Walter nodded.
‘Then I accept,’ Levon said, as he shook Walter’s hand with a firm grip.
Walter took the book of Noitanigami out of his pocket and quickly read a section.
‘What’s that?’ asked Levon.
‘It’s the handbook of the art of Noitanigami, the power to make things go backwards.’
‘So that’s what it was! I think I went backwards yesterday, Walter. Were you experimenting or something?’
‘I guess you could call it that, Levon. Sorry. I’m still trying to get the hang of it. And I completely forgot to phone you back that time. You wouldn’t believe what was happening …
Once he arrived in the schoolroom, Walter was surrounded by his classmates. ‘Well done, Walter, you’re our hero,’ they all said – except, of course, for Danny Biggles, who stood against the wall with his arms folded, giving Walter a ‘drop-dead’ stare. Walter was not in the least bit scared. ‘What’s wrong, Danny?’ he asked boldly. ‘Why don’t you run off and play with somebody your own age?’
The boys went silent. Nobody had ever mentioned the age difference to Danny before. Some turned away, afraid to watch what might happen next.
Danny took a run at Walter, knocking him to the ground with the force of his huge frame. He sat on top of Walter. ‘I’m going to punch your face in,’ he yelled, as he lifted his fist.
‘Leave him alone!’ cried Levon. ‘Leave him alone!’
Walter remained calm and stared into Danny’s eyes.
‘Ynnad Selggib, Ynnad Selggib, Ynnad Selggib,’ he said quickly, as Danny’s fist powered towards his face. For a split second Danny was frozen in motion like a photograph, his big fist just two centimetres from Walter’s face. Then, like a reverse motion sequence on TV, Danny was propelled backwards, to his feet and out the door. Walter lay on the ground in deep concentration.
The boys looked on aghast. ‘I’ve never seen Danny move so quickly,’ said Harry Gordon. Levon smiled at Walter.
Mr Strong arrived into class just as Walter picked himself off the ground. Their teacher looked angry and he spoke with a nasty, sarcastic tone.
‘You’re very quiet, Walter. Shouldn’t you be saying thanks to your teacher for helping you to spell backwards and become famous?’
Walter did not respond.
‘Something strange happened yesterday,’ Mr Strong continued. ‘I suspect that either you were behind it or your grandfather was. I was humiliated in front of millions of people. You will suffer, Walter Speazlebud. I will make your life an unbearable hell. You will wish you were living on the moon.’
Just then, Danny Biggles arrived back into class, barely recognisable from the oversized bully-boy who had terrorised Nittiburg School for years. Danny was now two years younger and ten centimetres smaller than he had been just one minute ago. In fact, Danny was now the smallest boy in the class. Yes, he still had all his recognisable features – flat face, flat nose and buck-teeth – but now he seemed shy and awkward. Walter had worked the power of Noitanigami on him: he’d reversed him in time for two whole years until he was the same age as everybody else in the class.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the new Danny to Mr Strong, ‘may I join your class please? I’m sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again.’
Mr Strong was beginning to look nervous. He clasped his hands together to stop his fingers from trembling. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded, glancing at this young, gentle Danny Biggles, then at the boys, until his gaze finally settled on Walter. ‘Are you behind this dreadful joke, Walter Speazlebud? What is this … magic … wizardry … the dark arts … just what is going on?’
‘It’s the power of Noitanigami,’ Walter replied.
‘Noita– what?’ shouted Mr Strong, growing increasingly nervous by the second.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Strong, Noitanigami is just the word “imagination” backwards.’
‘I always said imagination was a dangerous thing, especially when it gets into the hands of dreamers, like you and your grandfather …’
‘But you were a dreamer once, Mr Strong. Isn’t that right? A very talented dreamer.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ growled Mr Strong.
‘I’m talking about your talent as a woodcarver and furniture-maker and your dream of becoming one of the world’s best furniture-makers.’
‘Woodcarving? I’m a teacher, not a bloomin’ carpenter,’ scoffed Mr Strong.
‘Why, then,’ asked Walter, walking towards the top of the class, ‘do you have your desk covered with this thick piece of cloth?’
