by Tom Hoffman
“Clara.”
The next morning Bartholomew arrived later than usual for breakfast. Parfello greeted him as he always did.
“Good morning, Master Bartholomew, I trust you slept well?”
“Pancakes will be fine, thank you.”
Parfello glanced over at Bartholomew. The last time he had seen him this distracted was in the days before his trip to the Cavern of Silence.
Bartholomew had a faraway look as he sat gazing out the kitchen window. This morning he had asked the Cavern of Silence about Clara, but there had been no reply, which was unusual. He had the singular sensation that something important was beginning, and it had started when he heard Clara’s name in the night.
Parfello went to town for groceries, leaving Bartholomew alone with his thoughts. His gaze remained unbroken until a quick movement near the front fence jarred him from his reverie. He spied a shadowy figure walking towards the gate, pushing a large wooden crate on a cart in front of them.
“Blast! Another salesrabbit!”
Bartholomew dropped to the floor, silverware clattering down around him. He crawled across the kitchen towards the window. Once he was safely concealed under a table he relaxed.
“These are the most persistent salesrabbits I have ever had the pleasure of not meeting.” For the last week a series of door to door peddlers had been knocking on Bartholomew’s door. He wondered if his newfound wealth had anything to do with it. So far he had successfully avoided them by hiding under tables and behind couches, waiting patiently until they left. He sat quietly, listening to the approaching footsteps.
He chuckled to himself. “Victory is mine, my peddling friend.”
His smile vanished when he heard the Cavern of Silence speak.
“Every atom, every molecule, and every bouncing marble is exactly where it should be at every moment in time.”
Bartholomew had a sinking feeling he knew what the Cavern of Silence was telling him.
“Are you saying the salesrabbit is where he should be and I need to answer the door?”
“I am merely reminding you that the most valuable gifts in life often arrive in strange packages. Do not reject what life puts before you.”
Bartholomew crawled slowly out from under the table and stood up.
“Very well. Perhaps he is here to give me a free tin of chocolate creams.”
The Cavern of Silence made no reply.
Bartholomew waited for the inevitable knock on the front door. When it came he took a deep breath and swung the door open.
“How wonderful to see you, my old friend! I have missed your company indeed.”
“Great heavens! Oliver T. Rabbit, as I live and breathe. What in the world are you doing here? Whatever the reason, I am more than happy to see you. Please come in.”
Oliver pushed the heavy cart through the doorway. He grabbed Bartholomew’s paw and shook it until Bartholomew thought his bones would rattle.
“How is my very wealthy friend Bartholomew doing? You found what you were looking for? You made your way safely back from that dreadful swamp, I see.”
“Indeed I did. You must stay and visit for at least several days. I shall tell you about the rest of my adventure and you in turn must tell me about yours.”
“I would love to stay. Consider it done. But aren’t you curious to know what I have in this mysterious crate?” He laughed loudly, raising one eyebrow in an overly dramatic fashion. “Have a seat my friend, and I will unveil it as only a Certified Representative of the Excelsior Electro-Vacuumator Corporation can do.”
Bartholomew seated himself in a chair facing Oliver. He had a feeling he was in for quite a show. Oliver took a deep bow and began.
“Good sir, allow me to introduce the newest scientific marvel of this generation. I present to you a mechanical cleaning system based on the astonishing scientific principle of negative air pressure, powered by the fantastically rare and unthinkably energetic element known as duplonium. In combination with the modern miracle of steam power, this amazing element produces endless quantities of the very same forces found in Zeus’s own lightning bolts. I am of course referring to nothing less than pure electrical energy.”
He paused, winking at Bartholomew, then went on. “This, my friend, is the extraordinary, revolutionary Model Mark III Prototype Excelsior Electro-Vacuumator. You will find nothing else remotely like it in the world today.”
Oliver dramatically flipped down the sides of the crate to reveal a large and complex two-wheeled mechanical contraption covered with dials, tubes, and colored levers.
“Please remain seated while I demonstrate the astonishing cleaning abilities of this fantastic machine.” He placed his paw on a red lever.
