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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Fantasy / Dreams / Wishes
- Published: 09/25/2020
Grace's Story
This is the fifth story of the conversations at Hatter's table, and it has little to do with Grace.
There was a stranger at the table, whose name no-one knew. This was not unusual at Hatter's table but the arrival of the stranger was. No-one had seen him until all of a sudden he was simply sitting there. Sitting quietly listening to everyone else's conversation.
Because it was a warm and pleasant day, the sun shining in the early afternoon, when everyone had eaten tea and cake and were all a little sleepy, no-one seemed to mind the sudden appearance of the stranger. No-one except the Tin Soldiers.
A Tin soldier arrived at the table, he was perturbed. As perturbed as he could be, considering his face was, as usual, completely expressionless. It must have been something about how he walked and an extra stiffness in his stance but he was very put out.
You did not arrive by the gate the Tin Soldier said to the stranger.
No that is quite correct answered the stranger.
I must see your passport said the Tin Soldier.
I do not have a passport said the stranger.
There was a pause. The Tin Soldier looked at a loss, are you a refugee, he asked.
I suppose in some respects this is a place of refuge said the stranger. This seemed to relax the Tin Soldier, he had clearly found a category for the stranger.
How did you get into the garden asked the Tin Soldier.
I am not sure I understand that question said the stranger.
It is very simple said the Tin Soldier. You are here so you must, at some point, have arrived. I need to know how you gained access to the garden.
Is this really necessary, asked Hatter. It is such a warm and pleasant afternoon.
He is sitting on a chair, he is eating cake. We are doing this for your own good. These things do not appear just because you think of them.
In my mind that is exactly what they do, said the stranger.
The Tin Soldier was perplexed and seemed unsure of himself. I need to know how you got into the garden he repeated.
But am I in the garden or is the garden in me said the stranger.
The Tin Soldier walked away for no apparent reason. As he left he was heard to say, I must check the fence.
This is really Grace's story even though I am telling it on her behalf. I listened carefully to everyone and hope I have recorded it faithfully and correctly.
After the Tin Soldier had gone Grace turned to Greta, I am glad that is over, she said. Now tell me Greta, that special place you like to go to, you told us of a path and a forest and the small house, but what makes it special. It all seems so normal.
Greta paused a moment and seemed uncertain whether she should say something. But then her face relaxed and she told us of her special place.
Well it is all because of something that happened some years ago. You see I met this girl, called Cathy, Cathy Alexander. We were sitting at a table in a cafe with several others and the conversation must have turned to music, because I remember Cathy saying that she thought the song called 'Mandy' by a band called '10 CC' was very significant.
I do not know why I remembered this, music was not something I paid much attention to. Maybe it was something about the way she said it.
Music can have quite an affect on you sometimes, said Grace.
Greta continued, anyway about a year later I happened to hear that song and remembering Cathy, I listened carefully. I cannot describe my reaction, but it was clear to me that Cathy had been sending a message to everyone around her Those who understood would instantly recognise that message when they heard the words of the song. I heard that message.
Most of all though I was really annoyed that I did know this when I met Cathy. I had not seen her since, and knew no way of finding her again. I wanted to get to know her better, not to talk about what we shared but just to get to know her.
So in my dream place, the path at one point is at the top of hills in the forest. Through the trees the sea is on one side and on the other down below in a valley I see the sun glistening on a bright blue lake. As I walk along the hill tops I meet Cathy. I know it's all a bit silly but having her there in that place somehow consoles me.
That seems every bit a sensible thought said the stranger.
Grace then turned to the stranger and asked in a surprisingly abrupt way, where did you come from and who are you.
The stranger smiled and said, you remind me very much of someone I knew when I was young. She was, I think, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Grace could not help a slight blush at the indirect flattery of the stranger.
But I never told her so, he seemed lost in his thoughts about Christine. I believe beauty was important to Christine, she was not vain she was simply exceptionally beautiful. So while I admired her beauty, it was never important to me. The most important thing I remember about Christine Forbes was that she was the woman, even to this day that I found it easiest to be friends with. Her beauty came between us.