‘Stay away from that desk, Walter Speazlebud, or you will be expelled from this school!’
Walter didn’t seem to care. Swiftly he pulled back the thick, black, felt material from Mr Strong’s desk. A cloud of dust, lit by a light beam coming through the window, filled the air. Sticks of coloured chalk, a duster, notebooks, and a large dictionary fell to the floor through the golden dust-cloud, as if in slow motion.
Walter stared at the desktop in amazement – it was completely covered in beautiful hand carvings: roses, their buds bursting into blossom; giant sunflowers, every petal and pollen-grain lovingly carved in microscopic detail; butterflies and bumblebees dipping for nectar; and swallows dive-dancing through the air.
Mr Strong opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He threw his arms around himself as if it was he who had been uncovered, and he gazed, with his mouth still open, upon his past, upon the fruits of his imagination which had been hidden for so long by a black felt veil.
Walter’s eyes danced and sparkled as he saw, in every detail, the gifted hand that worked the wood and the precise eye that followed the chisel, just as Grandad had told him. For a moment, Walter wondered if his own gift – the power of Noitanigami – could, in its own way, be just as beautiful, just as rich and just as wonderful.
Mr Strong stared at his desk for a moment, but he could not bear to look. ‘Give me that cover, Speazlebud,’ he roared, as he began to chase Walter around the desk.
But Walter was too quick. ‘My grandfather told me that you were a most gifted woodcarver and furniture-maker,’ he said, as he continued to dart around the table, avoiding Mr Strong. ‘You could have become one of the best.’
‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’ shouted Mr Strong, as he ran out of breath and rested his hands on the desk. ‘I’m a teacher, not a carpenter. I’m a teacher.’
‘You’re not a teacher, Mr Strong, and you know it. You were never meant to be a teacher – it was not your gift.’
Mr Strong seemed startled to feel the detail of his own carvings beneath his hands as he rested on the table – detail which, for so long, he had felt only through the material. His face lost its anger as he studied the flowers and insects which he had created with his own hands. Tears welled up in his eyes. Then he covered his face with his hands and fell over onto the carved desktop – a broken man – disappointed in himself and his sad, angry life.
Walter and the class heard a muffled sob. ‘You’re right,’ he cried. ‘I’m not a teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I should never have been a teacher. I wanted to be a woodcarver. I wanted to be a woodcarver!’
Mr Strong wiped his tears as he stood up again and turned towards the door. He took his grey mac from behind his chair and walked out of the classroom for the very last time.
Walter was surprised to feel sadness, as well as joy, as he sat, for a moment, in Mr Strong’s chair. He thought of something that his grandfather had said. He took his little black book from his pocket, opened it and read some more. Then he concentrated deeply.
10
A Second Chance
Walter walked up Runyon Hill. His steps were quick. He was a boy on a mission, with a sparkle in his eye. As he neared the gates of the nursing home, he saw a teenager coming towards him. He was a handsome boy, around eighteen, with a kind face and bright green eyes. The young man had a pep in his step and a warm glow about him. ‘Can you tell me what ti
me the next train leaves for the city?’ he asked politely.
‘I believe it’s every two hours,’ replied Walter. ‘Are you going to the city for the day?’
‘I’m off to the city to live,’ the boy replied happily. ‘I’m going to become a furniture-maker and woodcarver.’
Walter smiled. It had worked, he thought. It had actually worked brilliantly. Walter shook the hand of Frank Strong and wished him all the luck in the world.
‘What’s your name?’ asked the teenager.
‘Walter, Walter Speazlebud.’
‘You must be related to Mr Speazlebud the carpenter.’
‘Yes, he’s my grandfather.’
‘What a lucky boy you are to have him as your grandfather.’
‘I know,’ said Walter. ‘I’m the luckiest boy alive.’
As Walter walked through the gates of the nursing home, he was struck by a blinding orange light. He thought for a moment that he had accidentally walked in through the gates of a nightmare. Nittiburg Nursing Home was now the same colour as his own house – ‘exploding orange’ with green polka dots and purple window frames. Slowly, and with a sense of dread, he turned and looked down over the village. Luminous pink, bile green, day-glow red and ‘exploding orange’ houses dotted the landscape. It seemed that Sam Silver’s TV show had made his mum’s house-painting famous, and now everybody wanted a vibrant, clashing colour scheme just like theirs.
