117. The Parafairy

Once we had entered the unkempt and frondose garden of Owl Wood Manse, Don Alonso and I began to search for sinister Uncle Jumbisack. Alpin, instead, sought for magic pencils. Johnsie was too scared to return to the manse and just stood by the hole in case he had to rush for help. But Vinny climbed up a tree to see what he could see.

“Well, what?” said Alpin to Vinny. “Spotted any pencils?”

Vinny shook his head.

“I’ve spotted...headstones. Go see and tell me if I am seeing right.”

“Oh, yes indeed,” I said, once I had cleared some tall bushes and reached a plot of land that appeared to be the private cemetery of Owl Wood Manse inhabitants.

There were a few large headstones and several small ones. The first, I think, were for humans. The little ones, for departed pets, who seemed to have been much loved.The obituaries carved on the headstones made one think the humans had been appreciated too, and this spot was not as unattended as the rest of the garden. I concluded we were not among bad people...or dangerous ghosts. But it remained to be seen what Uncle Jumbisack would be like.

“Don’t tell me we are going to dig up tombs to find magic treasures. I’m not an Egyptian grave robber. I can’t do that. It’s not against my principles. It’s that I’m famished and about to faint.Should I call Gregoria and have her dig for me or will she spoil all our fun and force us to leave?”

“You let Gregoria be. It’s her off day. And we’re not going to do any digging. These graves don’t look old enough to be treated like an archaelogical find. I wouldn’t touch them. We’ll walk around them in case there is a pencil lying somewhere about.”

“Well, is anyone seeing pencils?” said Alpin.

“I think I’m seeing a man next to a sack.. Am I?” asked Don Alonso.

                

Alpin gave a horrible shout and leapt back.

“Where? Where?” I cried.

“Right there,” said Alpin, hiding behind a headstone and pointing straight ahead. “He’s digging a grave before our very eyes. I can’t believe it! We’ve caught him in the act! In broad daylight! I want out! Which way was the hole?”

“The last time I saw something shaped like a sack it turned out to be a wineskin instead of a giant,” said Don Alonso. “This man’s face is quite red. He’s probably fond of wine. We shall be very scientific and verify this. I wish I had X-ray eyes to see  what’s in the sack.”

The sack was made of mustard-coloured leather with long-lashed turquoise eyes embossed on it and was bound by colourful leather strings. The man next to the sack was inside a hole up to his waist. He looked about sixty, had piercing blue eyes and a grey beard and was very red in the face. He wore blue overalls, a red shirt and a yellow straw hat. He began to crawl out of the hole he was digging, frightening the daylights out of some of us.

“Yow!”

               

“You, sir,” called Don Alonso, drawing his sword. “You of the jumbisack!”

“No, you, sir!” cried the man back. “What do you mean coming here armed? Careful what you prick with that sword. Some of us are mortal. I mean I myself and the lady in my sack.”

“Villain!” cried Don Alonso ferociously. “Release that lady at once!”

I had to do all I could  to hold him back, for he was about to attack, and his adversary had a stout spade next to the hole he’d been digging.

“Can and will do,” said the red-faced man. He looked as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but nevertheless was calm and collected. “It would be better to release her deeper in the forest. She’s feral and lives there.”

The man opened the sack and a she-cat with stripes like a tiger and an unusually thick tail crawled out of it.

“You’ve changed her into a cat, vile red magician! Turn her back into the lady she was!”

Uncle Jumbisack rolled his eyes.

“I can’t do anything like that. I’m not a vile red magician. I’m a veterinarian with cuperosis.”

            

“Meow?” asked the cat, after staring first at Don Alonso and then at the veterinarian.

“I don’t know what this is about either, Pilar,” said the man to the cat. “But it’s kind of interesting.” He turned to us and said, “Why have you invaded my property?”

“Mr. Jumbisack,” said Don Alonso, lowering his sword, “we have to enquire what is going on in this place. One of your neighbors had a most unpleasant experience when he fell through a chimney in this house.”

“I see. I suppose you are speaking of a leafy that landed in a pot of my oil. Fortunately, though I had not removed it from the fireplace, it was already cool. It serves to cure wounds, especially those that would otherwise be mortal. But it doesn’t cure without first plunging the patient into a deep stupor, so profound that when he comes out of it he rarely remembers what has happened. The leafy did not rub it on. He swallowed it through the mouth and nose while swimming in it.I would have succored him if he hadn’t flown off like a bat out of hell. Is he alright? That was months ago.”

“Yes,” said Vinny. “He is now.”

Mr. Jumbisack let a plant drop into the hole.

“Was planting matico,” he muttered, tossing earth back into the hole.

“Soldier’s weed?” said Don Quijote.

“Right. By the way, I’m not Mr. Jumbisack,” he said, nodding. “I am Lonefellow Shyboy. My great grandfather was Reverend Thomas Shyboy, which is why they call this house a manse. It never really was one, for he was retired the day they finished building it.”

Mr. Lonefellow coughed and then went on introducing himself.

“My father, Mr. Hermeticus Shyboy, was born here and only left this house to fetch his bride, my mother, Miss Lorna Pineaway. Went all the way to the West Indies for her. They had been corresponding by mail for years and were as in love as they were misanthropic.They are buried in the garden, next to other family members.”

“Then you weren’t digging a fresh grave?”

  

“No, thank heavens! My mother knew a lot about herbs and potions and she made this jumbisack for me. I use it to transport wounded animals I find in the forest. Once I have cured them, I return them to their habitat. I like animals better than people. And, yes, I am a Parafairy.”

That explained everything, at least to me. A Parafairy is a human who would have preferred to have been born a fairy person and who in consequence lives like one. Parafairies may get to develop some magical skills out of sheer insistence. Especially if they are third generation and on.

“I’m telling you all this because I hope to be left well alone once I have satisfied your curiosity. Now, you satisfy mine. That there is a Leafy. And the boys are fay. But you, sir...are you a ghost, sir?” he said, studying Don Alonso’s doublet and tights. “My great grandfather was a paraghost. Doubting Thomas they called him, for after reading Darwin there was nothing he didn’t have doubts about. He was afraid there might be no afterlife and feared he might never be able to haunt a place, so he built this house to do some haunting in life. He doesn’t do his haunting here now. He prefers to haunt his old parsonage now that he is the real article.”

“I’m a character in a novel,” said Don Alonso.

Mr. Shyboy’s Parafairy eyes lit up in delighted recognition.

“By Jove! Have I been challenged by  the Knight of the Woeful Countenance? Why are you wearing that...mask?”

Don Alonso explained that times changed and he was thinking of becoming a superhero.

“I’d shake your hand, sir,” said Mr. Shyboy, “but as you can see, mine are a mess.”

He shook some dirt off them on his overalls, and waved them to show why he couldn’t.  

“Sir,” I said, “I have a message for you. Your garden wall wants me to tell you that the man with the power, that is, Prime Minister Binky, has expropriated this house and plans to tear it down to build here a school that will teach fairies to understand and appreciate humans.”