Bear and the Tree - part 3

http://www.abctales.com/story/philipsidneynoo/bear-and-tree-part-1

http://www.abctales.com/story/philipsidneynoo/bear-and-tree-part-2

Little Mittens

I have never found out what happened to the little girl on that rainy road.  I have never read any newspaper or asked any questions that would allow me to find out anything at all.

That night, I simply drove back to the fair, parked the car and went to bed. Even now, I remember the dreams I had when I finally managed to get to sleep.  They consisted of dreams within dreams.  But throughout them, small, white figures were running and whatever places the dreams took me, I trod on ground that was soft and yielding to the pressure of my footsteps.  On ground that was broken.

 I didn’t go to meet Peggy that night and years later, we still talked about how I left her standing in the rain on our first date.

When I woke up the day after the rain, I worked for a while, but with no enthusiasm or care.  By midday, I asked Jimmy if I could borrow his car one more time.  He wasn’t that pleased about me taking it again, but he was also busy as we were moving on the following day; so in a distracted way, he agreed to it.

Everything looked different without the rain and I drove along the same roads I had the previous night.  When I got to the corner where I had turned, I stopped the car and I got out.  By the kerb, I saw a pair of small, white mittens.  Ribbons tied at the wrists and of a size that would fit a child of six of seven.  I picked them up and put them in my pocket.  Then I got back in Jimmy’s car and drove on.

I knew where Peggy lived and I remember wanting her to be both at her house and not at her house.  Looking back though, I’m glad she was there because, although the fair was moving on, we stayed in touch and six months later, I married her.

I never told her about what happened that night in the rain.  Instead I made up some excuse about how, at the last minute, I’d had to work.  Even if I had been brave enough to tell her, I’m not sure what it was I would have said.  Not everything we do has a rationale we understand and looking back on that night, I still don’t know why I didn’t get out of the car and face whatever needed facing.

Now it’s an early spring morning and I’m standing in Saint Kenelm’s churchyard, looking up at the soft, blurred sandstone of the church.   It rained last night and the day seems washed clean and new.  Bear isn’t with me – he’s at home with enough food and water to see him through until my daughter calls later today.  The graves in the churchyard look particularly tumbledown in this stark, early light.  It occurs to me that a place must be of a great, tired age when even the gravestones look like they’re dying.

I walk past the rag tree and think, not for the first time, that its purpose is more remembrance than supplication, or wishing.  It’s a shrine to old things.  To things that have gone.

But I have my own shrine and that’s where I’m heading to.  I take one look back at the rag tree and in the gust of wind that unexpectedly blows up, the rag and ribbons rotate wildly like the cars on a fairground ride.

My shrine is deep in Ellwood, the rambling, scruffy place where bluebells take over and dazzle later in the season.  I locate the ash tree that indicates where my shrine is and I take off my gloves.  My skin is thin and I notice my old man’s blood bubbling close to the surface, forming bruises on the back of my hands.  I begin digging in the clay soil under the tree.  It’s not hard to do as I’ve done this a number of times over the years and the fault lines I’ve created run deep.  Then, I pick out the small, metal box from the dirt.

Inside, there are the things that form my shrine.  There is a bright green stone from a long ago summer holiday that reminds me of the green of Peggy’s eyes.  There is the blue, woollen scarf Artie wore that last night on the big wheel.  And there is a pair of little, white mittens.

I’ve come to add to the shrine.  To add myself to it.  Out of my coat pocket, I take out a small, wooden toy that I carved many years ago and have always kept with me.  It’s unpainted and it can fit easily into the palm of my hand.  What the carving depicts is a tiny, wooden carousel horse and on its back, is a little girl.  She’s holding on to the horse’s mane and she’s smiling as she rides.  I put the toy in the box and I bury it back under the ash tree.

As I walk deeper into Ellwood, I’m thinking about Bear.  I’ve put a note through my daughter’s letterbox, so he won’t be alone for long.  Besides, he’s a patient creature and I picture his sweet, old face looking out for me through the living room window.  He’s always shown wisdom far beyond simple instinct and if you bother to look for it, you can learn a lot from a dog.

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