. Some of their children have big swollen stomachs that stick right out because they're starving."

"Oh," said Aunt Mabel. "Oh - I see." She said, to Ben, "I'm not poor, not in that way. But I keep a boarding house and if it's a bad season, I don't make very much money. When it rains a lot, no one wants to come to the sea, and they cancel their bookings."

The children looked at her blankly.

"What is a boarding house?" Ben said.

"It's a place people go to for holidays. It's my house, you see, and they pay me to come and be guests in it. I've only got two guests now because it's winter. Mr Agnew and Miss Pin. Mr Agnew is a sculptor - he's very busy all the time, and you must be sure and not bother him. Miss Pin is - is a little peculiar." She gave a little sigh. "Just now, there isn't anyone else."

Mary said, "Is it the same house that you and Mother lived in, when you were girls?"

"No. That's the house next door. It's a big place - when my husband died it was too big for me to keep up. So I sold it to a man who took a fancy to it; he wanted it for summers, he said - he had more money than sense, if you ask me - and now he's old and ill and it's shut up mostly. It's a pity, it's a nice old place with a huge garden and lots of rambling rooms. And attics. We used to play up in the attics - you can see the sea from some of the windows, and there was an old brass bedstead that we used to play on. We used to tie string to the posts and pretend we were driving a horse and cart. I wonder if it's still there - I left a lot of stuff behind when I left and as far as I know he never turned anything out."

Aunt Mabel smiled and her face was soft and much gentler, suddenly, as if she were remembering a very happy time.

Mary said, "What was our mother like, when she was a little girl?" Her eyes were very bright and she was breathing very fast. John and Ben looked at her and then down at their feet. It was the first time any of them had spoken about their mother since the dreadful morning Mrs Epsom had come into their room and told them that they would never see her again. Mary's question made them feel very lost and strange.

Aunt Mabel caught her breath. "She was very pretty. Very pretty and gay." She looked at John and Ben, sitting still and silent as wax images and then she looked at Mary as if she were really seeing her for the first time. She said in a low voice, "She looked a bit like you..."

The train stopped. A large notice on the platform said HENSTABLE, and outside the Waiting Room there was a coloured poster of a girl in a bathing costume, sitting by a bright, blue sea. The poster said, Sunny Henstable Welcomes You.

They didn't feel very welcomed, though. It was dark and cold and the wind sliced through their thin clothes like a sharp knife.

"It must be like the North Pole," Ben said.

They climbed into a taxi and drove away from the twinkling lights of the station, into the dark town. The houses all seemed very tall and narrow and somehow sloping, as if the fierce, cold wind from the sea had blown them sideways. The taxi stopped outside a house with The Haven painted on the lighted fanlight above the door. It was a particularly tall, thin house that seemed to lean against the much bigger house next door to it - a large, looming building with a heavy, pillared porch and dark, empty windows. "That must be the house they used to live in," John whispered, while Aunt Mabel paid the taxi driver. "It looks spooky..."

Inside The Haven, it was almost as cold as it was outside. The hall was narrow and high and smelt musty. There was a closed door on the left. "That's the dining room," Aunt Mabel said. "Of course, we don't use it in the winter."

They went to the end of the hall and down some narrow stairs to the basement. Here there was a big kitchen and at one end of it there was a black, menacing looking object from which came a steady whispering sound.

"Thank heavens the Beast is still alight," Aunt Mabel said cheerfully. She smiled at their surprised faces. "I call it the Beast," she said. "It won't hurt you, though." She opened a little door in the front of the old, black boiler and a lovely shaft of warmth extended into the kitchen. They stood in front of it, thankfully warming their frozen hands. "You look like a lot of shivering monkeys," Aunt Mabel said. "Come on now, move about and get warm. Which one of you is going to lay the table for me?"

The children looked at her, then at each other. Rather slowly, Mary came away from the fire and looked at the things Aunt Mabel was taking out of the dresser cupboard and putting on the deal table; a pile of mats, a bundle of knives and forks and spoons, four glasses. She tried to remember how the table always looked at home, how the knives and forks went and which side of the mat you put the glasses but both her brain and her fingers seemed numbed with cold.

"Hurry up," Aunt Mabel said. "Good heavens child, haven't you laid a table before?"

Mary shook her head, feeling shy and ashamed. She said, "Jason always lays the table at home," and her eyes filled with tears.

Aunt Mabel clicked her tongue against her teeth. "I forgot you'd been waited on hand and foot. Well, I haven't the time for that. Or the inclination, I may as well tell you. So you'd better start learning to do a few things for yourself."

In spite of her sharp voice, she explained how to lay a table patiently and clearly and Mary quite enjoyed doing it. She decided that it would be fun to learn how to do things in a house - perhaps she could make beds and clean windows and so on. At the back of her mind was the idea that in this terrible, cold climate it might be just as well to make yourself useful indoors. Perhaps John had the same idea because after they had had supper, he offered to help wash up, but after looking at the three weary little faces, Aunt Mabel said that it would be more sensible to go to bed.

They were to sleep up in the attic, as all the other rooms were furnished for the paying guests. They trooped, one by one up the narrow stairs, past what seemed like endless closed doors.

"Are all the rooms really empty?" John whispered, half fearfully, glancing along a long, dark passage.

"Yes." Aunt Mabel thrust open one of the doors. "You may as well look now," she said. "Then there'll be no need for you to go poking about when my back's turned."

They peered into a dim, high-ceilinged room which had a big bed in the middle of it, shrouded in a white sheet. The light from the street lamp outside came through the window and made dark, eerie shadows in the corners. John clutched at Mary's hand and she could feel him shiver.

He said in a small voice, "It'll be funny living in a house where the rooms are all shut up and empty, won't it?"

Mary squeezed his hand sympathetically. She didn't think the empty rooms were frightening, only rather dreary, but she knew that John was much more nervous in some ways than she was. He wasn't a coward, he was a normal, strong, healthy boy, but he often saw ghosts and other alarming, shadowy things in places where Mary very seldom saw them and Ben never saw them at all. Ben was a very practical person who was only afraid of good solid things that he knew were dangerous, like charging elephants and angry rhino.

Aunt Mabel shut the door with a bang and said, to John, "It seems you've got more imagination than is good for you."

The house seemed very quiet and still but as they reached the second landing they heard something - a low muttering that gradually got louder and louder until it burst into a deep, vibrating roar. The children stood stock still. The roar seemed to shake the house; then, suddenly, it stopped short in a loud snort and a sniffle.

They heard nothing more for a moment. Then, from behind them, they heard another queer sound. It was Aunt Mabel, laughing.

"That's Mr Agnew," she said. "He snores. He has a quite exceptional snore. In the summer he sleeps out in his shed in the garden so he won't disturb the other guests."

"But it's only seven o'clock," Ben said. "Why should a grown-up man be asleep at seven o'clock?"

Aunt Mabel said crisply, "Mr Agnew is an artist. Artists aren't ordinary people. Mr Agnew likes to sleep at funny times - sometimes he sleeps all day. I expect he'll wake up soon and want his lunch."

The children looked at each other. Mary said, cautiously, "Where does Miss Pin live?"

"On the ground floor, because of her arthritis," Aunt Mabel said. "Not that it matters much where she is. She never leaves her room."

The children digested this information in silence. What odd people they must be, Miss Pin who never went out, Mr Agnew who slept during the day.

Aunt Mabel seemed to know what they were thinking. "There's no harm in people being a bit different," she said. "Miss Pin is very different, you'll find. Live and let live, that's my motto."

The third flight of stairs seemed steeper than ever. Ben groaned. "My legs will be worn out, climbing."

"He's not used to stairs," Mary explained. "Our bungalow didn't have stairs."

"He'll get used to them," Aunt Mabel said. "I daresay there'll be a lot of things you'll all have to get used to. Here we are now. This is your room."

She switched on the light. The attic was long and low and bare-looking, with little, pointed, uncurtained windows. There was very little furniture in it, but the three beds looked neat and inviting and against one wall stood an enormous rocking horse with a saddle and stirrups, painted all over with bright, red spots.

Ben screamed with delight and climbed on to its back.

"I thought you might like it," Aunt Mabel said. "It's only an old thing - been up here for years."

"But it looks new," John said. "Quite, quite new."

"Oh - I painted it up a bit," Aunt Mabel said. She sounded embarrassed.

Ben hurled himself off the horse and leapt at her, twining his small stout legs round her, hanging round her neck. "Oh you are kind," he said.

Aunt Mabel let him kiss her, but she didn't look as if she enjoyed it much. Then she untangled his legs and arms and set him firmly down on the floor. Ben said, as if something had just struck him, "Have you got any children, Aunt Mabel?"

Aunt Mabel looked at him. There was a very odd expression on her face. "No," she said. Then the blood came up into her cheeks and she looked very red and cross. "Get straight into bed," she said. "No romping about. You can turn out your own light. I've got quite enough to do without traipsing up and down stairs. Good night."

When she had gone they undressed in silence. Ben and Mary got into bed and John pulled a chair up to one of the pointed windows. He wrestled with the rusty catch and pushed it open. The cold wind rushed in like icy breath, and they could hear the roaring, slithering sound of the sea crashing down on a pebble beach.

"This bed's horrible," Ben said. "All lumps. And it's cold. Shut the window, John."

"Not for a minute. I like it."

Mary thought that this was the first night of her life that she had gone to bed without someone kissing her good night. Even Mrs Epsom had touched her cheek with her lips when she tucked her up. She lay, thinking about this, and listening to the sea. It sounded very wild and lonely and strange; there was so much of it, she thought, between England and Africa. And Dad was thousands and thousands of miles away, on the other side.

Her eyelids felt heavy and she closed them. As she drifted into sleep, she could hear the sea and John's voice, droning on and on, half talking to her, half talking to himself.

"If I lean out, I can see the garden. And a high wall and the big garden next door. I should think its all overgrown and tangly. The house next door juts out much more than this house - it's like a huge dark shoulder that you can't see past. It's funny to think of such a big house being shut up for years and years except for just a little bit, in the summer. I wonder what it's like inside? All dusty and dark, I should think, with lots of rooms that no one's been into for years. On the other side of this wall there's an attic full of things no one ever sees. It would be a lovely place to hide and have a secret. Mary - that's what we'll call it. Mary."

But Mary was asleep. So was Ben - fast asleep on his front with his bottom sticking up in the air. John looked at them both and then turned back to the window. He whispered to himself, "I shall call it the House of Secrets."

King Grisly-Beard

2006-10-30T16:54:00.000+08:00

King Grisly-Beard
by Brothers Grimm

A great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very beautiful, but so proud and haughty and conceited, that none of the princes who came to ask for her hand in marriage was good enough for her.

All she ever did was make fun of them.

Once upon a time the king held a great feast and invited all her suitors. They all sat in a row, ranged according to their rank -- kings and princes and dukes and earls and counts and barons and knights.

When the princess came in, as she passed by them, she had something spiteful to say to each one.

The first was too fat: 'He's as round as a tub,' she said.

The next was too tall: 'What a maypole!' she said.

The next was too short: 'What a dumpling!' she said.

The fourth was too pale, and she called him 'Wallface.'

The fifth was too red, so she called him 'Coxcomb.'

The sixth was not straight enough; so she said he was like a green stick that had been laid to dry over a baker's oven.

She had some joke to crack about every one. But she laughed most of all at a good king who was there.

"Look at him," she said, "his beard is like an old mop; he shall be called Grisly-beard." So the king got the nickname of Grisly-beard.

But the old king was very angry when he saw how his daughter behaved and how badly she treated all his guests. He vowed that, willing or unwilling, she would marry the first man that came to the door.

Two days later a travelling fiddler came by the castle. He began to play under the window and begged for money and when the king heard him, he said, "Let him come in."

So, they brought the dirty-looking fellow in and, when he had sung before the king and the princess, he begged for a gift.

The king said, "You have sung so well that I will give you my daughter to take as your wife."

The princess begged and prayed; but the king said, "I have sworn to give you to the first man who came to the door, and I will keep my word."

Words and tears were to no avail; the parson was sent for, and she was married to the fiddler.

When this was over, the king said, "Now get ready to leave -- you must not stay here -- you must travel with your husband."

So the fiddler left the castle, and took the princess with him.

Soon they came to a great wood.

"Pray," she said, "whose is this wood?"

"It belongs to King Grisly-beard," he answered, "hadst thou taken him, all would have been thine."

"Ah! Unlucky wretch that I am!" she sighed, "would that I had married King Grisly-beard!"

Next they came to some fine meadows.

"Whose are these beautiful green meadows?" she said.

"They belong to King Grisly-beard, hadst thou taken him, they would all have been thine."

"Ah! Unlucky wretch that I am!" she said, "would that I had married King Grisly-beard!"

Then they came to a great city.

"Whose is this noble city?" she said.

"It belongs to King Grisly-beard; hadst thou taken him, it would all have been thine."

"Ah! Wretch that I am!" she sighed; "why did I not marry King Grisly-beard?"

"That is no business of mine," said the fiddler, "why should you wish for another husband? Am I not good enough for you?"

At last they came to a small cottage.

"What a paltry place!" she said, "to whom does that little dirty hole belong?"

The fiddler said, "That is your and my house, where we are to live."

"Where are your servants?" she cried.

"What do we want with servants?" he said, "you must do for yourself whatever is to be done.

Now make the fire, and put on water and cook my supper, for I am very tired."

But the princess knew nothing of making fires and cooking, and the fiddler was forced to help her. When they had eaten a very scanty meal they went to bed; but the fiddler called her up very early in the morning to clean the house.

They lived like that for two days and when they had eaten up all there was in the cottage, the man said, "Wife, we can't go on thus, spending money and earning nothing. You must learn to weave baskets."

Then the fiddler went out and cut willows, and brought them home, and she began to weave; but it made her fingers very sore.

"I see this work won't do," he said, "try and spin; perhaps you will do that better."

So she sat down and tried to spin; but the threads cut her tender fingers until the blood ran.

"See now," said the fiddler, "you are good for nothing; you can do no work. What a bargain I have got! However, I'll try and set up a trade in pots and pans, and you shall stand in the market and sell them."

"Alas!" she sighed, "if any of my father's court should pass by and see me standing in the market, how they will laugh at me!"

But her husband did not care about that, and said she would have to work if she did not want to die of hunger.

At first the trade went well because many people, seeing such a beautiful woman, went to buy her wares and paid their money without even thinking of taking away the goods. They lived on this as long as it lasted and then her husband bought a fresh lot of pots and pans, and she sat herself down with it in the corner of the market.

However, soon a drunken soldier soon came by and rode his horse against her stall and broke all her goods into a thousand pieces.

She began to cry, and did not know what to do.

"Ah! What will become of me?" she said, "what will my husband say?"

So she ran home and told him everything.

"Who would have thought you would have been so silly," he said, "as to put an earthenware stall in the corner of the market, where everybody passes? But let us have no more crying; I see you are not fit for this sort of work, so I have been to the king's palace, and asked if they did not want a kitchen-maid; and they say they will take you, and there you will have plenty to eat."

So the princess became a kitchen-maid and helped the cook to do all the dirtiest work. She was allowed to carry home some of the meat that was left over, and they lived on that.

She had not been there long before she heard that the king's eldest son was passing by, on his way to get married. She went to one of the windows and looked out. Everything was ready and all the pomp and brightness of the court was there.

Seeing it, she grieved bitterly for the pride and folly that had brought her so low. The servants gave her some of the rich meats and she put them into her basket to take home.

All of a sudden, as she was leaving, in came the king's son in his golden clothes. When he saw such a beautiful woman at the door, he took her by the hand and said she should be his partner in the dance. She trembled with fear because she saw that it was King Grisly-beard, who was making fun of her.

However, he kept hold of her, and led her into the hall.

As she entered, the cover of the basket came off, and the meats in it fell out. Everybody laughed and jeered at her and she was so ashamed that she wished she were a thousand feet deep in the earth. She sprang over to the door so that she could run away but on the steps King Grisly-beard overtook her, brought her back and said:

"Fear me not! I am the fiddler who has lived with you in the hut. I brought you there because I truly loved you. I am also the soldier that overset your stall. I have done all this only to cure you of your silly pride, and to show you the folly of your ill-treatment of me. Now it is all over: you have learnt wisdom, and it is time to hold our marriage feast."

Then the chamberlains came and brought her the most beautiful robes. Her father and his whole court were already there, and they welcomed her home.

Joy was in every face and every heart.

The feast was grand; they danced and sang; everyone was merry; and I only wish that you and I had been there.

Rapunzel

2006-10-28T15:10:00.000+08:00

Rapunzel
by Brothers Grimm

There were once a man and a woman who had long, in vain, wished for a child. At length it appeared that God was about to grant their desire.

These people had a little window at the back of their house from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world.

One day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion, and it looked so fresh and green that she longed for it. She quite pined away, and began to look pale and miserable.

Her husband was alarmed, and asked, "What ails you, dear wife?"

"Ah," she replied, "if I can't eat some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall die."

The man, who loved her, thought, "Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will."

At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It tasted so good to her - so very good, that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before.

If he was to have any rest, her husband knew he must once more descend into the garden. Therefore, in the gloom of evening, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him.

"How can you dare," said she with angry look, "descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!"

"Ah," answered he, "let mercy take the place of justice, I only made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she had not got some to eat."

The enchantress allowed her anger to be softened, and said to him, "If the case be as you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother."

The man in his terror consented to everything.

When the woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower in the middle of a forest. The tower had neither stairs nor door, but near the top was a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath it and cried:

'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.'

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard the voice of the enchantress, she unfastened her braided tresses, wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the king's son rode through the forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so charming that he stood still and listened. It was Rapunzel, who in her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound.

The king's son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it.

Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried:

'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.'

Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed up to her.

"If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too will try my fortune," said he, and the next day when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried:

'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.'

Immediately the hair fell down and the king's son climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes had never yet beheld, came to her; but the king's son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her.

Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, "He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does"; and she said yes, and laid her hand in his.

She said, "I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse."

They agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king's son - he is with me in a moment."

