309. Ghosts of the Old Manse

309. Ghosts of the Old Manse

I, Little Dolphus, the intellectual Leafy, have been asked about the ghosts that haunt Owlwood Manse. So I  went to visit the little cemetery there is on the grounds of that house. I went up to the wall that surrounds the manse and asked for permission to slip in through a crack and the wall wrote “Do so! Pass!” on itself and I did. The grass there was so tall I had to climb up a purple clematis vine wrapped round a rusty iron structure to see where I was. As if high on the crow’s nest of the mast of a ship, I looked around me and saw a swimming pool with light green water close to me, a log cabin to my right, hidden among large, leafy trees still at their youngest green, and then the old manse in the distance, and to its left, the cemetery plot I sought for. 

There was a breeze, and I took advantage of it, fluttering my wings and allowing it to carry me to where I wished to go, landing lightly on the mossy headstone of  a grave that belonged to a certain Juno. The cemetery was rife with little offerings that had been left there on the graves for ages and others that were new. They were gifts from grateful animals, such as a few acorns from squirrels and two or three cherries from birds who been attended by Lonefellow. Two little statues of angels there were, but mostly it was simple headstones, rounded or squared, that marked the graves. A cat and a dog rested before two of these, loyal, perhaps, to their once owners. There were fresh cut flowers, especially lilies and pansies, probably brought there by Tyrone and Felina,  and there were  flowers that were growing there beneath the late spring sun. Plenty of pink dog roses, white peace lilies, blue bacopa blooms, lavender zinnias and lavender itself grew there, once carefully planted, now wild.

I drew out the notebook where I jot down information and was about to write down the names on the headstones when Theophilus Shyboy, the boy who would have been heir to the manse, appeared leaning on one of the angels. His green-eyes  were squinting at the setting sun and his longish brown hair shook a little with the wind. There he stood, looking not a day over thirteen, and I wondered how long it had been since he had moved away from mortal life. He had reduced his size to match mine. My natural size, that is. So the stone angel looked like a giant behind him, instead of a dwarf at his knee.

“Which one is yours?” I asked, pointing at the graves.

“I haven’t got one,” he asnwered. “I’m supposed to have disappeared. I never got to die. I was saved at the last second. Turned into one of you. That’s what I am now. One of us.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” I said.

“People do tend to think I am a ghost. I’m not surprised you thought so. Why are you here? Not that I mind. I’m only curious, if I may be.”

“Of course I’ll give you an explanation. I’m on your property.”

I told him I had been asked who haunted Owlwood Manse and that I had thought browsing through the cemetery might give me an idea.

“They aren’t all here. At least not till December. Some show up at different times. Some do spend the summer here. My Uncle Longfellow and his wife Juno are here all year lately. They live in their part of the manse, just as they did when they were living. At first my uncle was very upset with my little brother Tyrone for having sold the manse, but that is over now, because Oberon has returned it to us. He’s a nice fellow, and a fair one most times. So he told Ty two limos can’t really pay for a bit of earth. Earth is far more valuable. Priceless, he said it was. He let Ty keep the limos when he returned the manse to him. He said Ty had been generous and he would be too. And he was. I was present when this happened.”

“Only Dr. Lonefellw and Miss Juno dwell here as ghosts?”

“I’ll start at the beginning. The Reverend Doubting Thomas Shyboy built this manse, as you may know. He retired here when he began to have doubts about the Bible after having read Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. Now he knows what it´s all about, he returned to the authentic old manse he once lived in and had abandoned to come to this one. His wife, Isabel Ruth, dwells back there with him. 

They do come here for Christmas. Their sons…they had two, Marius and Hermeticus. These two don’t look alike at all, but their character is similar. Both secretive and reserved. But they say hi when they see me, though not much else.  

Marius and his wife Melissa were much into gardening, and they still drop by about once a week and look after the orchard and the greenhouse here, but they don’t cut the grass because it would make their presence too obvious. But they talk to possible pests and dissuade them from visiting themselves on the grounds, and they water the place at night, surreptitiously, when needed.

Some nights you can hear music over at the Manse. It´s not fay music. It’s Hermeticus and his wife Lorna Pineaway. They drop by and play their old instruments. Now and again one hears his violin or her harp. This place is especially noisy at Christmas. Carols and all, you know.Ty and Felina are unaware of this because they visit her parents during the holiday season. 

Marius had a son, Tristan Edward. He married a mysterious lady who said her name wa Elaine Elfa right after the Second World War. She is very beautiful and a great cook. Both of them are great cooks. They opened a place called the Elfa Café in some city I forget, maybe in Paris. They come here and prepare the Christmas dinner and lunch, cluttering up the kitchen. But the result is wonderful. Of course, the ghosts only feed on memories of what they have eaten in life, unless one burns their food for them and they take in the essence with the smoke. But Elfa’s food helps them remember. I and any fay folk present eat to our fill and delight. They had no children that I know of, Eddy and Elfie. Hermeticus and Lorna had two sons. It took them a while, for they married late. He went to the West Indies to fetch her. One of their sons you are acquainted with.

Yes, the veterinarian Lonefellow Shyboy. His wife Juno was a very friendly, very funny and happy woman who died rather young. He never got over the loss. I think I said they are the only non-mortals ones who live here permanently, aside from me. They are happy again now. Together again. 

