119. Builders

With a shotgun in case things should get rough and a large can of his cure-it-all ointment in case anyone got hurt, Lonefellow Shyboy headed for the office of Prime Minister Binky bent on having his property restored to him. He was travelling there in the tacky van of his nephew Tyrone, a popular graffiti artist, whom he had enlisted for this battle with a written promise of mentioning him again in his will.On their way to confront the Prime Minister, the Shyboys picked up many a hitchhiker determined to make his quarrel theirs. 

Those that do not plough the earth and live only of what it gives them spontaneously can react like beasts when they believe someone has taken unlawful possession of it. Mr. Shyboy shared with the Leafies a profound dislike of the human race. Many parafairies strongly disapprove of the human race, and its grave mistakes in its treatment of  Mother Earth is often one of the reasons why they have renounced being members of it. 

The Leafies had it clear. Lonefellow Shyboy and his family had lived among them for over a century without depleting their forest. In fact they had added to it,especially by curing its animals and even trees. They planted more than they harvested.They gave more than they took, and what they took they returned. And they had done this quietly to the point of being almost unnoticed by the sharp eyes of the watchers of the woods. Now that Lonefellow had stepped into the light, their sympathy was all for him and not for Mr. Binky. So they boarded the Shyboys’ car bearing the easiest arms for them to own, that is, tiny but sharp splinters. 

  

Meanwhile, totally unaware that war had been declared agaisnt him, Mr. Binky was bitterly complaining to himself that it was September again without his having been able to inagurate his cherished dream school.

It was, he thought, not his fault. He had spent the whole summer dealing fruitlessly with builders. First he contacted the Earl of Pearl, magnanimous builder of the ideal homes in Apple Island. But the great man rejected Mr. Binky’s offer with these words:

  

                                   

“I can barely build fairy homes for all the children that are being born to us. I hate to have to say this, but I can’t accept your generous offer. I would be lying if I didn’t also say that I am not sure it is a good idea to have dealings with humans instead of fleeing from them. I know you think the Apple Island Project is pure escapism. But for those of us who believe in it, it is our only hope. Good day, sir. And good luck to us all.”

After many a failed attempt, Mr. Binky was finally able to sign a contract with a Romanian master builder who boasted of having taught the trade to the famous Magister Manole. But this fellow never once showed up at Owl Wood Manse, for which reason even the demolition of the old building was not accomplished.

When Mr. Binky, impatient and stressed, phoned him to ask what was happening, the builder said he would visit the site once he had gathered all the material he needed to build the school. After every one of the Prime Minister’s calls, he would send to the Ministry a sack full of sand or a bag of nails to appease Mr. Binky. When Mr. Binky saw the summer was almost gone and autumn was right around the corner, he decided to show up personally at the builder’s office to put pressure on him. The builder said he lacked one indispensable element without which it would be fruitless to begin to work. He couldn’t find a soul for the building.

                                

“A building is like a person,” explained Master Builder Viorel Wadim. “A body cannot stand without a soul in it. It collapses because it is dead. The same would happen to your school. It could never hold itself up. We have searched everywhere and even published ads in the fairy papers but we have failed to find a fairy batty enough to want to be locked up forever within your little school. We have only one alternative left us. But I would only do this under your responsibility. Don’t count on me to do it if the state does not authorize me to.We could kidnap a mortal and annex him to the building by the simple procedure of walling him up in there. Humans have souls too, you know?” 

“But...what are you saying?” Mr. Binky could not believe his ears. His bland self was shocked into sounding emphatic. “Certainly not! I can’t begin to build a school meant to reconcile fairies and humans by walling up an unfortunate mortal within it.”

“Well, then it’s up to you. I can’t do more than this,” shrugged Viorel, and he resigned.

It was clear that Mr. Binky had to resort to another kind of school of architecture. But which? Luckily for him, it is when it is darkest that it dawns. As he sat there in his office thinking there was no one who could help him, the greatest of storytellers appeared before him to offer a solution. In exchange for some priceless and impossible to obtain elsewhere books from St. Job’s library, Scheherazade was ready to cede him an architect.

                                                

“I will give you,” she said, “Aladddin’s lamp. Its genie can build a palace in only one night. Your school will take him about an hour. It will have courtyards with fountains with lions spouting perfume from their mouths, orange trees and lots of jasmine growing in the gardens. It will be built in Makrana marble, like Buckingham Palace in London.”

“They speak truly, those who call you wise,” said Mr. Binky.

“I’m also practical. So give me a briefcase with my books and you can have the magic lamp right now.”

Mr. Binky gave her the books and Scheherazade snapped her fingers and a young man in a turban appeared by her side.

“This is Batish Afsoon,” Scheherazade said to Mr. Binky. “And this,” she said to the young man, “is Mr. Mungo Binky, who will be your new master.Yes, as soon as he formalizes the contract with you by polishing the lamp with one of those clothes used to clean metals that can be bought at a dimestore.”

The young man bowed to Mr. Binky and deposited one of the said clothes, still packaged in a plastic bag, on Mr. Binky’s desk. 

“That’s all you have to do to be able to call the genie Abdi, which means my servant,” said the great lady.

“And I will get to hear him say that my wish is his command?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“I’ve always wanted to hear that said to me! Well, here is the genie, but where is the lamp?”

Scheherazade said the lamp was waiting  outside in the parking lot.The lamp’s young and handsome new genie had turned it into a car to drive the lady Scheherazade to the ministry, but since Mr. Binky had acquired the lamp, she would return home by flying carpet. Sending her home by this means would be the last service Batish Afsoon would perform for his already almost ex-mistress.

“The flying carpet is in the lamp, that is, in the car, mistress,” said Batish Afsoon, “and the car is in the parking lot.” 

The genie assured Mr. Binky he would return with the lamp as soon as he had seen the lady off so the prime minister could rub it, just as the lady had ordered. When he and Scheherazade left, Mr. Binky leaned back on his chair and took a few minutes to enjoy the sensation of a great relief at having the load of finding an architect lifted off  his shoulders.

When Scheherazade flew off, Batish Afsoon turned to the car with the purpose of turning it back into a lamp. But it was badly parked, because there were a lot of trees in the parking lot and there was no one else there when he arrived, nor did it look as if there would be and he hadn’t bothered to leave it where it could be well seen and so ...