The Hundred Acre Wood
Disclaimer & Warnings: See chapter 1
Timeline: Wednesday, August 7th, 1991, just before dawn through Sunday, August 11th, 1991, early morning
Chapter 53 – The Great Beyond
After the better part of three days, the feverish stupor of heat stroke finally broke. Slowly waking, Boy started clicking through his wellness checklist. He decided that while he felt weak and wrung out, he also felt surprisingly sound. Bruises and welts were all mending. Muscles sore, but that was nothing unusual. The horrendous headache and nausea from the last time he was aware, were both gone, but he was still hot and his eyes felt swollen shut. The sick shaky sensation in the pit of his stomach had been replaced with the normal feeling of gnawing hunger.
The hunger pangs reminded him of his morning kitchen duties. Ma'am would be coming any minute to let him out. He needed to be ready! Sitting up, he whacked his head on the low ceiling of the tunnel. With a feeling of déjà vu, he immediately laid back down rubbing his forehead. Something was definitely wrong. It started coming back to him in a jumble of puzzle pieces. When he put them together, the improbable image of Cousin helping him to escape emerged from his scrambled mind. He had to laugh at himself for coming up with that one! Ha! As if that'd ever happen, he thought wryly. If he weren't careful, Ma'am would accuse him of having an imagination too.
Groping around, his hand found the pair of glasses and he put them on. Forcing his eyes open, the world came into focus, but it was no longer a world he recognized. The ceiling over him was low and metal, as were the sides. Reaching out, he touched them to verify he wasn't still hallucinating. He wasn't. Stretching out his legs, he didn't hit a wall, just felt more of the corrugated metal under his heels. He could also feel the sensation of damp fresh air on his face. Fresh air, damp or otherwise, was unheard of in the small stuffy cupboard. The only thing he knew for a fact was that he was no longer in the cupboard under the stairs.
Flipping over carefully, he started to crawl uphill in the direction of the stream of fresh air. His head emerged from the mouth of the tunnel under a dark sky scattered with clouds whose edges glowed red from the first rays dawn. Boy's eyes first widened and then squished tightly closed.
Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! The feeling of déjà vu making him shaky again, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Than opening his eyes, he looked around in wonder.
He vaguely remembered weird dreams about the garden being gone. And now - it was! He also remembered dreaming the fence had disappeared. And - it had! In addition, he remembered dreaming that the house had vanished. And look - it was definitely gone! He cleaned the glasses as best he could and put them back on. No difference. Nothing came back.
Wow.
Retreating back a meter Boy sat on his heels and closed his eyes tight in disbelief, hardly daring to think what it might mean. No garden? No fence? No house? Could that mean there was also no angry Ma'am? No outraged Master?
Boy was confused. His adventures in The Hundred Acre Wood seemed so much more real to him than what'd happened over the past few days. He took another deep breath and thought. Whenever Pooh was confused, he always said it was good to start counting things. Pooh never said why it was good, but all the mixed-up thoughts and emotions swimming in his head were making Boy feel vaguely ill to his stomach so he was willing to give it a try without question.
'One - I'm alive.' He pinched himself in the arm to make sure. It hurt. He was sure.
'Two - I'm not in my cupboard.' Boy peeped out the mouth of the tunnel again to verify that amazing fact. It was true enough. This was definitely NOT his cupboard. In fact, it wasn't the playroom, or the shed, or anywhere else he'd ever seen before.
'Three - Hm… I don't have a three.'
That presented a problem because Pooh said there was always a three when you counted. It came right after two, which rhymes with Pooh, and before four, which is how many times Pooh has to politely ask Rabbit to let him in the door before Rabbit will consider it. Boy thought hard to think of another thing to count. As the astonishing events of his escape played through his mind and started to make some sense of his current situation, a slow grin appeared on his face.
'Oh, yeah, I do! Just like I told Roo – three is that nobody knows where I am!' Boy thought with a thrill. It was true! It was all real! He'd done the unthinkable! He'd escaped! Somehow, someway, he was truly somewhere on the other side of the fence in the Great Beyond. A place he never thought he'd ever be.
Boy crawled back down to the centre of the tunnel. The cool metal of the tunnel felt soothing against his sore muscles and bruises, so he sat crosswise with his back pressed against the one side of the tunnel and his feet propped against the other curved side in front of him. The dim light filtering in from both sides lit up small dark rivulets wending their way from the mouths of the tunnel to its lowest point, which just happened to be where he was sitting. Feeling below him with one hand, he could make out the round outline of a drain, which was their destination. His hand came back up wet and covered with mud. Boy shivered with sudden cold as he realized the blanket still clutched around his shoulders, and every stitch he was wearing, were completely soaked through with rainwater.
