đ Wet Magic (day 1)
|
joi, 16 mai, 01:53 (acum 3 zile)
|
|
||
|
Wet Magic
I
Sabrina Fair
That going to the seaside was the very beginning of everythingâ âonly it seemed as though it were going to be a beginning without an end, like the roads on the Sussex downs which look like roads and then look like paths, and then turn into sheep tracks, and then are just grass and furze bushes and tottergrass and harebells and rabbits and chalk.
The children had been counting the days to The Day. Bernard indeed had made a calendar on a piece of cardboard that had once been the bottom of the box in which his new white sandshoes came home. He marked the divisions of the weeks quite neatly in red ink, and the days were numbered in blue ink, and every day he crossed off one of those numbers with a piece of green chalk he happened to have left out of a penny box. Mavis had washed and ironed all the dollsâ clothes at least a fortnight before The Day. This was thoughtful and farsighted of her, of course, but it was a little trying to Kathleen, who was much younger and who would have preferred to go on playing with her dolls in their dirtier and more familiar state.
âWell, if you do,â said Mavis, a little hot and cross from the ironing board, âIâll never wash anything for you again, not even your face.â
Kathleen somehow felt as if she could bear that.
âBut maynât I have just one of the dollsâ was, however, all she said, âjust the teeniest, weeniest one? Let me have Lord Edward. His headâs half gone as it is, and I could dress him in a clean hanky and pretend it was kilts.â
Mavis could not object to this, because, of course, whatever else she washed she didnât wash hankies. So Lord Edward had his pale kilts, and the other dolls were put away in a row in Mavisâs corner drawer. It was after that that Mavis and Francis had long secret consultationsâ âand when the younger ones asked questions they were told, âItâs secrets. Youâll know in good time.â This, of course, excited everyone very much indeedâ âand it was rather a comedown when the good time came, and the secret proved to be nothing more interesting than a large empty aquarium which the two elders had clubbed their money together to buy, for eight-and-ninepence in the Old Kent Road. They staggered up the front garden path with it, very hot and tired.
âBut what are you going to do with it?â Kathleen asked, as they all stood around the nursery table looking at it.
âFill it with seawater,â Francis explained, âto put sea anemones in.â
âOh yes,â said Kathleen with enthusiasm, âand the crabs and starfish and prawns and the yellow periwinklesâ âand all the common objects of the seashore.â
âWeâll stand it in the window,â Mavis added: âitâll make the lodgings look so distinguished.â
âAnd then perhaps some great scientific gentleman, like Darwin or Faraday, will see it as he goes by, and it will be such a joyous surprise to him to come face-to-face with our jellyfish; heâll offer to teach Francis all about science for nothingâ âI see,â said Kathleen hopefully.
âBut how will you get it to the seaside?â Bernard asked, leaning his hands on the schoolroom table and breathing heavily into the aquarium, so that its shining sides became dim and misty. âItâs much too big to go in the boxes, you know.â
âThen Iâll carry it,â said Francis, âit wonât be in the way at allâ âI carried it home today.â
âWe had to take the bus, you know,â said truthful Mavis, âand then I had to help you.â
âI donât believe theyâll let you take it at all,â said Bernardâ âif you know anything of grownups you will know that Bernard proved to be quite right.
âTake an aquarium to the seasideâ ânonsense!â they said. And âWhat for?â not waiting for the answer. âThey,â just at present, was Aunt Enid.
Francis had always been passionately fond of water. Even when he was a baby he always stopped crying the moment they put him in the bath. And he was the little boy who, at the age of four, was lost for three hours and then brought home by the police who had found him sitting in a horse trough in front of the Willing Mind, wet to the topmost hair of his head, and quite happy, entertaining a circle of carters with pots of beer in their hands. There was very little water in the horse trough and the most talkative of the carters explained that, the kid being that wet at the first start off, him and his mates thought he was as safe in the trough as anywhereâ âthe weather being what it was and all them nasty motors and trams about.
To Francis, passionately attracted as he was by water in all forms, from the simple mud puddle to the complicated machinery by which your bath supply is enabled to get out of order, it was a real tragedy that he had never seen the sea. Something had always happened to prevent it. Holidays had been spent in green countries where there were rivers and wells and ponds, and waters deep and wideâ âbut the water had been fresh water, and the green grass had been on each side of it. One great charm of the sea, as he had heard of it, was that it had nothing on the other side âso far as eye could see.â There was a lot about the sea in poetry, and Francis, curiously enough, liked poetry.