Lonefellow’s brother, Fred, was my father, and, of course, also Tyrone’s. Our mother was Alice. She kept bees and he was an insectologist, an expert in butterflies and ladybugs. They often spend the summer here. And we still have good honey because she sees to that yet. If there is anyone else haunting the place, well, I wouldn’t know." 

Theo seemed to have finished, but suddenly he added, "Ah, yes! Just the ghost Matheo, a kid who drowned in Lake Jittery and lives in that cabin there with his friends Dorotheo and Timotheo, two voluntary abductees, and fay now, almost as much as myself. We need a name for that. Changelings won’t do, because though of course they have suffered a change, that name is sort of reserved for exchangedlings, those mortals who were exchanged for bad fairies when they were babes. I let them live there, the other three Theos. They like life in the woods even more than I did. Do. I offered them rooms in the manse, but they prefer the cabin. I sleep in mine still. Up in what is almost an attic. I have that all to myself. I don’t make noise so as not to scare Felina. She looks like a ghost herself when she comes out here to play ball with the forest cats at midnight, but she doesn’t feel too comfortable among spectres. She makes Tyrone come out with her at night and she avoids this part of the manse at any time!" Theo pointed at the grave when he said that.  

 "The Theos do come over on Christmas Eve and Day too. By now you are probably aware that Christmas is the most ghost-active time of the year here at the manse.”

And then I got an invitation. Theophilus gave me a big smile and he added, “You can come have Christmas dinner with us, or lunch on Christmas Day, if you want to. And you can come wander all over this place whenever you wish. Leafies always have freedom of way here.”

And then he turned towards the graves and probably noticed the wee headstones on those of the pets, for he added, “Mustn’t forget the pets. Some live here all year. Others drop by with their former owners. That dog and that cat lounging on the graves are fay. I made them so. The dog is Barney, and he belonged to Uncle Lonefellow and I fayed him when Unk died, becaus he was distraught and beginning to look like a goner himself. And the cat is one of Felina’s, her eldest cat, and her name is Rebecca. She began to show wear at the age of twenty and I acted before she passed away.  The animals buried here, well they were Pinky Meow, a strawberry blonde cat that belonged to my mom, Alicia. Lulu was my mom’s black cat and Luna  was a grey cat that belonged to my Aunt Juno. Fluffy was her dog, Bitsy her fish and Itsy a mouse she adopted. Ralph was half-wolf, half-dog, Darling was a red fox. Tootsie was a snail and Pearl Uncle Eddy’s dog. I think that’s it.”                 

The sun had set and I looked up at the sky.

“There are a lot of angels hovering over the cemetery, aren’t there?” I said, looking up at the sky. “I can see them among the stars.”

“They’ve been picking flowers. About to wilt. Flowers can also be saved. The angels take them to the celestial gardens, where they bloom agan. There always are angels here. Because people said this was a sort of manse, I suppose. But you should see the sky on Christmas Eve. Do come over. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”  

"Don't leave me out. I´m a house cat ghost. Specially when it rains."

308. The Fifth Comb

308. The Fifth Comb

Rosendo opened the package that Teddy Theodore had delivered. He undid the cobalt blue ribbon round it and removed the golden paper. And what he had before him was a leather case with embossed reddish-pink roses and green leaves. Very pretty the case was.

“Shall we open it?” the great grandmother asked her great grandson. “Open it yourself, darling. You know it is for you.”

Rosendo zipped the case open. Within it were nine moonstone combs.

“Combs! And how lovely they are!”

“No, dear. Only one. Don’t be surprised. All the combs are for you. But the gift I am truly giving you is just one of these. The rest are there to camouflage the special comb. You are going to have to learn how to go unnoticed when you use it. Yes, one of these combs is special.But no one must be aware of this. Or they will want to steal it from you.”

 “Ah!” said Rosendo, studying the combs to see if one stood out.

“It is the fifth comb. It could have been the third. Three is a very magical number. Ot the seventh. Seven is the lucky number by excellence. But to go unnoticed, it is the fifth, A less notorious number.

“Ah!”

“Draw it out. The fifth comb. You must know how to distinguish it from the rest. You, yes.”

“By its size,” said Rosendo.

“When it is among the others, yes. Because all have different sizes. But when by itself, it won’t be that easy.”

“Here, in this corner, there seems to be a little blue face. “

“Well, that too. Listen, this comb is a genuine replica of the one I just used to put AEternus to sleep. He’ll wake up any minute now. Very relaxed at first, and if we are lucky, and he is too, he’ll take the little girls to pick flowers for their may baskets. But it is likely he will soon start to growl if someone reminds him of Brushland and the thieving bird and the inhabitted big wig.”

“Ah, the girls will tell him that! How the wig is infested with nests…”

 “Then we have no time to lose. I have to charge the comb. Where is there water? All that is needed to make the comb work its magic is a bit of local water. Whenever you have used it, you must wash it with local water and that’s that. Ready to work again.”

“There is a fountain right here,”said Rosendo, “but will this water do?”

“Yes, if ´tis blessed island water. Now we´ll know.”

The greatmother and her great grandson walked up to one of the many fountains there are all over the island, placed there so anyone who is thirsty or wishes to refresh himself can do so. The water that springs from these fountains is of the purest, musical and crystalline, with light blue reflections. Divina washed the fifth comb in such water.

