Tom was clumsy at breakfast as usual and somehow managed to get some of his coffee into Johnny's porridge. Johnny liked the taste, but Julia said it was ridiculous, though she could not help laughing. "It's not fair to your thoughts to try to help with breakfast and think at the same time," she said. "I had a funny dream," Tom apologized. "I was in a rolling rocky place and every rock looked like a large animal lying down or like something difficult to understand. And a woman's voice kept saying, 'Yes, this is the place.' I wanted to ask 'What place?' but was too frightened. So I only said, 'Thank you very much!' every time she said, 'Yes, this is the place.' Finally she got tired of saying it, I suppose, and said, 'Do you like it?' Not wanting to be dishonest, I answered, 'I like what I see of it.' 'Oh, you'll remember much more afterwards than you see now,' she said. And it's quite true that since I woke I've been remembering a lot more about it than I noticed in my dream. There was a post-box, for instance, with my name on it, only my name was Mr. Thank-you-very-much instead of Tom. I looked for the key to it in my pockets, as if I knew I must have it on me, and found it after a little search.
In the box was a picture-postcard for me from myself addressed to 'Mr. Thank-you-very-much' and signed 'Mr. Thinking-hard.' It said: 'This is the place. Do you like it?' "
Tommy had been afraid that Tom would give away his and Johnny's secret, and was relieved when he stopped talking about his dream. At least he hadn't described the other side of the postcard. Julia said, "Oh, you must have been dreaming about the playground that I sent the children to this afternoon. It's a very mysterious place—that's why I sent the children there, to get some dreams. You must have caught one."
A FAIRY TALE FOR OLDER PEOPLE
FRANCES CAT was a long, black, sulky creature who did not like having anything to do with other people. But to be in her own house surrounded by everything necessary to her comfort was very different from finding herself in the middle of a strange forest, not knowing how she had got into it and not knowing how to get out. She did not, however, lose control of herself. For if she got the least bit worried or excited she would surely begin to feel lonely, and want someone to talk it all over with. And wanting people always brought them. And she did not like having anything to do with other people, because it meant remembering their names and their faces and their likes and their dislikes, and being as nice to them as she expected them to be to her—she would not, of course, want anyone to be anything but nice to her. She had always preferred getting along without friends and being merely very, very nice to herself. At home she never took any notice of other people. Somehow—no matter how—every Saturday morning an envelope was slipped under her door containing enough money for the week. When she went into a shop she had only to say, "I want this and this," or "No, not that, thank you," when they brought her the wrong thing, and to put out her hand with the money, and to put it out again for the change. There was no need to take the slightest notice of anyone. And now she was not going to go against her nature simply because she happened to be in the middle of a strange forest, which she had certainly not walked into with her own feet. It might easily happen that to-morrow would find her back again in the life she had always led; and in that case it would be silly to go back anything but the same long, black, sulky creature that she had always been.
She stood in a large clearing over which arched branches hung and intertwined, making a thick roof against light, wind and weather. And yet there was enough light for Frances to see where she was, and a pleasant breeze played about her face, and she distinctly felt that it must be a fine day outside—no, it was distinctly a fine day inside. Where did it all come from? "Never mind where it all comes from," she said to herself. "It must be time for my nap." It didn't matter that she didn't know what time it was or perhaps wasn't even sleepy. At home she would always say to herself, whenever she felt that there was a danger of her getting too interested in anything, "It must be time for my nap." So instead of investigating where the light and the breeze and the fine day came from, she curled up and was asleep in a moment.
She made it a very long nap indeed. Every time she felt herself waking Up she would peep out of the corner of one eye and then out of the corner of the other, to see if she was not really at home again, and it had not all been a dream. But at last she could keep-her eyes shut no longer and was forced to admit that, no it had not all been a dream. Furthermore, in this forest-room there now seemed to be several things that had not been there before. At least, she had not noticed them. Perhaps they had been there all the time, but Frances Cat was not a sharp observer; she did not notice things unless there was no way of not noticing them. For instance, it might be that she had actually come into this strange forest on her own feet and had merely not noticed what she was doing. But now there was no denying that there were several things that had not been there before, or that she had not noticed before. To be exact, there were four things. The first was a large white ball which floated softly all around her without getting in her way and from which the light by which she saw seemed to come, and also the breeze that played about her face, from the continuous soft movement of the ball. The second thing was a book that she found herself reading; and as for what the book said, that is the real story. For by getting interested in what the book said, Frances allowed herself to do a number of things that finally led to her death. That is, she was changed into a Nothing. But before that a great many other things happened. And then it will be necessary to explain what a Nothing is. And then there is a story of how a Nothing becomes Something again. But now there is still to tell what the third thing was, and the fourth. The third thing was a fine golden dust which was clearly the cause of its seeming such a fine day, and of the warm feeling that Frances had at first thought to mean that it was a fine day outside. It must be understood that the large white ball from which the light came was as cold as it was white, and that the breeze that it made in floating softly all around her was nothing in itself, so that some such fine golden dust was absolutely necessary to the comfort of anyone who might find herself in this forest-room; and the object of the Indescribable Witch who ruled over this forest was not to make anyone uncomfortable. It was a dust like warm yellow snow, practically invisible, as when you say, "It is a fine day," you don't mean that you actually see the fineness.
