Mr Carnovan's Little Shop of Dreams, Part 4

‘So, last night, your grandmother had just passed the sign indicating that Lansby was two and a half kilometres away—a half-hour’s stroll for your grandmother. The day seemed much more pleasant now that she was almost there. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and gentle breeze was stirring the leaves in the trees. Birds and butterflies flitted through the grasses growing beside the path. And overhead the squirrels jumped through the trees and chattered at one another. Your grandmother was in such a good mood that she forget that the sign had read “2.5 km and only one more adventure away”.’

‘This is where she meets the knight with the roan horse.’

‘Well, if you already know the story, I won’t have to tell it to you. I’ll say goodnight, then, Michael.’ Michael’s father stood up and lifted the chair back towards its spot against the wall.

‘No, no. I don’t know the story. You told me that she met a knight with a roan horse. That’s all I know.’ Michael was giggling at his father’s joke.

‘Well, if you’re sure that you don’t know the story. I don’t want to bore you.’ The man put the chair back beside Michael’s bed and sat down.

Lú had been holding his breath, worried that the man would leave without finishing the story. He never knew when humans were teasing each other. Sometimes the same words could be used to mean something quite different.

‘Now, where was I?’

‘Grandmother forgot about the adventure.’

‘Oh, yes. Now, the ground gradually became much more stoney. The path wound its way up a gentle slope between rock walls taller than your grandmother. As the path rounded a corner, it opened up into a wider space carpeted in grass and surrounded on three sides by rock walls. Your grandmother gasped in wonder. There spread out before her was a magnificent, lush valley, with the distant hills covered in a blue haze. Far below her were the crowns of great green trees. Here and there were houses and fields. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get to Lansby, she would have liked to stop and sit for an hour and just enjoy that view.

‘But, alas, she had to complete her errands. So she took her eyes away from the sights and turned back to continue her journey. And discovered to her horror that she was standing at the end of the path. There on the grass was another fingerpost. “Lansby, 1 km” it read. The sign extended out over the edge, and the finger pointed straight down, over the edge of the cliff.

‘Your grandmother crept forward to the edge and looked down. Perhaps there was a staircase, she thought, or a path cut into the side of the hill. The cliff fell straight down, and there was no staircase, no path cut into the side of the hill. Directly below the sign were the roofs and streets of Lansby.

‘Your grandmother could see people walking along the streets and stopping to chat. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Hello, hello. How do I get down there?” and then she waved her arms and jumped up and down. Not one of the people walking the streets of Lansby looked up no matter how loudly she called out or how much she waved.

‘Now, Michael, you mustn’t think any less of your grandmother. She is a brave woman. But that day, standing up there on that cliff, she almost burst into tears she was so frustrated. I say almost, because, as you know, your grandmother always says that tears never solve anything. So she did what she usually does. She stuck out her chin and scowled with determination, and a great wave of stubbornness came over her. She resolved that she would find a way down that cliff. She just needed was a little ingenuity.

‘So she sat down on a rock and pulled the chocolate bar out of her pocket and unwrapped the foil. Your grandmother is a firm believer in the powers of chocolate, Michael. But although the ogre’s chocolate was excellent chocolate, it gave her no ideas. She was no closer to getting to the bottom of that cliff.’

‘I know what she did.’

Everyone in the room sat up and listened carefully. The Murphy had given over sneaking about and listening from under Michael’s bed. He had claimed the best spot on the pillows even before Michael had come upstairs and had waited, not without some impatient tapping of his tail, for the storytelling to resume. Lú had retold the previous evenings’ stories to several of his mates, and they had clamoured so loudly to be allowed to listen in person (well, I suppose we should say ‘in creature’ since they were guardian spirits) that Lú had relented and let several occupy places about the room. The Murphy had looked them over to let them know that their identity had been noted and then he ignored the invasion and pretended they weren’t present. Lú had taken the place of honour on the right post at the head of the bed, safely on the other side of Michael from The Murphy.

‘And what might that be, Michael?’

‘She had another bar of chocolate.’

‘I am a firm believer in the powers of chocolate, Michael, but I don’t see how eating more would help your grandmother solve the problem.’ Michael’s father scratched his head and looked perplexed.

‘Because, Da, the rest of the chocolate is in the knapsack. Grandmother only took one bar from the knapsack when she left the giant snoring on the ground. She would have to open the knapsack to get another bar.’

‘And then what?’

