329. Pulvis Amoris
“What kind of people would send a vulture to fetch a baby
instead of a stork?” asked Remigia Glassywave, both indignant and aghast.
I, Heather, could have said vultures have babies too. Of
their own. But that would have been very know-it-all of me and might have
defeated our purpose, which was to get Mr. Binky installed at Glassy Bay.
“Moony stays!” decided Remy. “We’ll defend him with our
tridents if necessary!”
“Aye, aye!” said Barge Billy. That is what they call Mr.
Glassywave. I have always thought of barges as river things. Things that cross
smaller than the sea bodies of water. I couldn’t help thinking he should have
been called something else. Billy Boat, perhaps. He looked a little like a
goat, not a boat, like some kind of a bovid, but I suppose that is what made me
think of this alternative name. His hair was sun yellow and there was a lot of
it. Like the golden fleece. His wife’s was black and Indian straight, or would have been, if she
hadn’t worn it in two braids she had
just undone. That made it wavy-looking.
But you knew it wasn’t naturally so.
As for where we were at, well, the Glassywaves had like two
huts and a large shed on a promontory. Up there you could stare at the beautiful
beach below in easy fascination and never look away until someone made you do
that. I watched my Uncle Gentlerain’s face as he sized up the place. And I
think he was thinking, "What
can my father have been thinking of sending us here? Mungo
could destroy this site of innocence." Because it wasn’t at all the Memorion's
idea that we should go there, but something that had to do with AEternus’
memory.
“We’re not as lazy as people like to think we are. We’ve
three spaces here, and two are workshops,” said Remy, carefully pushing the door to a grass hut so it wouldn’t fall
to the ground. I can’t tell what held it in place. Magic, I suppose. Not
hinges. Unless they were invisible. Not even so, I think.
Inside the hut, aside from a lot of sand, was a table ,
three chairs, a spinning wheel, two large chests, a pile of driftwood and not
much else. Ah, yes! Looking almost unpresent in the dark depths of the place was
a shelf that couldn’t possibly be better mounted on the wall than the entrance
door was. It was loaded with empty glass bottles of many kinds and colours, one
stand being all coke bottles. On the table were strings and cords and ribbons
and heaps of shells and smooth round
pebbles and sea glass particles. And glue and scissors and needles and such.
“I do jewelry,” said Mrs. Glassywave, and she showed us
samples of it, which were rather pretty.
Mr. Glassywave produces surfboards and boomerangs in the
shed, that is also used to house a boat and other such stuff. And between them
both the Glassywaves craft dreamcatchers, wind chimes and
other kinds of hanging mobiles, some musical without the aid of a breeze.
“I’ll be making a couple of cribs,” said Billy. “We’ve an
emergency. Those kids can’t just be kept forever in baskets of bulrushes.”
“Make a playpen
too,” said Remy. “A roofed one,
like a cage. In case they discover they can fly before we are psychologically ready
to chase them.”
And Billy went
outside and started working on that
right then, leaving us with his wife. The only other thing we heard him say was
goodbye when we left.
Before that, I accompanied Remy and Penny into the home hut
to help them settle the babies in. And through Beau’s mind, always in contact
with mine, I learned what went on outside between my uncles.
“What happens if Binky suddenly begins to age in a rush and
is like forty before midnight and rises from the crib doing a Frankenstein act?”
Uncle Rich whispered to Uncle Gentlerain.
“Belvedere would have warned us. That is not going to
happen,” murmurred Uncle Gent.
“You are such a nice person, Gentie,” sighed Uncle Rich.
“You’ve come all the way here to help a bloke who made your life hell. I am
proud of you.”
“I am not good at all,” said Uncle Gent. “Every time I passed
by Heather’s garden and repaired on Mungo resting there in his box I wished he were truly a mummy. I felt like
engraving an epitaph on the glass. Eius somnia multorum somnia dira erant. Or
Somnia eius erant somnia turbarum multorum. Or something like that.”
“Ah, his dreams were the nightmares of many! Fitting,
fitting indeed. But... desiderium et actio res diversae sunt. And that is why you are such a nice person. How
about if we buy some sea glass stuff for our wives? It would be nice of us,
wouldn’t it?”
“And daughters,” said Uncle Gent. “And for my
mother-in-law. You have made me think I should have a word with her.”
“Because of what I said about Fancy and Umbrian getting together being unnatural. Isn’t that so? I
never meant your girls might have to do with it. Maybe I should have bitten my
tongue. If I didn’t, it was because I never imagined they could be involved.”
“I really hope Cybela had nothing to do with this union. But I also
hope she has a notion why Fancy and Umbrian became an odd couple.”
“Daddyman, it was our first try,” said Belle and Bella in
unison to Uncle Gentie. “Before that, we only matched owls and pussycats in pea
green boats and such. We’re here because Grandma said to come and tell you two
things. First, what we just have. And then not to buy her anything from here.
She only wears diamonds. But we wouldn’t mind having some sea glass and silver bracelets
ourselves. Thank you.”
“You have just admitted to having hexed Umbrian and Fancy?
Retract! Or they could sue you!” hissed Uncle Rich, very worried because of his
part in this revelation.
“Nah. Hexing is by witches. We just gave them a teensy
push. Put them in the right place at the right time,” said Belle.
“And blew a little pulvIs amoris in their direction,” said
Bella. “To enhance things a bit. We don’t use arrows either. No making hearts
bleed. Not even a scratch. That’s our policy.”
“You can’t use love dust unless both the parties involved ask you to.”
“We know that now,” said Bella.
“But we didn’t then,” said Belle. “In any case, they had a
good time. Sweet memories that will linger with them forever. Not everyone has
as tender an affair as they had. That will never change just because it came to
a sorry end.”
“Your grandma told you to do that? Or was it strictly
your own idea, girls?” said Uncle Gent.
“No, Gentie! Don’t you go sticking your own foot in this mess
now. They didn’t do anything. They aren’t admitting to this. You hush you
mouths, girlies,” said Uncle Rich. “Like I should have mine. Nobody has to know
about this. It happened like three centuries ago and you were probably minors.
You know what a secret is? Well, this is one. Keep it!”
“We were over seven.”
“But it was your first century. People can be considered unimpeachably
stupid until they are at least their first hundred years old. You needn’t
answer for this.”
“I will. I'll be as discreet as possible and won’t say a thing or raise a row, but now I feel
I am going to have to help Fancy. And maybe even find the tantrum thrower.
Where can he possibly have hidden himself?” sighed Uncle Gentlerain.
“Admit you want to find him because you are curious,” said
Uncle Rich. “You want to learn how to hide as well as he has.”
“I want to find him because I have a conscience that has
never allowed me to live in peace.”
“No!” said Richie. “You just can never leave things be.”
No comments:
Post a Comment