Time to go to Saraevo: A bedtime story
"Mummy, please, tell me a story!"
A pair of ever-inquisitive forget-me-not eyes were looking at Wendy with poorly hidden expectation.
Some time has passed by now from the day of the fatal telegram arrival, but neither the Darlings, nor the Stuarts were yet able to restore the once happy family atmosphere.
"Hush, kitten, don't bother your mother – she has truly overworked today in that commitee of hers", answered a soft baritone voice from the twilight."Tonight I shall tell you a story"
'Oh, Daddy, that's great! Please, do tell!"
"All right, where do I begin?"
A tall dark figure crouched by the little girl's bed, on which both mother and daughter lay cuddled together, as if having no wish to let each other go.
"... Once upon a time an old fisherman plunged his net into the sea, and caught by chance a golden fish..."
"A golden fish!"
"Yes, honey, a golden fish. And the fish pleaded the old man to release it : "Let me go, and I will make any of your dreams come true.
"And what did he wish?" Jane's patience, so like her father's, has never been her strong point.
" And the old fisherman demanded: "I want to be young, strong, handsome, rich, celebrate, to have a beautiful young wife, a splendid house and all sorts of riches". And the fish accepted his wish, and swam away into the open sea..."
"And then?" The little girl was sleepy, but still curious.
"And – voila! – next morning the fisherman wakes up on a luxirious bed, sunshine is penetrating the French window of a richly furnished bedroom. A beautiful young lady in an elegant dressing-gown comes up to him and says, "My love? Franz Ferdinand? Please hurry up, it's time to go to Saraevo."
" And where is that Saraevo?", Jane's voice was fading away, struggling with overcoming sleep.
"Oh, far away, kitten, in Eastern Europe,somewhere in the Balkans. I bet when you go to school, you'll have better grades in geography than I had had at Eton", he added with a hint of a smile.
Jane's eyes were already closed. Her father started to make noiselessly for the door, when a voice from under the blanket caught him unawares:
"Daddy, Uncle Mike went straight to God?"
It cost him a great effort to keep both his presence of mind and reserved countenance.
"Yes, kitten, he did. Your Uncle Michael was fortunate enough."
The little girl failed to notice a touch of bitterness in his tone.
"And now Peter Pan is leading him up to Heaven? Like a guardian angel?"
The child's innocent meditation hit him like a bullet.
The father swallowed with difficulty, traces of inner turmoil on his cadavreous face.
" I..I should think so, honey. If you say it, so then it must be true."
A painful pause.
"Hush, kitten, go to sleep now. We must not wake up your mother, must we? She does need some sleep. She has got too much on her shoulders to carry for a lady"- the last phrase was added in a very low tone, as if to himself.
Both his dearest ones were now fast asleep.
James Matthew Stuart quietly tucked the blanket over them, then lingered for a minute by the bedside before leaving the nursery, and stepped into the twilight.