Now
he was confined to this wheelchair that creaked so whenever he tried
to move around. There was only the ground floor that
he could access in the
cottage now and he resided in the master bedroom. Master bedroom, it had
such an air of authority about it but he was at the mercy of the
cottage, not the other way around. He was positioned by the window so
he could look out on the world that lay stretched out before him,
mocking him.
He
had lived in the same cottage, in the same room, for many years now
and very little had
changed. The surrounding forest had remained strong and resolute and
hugged the lie of the land down to the valley below. It was a great
green canopy stretching for miles, offering refuge for all who dwelt
in its warm embrace.
Sometimes
the man would think of the times he had spent there as a child;
setting “bear” traps, trying to fend off attacking marauders and
being careful not to disturb any of the Faey folk that lived around.
Other
times he remembered when he had not been so alone. There had even
been children running around; three children infecting the whole
cottage with their laughter, playing and living so gaily that he
envied them.
It
had been many years since, though it could conceivably have been
yesterday to the old man for his memory was so lapse, like a brittle
elastic band –it snapped too easily. The details of the memory were
hazy, but the substance of it was still there.
Three
children; they might even have been blood of his blood, Grandchildren
even. He loved them, he was sure of that. But why were they there?
Was it a holiday? It must have been; a holiday of some kind, and what
better place was there than the countryside?
Indeed,
the old man remembered that he had gone on holidays himself, when he
was young (and not so young) to the seaside. The fresh, salty taste
invigorated him. Having lived in the country all his life, the only
thing that held surprise, awe and wonderment was the sea. The
brightly coloured promenade, the menagerie of smells: candyfloss,
toffee apples and a hundred-and-one other things that rot the teeth
but taste sweet and delicious. There were also cascades of sounds all
tantalising the ears, layering up the imagination with catcalls and
cries, screams and laughter. The seaside was always magical; the
donkey rides, the penny arcades, the helter skelters and rides
galore. Waves fighting the crowds for possession of the shores.
But,
he was thinking about something else… The children…
No,
he had not always been alone, they arrived one spring he was sure.
Two girls and a boy. Their names were blurred. The boy was surely the
eldest of the three and was named after his father.. Paul... Strange,
that was his name as well. The girls were twins, and the old man had
a feeling that they were named after flowers. Rose was one, and the
other was called… Hyacinth, or some such.
The
boy, Paul, being the eldest, set the task exploring the house when
they arrived; checking for booby traps and secret passages (in the
same way that the old man had done when he was of a similar age). The
girls sat down beside him, unsure of what to make of their
surroundings. The old man could walk, barely, back then and it
occurred to him that he could take the girls for a small guided tour
–which would undoubtedly have
made them feel at home.
When
Paul returned from his own explorations the old man walked them
slowly round the cottage, telling them what rooms they could play in
and which were out of bounds.
In
the mornings the children studied: holidays or no, their education
was important, even back then. After lunch they would play. At first
their playground was the cottage but when that became too familiar
they played outside, in the forest and down in the valley below. They
promised their grandfather that they would never wander too far and
never play on their own.
After
their supper they would sit down by the open fire and listen to their
grandfather tell them stories of when he was a lad; and of the
forest.
One
night the old man went to great lengths to explain the dangers of the
forest. He warned them never to fall asleep ‘neath the Elder tree;
to steer towards the Oak tree if they were ever to be caught in a
thunderstorm; never to uproot a mandrake or a peony and most
importantly of all, never to eat the fruit of the Jaffa tree.
“The
wood is a magical place, still.” He remembered telling them. “There
are many things which are not bound by man. This is a place governed
by spirits and of the Faey. Many a child has been snarled by the
delights of the Faey and never returned to the mortal land. One of
these delights is the Jaffa tree. Once the fruit is eaten you can
never re-enter this realm, forever bound by the Faey laws, a slave of
the mistress Titania. Heed my words, dear children, eat not the fruit
of the Jaffa tree and trust not the words of the Faey.”
The
forest was now open to the children and it
did indeed lead to a magical
land. Fettered only by their imaginations, they spent a timeless
idyll playing and exploring; all within eyesight of their grandfather
who walked with them. The games they came up with! Only children
could come up with such larks. Games of innocence, yet deep with
meaning that would ultimately lay the ground work for much of their
adult life, and would only make sense to those young enough to
believe; yet they never once tried to find the Jaffa tree.
