by Gavin Bishop
When the earthquakes came, my bag swung on its nail, but it didn’t fall.
29
TRANSFIGURATION
DURING THE DAY OF THE NIGHT it happened, the quakes had been quiet. No one had visited the basement. Neither man nor mouse. In my solitude, I drifted into a dream where I wandered along the winding corridors of memory. Towering blue glass walls allowed glimpses of children, animals and toys who had been my companions throughout the years. Their stories played like old movies behind the uneven glass. I followed the hallways, twisting and turning, up and down stairs, until I came to a high-ceilinged chamber where two beds stood. Yellow leaves blown by a silent wind rustled across the floor and built up against my legs. I went further into the room. In one bed lay Jamie. Asleep. A boy.
In the other was Boy. Asleep. A man.
My almost hairless body bristled with excitement and fear as I looked down on sleeping Boy, remembering the adventures I had had with him.
I turned to Jamie. A warm cloud of love engulfed me. I was lifted off my feet and embraced by invisible arms. I wallowed in the golden glow, knowing that this was part of the promise made by the crown in the sky. I started to count backwards from ten. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five …
The basement door opened. I looked out of the hole in the bag, expecting to see Boy or his wife. Although the light by the door had not been switched on, the basement was lit with a soft, milky gleam. Standing in the open door was a small boy in a white shirt that hung to just below his knees, his pale hair forward over his pale forehead. The soft light that fell across the washing machine and the deep freeze was coming from him. He was a lamp, a torch, a light bulb, glowing like the bunny night-light that BB had had when he was afraid of the dark.
I saw the boy coming towards me without moving his legs. His feet together, toes pointing down, floating, coming closer as if I was looking through the zoom lens of a camera. When he reached my black rubbish bag, he lifted his arms and pulled it from the nail. He lowered it to the basement floor and undid the string. The bag fell to my feet. I stood before him. He bent slightly and cupped the back of my head with his hand. I looked up into his smiling face. It was Jamie. My little Jamie! He picked me up and, holding me tightly to his chest, carried me outside.
For a moment we stood on the lawn, breathing in the smell of newly cut grass. A heavy sea fog rolling in from the east had just reached the house, and it was still thin enough in places to allow the full moon to shine through.
The fog grew thicker and the moonlight disappeared. Jamie turned towards the house and looked up past the grey misty shape of the upstairs veranda to the dark smudges that were the two towering chimneys pointing to the sky. Then he bent his knees slightly, took a jump and launched himself into the air. Safely in his arms, I held my breath as we sailed up the front wall of the house and over the roof, swerving deftly to miss one of the chimneys. The neighbours’ houses grew smaller, then disappeared as we went higher. Quite quickly, we burst through the fog duvet and into the bright, moonlit air. Beyond the city, snow on the Southern Alps caught the moonlight and the ocean shone like a white tablecloth under a fluorescent light. Higher and higher we went.
Without moving, and all the time with his night-light glow, Jamie carried me further away from Earth. We went on until he pointed to a star that seemed to glow whiter and brighter than all the others. ‘Alpha Centauri,’ I said silently. ‘One of the Pointers.’ I knew this from having read Boy’s encyclopaedia over his shoulder.
We flew by, then past, Beta Centauri until, before us, lay the Southern Cross. Glowing and beckoning, almost calling to me.
Jamie slowed and shifted his weight so that his torso angled further forward. He tucked me under one arm and flew on with his free arm stretching before him. We progressed like this until he was able to reach out and catch hold of the nearest star that was part of the glowing crown, the crown I had watched that night from the edge of the lake, and the same crown that was printed on my box from the toy shop. Jamie pulled the coronet of stars towards us and, as he did so, it reshaped itself, becoming small enough to sit comfortably above my ears when he placed it on my head.
