58. The Singspiel

It was just like Salty said it would be. Lira forwarded the bottle with the message in it and Mr. Binky was soon searching for my parents so he could deliver it to them personally.

                                              

He found my parents in the Royal Opera House. They wanted to say goodbye to the summer with something special and had asked their favorite composer, Mr. Felix Mendelssohn, to compose a singspiel for them.

In case you don’t know what a singspiel, it’s a light German opera with spoken dialogue. My parents would perform it themselves before the fairy people.

  

“Mi, mi, mi, mi, mi,” my mother was rehearsing. “Bon vivant big spender! Out! Out into the snow! Tra, la, la!”

“Avaricious egotist! Bah! All will be well! Crick, crick, crick! Crick, crick, crick! Do, re, mi, fa, sol! Fa, la, la, la, la!”

The title of the singspiel, as you may have guessed, was “Die Grille und die Ameise,” which, if I am not mistaken, translates into English as “The Cricket and the Ant.”  

The singspiel was based on one of my mum’s favorite fables. It is about a cricket who is able to do nothing but revel and make merry all summer thanks to the fine and bountiful weather. A foresighted ant who has been working hard hoarding food all the while tells the cricket off and lets him starve when the winter comes. Unlike Mum, Dad does not like this story. He says it only serves to take the joy out of living.  

                   

  

Michael’s malicious brother Kevin, the Amadan Dubh, Dark Fool or mad fairy court jester,  asked Puck what he thought of the show.

“The music is catchy, but the lyrics leave something to be desired. Who wrote the libretto?”

“You have an orchard, don’t you? Why don’t you lend me some veggies?” smirked Kevin.

The Amadan knew there would be malcontents among the audience on performance night. These were the fairies who refused to move to Apple Island and were sticking fiercely to their ancestral homes. The ones that thought Titania and Oberon were surrendering too much territory to the mortals.They were sore people and might dare to show it if ably manipulated.

Kevin thought it would be fun to inflame these spectators and provoke a riot. But my Mum, who is a trifle paranoid, always anticipates trouble and she was ready for it. She called my sisters and gave them some pointers on how to behave when booed.

                              

“Girls,” she told my sisters, “listen and learn. Look at the costume I’ve designed for my role as the Ant. I’m wearing a huge crown of cereals, fruits and vegetables, like Ceres, the goddess of good harvests. That way if anyone throws vegetables at me, I will pick them up and make a matching bouquet. It won’t look as if I’ve been insulted. And remember to wear black when there’s a risk of being bombarded with rotten tomatoes. The stains won’t show as much.”

                                      

“If anyone throws vegetables at me,” said my dad, “I will have a barbecue brought on stage and treat everyone to roast vegetables. I have a secret recipe for barbecue sauce few can resist.”

“Oh, for the love of Pomona!” sighed Puck, calling for help on the goddess of orchards. “All that will probably come from my orchard. I’ve been breaking my back all year for this.”

                                           

“Forgive my interrupting you, your majesties,” said Mr. Binky, “but a letter for you has arrived by sea in a bottle. It seems to be urgent.”

“Hey! It´s from Arley,” said my dad, beginning to read the letter. “He says he’s fine.” That was inded how I had started my letter, reassuring my parents that I was well so they wouldn’t be too worried.

“A message in a bottle! Isn’t that cute!” exclaimed my mum. “Ah, he really knows how to write. Well, if he is fine, have someone give him whatever he is asking for.You can take care of that yourself, Mr. Bingley.”

Dad handed Prime Minister Binky the letter and my parents continued with the rehearsal.

                                        

 “Let’s see what that kid wants now,” muttered Mr. Binky, as if I were always seeking his help and attention, which is absolutely untrue. He began to lip read my letter with my sisters, Heather and Thistle, reading his lips in turn.

“Darn! This kid doesn’t know how to summarize! He’s written a whole journal! How could the bottle have floated with this inside?”

“We’ll read the rest of the  letter, Mr. Binky,” offered Heather. “We know you’re a very busy man.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Thistle,  tearing my letter from Mr. Binky’s hand and directly reading the end of it. “Can you believe it?Arley’s gone and gotten himself kidnapped again!”

“Why would he want to do that?” asked Puck.

“It’s probably Alpin’s fault,” said Thistle.

“Are the kidnappers asking for a ransom?” only Heather was genuinely worried.

“Why else would he be allowed to send us a letter?” replied Thistle.

“Where has Mr. Binky gone? Did you see him leave?” Heather looked about the hall, but the Prime Minister was nowhere in sight. “We might need him to deal with the pirate. Who knows what he might want for a ransom.”

“Binky’s about to enter Minced Forest,” said Thistle, with the help of the localizer she wore on her wrist. “We’re off! We can’t let him get away!”