“Enjoy me and my powers,” said the water, as it dropped tinkling like a silver bell. The water of the fountains of Apple Island can speak, or rather sing, with a heavenly voice, inviting you to use it well.

“Done,” said Divina, after havingthanked the water for its service. “No need to leave the comb under the light of the moon or any of that. With a little bath, we´ve enough. Now you can tranquilize anyone who allows himself to be combed. In your case, first to be calmed shall be Brushland.”

“Oh!” said Rosendo.

“Look, I am going to hand you a brochure with instructions on how to use the comb. Read it as quickly and thoroughly as you can, and try to interiorize all they say, because the brochure will destroy itself quite quickly. You understand that this gift I am giving you is very important and one must be very careful with it? It can knock anyone out.”

“Yes, Great Gran.”

The brochure Divina made appear said: Firstly, never raise suspicion. Wash after use. Wash all the combs at the same time whenever possible, if it doesn’t look odd. Thirdly, Massage the patient’s head before using the comb so that everyone will think the massage is what conks the patient out. Tell the patient he must keep his eyes shut while you massage his head so he can relax better. This should make observers fail to notice exactly when the patient conks out. Fourthly, pass the comb as soon as you are done massaging. It must look as if you are doing this so as not to leave the patient’s hair looking messy. As soon as the comb grazes the patient’s head, he or she will fall fast asleep. Pass the comb thrice through his locks and that will be enough to leave him slumbering for an hour. The more you use the comb on a patient, the longer he will remain asleep. The peace the patient shall feel when he wakes will last for seventy-two hours if he has slept for a whole hour. Unless someone makes him hysterical. But even thus, whatever he does, he will do with serenity and better judgement than usual. Lastly, do not use the comb  on just anyone. And don’t be stupid enough to try it on yourself. It is a  highly dangerous weapon you are being trusted with.

As for Brushland: Speak first with Henny Parry, the apothecary. He can be trusted. Between you both you should be able to convince the lunatic that he has to submit to a daily treatment if he wants to get rid of his mad ideas.Once convinced, and I hope he will be easily, tell him he must drop by Malvinio's beauty salon every day as soon as it opens. That is all the madman has to do, show up and put himself in your hands.Then you must massage his head to conceal what you are really doing. For five minutes or so. Then immediately pass the comb through his hair. The minute it grazes his head, he will conk out. This will look like the result of the massage. You comb Brushland a bit as if you don’t want him to have messy hair and then you wash the comb and keep it while he sleeps. Do this without raising suspicion. Be very natural.When Brushland wakes, even though the effect will last seventy two hours, remind him that this is a daily treatment and he must return the next morning. He’ll do this. He is desperate.

The brochure destroyed itself as soon as Rosendo had read it and said he had understood everything and knew what to do and would remember all the instructions. I, Little Dolphus, had read it too, so I could be of aid to Rosendo should he forget something. My memory is both photographic and infallible.

“One last bit of advice,” Great Gran Divina said to Rosendo. “It is possible that Brushland will want to move to the beauty parlour and live there to make sure he gets there at the appointed time every day. You must discuss this with Malvinio. No, I myself will. Yes, I myself and right now. Don’t worry about this detail. I will make it my business to convince Malvinio.”

 

307. The Theos

307. The Theos

“Listen to me carefully, Rosendo, dear. I am about to give you a gift, but you must promise to defend it. On no account must it fall into the wrong hands.”

“I’ll do what I can, Great Gran,” said the little hairdresser to the Lady Divina.

“Now, I’ve called the Theos. And they should be here any minute with it.”

Divina had barely spoken when a smiling  young man, probably in his late teens, popped up in front of this lady and her great grandson.

“Madam!” he sang, and handed her a small, rectangular package wrapped in gold paper tied up with a cobalt blue ribbon.

“That will be all, Theodore,” said Divina, smiling too. And the man disappeared.

“Now, you well know that in this island we try to be truly blessed. Good climate, good food, good homes and best of all good manners and even better intentions. And you are probably also aware that out there things are very different. Not everyone can live here. You have to be good to live here, but even that has its degrees. Last December at the St. Lucy’s Christmas bazaar you met your great aunt Dadivosa and her husband Generoso, the couple who organize this sale. They are good people, very good. But they can’t live here. They are so good they feel an irresistible need  to live outside.  They had a house here. In fact, they were given three here. One after the other. Because they were good, they received houses, and because they were too good they gave them to people who couldn’t live in them. Well, the Theos could and are still living in one. Dadivosa and Generoso brought a number of people to the island who eventually had to be invited to leave or who left it in disgust because they thought they could do better outside. But we put up with the Theos because they were harmless. Are you asking yourself who the Theos are?”

“Yes,” said Rosendo.

“Once they received their third house, Divina and Generoso understood that they themselves couldn’t live here. The people they had ceded their first two houses to not only destroyed the houses but also thought they weren’t good enough for them. You see, Generoso and Divina’s  ideal home is far from being the kind of home bad people want. Not everyone appreciates poverty and misery like the generous couple do. Do you know what a Protestant is?”

Rosendo shook his head.