With the word “prototype” echoing in his ears, Bartholomew remembered what the duplonium had done to the Skeezle’s house.
“Wait!!”
Oliver did not even hesitate. He flipped the red lever. The sound was unthinkably loud. Later, Bartholomew would describe it as the mating of a hurricane with a trumpeting bull elephant. Bartholomew again shouted at Oliver to stop, but his voice was drowned out by the earsplitting roar of the vacuumator. He leaned forward, extending his arm towards the red lever, but before he could shut off the vacuumator the room abruptly became silent. He could see clouds of dust billowing out from the vacuumator, but he could hear nothing until the Cavern of Silence spoke.
“The most valuable gifts in life often arrive in very strange packages.”
He pulled his paw back and the screaming roar of the Mark III Electro-Vaccumator returned.
Bartholomew watched as Oliver dashed about the room, dragging the long hose from the vacuumator behind him. He jabbed the end of the hose here and there as dust flew about in every direction.
“Why is Cavern asking me to endure this noisy and terrifying display? Suppose the duplonium explodes?” In the end, Bartholomew’s trust in the Cavern of Silence outweighed his own fears, and so he watched and waited patiently for Oliver to finish his exceedingly exuberant demonstration.
Finally it was over. Oliver reeled in the vacuumator hose, leaned over and flipped the red lever. Blissful silence filled the room.
“Oliver, that was marvelous, especially the part where the duplonium did not explode and convert my house to a pile of flaming splinters.”
Oliver roared with laughter and held up his paw. “One moment, sir. The demonstration is not yet complete.”
With a great flourish he unlatched a large green canister from the Vacuumator and raised it into the air.
“The proof, good sir, is in the pudding.” He flipped the canister over and dumped its contents onto the floor. When the cloud of dust had settled, Bartholomew saw a great pile of dirt, crumbs, buttons, dust, threads, pebbles, scraps of newspaper, and dried carrot slices.
Oliver continued. “This, dear friends, displays the astonishing suction power of the Mark III Electro-Vacuumator and the astonishing power of duplonium, a huge vein of which was recently discovered by that legendary adventurer, Bartholomew Rabbit.” He took a deep bow.
Bartholomew clapped loudly and pointed to the dusty mound on the hallway floor. “Perhaps as an encore you could–” He stopped in mid-sentence. In the middle of the pile lay a small white irregular shaped piece of cardboard.
“Great heavens, you’ve found the missing puzzle piece! You have found my missing puzzle piece! You have no idea how long I have been looking for that.” Bartholomew reached down and picked up the small cardboard piece. He turned to Oliver and laughed, “I am indeed impressed, sir. Please deliver a Mark III Prototype Vacuumator to my home at your earliest convenience.”
“Done and done, sir. Please accept this Mark III Electro-Vacuumator as a token of sincere thanks from both myself and the Excelsior Corporation. It may reassure you to know this astonishingly powerful device is powered by a single piece of duplonium no larger than a pinhead, and would destroy only half of your lovely home should it explode.” He roared with laughter at his
joke, then reached out and shook Bartholomew’s paw. “On a personal note, good sir, I am happy I could help you complete your jigsaw puzzle. An unsolved puzzle can be very difficult to live with indeed.”
Oliver’s voice was jovial, but Bartholomew was inexplicably filled with a feeling of deep sadness at his last words. He felt like crying. How curious. He had learned to pay close attention to feelings which came to him from the Cavern of Silence.
Parfello entered the room and Bartholomew graciously introduced Oliver.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Oliver. Bartholomew has spoken of you so often I feel we are already friends. I do hope you are enjoying your visit to our lovely town of Lepus Hollow.”
“You reflect my own feelings, Parfello. Bartholomew mentioned you many times during our adventures in that veritable paradise known as the Swamp of Lost Things.” He laughed loudly, then continued. “It may surprise you to know I am not entirely unfamiliar with Lepus Hollow. I lived quite near here for a time when I was a bunny. I have many fond memories from those days, but also some less happier ones. But that is life, is it not? If we have more happy memories than sad ones, I believe we are doing quite well in this uncertain world of ours.”