"Ah! you wicked child," cried the enchantress. "What do I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived me!"

In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great grief and misery.

On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress fastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the window, and when the king's son came and cried:

'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.'

She let the hair down. The king's son ascended, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks.

"Aha!" she cried mockingly, "you would fetch your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest; the cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to you; you will never see her again."

The king's son was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes.

He wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness.

He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could see with them as before.

He led her to his kingdom where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and contented.

Hobnail

2006-10-27T21:20:00.000+08:00

Hobnail
by Crystal Arbogast

Fannie Poteet sat cross-legged on her Uncle John's front porch; her favorite rag doll clutched under one arm. The late afternoon sun shone through the leaves of the giant oak tree, casting its flickering light on the cabin. This golden motion of light entranced the child and she sat with her face turned upward, as if hypnotized. The steady hum of conversation flowed from inside of the cabin.

"Ellen, I'm sure happy that you came to church with us today. Why don't you spend the night? It's getting awfully late and it will be dark before you make it home."

"I'll be fine Sally," replied Fannie's mother. "Anyhow, you know how Lige is about his supper. I left plenty for him and the boys on the back of the stove, but he'll want Fannie and me home. Besides, he'll want to hear if Sam Bosworth's wife managed to drag him into church."

The laughter that followed her mother's statement broke the child's musings and she stood up, pulled her dress over the protruding petticoat, and stepped inside.

"Get your shawl Fannie. When the sun goes down, it'll get chilly."

As the little girl went to the chair by the fireplace to retrieve her wrap, her uncle came in from the back with a lantern.

"You'll need this Ellen. The wick is new and I've filled it up for you."

"I appreciate it Johnny," Ellen said. "I'll have Lige bring it back when he goes to town next week."

Ellen kissed her younger brother good-bye and hugged Sally gently. Patting her sister-in-law on her swollen belly, she said," I'll be back at the end of the month. Don't be lifting anything heavy. If that queasy feeling keeps bothering you, brew some of that mint tea I left in the kitchen. Lord knows I've never seen a baby keep its mammy so sick as much as this one has. It's a boy for sure."

Upon hearing this, Fannie frowned. She was the youngest in her family, and the only girl. After living with four brothers, she had prayed fervently to God every night for Him to let her aunt have a girl. The only other comfort she had was the pretty rag doll that her mother had made for her. Tucking the doll under her left arm and gathering the shawl with the same hand, she stood waiting patiently.

Aunt Sally kissed her lightly on the cheek and squeezed Fannie gently. "If I have a girl, I hope that she will be as sweet as you," her aunt whispered.

Uncle John patted her on the head and said, "Bye Punkin. When that old momma cat has her kittens, I'll give you the pick of the litter."

This brought a smile to Fannie's face and swept away the darkening thoughts of boys.

Ellen secured her own shawl about her shoulders and tossing one side around and over again, picked up the lantern, which had already been lit. Taking Fannie's right hand, the pair proceeded on the three-mile trek back home. Heavy rains during the last week had left the dirt road virtually impassable for anyone on foot. Ellen and her daughter would return home the way they had come, by following the railroad track.

The track was about one half mile above the road. It wound and wound around the mountains and through the valleys carrying the coal and lumber, which had been harvested from the land. Once on the track, they proceeded in the direction of their own home. Ellen began to tell Fannie about the trains and all of the distant places they went to. The little girl loved hearing her mother's stories of all the big cities far away. She had been to town only a few times and had never traveled outside of Wise County. Fannie remembered her papa talking about his brother Jack.

Uncle Jack had left the county, as well as the state of Virginia. He was in a faraway place called Cuba, fighting for a man called Roosevelt. She wondered what kind of place Cuba was, and if it was anything like home.

The sun's last rays were sinking behind the tree-studded mountains. Shadows rose ominously from the dense woods on both sides of the track. Rustling sounds from the brush caused Fannie to jump, but her mother's soothing voice calmed her fears.

"It's all right Child; just foxes and possums."

A hoot owl's mournful cry floated out of the encroaching darkness and Fannie tightened her grip on her mother's hand.

Finally, night enveloped the landscape, and all that could be seen was the warm glow of the lantern and the shadow of the figures behind it. It was a moonless night, and the faint glow of a few stars faded in between the moving clouds. Fannie tripped over the chunks of gravel scattered between the ties and Ellen realized that her daughter was tired.

"We'll rest awhile child. My guess is that we have less than a mile to go."

Ellen set the lantern down and the weary travelers attempted to get comfortable sitting on the rail.

"Mammy, it's so scary in the dark. Will God watch over us and protect us?"

"Yes, Fannie. Remember what that new young preacher said in church today. The Good Lord is always with you, and when you need His strength, call out His name. Better still, do what I do."

"What's that mammy?"

"Well," Ellen said, stroking her daughter's hair," I sing one of my favorite hymns."

While contemplating her mother's advice, Fannie was distracted by a sound. The sound came from the direction they had traveled from, and the girl's eyes peered into the ink like darkness. It was very faint, but unlike the other noises she had grown used to along the way.

The slow methodic sound was someone walking, and coming in their direction.

"Mammy, do you hear that?"

"Hear what child?"

Fannie moved closer to her mother and said, "It's somebody else coming!"

Ellen gave her daughter a comforting hug and replied," You're just imagining things Fannie. We've rested enough. Let's get on home. Your papa will be worried."

Ellen picked up the lantern, took Fannie's hand, and the two resumed their journey. After a while, the sound that had unnerved the little girl began again. This time the steps were more distinct, and definitely closer.

The distant ringing of heavy boots echoed in the dark.

"Mammy, I hear it again!"

"Hush child."

Ellen swung the lantern around.

"See, there's nothing there."

Fannie secured the grip on her mother's hand and clutched her rag doll tightly. The hoot owl continued its call in the distance, and the night breeze rustled the leaves in the trees.

"The air sure smells like rain," said Ellen. "The wind is picking up a mite too. We'll be home soon, little girl. Yonder is the last bend."

Fannie found comfort in her mother's voice, but in the darkness behind them, the steps rang louder. It was the sound of boots, heavy hobnail boots.

"Mammy, it's getting closer!"

Ellen swung the lantern around again and said, "Child, there's nothing out there. Tell you what; let's sing "Precious Lord".

Fannie joined in with her mother, but her voice quivered with fear as the heavy steps came closer and closer. She couldn't understand why her mother seemed oblivious to the sound.

Ellen's singing grew louder, and up ahead the warm glow of light from their own home glimmered down the side and through the trees. A dog barking in the distance brought the singing to an abrupt end.

"See child, we're almost home. Tinker will be running up to meet us. Big old Tinker. He's chased mountain lions before. He'll see us safely home."

"Let's hurry then Mammy. Can't you hear? It's closer and I'm scared. Let's run!"

"All right child, but see, I'm telling you there's nothing there."

Ellen made another sweep around with the lantern and as they proceeded she cried out, "Here Tinker! Come on boy!"

The dog raced up the path leading to the track and the two nearly collided with him as they stepped down on the familiar trail to home.

"Ellen, is that you?"

Fannie's heart filled with joy as her father's voice rang out of the darkness.

"Yes Lige. I'm sorry we're so late. I'm afraid I walked a bit fast for this child. She's worn out."

Elijah picked up his daughter and carried her the rest of the way home. Once inside of the cabin, Ellen helped Fannie undress and gently tucked her in bed.

The comforting sounds of her parents' voices drifted from the kitchen. Even the snores of her brothers in the back made her smile and be thankful that she and her mother were safe and sound. Before closing her eyes, her mother's voice rang in her ears.

"Lige, I heard the steps. I didn't want to frighten the child. I kept singing and swinging the lantern around and telling her there was nothing to be afraid of. But Lige, just before we got off the tracks, I turned the lantern around one last time. That's when I saw what was following us. I saw the figure of a man... A man without a head!"

They're Made Out Of Meat

2006-10-26T20:44:00.000+08:00

They're Made Out Of Meat
by Terry Bisson

"They're made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"

"There's no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."

"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"

"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."

"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they're made out of meat."

"Maybe they're like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take long. Do you have any idea what's the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there's a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat! That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"So ... what does the thinking?"

"You're not understanding, are you? You're refusing to deal with what I'm telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."

"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"

"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."

"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."

"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"

"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."

"We're supposed to talk to meat."

"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.' That sort of thing."

"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"

"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."

"I thought you just told me they used radio."

"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."

"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Both."

"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"

"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say? 'Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"

"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."

"So we just pretend there's no one home in the Universe."

"That's it."

"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You're sure they won't remember?"

"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."

"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."

"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."

"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."

"They always come around."

"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone ..."

This story originally appeared in Omni April 1991 and was nominated for the Nebula Award. It is taken from the collection 'Bears Discover Fire'.

High and Lifted Up

2006-10-22T19:14:00.000+08:00

High and Lifted Up
by Mike Krath

It was a windy day.

The mailman barely made it to the front door. When the door opened, Mrs. Pennington said, "hello", but, before she had a real chance to say "thank you", the mail blew out of the mailman's hands, into the house and the front door slammed in his face. Mrs. Pennington ran to pick up the mail.

"Oh my," she said.

Tommy was watching the shutters open and then shut, open and then shut.

"Mom," he said, "may I go outside?"

"Be careful," she said. "It's so windy today."

Tommy crawled down from the window-seat and ran to the door. He opened it with a bang. The wind blew fiercely and snatched the newly recovered mail from Mrs. Pennington's hands and blew it even further into the house.

"Oh my," she said again. Tommy ran outside and the door slammed shut.

Outside, yellow, gold, and red leaves were leaping from swaying trees, landing on the roof, jumping off the roof, and then chasing one another down the street in tiny whirlwinds of merriment.

Tommy watched in fascination.

"If I was a leaf, I would fly clear across the world," Tommy thought and then ran out into the yard among the swirl of colours.

Mrs. Pennington came to the front porch.

"Tommy, I have your jacket. Please put it on."

However, there was no Tommy in the front yard.

"Tommy?"

Tommy was a leaf. He was blowing down the street with the rest of his play-mates.

A maple leaf came close-by, touched him and moved ahead. Tommy met him shortly, brushed against him, and moved further ahead. They swirled around and around, hit cars and poles, flew up into the air and then down again.

"This is fun," Tommy thought.

The maple leaf blew in front of him. It was bright red with well-defined veins. The sun-light shone through it giving it a brilliance never before seen by a little boy's eyes.

"Where do you think we are going?" Tommy asked the leaf.

"Does it matter?" the leaf replied. "Have fun. Life is short."

"I beg to differ," an older leaf said suddenly coming beside them. "The journey may be short, but the end is the beginning."

Tommy pondered this the best a leaf could ponder.

"Where do we end up?"

"If the wind blows you in that direction," the old leaf said, "you will end up in the city dump."

"I don't want that," Tommy said.

"If you are blown in that direction, you will fly high into the air and see things that no leaf has seen before."

"Follow me to the city dump," the maple leaf said. "Most of my friends are there."

The wind blew Tommy and the maple leaf along. Tommy thought of his choices. He wanted to continue to play.

"Okay," Tommy said, "I will go with you to the dump.

The winds shifted and Tommy and the leaf were blown in the direction of the city dump. The old leaf didn't follow. He was blown further down the block and suddenly lifted up high into the air.

"Hey," he called out, "the sights up here. They are spectacular. Come and see."

Tommy and the maple leaf ignored him.

"I see something. I see the dump." The old leaf cried out. "I see smoke. Come up here. I see fire."

"I see nothing," the maple leaf said.

Tommy saw the fence that surrounded the city dump. He was happy to be with his friend. They would have fun in the dump.

Suddenly, a car pulled up. It was Tommy's mom. Mrs. Pennington wasn't about to let her little boy run into the city dump.

"Not so fast," she said getting out of the car. "You are not allowed to play in there. Don't you see the smoke?"

Tommy watched the maple leaf blow against the wall and struggle to get over. He ran over to get it but was unable to reach it.

Mrs. Pennington walked over and took the leaf. She put it in her pocket.

"There," she said, "it will be safe until we get home."

Tomme smiled, ran to the car and got in. He rolled down the back window and looked up into the sky. He wondered where the old leaf had gone. Perhaps one day he would see what the old leaf had seen - perhaps.

The Hare Who Would Not Be King

2006-10-21T12:46:00.000+08:00

The Hare Who Would Not Be King
by Tish Farrell

Nothing stirred on the African plains. The sun glared down and Hare crept inside the cool hollow of a baobab tree for his afternoon nap.

Suddenly he was wide awake. There was a boom, boom, booming in his ears. And it was getting closer. Hare peeped out from the tree nervously. Across the clearing the bushes snapped and parted, and out loomed a huge gray shade.

"Oh it's you!" said Hare irritably. "How can a fellow sleep with all your racket?"

The rhinoceros squinted down at him short-sightedly.

"Greetings!" he bellowed in his slow way. "Tembo the elephant has sent me to fetch you to the waterhole. He's going to tell us who our new king will be. All the animals have voted."

"Oh fiddlesticks!" cried Hare rudely. "What do I want with a new king? He'll bully us from morning till night and make our lives miserable."

"Don't you want to see who's been chosen? asked Rhino.

"I know already," snapped Hare. "It will be that sly old lion, Kali. He has bribed all the other animals and promised not to eat their children if only they will vote for him."

Rhino didn't seem to believe Hare, and in the end Hare said, "Oh very well, I'll come. But you'll see I'm right."

The sun was setting as Hare and Rhino reached the water-hole. All the animals had gathered there - giraffes, hippos, antelope, buffalo, warthogs, zebras, aardvarks, hyenas, mongooses, storks and weaver birds. When Tembo the elephant saw that everyone was there, he threw up his trunk and trumpeted.

"Animals of the plains, I am proud to tell you that Kali the lion will be our new king. It is a wise choice, my friends."

The animals cheered. But Hare only sighed.
"They'll soon see what a horrible mistake they've made."

Out on a rocky ledge above the water-hole strode Kali. He stared down at all his subjects and there was a wicked glint in his eye.

"You've made me your king," he growled, "and so now you'll serve me!"
And then he roared until the animals trembled.

"My first decree is that you must build a palace to shade my royal fur from the hot sun," said Kali. "I want it here beside the water-hole and I want it by sunset tomorrow.
My second decree is that every day you must bring me an animal for my supper. A king can't do his own hunting."

The animals nodded gloomily.

"And my third decree is, if you don't do as I say, I'll eat the lot of you!"

The animals now turned to one another in horror. They had thought a king would be wise and protect them. But Kali only wanted to bully and eat them. As darkness fell, the unhappy animals slunk away into the bush.

But at dawn they were back at the waterhole, hurrying to build Kali's palace. There was much to do and little time.

All through the heat of the day the animals lugged and labored. Elephants lifted tree trunks for the pillars, crocodiles brought mud for the walls, giraffes collected grasses that weaver birds wove for the roof. None dared stop for a moment. Only hare did nothing. He hid inside a tussock of oat grass and watched as the fine thatched house rose up beside the water-hole.

The sun was just beginning to set as the weaver birds tied off the last knots in the soaring thatched roof. No sooner had they finished than Kali appeared. He prowled up and down his new kingdom swishing his tail while his subjects watched uneasily.

"This is what I call a palace," he roared at last.

The animals gave a sigh of relief. But all too soon, for in the next breath the lion snarled, "But where's my supper? My belly's rumbling. Bring me a juicy warthog."

As soon as he heard this, Hare sneaked off home to his hollow in the baobab tree.
"Didn't I tell them?" he said to himself. "Didn't I say that making Kali king would mean big trouble? And would anyone listen?"

And so it was that every day afterwards one of the animals was chosen to be Kali's supper. One day it was an impala. Another it was a zebra. Next it was a gazelle.

One day though it was Hare's turn. Tembo caught him unawares as he was grazing on the plains. The great elephant seized him in his trunk and carried him kicking and screaming to Kali's palace.

"It's not fair!" shrieked Hare. "I didn't even vote for Kali. I told you it was a bad idea to have a king."

But Tembo wouldn't listen. He was thinking of his own children. They would be safe, but only if he could find other animals for Kali to gobble up.

Outside Kali's palace Hare stood shaking and cringing. He had to think of something fast.

"Maybe I can escape by jumping in the water-hole," he said.

But when he looked down and saw his own reflection shivering on the pool's surface, he stopped in his tracks. Already Kali had spotted him.

"Come inside Hare!" roared the lion. "I can't wait to eat the only one who didn't vote for me."

But Hare didn't move. He felt braver now and he called back, "But Majesty," he wheedled. "I am very confused. I can see two kings. Please tell me, which of you is to eat me?"

"TWO KINGS!" snapped Kali angrily. "What do you mean two kings?" In one bound he was breathing down on Hare.

"Well, there's you Majesty," stammered Hare, "and there's that other one down there." Hare pointed down into the water-hole.

Kali looked and Kali saw. What - another lion?

"I'll have no rivals!" cried the cruel one, and at once he leaped on the other lion. Down into the pool sank Kali as he tried to grab his enemy. Soon the waters closed over him, and he was gone.

"You've killed our king," said Tembo the elephant in amazement.

"No I didn't," said Hare. "Anyone could see that he jumped into the water-hole all by himself. Besides, you didn't think I was going to stand here and be eaten did you? That would be as foolish as choosing a bully for a king!"

And with that he ran away, before anyone else could think of eating him.

"Whew! That WAS a close shave," said Hare from the safety of his baobab tree. "But I'll bet those silly animals will send old rhino round to ask ME to be the king. Some people never learn."

And so it happened. Just as Hare was dropping off to sleep, there was a boom, boom, booming across the plains.

"Oh no!" he sighed. "Why am I always right?" He flattened his ears, closed his eyes tighter and pretended to snore. "Anyone can see I'm much too busy to be king. Much, much too busy..."

The Twelve Dancing Princesses

2006-10-10T15:11:00.000+08:00

The Twelve Dancing Princesses
by Brothers Grimm

There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve beds all in one room and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up. However, every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night. Nobody could find out how it happened, or where the princesses had been.