“Protestants are mortals some of which have an idea called the work ethic. They think mortals who don’t work and try to get ahead in life can’t get to one of those heavens mortal people can get to. Other people think the poorer and the more miserable you are, the more likely you are to go to mortal heaven. I don’t know why I am saying all this. The bad people who wanted more weren’t Protestants, only stupid beings who wanted more for free. That must have something to do with it. Generoso and Dadivosa aren’t selective. They help anyone they run into, good or bad. I wonder if they can tell the difference? In any case, there are also groups of people who think mortals can only get to a mortal heaven if they are poor and miserable, but let’s not get into that. All you need to know just now to understand me is that to live in this blessed isle you needn’t be awesomely poor or awsomely rich. All you need to be is a good neighbour. That’s why we are called the good neighbours. That’s your family name you know. Or did you think it was Richearth? That is also a name of yours, because of your daddy. But your great granddaddy is Mr. Goodfellow, because he is a good neighbour. And you are a Goodfellow, and goodfellows are good neighbours. So be good.”

Rosendo nodded.

“So the generous couple said to us, `Look, we  know we are upsetting things here and we are failing you and we know we have to go.´ So what we did is we gave Generoso and Dadivosa an ideal home in Minced Forest, next to that of Death’s Coachman. There is a kid there who has an exiled ideal home there too. A colossal one. Only he took it to some island. Not ours. Do you know who Death’s Coachman  is?”

“No,” said Rosendo.

“He is someone who prefers to live closer to where he does his job. And you don’t know about him because we have no use for him here. His place is among mortals.”

“Oh!” said Rosendo.

“Are you still asking yourself who the Theos are? Or have you forgotten all about them by now?”

“Yes,” said Rosendo.

“I hope that yes means you do remember we are talking about the Theos.Well, Generoso and Dadivosa live next to Minced Forest where they can help mortals and bad fairies. I don’t mean they help bad fairies do their bad stuff, though sometimes the good they try to do backfires. Most truly bad fairies don’t want to be anywhere near Generoso and Dadivosa. They are so good they give bad fairies the creeps. But fairies who are confused or mentally unstable sometimes allow themselves to be helped. So do good mortals. Aren’t you going to ask me who the Theos are?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do so, dear. So I can get on with our business.”

“Who are the Theos, Great Gran?”

“When Generoso and Dadivosa left the island, they gave their third house, a local ideal home, to five mortals who were about to drown in Peevish Pond. Actually, two of them did. Maybe three. Are you going to ask me if that is the same place as Lake Jittery?”

“Is it, Great Gran?”

Rosendo had never heard of either Peevish Pond or Lake Jittery.

“It is. It’s not a big lake, but sunlight never reaches the bottom of it. So it’s not a small pond either. There should be a name for that, shouldn’t there? For something between a lake and a pond?”

“I see,” said Rosendo.

“No, dear. You don’t see. Because sunlight never reaches the bottom of it, like I said. And even those of us blessed with great vision in the dark have never seen the bottom of this place, though mostly because we would rather not. How about you? Would you like to know what there is down there?”

“Not personally,” said Rosendo, with some difficulty. He hoped to express himself right and did. “But if you can tell me what there is there, yes, I would like to know.”

“Well, I don’t know personally either. Never been near the place. But I do know there are a number of ghosts there. Deep, but not wide, that’s Peevish Pond or Lake Jittery. So the ghosts are a little crowded there. Some are not the kind to seek company, quite the opposite. Loners of the woods type of ghosts. So it would have been a bad place for the Theos to live in. Many and boisterous Theos. Which is why your Great Uncle Generoso and your Great Aunt Dadivosa pulled the Theos out of there before they were all properly drowned.”

“The Theos are ghosts?”

“Not all of them. Two of them were  undisputably drowned. One didn’t want to live if the others were drowned. Another didn’t want to live if the third didn’t live. And the remaining one decided he might as well not live either.”

“There are five Theos?”

“Your questions are getting smarter and smarter,” beamed Divina on her great grandson. “But there are six Theos, though the sixth, who is really the first, isn’t related to the other  five. Though in truth, none of them are related. You’re going to say you don’t understand what I am talking about, aren’t you?”

“Is it like a riddle?”

“No. It´s my way of saying things. It annoys a lot of people. My way of saying things. But that’s how it is. I know! I will draw the information for you. Illustrations. That should help.”

And Divina made an artist’s block of paper appear out of nowhere, and some felt pens in seven colours appeared too. And all this stuff stood stiff in the air as she drew her version of the Tale of the Six Theos.

“This is a rowboat. Now we put people in it. More than should be there. This fellow is Theodore. We’ll call him Ted if we remember to. He’s rowing. So is Theona. They are in love, but this isn’t a tunnel of love, though the boat is a two-seater, but they don’t know that. That it is for two only. Oh my! How do I draw that they don’t know that? I have to make them look ignorant? Do they look ignorant to you?”

“Ignorant,” nodded Rosendo, after peering at the picture and studying it attentively.

