by Alan Jansen
On that particular and singular visit, I had watched television with Pop, Ben, and Belinda in our living room until quite late into the night. Finally Pop retired, as did my brother and his wife. I waited on for a good half hour or so before hightailing it to my upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth. I took Inky’s body brush, which I kept hanging on a hook in the bathroom, and gave him a good brushing before we slipped into my bedroom and went to bed. Inky loved to be brushed and would always look at me most gratefully when I finished.
I didn’t sleep so well that night, tossing and turning quite a lot before finally falling into an uneasy sleep. I awoke suddenly from a bad dream wherein I was being chased by a dragon-like creature, causing me to get up and sit by the side of my bed, now wide awake. The dream had seemed vivid enough when I experienced it, but like all dreams it sort of lost its hold on me as I walked up to my dressing table to drink a glass of water from a jar I usually placed there every night before retiring. Inky had awoken too and was looking at me anxiously, half wagging his tail. Looking out through the window, I distinctly saw about six or seven flickering flames, obviously from torches, in our fruit orchard. I wasn’t in the least bit frightened but was very curious and even thrilled. Ever since Uncle had related the incident of the church haunting, where he had made that deal with the elf Aislinn, I had always looked out of my window until late at night to see if I could catch a glimpse of fruit-plucking elves, but I never saw a single thing. If the truth be told, nothing of the unusual or occultist had ever happened since Uncle Cheroot had left us for good, and I had resigned myself into believing that all `those sorts of things’ were now in the past. Right now, after all this time, the very thought that something strange was afoot made me quiver with excitement and anticipation. It was like the ‘old days’. I quickly gathered my bathrobe and tied it around my pyjamas, took a torch from the dressing table drawer, and tiptoed past the other rooms, cautiously going down the stairs so as not to wake Pop and Ben. I felt a bit guilty in not waking my father and brother, but I selfishly wanted to own the prerogative of seeing the mysterious sighting – to explore it alone. I felt safe in my own company, knowing fully well that the torches were not carried by thieves or other undesirables of any sort. Stealing fruit from farms was practically unheard of in our community, so the visitors just had to be the famous elf Aislinn and his companions. I knew this instinctively. I wasn’t afraid of the elves in the least bit, plus in any event I had my lord protector Inky with me, who was as thrilled as I was to go on this night expedition.
Well at the orchard, I saw that the torches were held by little men in pointed caps and strange-looking shoes. Their leader approached me with a broad smile on his face. Looking at him, I knew instantly that this was none other than the famous Aislinn, whom Uncle had negotiated with and had persuaded to stop ‘haunting’ the village church. I was thrilled to the marrow. After yearning for so long to see something supernatural again (the last supernatural being I had seen was the horrible beast Drakenwund, who had nearly killed Uncle and me), here I was in the presence of the great elf himself!
‘Hail, child of Adam! Kin and blood of the great Druid, do not be alarmed by our presence. As you see, we are just taking some fruit from your orchard, which your bonny mother gave us permission to do so many years ago. We have plucked your fruit before, invisible to your naked eye, but I ordered my men to remove their invisibility cloaks today just so that I could speak to you. We really don’t need our torches, but I asked my men to carry them so that you could spot us even better. I sent you a disturbing dream to wake you from your slumber. Aye! I can sense your mind racing in doubt, but I assure you it was me who sent you the dream. I do have the power of the teleported dream! Not all of us elves do, and amongst my kin in our underground dwelling, only I have the dream power!’ (He laid emphasis on the word ‘I’ even elongating it to sound like ‘Ayye’.)
‘I am honoured to be able to see you, Lord Elf, but why do you wish to speak to me? Besides the fruit that Mother gave you free permission to pick, is there something more my family can do for you, something else that you desire, sir?’
