(Re)Visions: Alice ((Re)Visions)

by Kaye Chazan

  "That's one way to make them grow," the cat said.

  She couldn't even tell it to hush, shush, because there were too many ears upstairs, ears listening for her to say something. Mary Ann rounded the outside of the house and came in the back door to stand in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the half-drunk cup of tea Mrs. Liddell had left, the wheel of fresh cheese.

  "I think you're going to hang," the cat said. "When you drop, will the baby just shoot right out onto the ground?"

  Mary Ann sucked in her breath and held it as long as she could, then released it. She closed her eyes and began to recite the poem she had heard Miss Liza repeating for weeks:

  "How doth the little servant whore

  Enchant the richest boy,

  And open up her sweetest door

  To every secret joy!"

  "I don't think they teach that version to children," the cat said from her pocket.

  She had to pack.

  Mary Ann opened the sack of potatoes and dumped them out on the floor. She set the empty bag on the table and tossed in the egg timer, half a stotty, three spoons and a jar of orange marmalade. An old boot, a broken clock, three empty spools of thread. Four cigar stubs; half a basket of eggs; Sunday's chicken, unplucked; Mister John's filigree snuffbox. An oyster shell. A bottle of salt.

  "Put in a knife," the cat said. "Never know when you might need a knife to knife a need."

  "Right," Mary Ann mumbled, and added the paring knife.

  Minutes later, she stole out the back door and into the vegetable garden, her bag hidden under her coat. She stood there, looking at the setting sun, and wondered where she was to go next.

  "Are you confused?" the cat asked, its head appearing on a tree stump.

  Mary Ann blinked, turning her eyes back to the sun. "I had only thought this far," she confessed.

  "Oh, follow me," the cat said, beginning to shimmer until it had regrown body, tail, all four legs, and little kitten toes, which padded across the grass, under the back pasture fence, and towards the stream and the woods beyond. Mary Ann pulled her hood about her head and followed, casting about to make sure that no one had seen her. If they did, there would be no secret left, and she would have no time to get away.

  The cat wandered towards the trees and over a little hill, and then waited for her to catch up. "I like it in here, in the dark," it said.

  "I shan't be able to see," she told it.

  "I shall see for us both," the cat told her, and then ducked into a rabbit-hole by the hedges.

  Mary Ann stared at the hole and sucked in one breath after another. From the house there came a cry, possibly her name, possibly a screaming child. Perhaps she had been spotted. Perhaps they had called for her and got no answer.

  "Unless you plan on making daisy chains out there," the cat said from inside the hole, "hurry up." And then, "If you please."

  Nothing for it, then. Mary Ann crawled into the tunnel, which was quite big enough for her to get through on her hands and knees, and then went on for a ways. The cat's tail brushed her face as she made her way, and then suddenly she plunged down when the ground in the tunnel stopped and became a deep hole, not unlike a well.

  "Oh, yes," the cat murmured, "mind the gap." And then they fell down, down without end.

  Her bag slipped open and she grabbed at it, but not before the jar of orange marmalade tumbled out and they passed it, falling heavier and faster.

  "You did this on purpose," Mary Ann called to the cat as she spun end over end, her skirts flapping in her face and then about her legs. The cat simply reclined as it dropped, most assuredly not worried since it would always land on its feet.

  "I may be bad," said the cat, "but I'm perfectly good at it."

  "That should be a song," Mary Ann said distractedly, for they had just passed a whole wall of globes, all spinning in different directions.

  "Oh, it will be," the cat replied, grabbing a clock as they fell past it, and turning the hands backwards to point at ten and two. "That's better."

  They fell for another long while, passing clocks and tables and old serviettes. There were feather dusters and horseshoes and all manner of mismatched socks. The cat tried a few on his feet and discarded them. And then, just when she was beginning to get used to the sensation of falling forever (through the centre of the earth, if that was a possibility), she landed on her head and finished falling, the rest of her thudding onto the dried ground. The cat, of course, landed daintily on all fours.

  "Am I dead?" she asked, rubbing her neck.

  The cat shrugged. "When weren't you?"

  The hob was cleaner; perhaps it was new. He couldn't tell, and he'd never quite paid attention during his time here. The gravedigger sat at the table, chewing a piece of stale bread with a slathering of butter. Even the butter tasted different. All the cows were probably different, too. Ten years was a long time.

  Clive was in the pantry, hammering away. The housekeeper said she'd be back as soon as she'd found her mistress.

  "So I says to her," Clive yammered on, "I says to her, 'Love, no one needs that many thimbles. You'll have to take those ones back.'" He tossed a piece of rotted wood out onto the floor. "And then she's all yelling and hollering about how I never take her dancing anymore."

  He really had things to be doing; Mr. Cooper's grave wouldn't dig itself. But a body was missing, and the ground was caving in. It was a little superstitious, he had to admit, but no matter the reason, he had to tell the man's wife some time.

