“We have achieved a great diplomatic success,” said the Prime Minister, rubbing his hands on the way back from the station.
“What does that mean?” asked Matt.
“It means you’re a genius,” said the Prime Minister. “Your Royal Highness has done a great thing without even intending to. Not all conquering is done by going to war. In war, you fight and win and take what you want. But this is a diplomatic victory, which means getting what you need by bargaining, not war. Now we have a seaport, and that’s the important thing.”
NOW MATT HAD to get out of bed at six o’clock in the morning. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have time for everything. He changed his schedule so that now he studied two hours a day. He had parliamentary sessions to attend, and besides all the letters, he had to read two newspapers, the one for the grownups and the one for the children, to know what was going on in the country.
And so one day, when the royal bedchamber was still quiet at eight o’clock, worry spread through the palace.
“Matt must be sick.”
“We should have seen it coming.”
“No grownup king works as much as Matt.”
“He’s been looking pale and thin lately.”
“And he’s hardly been eating at all.”
“But you can’t say a word to him about it because he gets so angry.”
“Yes, he’s been very impatient lately.”
“We’d better send for the doctor.”
Very worried, the doctor drove to the palace, and without any formalities, without even knocking or taking off his coat, he ran right into the royal bedchamber.
Matt woke up, rubbed his eyes, and asked anxiously: “What happened? What time is it?”
The doctor came right to the point, speaking rapidly because he was afraid Matt would interrupt him.
“Matt, my dear child, I have known you since you were in the cradle. I’m an old man. My own life doesn’t matter to me. You can order me hanged, shot, thrown in prison, I don’t care. When he lay dying, your father entrusted you to my care. I will not allow you out of bed, and that’s that. If anyone tries to bother you, I’ll have him thrown down the stairs. Matt, you’re trying to do in one year what takes other kings twenty. It can’t be done. You should see what you look like. Not like a king, but like the lowliest beggar’s child. It would be good if the prefect of police lost some weight. He’s too fat. But you shouldn’t be losing weight while you’re still growing, Matt. You take care of all the children. Twenty thousand children will go off to camp tomorrow. Why should you be wasting away? It makes an old man like me ashamed, so ashamed.”
The doctor handed Matt a mirror. “Just look, Matt, look.”
And the old doctor burst into tears.
Matt took the mirror. It was true! He was white as a sheet of paper, his lips were pale, his eyes looked tired and sad, his neck was long and thin.
“You’ll get sick and die,” said the doctor, weeping. “And you won’t finish your work. You’re already sick.”
Matt laid the mirror aside and blinked his eyes. For some reason, he was glad that the doctor had not once called him king, would not allow him out of bed, and would have anyone who wanted to see Matt on business thrown down the stairs.
How nice to be sick, thought Matt, stretching out comfortably in his bed.
Matt had been thinking he was just very tired. Too tired to eat even when he was hungry, too tired to fall asleep at night or to sleep without having bad dreams. Sometimes he dreamed that cannibals were attacking the children and eating them. Or that a fiery rain was scorching him. Or that both his legs had been cut off and one eye gouged out. Or that he was down in the well, sentenced to death by starvation. He had frequent headaches and couldn’t follow the teacher in class. He felt ashamed to be seen like that by Stash, Helenka, and especially Klu Klu, who, after three weeks of school, could read the newspaper herself, made no spelling mistakes, and could show on a map the route from Matt’s capital to her father’s country.
“But what will happen? Who’ll rule the country if the king is sick?” Matt asked in a quiet voice.
“Both parliaments are in recess for the summer. The country has enough money. All we have to do is bring in the gold. And now we have a seaport and ships. The camps have been built. The officials and ministers can take care of everything. What you need is to go away for two months and rest.”
“But I’m supposed to go to the port and inspect the ships.”
“I won’t allow it. The Minister of Commerce and the Prime Minister can stand in for you perfectly well.”
