On Choices
In life, as in the Garden, one does not always have a choice. One is born into a family, one grows up in a town, and one goes to school. These are never our choices. But there always comes a time when one has to make choices. One can make a choice that may seem wrong and turns out right. One can make a choice that may seem right and turns out wrong. In the Garden, as in life, one makes choices sometimes that do not seem choices. And yet when one ends up making such choices, whether inside or outside the Garden, one must live with, and learn from their consequences.
From Mr. Whizz’s Notebook, Concerning the Garden, a thing rarum
If Smarm had stood on ceremony, he did not wait around to enjoy the fruits of his gesture. With a flourish of his tricorn, he had bowed and made his way with his creatures, the dim-dims and loopeys back into the forest.
Upon his leave taking, the gnomes had cleared the tables and, under the Mistress’s instruction, built fires at strategic points around the clearing. In this idea there was a deal of pragmatism. No one believed Smarm was a great respecter of truces, even if he had been on this occasion its initiator, he had left, it was noted, with some of the punnets and the odd snaffled strawb. The pannies and scouties, meanwhile, had gone off to ferment some strawba. If no doubt there would be some strawbaing somewhere in the woods later that night, groups of gnomes were still gathered in the clearing. And from the kitchen and the campfires there were pots on the go in case anyone cared for a hot drink before they settled down for the night.
A certain quiet had descended over the clearing. The unicorns, Handsomely and Beautifully had disappeared, like a pair of Vanishers in the night. The giant snails had retreated into their shells, reasoning that that their strawbs could be saved – and savoured better in the morning. After the labours of the feast, Anatole himself had his boots up on one of the tables. He appeared to be asleep, and yet, every so often, he would open his eyes and comment “More sauce!” as some of the Coconuts who were not themselves dozing strummed away. And this seemed to be how it was going with soft chatter and whispered asides. There was an especially touching and tuneful moment when Billy Brownlow took up his harmonica; the two sisters and Father Allen broke into a lullaby. Frisco Bea was tempted to join in, but Mr. Whizz had put his finger over his lips and she seemed to fall into a reverie. “It’s just how I remember the Isle of Wight,” she said.
Father Allen stopped.
“You know, sisters,” he said. “We are getting so good at this I think we need to form a band.”
Mildred, meanwhile, was chatting with Mercedes whose thoughts had turned to her absent fiancé.
“But do you think I will ever find him?”
“I am sure if you are patient, he will turn up. Besides, no doubt the Mistress can help you.”
“Do you think she could help you find your George?”
“I rather think,” said Mildred, “my George will find me. If not now, in another life.”
“That is such a romantic thought,” said Mercedes.
“I don’t know about that,” said Mildred. “I do know, however, there is something romantic about this place.”
“Yes,” said Mercedes, “it is romantic.”
“Heavenly,” said Mildred, closing her eyes. “It makes me feel young again. Talking of which, where has that little girl got to?”
“You mean, Laila. The last I saw of her she was gorging herself on a punnet of strawberries.”
In fact, Laila was not far away; but under the very table where they were sitting. It was, she had decided, the perfect spot to keep her ear on the grownup conversation and enjoy her punnet of strawbs in peace when Cedric found her.
“There you are!” he said, pulling back the table cloth. “The Mistress has been looking for you and Cyril.”
“Oh, no! Poor Cyril, he’s not in trouble again, is he? – He won’t be put in the Tree of Nothing, will he?”
“Well,” said Cedric with his usual pomposity and self-importance, “I suppose we shall just have to wait and see what is going to be done with Cyril Longhop.”
Laila followed Cedric over to one of the campfires where another conversation was taking place between the Mistress, who was seated on her Thinking Chair and two rather excitable flutterbyes.
“Utterly, you know I have to decide.”
“I agree, Mistress. A most difficult and perplexing decision.”
“Oh, you silly things, it may be difficult and perplexing, but I will decide nevertheless.”
“Peregrine,” said the Mistress, turning finally to the BMX rider, “I am most touched by your gift of the bicycle. However, I believe – and I think you will appreciate since you have also witnessed certain events here regarding that gentleman who we know by the name of Smarm that I am not always in a position to take advantage of your gift. However, and I say this unhesitatingly, there is another person deserving of your bicycle.”
She turned and looked at Cyril.
“Cyril Longhop,” she said, “I fear I have been a little unforgiving in my estimation of your skills. I did so enjoy riding the bike you have built with Peregrine, which is why I decree that you shall become the Garden’s official bike keeper. I grant you this privilege that you fully – and under the supervision of Master Venables and if so required Mister Whizz – investigate its potential as a means of getting about the Garden.”
Cyril bowed and thanked the Mistress.
“What is more,” she said, “if you can find a way to store bow and arrow, I may consider it more than just a means of peregrination and entertainment.”
The Mistress now turned her attention to Laila who had been standing there, licking her lips and wondering if she looked vaguely presentable.
“Ah, there you are, my strawberry-stained girl,” she said. “Were you frightened by the wolves when they came into the clearing?”
“I was at first,” said Laila, self-consciously placing her sticky hands behind her back and wiping them on her jeans. “But when I saw all these strawberries, I had to help myself. This big wolf glowered at me when he saw I was taking all the big ones. Really he was just grinning.”
The Mistress of the Garden smiled.
“It is true,” she said, “no one in their right mind can resist the Garden strawberries. Nor for that matter can they resist them in their wrong minds. Isn’t that right, Mr. Whizz?”
“I do believe so,” said the wizard. “Neither right nor wrong minds can resist the fragaria ananassa. It is a most uncommon, indeed rare thing.”
“What else do you like about the Garden?”
