by Annet Schaap
But he must not count, he must not think, he must not be so damned sentimental. He has to act. Get on with it! Practice! Why are you just lying there?
Then the door flies open, and that stupid child runs in.
“You have to come with me,” she says. “You really have to come with me, Fish. We’ll take the cart, but Lenny can’t come—it’ll be too complicated. I’ll get you down the stairs. I can pull you.”
He has no idea what she is saying. He is not even listening.
“Stop calling me that,” he says. “And go away, I’m busy.” He tightens the straps of the harness.
“Edward, then. But you really have to come with me, Edward. If we go now, we can make it before dark. Listen, I’ve…”
“Are you deaf? I said: I’m busy.” He shuffles back over to the walking bars and starts to pull himself up.
“Fish, you can’t…Edward, you can’t stand. So stop trying.”
He gives her his blackest look and shows her his teeth. She takes a step back but does not go away. He concentrates on his arms again. But she does not give up. She walks over to him and pulls at his shoulder.
“This is important,” she says. “You really have to listen.”
What could be more important than this? It is almost evening again, and he does not know how much time he has left. All those days when he did not practice…
“I’ve seen your mother.”
“What?” He crashes to the floor. That girl kneels down beside him. She smells of the wind and of outside; her hair is wet.
“Fish. Edward. Really, I’ve seen your mother. At least I think it was her.”
He does not have a mother. So it can’t be true.
“She had eyes just like yours and—”
“So what?” he sneers. “Eyes? What does that mean? Everyone has eyes.”
“No one has eyes like you, Fish,” she says. “No one at all.”
Now what? His eyes?
“And what kind of eyes are those?”
She takes her shard of mirror out of her pocket and holds it in front of his face.
“Haven’t you ever seen yourself? Take a look. And when you go into the water, they turn gold.”
Edward stares into his own eyes.
And suddenly he remembers what he dreamed about last night.
to the fair
The wheels squeak and grind, and they still have so far to go. Nick and Lenny let the cart out through the gate while Martha was working in the cellar, so she did not notice anything. Nick turned the key in the lock, and Lenny stayed behind, watching sadly through the bars as Lampie and Edward disappeared into the forest.
“It’s bumpy,” says Edward. “And this blanket stinks. Where on earth did you get it from?”
Lampie needs all her breath to pull him.
“Ouch, mind where you’re going!” says the boy. “You have to go around the stones. And that wheel’s wobbly. I think it’s about to come off.”
Lampie stops for a moment. “Be quiet,” she says. “Someone might come along.” For a while, there is silence.
“Is she beautiful, this mother?” Edward asks very quietly.
“She looks like you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“But she’s more…whole. You’re half and half. And she is completely, um, mermaid.”
“And her hair is green.”
“Yes.”
“And her legs are…”
“Yes.”
“Was she nice?”
“I don’t know; she didn’t actually say anything.”
“I bet she isn’t.” Edward stares into the distance. “No one’s nice.”
“I’m nice. I’ve pulled you all the way here.”
“Then turn around. Take me back home.”
He says it, but he is not sure that it’s what he really wants. He dreamed about her last night, about this mother, or whatever she is. He does not understand how it is possible; he has never dreamed anything like that before.
He sees her for the first time and he already knows her so well.
Her face is his and his face is hers. Their tails are the same, and their hair fans out in the same way.
Laughing suddenly feels so easy. It comes out of their mouths in bubbles. And there is suddenly so much to laugh about.
Then she takes his hand and pulls him along. They shoot forward, into the deep water, deeper than he could ever have imagined.
Big shadows of whales swim in the distance; smaller fish dart past in shoals. All around him everything is waving and glittering and rippling, and she strokes his cheek and swims past him, laughing, and he finally belongs somewhere.
But dreams are just dreams.
“Forget it,” says Edward. He is cold, and all that bumping has made him feel sick. The road is full of potholes. “Forget it,” he repeats. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re going home.”
Lampie turns around and stares at him. “You must be mad!”
“We’ll go another time. I need to think about it first. I have to practice walking. I want to—”
“We can’t! The fair will be gone,” says Lampie. “They never stay for long. They might not even be there tomorrow. If it’s your mother, then we have to find out now.”
“I don’t need a mother,” says Edward. “I’ve never had a mother. I’m used to not having a mother. So just take me home.”
“No,” says Lampie. She is absolutely certain that she must not do that.
“I am your boss!” Edward says in an angry whisper. “My father is—”
“Fish,” Lampie suddenly says in a strange voice. “You need to get back under your blanket. Now. And you have to be quiet and not move at all.”
Someone is coming around the corner, heading toward them, and Lampie immediately sees who it is.
She looks around. The undergrowth is thick to the left and the right, and there are bushes full of thorns. Can they quickly find something to hide behind? Do they still have time? But the tall figure is swiftly coming closer. Lampie has not forgotten how steadily she always strides.