Walter climbed the stairs and walked down the corridor to his grandad’s room. The old people sitting in the corridor now called out to him, ‘Walter, well done! We saw you on TV. You’re a chip off the old block, that’s for sure!’
When he entered Grandad’s room, he found it was empty. ‘Grandad!’ Walter shouted in a panic, as he ran out into the hall, ‘Grandad!’
Around the corner appeared a dapper little old man in a wheelchair; he was wearing a smart, beige summer suit and a Panama hat with a golden-brown feather.
‘Have you seen my grandad?’ asked Walter frantically.
The old man smiled. ‘Walter,’ he said, with a youthful smile, ‘you’re certainly learning fast.’
Walter realised that the dapper old man with the big beaming smile was his grandad!
‘You have given me a most wonderful surprise. I never thought I’d see Frank Strong again. I’m so happy. I decided to dress up in my favourite suit to celebrate.’
‘When Mr Strong left the class,’ Walter said, ‘I thought about how you had said that one of your biggest regrets was not being able to convince him to follow his dream. So I thought I’d give you a second chance.’
‘Frank Strong was certainly happy when he left here, so you gave him a second chance too,’ said Grandad.
‘Well,’ said Walter, ‘as the saying goes, “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.”’
Nurse Hatchett popped her head around the corner. ‘He looks so handsome, doesn’t he, Walter?’ she said as she flashed her eyelids.
Grandad gave Walter a wink.
‘He looks like a Hollywood star, Nurse Hatchett,’ replied Walter, with a grin.
‘Don’t forget to take some blankets if you’re going outside,’ said Nurse Hatchett.
‘It’s almost summer, Nurse Hatchett. Relax,’ said Grandad, in his best movie-star voice.
‘Frank Strong was a bit confused at first,’ Grandad said, as he and Walter went down the hall together. ‘He hadn’t seen me for almost thirty-five years. He said that he wanted to become my apprentice, but I explained that I retired from carpentry and woodcarving twenty years ago! I sent him to one of the top furniture-makers in the city.’
They stopped by the large window on the second-floor landing.
‘Is he going to take the Condor Chair away?’ asked Walter.
‘I did offer to return it to him,’ Grandad replied. ‘But he said he wouldn’t dream of it. Of course, I will leave it to you when I go.’
‘Go where?’ asked Walter.
There was a moment’s silence, which seemed to last an eternity.
‘When I die,’ Grandad replied gently.
‘Grandad,’ Walter said excitedly, reaching out to grasp the old man’s hand. ‘That is why I have come to see you. I have this great idea!’ Walter looked around to check for nosey parkers.
‘I want to use the power of Noitanigami to make you younger, so that you can drink tea without spilling it, and make furniture again, and come back to live with Dad and Mum and me.’
‘Walter,’ Grandad said quietly. ‘I have been on this planet for over eighty wonderful years, and I have lived every day as if it might be the last. Yes, I am coming to the end of my days. It may be tomorrow, it may be next year, or the year after, but when it is time, it is time. I have led a long and happy life and that’s all I ever wished and hoped for.’
‘But wouldn’t you like to stay here longer so that we can spend more time together?’ Walter asked, a little sadly.
‘Walter,’ Grandad replied, ‘although I love you dearly, I cannot ask for a second more than I am given in this life.’
‘Do you see that setting sun?’ he continued, pointing to the hazy orange sun throwing a warm glow over the village. ‘Should we call it back and tell the moon to wait?’
Walter thought about it. ‘I suppose not. It wouldn’t seem right, would it? Besides,’ he added, with a slight smirk, ‘I love the moon.’ Then a big smile broke out on his freckly face. ‘But I love my grandad even more,’ he said, as he gave Grandad a huge hug.
‘What are we doing here?’ said Grandad, all flustered but looking very chuffed. ‘I’m dressed for going out. Let’s go watch that sunset.’