How can that be asked Grace. If she was beautiful and you admired that, then how could that separate you.
When she was relaxed and casual, said the stranger, no make-up, hair loose, dressed simply, I remember her once in green corduroy jeans, a white polo necked jersey and plain canvas shoes. She was to me, the most beautiful woman I would ever see. I asked her out that day, to the cinema or a party, I do not remember which. But when I arrived to pick her up, she had as usual decided to dress up.
She wore expensive, elegant well fitted, but never tight, clothing. The colours were perfect, the hint of make-up, just enough to emphasize her beauty, never so much as to be seen, her hair tied back, the effect was astonishing. I know it astonished others. I can remember seeing men stopped dead in their tracks just to stare at her. I think of it as her super model mode. But it was overwhelming, I was only nineteen. It was too much for me. I felt I did not belong beside so much beauty.
It sounds more that you were jealous of the attention from other men, asked Grace.
No he said, that seemed quite natural to me, because she was so very beautiful, you just had to stop and stare in order to take it all in. But with Christine it was the immediate and easy friendship that mattered to me.
I noticed that the stranger's story of Christine had completely diverted Grace from her questions.
So tell me Grace he said, why did you never marry.
Grace was surprised and a little stunned by this question. She seemed to be offended by such a personal question from a stranger.
I do not think that has anything to do with you, she said.
I apologise for my abruptness, he said, but I have little time. I need to be at another appointment soon.
Grace quickly regained her normal poise and said, it was simply a matter of not finding love. And you, are you married.
Yes said the stranger, I will have been married for forty years this December. December the thirteenth.
So you found love, said Grace.
When you speak of finding love what do you mean, he asked.
Grace answered without a pause, an intensity of emotion which proves to me it will last through many years.
Yes, that is how it started for me, said the stranger. But later that all changed. We travelled together, built a home together, raised a family together. We watched our children grow up and become independent. I wrote a poem about it once. Would you like to hear it.
Grace had now realised that the stranger had diverted the conversation from her questions and was pleased she had now done the same to his, so she said, yes I would like to hear it.
The stranger found a small slip of paper in his wallet and read out the words,
When we left the children's garden
Love chanced to pass our way
Caution cast aside, passion ruled
As one, in a home just for two
Then children, now life is real
We watched their every step
Every new game, every advance
As much for us as for each child
Then we woke one day, the rooms were empty
They had grown beyond our home
Success both ours and theirs
But is this happiness or sorrow.
Despite her motives in diverting the stranger Grace wiped a tear from her eyes.
Looking back, said the stranger, I do not think it possible to replace or make up for all that life together with any amount of emotion or passion. Life isn't long enough.
Of course love is so more for toads, said Toad.
The stranger looked at him with contempt. What could you possibly mean by that he said.
It should be obvious, even to a simpleton, said Toad. There was a definite heat in his reply. A toad has many offspring and once each of those is a year old they have many offspring. Our families are so much larger.
Love is not a numbers game said the stranger.
And you would know, said Toad, you with only three children. I have over 105 living children at last count and my grandchildren are too numerous to count, so I think I am better placed to say whether numbers matter.
It was clear these two knew each other and had a less than amicable history.
The stranger turned away from Toad and addressed Grace directly. It's all just his imagination he said. He's made of clay.
Pottery!, said Grace.
That's a bit harsh said the stranger. We refer to him as ceramic, a good quality clay and very superior colour and glazing.
Toad was somewhat mollified by this defense of his status.
Despite all that I think you are confusing love for a family with love for a partner in life, said Grace.
But you are not looking at the endpoint, said the stranger. It's that life and family, the togetherness, which is most important. You can learn so much about each other, especially as you are reflected in your children. There was a popular song years ago which said it best, 'lets take a lifetime to say I knew you well'.
But what if you do not like everything you find asked Grace.