That was why he was so damp - it was the rain. Rain! Everything was wet! His precious book! He'd been using it a pillow! Books shouldn't get wet! His friends will drown!
His momentary panic subsided when he found the book had wedged itself up on end and was leaning against the wall of the tunnel, the pages only slightly moist at the edges. He quickly tried to locate the rest of his treasures, the ones he found were all just as soggy as he was, but intact. Only the pitcher, bucket and pin were missing.
He could almost remember doing something with the pitcher and bucket, but what had happened to the pin?
Last time he remembered seeing it was before he fell asleep, it'd been in his hand. He looked down at the empty palm of his open hand and then between his legs to the drain below.
Oh NO! The drain!
Moving around to a kneeling position he thrust his fingers through the slots of the grate and fished through the muck trapped below. One fingertip brushed against on something hard and pointy. It had to be the pin!
But he couldn't…
… quite…
… reach it!
If only he had something with which to fish the pin out.
He sat back on his heels and thought about an incident one summer when Cousin had locked himself in Master's car and refused to open the door. Cousin didn't want to take the ballroom dance lessons Ma'am had registered him for as a birthday gift. Sticking out his tongue, he declared it was a horrible gift. Ma'am just gushed that he looked so dashing in his new tuxedo and that all the little girls would swoon.
Cousin didn't care and locked all the doors of the car with only himself in it, then dangled the keys in front of the window with a smirk. Ma'am ran around the car trying and retrying all the doors while Cousin laughed. Master struggled with the lock, getting all hot and sweaty and saying not just one but many swear words. He finally got the locked door open with a bent coat hanger. However, by the time he did, it was too late for the dance lesson.
Victorious, Cousin ran off to play with his friends. Boy thought Cousin was finally going to get into trouble, but Ma'am just cooed about what a clever boy she had, cancelled the remaining lessons, and then made up the loss of a gift to her baby angel by having Master drive him and all his friends to the Cinema. When he got home Master made Boy pay for the inconvenience to his day by thrashing him soundly with the coat hanger, blaming him for the chain of events, although Boy truly couldn't see what he had to do with any of it.
That same coat hanger found its way under his door the next Christmas Eve. At first, Boy thought that Master was reminding him of the beating, lest he'd forgotten in the intervening months. But then it occurred to him that Master was telling him that next time he should open the door for him so Master wouldn't have been put to the trouble! To make sure he could do the job if called upon, he faithfully practiced hooking small objects in the dark with the hanger until he was quite proficient at it.
Berating himself for not thinking of it sooner, he pulled the bent hanger out of his pile of treasures and pushed the hook end through the grate and trawled for the pin. Hooking the clasp on the back, he gingerly pulled it out of the muck and back through the bars. After washing it off in the rivulet he pinned it firmly to the front of his shirt.
Disaster averted, he resumed his thinking position. When he started thinking again, he realized he was quite dumbfounded. Who'd ever thought that one of Master's lessons would've turned out to be to Boy's benefit as well as Master's? Not him, that's for sure!
The collar started to tighten at the doubt in his mind regarding the purpose of his Master's lessons. As it grew increasingly uncomfortable, Boy quickly revised his thoughts to concede that although he hadn't found the benefit before in his lessons, Master always had told him that was why he gave them to him. As he admitted that it was his own lack of intelligence, and gratefully acknowledged the blessings Master had bestowed upon him, the collar returned to normal. Boy curled his hands around his throat and waited for the collar to tell him he'd also done something wrong by using it to his benefit, but on that subject, the collar remained unexpectedly quiet.
Boy's stomach, however, wasn't as accommodating. It repeated its demand for attention as unbeknownst to Boy it had been patient far longer than he realized. His stomach rumbled again. Now that Boy was up and moving about it wanted fed!
Fearing the collar's reaction to his rebellious stomach, Boy felt for the hard round lump in his pile of treasures that was the remaining apple. No one was there to tell him he couldn't eat it, and the time limit on his last prohibition must've expired by now. Still, he hesitated. It was all he had. If he ate it - then what? He decided to keep it for as long as he could. Sure, he was hungry now, but he'd been far hungrier in the past. He pushed down the hollow feeling. He could wait. His stomach would just have to understand.
