Marvellous Mix-Ups

by Alexander McCall Smith

  The spaghetti was soft, of course, which was a good thing, but when John got up he was covered in it from head to toe.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” said Mr Pipelli, nonetheless still sounding very cheerful. “But at least we’ve fixed the machine. I’m sure it’ll work now!”

  “But what about me?” John mumbled from somewhere within the tangle of spaghetti. “I’m afraid I’m all tied up.”

  Mr Pipelli flashed the torch over John.

  “I see,” he said. “Yes, well maybe we should do something about you. Now, I’ll just start pulling on this piece here …”

  Mr Pipelli took hold of a strand of spaghetti and began to tug. As he did so, John felt the spaghetti slithering around him, like the coils of an impossibly long snake.

  “That’s it!” said Mr Pipelli enthusiastically. “It’s coming away nicely.”

  Mr Pipelli spoke too soon. Although the spaghetti had begun to move, it had also begun to tighten.

  “Please stop,” John called out. “It’s tying me up so that I can’t move.”

  Mr Pipelli shook his head.

  “We’ll have to get you out of here somehow,” he said. “Then we can have a better look at the problem.”

  Helped by Nicky, Mr Pipelli managed to half roll, half push John out of the hatch and back into the factory. The spaghetti workers stood round, gazing at John, scratching their heads.

  “Can anybody think of a way to get him out of there?” asked Mr Pipelli. “If we pull at the spaghetti it seems just to get worse.”

  The spaghetti workers whispered among themselves. They had seen all sorts of things happen in the spaghetti factory. They remembered the day when Mr Pipelli dropped his hat into the spaghetti machine and had watched helplessly as it had come out the other end in long strands of material. They all remembered that very well and still talked about it whenever they saw their employer wearing anything on his head. In fact, one of the spaghetti workers had called her new baby Cappello, which means “hat” in Italian – just to remind her of that marvellous incident. Yes, they had seen many strange things, but never anything quite as strange as this.

  As they were standing about, wondering how they could possibly get John out of the tangle, one of the women suddenly stepped forward and whispered something in Mr Pipelli’s ear. It was Olivia.

  Mr Pipelli listened gravely, stroked his chin, and then nodded.

  “That might just work, Olivia,” he said. “You just go and fetch the – you know what I mean – and we’ll try.”

  Nicky tugged at Mr Pipelli’s sleeve.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked timidly. “You’re not going to hurt him are you? Aunt Rebecca will be furious if you do.”

  Mr Pipelli patted her gently on the shoulder.

  “Of course not,” he said reassuringly. Then, whispering, he went on to explain. “Olivia suggested that we –” his eyes glistened with mischief “– that we pour olive oil all over him. In that way he’ll be slippery enough to wriggle his way out of the spaghetti! Now, isn’t that a brilliant idea?”

  Before Nicky had the chance to reply, Olivia had returned. Fortunately, John could not see out of the spaghetti tangle and so he was unable to watch them raise the large can over his head and begin to pour. The first thing he knew of it was when he felt the cold, slippery oil slithering its way all over him.

  “Now!” shouted Mr Pipelli. “Wriggle!”

  John did as he was told and, after a few moments of wriggling and hopping, he felt himself begin to slip out of the tangle. With a final shiver and shake, he popped out of the tangle and was free. As he did so, all the spaghetti workers raised a cheer of delight.

  John was thrilled to be free of the spaghetti. In fact, he was so pleased, that he hardly noticed the fact that he was covered, not only with little bits of spaghetti, but with olive oil too.

  Mr Pipelli beamed with pleasure.

  “Now, we can try the machine again,” he said. “Let’s see if we’ve fixed it.”

  It took only one press on the button. With a great whirring the machine came back to life, working perfectly.

  “We did it!” shouted Mr Pipelli. “Everybody take a day’s holiday!”

  The spaghetti workers gave another rousing cheer and Mr Pipelli turned to John and Nicky.

  “And as for you, my friends,” he said. “Let’s go straight to the factory kitchen and have lunch. I’ve asked the chef to cook the very best plate of spaghetti he can manage, so I can assure you it should be most delicious.”