“Good. As I was saying, this is no tunnel of love. It’s Lake Jittery. Look, here’s a lot of  green slime and frowning water. And one of the kids on the boat starts to get jittery. Oh, I haven’t drawn the kids yet, have I? Theona is their babysitter and she thought it would be fun to go camping. Neither she nor Ted had ever been camping before. Like I said, ignorant. Does it show here they have no idea what they are doing? Of course, there is always a first time for everything, but you always have to have a bit more than no idea about what you are doing if you are going to do something. Does it show they haven’t? Any idea? Look, I will draw Theona clutching one kid with an arm and another with her leg. Because she’s trying to row with her other hand. That should prove she doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into. You see, there’s a third kid. I’ll draw him and he’s the one that gets most jittery. Okay, now I will draw this kid in the water. His name is Matheo. Did I tell you that before? No? Well I have now. So now Pond Peevish is peeved because there’s this kid sinking to the bottom invading its waters. No one knows where the bottom of this place is, I remember having said that before, but the way to get there is going down. So down goes Matheo. I will draw him five or six times sinking so you can see he is sinking lower and lower. You get the general idea, don’t you? Now Theodore, that is Ted, can’t stand hearing Theona scream hysterically, so he jumps into the water to try to draw Matheo out, but there are creatures in the water that don’t like his being there either and they drag him down too. They should have kicked him up if they wanted him out, but I think they don't know how to do that. Only grab you and hassle you to show discontent. And he can’t even see where Matheo is. I´ll cover all this up so you can see how dark it is on the  way down there. Block it all out. Or is it black it? Now Theona jumps into the water too, because her boyfriend isn’t coming out. She tells the kids to stay put before she jumps. I’ll draw her screaming `Stay put!’ as she jumps. But Timotheo has jumped into the pond before she has finished yelling. He is very much an empath, but I don’t see how I can draw here that he always is. Just that he got excited and jumped. Now two good fairies, also empaths, see what is happening and they come round flying – see their wings – and they pull out the babysitter and the Timotheo kid. But the girl says she doesn’t want to live without her lover and Timotheo doesn’t say anything because he is coughing out water like a faucet full of air when it hasn’t been opened in a while. I will draw the noises here. So the good fairies plunge again into the water and draw out Theodore and Matheo who are unfortunately now confused ghosts, though they are hardly aware of it yet. So they don’t know whether to cough or not. It might no longer be necessary. Between us, it isn’t, we know they are dead. It´s not easy to grasp and draw a ghost out of water. It´s not easy to get hold of them at all, but I suppose you know because you have a brother and a sister who drowned too, though you weren’t there to rescue them, but it’s not your fault because you couldn't possibly have been, so don’t fuss over that. Promise me you won´t!”

“I promise,” said Rosendo.

“Good, because then I needn't console you and can get back to the Theos. Generoso and Dadivosa – did I say they were the good fairies? No, I don’t remember saying that, but they were and I say it now, are arguing with the girl who doesn’t want to live now that her boyfriend is a ghost and she has to explain what happened to Matheo to his parents. Now there is a fairy law that you ought to know. Have you been taught it? If you haven’t been born knowing it, you should have been taught it. Mortals see you, you disappear as fast as you can. You speak with mortals, you have to abduct them. So Generoso and Dadivosa say to Theona that she needn’t drown, they will abduct her and Theodore and Matheo too can tag along and be all together forever because ghosts and fairies are spirits and can mingle. The generous couple will also have to abduct the other two kids, because they are witnesses, but they can return them in a while though it’s not a good idea because time will have passed and they might be so old they might collapse turning into a heap of ashes when back in the mortal world. The dry kid says he would rather stay with his chums anyway. So Generosa takes hold of the hand of the  dry kid. See, this kid she is holding is dry. I haven’t drawn him all wet, because he wasn’t. He never went into the water like the other two kids did. But when Generosa tries to get hold of  the kid that nearly drowned and was awfully wet, the one that coughed like crazy, well, he isn’t anywhere to be found. Do you want to know why? Of course you do! I don’t know why I waste time asking. Because he fell back into the water, and Generosa is about to go for him when who should show up hauling the kid that coughed up water, coughing again for all he is worth, but…Can you guess it?”

“Water sprites?” asked Rosendo.

“NO! Count on your fingers, dear. How many Theos are there?”

“Two ghosts and three abductees.”

That was all Rosendo could count so far. 

“The sixth Theo! Remember how I said there was a Theo that had nothing to do with the others? Let me draw him here. That’s what he looks like. Yes, this is exactly what Theophilus Shyboy looks like.”

“Theo!” I, Little Dolphus, the intellectual Leafy cried. I was listening to all that was being said because Leafies are allowed to do that. That’s how discreet we are. We never report anything we overhear unless we want to. And we very rarely do.

“Tell Rosendo who Theophilus is,” smiled Divina. “I’m rather tired of talking.”

“Theo was and is from a family of Parafairies. He lived with his folks in Minced Forest, in a house there called Owlwood Manse. His family still lives there, all ghosts now, save his younger brother, a fellow called Tyrone and his wife, Felina of the Forest Cats. Theophilus lives in a cabin on the grounds with other kids.”

“With Matheo, Timotheo and Dorotheo. Dorotheo is the dry kid, I forgot to say that was his name. Generoso and Dadivosa took the five Theos to their third home in Apple Island, but the kids made friends with Theophilus and preferred to live with him in his cabin.”

“Theophilus is a ghost or an abductee?”

“It isn’t clear,” I said.