Her? Again? she thinks. What is she doing here again?
the schoolteacher’s heart
Yes, what is she doing here? Miss Amalia? On her way to the Black House? Again?
Nothing in particular, she tells herself. It is Wednesday afternoon, and she has sent those annoying children home. She is just going out for a walk, and she is allowed to go wherever she wants. And that just so happens to be here, on the path to…Well, yes. To his house.
It is quite a climb, and she is slightly out of breath, so she loosens the bow under her chin.
Even though she is such a great admirer of the admiral, Miss Amalia is not as keen on that house of his. Far too large, and so drafty and dirty. It is no wonder that people start telling strange stories. About monsters and so on. Of course she does not believe a word of it.
And she also does not like the road that leads there. It is so sinister here, in this dark forest where the sea mist lingers. If someone were to come along…Someone who meant her harm…If she screamed, who would hear her?
She laughs at herself, because of course there is no one else here. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it? Ah, but someone is coming.
Miss Amalia peers along the road with anxious eyes. But then her face brightens, as she can see who it is now. Oh yes, her eyes are still in excellent condition.
The girl, Emilia, is walking along, pulling a sort of cart behind her. A cart with something in it. Something that…She sees the girl stopping and trying to turn around. As if she is startled, as if she has something to hide.
Miss Amalia shakes her head. She might have known.
A child like that, from that dirty lighthouse. You could be certain, no matter how well behaved and shy she might se
em, that she would steal the cushions out from under you as soon as you were not looking. She has stolen something, that girl. Stolen from the house where she was so kindly welcomed, and this is how she pays it back, the ungrateful brat. She is quickly trying to pull a blanket over whatever is in the cart. But not quickly enough, my dear girl.
The admiral should be grateful, thinks Miss Amalia. At least someone is still keeping an eye on what is going on in his house, as he clearly cannot expect his staff to do so.
It’s for the better, she will say to him, that someone was around with eyes in her head and your interests at heart.
You are a marvel, Miss Amalia, he will say with that funny little smile he sometimes has.
Miss Amalia would rather have a crowd stoning her in the town square than ever tell anyone what she sometimes hopes for. A man all on his own, in that big house. Someone should be keeping an eye on him, shouldn’t they? And why should that someone not be her? She is a woman, is she not?
“Emilia! What a coincidence, meeting you here like this.” Miss Amalia holds out her hand.
“Hello, miss,” says Lampie. She gives her hand a very quick shake.
“You’re not wearing your new dress.”
New dress? thinks Lampie, and then she remembers. “No…” she says. “It, um…”
“Were you on your way into town by any chance? Is it your free Wednesday afternoon?”
That was yesterday, wasn’t it? Oh no, it’s still today. Lampie gives a little nod. “I’m allowed to go to the fair.”
“To the fair? How nice. Is the admiral home yet?”
“Not yet, but almost, I think. We’re busy cleaning everything.”
“And they just let you have the afternoon off?”
“Yes, I have to, I mean, um, I’m going to…”
“To the fair, you said? And you’re taking something with you?”
“No,” says Lampie.
“So what’s that, then?”
“Nothing.” Lampie can’t think of anything to say. She sees Fish move a little under the blanket. Oh, please just let her walk on, she thinks. Why won’t the woman leave her alone? Why won’t she mind her own business?
“You’re probably wondering: Why won’t this old woman mind her own business?” She laughs, but it does not sound very friendly.
Lampie shrugs.
“But I really would very much like to know what you have there. Will you show me?”
Lampie shakes her head. She sees the blanket move again. Stop it, Fish.
“Are you sure about that?”
Lampie nods. “Yes, and I really have to get going, miss. I’m sorry.”
She tries to pull the cart past the schoolteacher.
Miss Amalia looks at her badly sewn dress and her worn-out shoes. It is not that she does not understand…A child like that, she has never owned very much, and now she is in such a big, wealthy house. It is tempting fate, it really is. Of course it is her duty to inform the admiral, and she plans to do exactly that; in fact, she is already looking forward to it. But if anyone in the world has a tender heart, thinks Miss Amalia, then it is her. A big heart. So big that she can’t help but smile at the girl.
“Emilia, do you know what? Why don’t you show me what you have in the cart and confess to me honestly that you stole it, and then we’ll take it back together?” She looks at Lampie with a serious expression on her face. “Honesty is the best policy, child. Of course the admiral will punish you, as is only fair, but I shall personally ensure that it is not too…” Then Miss Amalia realizes that the girl is not listening to a word she is saying and that she is trying to pull the cart past her.
“Emilia Waterman, I have given you a chance and, if I were you, I would take it! Show me what you have under that blanket. This instant!”
“No, miss.” Sweating away, Lampie struggles to pull the wheel over a stone. “I can’t.”
“I know very well what you have in there, girl.”
“Goodbye, miss,” says Lampie. Finally managing to free the wheel, she starts to run. But Miss Amalia has been expecting that.
