Authors: Garry Kilworth
‘I’d still rather you didn’t put it on, Alex.’
Alex, bundled up in his thick overcoat, looked at the object in his hand.
The object looked back at him.
‘I guess you’re right. But I’m not giving him up. We’re brothers of the jungle, him and me.’
Alex slung the mask over his shoulder on a piece of cord and Makishi didn’t argue with the decision. He knew he had conquered Alex and that he would be carried wherever the boy went now.
‘What do you look like?’ she asked her brother, sighing, sounding very like Dipa. ‘Have you seen yourself?’
Alex ignored the criticism.
‘Time we were moving on, sis,’ he said, taking out his binoculars. ‘Heck, look at those villagers, scurrying around. You’d think that in a place like this there’d be nothing to do, wouldn’t you … Hello, hello!’
Chloe, who’d been packing her bag, stopped and looked at her brother.
‘What is it?’
‘Looks like a – I dunno – a swarm of ants or something – no, wait – they’re bigger than ants. They’re dolls of some kind. Heading towards the village by the look. They’ve got— you should see their faces. Talk about—hey,’ he removed the binoculars from his eyes, ‘I bet they’re coming to attack this village. Yeah, that’ll be it. We’ve got to warn them.’
Alex pulled on his pack quickly and began running towards the village of wardrobes.
‘Wait, Alex. You know we scare them.’
‘We’ve still got to warn them, Clo.’
Alex raced all the way, then ran through the village.
‘Alarm! Alarm!’ he yelled, not knowing what else to say. ‘Enemy on the horizon. Enemy approaching.’
Atticans came running out of their wardrobes and
out of the book-built warehouse. One or two of them shrieked and hid their faces in their hands. Others came forward and waved Alex away with both hands, as if he were an escaped animal.
Alex pointed to the oncoming dolls. ‘Enemy on the way!’ he cried. ‘Arm yourselves.’
Chloe caught up to him now and added her own entreaties to those of her younger brother.
Now the Atticans saw the danger and indeed became alarmed. They ran back into their clothes storehouse. Chloe and Alex thought they had gone to hide, but they came running out again with shields and clubs. The shields were old fireguards made of bronze or iron mesh: perfect for protecting the bearers against a small oncoming enemy. The clubs were broom handles which they tested by swishing them through the air.
Alex and Chloe decided to leave the villagers to their battle and make their way on, deeper into the attic.
When Alex looked back, the villagers were doing extremely well. Their skill with the broom handles was almost the stuff of legend. That great Ancient Greek Achilles could have been among them, or the Trojan Hector, such was their talent for this type of fighting. Horrible, ugly dolls ran at them in dozens but the Atticans warded them off with their shields and swatted them, this way and that, with their staves. The villagers had formed a kind of fireguard tortoiseshell, which looked unbreachable. On a single
command they took the initiative, moving forward. They forced the waves of barbarian dolls backwards, out on to the plain of boards. The villagers were obviously used to these raids and knew exactly how to cope with them.
Alex and Chloe hurried on, happy to leave the fight in capable hands.
Having left the villagers to fight their battle, Alex and Chloe continued their safari across the boards of Attica in their search for the region where the ink imps lived among their writing bureaux. With their packs on their backs and the coat-muffled Alex continually consulting his compass, they managed to march in a straight line no matter in what direction the boards lay. They trusted to the compass and set their eyes on the far horizon.
For the moment though, they seemed to be in a wide long
corridor, hemmed in with a roof that fell sharply from a high apex. Above and around them the timbers of the attic formed pillars and angled arches and Chloe had the distinct feeling of being inside a magnificent cathedral or temple. Certainly there were benches and chairs of all kinds, lining their route. Whether it was in her mind or in actuality, Chloe had a sense of walking through hallowed rooms and would not have been surprised if priests had appeared to admonish her and her brother for trespassing.
However, they came out of this corridor into a wider, more open landscape covered with fake Christmas trees. The trees were decorated with lights which were not lit. They were also draped with tinsel and covered in baubles. In piles, here and there, were red-and-white robes: Father Christmas costumes, complete with fake hoary beards.
‘How do I look?’
Alex was trying one of the costumes on.
‘You look ridiculous in that mask, especially
with the white beard decorating it,’ replied Chloe. ‘Anyway, you can’t wear a Santa Claus robe on top of that greatcoat. It looks awful.’
‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’
His voice had deepened and he held out his arms as if ready to embrace the children of the world.
Chloe giggled. ‘I’d like a red sports car, if you don’t mind, Santa.’
Alex growled, ‘You’ll get what you’re given, young lady. Have you been good? I should say not. You’ve been yomping over attics, haven’t you? I can tell by your dusty demeanour, your smutty mush. No red sports car for you. A box of Smarties and an orange, that’s what you’ll get.’
The game suddenly struck at the heart of Chloe’s feelings. A great pang of homesickness went through her and she almost burst into tears. Alex saw the expression on her face and said, ‘Sorry, Clo.’
‘No, no,’ she said, a single tear trickling down her cheek, ‘it’s not you, I – I was just missing Mum and Dad.’
‘Our old dad, or our new one?’
‘Both of them, I suppose, but I meant Ben. Funny,’ she managed a smile, ‘that’s the first time I’ve thought of Ben as
Dad
. I knew it would happen one day. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.’ She paused before asking, ‘Don’t you miss home, Alex? Don’t you miss Dipa and Ben?’
Alex took off Makishi, who let out an audible sigh.
He thought about it hard, his face wrinkling with the effort, before he replied, ‘No, and I’m sure it’s because I still think of them as being near. I’m not like you, Clo. I see this place differently. To me Ben and Dipa are just under the floorboards. I
like
this place. I’m having this adventure up here, above their heads, and they’re down below, content to wait for me to come back. Maybe they are, Clo? You can’t say they’re not.’
‘But that’s not the same as being
with
them.’
He shrugged. ‘I guess not. Nelson’s here
though. He makes it seem like home.’
She smiled again. ‘Yes, he does, doesn’t he?’
They were quiet for a little while, before Chloe spoke again.
‘I feel I’ve changed while we’ve been up here. I’m growing too fast.’
‘Haven’t got a tape measure.’
‘No, I don’t mean physically – I mean inside. I was a little girl when I came in here, now I’m not.’
‘I didn’t think of you as a little girl, Clo.’
She laughed. ‘Your voice goes all funny when you dress up.’
He took off the Father Christmas robe and beard.
Chloe was pleased when Alex removed the Santa Claus outfit. She was a little troubled by the fact that recently her brother always wanted to be someone else. Whenever the opportunity arose, like with the mask, or with the army greatcoat, he would put them on – and change. The change was not subtle either. One moment he was a shy young boy, the next a great adventurer, and the next someone far more sinister. It was as if he had transformed into some weird personality she alone had to deal with. She wanted to talk to her
brother
not some creep in a mask and costume.
He had never been interested in dressing up when they had been down below. In fact, there had been times in their childhood when she had
wanted
him to dress up. That time she wrote a play and asked him to act in it. Alex had categorically refused, saying he wasn’t interested in such things. In those days it would have been quite out of character for him to dress in strange clothes.
‘And leave the mask off,’ she
ordered. ‘I want to see your face.’
For once Alex didn’t argue. He did as he was told.
‘It was getting hot inside Makishi,’ he said. ‘Hey, we’re coming to the end of the Christmas tree forest. What’s that out there, more junk?’
‘What else would you find in Attica?’
This area turned out to be Chloe’s worst nightmare. Along with what appeared to be stage sets there were piles of costumes, fake weapons and jewellery everywhere. Most of the sets were cardboard cut-outs, painted backgrounds, tapestries and cloth hangings. Of course it was the costumes that worried Chloe. No doubt if it was her nightmare, it was Alex’s dream. If Alex wanted to be a pirate, he could be one in seconds. Or Henry IV. Or Peter Pan, Sinbad the Sailor, Ali Baba. He could be anything he wanted to be. All the costumes were here along with their trappings.
She glanced at her brother. Indeed, his eyes had lit up as he reached for a plastic Roman helmet.
‘We haven’t got time for plays, Alex,’ she said quickly. ‘Come on. We must catch up with Jordy.’
‘Plays?’
‘You know, messing about with costumes and things …’
‘Ah,’ said a voice from behind them, ‘do I detect that we have a Thespian among us? How gratifying.’
