He is lying in bed, his belly full of the stew Papa cooked for him, warm in the cocoon that Papa made for him as he tucked the blankets around his body. He is not tired yet, although he has been playing outside most of the afternoon. Papa has told him a bedtime story, Bae's favourite, the one about the youngest brother who didn't inherit anything from his father but got to marry the princess in the end. Papa has told it twice, making all the different voices, but Bae is still not sleepy. He doesn't want to listen to the story again, either, so he plucks at the threads of his blanket, while he watches his father. His father's prominent cheekbones and nose cast shadows on his cheeks, and his skin has taken a golden hue from the fire. Bae likes papa's face, even when it looks tired and drawn, just like now. Papa looks up and his dark brown eyes are warm.
"Still not tired, son?" He asks.
Bae shakes his head and Papa smiles. He breathes in, holds it, and lets the air out in a long gust. His shoulders sag down. Papa looks down, and when he looks up again there's a small sparkle in his eyes, the one that makes his face livelier. Bae likes that.
"I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal. Are you ready to make deals, son?"
Bae's eyes widen. Only grown up men make deals. He nods, gravely.
Papa smiles again.
"All right. Here's the deal: I give you your name day's present tonight and you..."
"Really, papa? That's great!" Bae cannot help himself. That's the best news he's had in years. His name day is two weeks from now. It's a lifetime to wait, and Papa is saying he can have his present now. That's the best news in, like, ages.
"Ah, ah, ah," says papa, lifting a long finger and tapping Bae's nose with it. "You have to listen to the whole deal before you agree."
Bae quietens.
"As I said, I give you your present right away, and you promise to go to sleep, right after that. Hm? How does it sound?" Papa's not even finished his question when Bae's already nodding vehemently. He wants his present now.
"All right," says Papa, offering his hand. They shake on it. Then Papa gathers his staff and gets to his feet.
"Close your eyes," he commands.
Bae plans on peeking through his eyelids. He has been trying to find where Papa keeps things for a long time. Papa is really, really good at stowing things away. He keeps small surprises for Bae hidden all over their house, but Bae never finds them.
Papa walks towards the fireplace and suddenly turns around.
"No peeping," he says seriously.
How could he have known that Bae was watching him under his eyelids? He must have eyes on the back of his head! Perhaps it is magic? Bae closes his eyes tightly.
He listens carefully, but cannot locate the precise spot in which Papa seems to be rummaging for something.
"Not peeking yet."
Then he listens, with growing eagerness, as Papa's cane taps closer and closer. Papa sits down. The cot dips a little under his weight.
"Put your hands forward. Palms up."
Bae extends his hands, and receives something small and soft. He touches it. It seems like one of the coils of thread that Papa takes to the marketplace. Bae opens his eyes, and feels a little disappointed. It is one of the spools. He frowns. Why would Papa give him one? He had always been attracted to them, being so white and so soft, but he had always been told he couldn't play with them, for he would get the thread dirty and they wouldn't be able to sell them to buy clothes and food. Now it has been a long time since he has longed to play with them. He doesn't think about the smooth, fluffy, white spools any more. He doesn't even get near the basket that holds them. He is all grown up now. He is almost six.
He turns the spool in his hands, and then he discovers it is not a normal spool. The thread is tightly wound up around it, like the other ones, but the end is not simply looped to one of the strands to hold it in place. It is tied to one of the ends of the spool, and a length of it is left behind, a small knot tied to the very end. Bae looks at the other side, and discovers the felt ears, the eyes, the straw whiskers sewn into the wool. The spool is not just a spool, it is a mouse! The end of the thread is its tail. Bae turns the mouse on its belly and discovers the tiny felt paws.
"Happy name day, son," says his father, quietly, and Bae knows he has made it for him.
Bae feels as if his face might split in two, he is smiling so hard. He rises from the bed, and gives his father a tight embrace. Papa laughs, holds Bae in his arms. Then Bae lies down again, the mouse cradled close to his chest.
"You have to give it a name," says Papa.
Bae looks at the mouse, the soft, brown, felt ears, the dark eyes sewn in black thread, the long whiskers. He decides the mouse is small, but quick and smart. It must be loved by everyone. He knows just the right name.
"Alvin."
Papa's eyebrows rise up in wonder.
"Alvin?" he repeats.
Bae nods solemnly. Papa smiles.
"That's a good name, son," he breathes.
"Well, now," he continues, in a lighter mood, taking the mouse from Bae's hand. He looks intently at its face. "What do you say, little Alvin. Are you tired?"
The mouse turns around, looks at Bae.
"Aye, I'm very tired. I've been playing outside the whole afternoon," it says in a high-pitched voice.
Bae can't stop giggling. Papa is the best at making voices.
Papa turns the mouse, until it's looking at him again.
"Are you cold?"
"Aye, I'm very, very cold."
"Do you think you can find a warm nook around here?"
He tilts the mouse, so it looks pensive.
"Hmmm..." says the mouse. "Perhaps... perhaps in this little bed?"
Suddenly, Papa ducks the mouse under the covers and tickles Bae's side with its nose. Bae laughs, wriggles, while Papa continues speaking in the mouse's voice.
"Aye, aye, here's warm and dark, and nice, one only has to burrow a little deeper..."
Bae squirms, and screams in laughter, and holds his stomach. Tears are running down his cheeks.
There's a cold gust of wind, and the door closes.
"Oh, Rumpelstiltskin. Sometimes you're so ridiculous..."
Papa freezes, takes his hand from under the covers, as if burnt. Mama gets closer, caresses Bae's hair out of his forehead, gives him a kiss and with a few, deft movements, arranges the blankets around him. Bae feels under the blankets, finds Alvin and holds it to his chest.
"What's this?" Mama lifts the covers and sees Alvin.
Papa swallows.
"It's my name day gift," says Bae. " Papa gave it to me."
Mama stares at Papa, who is looking down at his hands. Bae clutches Alvin tighter.
"Do you like it?"
Bae nods.
"Well, then," Mama covers him up to his chin, pets his hair. "Go to sleep, Bae. It's late."
She turns around and goes to the fireplace, lifts up the kettle and hangs it on the hook above the fire.
His father lingers by his bedside, slowly rubbing his thigh.
Bae lifts Alvin a little, so its nose is poking out of the blankets. It will be able to breathe, but it will still be warm during the night.
Papa looks at him and smiles. The smile only curves one side of his mouth. It does not reach his eyes. He looks drawn and tired once again.
"Close your eyes, son," he sighs. " Mama's right. It's late."
Bae complies. After a while, Papa picks up his staff, rises.
Later, he hears them fighting in hushed tones.
"You gave him a spool, Rumpelstiltskin? A whole spool of your finest thread? What were you thinking? "
"It's his name day, Milah..."
"But that's almost a piece of silver!"
"It's all right..."
"No, it's not all right. Bae needs new shoes, a new tunic. This shawl is too thin... There are smarter ways to use our money."
"I'll work longer hours..."
"Aye? And what do you propose we eat next week?"
"We'll get by."
"Really? Not thanks to you."
There is a brief silence.
"It's my son's name day. And I will give him whatever pleases him best," Papa hisses, in venomous tones. Bae cringes. Papa must be really, really upset. He almost never uses that tone.
There's a silence, and something thuds hard on the table. Mama must have risen, for Bae can hear the swishing of her skirts, a soft thump as she turns the covers of her own bed.
"All right," she says. "But you figure out how to buy him warmer clothes."
Bae listens attentively at the sounds she makes while undressing and getting in bed. Then he burrows deeper under the blankets. He kisses the tip of Alvin's nose, rubs his cheek against its whiskers and finally falls asleep.