Bartholomew and Parfello nodded in agreement. Neither questioned Oliver about his less than happy memories. Their conversation turned to the wonders of the new Mark III Vaccumator and the story of Oliver’s triumphant return to the Excelsior Corporation. Then they mutually agreed that Oliver should retrieve his belongings from the inn where he was staying, and take up residence in Bartholomew’s home.
Chapter 2
The Mystery of the Puzzling Eye
After Oliver had left for the inn, Bartholomew took his missing puzzle piece into the drawing room. In front of him stood an ornate mahogany table surrounded by plush chairs. On the table lay a jigsaw puzzle, a lovely pastoral scene with several sheep grazing in a meadow. One of the sheep had a missing eye. Bartholomew carefully inserted the lost puzzle piece. Voila, the sheep was whole, the puzzle complete. He felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was a blissful feeling, as though the universe was somehow pleased by this. Why would the universe care about him finishing a jigsaw puzzle? There had to be more to it. There had to be something he was missing.
Was he somehow connected to Oliver? Oliver had played an important role in helping him find his Great Gem, and Oliver’s arrival had now led him to the missing puzzle piece. Was the unknown force guiding him towards something? He removed the puzzle piece, studying it intently. An eye. A single eye. Of course! He had seen the identical image on the brass door knob in the Swamp of Lost Things. What could that mean? He tried to think.
“One single eye on the door knob and again on the puzzle piece. What meaning does a single eye hold for me?” Out of nowhere, out of everywhere, a bright red image appeared in his mind. He slapped his paw to his forehead. “It’s from The Complete Adventures of Renegade Rabbit, Private Eye!”
Bartholomew moved quickly to his library. He hadn’t thought of Renegade Rabbit since his school days. As a bunny he had read all the stories at least a dozen times. Renegade Rabbit, master of observation and deduction. There was no mystery he couldn’t solve. Rolling the ladder to the far end of the library, he scampered up to the top shelf, sliding his paw along the dusty books until he came to a large red volume. Pulling it out from the shelf, he examined the cover. Beneath the title was a single eye embossed in gold leaf.
“Either I’m completely mad or I’m not. Renegade Rabbit, Private Eye, I will let you decide. Let’s see if you can solve Bartholomew’s Mystery of the Puzzling Eye.”
Bartholomew flipped the book open. A small, stiff rectangular piece of paper fluttered down to the floor below. Bartholomew backed down the ladder, his eyes never leaving the tattered yellow rectangle. He leaned down and picked it up, quickly flipping it over. The world stopped.
It was a photograph of his dearest childhood friend, Clara Rabbit.
This was not what he had been expecting. Bartholomew sank down into a reading chair, his eyes brimming with tears. He repeated Clara’s name over and over, his thoughts pulling him back to the school yard where they used to play. He could see himself and Clara running toward the swings, so young, and so filled with promise. He remembered the other bunnies teasing them, saying that he and Clara would one day marry. It had embarrassed him terribly, but he had never denied it, and neither had Clara. When he returned after the summer holiday for his final year of school, he learned that Clara and her family had moved away without notice. Nobody knew where they had gone. It was a mystery not even Renegade Rabbit could solve.
He had dreams of Clara for years after that, often having long conversations with her which were lost to him the moment he woke up. He put the photo of Clara in a silver frame and placed it on the hall table near the front door. He would see her when he left the house, and again when he returned. He had never had another friend like Clara.
Chapter 3
Oliver’s Revelation
Oliver returned that evening with his belongings, but excused himself, saying he was tired from the long journey. Even the offer of a glass of Orvieto Pinot Grigio would not sway his decision to retire for the night.
Hours later, Bartholomew lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He was certain his new adventure had started, but he had no idea where it was taking him. He was in the midst of it now, and Clara was a part of it. It had started with Clara’s name being spoken in the night, then Oliver’s arrival, and the missing puzzle piece which had led to Clara’s photograph. He had so many questions. Was Clara alive? Where had she been all these years?