‘She would find something that would help get down the cliff. The ogre’s knapsack has everything. She just has to open the right zipper. And it has to be something with a knight and a roan horse. But it can’t be a real horse. A real horse couldn’t get down that cliff.’

‘Perhaps it could be a horse with wings, like in your storybook.’

‘That’s just a myth, Da. Those horses don’t exist.’

Michael’s father looked at his son thoughtfully and then smiled. ‘And what would she find in the knapsack, a parachute perhaps?’

‘Grandmother doesn’t know how to use a parachute. That would be too dangerous.’ Michael didn’t like the idea of falling through the air, even if attached to a parachute. Heights were one of his nightmares. ‘Maybe a balloon.’

‘A bunch of helium-filled balloons? Like the ones Jimmy had at his birthday?’

‘No, like that big coloured balloon we saw that time we were going north. Over the fields. With the basket below for people to ride in.’

‘Oh, a hot-air balloon. That would do, I think. Shall I continue with the story?’

‘Yes, please.’ Having helped his grandmother off that cliff, Michael settled back into bed and patted the covers smooth.

‘Well, your grandmother sat on that rock and thought and thought, but she could think of no way to get to the bottom of that cliff unless she just jumped off, and she didn’t think that would end very pleasantly for her. Now, the giant had eaten all but a bit of the food, and your grandmother was beginning to get hungry, what with all that walking about and thinking. She was sure that the ogre had packed several bars of chocolate. The more she thought about it, the hungrier she became. The thought of that chocolate bar, sweet and bitter and smooth and crunchy, made her stomach growl. For as we all know, there’s no such thing as a bad bit of chocolate. Finally, she decided that she had to eat another bar—just to keep her strength up.

‘She pulled the knapsack off her shoulders and set it on a rock. The bag had ever so many zippers. She couldn’t remember which pocket the ogre had put the chocolate in. But she did recall that they were very large slabs of chocolate and they wouldn’t have fit in one of the smaller pockets. So she unzipped the biggest pocket. There on top was a large neatly folded heavy canvas, and she took that out and sat it to one side on the rock. It looked rather like a tent that had been folded up into a rectangle. Beneath that was a wicker picnic basket that was somewhat squished and crushed flat from everything else in the knapsack. She put that on the rock next to the canvas. Finally she found the chocolate. She took it out of the bag and began unwrapping it.

‘ “Oh, that’s where I left it. I’ve been looking all over for it.” A loud voice boomed from the path between the rocks.

‘Your grandmother was so startled that she jumped up and almost dropped the bar of chocolate, which would have been a true disaster. She whirled about to confront the stranger. Standing there was a man. He was dressed in a khaki flight suit, like all the airmen wear, and had a motorcycle helmet on his head and sunglasses with a shiny coating that reflected everything he looked at. “Oh, you frightened me. Who are you? And what are you looking for?”

‘ “I am no longer looking, madam. I have found it.” The man pointed to the picnic basket and the canvas. “As to who I am, I am Bert Knight, the proprietor of Knight’s Taxi Service, at your service.” And Mr Knight bowed low.

‘ “Well, if your taxi can get to Lansby from here, I will hire you. But where is it?” Your grandmother looked about. She couldn’t imagine that anyone could drive a car along that path.

‘ “Right here. Just as soon as I get it set up.” Mr Knight picked up the canvas and began unfolding it. When he had finished, the canvas had become a long, flat, paddle-shaped object, narrow at the bottom and a wide circle at the top. Mr Knight then took the picnic basket and pushed the sides out until it became a wide wicker basket capable of holding two or three people. The bottom end of the canvas has several ropes hanging down from it, and Mr Knight attached these to the basket. “You see, my taxi is a hot air balloon named the Roan Horse. It’s much more interesting to ride in a hot air balloon than to ride in an automobile.”

‘ “My goodness,” said your grandmother, “that is most impressive. And we will be able to get to Lansby in this?”

‘ “Of course. That’s a very short trip. But I don’t see the machine to make the hot air that will inflate the ballon. If I can’t inflate it, we aren’t going anywhere. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a larger metal heater with a fan in one end and several gas canisters lying about, have you?”

‘ “Oh, no, I haven’t. You mean we can’t get to Lansby if you don’t have those?”

‘The man shook his head no.

‘ “Hmmm,” said your grandmother. “Perhaps I have something in my knapsack that would serve.”

‘ “Hmpff,” said Mr Knight. “It’s quite a large machine, madam. That small knapsack of yours couldn’t begin to hold it.”