Days
became weeks and weeks became months. The old man's
condition weakened. No longer was he able to walk with the children.
Now he was bound to the wheelchair, confined to the house that he had
known all those years.
Sometimes
he would forget their names, or mislay things; or fall asleep by the
fire and not awaken until morning after. And as the months passed the
children realised that they had explored nearly all of the wood that
lie around the cottage, but there was still plenty to explore in the
valley itself. And there was still the Jaffa tree to find.
One
day the twins found themselves with nothing to do in the forest. Paul
had wandered off, scouting for Indians or Germans (whoever was the
current enemy of the hour) and had left the girls to make the camp.
Rose was becoming restless and bored. She wanted to do something that
was different and fun; exciting. It was then that she remembered the
Jaffa tree and it struck her that it might be fun trying to find it.
Hyacinth wasn’t sure, she still remembered her grandfather’s
warning about the Faey and the Jaffa tree and it frightened her. She
refused to help Rose find the tree and so Rose, unperturbed, left the
camp to search on her own.
She
had no idea where was walking; she just wanted to be away from her
siblings. She soon came to a large clearing that she had never seen
before. The sun was shining high and refracted off the slight haze
that still hung in the air, making pretty pictures on the forest
floor to which Rose danced around. In the middle of the clearing was
the tallest tree that Rose had ever seen; it seemed to stretch to the
top of the sky and beyond. It’s leaves were the purest lilac and
the bark was ashen grey. As she walked closer Rose realised that the
bark was covered with fine hairs, almost like fur. She placed the
palm of her hand on in , tentatively at first and before long she was
stroking it languorously; it felt so soft that she placed her cheek
to it and embraced the tree.
“Like
you the tree, m’lady?” A voice from behind made Rose hop back in
surprise. She turned round to find herself looking into the eyes of
one of the little people of the forest; one of the Faey. “My name
is Jack.” Said Jack. “Jack of the Forest Green, and what is
yours?”
“My
name is Rose. Are you a fairy, Sir?” Rose was captivated by this
funny looking man in front of her.
“How
old are you, my young sprite?” Jack asked.
“Nine
and a half years of age.” Rose said proudly, in the way that only
children can muster.
“Then
yes, I am a fairy. I am Jack of the Fairy folk, of the green; of the
willow and the beech and oak and I am at your service!” With a
smile on his face, Jack made a curt elfish bow. “I know what you be
searching for.” He said with a glint in his eyes, reflecting the
timeless shadow of the sun.
“I’m
not searching for anything, dear Jack.” Rose replied in innocence.
“I
know you are, sweet Rose and it be alight… I can show you where to
find it.” He smiled. “Turn yourself around three times with your
eyes closed. When you open them again then in front of you will see
the jaffa tree.”
“Is
it a game?” Asked Rose. “Oh, I do love games!”
“Yes,
m’lady – it is a game. Do you wish to play?”
“I do, Jack, I do indeed.”
“I do, Jack, I do indeed.”
“Then
close your eyes and spin yourself around three times.” Jack watched
as Rose spun herself round and around and around until he, at last
said, “Now open your eyes, m’lady.”
Sure
enough, right in front of her was the very thing that she had been
looking for. Rose stood and looked at the tree; it seemed far too
small to be the type of thing to be afraid of; as was this strange
fellow standing in front of her. He was no taller than her and had
funny pointy ears and a pointy beard. He seemed more mischievous than
someone to be feared.
“Didst
thou wish to taste the fruit of the Jaffa tree?” Asked Jack.
“I’m
not allowed, kind Sir.”
“Not
allowed? What do people know of such things? Do you think that I
wouldst harm you, m’lady? You wound me; a daughter of Eve, wounds
me who wouldst only be your friend. I would merely want to be your
friend and servant for ever.”
“Oh,
I would like that, dear Jack. Forever and ever!” Rose clapped her
hands with glee.
“Then
all you needs do is taste the fruit of the Jaffa tree and we shall be
together of all eternity. Wouldst thou do me the pleasure?”
“Of
course, dear Jack. Anything for you.” Rose bent down and picked the
strange, eclipsed fruit that was of the Jaffa tree and took a slow
tentative bite.