“I have to sleep. Thinking about this will gain me nothing. All I can do is wait for events to unfold.” He listened to the rhythmic ticking of the clock and was finally carried from awake to asleep, set adrift again on the ocean of silence. When he woke up, however, he was standing in the shimmering blue waters surrounding The Most Beautiful Island.
He looked around him. His sudden presence on the island was astonishing, but at the same time felt completely natural. He dipped his paw in the cool water, splashing it on his face. He smelled the air and the scent of the flowers. A floating streamer bird sailed past him. This was as real as his first visit. He remembered the words Cavern had spoken almost three months ago.
“This is your first visit, but it will not be your last.”
He walked to the shoreline and climbed the grassy slopes up to the island. Nothing had changed since his first visit. The flowers and trees were still beautiful beyond description. The white wooden chair was exactly where he had left it. As he walked across the island, he recalled the Garden With No End where he had discovered his Great Gem. He walked past a stand of flowering trees and found the pathway leading to the garden. Ducking beneath a low branch, he entered the Garden With No End. Standing in front of him was Clara.
Bartholomew couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely think. Clara was older, but it was her. He would know her anywhere, at any age. He forgot how long he had been there. They gazed at each other for... a moment? A thousand years? Bartholomew didn’t know. Clara spoke only five words.
“Bartholomew, you must help me.”
Clara vanished and Bartholomew was again lying in his bed.
When he spoke with Oliver the next day, Bartholomew didn’t mention his nocturnal visit to the island. Oliver was a man of science, but this was beyond science. It wasn’t the first time he had withheld information from Oliver. When he described his adventure in the Swamp of Lost Things, he hadn’t mentioned the Hallway of Doors and was purposefully vague about the Most Beautiful Island. He said he had stumbled upon a rather lovely island and stayed there for a while. The island had given him time to relax and reflect on his life, and he had decided to let his conscience guide his decisions more. He didn’t mention the Tree of Eyes or the Cavern of Silence or his conversations with them. He hoped the time would come when he would be able
to broach these topics with Oliver.
After a hearty breakfast Oliver stood up and said,” Now we must get to the business of teaching you and Parfello the approved operating procedures for your new Mark III Electro-Vacuumator. As you know, this is a complex and powerful mechanical device. We have joked about a duplonium explosion, but in truth, if operated incorrectly the resultant effects could be quite catastrophic.” He attempted to give them both a severe look, but it was so unlike Oliver that it almost made Bartholomew laugh. He nodded, trying to adopt an equally somber expression.
“If you will both follow me to the front hallway, we shall begin. There is no need to take notes, as everything I say can be found within this operating manual which I am holding.” He held up a weighty volume for them to see. Bartholomew felt as though he was back in a school science class again, a feeling he did not particularly enjoy. He pulled out a chair and resolutely sat down, doing his best to appear interested.
“Before we begin, I will humbly admit that I played a crucial part in the design of this marvelous machine. I am accordingly quite familiar with every aspect of its function. Now, as you know, the Vacuumator is powered by duplonium. The duplonium heats water, turning it to steam, which then drives an electrical generator. This system provides the energy needed to run the device. Now, this is very important – this small blue lever which I am pointing to must first be flipped to the ON position. NEVER try to start the device with...”
Oliver droned on and on. Bartholomew’s thoughts began to wander. Instead of listening to the words Oliver was saying, he began paying attention to Oliver’s expressions and how he moved about, emphasizing certain words with his paws. He noticed that from time to time Oliver would glance discreetly over to the hallway table. This was curious. And then, in a single brilliant moment, Bartholomew understood everything. He knew what his great adventure would be. He saw the underlying strings connecting all the seemingly random events. He thought his heart might burst at the perfection of it all. The marbles were bouncing, and each one was exactly where it should be. He stood up and walked quickly to the hallway table. He picked up the framed photograph of Clara and held it up in front of Oliver.