Like a burst of lemonade from a shaken bottle, the promise of those stars surged through my body. I lowered my head and watched as thick golden fur rippled across my chest and arms like a breeze in a paddock of new wheat. The patches Boy’s grandmother had made, and the coloured wool and cotton holding my ears in place, fell away. My legs, just visible beneath Jamie’s arm, were firm and straight, lustrous and hairy. I was new again! I had been reborn! I looked as I did the day Jamie, and later Boy, opened the box from the toy shop.
Jamie’s face was beaming. And reflected in his sparkling eyes I could see my own — two dazzling golden orbs sitting either side of a shiny black nose.
For the first time, Jamie, with his mouth closed and smiling, spoke.
‘Now, the most important task of the evening,’ he said. ‘There is someone who must see you as you really are, your true self.’
He released his hold and I floated free for a moment before he gently, with a forefinger and thumb, took my paw. The Pointers turned as we passed, and followed our passage back to Earth, all the time pointing at the crown on my head as they had done for eons. As we approached the city, the last of the fog slipped off to the west to settle over the plains that sat at the feet of the mountains. The chimneys of the house on the hill loomed up clear and sharp in the night air and the smoke from the wood-burner wrapped us briefly in a warm grey blanket.
We landed lightly on the street in front of the house. Jamie led me under the arch in the hedge, through the garden all black and white in the moonlight, and across the porch to the front door. We passed through the door without opening it and moved along the hall, our legs motionless. When we reached Boy’s room, Jamie let go of my paw and pushed me forward. I floated into the room.
Boy was asleep on his back. I turned to look at Jamie. He had gone. Boy moved, and I could see he was dreaming. I watched him as his breathing changed. To me, he was still the child who curled beside me in his bed. Something in his dream was disturbing him. Once, he would have allowed me to join him, but for many years now he had blocked me out. But surely in my glorious new form he would want to spend time with me once more?
I hovered beside his bed, and as I stared at his face with my two sparkling eyes, I quietly started to count backwards from ten. Ten, nine, eight, sev—
A barrier lifted like a gate at a car park, and I slipped into his dream.
The street was familiar even though it was night time. It was the street where the dairy stood in Invercargill fifty years ago. The finger-pointing sign pointed to the advertisements for creaming soda and banana splits. A bed of marigolds had replaced the petunias behind the thick concrete curb. Boy, now a man, stood with a threepence in his hand, unsure about going into the dairy to buy some chews. As he hesitated, the door swung open and a huge bulldog came lumbering out. The beast took its time, because it was held back by a lead in the hand of Boy’s grandmother. She seemed younger and certainly in no need of a walking stick. On her arm she carried a basket. And sitting in that basket was me, a handsome new bear covered in golden fur with two sparkly glass eyes. A bright blue ribbon was tied in a bow under my chin. She allowed the beast to pull her out onto the street. Boy fell back and stood by the pointing finger. He watched as his mother and father came out of the shop, followed by his baby brother on the trike that Boy used to ride when he was in Invercargill on holiday.
On a radio, from somewhere inside the dairy, Uncle Clarrie’s request session was playing ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ for Sandy and Maurice of Venus Street.
If you go down to the woods today you’re sure of a big surprise.
If you go down to the woods today you’d better go in disguise.
The grandmother, the boys’ mum and dad, and BB started to tap their toes to the catchy tune. The beast strained on his lead. He was keen to get going. At the start
of the second verse, they began to dance and sing.
For every bear that ever there was will gather there for certain because
Today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic.
Round and round Boy they danced as he crouched behind the pointing finger.
Six times they circled Boy before the beast broke away and led the dancers off down the street. Off and on the footpath he skipped on his short legs, into the gutter and out again. The others followed like a twisting snake. BB on his trike stayed on the footpath.
Boy came out from behind the finger and hurried to catch up. As the dancing snake passed houses of friends and neighbours, others joined in. Jimmy Cooke and his mother. Bubs Wood and her five kids; old Miss Frost; and last of all, from the little unpainted cottage with a dead Morris Minor lying on the overgrown lawn, Frankie Gibbs. Everyone was singing.