Time
passed and Paul returned to the camp to find only Hyacinth on her
own, sleeping deeply in the makeshift camp. Paul tried to wake her,
and after a number of attempts Hyacinth woke slowly, rubbing her
eyes. Paul asked her where Rose was.
Paul
was shocked to hear that she had gone to look for the Jaffa tree;
anything could have happened to her. They searched for Rose for
hours, stopping only when it got too dark to see. They made their way
back to their grandfathers cottage with heavy hearts and when they
arrived they found their
grandfather asleep by the dying
fire. Paul told Hyacinth two things: that she must not say anything
about Rose’s disappearance to him, and that she must not, under any
circumstances, go looking for the Jaffa tree herself.
Early
the next morning Paul and Hyacinth searched for Rose again. Paul was
adamant that Rose had simply wandered off and was just lost in the
woods. He didn’t believe in fairies, but didn’t have the heart to
break it to Hyacinth for she still believed in such things.
She
was too young to truly understand the world whereas he was at least
two years older and it was simply a matter of searching every inch of
the house and forest. Sooner or later Rose would turn up; all
Hyacinth knew was that she missed her twin ever so much.
The
hours
stretched and dragged into days
for Hyacinth. Paul was still busy in his unrelenting search and
seemed to have forgotten about his other sister. Grandfather was no
fun anymore, no matter how hard he tried. He spent most of his time
asleep by the fire. And although she had been forbidden by Paul to go
wondering in the forest, the temptation and loneliness became too
much for her. There was nothing else to hold her inside and
more and she missed Rose so much it hurt her.
One
day she could ignore the pain no longer and took it upon herself to
look for Rose on her own. She knew that she would be back long before
Paul returned and there was no way that Grandfather would even know
she was gone.
There
was a cold air that nipped at her ears and nose as she scuffed about
in the snow that now covered the ground. She had taken the precaution
of wrapping up warm but she was shivering nevertheless. Her breath
crystalised in front of her as she trudged along. She tried to make
the trek into a little game, pretending she was a steam train on its
way home. The white encrusted ground made a satisfying scrunch
scrunch sound as she tried to find the spot where they made camp so
long ago.
Sure
enough, Hyacinth found the abandoned camp without any problems, but
she was now faced with the question of where to go from there. It had
been so long ago and everything had changed so much. How could she
hope to find Rose? She sat in the snow in despair and started to
weep. Suddenly an ethereal voice called to her through the forest.
“Hyacinth…
Hyacinth.” It was the voice of Rose, to be sure, but Hyacinth
couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “Follow the sound of my
voice and it will lead you to me. We can be together again for all
eternity then, my sister.” Hyacinth could hardly believe it. It
seemed so impossible but she wanted to believe so much. She had
missed Rose and wanted to be with her again, so she quickly got to
her feet and followed the sound of her voice into the dense woodland,
the trees swallowing her up as she went.
When
Paul returned later that day he walked into a cold, empty cottage.
The fire that blazed and burned was now nothing but embers, white and
frozen. Hyacinth was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t understand
it, he had told her to stay and wait for him; so she must still be in
the cottage somewhere –probably playing hide and seek. But after he
had searched the cottage he realised that this wasn’t so.
Grandfather was nowhere to be seen either, but that wasn’t Paul's
concern. Hyacinth was all that he had and he couldn’t face being on
his own any more. He knew what he had to do.
It
took Paul only twenty minutes to find the clearing where they had
made camp all those months before. As he sat on one of the snow
covered logs he closed his eyes and tried to remember what his
sisters looked like. When he opened them again he found himself
looking into the eyes of a strange little man with pointy ears and a
short pointy beard.
“Hello,
young fella… My names Jack. What’s yours?”
The
old man was alone again. The whispered thoughts and memories of
happier times lingered. There were times when the cottage was full of
the sounds of laughter and children, but that was so long ago, wasn't
it.
The
wind lashed against the window, whistling through the cracks in the
wooden pane, snow buffeting the exterior in a pointless war of
attrition. Where once there were children playing in amongst the
green now there was nothing but white, glistening snow: an unchanging
landscape of forgetfulness and despair. It was so difficult to
remember anything now and he found himself lapsing into another deep
sleep.
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