“Emilia,” she says sharply, “the game is up.”
She reaches out one long arm and yanks away the blanket.
In a flash, she sees it coming for her: pitch-black eyes, sharp teeth. There was a monster under the blanket!
That’s not possible, thinks Miss Amalia. Monsters don’t exist. But there it is, slithering toward her, opening its jaws to bite…
“Fish! Don’t do it!” shrieks Lampie.
And Fish does not do it, not really. His teeth graze the arm of the woman, who stumbles back and falls and opens her mouth to scream. But by then Lampie has thrown the blanket over him, grabbed the handle, and she is running onward, so quickly that the cart almost tips over and Fish only just manages not to fall out.
“The m—” Miss Amalia gasps. “That was the m—”
Lurching and stumbling, Lampie runs on. She glances back over her shoulder, but Miss Amalia is not coming after them. She is still sitting on the ground with her skirts spread out around her. She watches them go, clutching her wrist, until they turn the corner.
Lampie runs on around another two corners, and then she has to stop to catch her breath. She spots a shed that they can hide behind for a while. Fish pulls the blanket down a little and peeps out.
“Wh-who was that?” he stutters. His face is completely white.
Lampie takes a few deep breaths. “That,” she says, “was the teacher from the school.”
“From the school? Which school?”
“My school.”
“You’ve never even been to school.”
“I have! For two weeks.”
“And she was your teacher?”
“Yes, she was my teacher.”
“Was that when you didn’t learn how to read?”
“But I did learn how to read.” Lampie giggles. “I could read the letter E.”
“Oh yes, the E…” Edward laughs too, but then he gives her a worried look. “She saw me,” he says. “No one’s allowed to see me.”
Lampie shrugs. There is nothing to be done about that now.
“I hope you give her nightmares,” she says. “Really bad ones.”
“She’s not coming after us, is she?” Edward asks anxiously.
“I can’t see anyone.”
“Maybe we should just go home.”
“No,” says Lampie firmly. “It’s not very far now. Really.”
They can see the first houses in the town already. She can hear the fairground music in the distance.
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, Lampie pulls the cart to the fairground. The tent is off to one side, where there is no music and there are hardly any people.
Edward peeps through a gap in the blanket. “Are we there yet?”
“Ssh! Yes, over there in that tent.”
The fat man is still sitting in his wooden booth, next to the painted boards. He is reading a newspaper now.
“Only a quarter…” he mumbles, barely looking up.
A quarter. She had forgotten about that. She does not have a quarter left.
quarter
The fat man has only one eye that can see; the other is a dark hole with something blue glinting at the bottom. His pale tattooed flesh is pressed up against the glass on every side; he only just fits into the tiny booth. Anyone without a quarter can already admire his entire troupe on his arms: the bird-woman is whistling out of his armpit, the mermaid is coiled around his upper arm and, on his neck, the dwarf is playing cards with a skeleton wearing a top hat.
Lampie takes a deep breath and walks over to the booth. “I’ve already paid once this afternoon, sir,” she says. “But I’d like to take another quick look. Can I go in for free?”
The man does not even
look up from his yellowing newspaper. “In is in,” he mumbles. “And out is out. Only a quarter.”
“I don’t have any money,” says Lampie. “But I still need to go in, just for a minute.”
The eye glances up from the newspaper and at her face. Then the man shakes his head and goes on reading.
“What if I promise to bring it tomorrow?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Well, what if I…”
“Pay up or clear off.”
Lampie looks at the man in his filthy shirt. With all his tattoos and with that eye, he could easily be a pirate. They used to give her money sometimes, when she sang sailors’ songs for them. The sad ones worked best, the ones about someone who was longing to be where they were not: at home or at sea. Then the tears would run down their cheeks and they would give her everything they had in their pockets: copper, gold, pearls, they did not even look first to see what it was. Sometimes it was pieces of string and fish hooks. She used to have a whole chest full of treasure, which was all hers, her mother said, for when she was older. But one day her father had found it, and the next day it lay empty on the floor.
She clears her throat.
“Sailor, sailor, where do you roam?” she begins to sing. It is far too quiet; he does not even look up. Again.
“Sailor…”
“What are you doing?” whispers Fish, sitting up a little. “When are we going inside? We were going to go into the tent, weren’t we?”
“Shh!” hisses Lampie. “And don’t move an inch!”
The man in the booth is still looking at his newspaper. Did he really not notice anything? She stands up, taps on the glass, and starts again, louder this time.
“Sailor, sailor, where do you roam?
“Have you no mother who’s waiting at…um…”
He looks at her as if she has gone mad. She does not see any tears in his eye or rolling down his cheeks.
“The lips of the sailor’s bride taste like salt…” Lampie begins, because that one always worked. But it is no good—she can see that already.
“Well, well,” says the man, with a strange laugh. “A serenade for Uncle Earl. Fancy that! Why would you…?”