by Liz Jensen
‘I have incorporated in it a uniqueness,’ replied Professor Krak. ‘In the form of a liquid component whose four ingredients are known only to myself, which cannot be stored, & which remains fresh for only twenty-four hours. Without its presence in the spherical receptacle I call the Catalysing Orb, the contraption’s acceleration device remains inactive & dormant. For the purposes of security, the recipe for this delicate activating element remains a secret held only by me. We cannot have everyone criss-crossing time, now can we? And I am pleased to see from all my forays into the future, that I appear to be the only man in history who has ever engineered such a device. And that is how I wish to keep it. In the hands of the uninitiated, a Time Machine could be all too easily abused.’
‘That sounds fair enough,’ said Fergus, but a worried look came to his face & he presently voiced his concern. ‘But Professor (can I call you Fred?), you must have some sort of back-up plan for us? I mean, in case we should find ourselves …’
But Professor Krak was now delving into a trunk, from which he pulled a long knotted rope. ‘Now help me attach this to the vent,’ he said breezily, ‘the better to facilitate our exit.’
No more was said, & the moment was gone faster than a wink.
After Professor Krak and Franz had left on their missions to the unsafe territory of the outer world, Fergus & I lay nestled in one another’s arms, listening to the distant footsteps of Fru Krak in the house above us, the sleeping Josie beside us on the mattress, adorably sucking her thumb, & in the next room, Fru Schleswig snoring reverberatively in a way that, instead of provoking the usual annoyance in me, bore for once the comfort of the familiar. I sighed in happiness. All seemed right with the world. Would that it might stay that way. (Though guess what, dear reader: fat chance!)
The next morning, as planned, we ventured out, carefully timing our exit to coincide with Fru Krak’s visit from young Franz, who rang the doorbell at precisely 10am, as agreed, posing as a salesman of ladies’ restorative products, peddling a powerful sleeping potion sold in the English retail outlet Superdrug under the trade-name of Nytol. With the Krakster thus engaged buying this miracle cure, along with the yellow ‘kick-starting’ pills that came with it, three of which must be swallowed most religiously with a swig of cod-liver oil on the twenty-third day of every month, we were able to slip out through the ventilation shaft by means of the knotted rope, & turn swiftly off Rosenvængets Allé into Faksegade, whence to the broader sweep of Odensegade, where Fergus and Josie became so instantly and amazedly agog with the sight of people all dressed like ourselves, in hats & veils & muffs, & with other such archaic oddities, that I had to remind them to keep their mouths closed. But what an unexpected joy it was, through them, to see my beloved city through new-opened eyes, and marvel at the way those things I had previously ignored or taken for granted had transformed themselves into quaint & charming quirks! The frosted cobblestones that glinted in the morning sun; the cries of the street-hawkers & newspaper-sellers on Østerbrogade; the clatter of the horse-drawn trams & the sight of a fat, red-nosed man wobbling high on a pennyfarthing, balancing umpteen Christmas packages; while across the wide boulevard, the long-necked swans pecked at the icy surface of Sortedams Lake, and all around, the merry Christmas lights strung between the gas-lamps, and the little Jul candles that flickered in every window, high and low!
And what joy too, to see my Fergus’s countenance, so full of relief that I was not a madwoman after all, & so enthralled with all he beheld about him, for was not this an adventure to end all adventures?
And I – O, home I was again! And how joyful was this reunion, for I swear there is no country better to be in at Christmas-time than Denmark, & no people more in love with that festive season than we sentimental Danes, & thus we walked along, past the little match-selling girl sitting propped against the wall with her red, red cheeks and a sweet smile on her lips (so happy she looked, as though she had just seen her long-lost grandmother! I threw her a coin but she did not move, so entranced was she with her heavenly vision), & peeked into people’s homes & spied decorated fir trees from whose branches hung the dearest little baskets cut from paper, stuffed with sweetmeats, & elsewhere gilded apples and walnuts, and red candles shimmering with orange flames. It was magnificent, quite incomparably magnificent! At every window we passed, we stopped for Josie to press her nose against the pane, entranced by what she saw, for how intoxicating it was for a child, suddenly to find herself in the land of Juletide! How blessed we felt as we witnessed her happy smiles and heard her shrieks of joy, & we all three linked hands as we walked, while I set to musing about all the little presents we might muster or forage for her, such as liquorice pipes & cinnamon lollipops & maybe even a toy elephant with moving joints, so that she could enjoy the occasion as children should, & I pictured us all returning next year, I pushing a baby in a perambulator up Holsteinsgade, & the year after that with that same baby plus another child, up Rosenvængets Hovedvej. Then in future years more, I pregnant at all times, & we would walk along Østergade, for I was now busy cooking up a grandiose & many-offsprung dream. I squeezed Fergus’s hand, & he squeezed mine back, & I knew he was cooking up the same thing, for if he was my steadfast tin soldier, then I was his little ballerina, just like in the story: in any case as you can see, dear one, we were made for each other, & if this brings a romantic tear to your eye then I will not apologize, for there are worse things that can befall a reader.