Only what to do while he waited? Stay here or head for London? Sheepishly, he had to admit how true his statement to Roo had been, when he'd told her that he didn't know where he was. However, he also had to admit that he hadn't the faintest idea where London was either.
As Pooh would say – when you're lost, it is silly to get more lost, always better to stay put and eat hunny. Only Boy didn't have any hunny. All he had was an apple… and NO! He wasn't going to eat it! But… all this thinking was making his hunger grow steadily.
If he were to save his meagre supplies, he'd have to supplement with something else like water. What he needed was the missing pitcher and bucket. He could put them outside to catch rainwater. Hm… that sounded familiar somehow. Could he have…?
Scooting to the back entrance of the tunnel to test out the theory, he found that he had indeed put the two vessels there and that they were now brimming over with rainwater.
Very pleased with himself, he took several large gulps. His stomach felt a tiny bit fuller. Looking out across the wet glistening grass at eye level, he spotted the unmistakable outline of happy puffs waving to him from above the blades. They weren't that far away from the tunnel. The corners of boy's mouth curled up – dandelions! They were edible. He wondered what other bounties he might find in this unfamiliar wood.
Boy cupped a hand to one ear and listened closely. Nearby, the only sounds he heard was the chatter of two squirrels arguing high in the solitary pine, and down by the stagnant river the croaking of a lonely bullfrog. The sounds made by people were so distant they were an indistinct hum. If he was going to hunt for food, his best chance was before dawn turned into full daylight. If he waited much longer, the neighbours might start awakening. Even though Cousin said in a roundabout way that it was now okay if someone saw him, he wasn't sure if that applied only to the place called London, or to anywhere in the Great Beyond. Better play it safe and keep from being seen for as long as possible.
The Great Beyond was a scary place, but gathering up his courage he cautiously he crept out of the tunnel on his hands and knees. That was when he noticed how peculiar the backs of his hands looked. They had great scaly patches like snakeskin. How very odd. He fingered one of the larger patches and the skin peeled off, uncovering a tender pink spot below. The exposed skin was hot, just like his face, ears, and the tops of his feet. It must be blistering burns from being out in the daylight. It's the only thing he could think of, those places being the only areas where clothes hadn't protected his pale skin.
One day when he was quite small, the kitchen door had blown open while he was washing the dishes after lunch. When Boy ran over to close it, the tantalizing lure of the warm rays of the sun on his skin had stopped him. He tentatively made one small step into the light before he Ma'am jerked him back inside. She turned the tap up as hot as it would go and held his hands in the scalding stream until his skin was burning, telling him that if he ever tried going out in the daylight again he'd get even worse.
Boy felt shame, knowing now that Ma'am threat hadn't been an idle one. The sun burned him for disobeying her yesterday. In The Hundred Acre Wood he loved the sunlight and always thought it'd be nice to feel the sun on his skin in this world too. There, it lit up the woods with a warm friendly light. But here, the bright orb burned bad little boys. His tender skin pricked uncomfortably as the early morning sunlight bathed it. Boy looked skyward apologetically, silently promising not to stay out in it any longer that absolutely necessary, and hoping leniency for a second offence as he was still suffering punishment from the first.
Darting back inside, he wrapped his possessions back up in the blanket and took them outside to look for a flat dry spot. Just beyond the clump of dandelions was an enormous metal pie plate with handles, which he now remembered seeing when he arrived days before. It was perfect! The metal had already dried and the surface was heating up nicely.
He dashed for the disk having to grab onto it for support once reaching it as he suddenly became lightheaded from the lack of food and water. The pie plate moved haltingly under the pressure of his weight and let out a spine-tingling squeal. Boy let go quickly and backed up, the pie plate ground to a halt again and the squealing stopped. He'd have to be very careful not to do that again!
Taking a few deep, slow breaths, he started to feel steady again and began spreading his things out to dry, examining them for damage as he did so. First, he took all the hard objects and wiped them down with the sleeve of his old black sweatshirt before placing them all in a row on the flat disk. He shook the owl feathers, causing the fat drops of water to shed from them, leaving them perfectly dry.
Too bad the book wasn't so easy. He tented it up on edge and fanned the pages so they wouldn't stick together. The roll of paper that Cousin had gifted him in parting, he opened up as well. Only its layers he peeled like an onion, placing the colourful rectangle shaped leaves one by one on the pie plate next to each other. Each one had a number and a picture of a regal looking lady on them. Boy was glad they weren't pictures of Ma'am as he first thought. He shuddered. That would be like having her there staring disapprovingly at him all the time.
