Alpin didn’t think much of the green wooden
door that stood by itself behind the copse of yew trees.
“This is the Strong Door that bars the way to
the Isle of the Fortunate? It looks just like the door to Uncle Fergus’
orchard. Same colour too. Why all the fuss about gold and jewels when all there
is is this?”
“All those things are symbols,” explained Don
Alonso. “Look at the door knockers. They are shaped like daisies. Daisies are
the perfect flower. Totally symmetrical, they are a symbol of
perfection and balance. That is what is called the golden ratio. The more
something adjusts to the golden ratio, the more beautiful it is supposed to be.”
“I know all about the golden ratio,” said
Branna. “It’s all maths. Beauty is a question of numbers.”
“Bah!”
said Alpin. “Golden ratio or no ratio, I bet I can open this with a kick.”
To prove it, he gave the green door a kick and was
knocked against the yews on the rebound.
“That
will teach you to kick at things like an unhappy mule,” said Michael. “And get
those yew leaves and berries out of your mouth. Everything yew is poison.”
“I don’t need to kick it. There’s nothing to
its sides. No walls. I can just walk in a little to one of its sides.”
It turned out the apparently absent wall that
shielded Apple Island from intruders was there alright. Invisible, put present.
There was no way Alpin could get past the grass that grew before the invisible
wall.
“The grass does look greener on the other side
of the fence,” mused Branna. “It has a shimmer to it.”
“You know? That’s just what I was thinking,”
said Fiona. “Do you think it really is greener or are we imagining things?”
“I’ve never entered through this door before,”
said Michael, studying it cautiously. “There are at least three others.”
We tried knocking and calling for someone to
open from the inside. When we were beginning to think we would never get in, guess
whose face should pop up over the door?
That’s right, Mr. Binky’s.
“Passports, please,” he said beaming. It was
such a bright smile he gave us!
“Passports! Indeed! Since when?” cried Michael
indignantly.
In theory, once you have reached Apple Island,
you yourself become a key to it. If you have been there before and haven’t been
banished, the doors recognize you and let you in. If it is your first time,
they size you up. They open for you if they think they should.
“It isn’t possible!” sighed Branna.
“Right, young lady. Not possible. No need for
passports,” Mr. Binky beamed even more brightly. “Just teasing you. All we
bureaucrats do in the Isle of the Blessed is have coffee breaks. I come here
for brunch every Saturday.”
And he let us in. So much for how Alpin would
never be able to get in there.
“If you’re here to claim homes, I suggest you
go directly to the quarry. You landed at the Southern Pier, so it’s right by
here, as as you can see on this map for tourists I had printed a month ago.”
He gave each of us a small sheet of paper with
a rudimentary map of the sights to be seen at Apple Island which are open to
the public. Four apple tree branches making a cross in the four directions and
an apple blossom in the centre from which they sprang were printed on the map.
Little apples on the leafy branches marked the places one could visit. An S for
the south showed us that the first stop to the right from the Southern Pier was
indeed the quarry.
“Now, hold the map and see that a place name to
the left or the right of the apple marker means to the right or the left
of where you are standing. Now turn in
the chosen direction and wish to be there and take a step forward. That’s all
it takes to get anywhere here. Go!”
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