So the king made it known to all the land that if any person could discover the secret and find out where it was that the princesses danced in the night, he would have the one he liked best to take as his wife, and would be king after his death. But whoever tried and did not succeed, after three days and nights, they would be put to death.

A king's son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was taken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their twelve beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance; and, in order that nothing could happen without him hearing it, the door of his chamber was left open. But the king's son soon fell asleep; and when he awoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been dancing, for the soles of their shoes were full of holes.

The same thing happened the second and third night and so the king ordered his head to be cut off.

After him came several others; but they all had the same luck, and all lost their lives in the same way.

Now it happened that an old soldier, who had been wounded in battle and could fight no longer, passed through the country where this king reigned, and as he was travelling through a wood, he met an old woman, who asked him where he was going.

"I hardly know where I am going, or what I had better do,' said the soldier; 'but I think I would like to find out where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time I might be a king."

"Well," said the old woman, "That is not a very hard task: only take care not to drink any of the wine which one of the princesses will bring to you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves you pretend to be fast asleep."

Then she gave him a cloak, and said, 'As soon as you put that on you will become invisible, and you will then be able to follow the princesses wherever they go.' When the soldier heard all this good advice, he was determined to try his luck, so he went to the king, and said he was willing to undertake the task.

He was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered fine royal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led to the outer chamber.

Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of the princesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all away secretly, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself down on his bed, and in a little while began to snore very loudly as if he was fast asleep.

When the twelve princesses heard this they laughed heartily; and the eldest said, 'This fellow too might have done a wiser thing than lose his life in this way!' Then they rose and opened their drawers and boxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and dressed themselves at the mirror, and skipped about as if they were eager to begin dancing.

But the youngest said, "I don't know why it is, but while you are so happy I feel very uneasy; I am sure some mischance will befall us."

"You simpleton," said the eldest, "You are always afraid; have you forgotten how many kings' sons have already watched in vain? And as for this soldier, even if I had not given him his sleeping draught, he would have slept soundly enough."

When they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he snored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were quite safe.

Then the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands, and the bed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier saw them going down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest leading the way; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, put on the cloak which the old woman had given him, and followed them.

However, in the middle of the stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest princess, and she cried out to her sisters, "All is not right; someone took hold of my gown!"

"You silly creature!" said the eldest, "It is nothing but a nail in the wall."

Down they all went, and at the bottom they found themselves in a most delightful grove of trees; and the leaves were all of silver, and glittered and sparkled beautifully. The soldier wished to take away some token of the place; so he broke off a little branch, and there came a loud noise from the tree.

Then the youngest daughter said again, "I am sure all is not right -- did not you hear that noise? That never happened before."

But the eldest said, "It is only our princes, who are shouting for joy at our approach."

They came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of gold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering diamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there was a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear. But the eldest still said it was only the princes, who were crying for joy.

They went on till they came to a great lake; and at the side of the lake there lay twelve little boats with twelve handsome princes in them, who seemed to be waiting there for the princesses.

One of the princesses went into each boat, and the soldier stepped into the same boat as the youngest. As they were rowing over the lake, the prince who was in the boat with the youngest princess and the soldier said, "I do not know why it is, but though I am rowing with all my might we do not get on so fast as usual, and I am quite tired: the boat seems very heavy today."

"It is only the heat of the weather," said the princess, "I am very warm, too."

On the other side of the lake stood a fine, illuminated castle from which came the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed, and went into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and the soldier, who was still invisible, danced with them too. When any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it all up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always silenced her.

They danced on till three o'clock in the morning, and then all their shoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave. The princes rowed them back again over the lake (but this time the soldier placed himself in the boat with the eldest princess); and on the opposite shore they took leave of each other, the princesses promising to come again the next night.

When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses, and laid himself down. And as the twelve, tired sisters slowly came up, they heard him snoring in his bed and they said, "Now all is quite safe." Then they undressed themselves, put away their fine clothes, pulled off their shoes, and went to bed.

In the morning the soldier said nothing about what had happened, but determined to see more of this strange adventure, and went again on the second and third nights. Everything happened just as before: the princesses danced till their shoes were worn to pieces, and then returned home. On the third night the soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a token of where he had been.

As soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken before the king with the three branches and the golden cup; and the twelve princesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would say.

The king asked him, "Where do my twelve daughters dance at night?"

The soldier answered, "With twelve princes in a castle underground."

And then he told the king all that had happened, and showed him the three branches and the golden cup which he had brought with him.

The king called for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said was true and when they saw that they were discovered, and that it was of no use to deny what had happened, they confessed it all.

So the king asked the soldier which of the princesses he would choose for his wife; and he answered, "I am not very young, so I will have the eldest." -- and they were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king's heir.

The Tidy Drawer

2006-10-08T01:09:00.000+08:00

The Tidy Drawer
by Mo McAuley

One Saturday morning, Abby's Mum came upstairs to see Abby in her bedroom. Or tried to. There was so much mess on the floor she could only poke her head around the door. Abby sat in the middle of it all reading a book.

"What a tip," Mum said. "You need to have a clear up in here."

"Why?" Abby asked.

"Why?" Mum repeated. "Because things get broken or lost when they're all willy-nilly like this. Come on, have a tidy up now."

"But I'm very busy," Abby argued, "and it's boring on my own. Can't you help me?"

"No I can't, I'm busy too. But I'll give you extra pocket money if you do a good job."

When Mum came back later all the toys and clothes and books had disappeared.

"I'm impressed," said Mum. "But I'll inspect it properly later."

"It was easy," said Abby. "Can I have my extra pocket money now?"

"All right. Get it out of my change purse. It's in the kitchen tidy drawer."

In the kitchen, Abby went over to the dresser and pulled open the tidy drawer. She hunted for the purse.

"Any luck?" Mum asked.

Abby shook her head.

"It must be lurking at the bottom," Mum said. "Let's have a proper look."

She pulled the drawer out and carried it over to the table. Abby kneeled up on a chair to look inside. There were lots of boring things like staplers and string but there were lots of interesting things as well.

"What's this?" Abby asked, holding up a plastic bottle full of red liquid. Mum laughed.

"Fake blood, from a Hallowe'en party years ago. Your Dad and I took you to that, dressed up as a baby vampire. You were really scary."

"I don't remember that."

Abby carried on looking through the drawer. She found some vampire teeth, white face paint, plastic witchy nails and hair gel. Mum pulled out a glittery hair band. It had springs with wobbly balls on the top that flashed disco colours. She put it on her head while she carried on looking through the drawer. Abby found some sparkly hair elastics to match the hair band. She made her Mum put lots of little bunches all over her head so she looked really silly.

"I remember this," Abby said as she pulled out a plastic bag. "This is from my pirate party."

Inside there was a black, false moustache and some big gold earrings. She peeled the sticky backing off the false moustache and stuck it on Mum's top lip then found a paint brush in the drawer and painted a fierce red scar down her cheek using the fake blood. Mum clipped on the pirate earrings.

"Come here," Mum said and smeared white face paint all over Abby's face. She dribbled the fake blood so it looked as if it was coming out of Abby's eyes and mouth. She put gel all over Abby's hair and made it stand up into weird, pointy shapes. Abby put in the vampire teeth and slipped on the witchy fingers. She made scary noises at Wow-Wow the cat. He ignored her and carried on washing himself on the seat next to her.

"Wotch thish?" Abby asked, holding up a flat rubbery thing. It was hard to speak through the vampire teeth.

"It's a whoopee cushion," Mum said. "You blow it up and sit on it. It makes rude noises." She blew it up and gave it to Abby.

Suddenly there was a knock at the back door. A voice called out.

"Hello, it's only me. I've let myself in."

It was their nosy neighbour, Mrs Hislop. She was always interfering and complaining. Mrs Hislop entered the kitchen. Her mouth dropped open.

"We're jush wooking for the change pursh," Abby explained.

"Yes, well, er," Mrs Hislop said, "I just wanted a word about your fence. Some of it's blown down on my side."

At that moment Abby sat on the whoopee cushion and let out an enormous, rude noise. Wow-Wow jumped off his seat and ran away.

"Well!" said Mrs. Hislop and hurried from the room and out of the house.

When the door banged shut Abby and Mum burst out laughing until Mum's moustache hung on by a whisker and Abby's vampire teeth dropped out. Abby came to sit on her Mum's knee.

"It's fun doing this together," she said.

"Maybe. But we still haven't found the change purse." They both looked at the enormous heap of things spread over the kitchen table.

"Well, you know things will get lost, or broken, when they're all willy nilly," Abby said.

"You cheeky monkey!" Mum laughed. "But what shall I do with it all?"

"I know, it's easy," Abby said and began to scoop everything off the table into her arms. She dumped it all back in the kitchen drawer.

Mum looked at her suspiciously.

"Let's go and inspect your bedroom shall we."

Abby followed her upstairs and into her bedroom. Wow-Wow was sitting in front of her fish tank looking hungrily at the goldfish. He dashed under the bed when he saw Mum and Abby. Mum kneeled down and lifted the bed cover to get him out. Underneath were heaps of Abby's toys, books, tapes, clothes and shoes, empty plastic cups and wrappers and a half-eaten sandwich on a plate.

"Abby! What's all this?"

"It's my tidy drawer," Abby said. She wrapped her arms around her Mum and gave her a kiss.

"Let's sort this one out together now."

The Dragon Rock

2006-10-06T15:37:00.000+08:00

The Dragon Rock
by Ellena Ashley

This story begins with Once Upon A Time, because the best stories do, of course.

So, Once Upon A Time, and imagine if you can, a steep sided valley cluttered with giant, spiky green pine trees and thick, green grass that reaches to the top of your socks so that when you run, you have to bring your knees up high, like running through water. Wildflowers spread their sweet heady perfume along the gentle breezes and bees hum musically to themselves as they cheerily collect flower pollen.

People are very happy here and they work hard, keeping their houses spick and span and their children's faces clean.

This particular summer had been very hot and dry, making the lean farm dogs sleepy and still. Farmers whistled lazily to themselves and would stand and stare into the distance, trying to remember what it was that they were supposed to be doing. By two o'clock in the afternoon, the town would be in a haze of slumber, with grandmas nodding off over their knitting and farmers snoozing in the haystacks.

It was very, very hot.

No matter how hot the day, however, the children would always play in the gentle, rolling meadows. With wide brimmed hats and skin slippery with sun block, they chittered and chattered like sparrows, as they frolicked in their favourite spot.

Now, their favourite spot is very important to this story because in this particular spot is a large, long, scaly rock that looks amazingly similar to a sleeping dragon.

The children knew it was a dragon.
The grown ups knew it was a dragon.
The dogs and cats and birds knew it was a dragon.
But nobody was scared because it never, ever moved.

The boys and girls would clamber all over it, poking sticks at it and hanging wet gumboots on its ears but it didn't mind in the least. The men folk would sometimes chop firewood on its zigzagged tail because it was just the right height and the Ladies Weaving Group often spun sheep fleece on its spikes.

Often on a cool night, when the stars were twinkling brightly in a velvet sky and the children peacefully asleep, the grown ups would settle for the evening with a mug of steaming cocoa in a soft cushioned armchair. Then the stories about How The Dragon Got There began. Nobody knew for sure, there were many different versions depending on which family told the tale, but one thing that everybody agreed on, was this:

In Times of Trouble
The Dragon will Wake
And Free the Village
By Making a Lake

This little poem was etched into everybody's minds and sometimes appeared on tea towels and grandma's embroidery.

The days went by slowly, quietly and most importantly, without any rain. There had been no rain in the valley for as long as the children could remember. The wells were starting to bring up muddy brown water and clothes had to be washed in yesterday's dishwater. The lawns had faded to a crisp biscuit colour and the flowers drooped their beautiful heads. Even the trees seemed to hang their branches like weary arms. The valley turned browner and drier and thirstier, every hot, baking day.

The townsfolk grew worried and would murmur to each other when passing with much shaking of heads and tut tuts. They would look upwards searching for rain clouds in the blue, clear sky, but none ever came.

"The tale of he Dragon cannot be true," said old Mrs Greywhistle, the shopkeeper.

"It hasn't moved an inch, I swear," replied her customer, tapping an angry foot.

It was now too hot for the children to play out in the direct sun and they would gather under the shade of the trees, digging holes in the dust and snapping brittle twigs.

"The Dragon will help us soon," said one child.

"He must do Something," agreed another.

"I'm sure he will."

They all nodded in agreement.

A weekwent by with no change, the people struggling along as best they could. Some were getting cross at the Dragon and would cast angry, sideways looks at it when passing. The villagers were becoming skinny eyed and sullen.

Meanwhile, the children had a plan.

Quickly and quietly, they moved invisibly around town, picking and plucking at the fading flowers. With outstretched arms and bouquets up to their chins, they rustled over to where the giant rock lay, as still as ever.

The boys and girls placed bunches of flowers around the Dragon in a big circle. They scattered petals around its head and over its nose, then danced around and around it, skipping and chanting the rhyme that they all knew so well.

In Times of Trouble
The Dragon will Wake
And Save the Village
By Making a Lake

The searing heat made them dizzy and fuzzy and finally they all fell in a sprawling heap at the bottom of the mound. They looked up at the rock.

Nothing happened.

A dry wind lazily picked up some flower heads and swirled them around. The air was thick with pollen and perfume. A stony grey nostril twitched.

"I saw something," cried the youngest boy.

They stared intently.

An ear swiveled like a periscope.

The ground began to rumble.

"LOOK OUT! RUN! RUN!"

The children scampered in all directions, shrieking and squealing, arms pumping with excitement.

The rumbling grew and GREW.

The Dragon raised its sleepy head. It got onto its front feet and sat like a dog. It stood up and stretched, arching its long scaly back like a sleek tabby cat. It blinked and looked around with big kind, long lashed eyes.

And then its nostrils twitched and quivered again.

The older folk were alerted by the screams and shrieks. The ladies held up their long skirts to run and the men rolled their sleeves up and soon the whole town stood together in a tight huddle at the foot of the hill, staring up at the large beast with mouths held open.

"AHHHH AAHHHHHHHHH!!"

The noise erupted from the Dragon.

"AHHHH AAHHHHHHHHH!!"

The families gripped each other tighter and shut their eyes.

"AHHHH CHOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo!!!"

The sneeze blasted from the Dragon like a rocket, throwing it back fifty paces, causing a whirlwind of dust and dirt.

"AHHHH CHOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo!!!"

The second blast split open the dry earth, sending explosions of soil and tree roots high into the sky like missiles, and something else too...

The people heard the sound but couldn't recognize it at first for it had been such a long time since their ears had heard such tinkling melody. As their eyes widened in wonder, their smiles turned into grins and then yahoos and hoorahs.

Water, cold, clear spring water, oozed, then trickled, then roared out of the hole, down the hillside and along the valley floor.

The torrent knocked over a farmer's haystack, but he didn't care. The river carried away the schoolteacher's bike shed but she cared not a jot. It even demolished the Ladies Bowling Club changing rooms but they howled with laughter and slapped their thighs. When the flood sent pools of water out towards the golf course, filling up sixteen of the nineteen holes, the men just hooted and whistled and threw their caps up in the air.

What used to be a dirty, brown dust bowl, now gleamed and glistened in the sunlight, sending playful waves and ripples across the lake and inviting all to share.

"HMMMMMM," sighed the Dragon sleepily, and showing his perfect movie star teeth. "Seeing as I'm awake..."

And he lumbered forward with surprising grace and style and disappeared into the cool dark water with a small wave of a claw and flick of his tail.

They never saw him again.

After the families had restored and rebuilt the village, and set up sailing clubs for the children, and scuba diving for the grandparents, they erected a bandstand and monument in the spot where the Dragon used to lay. Every year to mark the occasion, they would bring garlands of flowers and herbs and arrange them in a big circle. The children would have the day off school, for it was known as 'Water Dragon Day' and wearing the dragon masks that they had been working on all week, would skip and clap and sing.

The Dragon helped Us
As We said He would Do
Hooray for The Dragon
Achoo, Achoo, ACHOOOOO!!

And that is the end of the story.

The Image of the Lost Soul

2006-10-05T15:00:00.000+08:00

The Image of the Lost Soul
by Saki

There were a number of carved stone figures placed at intervals along the parapets of the Old Cathedral; some of them represented angels, others kings and bishops, and nearly all were in attitudes of pious exaltation and composure.

But one figure, low down on the cold north side of the building, had neither crown, mitre, not nimbus, and its face was hard and bitter and downcast; it must be a demon, declared the fat blue pigeons that roosted and sunned themselves all day on the ledges of the parapet; but the old belfry jackdaw, who was an authority on ecclesiastical architecture, said it was a Lost Soul.

And there the matter rested.

One autumn day, there fluttered on to the Cathedral roof a slender, sweet-voiced bird that had wandered away from the bare fields and thinning hedgerows in search of a winter roosting-place. It tried to rest its tired feet under the shade of a great angel-wing or to nestle in the sculptured folds of a kingly robe, but the fat pigeons hustled it away from wherever it settled, and the noisy sparrow-folk drove it off the ledges. No respectable bird sang with so much feeling, they cheeped one to another, and the wanderer had to move on.

Only the effigy of the Lost Soul offered a place of refuge.

The pigeons did not consider it safe to perch on a projection that leaned so much out of the perpendicular, and was, besides, too much in the shadow. The figure did not cross its hands in the pious attitude of the other graven dignitaries, but its arms were folded as in defiance and their angle made a snug resting-place for the little bird. Every evening it crept trustfully into its corner against the stone breast of the image, and the darkling eyes seemed to keep watch over its slumbers.

The lonely bird grew to love its lonely protector, and during the day it would sit from time to time on some rainshoot or other abutment and trill forth its sweetest music in grateful thanks for its nightly shelter. And, it may have been the work of wind and weather, or some other influence, but the wild drawn face seemed gradually to lose some of its hardness and unhappiness.

Every day, through the long monotonous hours, the song of his little guest would come up in snatches tothe lonely watcher, and at evening, when the vesper-bell was ringing and the great grey bats slid out of their hiding-places in the belfry roof, the brighteyed bird would return, twitter a few sleepy notes, and nestle into the arms that were waiting for him. Those were happy days for the Dark Image. Only the great bell of the Cathedral rang out daily its mocking message, "After joy. . . sorrow."