The buying of the aquarium had been an attempt to make sure that, having found the sea, he should not lose it again. He imagined the aquarium fitted with a real rock in the middle, to which radiant sea anemones clung and limpets stuck. There were to be yellow periwinkles too, and seaweeds, and gold and silver fish (which donât live in the sea by the way, only Francis didnât know this), flitting about in radiant scaly splendor, among the shadows of the growing water plants. He had thought it all outâ âhow a cover might be made, very light, with rubber in between, like a screw-top bottle, to keep the water in while it traveled home in the guardâs van to the admiration of passengers and porters at both stations. And nowâ âhe was not to be allowed to take it.
He told Mavis, and she agreed with him that it was a shame.
âBut Iâll tell you what,â she said, for she was not one of those comforters who just say, âIâm sorry,â and donât try to help. She generally thought of something that would make things at any rate just a little better. âLetâs fill it with fresh water, and get some goldfish and sand and weeds; and Iâll make Eliza promise to put antsâ eggs inâ âthatâs what they eatâ âand itâll be something to break the dreadful shock when we have to leave the sea and come home again.â
Francis admitted that there was something in this and consented to fill the aquarium with water from the bath. When this was done the aquarium was so heavy that the combined efforts of all four children could not begin to move it.
âNever mind,â said Mavis, the consoler; âletâs empty it out again and take it back to the common room, and then fill it by secret jugfuls, carried separately, you know.â
This might have been successful, but Aunt Enid met the first secret jugfulâ âand forbade the second.
âMessing about,â she called it. âNo, of course I shanât allow you to waste your money on fish.â And Mother was already at the seaside getting the lodgings ready for them. Her last words had beenâ â
âBe sure you do exactly what Aunt Enid says.â So, of course, they had to. Also Mother had said, âDonât argue,â so they had not even the melancholy satisfaction of telling Aunt Enid that she was quite wrong, and that they were not messing about at all.
Aunt Enid was not a real aunt, but just an old friend of Grandmammaâs, with an auntâs name and privileges and rather more than an auntâs authority. She was much older than a real aunt and not half so nice. She was what is called âfirmâ with children, and no one ever called her auntie. Just Aunt Enid. That will tell you in a moment.
So there the aquarium was, dishearteningly dryâ âfor even the few drops left in it from its first filling dried up almost at once.
Even in its unwatery state, however, the aquarium was beautiful. It had not any of that ugly ironwork with red lead showing between the iron and the glass which you may sometimes have noticed in the aquariums of your friends. No, it was one solid thick piece of clear glass, faintly green, and when you stooped down and looked through you could almost fancy that there really was water in it.
âLetâs put flowers in it,â Kathleen suggested, âand pretend theyâre anemones. Do letâs, Francis.â
âI donât care what you do,â said Francis. âIâm going to read The Water Babies.â
âThen weâll do it, and make it a lovely surprise for you,â said Kathleen cheerily.
Francis sat down squarely with The Water Babies flat before him on the table, where also his elbows were, and the others, respecting his sorrow, stole quietly away. Mavis just stepped back to say, âI say, France, you donât mind their putting flowers? Itâs to please you, you know.â
âI tell you I donât mind anything,â said Francis savagely.
When the three had finished with it, the aquarium really looked rather nice, and, if you stooped down and looked sideways through the glass, like a real aquarium.
Kathleen took some clinkers from the back of the rockeryâ ââwhere they wonât show,â she saidâ âand Mavis induced these to stand up like an arch in the middle of the glassy square. Tufts of long grass, rather sparingly arranged, looked not unlike waterweed. Bernard begged from the cook some of the fine silver sand which she uses to scrub the kitchen tables and dressers with, and Mavis cut the thread of the Australian shell necklace that Uncle Robert sent her last Christmas, so that there should be real, shimmery, silvery shells on the sand. (This was rather self-sacrificing of her, because she knew she would have to put them all back again on their string, and you know what a bother shells are to thread.) They shone delightfully through the glass. But the great triumph was the sea anemonesâ âpink and red and yellowâ âclinging to the rocky arch just as though they were growing there.
âOh, lovely, lovely,â Kathleen cried, as Mavis fixed the last delicate flesh-tinted crown. âCome and look, France.â
âNot yet,â said Mavis, in a great hurry, and she tied the thread of the necklace round a tin goldfish (out of the box with the duck and the boat and the mackerel and the lobster and the magnet that makes them all move aboutâ âyou know) and hung it from the middle of the arch. It looked just as though it were swimmingâ âyou hardly noticed the thread at all.