Frances Cat now noticed that there was this fine golden dust in the air. She couldn't help noticing, since she was feeling so completely good, so much better than merely comfortable. But she didn't want to feel so completely good. According to her way of thinking, if one allowed oneself to feel too good one always expected things to match one's feelings, which of course they never did; or at least one expected more than it was reasonable in the circumstances to expect. And then there was always the disappointment. It was better (she thought) to have just the one unexciting feeling all the time of feeling merely comfortable than to feel first completely good and then completely bad, which left one feeling nothing at all and saying to oneself that one might as well be dead. And, of course, one never ought to talk like that. Death was a subject that should be left alone—as long as possible. Yet now she was feeling completely good in spite of every precaution she had taken against letting this sudden change in her life make her feel different from how she had always felt—neither completely good nor completely bad.
And she couldn't help noticing the golden dust that filled the air like a perfume that one saw ever so faintly—rather than smelt through one's nose. And she couldn't help noticing the book that she found herself reading, for she had got really interested in it before she had realized that she was reading it. And then it was too late not to notice it. And she couldn't help noticing the large white ball from which the light by which she saw came, for it behaved so very thoughtfully, rolling and bouncing all around her without causing her any inconvenience whatever, touching her and yet not touching her, a bubble white as ice and soft as Japan silk and bright as a little moon full of daylight. How could she help noticing it, when
it not only provided her with all the light she could possibly want, but took special care not to get in her way—not to be noticed? Here was a new kind of comfort indeed! This was more than she had ever expected of comfort at home. She tried to feel that something was wrong; but the more she tried to feel that something was wrong, the more she could not help feeling that something was right. For the first time in her life a smile appeared on her face. She did not know that she was smiling, but she did know that she was feeling completely good.
Now, because she is called Frances Cat it must not be thought that she was a cat. She was a long, black, sulky creature, and what more need be said? If it is easier to think of a creature such as this as a cat, very well. On the other hand, it is not precisely declared that she was a cat. It is only precisely declared that her name was Frances Cat and that she had a cat-like nature. And as the things that happened to her are not the kind of things that one would ordinarily imagine happening to a cat, it is advisable to think of her as a person; for there is no limit to what one can imagine happening to persons. In any case, please believe that everything that is told of her is true. Think of her in whatever way best fits in with your believing that the events described actually happened.
Well, here was Frances feeling happy for the first time in her life and not being able to prevent it. She was little by little letting herself go. For she had a very playful side to her nature —otherwise she could not have let herself go now. In fact, why she had been such a sulky creature all her life was that she disapproved of other people's extreme seriousness. They were always having ideas and going to do things or thinking over what they had done; and it was all such a nuisance. So she had at the very beginning decided to be as sulky as she could, since if she were playful people would only take her seriously, comparing her playfulness with their own and tangling her up in their tangles. But this was quite a different situation. And here we come to the fourth thing. But she did not notice the fourth thing as she had noticed the large white ball which gave the light, or the book in her hand which interested her so powerfully that it was not until she wanted to go and look for the Invisible Witch that she realized that she was reading a book at all; or as she had noticed the fine golden dust which nearly tickled her face and might have caused her constant irritation if it had not been so fine and so completely good to feel everywhere about her—like a fine day. The fourth thing was not there in a way to notice like any of the first three things. It was the Indescribable Witch herself.
In order to understand how Frances became aware of the Indescribable Witch, it will be necessary to follow the story in the book along with Frances up to the point where she looked up and fully expected to see her—and did not. And this is how the story ran: "There was once a long, black, sulky creature called Frances Cat who was really not half so sulky as she seemed. Underneath her sulky exterior she had a very happy nature." ("H'm," thought Frances to herself.) "For a long time the Indescribable Witch had had her eyes on her, for she ruled over the Forest of Transformation where people were changed into their real selves from the selves that other people made of them. Frances Cat was sulky only because other people made her so." ("Quite right," thought Frances, getting more and more interested in what she was reading.) "And so one night, when Frances was fast asleep, the Indescribable Witch carried her out of her comfortable bed and into the Forest of Transformation, taking care that Frances should not, when she woke up, feel any frightening difference between one place and the other, or yet fall too readily under the spell of her new environment. She wanted Frances to remember who she was while she was turning into her real self—indeed, without her remembering, the change would be only a dream. The Indescribable Witch had to be very careful about dreams in her work, since in dreams people were not sincere. This was why she took care to carry off Frances when she was not dreaming. Yet she had to be asleep when she was carried off. Sleep is when people are tired of being their everyday selves, and therefore the best time for changing a person into her real self—if she has a real self.