‘Nay, child! We want for nothing. We have our honey cakes, meats, and things, although at times we eat Lembas (later on I discovered that Lembas is sort of special elf food), which fills us up for days and we then need no other food. We make our own wine from the many berries we harvest in the woods. The type of fruit in your orchard seldom grows in the woods, although we do find an apple or pear tree here and there. We take it only because your lovely mother gave us written permission to do so. It is not permitted in our elf code of honour to steal. Humans have to give us permission to let us have things that we might want. The apples, pears, and oranges from your orchard are most welcome, you know! We live in great underground caverns, and although we are very comfortable in our dwelling, we can’t grow trees down under. Mushrooms we grow in abundance, yes! But nothing else grows without the sun’s life-giving power. Our folk, especially our children, just adore fruit. No, we want for nothing, but I have revealed myself to you for a reason. I have to tell you that I sense and know you will experience great sadness soon. I felt it my duty to warn you of this and of things to come. I have the power of the prophet, and I will tell you now that you will soon experience a new life after this immediate sadness I speak of is over – a strange and wondrous life away from this farm, away from this country, and away from your kin. I owe it to the great Druid whom I made that agreement with in your church many years ago to inform you of all this. You know, I had a great respect for that powerful one. … I am told he is no more now, but I doubt that very much. The old wizard Merlin’s blood runs in his veins, and such like he do not die so easily.’
I decided to hold back my curiosity about the ‘great sadness’ bit that he had mentioned and asked instead, ‘Was Uncle a great Druid, sir? And forgive me for daring to ask, but why then didn’t he banish you from the church instead of bargaining with you? Surely he could have done that? In his diary, he just says that he spoke very humbly to you and showed you great respect.’
‘Bah! Humble, bumble, my foot! And a pox on respect! Your uncle couldn’t openly show his powers to that old fool of a priest or any of you humans! The Druid played out a charade, and I went along with it! Of course I knew your uncle was a powerful Druid. He is of Merlin’s blood, and that alone is proof enough. As for that church matter, if it weren’t for your uncle, that church building wouldn’t be standing anymore. Anyway, do not dwell on that. All that’s in the past now. Let us forget that matter. I have more important things to tell you.’
After digesting his information in silence for a few seconds, I inquired about what I should have asked in the first instance: ‘Sir Elf, what is the sad news you have to disclose? Please tell me now!’
‘Alas, child, I can’t do that. I can only foretell this sadness. I am not allowed to reveal what it is. But remember that from all this sadness will also come a revelation and another kind of life. I can’t reveal what this new life is either, for in truth, as with the sadness, I don’t know. I would ask you one small thing, though, as you are part-owner of this farm for now. I will ask that you too give us permission to take away fruit as we do now even after you leave this farm and this country.’
‘Of course, Sir Elf. Of course! But why do you need new permission? Didn’t my mother give her permission so many years ago?’
‘Aye, child of Adam, so she did, but parents don’t live forever, you know. I would like permission from you, seeing that you are young and have a lifetime ahead of you.’ (Here he smiled mischievously as he mentioned the word ‘lifetime’.) ‘Perhaps before your time comes, my kin will contact your successor for an extension.’
‘Of course, sir, you have my permission. I hereby grant it with gladness. In fact, I grant permission for as long as you would want it, and I know my father and brother would not have the slightest objection. They are most grateful that you take the excess fruit
and keep the orchard so tidy and clean. Even my dog Inky loves to roll over the freshly cut grass in between the trees that your workers trim so well. And our great turkey Gobble, I’m sure, appreciates all the grubs and insects that pop out of the ground after the weeds are pulled out.’
‘Thank you, child of Adam. Your word is binding. Go back now to the house and sleep a sound sleep. However, a last word about your dog and that turkey of yours you call Gobble. They are special animals to which the “High One” has ordained very long lives. When they are dead, they will be offered a place in the afterlife where the children of Adam go. Not all animals are extended this privilege. These special beasts form undying bonds with the children of Adam. Why, I really don’t know. Maybe it’s because it’s just the High One’s whim. Who understands the ways and whims of the High One eh? These two animals, especially the dog, have looked after you and your kind, and they will come to you in your lifetime even long after they have gone, whenever you need them most. Especially you, child. They will watch over you always. Keep that in mind, for maybe, maybe the sadness I speak of might have something to do with them. … I can say no more. … Goodbye, child!’
