181. Pomsylvania
“Take a deep breath,” said Uncle Gen. He took one himself too. “Are we all calm and collected?”
Heather, Thistle and I nodded.
“Then we´re off to see the puca? The grumpiest puca of all?”
We nodded.
Uncle Gen pointed at one of the four roads before us. And we were off.
We soon saw the bridge the puca Garth was supposed to be haunting. Uncle Gen signalled for us to stop before we got to it. He put a finger to his lips. We proceeded in dead silence. We made no attempt to cross the bridge. What we did was peek cautiously under it. Suddenly, a wild horse, black as a moonless, starless night, blasted out of nowhere. Because we could fly, we were able to get out of its way and did not get trampled on.
“I’m a Goodfellow!” cried Uncle Gen, still hovering in the air. When the puca is a horse, he can’t fly up in the sky. “Like you. I’m here to see you. I’m Gentlerain. Do you remember me?”
The puca shifted to his real shape. He was not looking as bad as he sometimes does. He was wearing green, but his skin was not green. It was a strong shade of pink. This made me wonder if he had just fed on something bloody. But he couldn’t have, unless it was red beets. He is a strict vegetarian.
“Why are you here?” asked Garth surlily.
“I would like to have a word with you. A quiet one if possible,” Uncle Gen looked over his shoulder to check if we were alone or not. “I don’t want to be overheard by casual passersby.”
“You mean a private word,” said the puca. “This had better be a matter of importance, Gentlerain.”
Suddenly, everything went cloudy. Then it got to be as dark as a moonless, starless night. Fortunately, we can usually see better than cats can in the dark. We could see one another, but everything else was plain black. That probably meant there was nothing to be seen.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” said the puca. “No one will hear us here.”
“Where are we?” asked Uncle Gen. He was asking the question we all wanted to ask.
“You are in the basement of my ideal home,” said Garth, making a face, a grimace, that was probably trying to be a wicked smile. “Mind what you speak. You might not be welcome here.”
Uncle Gen wasted no time.
“I have a problem with the Dullahans,” he said. “Because of that, I have to ask you about their younger son. The one you changed into an apple.”
Garth nodded as if he understood.
“Everybody has a problem with that imbecile,” he said. “But if the problem is because he has disappeared, you are asking the wrong person. I don’t have him. He’s not here. See for yourselves.”
The whole scene changed again. This time we were under a beauteously blue sky, in a very small apple orchard.
“Where are we now?” asked Uncle Gen.
“In Pomsylvania. That´s what my apples call the garden of my ideal home,” said Garth. “´Tis small, because my ideal garden is the whole world. Here, I keep my apples.”
“So this is where you grow your apples?” asked Gen.
“No. Where I keep them. You’re not so clever, Gentlerain. They say you know everything. But you don’t, do you? You’ve never seen what I have here. No knowledge of Pomsylvania, eh?”
Uncle Gen looked around. There were several trees before us. But there were apples only on one. These apples were all gathered in this one tree, roosting there like hens. And they were all staring at us. With a single, mouldy eye.
“Ye gods and little fishies!” gasped Uncle Gen, very, very softly. “Don’t tell me you have more of these!” he whispered.
“Eat forest fruit out of time and see what happens to you because of this elf. Eat it twice out of time, you heedless fool, and become a fruit yourself.”
“I see. So all these apples used to be people. But…why are these apples here? I mean, Alpin is at home with his parents.”
Garth began to speak in verse. When the fay do that, it means they are getting carried away and something, good or bad, will happen.
“Some of the changees, when they fell to the floor, were eaten by a wild pig, perhaps by a boar. Munched on by rabbits, hares, ants and such when I got to them, there wasn´t left much. Those that I found lying on the ground, here I keep, safe and sound.”
“What the pesky mannekens, Garth!” exclaimed Uncle Gen, still speaking very softly and very, very low. “You’re saying you are a serial kidnapper! Hasn’t anyone claimed these people?”
“A fool who eats out of time who would miss? Be inconsiderate and end up like these,” recited Garth, pointing at the apples. They were looking at us as if no one had ever visited Pomsylvania before. And despite their silence, they looked very, very expectant.
“So these are the ones no one has claimed? That means there are… more!”
“Only the Dullahan brat lives with his kin. That’s because they are almost as bad as him. The favor-asker one must avoid. He is not a spirte with whom to be toyed.”
It was clear to us that Garth had let Alpin live with his family because he didn’t want trouble with Darcy.
“I see. You´ve reached a compromise with Darcy, haven’t you? The kid remains an apple, but with his folks. I need a list, Garth,” said Uncle Gen. He looked quite calm, considering what was going on. “A list of who these apples are.”
“Picked, not stole, and never out of time,” explained Uncle Gen. But it was too late. Black and grey smoke was rising from Garth’s menacing fists. It enveloped Uncle Gen before he could finish speaking. And there he was on the ground, poor Uncle Gen, changed into a cute pink apple with a pert and mouldy eye.
I rushed to grab the apple before Garth could get to it. Heather began to scold Garth and Thistle kicked him in the shin.
“Let there be peace!” cried Apple Uncle Gen, now as loud as he could. “I’m fine!”
I thought he still hadn’t realized he had been changed into an apple. To break it to him gently, I asked him if he could see everything with his mouldy eye just like Alpin could.
“See? I think I need glasses,” said the pink apple. “A monocle, that is. But I´m fine. If there’s something I know how to do, it is shapeshift. I was destined to learn a lot about that. And right now I know more. I have just learned how this one-eyed apple spell works! Put me on the ground, Arley.”
I did, and Uncle Gen became himself again.
“Seriously, Garth, we have to do something about what you have here,” said Uncle Gen. “And let’s be sensible about this.”
Uncle Gen made a pen and some paper appear. He drew Garth aside. I suppose they began to discuss what was to be done about the apples. We sat down under the trees to wait more comfortably.
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