The used tissue and the letter had borne the worst damage from the deluge. The delicate tissue he didn't even try to unfold fearing it might disintegrate. He dropped it in a soggy lump and hoped for the best with air-drying. The letter and its envelope were of firmer stuff and thankfully, the layers of tape had protected much of the ornate writing.
The spare clothes, and his blanket, were fine - other than being a bit muddy. Once dry, he could beat them with a stick and knock off the worst part of the dirt. These he hung above the dewy ground by poking corners of the cloth through the links in the vertical chains of a triangular tent-like structure next to the pie plate. It had four lengths of chain hanging from a bar at the top, each pair held together with a rubber sling.
He cocked his head and looked at the results. It wasn't a terribly satisfying, but then he didn't have a nice straight clothesline with pins to use, as he would've if he were in the basement doing The Family's laundry. Oh well, done is done, which only left the clothes he was wearing. He looked right and left, up and down, forward and behind. Still no one was about, for as far as he could see, even with the glasses on.
Boy started to strip, hanging the wet clothes over the plastic slings. He was surprised at the soft yellow and green plaid of the shirt when he took it off. It'd been dark in the cupboard when he'd put on the new clothes Cousin had handed him, and he really hadn't had a chance to think about them since. Under the long-sleeved shirt was a t-shirt with letters printed on it and a picture of a bulldog that looked a lot like Ripper - Miss Marge's dog.
Boy shuddered and dropped it onto the growing pile of laundry. Next he took off a pair of brown trousers. The clothes were certainly different from his usual, all black camouflage attire, and while still a bit large for him, they actually fit better than any clothes he's previously worn. He would've liked to have petted the sleeve of the flannel shirt a bit longer, but he was feeling exposed and embarrassed standing there in nothing but his underpants, even though another glance around assured him that he was still alone in the wood, other than the wildlife.
He started to pull the stretched out waistband of his underpants down over his slender hips, but stopped cold as another memory flooded over him. If he took them off, he'd be starkers! Ma'am caught him once relieving himself behind a bush in the garden, one night when he really couldn't wait any longer to be allowed inside to do it decently. She told him if she ever saw 'his thing' out again, she'd have Master whack it off. He looked down his front and shuddered. He REALLY didn't want Master to do that, or have the collar force him to do it to himself with the little silver knife. As much as he'd like to have all dry clothes, his desires didn't matter. Ma'am's did. He pulled the waistband back up, retying the loose part in a knot to keep them from falling off. They'd just have to drip dry in place. That was all there was to it.
Now that he'd taken care of his clothes, he needed something to wash with. Eyeing his stock of supplies, he finally decided on the sock with the hole in it. Grabbing it, he darted back to the mouth of the tunnel and knelt down next to the plastic bucket. Now that the sun had risen, it was sitting in a patch of sunlight and the rays had warmed the rainwater it held.
Cupping his hands, he first used the clean water to rinse off his face. It felt so good on his burns! Practically giddy by this time, he started dipping the sock in the bucket and then gently scrubbed patch after patch of dirty skin. It took much longer to bathe than he'd anticipated, needing to be careful near any wounds, and by the time he'd finished the bucket was empty except for some sludge in the bottom.
Now that the worst of the visible dirt was off, Boy could see that once again, Ma'am was right - he was hideous. Cuts, bruises and welts, all in various stages of healing littered his body. Even with all the scrubbing of the rest of him, his nails were dirty and ragged. His hair hung in dark greasy locks over his eyes.
Boy scratched at his scalp. Next time he had some clean water, he'd have to wash his hair. Ma'am would approve of that. For some reason, while she ignored the state of the rest of him for the most part, she'd always been obsessed about his hair, whacking it off the second it started to look the least bit odd. One time she was so fed up with it, she practically shaved his head only to be more fed up when it grew back overnight. She accused of being defiant and doing it on purpose and had Master punish him for it. Boy sincerely didn't know how it had grown back, however, since that episode, his hair had somehow managed to stay not too long, not too short, all on its own – which unfortunately for him, Ma'am also found unnaturally defiant. Boy just couldn't win.
Noticing that the rest of his pale skin was starting to turn bright pinkish red to match his hands, Boy knew he needed to hurry and cover up. He ran back to the pie plate. Wringing out the sock, he laid it down next to his trainers. The morning sun and warm breeze had made quick work of drying his laundry and by the time he finished redressing, only the sock remained slightly damp.