The folk in the verger's lodge noticed a little brown bird flitting about the Cathedral precincts, and admired its beautiful singing. "But it is a pity," said they, "that all that warbling should be lost and wasted far out of hearing up on the parapet." They were poor, but they understood the principles of political economy. So they caught the bird and put it in a little wicker cage outside the lodge door.

That night the little songster was missing from its accustomed haunt, and the Dark Image knew more than ever the bitterness of loneliness. Perhaps his little friend had been killed by a prowling cat or hurt by a stone.

Perhaps... Perhaps he had flown elsewhere.

But when morning came there floated up to him, through the noise and bustle of the Cathedral world, a faint heart-aching message from the prisoner in the wicker cage far below. And every day, at high noon, when the fat pigeons were stupefied into silence after their midday meal and the sparrows were washing themselves in the street-puddles, the song of the little bird came up to the parapets -- a song of hunger and longing and hopelessness, a cry that could never be answered. The pigeons remarked, between mealtimes, that the figure leaned forward more than ever out of the perpendicular.

One day no song came up from the little wicker cage. It was the coldest day of the winter, and the pigeons and sparrows on the Cathedral roof looked anxiously on all sides for the scraps of food which they were dependent on in hard weather.

"Have the lodge-folk thrown out anything on to the dust-heap?" inquired one pigeon of another which was peering over the edge of the north parapet.

"Only a dead bird," was the answer.

There was a cracking sound in the night on the Cathedral roof and a noise as of falling masonry. The belfry jackdaw said the frost was affecting the fabric, and as he had experienced many frosts it must have been so. In the morning it was seen that the Figure of the Lost Soul had toppled from its cornice and lay now in a broken mass on the dustheap outside the verger's lodge.

"It is just as well," cooed the fat pigeons, after they had peered at the matter for some minutes; "now we shall have a nice angel put up there. Certainly they will put an angel there."

"After joy. . . sorrow," rang out the great bell.

Blind

2006-09-15T10:18:00.000+08:00

Blind
by Ann Fischer

My husband Christopher was once a financial planner. Even though he couldn't balance our budget, his clients trusted him implicitly and he made them feel secure. In exchange they paid him very well.

We had a nice life then, except for the occasional blip on the radar screen of our relationship - nothing that couldn't be solved with a few soft words or a trip to the bedroom. Usually little tiffs about money. My yoga studio was just starting to make a profit, and I had recently decorated it in a lovely minimalist way, in neutral tones with simple prints and accents like straw-coloured silk cushions and clay flowerpots. At last, I was in control of my working life and poured my heart and soul into making it succeed.

When we first met, I fell hard for Christopher right away, although I wouldn't call it love. I'd never been with a man who was prettier than I was, but after a while I got used to it, and it didn't bother me so much. I was recovering from a broken heart and needed something to help me move on. If it wasn't love, it was good enough, and when he asked me to marry him I jumped at the chance, knowing that it might be my last.

Things started out so well. I was working steadily and Christopher was patiently climbing up the ladder in his department. Then, without any warning, one overcast winter afternoon in year five, he just upped and left his desk in the gray cubicle at the bank, handed in his resignation, and came home and told me he wanted to start an interior design business.

He has always loved mixing and matching, and has a real eye for colour, texture, and shape, but the idea of turning a hobby into a business wasn't something we had ever discussed. I thought the stress of his job was becoming too much and perhaps he would take a few months off over the spring and summer to relax, do a project or two, and get the idea out of his system.

I didn't believe he could be serious. But once he had a few clients, (thanks to my sister who has a lot of rich friends), he began to draw up plans, ordering catalogues and scouting vintage furniture shops, turning our empty workshop into a kind of makeshift studio with all of his sketches pinned to the wall. After spending a lot of time and money on all of this preparation, and really doing quite a nice job of it, he called each client in turn and apologized, saying he wasn't well and wouldn't be able to design their living spaces after all. Then he went to bed.

He's been home now for almost a year. In the beginning, he just slept for most of the day, then got up but stayed in his pyjamas, watching Oprah and whatever came on afterwards, didn't even shower or shave most of the time. He didn't and doesn't want to have sex with me anymore either. Our sex life was the best thing about our relationship.

And now he has changed his mind again and has decided to take a course in jewellery design. I'm trying to support the idea, because I'm happy that anything interests him at all, but I have to say this life I have with him at the moment feels a bit odd and sometimes (lots of times) unfair. For one thing, I've had to close my studio location downtown and start running my classes out of the house. Also, with Christopher out of work, and for who knows how long, I have to pay for everything myself. There is just no other cash coming in.

Yoga clients coming to the house isn't so bad. I've got an area for them in the workshop, now that it's heated. And there's quite a lot of space available there. Yes, the new studio is working out, but still, it's not always easy to get Christopher and the trail of mess he leaves wherever he goes out of sight. At least he's getting dressed these days, so it's not as though I have to hide him, the way I did in the beginning.

Most afternoons I give him some money so he can go to the movies. Apparently he's seeing a lot of them. He never used to go by himself, but everything is different now. I try not to think about where he might be if he's not at the movies. My imagination just shuts down. What's the matter with seeing a movie by yourself, really? He's smoking now too and I have to pay for his cigarettes. I try to keep the incense burning when I know people are coming over, and that gets rid of most of it, but it's not something I like.

I wish we could talk about the smoking, and the money problem and why he is suddenly going to movies in the afternoon alone, sometimes two of them, but we can't. I wish I could ask him why he doesn't want to sleep with me. The one time I tried he started to cry, and even though he didn't say anything, I thought it was better to wait for him to come around by himself rather than push. Wouldn't you?

At this very moment, Christopher is sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make a pair of earrings from some bits and pieces of old jewellery I've given him to practice on, and he seems so peaceful.

The important thing is that right now he needs my support. I know that. I can't think about myself. It would be selfish, wouldn't it? Later, when he's feeling better. More himself.

Death by Scrabble

2006-09-11T22:06:00.000+08:00

Death by Scrabble
by Charlie Fish
Another title for this story: Tile M for Murder

It's a hot day and I hate my wife.

We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble.
I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman.

My letters are crap.

I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. 22 points.

I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters.
Clack, clack, clack.
I hate her.

If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now.
I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.
I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster.
I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing somthing.

She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points.

She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her.

If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission. I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed.

I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U.

As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.

My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Damn. The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat.

She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus.

If it wasn't too hotto move, I would strangle her right now.

I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points.

I hope she has lousy letters.

She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more. She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning. It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife.

I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying.

She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again.
Clack clack.
Clack clack.
I feel a terrible rage build up inside me.
Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again.

The rage gets to my fingertips and passes.

My heart is beating.

I'm sweating.

I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter.

She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea.

No I do not want one.

I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now. She asks me if I cheated. I really, really hate her.

She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points.

The score is 153 to her, 155 to me. The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP.

My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbours had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she bitched at me for being moody the next day from lack of sleep. If only there was some way for me to get rid of her. I spot a chance to use all my letters.

EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points.

That'll show her.

As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails.
My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang.
I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen.
I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded.
And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated.
And ZAPS when my wife got the electric shock.

The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future.

The whole game is - JINXED.

My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.

I have to test this.

I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B. I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES.

I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly. Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway.

I need to play something unambiguous.
Something that cannot be misinterpreted.
Something absolute and final.
Something terminal.
Something murderous.

My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points.

My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY.
Then it hits me.

The perfect word.

A powerful, dangerous, terrible word.

I play QUAKE for 19 points.

I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny.

My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake.

I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat.

I try to cough.

My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck.
The earthquake builds to a climax.

I fall to the floor.

My wife just sits there, watching.

The Tale Of Princess Laughing Dove

2006-09-08T14:24:00.000+08:00

The Tale of Princess Laughing Dove
by Tish Farrell

Once there was a man, neither young nor old, and his name was Wainaina.
He lived alone on his farm at the forest edge, in the house he had built himself. The house was small but that did not matter, for whenever Wainaina opened his door, or drew back his curtain he could see the blue peaks of Mount Kenya. Up they rose like church spires and whenever Wainaina saw them, his spirits soared too - high in the blue.

"I'm lucky to be alive," he'd say.
But then he would sigh, "If only I had a wife to share this with."

A wife indeed! So why couldn't Wainaina find himself a good woman when the countryside was alive with good women? And why, when a village girl caught his eye, did she walk straight on by, before he'd said hello? This was what he asked himself, day in day out, as he sowed and hoed and tended his crops.

"Perhaps," said Wainaina. "I haven't the heart for it."

But that wasn't it. The truth was this. Wainaina was not a handsome man, nor even plain. He had grown up downright ugly.
And he did not know - because the little shard of mirror that he used when shaving only showed his chin. Nor did his village fellows say, not wanting to hurt the good man's feelings. Poor Wainaina. And though he tried not to make a tragedy out of being wifeless, sometimes his spirits hardly soared at all when he saw the great mountain.

"Life has its ups and downs," he said.

Then one morning as he was dressing for work, he heard a tap tapping at his window. When he pulled back he curtain there was a laughing dove sitting on the sill, cooing and bobbing at its reflection in the glass.

"Ah," said Wainaina gently. "You think you've found a mate. Poor bird."

At the sound of his voice the bird flew off, but for the rest of the day Wainaina thought of it.

"So," he said. "I am not the only one without a love."

Later, when Wainaina was stretching his back from a day's hard digging, an idea crept into his mind: "You've earned a rest Wainaina. Why not walk down to the stream?"

And why not indeed? It was a bosky place with mossy roots and green arches. Clear mountain water gurgled by smooth rocks where blue dragonflies danced.

"Mmmmm," said Wainaina when he came to the water. "It is so peaceful here."

But not for long. Suddenly from the overhanging branch of a mugumo tree came the oh-cook cook-oo-oo of a laughing dove. Wainaina looked up: was it the one he'd seen earlier. The bird bobbed and cooed and seemed to catch his eye. Then it flew off down the path and perched in a flame tree. Oh-cook cook-oo-oo.

Wainaina followed - which was when he heard the tumble of laughter that out-sang any dove. He pushed through the reeds to the water's edge: who could be making those sweet, sweet sounds?

Wainaina soon saw. Across the stream a young woman was gathering her washing from the bank where it had been drying. She was laughing at the yellow butterflies that had settled on her wrap. And though Wainaina had come silently, she glanced back at once, coyly smiling over her shoulder. Then she arched her neck in the most beguiling way.

His heart missed a beat. And why? She was just a woman like any other, a little plump perhaps. In fact, she rather reminded him of the dove.
He waded into the stream,
"Don't go," he said.

The woman lodged the wash bucket on her hip. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Because I--I want--I want to pay you my respects." Wainaina fumbled. So much conversation and all at once. Perhaps it meant he had a chance...?

"Well begin," said the woman, bowing her head to one side as the dove had done.

And so Wainaina did, and this is how he found his love; and this is where he met his love again and again in the weeks that followed.
She said her name was Njeri, but Wainaina having a fanciful streak, said,
"No. Never! You are Princess Laughing Dove," which only made her laugh the more.

Then one day as Wainaina was weeding his crops he decided to ask Njeri to marry him. For wasn't it the best time for a man to take a wife - his maize store full to bursting, his beans and pumpkins fattening in the field? He dropped his hoe and ran down to the stream,
but then he thought,
"What if she refuses me?" and for a long time he hid in the reeds, screwing up his courage.

But as he crouched beside the stream, he saw his face reflected in a pool.
At first he didn't realise, but then the pain.

He couldn't stop the cry, "Am I really so ugly?"

"Oh much worse," came the laughing voice of Princess Laughing Dove from across the stream.

"Which means you won't marry me!" Wainaina wailed.

"Well not if you don't ask me...."

"But I'm so ugly. That's why no girl would speak with me..."

"Then they were foolish..."

"But..."

"You have a good heart, Wainaina. It's all that counts."

So Njeri, Princess Laughing Dove, married Wainaina and went to live in his house on the edge of the forest. Each morning they woke to the blue spires of Mount Kenya. Each night they went to bed happy with their day's work. And when one day Njeri told Wainaina there would soon be a child, he thought he would burst with joy.

He told everyone he met, the mountain too,
"A child coming! Just think. I must work harder."

But as it turned out, the day the baby came saw an end to Wainaina's joy. The birth was hard and by the time he brought the doctor to the house, Njeri was dead, and the newborn howling like the wind off mountain snows. Wainaina's own howls soon brought the villagers to his door, and when he saw their silent staring faces he thought his heart would break.

"Now what will I do? Who but Princess Laughing Dove would love an ugly man like me?"

The village wives hung their heads, for secretly they had envied Njeri her good hearted, industrious man. And when they had helped to bury her down near the flame tree, they picked up the baby and told Wainaina,
"We will care for the child between us, until you come for it."

The grieving man barely nodded: what did he know of babies when he had lost his only love?

So Wainaina's black times began. He went back to his house and there he stayed. The blackness in his heart seeped into every bone - as an ink blot spreads its stain across a page. He could do nothing. He could think of nothing, except the pain of losing Njeri. Days turned to weeks, one month, two...

Then one night as he sat sleepless in his chair he heard her laughter. Somewhere near. Out into the moonlight he ran,
"Princess Laughing Dove, you've come back!"

But there was no-one there; only the dead leaves of his neglected maize rustling in the breeze. Wainaina fell in the dirt and wept.

"I am going mad," he cried. "And it's because I have nothing to remember her by."

For grief had shut all thought of the child from his mind.
Now Wainaina tore at the maize stems till they were nothing but straw.
The pale shreds flew up in the wind, and good riddance to them: what use were crops?

But no sooner said than an idea flitted through his mind. Quickly he gathered up the straw and ran back to the house - where he lit the lamp and unsheathed his knife. He wasn't a craftsman, not by any means, but with some loving care this was a thing he might do.

So all through the night Wainaina worked: tying, trimming, plaiting, moulding. And when the first streaks of day showed through the curtain, he blew out the lamp, hung the fruit of his labours in the window and slept as he had not slept for many nights.

And he didn't wake - until the sun was pouring through his window, lighting up the straw dove that hung there.

"Why you're beautiful!" said Wainaina to his creation, and while he stirred his porridge on the stove he chatted to the bird just as he had once chatted with Njeri.

"Must clear the maize field today. The rains will soon be here." And

"That dead tree by the stream. It's time I chopped it for the fire."

All the same, Wainaina did not eat the porridge he had made, nor go to work. He just sat in his chair and talked to the straw bird. Somehow the talking eased the ache in his heart for Njeri. Dear dove!

Then some days later, as dawn broke on Mount Kenya, turning the ice peaks pink, there was a tap tapping at Wainaina's window. Out on the sill was a real laughing dove - oh-cook cook-oo-oo. It bobbed and bowed and puffed out its breast before the straw dove. At first Wainaina was flattered that a living bird should woo his dove. But as he persisted, Wainaina grew angry.

He ran outside and waved his arms like a windmill,
"Off with you. Can't you see she's all I have?"

But the next morning the dove was back. He flew at the window again and again as if to break the glass and free the straw one; and only when he fell exhausted to the ground was Wainaina sorry.

"What would Princess Laughing Dove think of my good heart now?" he said sadly.

So he took down his dove and put it near the fallen one.

"See my friend. She isn't real." The laughing dove only blinked his black bead eyes. Oh-cook cook-oo-oo.

Just then a gust of wind caught up the straw bird, tossing it high in the sky where, to Wainaina's astonishment it began to flap its maize leaf wings, began to soar through the blue, a real laughing dove with her suitor flying after. Wainaina could only stare, for who would believe such a thing? And yet his dove was gone, there was no doubting it.

Grief filled his heart once more, and it was then he heard Njeri's voice ringing in his head, "Life goes on Wainaina. Remember!"

Wainaina gasped - a bolt of lightning through his heart.

"The child! How could I forget?" And he ran, fleet as a reedbuck to the village.

"Where is my child? I want my child."

The women who had taken the baby months before greeted him.
"It's time you came, Wainaina. Your daughter grows bigger every day. Eating us out of house and home, and us with children of our own to feed." They scolded Wainaina roundly, though secretly they were glad to seem him back amongst the living.

And what were a few cross words to Wainaina - with a brand new spark in his heart? A daughter indeed!

"She won't mind my ugly mug. Not if I love her well."

So he thanked the women and took the child at once. There was something he must do.

Back at his house, Wainaina held up the baby to the mountain.
"See, here's the child I told you of."

And to his girl he said, "Now aren't we lucky to be alive." The baby cooed obligingly.
The father stared and stared.
"So. I have a little Miss Laughing Dove on my hands! And with her mother's lovely looks. That's good," said Wainaina. "Very good."

It was not long after this that a pair of laughing doves came to nest in the flame tree by the stream. Whether they were his doves Wainaina could not say. But what he did say was this, "Life goes on - oh-cook cook-oo-oo."

My Condolences

2006-09-04T22:56:00.000+08:00

Aussie croc hunter Steve Irwin killed in 'freak' stingray attack

Photo: AFP
Click to enlarge

SYDNEY (AFP) - World-famous Australian "crocodile hunter" and television environmentalist Steve Irwin has been killed by a stingray blow to the chest while filming a documentary on the Great Barrier Reef.

The larger-than-life Irwin, 44, known for his fearlessly enthusiastic handling of even the deadliest of wildlife, was killed when a stingray barb punctured his heart during underwater filming off northeastern Australia.

"He came over the top of a stingray and the stingray's barb went up and went into his chest and put a hole into his heart," said the ebullient Irwin's longtime producer John Stainton, who was with him at the time on Monday.

"It's likely that he possibly died instantly when the barb hit him, and I don't think that he ... felt any pain," a tearful Stainton told reporters in the city of Cairns. "He died doing what he loved best."

Police and officials at Irwin's zoo confirmed his death in the freak incident that took place at about 11:00 am (0100 GMT) off the coast of Port Douglas in the northeastern Australian state of Queensland.