âNow, France,â she called. And Francis came slowly with his thumb in The Water Babies. It was nearly dark by now, but Mavis had lighted the four dollhouse candles in the gilt candlesticks and set them on the table around the aquarium.
âLook through the side,â she said; âisnât it ripping?â
âWhy,â said Francis slowly, âyouâve got water in itâ âand real anemones! Where on earthâ ââ âŚâ?â
âNot real,â said Mavis. âI wish they were; theyâre only dahlias. But it does look pretty, doesnât it?â
âItâs like Fairyland,â said Kathleen, and Bernard added, âI am glad you bought it.â
âIt just shows what it will be like when we do get the sea creatures,â said Mavis. âOh, Francis, you do like it, donât you?â
âOh, I like it all right,â he answered, pressing his nose against the thick glass, âbut I wanted it to be waving weeds and mysterious wetness like the Sabrina picture.â
The other three glanced at the picture which hung over the mantelpieceâ âSabrina and the water nymphs, drifting along among the waterweeds and water lilies. There were words under the picture, and Francis dreamily began to say them:
âââSabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting,
Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave
In twisted braids of Lillies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.â ââ âŚâââ
âHulloâ âwhat was that?â he said in quite a different voice, and jumped up.
âWhat was what?â the others naturally asked.
âDid you put something alive in there?â Francis asked.
âOf course not,â said Mavis. âWhy?â
âWell, I saw something move, thatâs all.â
They all crowded around and peered over the glass walls. Nothing, of course, but the sand and the grass and the shells, the clinkers and the dahlias and the little suspended tin goldfish.
âI expect the goldfish swung a bit,â said Bernard. âThatâs what it must have been.â
âIt didnât look like that,â Francis answered. âIt looked more likeâ ââ
âLike what?â
âI donât knowâ âget out of the light. Letâs have another squint.â
He stooped down and looked again through the glass.
âItâs not the goldfish,â he said. âThatâs as quiet as a trout asleep. Noâ âI suppose it was a shadow or something.â
âYou might tell us what it looked like,â said Kathleen.
âWas it like a rat?â Bernard asked with interest.
âNot a bit. It was more likeâ ââ
âWell, like what?â asked three aggravated voices.
âLike Sabrinaâ âonly very, very tiny.â
âA sort of dollâ âSabrina,â said Kathleen, âhow awfully jolly!â
âIt wasnât at all like a doll, and it wasnât jolly,â said Francis shortlyâ ââonly I wish it would come again.â
It didnât, however.
âI say,â said Mavis, struck by a new idea, âperhaps itâs a magic aquarium.â
âLetâs play it is,â suggested Kathleenâ ââletâs play itâs a magic glass and we can see what we like in it. I see a fairy palace with gleaming spires of crystal and silver.â
âI see a football match, and our chaps winning,â said Bernard heavily, joining in the new game.
âShut up,â said Francis. âThat isnât play. There was something.â
âSuppose it is magic,â said Mavis again.
âWeâve played magic so often, and nothingâs ever happenedâ âeven when we made the fire of sweet-scented woods and eastern gums, and all that,â said Bernard; âitâs much better to pretend right away. We always have to in the end. Magic just wastes time. There isnât any magic really, is there, Mavis?â
âShut up, I tell you,â was the only answer of Francis, his nose now once more flattened against the smooth green glass.
Here Aunt Enidâs voice was heard on the landing outside, saying, âLittle onesâ âbed,â in no uncertain tones.
The two grunted as it were in whispers, but there was no appeal against Aunt Enid, and they went, their grunts growing feebler as they crossed the room, and dying away in a despairing silence as they and Aunt Enid met abruptly at the top of the stairs.
âShut the door,â said Francis, in a strained sort of voice. And Mavis obeyed, even though he hadnât said âplease.â She really was an excellent sister. Francis, in moments of weakness, had gone so far as to admit that she wasnât half bad.