That again is not the endpoint said the stranger, you will not like everything about someone else or they about you. But its finding out that matters. Every month or every week or every day finding something new, learning a bit more. It's all about the future not about now. Success is only had at the end.
Grace said nothing and appeared to be thinking.
The Tin Soldier returned along with several companions. It was unusual to see them in groups, except around the gate. They walked in step and approached the stranger. The leader asked again, how did you get into the garden.
I do not remember entering the garden, said the stranger, I simply sat at the table.
You must have entered the garden in order to reach the table to sit down. How did you get into the garden.
The stranger simply shrugged and the Tin Soldiers without any more questions turned about and walked back to the gate.
Grace turned to Toad and asked, do you know this man.
Yes, said Toad, he is a scoundrel and I would not trust anything he said.
That is strong, said Grace.
He kidnapped me from my home, took me ten thousand miles across the world and then abandoned me. Now I have to live on his back doorstep, never allowed inside, never see anyone passing by.
So where are you from asked Grace.
Japan, Nagasaki-Ken, Isahaya, Eisho Higashi Machi was my address, I sat on the doorstep of a variety shop which was about half way between the railway station and the river. It was a most fascinating shop containing an enormous range of goods and the owners were very kind to me.
I understood Japan and Nagasaki but what was the rest of your address asked Grace.
Nagasaki-Ken is the province of Nagasaki and Isahaya is a town to the east of the city at the bottom of Omura Bay. The shop was in Eisho Higashi Street. I fondly remember sitting outside that shop in the sun. People walking by, always saying nice things. Greeting each other with a smile.
He makes the shop sound like something grand, said the stranger. A small store which did not seem to know what it should sell.
Toad looked as indignant as a ceramic Toad could and replied, a shop with garden tools, ornamental rabbits and cats, ( and toads interjected the stranger ) various tea sets, a selection of knives, ornaments and wall decorations and a loft full of antiques and clocks, how much more variety could you want. And all in a space of no more than 25 square meters. It was an old family business.
So why did you leave, asked Grace.
One day I saw this scoundrel, he nodded towards the stranger, talking to the owners. I do not know what pressure he put upon them but after about 20 minutes I was picked up, packed into a box which was taped shut and the next I knew I was in New Zealand. It was so cold I felt frozen solid.
As opposed to just being solid said the stranger. And the pressure I applied was 4500 Yen. He would normally have been 6400 but there was a sale, thirty percent discount. The box was free.
At this point everyone was becoming uncomfortable with the growing tension between Toad and the stranger, so I diverted the conversation. Is it colder in New Zealand than in Japan I asked Toad.
In Wellington it certainly is, said Toad, and it seems to get colder each year. If it wasn't for global warming, I think Wellington's winter temperature would have dropped so low as to be the death of me.
Everyone paused to think about that but no-one could had a reply.
I turned to the stranger and asked, what is your name.
My name is John he said.
And why is it, I asked, that the Tin Soldiers who seem so intent on finding out about you always walk away before finding out anything. How does that happen.
It is simple he said, it is the power of authorship.
That I found perplexing, because I was writing this story.
The stranger got up to leave, the table was quiet and everyone watched as he walked away. Near the fence he met a woman who was looking at a flower bed. The two greeted each other with a smile, but no words and then began to walk together to the gate. They looked so much as one, that everyone watched them. He, walking with a steady even pace, she, changing step and direction constantly, often stepping in his way. Pointing out interesting plants which he stopped to look at, and pretend an interest. They reached the gate and were suddenly lost to sight.
Hatter who had been dozing in the sun sat up and said, what a pleasant afternoon. He looked across the table, Grace and Greta were walking in the garden, Toad was quietly blowing bubbles, I was writing my diary and Owl, following his new habit, was discussing questions of metaphysics with one of the teapots. It really was a very pleasant afternoon.
Rabbit.
September 2020.
The author would like to declare that any resemblance to real persons or events in this story is neither accidental nor unintentional. Christine and Cathy will just have to live with that.