Irwin brought to the surface unconscious and underwent cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, Stainton said.

He was evacuated from his research vessel by helicopter but ambulance service officials said he had suffered a puncture wound to the left side of his chest and was pronounced dead on the scene.

Stingrays have several sharp and venomous barbs on their tails that they use to defend themselves when they feel threatened, but Stainton insisted that Irwin had not provoked the creature while filming.

"I have never met a more professional person in my whole life nor a more passionate person in my whole life on wildlife issues," Stainton said of the iconic Irwin, who was making a show about deadly sea dwellers.

But experts stressed that stingrays were not usually vicious and rarely attacked and killed humans, unlike the range of deadly creatures Irwin had confronted in the past.

"You think about all the documentaries we've made and all the dangerous situations that we have been in, you always think 'is this it, is this a day that maybe his demise?'," he said, adding that nothing scared Irwin.

Australian wildlife filmmaker David Ireland said that the stingray's tail was "like a bayonet on a rifle".

"If it hits any vital organs it's as deadly as a bayonet," he said.

Police said Irwin's US-born wife Terri had been informed of his death while hiking in Tasmania. The couple had two children aged eight and three.

The garrulous animal-lover's rallying cry of "crikey" when faced with a crocodile, snake or ferocious-looking spider made him an Australian icon across the world.

His "Crocodile Hunter" show, in which the tousle-haired adventurer appeared in his trademark khaki shorts and shirt, was first broadcast in 1992 and has been shown around the world on the Discovery cable network ever since.

His outspoken persona became so popular that he won a cameo role in a Hollywood movie, "Dr Dolittle 2," starring US comic Eddie Murphy.

Australians mourned the loss of one of their most famous countrymen, with Prime Minister John Howard leading the public outpouring of grief over the death of a man whom he knew well.

"I really do feel Australia has lost a wonderful and colourful son," Howard said. "He took risks, he enjoyed life.

"He brought immense joy to millions of people, particularly to children, and it's just such a terrible loss. He was one of those great quintessential Australian faces that people recognised everywhere," added the grim-looking prime minister after parliament was told of his death.

Ordinary Australians called into their local radio and television stations expressing their shock and sadness at Irwin's passing, while others flocked to the television star's Australia Zoo in Beerwah, on the Sunshine coast of Queensland state, to lay flowers in his memory.

"We just thought he was a good guy for what he did for Australia. He put us on the map, I reckon," said Rod Cameron at the zoo.

Another mourner was more sanguine. "He died doing what he loved, didn't he?" said tourist Glenn Batson.

The son of a plumber who launched his own reptile park, the young Irwin became a crocodile trapper, ridding residential areas of their reptilian threats before eventually taking over his parents' park.

His fearless approach to the animal kingdom however provoked international outrage when he involved his infant son in one of his death-defying antics.

In early 2004, he fed a four-metre (13-foot) crocodile with one hand while clutching his baby son Bob in the other during a show at his Australia Zoo reptile park.

But Irwin was unrepentant when confronted about the incident in an interview. "I will continue to educate my children and the children of the world so they don't go into the water with crocs," he said.

Irwin's voice remained on the answering machine of his zoo on Monday, reminding callers with a whoop: "Remember, they rule," referring to his dangerous documentary subjects.

Louise

2006-09-01T14:52:00.000+08:00

Louise
by Saki

"The tea will be quite cold, you'd better ring for some more," said the Dowager Lady Beanford.

Susan Lady Beanford was a vigorous old woman who had coquetted with imaginary ill-health for the greater part of a lifetime; Clovis Sangrail irreverently declared that she had caught a chill at the Coronation of Queen Victoria and had never let it go again. Her sister, Jane Thropplestance, who was some years her junior, was chiefly remarkable for being the most absent-minded woman in Middlesex.

"I've really been unusually clever this afternoon," she remarked gaily, as she rang for the tea. "I've called on all the people I meant to call on; and I've done all the shopping that I set out to do. I even remembered to try and match that silk for you at Harrod's, but I'd forgotten to bring the pattern with me, so it was no use. I really think that was the only important thing I forgot during the whole afternoon. Quite wonderful for me, isn't it?"

"What have you done with Louise?" asked her sister. "Didn't you take her out with you? You said you were going to."

"Good gracious," exclaimed Jane, "what have I done with Louise? I must have left her somewhere."

"But where?"

"That's just it. Where have I left her? I can't remember if the Carrywoods were at home or if I just left cards. If there were at home I may have left Louise there to play bridge. I'll go and telephone to Lord Carrywood and find out."

"Is that you, Lord Carrywood?" she queried over the telephone; "it's me, Jane Thropplestance. I want to know, have you seen Louise?"

"'Louise'," came the answer, "it's been my fate to see it three times. At first, I must admit, I wasn't impressed by it, but the music grows on one after a bit. Still, I don't think I want to see it again just at present. Were you going to offer me a seat in your box?"

"Not the opera 'Louise' -- my niece, Louise Thropplestance. I thought I might have left her at your house."

"You left cards on us this afternoon, I understand, but I don't think you left a niece. The footman would have been sure to have mentioned it if you had. Is it going to be a fashion to leave nieces on people as well as cards? I hope not; some of these houses in Berkeley-square have practically no accommodation for that sort of thing."

"She's not at the Carrywoods'," announced Jane, returning to her tea; "now I come to think of it, perhaps I left her at the silk counter at Selfridge's. I may have told her to wait there a moment while I went to look at the silks in a better light, and I may easily have forgotten about her when I found I hadn't your pattern with me. In that case she's still sitting there. She wouldn't move unless she was told to; Louise has no initiative."

"You said you tried to match the silk at Harrod's," interjected the dowager.

"Did I? Perhaps it was Harrod's. I really don't remember. It was one of those places where every one is so kind and sympathetic and devoted that one almost hates to take even a reel of cotton away from such pleasant surroundings."

"I think you might have taken Louise away. I don't like the idea of her being there among a lot of strangers. Supposing some unprincipled person was to get into conversation with her."

"Impossible. Louise has no conversation. I've never discovered a single topic on which she'd anything to say beyond 'Do you think so? I dare say you're right.' I really thought her reticence about the fall of the Ribot Ministry was ridiculous, considering how much her dear mother used to visit Paris. This bread and butter is cut far too thin; it crumbles away long before you can get it to your mouth. One feels so absurd, snapping at one's food in mid-air, like a trout leaping at may-fly."

"I am rather surprised," said the dowager, "that you can sit there making a hearty tea when you've just lost a favourite niece."

"You talk as if I'd lost her in a churchyard sense, instead of having temporarily mislaid her. I'm sure to remember presently where I left her."

"You didn't visit any place of devotion, did you? If you've left her mooning about Westminster Abbey or St. Peter's, Eaton Square, without being able to give any satisfactory reason why she's there, she'll be seized under the Cat and Mouse Act and sent to Reginald McKenna."

"That would be extremely awkward," said Jane, meeting an irresolute piece of bread and butter halfway; "we hardly know the McKennas, and it would be very tiresome having to telephone to some unsympathetic private secretary, describing Louise to him and asking to have her sent back in time for dinner. Fortunately, I didn't go to any place of devotion, though I did get mixed up with a Salvation Army procession. It was quite interesting to be at close quarters with them, they're so absolutely different to what they used to be when I first remember them in the 'eighties. They used to go about then unkempt and dishevelled, in a sort of smiling rage with the world, and now they're spruce and jaunty and flamboyantly decorative, like a geranium bed with religious convictions. Laura Kettleway was going on about them in the lift of the Dover Street Tube the other day, saying what a lot of good work they did, and what a loss it would have been if they'd never existed. 'If they had never existed,' I said, 'Granville Barker would have been certain to have invented something that looked exactly like them.' If you say things like that, quite loud, in a Tube lift, they always sound like epigrams."

"I think you ought to do something about Louise," said the dowager.

"I'm trying to think whether she was with me when I called on Ada Spelvexit. I rather enjoyed myself there. Ada was trying, as usual, to ram that odious Koriatoffski woman down my throat, knowing perfectly well that I detest her, and in an unguarded moment she said: 'She's leaving her present house and going to Lower Seymour Street.' 'I dare say she will, if she stays there long enough,' I said. Ada didn't see it for about three minutes, and then she was positively uncivil. No, I am certain I didn't leave Louise there."

"If you could manage to remember where you did leave her, it would be more to the point than these negative assurances," said Lady Beanford; "so far, all we know is that she is not at the Carrywoods', or Ada Spelvexit's, or Westminster Abbey."

"That narrows the search down a bit," said Jane hopefully; "I rather fancy she must have been with me when I went to Mornay's. I know I went to Mornay's, because I remember meeting that delightful Malcolm What's-his-name there -- you know whom I mean. That's the great advantage of people having unusual first names, you needn't try and remember what their other name is. Of course I know one or two other Malcolms, but none that could possibly be described as delightful. He gave me two tickets for the Happy Sunday Evenings in Sloane Square. I've probably left them at Mornay's, but still it was awfully kind of him to give them to me." "Do you think you left Louise there?"

"I might telephone and ask. Oh, Robert, before you clear the teathings away I wish you'd ring up Mornay's, in Regent Street, and ask if I left two theatre tickets and one niece in their shop this afternoon."

"A niece, ma'am?" asked the footman.

"Yes, Miss Louise didn't come home with me, and I'm not sure where I left her."

"Miss Louise has been upstairs all the afternoon, ma'am, reading to the second kitchenmaid, who has the neuralgia. I took up tea to Miss Louise at a quarter to five o'clock, ma'am."

"Of course, how silly of me. I remember now, I asked her to read the Faerie Queene to poor Emma, to try to send her to sleep. I always get some one to read the Faerie Queene to me when I have neuralgia, and it usually sends me to sleep. Louise doesn't seem to have been successful, but one can't say she hasn't tried. I expect after the first hour or so the kitchenmaid would rather have been left alone with her neuralgia, but of course Louise wouldn't leave off till some one told her to. Anyhow, you can ring up Mornay's, Robert, and ask whether I left two theatre tickets there. Except for your silk, Susan, those seem to be the only things I've forgotten this afternoon. Quite wonderful for me."

Keys and Locks and Open Doors

2006-08-27T20:59:00.000+08:00

Keys, Locks and Open Doors
by Jane Wallis Hicks

"Quiet the dog, house the pony and bar the doors against the dark."

Each night we heard and obey Pa's telling and each morning we woke safe, forgetting the terrors of the night in the new sun's warm shine and our breakfast bread.

Then Ma sickened and Pa carted her to Biddy Makepeace's for a laying on of hands.

"Remember," he instructed Rory, "Be sure and lock up tight come nightfall."

"I promise faithful Pa," I heard my oldest brother say.

But come the dark, he was out sparking Lucy Lovedance and Sim was left in charge. And Sim paid no heed to tellings.

"Waste of time, locking every door. Sick of pissing in pee-pots, me. And double sick of cleaning them each morn."

I begged him do as our father said, but he only laughed, did Sim. So I took the bairns to bed with me, making certain sure my door was locked and the shutters firmly barred. And in the morning on rising to oven the bread I found the outer door wide open and no sight of Sim.

When Rory rolled in lazy-eyed and rough I told him all and he went in search. He was still out when Pa arrived home at noon. I recounted Pa the tale and he heard me out grim faced, but shook his head when I asked if he was going hunting for our Sim.

"No point," he said. "Now get dinner served."

Rory came back as we were finishing stew. Pa cuffed him hard about the head and wouldn't let him speak or eat the portion I'd kept by. Then Pa coughed and cleared his throat, and when we looked at him he told us Ma had died with the sinking of the day. Padre Filtonhad her resting in the church, he said, to be dug in on the morrow.

Then he handed me the ring of household keys. And Rory watched all squint eyed and pinched, knowing that by right as eldest they should have passed to him. I held on to the keys, my two hands fighting the cold heavy weight that tried to drag them to the beaten earth. And as I clutched them so I studied them. I saw that each key large or small was welded firmly to the iron circlet. I held there in my hands the keys to every chest and every door within Pa's holding.

They were my responsibility till Father relieved me of the charge. I was now the guardian, he said, seeing as I had a mind to keep the young 'uns safe and obey his words full strength, unlike some who should know better.

At first light Pa stowed the spades and lifted the girls into the cart. May took charge of the reins while me and Pa and Rory walked holding to the sides. When we reached the graveyard, me and Pa and Rory took turns to open up the flinty ground while the bairns ranged about for pretties to place inside the grave.

Then Pa and Padre place her in. Padre said the binding words, my three sisters mewling and moaning and dropping in daisy buds onto the muslim shroud. Then my brother and I filled back the gritty soil and watched Pa and Padre Filton lay the blessed iron stone slab athwart her lying place to keep her safe. And when it was all done and Pa had paid the burial toll, we set out straight for home.

This time Eve and Silence held the reins and all else walked to save the ageing mule. Once home I warmed the stew pot and we ate. After food, Pa and Rory worked the land while I, with my sisters' help, cleaned and sewed and baked. At day's end, Pa watched to see how I locked the doors and shutters against the coming of the night and nodded satisfied when I had it done.

And that night with the keys hard beneath my thin flcok pillow, I heard the voices clearly for the first time. They sounded loud and plain outside my shuttered window, begging me to open up and come to them. And one of the voices was my brother Sim's. Another a lighter sound, like my Ma's. But mindful of my father's words I held to the keys and kept the shutters barred. And gradually the voices drifted quiet and sleep took me down.

And ever after, it was as if Ma and Sim had never been. Pa never spoke of them and turned aside all questions and he never again spoke to Rory save of yes and no. After a month of this silence, Rory left to marry Lucy Makepeace and spend his strength in her father's flourmill. I watched Pa's face set harder, carven lines of wrinkles digging valleys in his leathered skin and I went outside all day to take my brother's work-share then cooked and baked all eve. My sister May took duty for the house and twins all day.

From the very time Rory left our home, Pa shifted all his custom to Marlin's mill. Though being over in the next valley it was a longer trek to take the grain and the mule was far form strong.

For me, most nights, the voices came; the voices Pa said were only in my head. He gave me quintain boiled in honey to make me sleep but the taste was harsh and cast a dullness over me the following day. But I pretended to drink to keep from causing strife.

And my question grew, filling my brain to bursting point till at last I took my thoughts to Padre Filton in the secrecy of Disclosing Hour. He refused to look me in the eye and talked of devils and temptations. Then he broke the holy pact and betrayed the questions to my Pa. And Pa bound my mouth with garlic cloth and he beat me till my skin was bruised and split and he snatched back the keys till I could walk again.

And with the keys in Pa's hands, I found that I slept quiet, nights. I heard no sounds, quested not for dimly recognised voices, but only slept soft sleep.

When I was fit again, he gave me back my guardianship of the keys and the first night I slept upon their bulk, I heard scratchings at my wooden shutters and the moaning of what might have been the wind. Aft first light on going to the running spring to cleanse my chamber pot, I walked the long way round, past my chamber window and saw score marks bit deep into the ebony-wood shutters.

I felt the chill of night come on me despite the warming of the sun. But I kept my counsel and Pa had replaced the wood by noon. That night I kept the dog inside my room, putting him at the foot of my bed. And though I heard a lone voice keening and crying out my name, the dog, he didn't stir.

The weeks turned and I learned to sleep with stopping in my ears. May and the bairns cast off their childhood with frightening speed and Pa rarely spoke outside the meeting houseand took to reading sermon books. But I would not go to meetings any more and Pa ignored my backsliding. As long as I did my work and kept safety on my mind, he seemed satisfied.

Then Widow Range took sick. She and her daughter lived a scant two fields away from us and Tildy asked my help to nurse her and Pa said I was to go. So I gave him back the keys and went to sit with Tildy. But like my Ma, the widow sank fast and died swift as the sun did sink. Tildy begged for me to go to church with her and stand vigil till the morn and I went with her and Padre Filton into the church as night fell upon us. That long night passed in dull-dead numbing coldness. I heard no outside sounds, no moans, no skirl of wind but only the praying Padre thanking his god for the ironwood and ironstone that kept us safe from harm.

We buried Widow Range, like Ma, soon as we could when the sun had risen above the mountains. Me and Tildy did the digging but it took all three of us to drag the heaven holding stone across the grave. Padre wore his leather gauntlets, but me and Tildy had to do without, and sore rough bleeding work it was. But still he the full toll into his strong-gloved hands when the burial was done.

He then took us in his wagon and dropped us to our homes as he went on his praying rounds. And that night with the keys once again beneath my head, I heard voices calling in the dark and the loudest one sounded like Widow Range.

I took care to go to the Meeting with Pa and the bairns the next meeting morn but left the serive before time, pleading my bowels. I walked then to Widow Range's grave and saw her capping stone was out of line. I'd helped lay it and knew full well it was not the same.

And now, tonight, I sit and wait the voices. My shutters are opened wide, my bedroom door unlocked, my binding keys thrown deep within the spring. The house is open to what may come and I am also ready. I will heed this call. I will leave the confines of my father's house and join that which waits outside.

As I go, I call to the bairns, my sisters, to come and join the free...

Hansel and Gretel

2006-08-13T00:57:00.000+08:00

Hansel and Gretel
Not the Originals
By the Brothers Grimm

Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to bite and to break, and once, when great dearth fell on the land, he could no longer procure even daily bread.

Now when he thought over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety. He groaned and said to his wife, "What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?"

"I'll tell you what, husband," answered the woman, "early tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is the thickest. There we will light a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them."

"No, wife," said the man, "I will not do that. How can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest? The wild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces."

"Oh! you fool," said she, "then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our coffins," and she left him no peace until he consented.

"But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same," said the man.

The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears, and said to Hansel, "Now all is over with us."

"Be quiet, Gretel," said Hansel, "do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us." And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside.

The moon shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel, "Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us," and he lay down again in his bed.

When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying, "Get up, you sluggards. We are going into the forest to fetch wood." She gave each a little piece of bread, and said, "There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else."

Gretel took the bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the way to the forest.

When they had walked a short time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again. His father said, "Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs."

"Ah, father," said Hansel, "I am looking at my little white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me."

The wife said, "Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is shining on the chimneys."