“Ah, whatever he is, he’s a lovely boy,” said Divina. “The water sprites he was close to turned him into one of us when he was almost dead. They were able to save him because they got to him when he was breathing his last. The three kids who were involved in the Lake Jittery tragedy live in the cabin. Theophilus gave them a roof. They do nothing but enjoy nature there. The babysitter and her boyfriend live here, on the island. In the third ideal home we gave the generous couple and they gave the Theos. In mortal life, he worked in a factory and manufactured all sorts of products. He still does that, though not to live. Just to entertain himself.”

“Theodore?” Rosendo had understood by then he was expected to ask questions.

“Teddy, yes. And Theone. They live here. Do you want to know what is in the box he brought to us?”

Rosendo nodded.

“If I may ask.”

“A replica.”

306. A Scruffy Tree and a Green and Yellow Basket

 306. A Scruffy Tree and a Green and Yellow Basket

“Ohhhhh!” cried out  Azuline. “It has left the island!”

The godwit had flown all over Apple Island at a frightening speed, dizzying all of us who were watching its flight.

“Has anyone spotted the wig?” asked Bejewelled Pietro. “You must tell me. The bird is mine.”

“No,” replied Rosendo. “I don’t think any one has seen the least trace of it, not a single hair fallen off the wig.”

“No, no, no,” we all said, exchangeing looks and shaking our heads.

 And it was true. Neither we nor the godwit had seen what we sought. So we again fixed our eyes on the crystal ball.

“The bird’s reaching Minced Forest,” announced Azuline. She sounded worried, because she was worried.

“Be calm,” I, Little Dolphus, the intellectual Leafy, said to her, “for I have kith and kin there.”

And suddenly…

Yes, that appeared on the screen. That is, on the crystal ball. That, more or less. Mostly more than less.

In case you don’t understand the illustration well enough, what it wishes to convey is the idea of the enormous big wig spread all over a dusty, scruffy tree. It was rife with nests that were in turn rife with eggs, supposed by us to be of birds. I am certain more than one local spider had moved to reside there too. As well as other creatures. And we must take into account that this tree was not growing in Apple Island, but in Minced Forest, where the conditions of public health and sanitation are not the same as they are here. Out there, birds defecate, though the illustration preferred not to show this.

“I would sooner hang myself from that tree with my great aunt’s widow’s veil than put that wig thing on my head. I no longer want it. Ughs! How revolting! All yours. Return home, Spione!”

Thus spoke Bejewelled Peter. The last three words, that brief order, he spoke at the medal that hung round his neck beneath the pearl choker he was wearing. It seems that this medal was a contraption he could use to communicate with the godwit.

“Mission accomplished,” sighed Pietro to the godwit through the medal.

“Not by us. We have failed,” lamented Azuline. “We can’t leave the island. We’ve been forbidden to. So we can’t recover the wig.”

“You wouldn’t have it easy in any case,” said Bejewelled Peter. “I don’t think whoever laid all those eggs there would give up the wig without a fight. A tough one, too. Who knows what might hatch in those nests? If it’s birds, as soon as the eggs crack, they’ll start twitting like a chorus of demons, all at one time. That would drive you mad, being there then would. I admit the big wig must have been a superb example of its kind at its best moment, but now it is nothing but a piece of s*** stuck on a stick.”

“That’s rude. You mustn’t say that,” scolded Rosendo.

“Ah, alright, tiny tot! Well, garbage hanging from a tree, then. If I were you, I would forget this. Like I mean to. If I can get that awful image out of my head. Of course, I shall ask my grandparents to gift me with as fine a wig as this one. But brand new, don’t doubt it. How could I have ever coveted a second hand wig? It may have had lice in it even before having been stolen. Come on, Spione, turn back into a brooch!”

Pietro’s last words were spoken now to the godwit, who had just landed on the windowsill.

“Not even water?” asked the godwit. “After the effort I’ve made?”

“That was like nothing for you. But fine, go to the kitchen and have them serve you champagne, or whatever you would have.”

“Glögg for me, since I am Scandinavian,” said Spione, “and skäl  to you all!”   

“Only savages would wish one health using the word skull,” said Pietro. “But go have your mulled wine, do.”

And the godwit flew off, probably to the kitchen where Pietro had sent him.

“Shall we tell our uncle now?” asked Anemone.

“That is all we can do,” said Azuline, very sad not to have better news to transmit.

“Of course I could wash the wig and maybe leave it looking almost new,” offered Rosendo. “Let´s fly back to the beauty parlour first. I will ask Malvinio for his advice. He has more experience than I do.”

“Will Uncle Gen shoo all those birdies out of the wig?” asked Anemone.

“Nah!” I said. “I don’t think he will want that wig back either. But who knows? Perhaps there is a better solution. Let us return to the parlour just like Rosendo has suggested. Out of respect for the original owner of that wig, I think we should ask your great grandfather first what to do about it. If your great grandpa is still at the parlour.”

He was there.

“¡Hush!” whispered Divina the second she saw us at the door. “Great grandfather is having a nap!”

There he was, the great AEternus,lying on a lazyboy snoring very softly.

“Daddy says that great grandpa sleeps with one of his eyes open;” said Azuline.

“Which explains why he has nighmares,” responded Divina.

 “But both his eyes are closed,” said the child, who had crept up to the chair to spot the open eye.