  The kitchen door squeaked open and the housekeeper cleared out the doorway for her mistress. Mrs. Liddell hadn't changed as much as the kitchen, or perhaps he just couldn't tell because, as with the stove, his attention had been elsewhere. He stood and pulled his hat from his head.

  "Ma'am."

  "I hear there's a problem with Mr. Liddell's resting place."

  He wasn't sure how to go about explaining it. Short and sweet was the best way, he always told his kids when it was time to confess summat.

  "Well, ma'am, I'm not rightly sure what happened, but Mr. Liddell's grave, it... there was a bit of ground shaking earlier, you know?"

  Mrs. Liddell tucked her handkerchief in her sleeve. "I take it the ground was disturbed?"

  Clive had stopped hammering; in fact, there wasn't any noise coming from the pantry, so he was probably just standing there, listening. The housekeeper was suddenly quite interested in the linens in the hallway behind Mrs. Liddell.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, hoping she wouldn't make him elaborate. He'd tell her about the missing body if he had to, but it might cost him his job, and who was ever going to know? Clive?

  Still, the ground was unsafe, and he wanted Miss Alice and the other children to be careful until he and a few others could track down the new chasms and fill them in.

  Mrs. Liddell sighed. "I trust you can take care of it, and I appreciate your candor."

  "Well, ma'am—"

  "If any of the marble needs to be replaced, please inform Mr. Farnsworth. He'll locate the finances."

  The gravedigger blinked. It couldn't be that easy. In the pantry, Clive had to be swearing at his good luck.

  Mrs. Liddell turned to leave, and he could smell her perfume then, something with violets and roses.

  "Did you ever see her again? Mary Ann?" he asked suddenly, twisting his hat in his hands.

  Mrs. Liddell froze, one hand on the doorjamb, her head tilted. The tiny crafted curls about her temple shook. "That will be all, Samuel."

  She'd eaten the chicken and the eggs, and was saving the stotty for when she really needed it, as hungry and desperate as she was. The ground here grew all sorts of trees. She had planted an egg and got a shrub full of onions, but they only made her ill.

  Mary Ann wasn't sure how long she'd been here. In the time so far, she had met a walrus and a dodo, a man shaped like an egg and an egg shaped like a man. The Cat came and went, bringing bits and bobs to tide her over as she hid in the little hallway with the glass table. T
here was a golden key on the table, but she never unlocked the door it fit into, for the door was so small, there was no point in trying to get through.

  Before she had got so fat, she might have got down on her knees and peeped through the keyhole, but now she mostly lolled about on the padded bed that she had crafted months before, occasionally wandering out through the other doorway to traipse through the woods.

  It was on one such trip that Mary Ann heard the bridle jangle. It had been forever since she had heard even an inkling of sounds from the old place—all the owls here hooted like concertinas, the rain fell like brass pennies. Mary Ann hid in a mess of shrubbery and watched as the horse came into view.

  It was a horse. A normal horse, like one of the horses she had always known. It didn't have special limbs, or a monocle, or a jaunty little hat. Just a bridle and a saddle, and astride it, a man. Not an egg or a caterpillar or a frog with a barrister's wig. A man. A man with a crown and a great big bow. A quiver of arrows at his back, he held the reins with one hand and whistled a song under his breath, something she vaguely recognized.

  "Shine on, oh star of love divine,

  And would the two of us entwine

  Then you my dear, will finely see,

  That truly we were meant to be."

  Listening intently, she forgot to duck back into the shrubbery when the man rounded the path and stopped, blinking at her. His cloak was red velvet and ermine, and his hair tumbled in curls about his face. Mary Ann could spy the bright red heart patch on one shoulder, and the crimson ‘K’ on the other. He inclined his head and dismounted, dislodging his crown so that it slipped down over one eye.

  The King shoved at his tilting crown. "Oh hullo, darling thing."

  Mary Ann said nothing. She was tired and hungry and thirsty, oh, but yes, she had a weapon.

  "I can hurt you," Mary Ann said, raising the kitchen knife. Where was that Cat?

  The King smiled and held out both of his hands. "I am sure that you can. But will you?" He lowered his hands a notch and leant in. "Won't you?"

  Mary Ann stumbled backwards and turned, running for the door. But in her confusion, she had lost her way, and had to guess which path to take. The right looked familiar, but she didn't remember turning left.

  "Don't go, sweetness!" the King called. "We must speak!"

  She chose the less familiar path, as she had noticed that she rarely remembered things these days, and put one hand under her belly as she ran, struggling through the underbrush that seemed to become more tangled the further she went.

  Behind her, the King chased her—she could hear him—on foot. If he had been ahorse he could have taken her easily. Mary Ann prayed under her breath as she ran, calling for the Cat. Please God, bring the Cat and all would be well.

  Somewhere around a small grouping of trees she lost her footing and skidded, going down on one knee. She tried to get up again, but stumbled when her foot caught in a root and slammed sidelong into a tree. There was a painful stitch in her side that vised her lungs. She pressed against her ribs with a hand and turned, waiting for the man to catch up.