Saying thus, Aislinn doffed his cap, bowed, and was gone in a puff of smoke. The torches I had seen also vanished, although I did hear the sound of falling fruit from several trees as though they were continuing to be harvested by invisible beings. Inky had made friends with several of Aislinn’s men and was much astonished to see them all disappear before his very eyes. He continued to sniff and wag his tail madly though, until I whistled for him to come along with me back to the farmhouse.
The next morning as I walked into our enormous farmhouse kitchen for a spot of breakfast with Inky trailing at my feet, Pop burst in through the rear kitchen door, exclaiming in a high-strung loud voice, ‘The elves were here last night! The elves were here! They have taken some fruit but have tidied the orchard wonderfully well. Oh, what a relief it is! It hurts my back something awful to weed and rake up the ground between those fruit trees. Thank heaven for old Cheroot’s deal and Julia’s letter of permission.’
Ben stopped amidst gobbling a large chunk of bacon. ‘I’ve told you several times that you don’t have to do the orchard, Pop. Just leave the raking and weeding to us others. Between the elves, Marcus, and me, we are quite capable of keeping the orchard in fine shape.’
Marcus, a middle-aged ‘free spirit’, lived in a caravan in the woods near the village by himself and occasionally helped a select few farmers in the area in the summer and autumn, whenever his help was solicited. He got along well with both Pop and Ben – much more than he did with the other farmers – and often worked the entire summer and autumn just for us.
‘Fiddlesticks, Ben! My back gives me trouble, yes, but don’t try to make out that I am gaga. I’m not there as yet! I can run this farm all by myself if I want to. It’s just that someone has to help Belinda with the two little girls. Both you and I can’t be doing farm chores all the time. Belinda needs help at home too.’
‘Yes, Pop,’ said Ben graciously. ‘We do appreciate you looking after the girls. Both Belinda and I are grateful, so very grateful, Pop!’
Ben rarely fought with Pop over anything. He knew that Pop was just using his children as an excuse for not attending to the orchard so he let the matter drop. Pop was Ben’s one and true idol and could do no wrong in his eyes. My father had many faults and perhaps wasn’t the ideal kind of parent I wanted, but he had a vast acumen on all farming matters. He was the absolute handyman and farm expert – even having a deep knowledge of the veterinary sciences. He often helped his fellow farmers when their livestock were about to give birth, and when the vet, young Cecilia Rathbone, was occupied elsewhere. Cecilia Rathbone had started as an assistant to old Dr Darcy, our original vet, and had only recently bought the entire practice from the latter upon his retirement.
It seemed strange to me that Pop and Ben took the elves for granted and didn’t ever question their existence. Ever since Uncle had related the story of the elf’s haunting of the church, they had been firm believers. They knew that Uncle never lied – Uncle’s word was rock solid to them – but it surprised me that they didn’t show any greater curiosity. I was curious ever since Uncle told all. And as I said before, I had spent countless nights looking through my bedroom window to see any sign of the elves in the orchard, but Pop and Ben never bothered to investigate the matter any further. I knew Ben wasn’t adventuresome in the slightest bit and that Pop just shrugged his shoulders on all matters that were not exactly human, but their total laid-back attitude always surprised me …
One day, a few days after Aislinn had revealed himself to me and gave me that warning (which, to be honest, I couldn’t make head or tail of), I was sitting under an apple tree in the orchard with Inky sniffing about the nearby foliage, as was his wont. I didn’t know it then, but it was going to be the last weekend I would ever spend on our beloved farm. Inky was rummaging about close to where I sat, all the while darting small looks of adoration at me now and then. I reached out automatically for a suitable stick lying nearby in the grass and threw it a good distance away for the canine to fetch. Inky ran madly forwards, pouncing on the stick with glee before carrying it in his teeth back to me. He laid the moss-covered stick by my feet with excited, appealing eyes, urging me with his right paw and scratching my lap to throw the stick for him to catch and fetch back once more. It was a game Inky never tired of. He could still run after sticks as eagerly as he used to when he was a pup, despite his very advanced twenty-two years – a feat quite unusual for his age. Inky never showed any signs of old age or a lack of energy, and probably never knew even remotely what ageing meant. They say that animals don’t know of death, that they are destined to die someday, and Inky was no exception. I smiled lovingly at Inky and threw the stick a few metres away, and off he dashed, running like a locomotive to fetch it. He found the stick and then turned swiftly towards me to bring it back, when he suddenly stopped in his tracks as if suspended in time. His eyes suddenly went wide and round as he gently collapsed on his side, the stick still in his mouth. I rushed over to him and held him in my arms, gently dislodging the stick from his mouth. Inky couldn’t stand up or move much, although his tail still wagged a bit. He looked up at me with very puzzled eyes, as if to say, ‘What’s going on here, Turtle? Why can’t I move my legs or stand up?’