‘ “Well, let me take a look,” said your grandmother. And she reached into the knapsack again. Her hand closed around a cold metal rod. “I think I may have what you need. I’ll hold the sides apart, and you can lift it out.”

‘The look on Mr Knight’s face said plain enough that he thought your grandmother was barmy. In the same sort of voice that some adults use when speaking to children they think can’t understand them, he said very carefully and slowly, “I will take a look, Madam, but it really is a very large machine, and it could not fit in that bag.”

‘Mr Knight stepped over to the knapsack and reached in. He grabbed hold of the metal rod and pulled. Whatever it was, was quite heavy, for he became very red in the face as he struggled to pull it out of the knapsack. Now, Mr Knight was a proud man, and he was not about to admit that your grandmother could carry something on her back that he couldn’t lift. So he dug his feet into the ground and flexed his muscles. He took a deep breath and reached into the knapsack and shouted “kiiiiiiiiiiiiai” and gave a prodigious heave. Out popped a large, shiny heater with a fan attached. Mr Knight nearly fell on his back.

‘ “But, Madam, this is precisely what I need. But why were you carrying it about? And how did you get it into that bag?”

‘ “I like to be prepared for anything,” said your grandmother as she pulled out several fuel canisters and sat them on the ground. “One never knows what one might need along the road to Lansby. And as for the packing, it’s all a matter of experience. When you get to my age, young man, perhaps you’ll know the secrets of packing too. Would you like part of my chocolate bar? Or an apple perhaps? My name is Nora Kathryn Orrin, by the way.”

‘ “I could do with a cup of tea, but I don’t suppose you have that, Mrs Orrin.”

‘ “And why would you suppose that, Mr Knight? How do you take yours? Milk and sugar? Lemon? And could I interest you in a slice of strawberry tart while the balloon is inflating? Or walnut cake? Why don’t you start getting it ready, and I’ll just set out the tea.”

‘Mr Knight went right to work. He set the machine under the opening in the bottom of the balloon and soon it was pumping hot air into the balloon. At first nothing much happened. The balloon sack just quivered a bit as the air flowed into it. Soon, however, as it began to fill with more air, it rose up slightly and bobbed about.

‘While Mr Knight’s back was turned, your grandmother reached into the knapsack and pulled out two cups, two plates, two spoons, two forks, a large teapot, a tea kettle, a small paraffin stove, a bottle of clear, cold spring water, a canister of green tea, a small pitcher of milk, a blue bowl of sugar cubes, sugar tongs, a strawberry tart, a walnut cake, and a dish of clotted cream, all of which she sat out on the rock as the water heated up. By the time everything was ready, the balloon was beginning to rise upright off the ground.

‘On the side of the balloon was painted a reddish-brown horse with small patches of silver and white in its hair. Near the top a broad white stripe ran around the balloon. On this were printed the words “The Roan Horse Taxi. Bert Knight, Prop. Reasonable Rates. 24-hour service.” The balloon continued to inflate as your grandmother and Mr Knight drank their tea. The strawberry tart must have been good, because Mr Knight ate all of it, and he almost finished the clotted cream. He apologised to your grandmother because he had room left for only two slices of the walnut cake, but she covered the plate with plastic wrap and gave the rest to him to eat later. By the time they had finished eating and done the washing up and stowed everything back in the knapsack, the balloon was pulling at the ropes that Mr Knight had secured to large steel hooks in the rocks.

‘ “We are almost ready, Mrs. Orrin. Now, you want to go to Lansby. Let’s see. That’s one kilometre straight down. It will be a fifteen-minute ride. Ordinarily, that would cost 25 euros, but since you fed me such a splendid tea and supplied the hot-air machine, I will lower the fee and charge you only 24 euros.”

‘Now your grandmother hadn’t expected to be on the road so long. She thought she would be back in her own house in time to have a late lunch. So she hadn’t taken much cash with her, just ten euros and the gold coins that Mr Carnovan insisted on being paid in. The giant at the river had charged her five euros to cross the river. So she had only five euros left. And if she gave Mr Knight any of the gold coins, she might not have enough left to buy the dreams to cure your nightmares, Michael.

‘ “24 euros? But that’s airway robbery. I could go from Dunfanaghy to Killkarnock and back for that on the bus.” Your grandmother was so upset that she took off the baseball cap that your uncle Brendan had sent her from Boston and ran her fingers through her hair, which, as you know, she does only when she is very disturbed.