Grace's Story(Rabbit)
Grace's Story
This is the fifth story of the conversations at Hatter's table, and it has little to do with Grace.
There was a stranger at the table, whose name no-one knew. This was not unusual at Hatter's table but the arrival of the stranger was. No-one had seen him until all of a sudden he was simply sitting there. Sitting quietly listening to everyone else's conversation.
Because it was a warm and pleasant day, the sun shining in the early afternoon, when everyone had eaten tea and cake and were all a little sleepy, no-one seemed to mind the sudden appearance of the stranger. No-one except the Tin Soldiers.
A Tin soldier arrived at the table, he was perturbed. As perturbed as he could be, considering his face was, as usual, completely expressionless. It must have been something about how he walked and an extra stiffness in his stance but he was very put out.
You did not arrive by the gate the Tin Soldier said to the stranger.
No that is quite correct answered the stranger.
I must see your passport said the Tin Soldier.
I do not have a passport said the stranger.
There was a pause. The Tin Soldier looked at a loss, are you a refugee, he asked.
I suppose in some respects this is a place of refuge said the stranger. This seemed to relax the Tin Soldier, he had clearly found a category for the stranger.
How did you get into the garden asked the Tin Soldier.
I am not sure I understand that question said the stranger.
It is very simple said the Tin Soldier. You are here so you must, at some point, have arrived. I need to know how you gained access to the garden.
Is this really necessary, asked Hatter. It is such a warm and pleasant afternoon.
He is sitting on a chair, he is eating cake. We are doing this for your own good. These things do not appear just because you think of them.
In my mind that is exactly what they do, said the stranger.
The Tin Soldier was perplexed and seemed unsure of himself. I need to know how you got into the garden he repeated.
But am I in the garden or is the garden in me said the stranger.
The Tin Soldier walked away for no apparent reason. As he left he was heard to say, I must check the fence.
This is really Grace's story even though I am telling it on her behalf. I listened carefully to everyone and hope I have recorded it faithfully and correctly.
After the Tin Soldier had gone Grace turned to Greta, I am glad that is over, she said. Now tell me Greta, that special place you like to go to, you told us of a path and a forest and the small house, but what makes it special. It all seems so normal.
Greta paused a moment and seemed uncertain whether she should say something. But then her face relaxed and she told us of her special place.
Well it is all because of something that happened some years ago. You see I met this girl, called Cathy, Cathy Alexander. We were sitting at a table in a cafe with several others and the conversation must have turned to music, because I remember Cathy saying that she thought the song called 'Mandy' by a band called '10 CC' was very significant.
I do not know why I remembered this, music was not something I paid much attention to. Maybe it was something about the way she said it.
Music can have quite an affect on you sometimes, said Grace.
Greta continued, anyway about a year later I happened to hear that song and remembering Cathy, I listened carefully. I cannot describe my reaction, but it was clear to me that Cathy had been sending a message to everyone around her Those who understood would instantly recognise that message when they heard the words of the song. I heard that message.
Most of all though I was really annoyed that I did know this when I met Cathy. I had not seen her since, and knew no way of finding her again. I wanted to get to know her better, not to talk about what we shared but just to get to know her.
So in my dream place, the path at one point is at the top of hills in the forest. Through the trees the sea is on one side and on the other down below in a valley I see the sun glistening on a bright blue lake. As I walk along the hill tops I meet Cathy. I know it's all a bit silly but having her there in that place somehow consoles me.
That seems every bit a sensible thought said the stranger.
Grace then turned to the stranger and asked in a surprisingly abrupt way, where did you come from and who are you.
The stranger smiled and said, you remind me very much of someone I knew when I was young. She was, I think, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Grace could not help a slight blush at the indirect flattery of the stranger.
But I never told her so, he seemed lost in his thoughts about Christine. I believe beauty was important to Christine, she was not vain she was simply exceptionally beautiful. So while I admired her beauty, it was never important to me. The most important thing I remember about Christine Forbes was that she was the woman, even to this day that I found it easiest to be friends with. Her beauty came between us.