Chloe whirled round. At first she could not see the speaker. Then she realised he was standing in the shadows of a stage set. Was he ugly? He certainly wasn’t pretty. With his hooked nose and pointed chin she recognised him instantly. Punch. Of Punch and Judy. He was wearing his traditional brightly coloured costume, including a hat with points and bells. Punch came forward, gliding forward on a skirt, the hem of which brushed the dust on the floor.
‘Ah,’ said Punch, following her eyes and looking
down at himself, ‘you’re wondering how I walk, aren’t you, madam? Being a hand-puppet, I should have no legs, eh? I decline to reveal my secret. It’s a puppet thing. I hope you won’t consider it poor manners on my behalf to keep it close.’ He reached them and held out a small mittened hand. ‘How do you do? Punch is the name. But – oh bliss, oh gratification – you know me, don’t you? You know this old ham. I can see by your expressions. Many children don’t, these days,’ he sighed, ‘there being so many other distractions for the young. Computers, video games, TV, mobile phones. Still, the seaside remains the seaside, even if most of them go to Spain in these affluent times.’
To her irritation, Chloe found herself shaking the tiny wooden paw.
‘How do you do?’
Alex said generously, ‘You’re not an old ham – I thought you were a pretty good actor when I saw you at my seventh birthday party.’
‘A fan! My boy, you’ve a voice for sore ears. Thank you from the bottom of my little wooden heart,’ replied Punch. He sighed again. ‘Of course, I always wished to play
Hamlet
. We all did. I know I would have made a magnificent Hamlet. Not to be.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘There’s a little joke in there, if you care to look for it. Very weak, but subtle.’ He brightened again. ‘Come on home and meet the missus. She’d be tickled to see real people again. Ah! Aha! Young lady, I can see what you’re thinking, but our domestic scene is one of bliss, off-stage. We get on very well, Judy and I, in our way. Of course the violence on stage is pretty bad, but it’s traditional you know, and the croc sorts me out at the end. I mean, where would television soaps be without the domestic violence? But I know what you mean, I truly do. It’s a bad influence on the kids. That’s another reason why we’ve been discarded, thrown up into the attic. Times change, attitudes change, and if you can’t change with them, then you’re made redundant. Come on, I’ll take you back to the village …’
Alex looked at Chloe and shrugged, grinning broadly.
‘What can we lose, sis?’ He trotted up beside
Punch, who was stepping out a bit. ‘Have you got anything to eat there?’
‘We can certainly rustle you up something. Do you like birds’ eggs? Of course you do, a chicken is a bird, isn’t it? Well, we can find lots of eggs in the eaves. Not as big as those produced by chickens, who unfortunately don’t fly up to gutters and get in through holes, but they lay eggs just the same. I’m sure you could put away a dozen or so, couldn’t you?’
‘Definitely,’ replied Alex. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Don’t mention it. Ah.’ Punch’s voice had lowered as they approached the puppet village. ‘There’s that fellow Krishna. Thinks a lot of himself because he represents a holy figure – a
Wayang Kulit
he calls himself – but he’s not so bad.’ He raised his voice again. ‘Hi there, Krishna. Look who I’ve found. People like us, from down below.’
People like us?
thought Chloe.
There, standing beneath a colourful paper arch which led into the open square, was a puppet Alex recognised from the time they had been on holiday in the Far East. It was a leather shadow-puppet dyed blue for the skin and red-and-green for the clothes he wore. He stood on one leg, leaning against the arch, but hopped forward as they approached.
‘Well, well, people from my own land, by the look. How very welcome. What news from Bali?’
‘Actually we’re not from Bali,’ explained
Alex. ‘We’re from Winchester, but our granddad came from India. Our right-hand granddad that is – our left-hand granddad came from Portsmouth. That’s what we call them. Right and left granddads. It’s a family thing.’
‘India?’ The puppet brightened. ‘What are your names?’
‘Alexander and Chloe,’ said Alex.
Krishna looked a little disappointed.
Chloe explained, ‘Our dad thought western names would be less trouble for us at school. I don’t know why. Other kids with Asian ancestry get on all right with eastern names.’
‘So, that’s the explanation then. Good. Punch treating you all right?’
‘Of course I am,’ muttered Punch a little testily. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I thought you might feel the need to bash them with your truncheon. No? Ha, ha. Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to fill them full of arrows or go sticking them with my sword, so there’s no reason why you’d want to thump them, I suppose. Well, see you around.’