Hansel, however, had not been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.

When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, "Now, children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be cold."

Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very high, the woman said, "Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away."

Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.

When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said, "How are we to get out of the forest now?"

But Hansel comforted her and said, "Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find the way." And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.

They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to their father's house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said, "You naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest? We thought you were never coming back at all."

The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.

Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father, "Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so that they will not find their way out again. There is no other means of saving ourselves."

The man's heart was heavy, and he thought, "It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your children." The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says a must say be, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time also.

The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation. When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little sister, and said, "Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God will help us."

Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.

"Hansel, why do you stop and look round?" Said the father. "Go on."

"I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants to say good-bye to me, answered Hansel.

"Fool." Said the woman, "That is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the chimney."

Hansel, however, little by little, threw all the crumbs on the path. The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had never in their lives been before.

Then a great fire was again made, and the mother said, "Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you may sleep a little. We are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away."

When it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to the poor children.

They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, "Just wait, Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again."

When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to Gretel, "We shall soon find the way."

But they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep.

It was now three mornings since they had left their father's house. They began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it alighted. And when they approached the little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.

"We will set to work on that," said Hansel, "and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window, it will taste sweet."

Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes.
Then a soft voice cried from the parlor -
"Nibble, nibble, gnaw
who is nibbling at my little house?"
The children answered -
"The wind, the wind,
the heaven-born wind,"
and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.

Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their hands.

The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, "Oh, you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to you."

She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.

The old woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was in reality a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighborhood, she laughed with malice, and said mockingly, "I have them, they shall not escape me again."

Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks, she muttered to herself, that will be a dainty mouthful.

Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, "Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him."

Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded. And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and cried, "Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon be fat."

Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel's finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him.

When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.

"Now, then, Gretel," she cried to the girl, "stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook him."

Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did flow down her cheeks. "Dear God, do help us," she cried. "If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died together."

"Just keep your noise to yourself," said the old woman, "it won't help you at all."

Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with the water, and light the fire.

"We will bake first," said the old woman, "I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough." She pushed poor Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting. "Creep in," said the witch, "and see if it properly heated, so that we can put the bread in." And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.

But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said, "I do not know how I am to do it. How do I get in?"

"Silly goose," said the old woman, "the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself." And she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.

Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh. Then she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably burnt to death. Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, "Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead."

Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch's house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.

"These are far better than pebbles." Said Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in.

And Gretel said, "I, too, will take something home with me," and filled her pinafore full.

"But now we must be off," said Hansel, "that we may get out of the witch's forest."

When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water

"We cannot cross," said Hansel, "I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.

"And there is also no ferry," answered Gretel, "but a white duck is swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over."
Then she cried -
"Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee.
There's never a plank, or bridge in sight
take us across on thy back so white."

The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his sister to sit by him.

"No," replied Gretel, "that will be too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the other."

The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their father's house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves round their father's neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness...

Adventures of Professor Von Borgengruft

2006-08-07T14:34:00.000+08:00

Adventures of Professor Von Borgengruft
by Tom Lipscombe

Professer Von Borgengruft travels the world and sends back emails telling of his adventures in the wild. Enjoy and learn with these jungle tales!

Gorilla from Gabon

In the midst of tropical vegetation, the Simiae, or Monkey and Ape tribes, lead a free forest life, for which they might be well envied. The green canopy of the woods protects them at every season from the burning rays of a vertical sun, flowers of the most delicate fragrance embalm the air they breathe, and an endless supply of fruit and nuts never allows them to know want, for should the stores near at hand be exhausted, an easy migration to some other district soon restores them to abundance.

With an agility far surpassing that with which the sailor ascends the rigging, and climbs even to the giddy top of the highest mast, they leap from bush- rope to bush-rope, and from bough to bough, mocking the tiger-cat and the boa, which are unable to follow them in their rapid evolutions.

Formed to live on trees, and not upon the ground, they are as excellent climbers as they are bad pedestrians. Both their fore and hind feet are shaped as hands, generally with four fingers and a thumb, so that they can sieze or grasp a bough with all alike.

The Chimpanzee attains a height of about five feet, but seems much smaller from his stooping attitude. He inhabits the dense forests on the west coast of africa, particularly near the river ogooué in Gabonese Republic.

One of the finest specimens ever displayed in captivity was kept in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, where the mild climate, agreeable diet (he drank a pint of Bordeaux daily), and lively society of the French, maintained him in wonderful health and spirits.

However, putting the Chimpanzees aside for the moment; the encounter yesterday with an adult GORILLA; is another story altogether!!

Our Safari was merrily trekking along the jungle path, enjoying the exotic sights, sounds and smells of the dense African rain forest, when, to our surprise, the underbrush suddenly swayed rapidly just ahead, and presently before us stood an immense Male Gorilla!

He had gone through the jungle on his all-fours, but when he saw our party he erected himself, and looked us boldly in the face. He stood about a dozen yards from us, and was a sight I think I shall never forget.

Nearly six feet high with immense body, huge chest, and great muscular arms, with fiercely glaring, large, deep-grey eyes, and a hellish expression of face, which seemed to me like some nightmare vision; thus stood before us the King of the African forest.

He was not afraid of us. He stood there and beat his breast with his huge fists, till it resounded like an immense bass-drum, which is their mode of offering defiance, meantime giving vent to roar after roar.

The roar of the Gorilla is the most singular and awful noise heard in these African woods. It begins with a sharp bark like an angry dog, then glides into a deep bass roll, which literally and closely resembles the roll of distant thunder along the sky.

His eyes began to flash deeper fire as we stood motionless on the defensive, and the crest of short hair which stands on his forehead began to twitch rapidly up and down, while his powerful fangs were shown as he again sent forth a thunderous roar.

For reasons known only to the Gorilla and the Almighty, he suddenly turned around and hastily departed back into the jungle growth, leaving us rather shaken and extremely grateful for the mercies of Providence.

Lion from Gabon

During the daytime the lion seldom attacks man, and sometimes even when meeting a traveler he is said to pass by him unnoticed; but when the shades of evening descend, his mood undergoes a change. After sunset it is dangerous to venture out of camp, for the lion lies in wait.

It is then, that dramatic scenes of absorbing interest not infrequently take place.

One such event, which I am about to relate, took place last night, after we had retired to our respective tents for a well deserved sleep. The frightful experience with the male Gorilla earlier in the day had left most of us rather edgy and sleep doesn't come easy in this humid tropical climate, at the best of times.

After an hour or so, of tossing and turning, I decided to take a little walk around the camp to calm my nerves and overcome this dreadful insomnia.

The pleasant sound of rushing water coming from the mountain spring, a few hundred feet from the camp, made me realise that I was indeed very thirsty for a draught of that cool sparkling water. I looked carefully around the peaceful moonlit scene and listened intently for any strange sounds before venturing cautiously towards the brook.

Having assured myself that 'all was well', and kneeling beside the stream, I began to drink the sweet cold water with cupped hands. A small herd of Wildebeasts were also watering a little further downstream......an idyllic African scene, to be sure!

However, my enjoyment was cut short in an instant, when I spied out of the corner of my eye an ominous sight......Less than twenty yards from me, crouched in the low shrubbery and ready to spring, was a huge lion.

Terrified at the unexpected sight of such a beast, that seemed to have it's eyes fixed on me, I instantly took to my heels. In doing so, I had the presence of mind enough to run through the herd of Wildebeasts, concluding that if the lion should pursue, he would take up with the first beast that presented itself.

In this, however, I was mistaken. The lion broke through the herd, making directly after yours truly, who after turning around and perceiving that the monster had singled him out, breathless and half dead with fear, scrambled up one of the nearby trees. At the same moment the lion made a spring , but missing his aim, fell upon the ground.

In surly silence he walked around the tree, casting at times a dreadful look towards your poor old Professor, who screened himself from his sight behind the branches. Having remained silent and motionless for a length of time, I ventured to peep, hoping that the lion had taken his departure, when to my great terror and astonishment, my eyes met those of the animal, which flashed fire at me.

In short, the lion laid himself down at the foot of the tree, and did not remove from the place for twenty-four hours. At the end of this time, becoming parched with thirst, he went back to the spring in order to drink.

With trepidation, I ventured to descend, and scampered off back to camp as fast as my feet would carry me.

My hands are still shaking as I type these words on my trusty laptop computer.

After so many Safaris into the heart of darkest Africa, this old trekker should have known better, than to leave camp after nightfall.

And, it is a well known fact, that if a traveler encounters a lion by daylight, he turns tail and sneaks out of sight like a scared greyhound. All the talk about his majestic roar is sheer twaddle. It takes a keen ear to distinguish the voice of the lion from that of the silly Ostrich.

When the lion grows old, he leads a miserable life. Unable to master the larger game, he prowls about the villages in hopes to pick up a stray goat. When the natives hear one prowling about the villages, they say: "His teeth are worn out; he will soon kill men", and thereupon turn out and put an end to him.

This is the only foundation for the common belief that when the lion has once tasted human flesh he will eat nothing else. When an aged lion lives far from human habitation so that he cannot get goats or children, he is often reduced to such straits as to be obliged to make his meals of mice and such small prey.

Upon the whole, in the dark, or at all hours when breeding, the lion is an ugly enough customer; but if a man will stay home by night, and not go out of his way to attack him, he runs less risk in Africa of being devoured by a lion, than he does in New York City of being run over by a skateboard...

Gorilla From Gabon" and "Lion from Gabon"
Copyright © 1999 by Tom Lipscombe,
All Rights Reserved.

Rumpelstiltskin

2006-07-31T19:49:00.000+08:00

Rumpelstiltskin
by the brothers Grimm
adapted and illustrated by Alessandro Cima

Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who had a beautiful daughter. The woodcutter was very proud of her.

One day he boasted to the king, "My daughter can spin straw into gold."

"If your daughter can do this," said the king, "bring her to me and I shall see."

So the woodcutter went home and told his daughter to wear her most lovely dress and come before the king.

The king took the girl to a room in his castle that was filled with straw. As he showed her the spinning wheel in the corner he said, "Spin this straw into gold by sunrise or you shall die."

The woodcutter's daughter sat on the stool and began to cry.
Suddenly, the door creaked open and a strange little man appeared.

"What will you give me to spin this straw into gold?" asked the little man.

"I'll gladly give you my necklace."

"Good," he said taking the necklace.

The little man set to work and by sunrise the room was filled with gold.
When the king saw the gold he became greedy. He got more straw.

"By sunrise all this shall be gold."

Once more the woodcutter's daughter began to cry. In a moment the door opened and in came the strange little fellow.

"What will you give me this time?" he asked.

"I'll gladly give you my ring," said the girl.

"Good," said the little man as he sat down to spin the straw.

By sunrise all the straw was gold. Once more the king was pleased. He got even more straw.

"Spin this straw into gold and in the morning I shall marry you and make you my queen."

When the king went away the little fellow returned.

"What will you give me this time?" he asked.

"I've nothing left to give," replied the woodcutter's daughter.

"Then you shall give me your first child when you are queen."

She promised the little man her first child.

By sunrise the straw was gold and the king married the woodcutter's daughter.

The happy queen had a baby boy and forgot all about her promise.
One day the little man came to take the queen's baby boy.
The queen begged to keep her child.
The little man said, "You have three days to guess my name. If you can't, I shall take your baby boy."

All night the queen thought of every name. In the morning when the little man came she tried all of them. At each one the little man said, "No. It is not I."

On the second day she tried even more names.

"No. It is not I," said the little man.

That night one of the queen's messengers came to her to tell of a strange sight indeed. While riding through the forest he had seen a fire. Around the fire danced an odd fellow who sang a song.

This was what he sang:
"Today I bake, tomorrow I brew,
Then, dear prince, I come for you.
None can guess, none can claim
That Rumpelstiltskin is my name."

That night the little man came calling.

"What is my name?" he asked, jumping up and down.

"It's Robin," answered the queen.

"It is not!"

"It's Jack," said the queen.

"It is not!"

"Then Rumpelstiltskin is your name."

At this the little fellow flew into a rage.

"Curses!", he shrieked, and stamped his feet so hard that he fell through the floor and disappeared forever.

"Rumpelstiltskin"
Illustrations Copyright © 1995 by Alessandro Cima
All Rights Reserved.

The Knight

2006-07-29T21:46:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, a beautiful princess was kidnapped by a dragon.

The dragon was a fearsome one, and the princess was frightened.

The dragon threw her into a dark cave, and dared any bold adventurer to save her.

Then one day, a knight in shining armour came riding on a dashing white horse.

The knight fought the dragon, and the battle was the stuff of legends.

The knight finally slew the dragon, and rescued the princess from that dark, lonely cave.

"You're my hero!" She cried as she rode off on his white horse.

The knight said nothing, and rode on with stunning air of nobility and chivalry.

She had fallen wildly in love with him.

He brought her to his castle, and she made a tall tower with a great view her home.

They lived happily ever after.

Or so you thought.

The knight went away after that.

Probably slaying other dragons, and saving other princesses, she thought.

The knight came back, and went away.

The knight returned, then left once more.

This continued for many years, and the beautiful princess grew bored.

She longed for his touch once more.

So she locked herself into her tall tower, and turned her refuge into a cage.

She then made her own dark, lonely cave, high up in the tower.

"Maybe he will save me again," she thought.

Just like before.

She waited and waited.

She got more and more desperate.

"My love will come save me!" She cried.

She took chalk, and drew large pictures of horrifying monsters and dragons all over her walls.

"Save me, oh save me, my love!"

She screamed, "Oh, the terror!"

And when she ran out of chalk, she cut herself, and used blood to continue drawing.

This continued for a long time, during which the knight never returned.

She finally ran out of wall space.

She screamed out the window for her one true love.

She made herself a necklace with her bedsheets, and threw herself off the ledge.

The knight returned, with a beautiful princess in tow.

"Who is that hanging over the wall?" She asked the knight, puzzled.

The knight said nothing, and rode on with stunning air of nobility and chivalry.

She had fallen wildly in love with him...

Wind Song

2006-07-27T18:21:00.000+08:00

by Carol Moore

It was a day like the day before and the day after. The wind wrapped itself around the sod cabin in gusting moans as the pioneer family within carried out their tasks pretending not to hear. They heard the wind, however. It had been their constant companion on the open plains since their journey from Philadelphia two years before in the spring of 1865. Following the covered wagon train of ten, the wind had lifted the drab landscape into billows of dust falling on everyone and everything until there seemed but one color and one sound.

Now Rachel sat on the bed hand-stitching a quilt while her mother hunched over a sewing machine across the room rocking her feet backwards and forwards on a foot treadle that turned the shaft that moved the needle. The thumping counter pointed the wind outside. Laughter and giggling erupted from Rachel's younger brother and sister playing jacks on the floor and it brought a smile to their sister's face, but when she glanced back at their mother she stopped smiling.

Rachel felt that her parents worked too hard. They rarely had fun or relaxation like they had enjoyed in Philadelphia. Now her father was always in the fields. Her mother prepared meals on a wood-stoked stove, did the laundry on a washboard, baked flatbread and sewed clothes to trade for goods in town. Rachel remembered her mother singing and telling stories at one time but that was before she had begun complaining about the wind and the dirt and the mud. Eventually she had stopped complaining, but she had stopped singing, too.

The door swung open and it was Rachel's father. Entering in a puff of dust, he coughed and wiped his forehead. "Mighty hot day out there."

"Well, I've got ale for you and flatbread too," replied his wife. She rose from the sewing machine and began setting the table as her husband eased himself into a chair.

"I know. I could smell it from outside. Smelled so good I came in early. What else have you all been up to while I was clearing rows with Molly and Bell?"

"Rachel's done with her quilt."

"Oh?" Rachel's father turned to look as his older daughter proudly showed off her masterpiece. It was a cheerful blooming of color with stitches outlining the squares.

"That's a mighty fine piece of work." He nodded. "How 'bout us going into town this Saturday. You can show off your quilt, your mother can take her flatbread, and I've got a bushel of onions ready."

The young children whooped excitedly and Michael, the boy, began dancing around the room, lifting his knees and clapping. There was reason for jubilation. The 20-mile trip to town in the buckboard was a once-a-month affair to which everyone in the family looked forward.

The town of Wausa, Nebraska was not unlike other little towns that had sprung up to welcome the pioneers. It was a mix of old and new buildings with wood plank sidewalks and a wide main street of dirt to accommodate trains of oxen. In one of the newer buildings was the general store. Guarding the door was a wooden Indian and next to it hung a bird cage. The family stopped for a moment to look at the yellow bird inside.

When they stepped into the store it was a universe all its own. There was the scent of wood and soap and spice. The walls were lined with racks of crates and mason jars, and along the aisles were bushel barrels of potatoes and apples. In the back neatly propped against the wall were bolts of fabric. While her brother and sister explored the store and her parents spoke with the grocer about their bread and onions, Rachel wandered back outside to look at the bird.

So bright a yellow it was a miniature piece of the sun in that dusty place. It hopped from perch to perch rarely standing still and as it hopped it kept its eyes on Rachel. Suddenly a shadow passed over the girl and startled, she looked up to see a Sioux Indian brave. Her heart beat faster. Indians sometimes came to town to barter although it was discouraged by the shopkeepers. Such a history of warfare existed between Indians and white settlers that no one felt safe. But this Indian was as fascinated by the bird as Rachel. He stared intently and then said something she couldn't understand. Seeing her puzzled face he repeated in English, "It listens to the wind."

Before Rachel could think about what he had said, the Indian turned and walked away. Her parents appeared a moment later, having seen him through the window.

"Are you all right?" asked her father.

Rachel nodded. "He was just looking at the canary."

At that moment the little bird lifted its head, swelled its chest, and sang out a joyous trill. Rachel saw her mother's face light up with delight.

Rachel traded her quilt for the canary and never regretted it because the little bird entertained them endlessly. Sir Gallant, they called him because he did battle with the wind. The louder the wind the more loudly he sang, competition so fierce that sometimes everyone burst out laughing. Sir Gallant lifted their spirits turning dust days back into sunshine days.