Every teddy bear who’s been good is sure of a treat today,
There’s lots of marvellous things to eat and wonderful games to play.
The street lights lit the singing serpent as it danced past the houses with their little front gates you could step over, past the basilica, over the railway line and through the gap in the macrocarpa hedge into the Number Two Gardens.
Beneath the trees where nobody sees they’ll hide and seek as long as they please,
’Cause that’s the way the teddy bears have their picnic.
The gravel path led the singing snake to the aviary where the birds sat quietly waiting. At the wire netting, the snake broke into pieces and became family and friends and neighbours again. The dancing stopped. And so did the singing. A goods train from Dunedin roared past on the other side of the hedge.
Boy, trying not to make too much noise, came along the edge of the crunchy path behind the small crowd, who were looking into the cage of birds. It was lit by a single light bulb, high up on a lamp-post. The kea was showing off as usual, and the peacock was spreading his tail, competing for attention. The other birds remained quiet and were watching the beast.
As Boy approached, the small group turned as one to face him. His grandmother, still carrying me in her basket, came forward. She held the beast’s lead. He sat down at her feet.
The Canary Island date palm behind the aviary waved its fronds in the air as if it to say it knew the answer to a question that someone had asked.
The grandmother picked me out of the basket and placed me in Boy’s arms. ‘I want to make a gift of this bear to you once more. You have another chance to take care of him.’
Boy looked down at me and smiled. My eyes sparkled, and I glowed all over like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
The wind beneath the arms of the palm grew stronger. Boy’s grandmother and the beast, his mum and dad, BB on the trike, Jimmy Cooke and his mother, Bubs Wood and her kids, and best friend Frankie Gibbs pulled their jackets and jerseys close as it grew colder. Leaves rose up as a cloud, and covered the people and the dog as they swirled around. Some stuck to the wire wall of the aviary. Then, just as quickly, the wind grew quiet. The leaves dropped back onto the paths and lawns of the Number Two Gardens.
When Boy looked up, he was alone. On his own, except for me.
30
THE GOLDEN YEARS
THE SHARP EDGES OF BOY’S DREAM slowly softened and dissolved. The aviary and the gardens slipped away until I was once more back in the rubbish bag, looking out of the gash with my button eye. It was still night time and the basement was dark and quiet except for the hum of the deep freeze. I was tingling with excitement. I had been shown my true worth by little Jamie, and had once more shared a dream and an adventure full of excitement and fear with Boy. It didn’t matter what happened to me now. If I was to spend the rest of my days in a rubbish bag, I wouldn’t mind. There was nothing more I could wish for.
Then the basement door opened. Boy came in. The deep freeze purred, expecting to be opened, the washing machine stood on stand-by, waiting to be filled with laundry, but Boy walked past both of them. He came right up to my bag, took it off the nail, tore it open and lifted me out. My left arm hung by a thread, my right hip was higher than my left, and the view of Boy’s face was blurry through my button eye.
‘Great!’ he said. ‘You are still here!’
Where did he think I would be? I wondered.
‘I had a dream last night that has given me a great idea for a new book.’
And, just like the old days, he tucked me under his arm and took me upstairs. In his studio, he propped me up in the chair next to his and switched on the computer. He turned to me and beamed.
‘I’m going to write the best book ever written. It’s going to be exciting, scary, funny and heart-warming, and it’s going to be about me when I was kid,’ he said. ‘And you are going to help!’
I smiled to myself.
‘Now where will I start?’
With a slight frown, he looked deeply into my one glass eye. He could see himself reflected in there.
‘I know — BB’s birth! Can’t remember much before that. That’s when I got you — all wrapped up in a big brown paper parcel with lots of string.’
‘But I came in a big box from Southern Cross Toys!’ I shouted silently.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘And I made a batman cape out of the brown paper to wear on my trike. It flew out behind me as I ran away to see the birds the next day.’