"At first the Indescribable Witch covered up the more startling differences between her forest and Frances's ordinary surroundings. At least, she tried to make as few differences as possible in Frances's feelings. And this is why Frances felt so gradually how very nice it was to be in the forest. Of course, the forest was much nicer than it first seemed to Frances. But to feel all its niceness at once would have made her dizzy with pleasure. She would have danced herself into exhaustion, and so have had a reaction and had to go to sleep; and that would have meant waking up in her own home again. It was very important that Frances should not go to sleep again—"
("What, never?" thought Frances) "except for a few naps now and then—until she got thoroughly used to her new surroundings.
"So here was Frances in the forest-room, with the coolest and smallest sun imaginable giving her exactly the light she needed, her very own sun and no one else's. And if she wanted it to be brighter or dimmer for some special reason, she had only to say to it, 'A little brighter, please,' or 'A little dimmer, please,' and a little brighter or a little dimmer it immediately became." ("H'm," thought Frances, looking up at it over her shoulder, "that's a very useful thing to know.") "Then there was the weather. This was also all her own. It was made of tiniest possible grains, and it, too, could be anything she liked. But unless she said otherwise, it was a fine day—that is, the grains were golden. And if she wanted to, she could turn them into money by holding out her hand the way people hold out a hand for money, and with the money that fell into it she could go for a walk and buy anything she liked." ("Now that puts a different colour on things," thought Frances. "I didn't want to budge when I first found myself here, because I didn't have any money with me. It's always unwise to go very far without money.")
"The Indescribable Witch, you see, did not want her to feel that she was in a different world from the world she had been in, only that she was making certain improvements in her life." ("Yes," agreed Frances, "I rather think I have made certain improvements.") "For instance, if she got tired of the weather being so completely fine, she had only to ask for whatever kind of weather she fancied, and the weather-grains would turn into whatever kind of weather she fancied. If she wanted a drink of water there was a glass in the cupboard, and if she held it out in the weather for a moment it would rain just where she held it out and fill up the glass without her getting drenched or the weather turning entirely wet because of a drink of water." ("That was always the trouble at home," she thought. "To fill up the well meant days of inconvenience, for it had to rain not only to fill up my well, but everyone else's. And then there was the drawing of the water and always splashing oneself a little." Just for fun she tried to make it rain a little, and a drop fell on her nose, which made her laugh and forget to stop the rain, so that she got rather wet and also spotted her book. But she quickly remembered the fine weather to be had for the asking, and said, "A good deal brighter, please," to the sun, and went on giggling to herself as she and the book got dry. When both were quite dry, she called, "A little dimmer, please"—this time without laughing—and went on reading. For she was getting more and more used to the new conditions. As for the cupboard mentioned in the book, it did not occur to her to turn round and look for it. She quite rightly assumed that it would be there should she have occasion to go to it. And this also shows how natural everything was beginning to seem to her. Or another way of saying it, is that she believed in the book because it exactly corresponded with the facts. And another way of saying it is that she was beginning to believe in herself, whereas in her previous life she had only preferred herself to other people.)
"Now, just as Frances was beginning to feel that everything that was happening to her was true," ("Yes," thought Frances as she read, "that is exactly how I am beginning to feel") "it occurred to her that she had not yet seen the Indescribable Witch who was doing all these nice things for her—almost as if she had thought them out herself. "I must find the I
ndescribable Witch," she said to herself. ("Yes, I must find the Indescribable Witch," she said to herself. She seemed so near that Frances looked up, fully expecting to see her—and did not.)
And now for the first time Frances realized that the story in the book was a story taken out of her own head. And as soon as she realized this there was no book, except that she knew that, if ever she failed to follow what was happening to her, she had only to take the book out of her head again and sit down to read. "But I really must find the Indescribable Witch," she said. If she could only imagine what she was like, she would certainly see her, she felt. Indeed, it was as if the Indescribable Witch was saying to her, "Look hard, see me!" and she could not, simply because she was too lazy. "Yes," said Frances, "I must begin to be less lazy." With that she started dancing very earnestly, and soon dozens of pearly tambourines with silver jingles were flying round her like dancing plates. And she rapped her knuckles against this one and that one as they flew by, making a music like a playing on water if water had different notes when one struck it; for each of the tambourines had a different thin, pearly note when she rapped against it, and the jingles rippled like water at each note.
"Why, why," she cried, "it's no work at all not to be lazy! And yes, yes, I am now beginning to be my real self. All that I meant by being a long, black, sulky creature was that I wanted to have a good time, while the people around me were all trying to be Somebody this and Somebody that, and the only good time they knew was to be thought well of by one another. Well, at last I have got rid of them." Then she whirled round faster than ever, and the tambourines hummed like sea-shells. "Go out, go out," Frances cried to the little sun. Then the tambourines made a curly rainbow as they flew round her and the fine weather-grains twinkled everywhere like stars all but out of sight. And Frances wound round and round herself and did the most difficult dance-steps with such remarkable grace that she could not help admiring herself. It was an almost unthinkable pleasure to be free to admire oneself without being called vain by other people. On she danced in the twinkling dark. And the tambourines hummed louder and louder, so that when she rapped her knuckles against them a definite splashing and twisting of waves could be heard. And the jingles now seemed to scatter a sweet, ticklish spray over her.
Progress of Stories Page 21