âI say,â she said when the click of the latch assured her that they were alone, âhow could it be magic? We never said any spell.â
âNo more we did,â said Francis, âunlessâ âAnd besides, itâs all nonsense, of course, about magic. Itâs just a game we play, isnât it?â
âYes, of course,â Mavis said doubtfully; âbut what did you mean by âunlessâ?â
âWe werenât saying any spells, were we?â
âNo, of course we werenâtâ âwe werenât saying anythingâ ââ
âAs it happens I was.â
âWas what? When?â
âWhen it happened.â
âWhat happened?â
Will it be believed that Aunt Enid chose this moment for opening the door just wide enough to say, âMavisâ âbed.â And Mavis had to go. But as she went she said again: âWhat happened?â
âIt,â said Francis, âwhatever it was. I was saying.â ââ âŚâ
âMavis!â called Aunt Enid.
âYes, Aunt Enidâ âyou were saying what?â
âI was saying, âSabrina fair,âââ said Francis, âdo you thinkâ âbut, of course, it couldnât have beenâ âand all dry like that, no water or anything.â
âPerhaps magic has to be dry,â said Mavis. âComing, Aunt Enid! It seems to be mostly burning things, and, of course, that wouldnât do in the water. What did you see?â
âIt looked like Sabrina,â said Francisâ ââonly tiny, tiny. Not doll-small, you know, but live-small, like through the wrong end of a telescope. I do wish youâd seen it.â
âSay, âSabrina fairâ again quick while I look.â
âââSabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting,
Under theâ ââââ
âOh, Mavis, it isâ âit did. Thereâs something there truly. Look!â
âWhere?â said Mavis. âI canât seeâ âoh, let me look.â
âMavis!â called Aunt Enid very loud indeed; and Mavis tore herself away.
âI must go,â she said. âNever mind, weâll look again tomorrow. Oh, France, if it should beâ âmagic, I meanâ âIâll tell you whatâ ââ
But she never told him what, for Aunt Enid swept in and swept out, bearing Mavis away, as it were, in a whirlwind of impatient exasperation, and, without seeming to stop to do it, blowing out the four candles as she came and went.
At the door she turned to say, âGood night, Francis. Your bathâs turned on ready. Be sure you wash well behind your ears. We shanât have much time in the morning.â
âBut Mavis always bathes first,â said he. âIâm the eldest.â
âDonât argue, child, for goodnessâ sake,â said Aunt Enid. âMavis is having the flat bath in my bedroom to save time. Comeâ âno nonsense,â she paused at the door to say. âLet me see you go. Right about faceâ âquick march!â
And he had to.
âIf she must pretend to give orders like drill, she might at least learn to say âââBout turn!âââ he reflected, struggling with his collar stud in the steaming bathroom. âNever mind. Iâll get up early and see if I canât see it again.â
And so he didâ âbut early as he was, Aunt Enid and the servants were earlier. The aquarium was emptyâ âclear, clean, shining and quite empty.
Aunt Enid could not understand why Francis ate so little breakfast.
âWhat has she done with them?â he wondered later.
âI know,â said Bernard solemnly. âShe told Esther to put them on the kitchen fireâ âI only just saved my fish.â
âAnd what about my shells?â asked Mavis in sudden fear.
âOh, she took those to take care of. Said you werenât old enough to take care of them yourself.â
You will wonder why the children did not ask their Aunt Enid right out what had become of the contents of the aquarium. Well, you donât know their Aunt Enid. And besides, even on that first morning, before anything that really was anything could be said to have happenedâ âfor, after all, what Francis said he had seen might have been just fancyâ âthere was a sort of misty, curious, trembling feeling at the hearts of Mavis and her brother which made them feel that they did not want to talk about the aquarium and what had been in it to any grownupâ âand least of all to their Aunt Enid.
And leaving the aquarium, that was the hardest thing of all. They thought of telegraphing to Mother, to ask whether, after all, they mightnât bring itâ âbut there was first the difficulty of wording a telegram so that their mother would understand and not deem it insanity or a practical jokeâ âsecondly, the fact that ten-pence halfpenny, which was all they had between them, would not cover the baldest statement of the facts.
Mrs. Desmond,
Care of Mrs. Pearce,
East Cliff Villa,
Lewis Road,
West Beachfield-on-Sea, Sussex
alone would be eightpenceâ âand the simplest appeal, such as âMay we bring aquarium please say yes wire replyâ brought the whole thing hopelessly beyond their means.
âItâs no good,â said Francis hopelessly. âAnd, anyway,â said Kathleen, âthere wouldnât be time to get an answer before we go.â
No one had thought of this. It was a sort of backhanded consolation.
âBut think of coming back to it,â said Mavis: âitâll be something to live for, when we come back from the sea and everything else is beastly.â
And it was.
RÄspunde
|
RedirecČioneazÄ
|