Rachel thought about what the Indian had said. She'd heard the wind but unlike the canary she'd never listened to it. Now when she tried she could hear music in the moaning. Of course the music was faint and hidden in the background and she needed her imagination, but it was there if she truly listened. She began humming the sounds she heard. "That's a pretty tune" her mother commented one day, "what song is that?" Rachel didn't reply, unsure how to explain, and her mother didn't press the question. Soon she, too, began humming.

Occasionally bachelor cowpokes stopped by the cabin to buy flatbread or to have their clothes mended. They were always welcomed, not for the money in their pocket but for their company. With no neighbors for twenty miles, it was lonely on the plains. The family and guests traded news, shared a meal, and were serenaded by Sir Gallant who was often the center of conversation.

One afternoon the younger daughter Mary noticed the canary sitting motionless on his perch. "Is Sir Gallant sick?" she asked in alarm.

"No. It's just a dark day outside," her mother reassured her. "It'll be raining soon and he probably doesn't feel like singing."

The younger children accepted this explanation but not Rachel. She knew that while Sir Gallant stopped singing from time to time, he had always hopped about his cage. She went to the door and looked outside. It was deathly quiet, no wind or sounds of birds or prairie dogs. She saw the outline of her father with the two oxen in the north field and at the same time she saw black thunderclouds stacked high into the sky. There was a heaviness to the air and a prickly feeling.

The Indian's words echoed in her mind. "It listens to the wind."

Rachel thought about Sir Gallant's odd behavior and the angry thunderclouds and how strange it felt. Straining to hear, she caught a faint rumbling and it was the sound of thunder.

Rachel thought about Sir Gallant's odd behavior and the angry thunderclouds and how strange it felt. Straining to hear, she caught a faint rumbling and it was the sound of thunder.

Suddenly Rachel knew. She absolutely knew they were in danger. "Mom," she shouted. "It's a tornado!"

Immediately Mary and Michael began screaming as their mother gathered them up and, along with Sir Gallant, rushed outside. The safest place was the root cellar at the side of the house. Throwing open the cellar doors, the mother yelled to Rachel to warn her father.

Rachel took off running across the field shouting and waving her arms, but not until she was halfway across did she get his attention.

"What's wrong?" he yelled.

It was another moment before she reached him. "Tornado."

His eyes searched the horizon. "I don't see anything, but I can bring in Molly and Bell anyway. I'll come back to the house."

"No! There's no time. Listen!" Rachel was close to hysterical and because she never lied or played tricks, he did as she asked. Finally able to hear the rumbling he jumped to action. Releasing the yoke from the harnesses on the oxen he turned them free and then grabbed Rachel's arm and they began to run. By the time they reached the sod cabin, the tornado was visible, rain drenched their bodies and a thunderous roaring pounded the air.

The tornado lasted only minutes although it felt like hours. When the family emerged from their shelter they were relieved to find their sod cabin intact. Fortunately the oxen, too, had escaped although the scarred earth proved the north field had been in the center of the tornado's path. The loss of crops would make things more difficult, but they felt blessed to be alive. They also felt divine intervention had come in the form of a little yellow bird.

The woman stood in the door of the attic and sighed. Gray and dusty in the half light, the room was filled with old furniture, boxes and a thousand forgotten memories. She had inherited its contents from her grandmother and now faced the chore of deciding the fate of each piece. Attracted to an old sewing machine, so old that it had a foot treadle, she opened the top drawer. Amidst the buttons and needles and scissors was a tiny bundle of lace neatly tied with ribbon. Curious she picked it up and unwrapped it. To her surprise she found she was unfolding the burial cloth of a canary, its body long ago dried up but carefully preserved. Holding it in her right hand she stared, perplexed, and quite unconsciously put her left hand over her heart.

End.

Tiger Son

2006-07-27T13:40:00.000+08:00

Written and Illustrated by Teresa Ng
Based on an Ancient Chinese Tale by Po Chung-ling

Once there was an elderly widow, Chen Ma, who lived with her only son inside a forest in the Shanxi Province. Her son was one of the tiger hunters licensed by the local magistrate, following the same profession of his father and grandfather before him. His share of the profits from the sale of tiger skins, meat and bones was sufficient to keep the small mud hut well provisioned for himself and his old mother.

All was well until a particularly bitter winter. During a snowstorm, Chen Ma's son was separated from his fellow hunters and became food for a hungry tigress.

After her initial shock and grief subsided, Chen Ma took stock of her own utterly desperate situation -- an old woman left all alone. She went and implored the magistrate to provide her with compensation for the loss of her son, who was her only source of support. The magistrate decreed that henceforth, she would have a small share of profits from the kill of each tiger by the hunters. Needless to say, his decision was not taken well by the hunters, who had plenty of mouths of their own to feed -- both old and young.

So, when the hunters succeeded in killing the tigress that ate Chen Ma's son, they decided not to give her a share of the profits. Instead, they brought her the tigress' newborn cub. He was a small quivery ball of golden fur with wobbly legs and toothless gums. The rope they tied around his neck was so tight that it was practically choking him. Instantly, Chen Ma's heart went out to this helpless creature, whose jade-green eyes were glistening with tears.

After the hunters left, the tiger cub wobbled to where Chen Ma sat and lay at her feet. She bent down to rub his ears and he licked her shoes with his soft tongue.

The elderly widow looked at the tiger baby and sighed. "They told me to butcher you, to salt and smoke your flesh for my meat supply. Your skin would make warm boots for my feet; your bones are good for making Tiger Bone Wine to ease the pain in my joints. But oh, how can I bear to kill you? You are so young and vital, while I am so old and frail."

And so, Chen Ma untied the rope from the little tiger's neck and fed him a paste of cooked roots with her fingers. Her son had a good supply of grains and roots in the attached shed and she planned to stretch the food out to last the winter.

When the store of the firewood was running low, Chen Ma was unable to keep her bedroll on top of the kang warm (a kang is a bed base built of bricks with space for a small fire). So she slept curling against the baby tiger, whose soft fur was cozy and warm.

Once ever so often, women from nearby villages would bring sewing for Chen Ma to do. She was very handy with a needle. They paid her for her labor with dried venison and small sacks of grain. At first they did not find the little tiger's presence alarming; he was no bigger than a piglet. However, when spring came, he had grown into the size of a calf, showing a full set of teeth and claws. The women told their hunter husbands and the men came to kill the young tiger.

Chen Ma armed herself with her son's hunting spear and threatened to gut anyone who dared to harm her beloved pet.

"I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son."

The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall.

"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"

"Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections."

The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption.

In order to protect the tiger from the hunters' arrows and spears, the magistrate ordered a large copper pendent made to hang around the beast's neck. The words "Fu Chee" were engraved on the pendent meaning Tiger Son. To show her deep gratitude, Chen Ma knelt down in front of the magistrate and knocked her forehead three times. Then she led Fu Chee back to their home in the forest.

By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsing whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby.

However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive!

After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more.

Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province.

~ ~ The End ~ ~

One Guy Didn't

2006-07-24T15:22:00.000+08:00

The One...

Three guys were tried for crimes against humanity.
Two guys committed crimes.
One guy didn't.

Three guys were given government trials.
Two guys had fair trials.
One guy didn't.

Three guys were whipped and beaten.
Two guys had it coming.
One guy didn't.

Three guys were given crosses to carry.
Two guys earned their crosses.
One guy didn't.

Three guys were mocked and spit at along the way.
Two guys cursed and spit back.
One guy didn't.

Three guys were nailed to crosses.
Two guys deserved it.
One guy didn't.

Three guys agonized over their abandonment.
Two guys had reason to be abandoned.
One guy didn't.

Three guys talked while hanging on their crosses.
Two guys argued.
One guy didn't.

Three guys knew death was coming.
Two guys resisted.
One guy didn't.

One.
Two.
Three guys died on three crosses.

Three days later.
Two guys remained in their graves.
One guy didn't.

The Chocolate Shock

2006-07-18T23:33:00.000+08:00

China loved Chocolate.

She loved chocolate in all its forms and all its flavours. China loved chocolate so much that she even made up a little song about it – the song went like this:

Chocolate bars and chocolate cake
And chocolate anything,
Chocolate whipped and chocolate chipped
And sprinkled on ice cream.

Buttons, bars and biscuits,
I like my chocolate lots.
I eat my chocolate every day,
My Mum says I'll get spots.

The bit about China's mum was all too true. Her mother had decided that China ate far too much chocolate and that it was unhealthy. She'd cut China's chocolate down by half, so that chocolate was very much on China's mind when she walked through the wood that day.

It was a warm day, a cool breeze in the trees day but China couldn’t feel it. It was a blue day, a cloud free fresh and new day but China couldn’t see it. All China could think about was chocolate.

As she walked through the woods everything reminded her of the chocolate she couldn’t have and the more she walked the crosser she got. She sang her chocolate song to herself:

Chocolate bars and chocolate cake
And chocolate anything,
Chocolate whipped and chocolate chipped
And sprinkled on ice cream.

Buttons, bars and biscuits,
I like my chocolate lots.
I eat my chocolate every day,
My Mum says I'll get spots.

China was so busy thinking about chocolate she didn’t see the old lady on the ground until she had almost fallen over her.

"Please help me up," said the old lady. "I fell down and my old bones won't let me get back up again."

But China wasn't listening. She was staring very hard at the old lady's basket. In the basket was a huge chocolate cake. It was topped with chocolate cream and chocolate flakes and was the most delicious looking chocolate cake China had ever seen. Her mouth watered.

Then she realised that the old lady was speaking to her.

"Could you help me up," said the old lady. "A big girl like you could easily lift me onto my feet." China thought for a minute...

"I'll help you up if you'll give me the chocolate cake in your basket," she said.

The old lady looked surprised, "But I made that cake for a special reason," she said.

"No cake, no help!" said China stubbornly.

"Then I suppose I must give it to you," said the old lady. "I don't want to be stuck down here all morning..."

China rushed over and helped the old lady to her feet. It wasn't difficult - the old lady was tiny and light as a bird.

"Now," said China, "my reward."

The old lady's eyes narrowed and she glared at China.

"I'll give you one more chance," she said. "I made that chocolate cake for someone in particular -- it's a very special cake. You won't find another cake like it."

"I can see that," said China greedily. "Now give it to me!"

The old lady handed over the basket with the cake in. China couldn't wait to take it home. She broke off a large piece with her hands and stuffed it into her mouth. It was delicious. The most delicious chocolate cake she'd ever tasted.

But as she chewed something odd happened. The cake in her mouth got stickier and sticker and China couldn't swallow it.The old lady watched as China's eyes grew wide with panic.

"I tried to warn you," said the old lady. "I baked that cake for someone in particular, I baked it for the woodland witch who put a curse on my cabbages. I added a special little ingredient of my own --glue!"

China's mouth was still crammed full of the awful sticky cake and she couldn't speak. She ran home as fast as she could. It was a while before she could make her mother understand what she was saying because the sticky chocolate stuck to the roof of her mouth.It took lots of glasses of water and several days before the taste of chocolate was gone completely.

And after that China couldn't even look at chocolate without feeling sick. She sang a different song after her chocolate shock. It went like this . . .

I love apples. I love pears
Grapes and cherries too,
I think plums and wonderful
Would you like a few?

THE END

"The Chocolate Shock"
Copyright © 2004
by Sharon Tregenza
All Rights Reserved.

The Creation of the Night

2006-07-16T19:03:00.000+08:00

When the earth was very young, the night and the animals didn't exist.

There were only trees, plants and people. During this time, the sun shone very brightly. The people were always very tired because they didn't sleep well. The trees were faded because of the hot weather.

Only the Big Snake who was a witch could make the night appear.

She was a very big snake who lived near a river. She kept night on the bottom of the river, inside a coconut.

The snake enjoyed seeing the people very tired and asleep. The indians implored her to give them night, but it was useless.

One day, the snake's beautiful Indian daughter married. Like her mother, she didn't need the night to rest. But her husband and the other people of the village were always tired. She didn't like to see them suffer. So she told her husband that she would ask to her mother to give her the night.

Her mother never refused her requests.

Her husband had three faithful servants. He sent them to take the night from the witch. Immediately the three indians took a boat and went to meet the Big Snake. Although the three men were very tired, they rowed fast.

When the trees saw the scene, they asked why were the Indians were going so fast. When the trees learned that night would come they started to dance and shout wih joy.

The three servants arrived at the place where the witch lived. They told her why they had come. She didn't like the idea about giving them night, but she couldn't refuse her daughter's request.

She gave them the coconut with the night inside and told them that only her daughter must open it. If another person opened the coconut, the darkness would cover the earth forever.

The servants agreed and returned to the village. During their return they heard strange noises from inside the coconut. They were the sounds of toads, crickets and other animals of the night.
They became very curious.

They could wait no longer and opened the coconut.

When they did it, they were astonished. The animals and the darkness escaped. All was very dark. No one could see anything . All the things without life seemed like pieces of wood or stones. Leaves changed into fishes, birds and insects.

Far away at the village, the witch's daughter told her husband that his three servants had opened the coconut. He was shocked and very disappointed because he thought they were faithful. How could the people live with the darkness?

But his wife had powers and thought of a solution. She had a way to control the darkness. She took a string of her hair and cut the sky with it. Soon the dawn appeared. Now there would be both day and night.

The three foolish servants tried to explain what they had done but it was useless. The witch's daughter turned them into three monkeys...

One...

2006-07-14T10:39:00.000+08:00

One song can spark a moment,

One flower can wake the dream.

One tree can start a forest,

One bird can herald spring.

One smile begins a friendship,

One handclasp lifts a soul.

One star can guide a ship at sea,

One word can frame the goal.

One vote can change a nation,

One sunbeam lights a room.

One candle wipes out darkness,

One laugh will conquer gloom.

One step must start each journey,

One word must start each prayer.

One hope will raise our spirits,

One touch can show you care.

One voice can speak with wisdom,

One life can make the difference,

You see, its up to you...

How the Toad Got Its Skin

2006-07-13T00:09:00.000+08:00

All the birds were happy. Soon, it would happen again - the party in the sky. Only the birds would go because only they could fly. The animals that could not fly were upset and jealous. They all knew the party in the sky was very beautiful. All the guests would dance among the clouds and stars.

Sometimes an animal who could not fly would try to find its way to the party. They always failed. Now all the animals were convinced that it was simply impossible to ever get to the party in the sky.

There was one fellow, however, who would not give up. The toad said, "This time, I will get to go to the party in the sky!" He had a plan and would not tell any of the other animals what it was.

The day of the great party arrived. The birds were all very excited, preparing the things they would take with them and fluffing up their feathers. All the other animals stayed away. Only the clever toad stayed among the birds. The birds were curious to see how this silly toad might get to their great party in the sky.

The vulture swooped down and asked the toad, "Just how do you intend to get up into the sky?"

"That's my surprise," answered the toad. He turned and hopped away leaving the vulture to scratch its head.

An hour later the toad snuck back and hid inside the vulture's guitar.

Soon, the vulture came, took his guitar and flew high into the sky. The toad stayed quietly inside the guitar.

When the vulture arrived at the giant party in the sky, the clever toad jumped out and danced across the clouds. The birds were all very surprised and demanded to know how the toad had managed to trick them. Toad would tell them nothing.

The party was very lively. There was lots of food and drink. Birds were singing and dancing to their hearts' content. The toad tried everything. He drank and ate quite a lot.

Most of the birds refused to dance with the toad. The parrot and sparrow were very upset with having this toad in their midst. They suggested that the toad be pushed off the cloud. The vulture was totally against this idea. The toad listened to all this and became worried. He crept back to the vulture's guitar and climbed back inside to hide.

Soon, the vulture picked up the guitar to play. The poor toad was going deaf inside!
When the party in the sky was finished the vulture flew off the cloud and soared through the sky. He noticed that his guitar seemed heavy so he looked inside and discovered the hidden toad.

"Please let me stay inside your guitar," begged the frightened toad.

"Oh no, little toad," answered the vulture. "I want to see how you fly."

With that the vulture shook the guitar and the poor toad fell all the way to the ground and broke into pieces.

The vulture looked down and felt pity for the poor toad, so he flew home to get a needle and some thread. When he returned to where the toad lay broken he sewed the toad back into one piece.

"Dear toad," the vulture said. "Won't you come to our next party in the sky?"

The toad hopped away without saying a word.

To this day you can still see where the toad had his skin mended by the needle and thread.

"How the Toad Got its Skin"
Translation and Illustrations
Copyright © 1997
by Maria Lucia Guimaraes Maier
All Rights Reserved.

The Amazing Glowfish and Other Aquatic Abnormalities

2006-07-11T18:39:00.000+08:00

My sport was fishing. I was not physically endowed to handle football or basketball. Fishing didn't care what size you were or your prowess. I gave the sport up for several years, but decided to try it again after starting work at a large Texas newspaper. Several of my colleagues were into it and spoke of their conquests.

"It's fantastic, Jim," said Billy Bob Metilda. "If you like gargantuan carp you've got to fish Lake Livingston."

After awhile I became so excited about fishing that I thought of nothing else. I began reading every fishing magazine and watching fishing shows on TV. The adrenaline was really surging.
I invested an entire paycheck in fishing gear. When I do things I pull out the stops. Sometimes I go overboard. I was now at the point of annoying my friends.

"I wish you would shut up about fishing and just do it!"

I pestered the guys about fishing as a group. Fishing is a sport that requires moral support. It's fun being with a bunch of guys, fumbling around with tackle and camping gear, drinking great quantities of beer and scratching a lot. No matter how old a fellow gets, male bonding remains important. Fishing is just one of those male bonding activities.

I was conscious of the fact that behind the paper was a prominent lake. Town Lake it was called. But other than rowing clubs and family boaters, no one dared venture into its water. It was a vile, polluted cesspool of crud in which three-eyed monsters and other freaks lived. Frequently, full-sized alligators were pulled out coughing and wheezing.

"If you want to fish so badly, why don't you just give Town Lake a try?"

I looked at the senior technician with amusement. "Yeah, right. Whatever thing I catch sure as heck isn't going to be edible."