“I’m supposed to attend the military maneuvers.”
“The Minister of War will attend.”
“And the children’s letters?”
“Felek will read them.”
Matt sighed. It’s not easy to let other people replace you when you’re used to taking care of everything yourself, but Matt really had no strength left.
Matt ate breakfast in bed while Klu Klu told him some lovely African folk tales. Then he played with his favorite puppet and looked at picture books. Then he was brought a three-egg omelet, a glass of hot milk, and a roll with fresh butter. And only after he had eaten everything did the doctor allow him to dress and sit on the balcony in a comfortable armchair.
Matt sat in his chair without thinking about anything. He had no worries, no fears. No one was coming to see him on business; no minister, no master of ceremonies, no journalist, nobody, nobody at all. Matt sat listening to the beautiful songs of the birds out in the gardens. He listened and listened until he finally dozed off, and he slept until lunchtime.
“And now we’ll have some lunch,” said the doctor, with a smile. “After lunch, we’ll take a ride around the gardens in a carriage. Then another nap. Then a bath, and back to bed for another nap. And then supper and a good night’s sleep.”
Matt slept and slept; he couldn’t have been more willing to sleep. Now there were fewer bad dreams. He was eating more and gained more than three pounds in three days.
“If things continue like this,” said the doctor happily, “in a week I’ll be able to call you Your Royal Highness again. But I still don’t see a king. I still see a skinny, worn-out little orphan who tried to take care of the whole world but had no one to take care of him—no father, no mother.”
A week later, the doctor handed him the mirror again. “Almost a king again, right?”
“Not yet,” answered Matt, who for some strange reason liked the doctor’s tender tone of voice, liked being treated like a child and not being called Your Royal Highness.
Matt was becoming lively and cheerful again, and the doctor had trouble making him go back to bed after meals.
“What do the papers have to say?”
“The papers say that King Matt is sick and that he’s leaving for vacation tomorrow like all the rest of the children in the country.”
“Tomorrow?” asked Matt happily.
“Yes, at noon sharp.”
“Who’s going?”
“Well, me, the captain and his children, and probably Klu Klu, too, because who’d she stay with here?”
“Of course, Klu Klu’s coming with us.”
Matt signed only two documents before leaving. One said that the Prime Minister would be in charge of all grownup affairs, and the other, that Felek would see to all matters concerning the children.
For two weeks, Matt did nothing but play. Klu Klu thought up all sorts of hunting and war games. She built beautiful huts from tree branches and then taught the other children how. Sometimes they played up in the trees and sometimes on the ground.
At first, Klu Klu couldn’t walk with shoes. “What a barbaric custom,” she complained. “Wearing clothes on your feet.”
And dresses made her furious.
“How come boys and girls wear different kinds of clothes here? That’s barbaric. No wonder the girls here are so awkward. You can’t climb a tree or hop a fence in a dress. The stupid dress always gets c
aught on something.”
“But, Klu Klu, you can climb trees even better than the village boys, not to mention Matt and Stash.”
“Those are trees?” laughed Klu Klu. “Those little sticks are for two-year-olds, not big girls like me.”
One day, the children were admiring a squirrel jumping nimbly from tree to tree.
“I can do that, too,” cried Klu Klu quickly. And before Matt, Stash, or Helenka realized what Klu Klu was about to do, she tossed off her dress and sandals and went bounding after the squirrel. The race was on. The squirrel jumped from one branch to another, but Klu Klu was always right behind it. Then the squirrel jumped from one tree to another, but Klu Klu was still right behind it. The race went on for about five minutes, until the tired squirrel began scampering down to the ground, with Klu Klu right behind it. The children thought now Klu Klu would be killed, but she knew how to get down from a tree in a hurry, clinging to some branches and pushing others away. She even managed to grab the squirrel by the nape of the neck so it couldn’t bite her.
“Is this little northern monkey of yours poisonous?”
“Not at all. Only snakes are poisonous here.”