  Mr Pipelli was right. The lunch was even tastier than the one which John and Nicky had eaten in the restaurant. There was not just one plate of spaghetti for each person – there were six! There was:

  For the first course:

  Spaghetti with special cheese sauce, made out of Swiss cheese with holes. The spaghetti was threaded through the holes of the cheese and tied in bows!

  For the second course:

  A single strand of spaghetti ten yards long. This strand was curled round and round on the plate and had to be sucked up into the mouth and swallowed all in one piece!

  For the third course:

  Spaghetti which was plain on the outside but which had the sauce inside the hollow centre. Many tried to make such spaghetti, but only Mr Pipelli could do it.

  For the fourth course:

  Indian cobra spaghetti. This spaghetti stood up on end like a cobra. It swayed as you tried to eat it, but was very delicious when caught.

  For the fifth course:

  Needle spaghetti. This spaghetti was so thin that you could suck it into your mouth through the spaces in between your teeth!

  For the sixth, and final course:

  Ordinary spaghetti in the most delicious red sauce imaginable. There was oodles of sauce, which had to be slurped up with the spaghetti. Everybody made a great noise doing this, and got covered with sauce, more or less from head to toe. Second helpings were served – twice!

  Afterwards, as full and as happy as they had ever been in their lives, the children were led by Mr Pipelli to the front door and ushered into a waiting car.

  “Thank you so much for all your help,” he said, as he shook hands with them. “And perhaps we shall meet again one day. After all, who knows what life can bring?”

  The car drew away from the factory, with Mr Pipelli still standing on the steps, waving his handkerchief at his departing guests. Inside the car, John and Nicky were happier than they had been for years. It didn’t matter that John had a blob of spaghetti dough lodged down the back of his shirt. It did not matter that the rest of his clothes were covered with sticky strands of spaghetti as well as being soaked in olive oil. Nor did it matter that Nicky’s dress was splattered with hundreds of reminders of the red sauce. It had been a marvellous, exciting day and they both knew they would remember every moment of it forever.

  ~ 8 ~

  Aunt Rebecca Gets to Work

  “Look at you!” hissed Aunt Rebecca, quivering with rage. “Just look at you!”

  John hung his head. He had to admit that he looked a bit of a sight, covered as he was with spaghetti, but surely it would all wash off easily enough?

  “And as for you, Nicky,” Aunt Rebecca went on. “What were you doing letting your brother get himself into such a state? And look at your dress – ruined!”

  “I was holding a torch!” Nicky said timidly. “Mr Pipelli had John on his shoulders, you see –”

  “On his what?” cried Aunt Rebecca. “You both obviously have a great deal of explaining to do!”

  John tried to tell his aunt about what happened, but it only seemed to make matters worse. At the end of his explanation, her face was stormy with anger.

  “I should have known that something like this would happen,” she said. “Nothing good could be expected of a spaghetti factory! And as for that Mr Pipelli, I very much hope that he has a good explanation when I see him tomorrow.”

  “You’re seeing him tomorrow?” Nicky asked. “But why?�
�

  “To complain,” snapped Aunt Rebecca. “Do you think I’m going to let him get away with all this?”

  John and Nicky remained silent. When Aunt Rebecca was in that sort of mood, they knew there was nothing they could do to persuade her otherwise.

  The next day Aunt Rebecca told John and Nicky to get ready to accompany her to Mr Pipelli’s factory. They were very unwilling to go, as the last thing they wanted to do was to complain to the generous and likeable Mr Pipelli, but their aunt insisted.

  They arrived at the factory in sunken spirits.

  “It’s going to be awful,” Nicky whispered to John. “She’s going to make a terrible scene.”

  “I know,” said John under his breath. “And Mr Pipelli will think that we put her up to it.”

  The man at the factory gate tried to tell Aunt Rebecca that it would be impossible for her to see Mr Pipelli, but she brushed him aside.

  “If you don’t show me to his office,” she said, “then I shall find my own way there.”