“Because I put him to sleep myself,” said Divina. “Conked him out properly. So he wouldn’t drive us all crazy fussing about the wig and your uncle. This way, we all get to rest. Don’t get too close to him, dearie. He might wake with a start.”

“Ah!” said Azuline, and she retreated a little.

“And you, love? What have you got in your green and yellow basket?” Divina asked Anemone. The little girl had been staunchly carrying a green and yellow hamper that was almost as big as she was, and filling it all the while with flowers she had found on her way throughout the Poison Path (though not one  in the basket was poisonous) and even in Bejewelled Peter’s gardens. Being Apple Island flowers, even the wildest had refrained from wilting the least bit and were fresh as a fresh fig. 

“How German of you,dear,” Divina said to Anemone when she saw the lovely contents of the basket. “But you’ve done very well. These flowers are very welcome. Malvinio, be so kind as to do these girls hair. These blossoms are bound to please AEternus. I would like his pretty granddaughters to be the first thing he sees when he wakes. That should keep him from grumbling. Meanwhile, I need to speak to Rosendo.”

And Malvinio, in great and careful silence, began his task, while the great grandmother took Rosendo out of the parlour so that no one would hear what she had to say to him. Well, no one but me.

305. Bejewelled Pietro's Godwit

305. Bejewelled Pietro’s Godwit

“Do you like my outfit?” asked Bejewelled Pietro.

When we got to his mansion,  aside from the solid gold butler and the sterling silver maid who opened the front door, both automatons, the first and only  person we saw was someone wrapped in widow’s weeds. To our surprise, this was Bejewelled Pietro himself.  He removed the heavy, dark veil he was wearing and we saw a youth who had done nothing to make his face look like someone else’s.

“You lack a tear,” said Rosendo, "I think.”

“Mmm. Really? You may be right,” said Pietro, and he pulled a box of multi-coloured eye pencils out of a pocket and painted on his face one large tear that seemed to be dropping  gracefully from his left eye. Then he contemplated himself for a minute or two in a splendid Murano glass mirror.

“I am the Tsar of Looks,” he said proudly. “I don’t own a hundred or a thousand. I started collecting them when I was three, two to four a day, and now I have hundreds of thousands, just as many as the tsars owned serfs.”

“So, if you have that many, you aren’t mortal. I thought you might be, because your  great aunt was, I suppose,” said Azuline, “or she wouldn’t have worn mourning clothes.”

“No. Only her husband was mortal.”

“But that’s not a real problem for us. When mortals die, they become ghosts. She and he could still be together, being both spirits. I have a brother and a sister who are ghosts and they live with me and we share the nursery.”

“Whatever!” said Pietro, and he produced a black ostrich feather fan and fanned himself so his tear wouldn’t melt.

“Can we introduce ourselves and tell you why we are here?” I, Little Dolphus, the intellectual Leafy, said. “This isn’t only about you, you know.”

“Rudely put. But do, do introduce yourselves and state your business here.”

And when we had, he said, “Why has it never ocurred to me to dress up like Louis XIV? I don’t see how it can have escaped me to. Maybe I just don’t remember if I have. So many outfits, so many looks…how to remember?”

“Don’t you keep track of them?” asked Azuline. “As a historian, I think you should take a picture of each and keep an archive.”

“Why, yes. So I should have. Is it late to start? I have lost so many, handed over and condemned to oblivion. But getting back to what concerns you people today, I must say that no, I had no idea that colossal big wig existed. First notice, I just got. Thank you for informing me. Of course, I can find it. My grandparents have ways to find stolen jewels and this wig sounds like one. Yes, surely I can locate it. But not for you. For me. I want that wig.”

“Now we´ve done it!” I murrmured to the kids.

“No, the Rare Bird’s done it again,” said Azuline. “He’s sent us to someone he knew  would swipe the wig from us.”

“Tsk, tsk! Not swipe. Finders keepers. I find, I keep. Won’t I make a splendid Sun King  if that wig is really as cool as you say it is,” sighed Pietro.

“That wig has a purpose. And it’s not to decorate a swollen head like yours. Well, yes, it was made for a swollen head, but not yours,” I said. “For a much more serious one with serious problems.”

“Which part of finders keepers don’t you understand?” said Pietro. “Now, I must get down to finding the big wig before someone else does. Want to watch me do it? Or would that only make you suffer?”

“We’ll watch,” I said to Pietro, “so at least we’ll know where the darned thing is.” It was my idea to let Pietro find the wig and then have my cousins swipe it from him after he had stolen it from us, as he threatened to do.

“Then follow me to my treasure  chamber,” he said.

We went down a long, dizzying staircase, descending to the basement. Once there, he opened one of eight doors before us turning his left pinky into a skeleton key. And we passed through the door.

Bejewelled Pietro’s treasure chamber was not a lightless place with heaps and piles of treasures strewn all over the floor. It was a passably lit room with only a greening bronze table and six matching chairs in the centre. Its walls were all lined with small, white, wall safes. Pietro went up to one of these and spun the dial, marking a combination. It snapped open and he drew out a rectangular metal box that he set on the table. He sat down, spun a second combination, and the box opened too. From it he drew a purple velvet case.