“I loved it all,” said Laila. “I loved meeting a unicorn and being a unicorn and even riding one.”
“You say you became a unicorn,” said the Mistress. “But how did you become one?”
“I looked in the pool and I couldn’t see my reflection.”
“It is true,” said the Mistress, “in the Garden sometimes you can see your reflection and sometimes you can’t.”
“Do you think the wolves see their reflection?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the Mistress. “What matters is that you are safe here.”
Laila was silent for a moment when she suddenly remembered she had to be somewhere else.
“Oh, crikey!” she said. “What time is it? – It must be after midnight. Mum will have a fit. I should’ve been home for supper hours ago. I must go home.”
The Mistress smiled.
“Of course, no one can force you to leave the Garden,” she said, “unless you decide to leave of your own free will. However, I must say, Laila, you have made a very wise choice to return home.”
She turned to Cyril.
“Bike keeper, I believe it is your duty to accompany the young lady to the gate.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
She looked up at the flutterbyes.
“Go with them,” she said. “If there is trouble from that so and so or any of those other so and sos, you know what to do.”
“Mr. Whizz?”
“I shall accompany them to the edge of the clearing. Then I shall come back to continue words with the Priest and his two companions. It has been a long time since I have been in ecclesiastical company.”
“So be it.”
The Mistress turned once again to the gnome and Laila. “Finally, it behoves me to remind you not to stray from path. When you go through the gate, please remember to close it firmly behind you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Laila and Cyril in unison.
The Mistress watched them as they set off in the company of the wizard and the flutterbyes. She sighed and turned to Perry who was sitting by the fire playing with a stick.
“The question is Peregrine, what do we do now?”
“You can’t answer that question, my Lady. I thought you were in charge around here.”
“Surely you must know it is not always easy to be in charge.”
“That’s what Dad says. It’s better to let Mum be in charge.”
“How wise of your father.”
“That’s not what Mum says. She says it’s better to let Dad be in charge to which Dad always replies it’s better to let no one be in charge.”
The Mistress laughed and said:
“What do you say, Master Peregrine?”
Perry shrugged and considered the question.
“The moon is out. There’s a blazing fire and music. And I’ve got this stick to light.”
“What happens next?”
“I believe I put the stick back in the fire,” said Perry, “and you can come and sit down here where it’s warm.”
“That seems to me,” said the Mistress, “a most sensible suggestion.”
And so saying she got up from her Thinking Seat and came and sat down beside the fair rider.
Mr. Whizz had accompanied Laila and the gnome to the edge of the clearing when he stopped.
“Laila, this is I am afraid where I have to leave you.”
“Is this goodbye for ever, Mr. Whizz?”
“In fact, although one can always say never, and one should never – grammatically speaking – say never never, one should never say for ever.”
Laila was about to go when he took something from his pocket and gave it to her.
It was a little clay whistle in the shape of a unicorn.
“People in the Garden say,” he said, “if you can learn to blow the horn, you may find again the unicorn.”
Laila did not know what to say.
“Goodbye, Mr. Whizz.”
The wizard turned to go.
“Come on,” said Cyril, “I better show the way back to the gate.”
Laila climbed on the bike and pedalled off down the path.
“You know,” said Cyril from the back of the bike, as they went. “This bike is the perfect size for gnomes.”
“And for me, too!” cried Laila, without realising she had swerved off the path they were on onto another path.
But the flutterbyes were alert to the danger.
“Not that way, Miss Laila!” they cried. “That way is to Smarm’s Lodge!”
It would be wrong to say they reached the gate without further adventure. In fact, several times the flutterbyes had to refocus the attention of the wandering bikers, especially when they heard a burst of crashing and banging. It turned out to be a group of pannies stampeding across the path whooping and shouting.
“Alright, Sid! – Cheerio, Laila.”
“Do they always do that?”
“It’s the effects of strawba,” said Cyril. “Everything speeds up for them.”
As she stood at the gate, Laila was sad to leave her friend and the Garden when the thought of home caught up with her.
“I’m going to be in such trouble with Mum,” she said. “I was supposed to be home hours ago.”
“I don’t know,” said Cyril. “I’ve been in and out of the Garden a few times now, and I always find nothing is the same. In fact, I think time is different, too. Have you got far to go?”
“I suppose it’ll take me about half an hour if I walk very fast.”
“I tell you what. Why don’t you take the bike?”
“Oh, Cyril,” said Laila, “are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
“But what about you? Don’t you want it?”
“I’ll make another one with Perry.”
Laila was suddenly moved by Cyril’s generosity.
“Cyril,” she said, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You will come and visit me again?”
“I’ll come tomorrow.”
Cyril smiled.
“Goodbye, Cyril,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.
Cyril went the colour of a Braeburn apple.
“Goodbye, Miss Laila!” the flutterbyes cried. “We do hope to see you again one day soon.”
“One day soon
Before the next moon!”
“Just remember don’t be out late
Lest the Mistress gets in a bate!”
And they closed the gate.
It was as Cyril had said. The moon was no longer in the sky. By Laila’s estimation it was late afternoon. She was just in time for supper.
Timmy was playing outside when she arrived home.
“Where did you get that bike?” he asked.
“It was a present from my friend, Cyril. What’s it to you?”
She glared at Timmy, who shrugged.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m minding my own business.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind having a ride, though.”
“Alright then,” said Laila, “I’ll take you to the woods tomorrow.”
“Really!” said Timmy, amazed that his sister no longer seemed to be at war with him. “Will we have an adventure there?”
“You’ll see, Timmy,” said Laila, as they wheeled the bike into the garage and hid it under some old ground sheets. “It’s such fun in the woods, especially when we go through the gate.”