How can that be asked Grace. If she was beautiful and you admired that, then how could that separate you.
When she was relaxed and casual, said the stranger, no make-up, hair loose, dressed simply, I remember her once in green corduroy jeans, a white polo necked jersey and plain canvas shoes. She was to me, the most beautiful woman I would ever see. I asked her out that day, to the cinema or a party, I do not remember which. But when I arrived to pick her up, she had as usual decided to dress up.
She wore expensive, elegant well fitted, but never tight, clothing. The colours were perfect, the hint of make-up, just enough to emphasize her beauty, never so much as to be seen, her hair tied back, the effect was astonishing. I know it astonished others. I can remember seeing men stopped dead in their tracks just to stare at her. I think of it as her super model mode. But it was overwhelming, I was only nineteen. It was too much for me. I felt I did not belong beside so much beauty.
It sounds more that you were jealous of the attention from other men, asked Grace.
No he said, that seemed quite natural to me, because she was so very beautiful, you just had to stop and stare in order to take it all in. But with Christine it was the immediate and easy friendship that mattered to me.
I noticed that the stranger's story of Christine had completely diverted Grace from her questions.
So tell me Grace he said, why did you never marry.
Grace was surprised and a little stunned by this question. She seemed to be offended by such a personal question from a stranger.
I do not think that has anything to do with you, she said.
I apologise for my abruptness, he said, but I have little time. I need to be at another appointment soon.
Grace quickly regained her normal poise and said, it was simply a matter of not finding love. And you, are you married.
Yes said the stranger, I will have been married for forty years this December. December the thirteenth.
So you found love, said Grace.
When you speak of finding love what do you mean, he asked.
Grace answered without a pause, an intensity of emotion which proves to me it will last through many years.
Yes, that is how it started for me, said the stranger. But later that all changed. We travelled together, built a home together, raised a family together. We watched our children grow up and become independent. I wrote a poem about it once. Would you like to hear it.
Grace had now realised that the stranger had diverted the conversation from her questions and was pleased she had now done the same to his, so she said, yes I would like to hear it.
The stranger found a small slip of paper in his wallet and read out the words,
When we left the children's garden
Love chanced to pass our way
Caution cast aside, passion ruled
As one, in a home just for two
Then children, now life is real
We watched their every step
Every new game, every advance
As much for us as for each child
Then we woke one day, the rooms were empty
They had grown beyond our home
Success both ours and theirs
But is this happiness or sorrow.
Despite her motives in diverting the stranger Grace wiped a tear from her eyes.
Looking back, said the stranger, I do not think it possible to replace or make up for all that life together with any amount of emotion or passion. Life isn't long enough.
Of course love is so more for toads, said Toad.
The stranger looked at him with contempt. What could you possibly mean by that he said.
It should be obvious, even to a simpleton, said Toad. There was a definite heat in his reply. A toad has many offspring and once each of those is a year old they have many offspring. Our families are so much larger.
Love is not a numbers game said the stranger.
And you would know, said Toad, you with only three children. I have over 105 living children at last count and my grandchildren are too numerous to count, so I think I am better placed to say whether numbers matter.
It was clear these two knew each other and had a less than amicable history.
The stranger turned away from Toad and addressed Grace directly. It's all just his imagination he said. He's made of clay.
Pottery!, said Grace.
That's a bit harsh said the stranger. We refer to him as ceramic, a good quality clay and very superior colour and glazing.
Toad was somewhat mollified by this defense of his status.
Despite all that I think you are confusing love for a family with love for a partner in life, said Grace.
But you are not looking at the endpoint, said the stranger. It's that life and family, the togetherness, which is most important. You can learn so much about each other, especially as you are reflected in your children. There was a popular song years ago which said it best, 'lets take a lifetime to say I knew you well'.
But what if you do not like everything you find asked Grace.