“We have what we need,” he said, and we returned to the room where he had received us. Pietro opened all the windows there were there, large ones they were. And then he opened  the purple case and drew out a brooch shaped like a limosa lapponica, which is nothing more and nothing less than a bar-tailed godwit.

He spoke to the brooch, saying something like this, “Spione, we are searching for a gigantic, very eighteenth century like wig that has been stolen by an unidentified bird. A big bird surely, one  able to carry such a heavy object. Locate it for us.”

He set the pin on a window sill and the brooch got up and turned into a real gotwit and spread its wings and flew off. 

“This kind of bird can fly nonstop from Alaska to New Zealand. He won’t stop flying until he has spotted the wig. We use this device to find jewels magpies thieve and sapphire bracelets stolen by satin bower birds and such. If a bird has stolen the wig, it is bound to be in a nest. A big nest, for a big bird’s nest is  easier to spot than a small one. Now we can sit on the sofas and watch the show.”

And we occupied two large sofas that faced each other. Upholstered in blue silk embroidered with gold thread madonna lilies they were. On the golden coffee table between them was a crystal ball the size of three basketballs in one. And in that we saw the godwit flying on his mission.     

304. Butterflyweight

304. Butterflyweight

“So that model of hubris said to you that he would himself recover the big wig for you, but then he sent the babies to go find it. And to the Poison Path, yet.”

“Don’t tell me all that. I know as much about it as you do, and your raving only serves to infuriate you even more. You don’t unburden yourself when you speak out, AEternus. You work yourself up. And all about nonsense. I instead know very well that my son is watching those babies just as you are spying on him. Nothing will happen to them. Besides, that path is called Remedy Road. You yourself gave it this name when you allowed certain plants to grow there. Don’t go changing its name now.”

“Fine, but don't you go telling me what I also already know either. Plants aren't to be judged by the use fools make of them. Well the kids haven’t remedied a thing. They’ve been poked fun at.”

“You are the one who allows the Jocose fools to drop by the island now and again instead of expelling them from here once and for good. The bird sent the babies to that place to provoke the Double W Guardians. The Jocose jokesters hate the guardians because these don’t allow them to pluck plants there for their gross and unsavory pranks.”

“That rara avis is no Jocoser, Divina. As usual, you don’t catch on to what’s happening. That bird is your favorite son-in-law’s court jester.”

“Kevin?  Isn’t he a little old to be flitting about disguised as an odd bird?”

“Soon we shall know. He’s going to take a spill any second now. That branch won’t hold him up much longer. If he doesn’t get up when he bites the dust, well, that will mean he is old. He will have to sleep a while to recover. But why does he have to break branches off our trees to make people laugh? It’s not funny!”

“That happens because you don’t boot that scoundrel from the island for good. Come, do sit here in this luxurious armchair, right before the mirror. Seeing as we are in a beauty parlour, I’m going to massage your head. I’ll do your scalp, neck and shoulders. A bit of healing energy will do you good. So you can relax, because if not you’ll work yourself into throwing a fit and just because of the ridiculous big wig.”

“Well...I do like the massages you give me.”

“Of course. They are one of the pleasures of life.”

And AEternus took a seat at Malvinio’s beauty salon and allowed himself to be calmed down.

Meanwhile, Azuline, Rosendo, Anemone and I, the intellectual Leafy Little Dolphus, left behind the Poison Path or Remedy Road, as it is officially called, and once again ran into the Weird Bird that had fooled us. He was still sitting on the same branch.

“What? How did it go with Willibald and Winnibald? Did they have the big wig?”

“We return empty-handed and red-faced. Because you made us feel and look ridiculous, and made us offend two innocent creatures. You´ve fooled us, perverse bird!” I said to the Weird Bird.

“I? Aren’t those two in need of a wig? They could perfectly have swiped yours.”

“It’s not ours. ´Tis Brushland’s. Listen, you wouldn’t be the bird that stole the wig, would you? It has just occurred to me that you could be.”

“Certainly not! Does it look to you like I am in need of a wig? What with my beautiful red hair!"

“What you are in need of –“

I didn’t have to say more. My Apple Island cousins had understood very well what the rare bird was in need of. Three of them sprang at a time from the top of the tree to the branch the weird bird was perched on. They did this shouting “Mock butterflyweight, eh?”

The bough broke and the bird crashed to the ground, taking a fine thump when he bit the dust. My cousins, who are very light but incredibly strong, picked up the branch and adjusted it once more to its tree, begging pardon for the trouble they had caused it.

“Well, so you’ve been avenged now, haven’t you?” said the  bird. “And I have done nothing but try to be of help to you. I’m sorry it didn’t go well for you with the Double W Guardians.”

“Yes, now you sure are sorry. But not before,” said Azuline crossly, as she watched the bird rub his coccyx.

“Look, to compensate for your trouble, I will suggest you visit another possible wig thief. Bejewelled Pietro is a collector. And a capricious fellow who always must have the best. Why don’t you ask him if he has your big wig among his? He has more than two hundred. Some are of solid gold thread. Others, of platinum.”

“And who would that be? Another weird bird or bald fellow?” asked Rosendo.

“Neither one nor the other. He is the pampered grandson of Titania´s jewellers.”

“Let’s see what sort of mess you get us into now!” I scolded.

"If I had known I would have visitors, I would have worn a different look than that of my great-aunt's widow's weeds."