I carried Inky back to the house and placed him gently on my bed, after which I called Cecilia Rathbone. Cecilia was a regular caller at the farm, attending to Pop’s livestock and sometimes even Inky whenever the latter had minor health issues. Cecilia examined Inky and then informed me sadly that my dog had suffered a stroke. She treated him immediately with some injections to relieve his discomfort and calm his impulses, after which she pulled me to the side and addressed me gravely.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Southton, I am really sorry, but I do not think your dog will pull through. I’ll come back later and give him some morphine to calm his troubled state, and something else to relieve his blocked throat, but he won’t last long – a day or two at the most. He might have pulled through if he were younger, but he’s quite old, you know – unusually old – and his constitution can’t repair the massive damage. I’m afraid you must be prepared for the worst.’
I received this death sentence to all appearances outwardly calm. In my heart of hearts, I had been expecting something like this to happen for a long time now, yet the suddenness of it all really shocked and upset me. After Dr Rathbone had left, I sat with Inky, gently stroking his shaggy black coat. Inky still had that puzzled look on his face, although he now seemed to understand that all was not well with him. He gently licked my fingers, immensely comforted by my presence as I smoothened the hair around his mouth and beard. He seemed to understand at last that he was going somewhere I couldn’t follow, and he seemed to have accepted his fate, looking upon me with sad yet loving eyes. I got into bed with Inky and lay be
side him, one arm wrapped around his torso, and my mouth showering him with a million kisses. Cecilia found us like that when she arrived later. I had fallen sound asleep, and my beloved dog had silently slipped away to that unknown realm we all pass into at death.
Mom came to the farm on the first train down from London. She had sounded devastated on the phone when I rang her, and was even more crushed when she came home. She rushed to my bedroom, where Inky was still lying on my bed, his head resting on my white pillow, his eyes shut, and the most peaceful expression on his face as though in his last moments he had discovered a Shangri-La, even though I wasn’t in it. Mom climbed carefully onto my bed and embraced my dead dog, the tears gushing like a stream onto her cheeks and dress. She lay there for a good five minutes locked together with Inky without letting go, and when she did let go, she burst out into loud crying, sitting on the edge of the bed. Mom loved Inky as much as I did, although Inky made it very clear that I was his absolute favourite. Mom didn’t mind Inky’s preference and in fact was quite glad about it, knowing that I had a champion who would always defend me against anything and anybody nasty. Mom took off a little gold broach encrusted with small pearls that Uncle Cheroot had given her many years ago on that first Christmas he came visiting and which she wore quite often, carefully pinning it onto a blue ribbon I had tied loosely around Inky’s cold throat. We would bury Inky with the broach still attached and with a dozen pairs of my nylon stockings he loved so well and often made off with to bury deep somewhere in the garden. Pop had wanted to place Inky in an old wooden box he had in the garage that had been lying about for ages, but I was having none of it.