11
Off to the Moon
Together they ambled down Runyon Hill, chatting as they went, with swallows dancing over their heads and at their feet. They stopped at the bench overlooking the village.
‘Did I ever tell you how I tidied up this town, Walter?’ asked Grandad.
‘No,’ replied Walter, ‘but I reckoned it was by good example – always putting your wrappers and apple cores in the bin.’
‘Indeed,’ said Grandad. ‘But sometimes good example is not enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Walter.
‘Well,’ said Grandad, ‘Nittiburg’s name as the tidiest village in the land is all down to … Noitanigami.’
Walter stopped and looked for a trace of a smile on his grandad’s face, but Grandad looked very serious indeed.
‘On my very first evening as Mayor of Nittiburg,’ he began, ‘I simply said the word “rubbish” backwards – hsibbur – three times, while in my mind’s eye I imagined all the sweet wrappers, cigarette butts, crisp bags and chewing gum returning to their rightful owners.
‘On that evening, our Mr Strong was giving a talk at the parent–teacher meeting in the school when two sweet wrappers, a large apple core and a piece of dirty chewing gum rolled in the door. When Mr Strong saw the litter coming, he stopped talking and ran, but the litter chased him around the hall until it finally caught up with him. The wrappers and the apple core jumped straight into his pocket, while the dirty chewing gum shot right back into his mouth. He always suspected I had something to do with it as he’d heard me spell and sing backwards in my workshop. There was no littering in Nittiburg from that day onwards,’ said Grandad, smiling.
Walter snorted with laughter. ‘That’s my new favourite story, Grandad,’ he said.
Then they heard the sound of joyous shouting coming from a house down the hill.
‘Why is that person laughing?’ asked Grandad. ‘Is my voice really that loud, Walter?’
‘That’s Dad down there in the garden,’ Walter explained, grinning. ‘He’s working on his new invention – the pedal-dryer, a bike with a compartment for drying clothes. At least it’s more environmentally friendly than the loomobile!’
Grandad chuckled, ‘So, the loomobile went down the toilet?’
‘Actually, it’s still in the pond,’ replied Walter, point
ing towards the house with a smile. ‘Grandad,’ he continued, ‘I was wondering …’
‘What were you wondering, Walter?’
‘I was wondering if you’ll marry Nurse Hatchett?’
Grandad looked at Walter. ‘You do have a wild imagination, Walter, don’t you? Boy, you do have a wild imagination.’
‘And so do you, Grandad,’ Walter said.
Grandad and Walter watched, contentedly, as the sun disappeared and the moon rose slowly over the horizon.
‘That’s where I’m going to live in the future,’ said Walter, pointing at the now full moon.
‘Wouldn’t you miss this wonderful planet of ours?’ asked Grandad.
‘Well, with Noitanigami,’ said Walter, ‘I can always come back if I need to.’
‘I forgot to tell you, Walter,’ Grandad said, ‘you can’t perform Noitanigami on yourself.’
‘Then you’re going to have to stay around, Grandad, in case I need you to bring me home. You’ll just have to stick around for a long, long time.’
A Note from the Author
Hi, Readers!
When I was around ten or eleven, I discovered that I could spell backwards – any word – just as fast as anybody else could spell forwards. I had developed the talent during the hours and hours I spent standing, dreaming, in the corridor of the CBS Primary School in Carlow, mainly for being a ‘cheeky pup’ and answering back.
School bored me silly, or, more precisely, boring teachers bored me – teachers who, like Mr Strong, should really have been doing something else with their lives, like fishing for electric eels with metal fishing rods, digging holes with their bare hands, or running for Taoiseach in their bare feet, on a gravel road – whatever, but not teaching, nooooooooo.
Anyway, for years I wondered why my wonderful gift could not be used to make a few shillings, pounds, euro. When I was in my twenties (I’m 41 now, or 14 backwards, which is probably closer to the truth) and lived in New York, I even tried to get a job once as a backwards speller in a weird talent show, alongside people who ate worms and drank cider through their noses, but they turned me down.
Walter Speazlebud Page 4