  It didn't take him long. The King-man ducked under some low-hanging branches and smiled at her, approaching in a manner that reminded her of how Samuel had broken green horses.

  "I am made for you," he said, advancing. "Made just for you."

  Mary Ann struggled to catch her breath. The knife tumbled from her fingers into the dirt beside her, and she scratched at her throat without thinking.

  The King knelt beside her and scooped her into his lap, pulling her hands from her throat.

  "Don't hurt me, please," she begged, her mouth going dry.

  "Nulling my tangerines, for ceaseless iamb," the King whispered, "and why for to halt and give thy name."

  "Please, do you have any water?" Mary Ann croaked, tugging at his collar with cracked fingers. The King smiled and reached into his cloak, pulling out a plugged skin. He unstoppered it and lifted the opening to her mouth.

  Mary Ann hesitated for just one second. This was what she deserved, really, for what she did. This was what she was going to get, whatever it was. Then she opened her mouth and let the water spill into her—cold, crisp, the cleanest water she'd ever tasted, most surely, and even as it coursed down her throat, she felt the coldness of it spread through her chest.

  "There you go, sweetheart," the King murmured, petting her head. "There you go."

  "I'm mad," Mary Ann whispered into his cupped hand.

  The King kissed her forehead. "And I shall love you for it."

  The Queen stomped into her privy chamber in a foul mood. She had run about all afternoon like a scullery maid, and nothing had been accomplished. She slumped down in her chair and stared at her sweat-streaked face in the mirror.

  "Dearest?" the King said softly, knocking on the door before poking his head in. "My darling, it's time. Everyone is waiting."

  The Queen slathered on some white paint to cover her fright and gestured with one hand. "Is the White Rabbit here?"

  "Only just," the King replied. "He said something about a fire and a lizard named Bill."

  "Trifles," she murmured, eyes glued to her visage. "Off with their heads."

  The King entered the room fully and shut the door behind him. "Perhaps later, my love." He bit his lip. "Are you quite sure you're ready for this? I am told she's in the garden."

  The Queen paused in the middle of applying some red to her lips. "Is she?" Her lips weren't red enough. There should have been a shade more red than red, she thought.

  The King shook out the wrinkles in her cape and held it up to drape over her shoulders, fastening it with the brooch as big as her own heart. "You are a jewel in the crown of any deck, my goddess," he said into the nape of her neck. She swatted him in the face; sometimes he was too overbearing.

  All she had to do was keep moving forward. She left the privy chamber on the King's arm and watched from around the corner as the procession to the croquet-ground began.

  First came the soldiers, and then the courtiers, and then the royal children. All ten of them flitted and frolicked into the garden, their minds on nothing but playing the afternoon away. The last to proceed before them were the visitors, the other kings and queens, the White Rabbit, and so on.

  The Knave stepped in front of them, then, into the procession, holding the King's crown on a velvet cushion. Then the King gripped her hand in his as she pressed into his shoulder with her own, and kissed her cheek.

  "Fire, anger, courage," he whispered.

  "Amen," she replied. And then the Queen turned the corner of the hedge and strode onto the grounds. As far as the eye could see there were flattened cards, bowing and scraping at her arrival.

  Except there, standing amongst the spades, her hands bright red and dripping, her little Alice.

  Oh, c'est l'amour, l'amour, l'amour," the King whispered into her temple. "Qui fait la monde à la ronde."

  "Don't say such things," Mary Ann moaned, pushing away his hands.

  The King wiped at her brow with his sleeve and smiled. "I said them, and now I cannot unsay them," he told her. "Are you in much pain?"

  Mary Ann blinked at the man, his crown so very round, his face so very earnest, his little beard and wide eyes so open, waiting. He smelt of fresh grass and cherries.

  "I think," she began, and then paused, squeezing his hand, "I think it's time." The pain hit her in a flaming crescendo, and she crushed his fingers in hers, trying to sit on the bed.

  The King let her hold him, grimacing. When she finally released him, his hand came away red.

  "Greta!" he shouted, waving his bloody fingers. Some droplets flicked off and landed on the roses closest to the bed. "Fetch something to boil! Boil something to fetch!"

  The Duchess scurried into the privy chamber, her face hidden behind a kerchief, waving her hands and fussing. "Whyever would you think that I know how to do any of this?!" she yelled.

  Mary Ann screamed; the King patted her head
as one might a sick animal. "Greta, don't you have any children?"

  The Duchess poured a glass of brandy from the sideboard and drank it down. "They all came the proper way, they did! Stork and a cabbage patch!"

  Typical. Mary Ann had lost count of her days in the King's care, but they were much more pleasant than the ones she had spent with the Cat in the long hallway. Here she was given clothes and food and jewels. The King doted on her and wanted nothing more from her than her happiness.