Klu Klu asked detailed questions about the snakes, studied their pictures, and then one day she disappeared into the forest. They searched for her all day long, but Klu Klu was nowhere to be found. It was dark when she returned, covered with scratches, her hair a mess, and hungry as can be. She was carrying three live snakes in a glass jar.
“How did you catch them?” asked Matt in astonishment.
“The same way you catch all poisonous snakes,” she answered simply.
At first, the village children were afraid of Klu Klu, but later they came to respect and love her very much.
“She may be a girl, but she outdoes all the boys. Good God, can you imagine what African boys are like?”
“Just the same as the girls, not the least bit better,” said Klu Klu. “It’s only European girls who have long hair and wear long dresses, and that’s the reason they can’t do things.”
KLU KLU WAS best not only at throwing stones and shooting bows and arrows but also at collecting mushrooms and nuts. Not to mention botany, zoology, geography, and physics. All she needed was one look at a picture of a plant or an insect to be able to recognize it in a meadow or a forest. When she found out that a certain plant grew in swamps, she ran right to the village boys to ask them where the swamps were.
“They’re pretty far away, about two miles.”
That might be far for some people, but not for Klu Klu. She broke into the storeroom, grabbed a hunk of bread and cheese, and off she went.
They didn’t even try to find her.
“Aha, Klu Klu’s been at the storeroom again. That means she’s out after something.”
Evening, night, no Klu Klu.
She spent the night in the forest and returned the next morning, triumphantly carrying a bouquet of marsh flowers, as well as some frogs, newts, lizards, and leeches.
Her herbarium was the most complete, her collection of insects, butterflies, and rocks was the largest. The most snails were born in her aquarium, which also had the most little fish swimming around in it.
Klu Klu was always cheerful, her sharp white teeth flashing when she smiled.
But Klu Klu knew how to be serious, too. “Oh, Matt, when I was watching those beautiful fireworks and that waterfall of fire, I kept thinking how wonderful it would be for African children to see all these miracles of yours. I have a big, big favor to ask of you, Matt.”
“What is it?” asked Matt.
“That you bring fifty African children to your capital so they can study like me. Then they could go back to Africa and teach all the children everything.”
Matt did not answer, because he had decided to give Klu Klu a surprise. That evening he wrote a letter to the capital:
Dear Felek,
When I left, a wireless telegraph was being installed on the roof. Work on it was to be completed by the first of August. We need that telegraph to be able to communicate with Bum Drum. Please send the first telegram to Bum Drum. Tell him to send me one hundred of his tribe’s children. I am opening a school for them in my capital. Please don’t forget.
Matt
Matt had licked the envelope and was just about to seal it, when the door opened.
“Felek! Good to see you! I was just about to send you a letter.”
“I have come on an important official mission,” said Felek in a serious voice.
Felek pulled out a gold cigar case and offered Matt a cigar. “Your Royal Highness should try one—first-class, extra-special, an aroma worthy of the royal nose.”
“I don’t smoke,” said Matt.
“That’s just it,” said Felek, “that’s not right. A king should have the best of everything. Anyway, I’m here on official business—to see about the ratification of my counterproposal. Here’s my ultimatum: First, my name won’t be Felek any more, but Baron Felix von Rauch. My parliament is not to be called the children’s parliament any more, but the Progress Parliament—Proparl, for short. Further, you should stop calling yourself Matt. Your Royal Highness is twelve years old now. You should be formally crowned and be called Emperor Matthew the First. Otherwise, all our reforms will go down the drain.”
“I have a different plan,” said Matt. “I want the grownups to choose themselves a king, and I’ll stay Matt, the king of the children.”
“Your Royal Highness’s concept could be codified even in its current rough form,” said Felek. “I do not dare impose my moratorium on the person of the king. However, as far as my own official person is concerned, I wish to be Baron von Rauch, Minister of the Proparl.”