  The man looked Aunt Rebecca up and down and decided that she was not a person to be trifled with. Reluctantly he led the three of them to the door marked, THE BOSS.

  Aunt Rebecca knocked once, but did not wait for an answer. Throwing the door wide open, she burst into Mr Pipelli’s room and marched up to the astonished spaghetti manufacturer’s desk.

  Mr Pipelli sprang to his feet and, hiding his surprise, bowed to Aunt Rebecca.

  “My dear lady,” he said, reaching for her hand. “How kind of you to call on me. I take it that you’re the aunt of my two friends.”

  Aunt Rebecca stopped in her tracks.

  “Please,” said Mr Pipelli, kissing her hand. “Please allow me to offer you a chair.”

  By now, Aunt Rebecca, overcome by the politeness and charm of the famous spaghetti manufacturer, was completely incapable of complaining.

  “Actually,” she began. “I was rather … er … rather cross …”

  She stopped. Mr Pipelli had now seated her in a chair and had offered her a peppermint from a silver bowl on his desk.

  “I don’t eat sweets,” said Aunt Rebecca.

  “But how wise!” said Mr Pipelli. “If only other people would do the same as you.”

  Aunt Rebecca looked suspiciously at Mr Pipelli.

  “But I don’t see how you can say that,” she said. “After all, you make all that spaghetti which people cover with red sauce and terrible things like that.”

  Mr Pipelli waved a hand in the air.

  “Well perhaps you could help me,” he said, smiling in a charming way. “I’ve always wanted to make a healthier sort of spaghetti, but I’ve never found quite the right recipe.”

  For the first time that day, Aunt Rebecca smiled.

  “Perhaps I could help,” she said, warming to his idea. “Perhaps I could invent … carrot-flavoured spaghetti!”

  Mr Pipelli clapped his hands together.

  “My dear lady,” he said. “What a brilliant idea! Please, please, do that for me. I should be most grateful if you did.” And at that, Mr Pipelli rose to his feet and kissed her hand again, making Aunt Rebecca look down at the floor and blush.

  Aunt Rebecca was quite silent on the way back home. When they reached the house, the two children watched her as she made straight for the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

  “She really means it,” said Nicky. “She really intends to invent carrot-flavoured spaghetti.”

  “It’ll taste awful,” said John. “The only people who will even think about eating it will be the members of the Carrot and Nut League.”

  Aunt Rebecca remained in the kitchen for the rest of the day. She came out briefly at lunch time, to hand the two children a plate of lettuce sandwiches to eat, but she seemed too preoccupied to talk.

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, John began to worry. He knocked at the door and asked her if she was all right, but he received no more than a grunt in reply. At five o’clock he knocked again, and this time Aunt Rebecca opened the door and peered out at him.

  “Yes,” she said. “What is it?”

  “I was wondering if you were all right,” John said. “We haven’t seen you all day.”

  Aunt Rebecca dried her hands on her apron.

  “I’m perfectly all right,” she said. “And dinner will be at the normal time – seven on the dot.” Then she closed the door.

  ~ 9 ~

  Mr Pipelli Comes for Lunch

  John and Nicky were sitting at the table at five minutes before seven. At seven o’clock exactly, the door from the kitchen opened and Aunt Rebecca came out carrying a large bowl from which a small cloud of steam was rising. It was obvious to the children that this was not a dish of raw onions or lettuce salad. But what could it be?

  “Spaghetti,” announced Aunt Rebecca simply. “You tell me how much you like the stuff, and so I’ve made you some.”

  Nicky’s mouth fell open with surprise.

  “Spaghetti?” she exclaimed. “Real spaghetti?”

  “Yes,” said Aunt Rebecca proudly. “What is more, this is the first bowl, the very first bowl, of carrot-flavoured spaghetti. I’ve just invented it, and I shall introduce that Pipelli man to it tomorrow.”

  John and Nicky watched suspiciously as the newly-invented spaghetti was ladled on to their plates. It looked like ordinary spaghetti in shape, but it was undeniably carrot-coloured.

  “Eat up,” said Aunt Rebecca. “It won’t taste nearly so good if you let it get cold.”