I sighed. He began tapping at the keyboard.
‘Now I remember,’ he continued. ‘I chased that big bulldog at the dairy on the way home. Mamma thought I would be scared of him, but I wasn’t.’
This wasn’t going well. He was getting it all wrong. His memory was letting him down.
He turned once more from the computer and looked into my eye.
‘BB was really rough with you, almost tore your ears off. Yanked off your arms too. Even chewed off one of your eyes! Gave you that stupid name. But I stuck up for you, protected you.’
I groaned.
‘Yep, you would have ended up in the rubbish dump if I hadn’t looked after you.’
Boy wrote on and on, stopping from time to time to stare into my eye. This seemed to give him inspiration, ideas for his next chapter.
‘And wow, we had a terrific time in Kingston. I did some crazy things there, even when I was really little. I used to milk the cow on my own. Man, it was funny when the cow put its foot in a full bucket of milk. It was BB’s fault, of course. He was pulling its tail.
‘And on Guy Fawkes night I held two Catherine Wheels, one in each hand! I got a few burns, but I didn’t care.
‘And what’s more, when I was only seven, I read a grown-ups’ book all by myself. It was called Burt Featherston and the Pirates. Frankie Gibbs was dying to read it, too, but he couldn’t. It was too hard.’
Occasionally he would ask, without turning his head, about names and places he couldn’t remember.
‘Who was the little kid who had a bright red jersey with swans around the waist?’
I would silently reply, ‘Do you mean Rosie Garthwaite?’
He would pause for a while. ‘Yeah, that’s right, little Maisie, Maisie Braithwaite!’
‘Rosie,’ I corrected. But he didn’t hear me. He was already on to the next chapter about his sixth birthday party, and the huge sponge cake covered with whipped cream which he and Frankie Gibbs ate with their bare hands.
Sometimes his gaze would slide from my glass eye to the button eye where his reflection was dark and cloudy. His smile slipped from his face as memories he would rather have forgotten came into his head.
He shuddered at the thought of his wheelbarrow stuck on the railway line, unable to go forward or back, when the train was coming. And he went hot and cold remembering the bull that chased Frankie and him across Archie McCain’s paddock. Memories of his fights with BB lurked in this eye too.
These excursions into dark places didn’t last long. Boy was quick to shift his gaze from the button eye to the bright sparkly one, to remem
ber again the fun and adventures he had had when he was a boy and when I was his best friend.
As he wrote, I thrilled once more at the excitement of his dare-devil rides with me in the back of his trike, and at our wild adventures in the wheelbarrow as he raced along the side of the railway tracks. Excitement and fear. We were doing it all over again. And, as in the days when both of us were young, we were doing it together.
At the end of each day, when Boy had finished his work, I remained in the chair beside his desk and looked out of the tall window in front of me, my glass eye scanning the night sky.
On clear nights the sky tingled with stars. Millions of stars, beyond counting. Some stars singled themselves out to be noticed. Orion dominated the north-western sky. The Scorpion sat in the brightest part of the Milky Way, and comets raced against the black ceiling with its sparkling lanterns almost too fast to be seen.
But it was the Pointers I looked for, Alpha and Beta Centauri, directing my gaze to the stars of the Southern Cross. And like the stars on the lid of the box from Southern Cross Toys, they stood out brighter than all the other stars in the sky.
Those four stars reminded of my beginnings — of the toy makers who made me and the children who loved me. Over the years they had been there to give me strength when I thought all was lost, a light of hope in the darkness. They reminded me that beneath my exterior of torn ears, mismatched eyes and patchy fur, I was still the same bear on the inside, not Teddy One-eye, nor Mrs Teddy, but Mr Edward K. Bear, a toy to be loved.
And when little Jamie placed the crown of stars on my head, he showed me I was a special bear — a bear with a past as well as one with a future.