Then imagine the sheer delight of walking into Else’s flower shop on Slagelsegade with Fergus on my arm (and have I forgotten to tell you what a fine figure of a gentleman he looked in his aristocratic get-up?), & Josie, swaddled in her blue woollen winterwear, at my side! The bell rang as we entered: Else was nowhere to be seen, but Josie gasped with delight, for the shop was chock-a-block with marvellous glittering nonsense: Else has a magic talent for concocting much from little, & she had swathed every surface with a flutter of artificial snowflakes, upon whose soft whiteness squatted glorious crimson flower-bouquets, and nisse-dwarves, silver-dusted candles, and a splendid nativity scene with pine-cones that sparkled silver, bronze & gold, fat pink cherubs, marzipan pigs as small as your thumb, & minuscule sheep with real pink & green-dyed fleece: Josie’s eyes saucered at the sight of all the shining trinkets, riches, baubles and wonders my clever friend had conjured in the confines of such a small space, at the perfumed hyacinths, the dark fir-fronds, the blood-red berries & the snowdrops, & the chocolate angels and red hearts dangling from the small Christmas tree in the window, whose candles flickered with every little gust of breath, & seemed to whisper to us, ‘Hooray, & Glædelig jul!’
And then from the back store room came the sound of a nose being blown, & with a muffled cry of, ‘Welcome, & do look around!’ in burst Else, dressed in festive scarlet & bottle-green, with jingle-bells in her hair – a happy sight indeed at first glance, until you beheld her face, whose red nose and eyes belied the cheeriness of her apparel, for it was plain to see that she had just been weeping. And then immediately I understood why, for my beloved friend was bearing a huge wreath of red roses in the shape of a heart, that bore the legend:
GOODBYE, DEAREST CHARLOTTE.
MUCH-LOVED FRIEND
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.
And my heart lurched bootwards, at the thought of all the misery that my beloved, faithful Else must have endured these past six weeks, not knowing what had become of me but clearly believing the worst.
Not recognising me beneath my veil, she immediately took me & my companions for customers &, mustering a cheerful tone, let fly a scatter of bright seasonal remarks about how freezing the weather had become, & what madness was all this last-minute gift-buying, & she supposed that sir & madam & the young master had come for a Jul bouquet & luckily for us, over there on that shelf to the left of the pompoms …’ But then, sensing something out-of-kilter, she stopped mid-flow & looked us over, puzzled.
‘Excuse me, madam, but I know that dress,’ she faltered, ta
king me in thoroughly now, from neck to hemline. There was a tiny indignance in her voice. ‘I’ve seen it worn by someone else, though it was dirtier then. It … fitted her figure exactly the same.’
‘Yes, Else,’ I said, my voice quiet & most gentlesome. ‘You are not mistaken,’ & then I raised my veil & smiled wide, wide, wide. At which she shrieked & stepped back, for as she told me afterwards, she was convinced she had seen a very pretty ghost. ‘Else,’ I laughed, too happy for words, ‘do you not recognize your fellow Østerbro Coquette? For it is I! Dry your tears, for I have returned!’ At which I removed my glove & touched her hand with mine, & when she felt its warmth she knew that I was made of real flesh, & then she was mine again.