That again is not the endpoint said the stranger, you will not like everything about someone else or they about you. But its finding out that matters. Every month or every week or every day finding something new, learning a bit more. It's all about the future not about now. Success is only had at the end.
Grace said nothing and appeared to be thinking.
The Tin Soldier returned along with several companions. It was unusual to see them in groups, except around the gate. They walked in step and approached the stranger. The leader asked again, how did you get into the garden.
I do not remember entering the garden, said the stranger, I simply sat at the table.
You must have entered the garden in order to reach the table to sit down. How did you get into the garden.
The stranger simply shrugged and the Tin Soldiers without any more questions turned about and walked back to the gate.
Grace turned to Toad and asked, do you know this man.
Yes, said Toad, he is a scoundrel and I would not trust anything he said.
That is strong, said Grace.
He kidnapped me from my home, took me ten thousand miles across the world and then abandoned me. Now I have to live on his back doorstep, never allowed inside, never see anyone passing by.
So where are you from asked Grace.
Japan, Nagasaki-Ken, Isahaya, Eisho Higashi Machi was my address, I sat on the doorstep of a variety shop which was about half way between the railway station and the river. It was a most fascinating shop containing an enormous range of goods and the owners were very kind to me.
I understood Japan and Nagasaki but what was the rest of your address asked Grace.
Nagasaki-Ken is the province of Nagasaki and Isahaya is a town to the east of the city at the bottom of Omura Bay. The shop was in Eisho Higashi Street. I fondly remember sitting outside that shop in the sun. People walking by, always saying nice things. Greeting each other with a smile.
He makes the shop sound like something grand, said the stranger. A small store which did not seem to know what it should sell.
Toad looked as indignant as a ceramic Toad could and replied, a shop with garden tools, ornamental rabbits and cats, ( and toads interjected the stranger ) various tea sets, a selection of knives, ornaments and wall decorations and a loft full of antiques and clocks, how much more variety could you want. And all in a space of no more than 25 square meters. It was an old family business.
So why did you leave, asked Grace.
One day I saw this scoundrel, he nodded towards the stranger, talking to the owners. I do not know what pressure he put upon them but after about 20 minutes I was picked up, packed into a box which was taped shut and the next I knew I was in New Zealand. It was so cold I felt frozen solid.
As opposed to just being solid said the stranger. And the pressure I applied was 4500 Yen. He would normally have been 6400 but there was a sale, thirty percent discount. The box was free.
At this point everyone was becoming uncomfortable with the growing tension between Toad and the stranger, so I diverted the conversation. Is it colder in New Zealand than in Japan I asked Toad.
In Wellington it certainly is, said Toad, and it seems to get colder each year. If it wasn't for global warming, I think Wellington's winter temperature would have dropped so low as to be the death of me.
Everyone paused to think about that but no-one could had a reply.
I turned to the stranger and asked, what is your name.
My name is John he said.
And why is it, I asked, that the Tin Soldiers who seem so intent on finding out about you always walk away before finding out anything. How does that happen.
It is simple he said, it is the power of authorship.
That I found perplexing, because I was writing this story.
The stranger got up to leave, the table was quiet and everyone watched as he walked away. Near the fence he met a woman who was looking at a flower bed. The two greeted each other with a smile, but no words and then began to walk together to the gate. They looked so much as one, that everyone watched them. He, walking with a steady even pace, she, changing step and direction constantly, often stepping in his way. Pointing out interesting plants which he stopped to look at, and pretend an interest. They reached the gate and were suddenly lost to sight.
Hatter who had been dozing in the sun sat up and said, what a pleasant afternoon. He looked across the table, Grace and Greta were walking in the garden, Toad was quietly blowing bubbles, I was writing my diary and Owl, following his new habit, was discussing questions of metaphysics with one of the teapots. It really was a very pleasant afternoon.
Rabbit.
September 2020.
The author would like to declare that any resemblance to real persons or events in this story is neither accidental nor unintentional. Christine and Cathy will just have to live with that.
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