Matt agreed.
Felek also demanded his own office, two automobiles, and a salary twice as large as the Prime Minister’s.
Matt agreed.
Felek also demanded the title of count for the journalist from Progzette, which was short for Progress Gazette, the name of the newspaper for the children.
Matt agreed.
Felek had brought all the documents, ready for signature, and Matt signed them.
The whole conversation made Matt terribly sad. He would have agreed to anything to get it over and done with. Matt had been feeling so fine that he had forgotten about meetings and sessions. He had no desire to remember all the hard work he had already done or to think about what awaited him when his vacation was over. And that was why he wanted Felek to leave as quickly as possible.
When the doctor learned of Felek’s arrival, he came running angrily into Matt’s room. “My dear Felek, please don’t bother the king.”
“My dear doctor, please don’t raise your voice to me, and please call me by my real name.”
“And what is your real name?” asked the doctor in surprise.
“I am Baron von Rauch.”
“Since when?”
“Since the moment His Royal Highness graciously conferred that title on me with this official document.”
Felek pointed at the paper, freshly signed, the ink still wet.
Years of service at court had taught the doctor self-control. So he changed his tone at once and said, calmly but firmly: “Baron von Rauch, His Royal Highness is on vacation for reasons of health, and I am responsible for his progress. And, in view of that responsibility, I demand that Baron von Rauch beat it at once.”
“You’ll pay for that,” said Felek, who stuffed the papers in his portfolio and then left the room.
Matt was especially grateful to the doctor, since Klu Klu had just invented a new game—lassoing horses.
The children would each attach a lead ball to one end of a long, strong rope and then hide behind trees like hunters. The stable boy would let ten ponies out of the royal stable. The children would lasso the ponies, jump up on them, then gallop away bareback.
Klu Klu did not know how to ride a horse, because in her country people rode camels and elephants. But she learned quickl
y. Except she didn’t like riding with a saddle—she couldn’t stand any kind of saddle.
“Saddles are for old ladies who like to be comfortable. But when I ride a horse, I want to sit on the horse, and not on some pillow. Pillows are good at night in bed, not when you’re playing.”
It was a delightful summer for the village children, because they were included in practically all the games. Klu Klu taught them not only new games but new fairy tales and songs, how to make bows and huts, how to weave baskets and hats, and new ways of finding and drying mushrooms. And Klu Klu, who couldn’t speak their language two months before, was now teaching the shepherds how to read.
Klu Klu compared every letter of the alphabet to an insect or bug.
“What’s the problem? You know hundreds of different flies, bugs, insects, and herbs, and you can’t memorize twenty-six silly little letters? You can do it, you just think there’s something hard about it. It’s the same as the first time you tried to swim, or ride a horse, or go ice skating. Just tell yourself it’s easy and it’ll be easy.”
And so the shepherds started saying: “Reading’s easy!” And before they knew it, they could read. Their mothers were astonished.
“That black girl is really something! The teacher hollered at them for a whole year, beat them with a ruler, pulled them by the ears and hair, but those dummies didn’t learn a thing. But she just tells them that the letters look like insects and they learn in a minute.”
“And you should see her milk a cow!”
“My calf got sick. Klu Klu’s just a child, but she takes one look and says: ‘Your calf’ll die in three days.’ She didn’t have to tell me, I’ve had calves die on me before. Then she says: ‘I can save the calf with a certain herb, if it grows around here.’ I went with her, I was curious. She looks and looks, she sniffs and she bites. ‘The right one’s not here,’ she says, ‘but we’ll have to try this one, it has the same bitter taste.’ She gathers a bunch of them, adds a little hot ash, and mixes it all together like a real pharmacist, then she pours it in some milk and gives it to the calf. And the calf drinks it, like it understood, even though the milk is bitter and doesn’t taste good. The calf bleats, but it drinks and licks its chops. And what do you think? The calf’s all better. Now isn’t that something?”
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