O, the happiness of us both! O what lotion, salve, pomade & ointment was then applied to our hearts’ wounds in that loving moment! My dear friend whooped out in joy, & hurling my premature wreath to the floor, leaped over the counter in the most unladylike fashion, revealing her bottle-green lace bloomers, & threw herself into my arms. How we hugged & kissed! ‘We all thought you was dead!’ she cried tearfully, & embraced me more, while Fergus & Josie looked on in happy bewilderment, until I stopped & introduced them to her, explaining hurriedly that I had accidentally time-travelled to London where I had found myself a beau, who came from the future. Who now smilingly shook her hand and uttered the only Danish he knew, to wit, ‘Du er verdens dejligste kvinde og du har mirakuløse bryster,’ and bade Josie do the same, to the uproarious amusement of us both, for they had unwittingly sweet-talked her bazookas. Then Else commanded that I must explain this nonsense about London to her before she expostulated with curiosity – all this in Danish, you can be sure, so that Fergus missed her quick-fired questions about his abilities as a lover, my enthusiastic & fulsome answers to which would have made him redden with manly pride.
‘Now tell me, have you seen Fru Krak of late?’ I asked her, when I had finished outlining the tale of my sudden disappearance, & that of Fru Schleswig. ‘For I would much like to discover how the shooting incident affected her nerves, which I know to be most frayed & jumpy at the best of times.’
Else nodded as she listened, then broke into a grin. ‘That explains why she’s been looking so shocking awful of late,’ she said. ‘I’ve spotted her in the bakery several times, pale as a ghost, buying cakes. Judging from how fat she’s got, seems like she’s stuffing her face with them for solace. I spoke to her once, after you disappeared. She couldn’t wait to get away, but I says, excuse me, madam, but I must enquire what happened to your cleaning girl. Coz I was desperate, & couldn’t find you nowhere, nor Fru Schleswig neither. I reckoned something fishy had happened down in that basement of hers.’
‘As indeed it had! So what did she say?’
‘First she looked alarmed, but then she got angry.’ At which Else pulled herself up tall & haughty & pouted out her mouth grump-wise, & was at once a parody of Fru Krak.’ I know of no such little cleaning whore!’ spat Else, mimicking the Krakster’s fancy-pants accent perfectly. ‘Nor nothing of her repellent mother either, & if anyone should insinuate otherwise & thus disrespect me, I shall speak instantly to my lawyer, who will do all in his power to take away any rights that anyone might presume to have in relation to me, & claim damages into the bargain. And then she simply turned on her heel and buggered off. Leaving me in no doubt that she knew something she wasn’t letting on about, & the few times I spotted her after that, she’d cross the street to avoid me. I went to Sergeant Svendsen but he said that “without a body, or proof of foul play” there was nothing he could do.’
Quickly I relayed this in English to Fergus (thus most impressing Else) & explained to him that Else’s account of Fru Krak’s state of mind cheered me greatly. The fact was, the information it contained gave further fuel to the plan of destabilization & sabotage that (inspired by the discoveries of a certain detective team headed by a cartoon dog) I had already jingled up back in the Tin City & refined with her estranged husband. All of which I then relayed to Else in hurried and somewhat squozzakin fashion whilst Fergus & Josie went out to make a circuit of Sortedams Lake, & buy roast chestnuts from the nine-fingered man with the charcoal-burner, who does a roaring trade at this time of year then spends the next twelvemonth drinking the proceeds.
‘So can you help us?’ I finished, when I had told her the full story of my departure for England, & summarized the cunning plot in which she was to play such an important role. At which she smiled her biggest smile, threw back her head & laughed, making all the bells in her hair tinkle.
‘For helvede, Charlotte, you know me: I’d be downright honoured!’ she cried. ‘I can’t wait to see the look on that woman’s face! What a Christmas present that’ll be!’