‘ “It’s expensive to operate a balloon.,” said Mr Knight. “Hot air is in short supply these days, and the price has gone up. I couldn’t do it for less than 20 euros. And only because you’re an old-age pensioner and that’s my special discount for pensioners, Mrs Orrin. That’s an interesting hat you have there, by the way. May I ask where you got it?”

‘Now your grandmother didn’t like being called a pensioner or Mr Knight’s implication that she needed his charity. She reminded herself that the balloon, the basket, and the hot-air machine had come out of her knapsack, and by rights they were her balloon, basket, and hot-air machine. But the balloon was tugging at the ropes and straining to lift up into the sky, and your grandmother wanted to get to Lansby, and she didn’t have time to argue with Mr Knight.

‘ “My younger son sent it to me from Boston in America. It’s the official cap of their baseball team, the Red Stockings. It’s a very expensive cap, and very rare. My son was able to get one of the few manufactured the year they won the flag and swept the international matches. It’s a special commemorative cap.” And your grandmother brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from the cap.

‘ “It is a splendid cap. I wish I had one myself.”

‘ “Yes, you would look very jaunty and handsome wearing one of these and flying the Roan Horse about. Any young woman who saw you would remember you and then call you the next time she needed a taxi. Perhaps even when she didn’t need a taxi.”

‘ “Expensive you said?”

‘Your grandmother didn’t say anything. She just nodded her head and then looked around to make sure that she had picked up all the trash and thrown it into the Help Keep Ireland Green and Litter Free bin.

‘Mr Knight wanted that cap. “What if I were to give you a free ride to Lansby in exchange for the cap?”

‘ “Mr Knight, this is a gift from one of my children. I couldn’t possibly part with it.”

‘ “What if in addition to the free ride to Lansby, I gave you 10 euros for the cap.”

‘ “Mr Knight. I really must beg you to stop.”

‘ “15 euros.”

‘ “Never.”

‘ “25 euros. Please. I must have that hat.”

‘Eventually your grandmother took pity on Mr Knight and handed over the hat—for a free ride to Lansby and 100 euros. She was sure that she would find another cap just like it in the knapsack later, and she had no intention of keeping the money. She had just been curious how much Mr Knight was willing to pay for the privilege of impressing the young women. After she had taken a seat in the basket, Mr. Knight began unhooking all the ropes that kept the balloon tethered to the ground. Finally only one rope was left. The balloon tugged at it and tossed about in the air, anxious to be away. Mr Knight leaped into the basket and untied the rope. The balloon was free at last, and it sprung into the air and with a great hop rose above the treetops and floated out over the cliff.

‘The view was magnificent, Michael. The valley of Lansby is one of the greenest places in all of Ireland, which is to say that it is very green indeed. It is thick with a great forest of old trees. The roads are paved with white cobblestones with flecks of mica that glint in the sun and they run between yellow stone walls covered with green moss so dark that it’s almost black. The silver streams flow between banks of blue flowers and beneath tall oak trees filled with brown acorns. It is not to be wondered at that Mr Carnovan settled there so many years ago. Some day we will take a balloon ride ourselves. But I don’t think we will ever see such beautiful scenery as your grandmother saw that day. It was enough to make one believe in magic.

‘The balloon floated slowly down beside the cliff wall and then settled gently on the ground. Your grandmother had wanted to get to Lansby as soon as she could, but even so she felt the trip was too short. As she stepped out of the basket, she thanked Mr Knight. He looked so handsome in his new cap and his fine uniform. It was time to put an end to the game. “Here, Mr Knight,” she said, “That ride was worth 100 euros.” And she handed him his money back. She closed the gate on the basket and stepped away. Mr Knight was so surprised that he pulled the lever on the hot air machine, and the Roan Horse rose into the air and floated away. And ever after he always wore that red baseball cap. He said it brought him good luck because the most splendid woman in all of Donegal had made a gift of it to him. But what happened to Mr Knight is a story for another day.

‘And now, Michael, it is time for you to go to sleep. Your grandmother has finally arrived in Lansby, and that will be tomorrow’s story.’

******

‘I should like to go on a balloon ride some day,’ said Lú as he and The Murphy sat on the window sill discussing the finer points of the story with everyone else in the audience (except for Michael, who was sleeping).

‘Not I,’ said The Murphy. ‘It can’t be much different from walking on roofs and climbing trees. I mean, once you’re off the ground, it’s doesn’t matter how you got there.’ Several of the others present disputed that view, and the discussion continued until late in the night.

And Michael dreamt of riding in a balloon floating above the trees. And strange to say, heights didn’t bother him any more.