  Reluctantly John and Nicky wound the yellow strands around their forks and then passed it to their mouths. Then they looked down at their plates, and after that at one another.

  “Well?” asked Aunt Rebecca. “What do you think?”

  “It’s marvellous,” said John.

  “Wonderful!” said Nicky.

  And they meant it. Aunt Rebecca had invented the most delicious spaghetti they had ever tasted. It was a miracle, and they had been right there in the house when it had happened. Without a break they finished off the rest of the spaghetti before them and then passed the empty plates to their aunt for more.

  “My word!” exclaimed Aunt Rebecca, her face breaking out into a contented smile. “That’s the first time you’ve asked for more – ever!”

  Aunt Rebecca telephoned Mr Pipelli the next morning and invited him to the house for lunch. He agreed to come, and when he arrived at the front door he had presents for everyone. John and Nicky each received a fountain pen with a real gold nib, and for Aunt Rebecca there was a bouquet of red roses. She became quite speechless when he gave these to her, and when he bent and kissed her hand again the children noticed that she blushed so much that she made the roses look pale.

  The new spaghetti was served for lunch. Everyone eagerly awaited Mr Pipelli’s reaction, and when it came they were not disappointed. As he took the first mouthful his eyes rolled up to the ceiling in ecstasy. Then, on the second mouthful, he threw his hands up, leapt to his feet, and tossed his table napkin out of the window in his excitement.

  “It is magnificent!” he said, when he had recovered enough to speak. “We shall start manufacturing this spaghetti immediately.”

  He sat down and looked seriously at Aunt Rebecca.

  “You have done the world of spaghetti making a great service,” he said solemnly. “And that will never be forgotten. Never!”

  “What a nice man you are,” said Aunt Rebecca, “for a spaghetti manufacturer,” she added. “Would you care to join us for lunch tomorrow?”

  Mr Pipelli nodded his head enthusiastically and said that this would give him the greatest pleasure. John felt that he should warn him that lunch could well be raw onions and seaweed, but he did not have the opportunity to speak to him privately.

  John need not have worried. Mr Pipelli sat at the table the following day and ate his raw onions with every appearance of pleasure. At the end, to the astonishment of the two children, he asked for more.

  “Quite delicious,�
�� Mr Pipelli said, smacking his lips rather loudly. “And so positively good for the system.”

  “Absolutely,” said Aunt Rebecca, as she ladled more onions on to her visitor’s plate.

  Mr Pipelli came back to lunch the next day, and the day after that. He and Aunt Rebecca seemed to get on very well, and they always took a walk round the garden after the meal. There Mr Pipelli would pick roses from Aunt Rebecca’s rosebushes (something she normally never allowed anybody to do) and would present them to her with a low bow.

  Finally, exactly one week later, Mr Pipelli announced that he had invited Aunt Rebecca to marry him and that she had agreed. They would be married the following Saturday and would all move into his mansion near the spaghetti factory.

  “Your charming aunt will become Mrs Pipelli,” he said proudly. “And you, my dear children, will become my step-nephew and step-niece. You can stay with us until your parents have found all the volcanoes they can. After all, there can’t be that many. That is, of course, if you agree to this little change in your lives.”

  “Of course we do,” shouted Nicky, and kissed Aunt Rebecca on the cheek. Aunt Rebecca smiled. She seemed much less severe now – it was almost as if she had caught Mr Pipelli’s habit of beaming with pleasure at everything he saw.

  Because she was in such a good mood, later that day John decided to ask Aunt Rebecca about the last time she had been engaged to be married.

  “It was all a very long time ago,” she explained. “He was a pastry chef, you know – a very good one. He was a kind man too.”

  “Then what happened?” asked John. “Did he run away?”

  For a moment or two Aunt Rebecca looked sorrowful again, as if she were remembering something rather sad.

  “No,” she said. “He didn’t run away. It’s just that he was rather … greedy. In fact, he was terribly, terribly greedy. When we ate meals together, he would take things from my plate and pop them into his mouth. I don’t think he even knew he was doing it.”