Three days later, on December 23rd, all was set. Fergus, Josie & Professor Krak left for the home of Franz, whose indulgent parents, Herr & Fru Poppersen Muhl, were so grateful to see their Little Prince alive that they were willing to go to hallucinatory lengths to keep him sweet – including bribing the Grand Master of Tivoli Gardens to open a segment of the amusement park in his honour. Professor Krak, as already agreed with Franz, would be introduced to the Poppersen Muhls as Franz’s ‘saviour, mentor and guardian angel, who was fortunate enough to be able to persuade the lad to return to his loved ones’ – for as the Professor put it, ‘In a situation like ours, we need all the friends in high places we can get’ Fergus, meanwhile, was to be presented as Franz’s English teacher, a man who had grown so fond of his young & brilliant pupil in London that he wished to visit him in Denmark with his daughter, & combine the trip with a little tourism. Then, whilst the happily reunited Poppersen Muhl family took ‘the English visitors’ on a clandestine tour of Tivoli Gardens (a delight I was right sorry to miss, for I am as nuts about toffee apples & whirligigs as the next girl), Professor Krak, furnished with a lengthy shopping list & a thick wad of easily come-by cash, & clad in his balaclava, joined the heady queues at the butcher’s, the baker’s & the grocer’s to secure the ingredients for our Christmas feast. Fru Schleswig’s job, meanwhile, was to remain in situ & guard the machine – a task which engendered much grumbling on her part, until I lost my temper with her, & shouted that she was too fat to leave, & if she ever wanted to, she’d best do as we said or shed half a ton of lard forthwith.
And me? I was to be found crouching behind the juniper bush by Fru Krak’s front door, awaiting the imminent arrival of yet another visitor. I shivered in the chill until the church clock tolled eleven, at which cue up Rosenvængets Allé waddled a tiny, bulbous, hunchbacked old dame dressed in rags who mounted the steps in far more nimble fashion than her decrepit-looking body suggested it could, & rang the Krak doorbell.
‘Good luck!’ I just had time to whisper from my hiding-place before the thick front door – still unoiled – creaked open and the now decidedly hefty Fru Krak, her entire visage smeared with pungent cosmetic cream, came face to face with an ancient, bent, spectacled & heavily veiled fortune-teller who had padded herself so effectively with cushions that should Fru Krak lash out & push her down the steps (not unthinkable, given my former mistress’s propensity for violence), she would come to no harm, for she would roll like a bolle-bun.
‘Who are you, & what do you want?’ snapped Fru Krak, already preparing to slam the door in her visitor’s face.
But the fortune-teller played a cool game. ‘The question is, O my Fine Lady – now let me guess, you are an Aquarian if ever I saw one, or my name is not Tante Clairvoyante! – the question is, what do YOU want? For I see that you have problems of a domestic nature on the horizon, madam. Which need your urgent attention, if you are to have the wedding that I also see written though in a much more shaky form, I fear to tell you – in the book of your future.’
This was enough to scare Fru Krak, & although I thought for a moment that she would simply retreat into the ostrich position, it seemed that Else had addressed directly her deepest fears, & got her hooked.
‘Domestic problems?’ falt
ered Fru Krak. ‘Can you elaborate?’
‘Concerning a dark place what is part of your home. Now let me see,’ said Tante Clairvoyante, squinting up into the squally-looking sky as though the answer lay amidst the gathering clouds, ‘could it be a cellar, or a basement?’ At this, Fru Krak gasped and clutched the door: I saw her knuckles turn a gooky white. ‘Something tells me you have a terrible secret hidden there,’ whispered Tante Clairvoyante with deep concern. ‘And that you won’t be free of it till you take action,’ she continued, rootling in her huge tapestry bag for a crystal ball, which she dusted off with her glove and pretended to squiz into with increasing alarm.
‘I see nothing,’ said Fru Krak, leaning over to look. But I could picture her créme-slathered face retreating to an even paler shade.
‘Come closer, then, madam,’ replied the fortune-teller. ‘And tell me what you spy through the mystic fog.’
Fru Krak bent forward, peered deeply in, & jumped back with just the kind of sharp & squeaky cry I imagine a hyena making when a half-chewed carcass unexpectedly fights back. For there, deep within the ball, & so vividly & horribly disganglified by its contours as to seem like a three-dimensional tableau vivant,was a digitally taken & creepily distorted photograph of the Little Cleaning Girl Charlotte, dressed in black, lying in a coffin, stone dead.
‘Cross my palm with silver, & I’ll give you some advice,’ whispered Else in her most menacing croak. Fru Krak’s flabby jawline slumped further into the wattles of her pallid neck. ‘If someone you’ve wronged comes looking for vengeance,’ Else warned as she stepped over the threshold, for Fru Krak had by now reluctantly gestured her to enter, ‘you’ll have to appease her, coz otherwise you’ll be disgraced for ever. Shunned by the fine society of Copenhagen, you’ll be. Posh ladies’ll turn their backs on you at the haberdasher’s. And forget about being invited to any more of them balls.’