He tried being serious. "Really, Jim. You've got a fishing license and all that expensive gear and there are fish out there. Why not?"

I became desperate and frustrated as it became apparent that there would be no male bonding. The guys were always busy whenever I proposed a date.

To the untrained eye Town Lake looked harmless. It ran for eight miles through the city, ending at the dam. I seriously considered giving the lake a try. I mean, what if some mutated thing or other rose to the surface and winked at me? Also, maybe the guys were just all talk and the water was perfectly all right.

One night I walked down to the bridge which joined the north and south sides of the city and stared into the water. I was crazy. I wanted to fish so much that I could taste it.

"Hey, buddy. Psst!"

"Huh?"

I was unaware of the presence of a bridge lunatic. There were people known to reside under the bridge with an affinity towards trollism. To my left I could make out the form of a bedraggled, smelly man. He was short and appeared harmless. Still I was on my guard. You never know what a person is capable of.

"May I help you?" I tried sounding tough. Some people in fear sound like wimps. Your voice goes into your nose and you sound like Melvin the nerd.

The little man said, "I knew you were coming. You like fishing, huh? It was prophesied that a mighty fishing warrior would come along to tame the great Town Lake. I'm here to assist you on your quest."

As he got closer I nearly passed out from the smell. I have nothing against anyone, but a rank troll in training is a bit overwhelming.

"Why, that's most interesting," I said trying to not irritate my new friend. "Do you know much about fishing?"

With the help of moonlight I had a better vision of the man's face. Though yucky, there was magic about him. Wisdom shined in his eyes.

"Yup. And I can tell you how to catch the big ones. You see that dark thing up there in the sky?"

I looked across the lake towards downtown. Hovering above the tallest building was a dark band that ran north to south. It was a most sinister and predatory thing.

My friend explained, "Only we who rule the night and hear voices and see things know the truth. That's the space thingy that dictates the infrastructure of Town Lake. You see, by day lawyers work in that building. But at night they take off their disguises and become their real selves. They are aliens guarding the lake, ready with subpoenas in case their friends the fish are threatened. Together they plan world domination. Only you, the fishing savior, can save Town Lake and the world from legal/alien domination."

Okay. Time to go. Nothing against trolls but I rather like sanity. However the part about lawyers being aliens seemed believable.

"Well, I've got to go. I'll keep you in mind if I do fish Town Lake. Bye."

As I walked back towards the paper I looked up at the ominous dark formation. Nah. There had to be a logical explanation.

Town Lake had originally been a very nice, pure, untainted lake. It was human intervention that caused the pollution. There are some, however, who believe it's really the angry spirits of frustrated anglers that caused Town Lake to be unfishable.

I thought of my troll friend. What a nut. A raid by the police a few nights later removed the small band of trolls. I heard that most, including my friend in all likelihood, had been sent to a reformation colony where they were cleaned up and sentenced to training as telemarketers.
How can one explain addiction? The mind is a funny thing. It gets stuck on a thought, and it takes a major blast to drive it out. The guys at work became concerned when I spoke of the troll man and the dark thingy in the sky. Perhaps my fishing addiction had finally sent me over the edge. The guys thought I was weird to begin with.

"Have you thought of taking up tennis, Jim?"

So, I started playing tennis and momentarily dropped the fishing bit. I was eating right and getting plenty of exercise. I decided to shave my ear hair and felt that mysterious bump in the back of my head disappear. Most beneficially, I could close my eyes. Wow! Were they ever red and hurt. All the physical problems were solved by simple nonfish activity.

One night I was outside the paper when I heard and saw something most strange. This great big, white thing comes around the corner, stops and stares at me. A giant rat with a massive tail. Most critters run for the woods upon encountering a human being. This thing stood its ground.
"Hey, bud. Psst!"

I shook my head. It was quite late, and I was tired.

Still, the rat said, "Hey, dummy. Psst!"

I walked over to it. It was about three feet long and a foot high. Its voice was a high squeak.

"I've got news for you, Jim. The fish are hot and heavy tonight. You better get busy or you'll miss out. This is your destiny."

I was not amused. Enough was enough. I was weary of silly things, so I said to the albino rat, "You just go away. I'm not listening to any more foolishness. I'm not into fishing, so you just go chase cheese."

Still, the rat persisted. "I know you encountered troll man, but I'm being square with you. You must fish Town Lake. The world is at risk, and your fishing will save it. I mean, let's be honest. If there weren't something bizarre, most unworldly going on, why would I be speaking, huh?"
Everything was in the trunk of my car. My super deluxe, triple-layer tackle box, my Magneto 2000 spinning rod and reel as advertised on the Dick Shick Shyster fishing show. Of my lures, I couldn't lose with the Froggy Bouncy crankbait, guaranteed to stir to a frenzy anything with fins.

I shook my head once more just to make sure that I wasn't hallucinating. Rat smiled, teeth revealing remnants of its last meal. "All right, Jim. It's up to you. You only have six hours to catch whatever's out there and save the world from domination. No pressure, dude."

With my heart beating so fast that I felt dizzy, I hauled the fishing gear out and in pitch darkness stumbled down the path to the edge of the lake, stationing myself between two big trees. I didn't have a flashlight, so I had to rely on faint moonlight. Somehow I managed to get the string strung and the lure on without harming myself.

I peered into the darkness. Where were they? What were they? These certainly couldn't be normal fish. I just didn't know what I was dealing with. I then thought of the words of my fishing guru Achten Ben Johnson, "Use your instincts. Feel the fish, fish the fish. Just cast, stupid!"
Suddenly there was a miracle. Out of the corner of my eye appeared glowing objects gliding majestically through the water. They were glowfish, and they were everywhere. Was Town Lake polluted or what?

I felt overwhelmed. Something inside said this was it. My ship had come in. Do or die. This was a totally different kettle of fish.

My first cast came up short. Still, I could see the lead fish steer in its direction. It was truly beautiful seeing these lights in the shapes of fish maneuver through heavily polluted water. My second cast using the Froggy Bouncy crankbait was a little better. This time the lead fish slammed into the bait, nearly tearing the rod out of my hands. It fought like a monster, but I mastered it. As I hauled it out, it growled and barked at me.

"That's no way to treat a dogfish, you human wannabe fisherman."

I silenced it by praising its enemy the catfish. It got me good when it became very bright, threatening to blind me, and became too hot to hold. I tossed it into a tall tree where it hung as the first of a set of lights. I then continued fishing.

One after another angry glowfish/dogfish were caught and tossed into the tree. It was pretty noisy, as the tree became crowded. There was plenty of whimpering, growling and name-calling. As I moved downstream to try another spot, I looked back. The tree was lit up like a Christmas tree and there was singing.

I had no trouble finding glowfish. They seemed to gravitate more to me than to my lure. Each victory became more vicious as they even made fun of my mother.

Around three in the morning the truly unbelievable occurred. I was now on the north side of the lake. My arms and legs ached. Suddenly the dark formation in the sky tilted down into the lake and little glowing chariots and riders descended into the water. They were here to help their comrades the glowfish in battling me. I could see the chariot riders making suggestions. They spoke a foreign language further made indecipherable by being under water.

"Glug glug....harumph pumph, sneeze, ta tah hah. Hum."

It got more difficult for me as they tried pulling me in. The little chariot men sent some sort of nonelectrical current up the line causing me to sporadically jump three feet in the air and only alleviated by singing the first verse of "I love you." Yeah, if the children's favorite dinosaur Barney had to battle these things he'd probably be singing "I hate fish, so do you. Let's fry 'em up and serve 'em in a stew."

Let me describe the scene for you. I fought the unholy fish for four hours. I'd made it two-thirds the way around the lake. Trees lining the lake are so bright with hanging glowfish that I have no trouble seeing. Presently glowfish assisted by chariot riders are attempting to conquer me.
A thought occurred to me. This had to be a plot by unnamed forces. I say unnamed because the glowfish and chariot riders are merely the fighters. What I gather as I converse with them is that they have heavy political beliefs. Maybe they transform into human form and take political office. That would explain considerable. I've often wondered what planet some politicians are from.

Suddenly the water started bubbling and rolling. Something new and weird was happening. The light from all the fish was blinding me. Instead of many glowfish it was now one massive glowfish. They had merged to become a mess of a glowfish with multiple eyes and fins. This big boy now sprouted legs and emerged from the lake. At this point I gave up fishing.

Several chariot riders rode the monster fish's back. One had the reins and was steering it.
"Give up, human," I heard one of them say. "See the evil in your human values. Dogfish rule!"
The giant glowfish had incredible speed as it raced me up to the bridge. I was frantically looking for a policeman. It seemed to me that as bright as Town Lake had become someone would have noticed and called the police.

The mutated fish probably measured ten feet long and five feet high. At first it gasped for air, which being a fish out of water, it most naturally would. But the longer it was out the easier it became to breathe.

As it chased me around the lake, the glowfish I'd thrown into the trees jumped off and merged with the big one to make it even bigger and powerful. I started to cry.

Reciting from the 1989 Fishing Guide for Fools: "If all methods and lures fail and you are confronted by a freakish, unearthly mother of a fish, you are no longer the fisherman but the one being fished. Refer to the 1989 Hunting Guide for Fools, page 108, for using bazooka on abnormal species rather than on deer." Right. Like I had time to refer to any of that. I mean, where's a bazooka when you need one?

Allow me to update you on the scene. I have abandoned fishing, perhaps for the rest of my life, am being hotly pursued by the largest glowfish (though apparently it likes going by dogfish) ever to crawl out of water. This sucker is so bright that night has become day. With each glowfish I'd caught and tossed into a tree now joining the big one, the monster glowfish grew. And the thing is that I seem to be the only human being aware of the situation. Thank you police. It has to be political.

The fish was now singing a silly little tune. The chariot riders joined in. It sounded to me like that silly gimmicky sixties song "They're coming to take me away, aha." What a silly song to be singing. Still none of this made sense.

I kept shouting at it, "Shut up with the singing!" Still it persisted.

About the fifth time around the lake I realized that as it grew it became slower. Simply too much weight. A couple of the chariot riders got off thinking this might help, accept by my reasoning, a chariot rider is too small, maybe weighing at best five pounds.

As I thought over my predicament it occurred to me that if the fish got large enough it might not be able to get under the bridge, which was roughly ten feet high. Maybe it would chase me under it and get stuck. It was my only hope. It sure would scare the troll people, the few who had returned having become disillusioned with telemarketing.

I stumbled over some rocks and fell flat on my face. Looking back I saw the silly fish smile.
"Now I'm gonna get you, sucker. Doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo," it sang.

At that moment when the jig seemed to be up, a voice said to me, "Get to your frigging feet. How embarrassing being eaten by a dopey, political, alien glowfish. The shame."

I got to my feet and raced towards the bridge. Sure enough, in the shadows were some troll people. The looks on their faces were precious. There was absolute, confounding shock at seeing this little dude being chased by a massive glowfish with tiny chariot riders mounted on its back singing silly, obnoxious, gimmicky sixties tunes.

"Get out of here!" I yelled at them as I raced past them. I was now directly under the bridge. The shock made several freeze in their tracks. However, as the fish closed within feet, I found most shooting past me.

"Ugh. Uh, uh."

Just as I hoped, the fish had grown too large to make it under the bridge. Still it strained and pushed with all its fishy might. The chariot riders got off. Some pulled on the reins as the others pushed from behind. Finally they succeeded in getting it stuck.

"There, you fools. Let's see you get out of this one!"

I was jumping up and down in insane excitement. The chariot riders swore at me. They didn't have any more happy songs to sing.

Suddenly the fish began flapping its fins and barking in desperation. I was touched by its sad eyes yet repulsed by its odor. It was working on my sympathy.

"You human. You think you have us," said one of the chariot riders. It was hard taking him seriously when he sounded like a Smurf. "We have connections within your government. We all come from water. You think cleansing this lake will stop us?" His laugh sent a chill through me. He continued, "You must be an avid and committed fisherman for we exist everywhere. You think some Froggy Bouncy crankbait is enough?"

Just then the bridge started to buckle from the stress of the fish. Instead of going forward they decided to back out. As the fish successfully but not gracefully wiggled free, the chariot riders let out a cheer, and I knew then there was no stopping it.

I'd parked my car on the farthest end of the paper's parking lot. Though exhausted, I started the car and burned rubber. Looking in my rearview mirror, I could see the growing glowfish lay waste to my former place of employment.

My radio came on and a very pronounced alien voice said, "We may be slow, earth dude, but there is no stopping us. You better run."

Why was I alone? Why weren't others aware of this gigantic glowfish threatening our very existence?

I thought of the many dangers of fishing. There's the danger of getting a hook in the ear and losing your fishing pole and tackle, which makes the hook in the ear attractive. How about fishing without a license? There you are on the lake, you haven't caught a bite, you've lost that expensive spinning rod and reel in twenty feet of water, and to top it off you have a third degree sunburn. Suddenly some funny little man in a boat putt putts up to you and asks to see your fishing license. You may very well have one but it's for another state.

"But I thought, officer, that a fishing license was like a driver's license. Good in any state." Wrong.

All these dangers pale to that of encountering a freak fish. Mine was the glowfish that couldn't accept no. This was the fish you wished would get away. I would much rather take the hook in the ear and the loss of a valuable rod and reel and tackle.

Life never was normal after fishing Town Lake. The glowfish and riders chased me around the world. It stopped growing after it hit the size of a mountain. I was always just one step ahead. I tried warning people. It was useless. Towns and countries were devastated. Other glowfish rose out of every ocean, lake and stream. I hoped that if I could reach my fellow fishermen we might be able to fight the glowfish.

"You are one crazy dude," General Raphael Herrerra of the Costa Rican Air Force complimented me. "You want me to use my air force to help you destroy glowfish?"

My travels had earned me contacts with men high in command. I learned that the General was not above approaching or reproach.

"You've seen the charts and statistics, General. Most of Europe and Asia are awash in light. Now the upper part of North America is being threatened. Fishing has all but been banned. Massive airstrikes are our only hope."

All glowfish from around the world had converged to join forces in order to take over the world. I found it personal in that wherever I went they followed. They struck so quickly that no one took action. No one believed what he or she saw. Giant glowfish? Right. You be the first to admit that you see one.

With the help of a box of quality cigars and a lifetime subscription to TV Guide, the General agreed to my plan.

Starting late Tuesday night bombing runs were made over Canada. The excitement in the pilots' voices told the story.

"They're all over the place," announced one pilot. "There was no possibility of surprise. The fish had the sky lit up for a good five miles."

There was a momentary ray of hope as the bombs appeared to take out a great many glowfish and their riders. However, this just broke the big one into its many individual fish and many of these made it back to water where they merged, or reconstituted themselves into another giant glowfish.

I was a man on the run, and I was quickly running out of places to run to. I understood that the fish and riders were fighting for an unknown power. Whoever or whatever alien force I had yet to discover. What I did know was that this power was setting up a political system that had to do with a love for chess, tofu and talking in inconsistencies.

So I run and run. Lately the bad guys have attempted to make friends with me. They have promised all kinds of incentives, one being limited fishing of, yes, catfish. I can't give up. I am the ordained fishing savior, and as long as there are devout fishermen I will fight. I pick up allies along the way. We gather as much data about the alien power as we can.

Currently I am stationed somewhere in Australia. I'm working on a possible solution with a nutty scientist named Professor Uck Uck. Our theory is this: The evil alien power loves silly gimmicky sixties tunes. Using pirated airwaves we have played various styles of music. Our spies say most don't effect the bad guys. However, heavy metal and some polka music have brought us positive results. We've heard the growling, barking and whining which proves their dislike for these forms of music. We're hoping to make it so painful that they'll vacate this planet and go to one that doesn't mind their type of music. We're very hopeful. It will take time and that's what we're worried about. Fortunately there's plenty of bad music to choose from. It shouldn't take that long to find the one it really can't stand.

THE END

"The Amazing Glowfish and Other Aquatic Abnormalities"
Copyright © 2000
by Delo White
All Rights Reserved.

CD

2006-07-10T09:20:00.000+08:00

There was once a guy who suffered from cancer...

A cancer that can't be treated.

He was 18 years old and he could die anytime. All his life, he was stuck in his house being taken cared by his mother. He never went outside but he was sick of staying home and wanted to go out for once. So he asked his mother and she gave him permission. He walked down his block and found a lot of stores. He passed a CD store and looked through the front door for a second as he walked. He stopped and went back to look into the store.

He saw a young girl about his age and he knew it was love at first sight.

He opened the door and walked in, not looking at anything else but her. He walked closer and closer until he was finally at the front desk where she sat. She looked up and asked "Can I help you?" She smiled and he thought it was the most beautiful smile he has ever seen before and wanted to kiss her right there.

He said "Uh... Yeah... Umm... I would like to buy a CD." He picked one out and gave her money for it."Would you like me to wrap it for you?" she asked, smiling her cute smile again. He nodded and she went to the back. She came back with the wrapped CD and gave it to him. He took it and walked out of the store. He went home and from then on, he went to that store everyday and bought a CD, and she wrapped it for him. He took the CD home and put it in his closet.

He was still too shy to ask her out and he really wanted to but he couldn't. His mother found out about this and told him to just ask her. So the next day, he took all his courage and went to the store. He bought a CD like he did everyday and once again she went to the back of the store and came back with it wrapped. He took it and when she wasn't looking, he left his phone number on the desk and ran out...

!!!RRRRRING!!!

The mother picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"It was the girl!!! She asked for the boy and the mother started to cry and said, "You don't know? He passed away yesterday..."

The line was quiet except for the cries of the boy's mother. Later in the day. The mother went into the boy's room because she wanted to remember him. She thought she would start by looking at his clothes. So she opened the closet. She was face to face with piles and piles and piles of unopened CDs.

She was surprised to find all those CDs and she picked one up and sat down on the bed and she started to open one. Inside, there was a CD and as she took it out of the wrapper, out fell a piece of paper. The mother picked it up and started to read it.

It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jacelyn

The mother opened another CD... Again there was a piece of paper.

It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jacelyn

Love is when you've had a huge fight but then decide to put aside your egos, hold hands and say,
"I Love You".