Boy gathered up his scattered belongings into his blanket and stashed it in the mouth of the tunnel, then took one more look around. Still no one else was in sight. Chancing the wrath of the collar, Boy took out the little silver knife from his pack and held it on the palm of his hand.
"I said find and keep, so now you're mine… right?" Boy asked the knife in barely more than a whisper. Not that he'd any right to question Cousin's instructions on the matter, but where it contradicted Master's rule about slaves not owning anything, he felt it better to be safe than sorry and double check.
The knife glinted in the sunlight as if acknowledging its transfer of ownership. Boy sighed with relief. Good, because he had one more task to attend to before anyone from the neighbourhood left their houses and might be in a position to see him – find food. It was becoming too difficult to think about anything else.
Squatting down near the bight clump of dandelions, Boy used the knife and dug it out carefully, getting as much of the taproot as possible. It was a nice big clump. Such luck! Even though Rabbit showed him many edible plants and where to find them in The Wood, he seldom had luck finding any of them in The Family's garden, and the ones he ate in The Wood never kept his tummy filled once he awoke.
Scooting over to a second clump, he repeated the process, and then a third. He worked diligently for longer than he intended to, he was so intent on the task, then realizing he was creeping nearer and nearer the low ornate metal fence, he stopped. He'd more than enough for now, especially as seeing that the rest of the clumps were far too close to the edge of the wood, where there was an increased risk of being seen.
Gathering up his harvest, Boy deposited the leafy pile inside the back door to the tunnel, and then headed for a tree he'd spotted on the far side of the wood next to the stagnant river. If he wasn't mistaken it was a white willow, just like the one near Eeyore's boggy home. Chewing on its bark can relieve a fever.
Reaching the tree, he evaluated its leaves and trunk carefully, as Rabbit showed him to do when dealing with unfamiliar plants. It was stunted, but alive, and definitely a white willow. Boy used the knife again to cut a few thin stripes in its trunk, being careful not to cut so deep as to damage the tree but deep enough to pry off a few strips.
Boy had started back with his prize when the sound of a motor passing on the hard black river surrounding the wood signalled that the neighbourhood was waking up. Without further delay, Boy scurried back to the climbing pile and into the tunnel underneath. He was happy to see that the rising heat had dried up the rivulets in it as well.
If he knew any happy tunes, he'd be whistling one, he was that pleased with the results of his morning's endeavour. Although he hadn't made any progress toward finding London, he'd managed to do laundry, clean, and weed – all things on his normal list of chores. He felt sure that should suffice in earning him a few nibbles, but first he had more work to do.
Boy set about tending to his foraged groceries. With the handy silver knife he sliced the clumps apart into greens, roots, and crowns. Pulling the flower stems out of the jumble of leaves, he nipped off the fluffy yellow blossoms and placed them in a pile on one side, discarding the spent flowers and hollow milky stems, along with the woody crowns, on the other. He separated the jagged leaves, putting the tender young leaves in another stack and adding the older stiff ones to the discard pile. Using the knife, he scraped the dirt off the roots and cut them into chunks. Lastly, he took the throwaway heap and crawled back out of the tunnel. Looking right and left, he still saw no one, so he looked around for the compost pile whereby to dispose of the refuse properly as Ma'am had taught him.
The Family's compost pile was in the far corner of the garden, hidden as much as possible by the shed. Ma'am said it was ugly and smelly and should be out of sight, just as she felt Boy himself should be and for the same reasons. In this odd wood, there were two shed-like buildings. A brick one located not far from the pie plate centrally located in the small wood, and a metal one in the far corner of the wood. Boy went to check them out.
He went to the metal building first as it reminded him of The Family's shed in both look and location. It had a set of double doors in front which were padlocked closed. Boy circled the building and was unable to find another way in, so he turned his attention to the brick building. This one wasn't in a corner, and had short but wide windows up near where the roof met the outside wall. In addition, while it also had two doors, they were separated and had stick figures painted on them.
Boy shrugged, slightly confused, unsure of the building's purpose. He carefully pushed one of the doors open a crack and a strong light automatically flickered on illuminating the doorway. Startled Boy quickly fled to the nearest bush for cover. After his heartbeat slowed, he risked another look. No one had come out of the building so he approached again. This time he put his whole head in and was relieved to find it was nothing more than a small loo right there in the middle of the wood. How handy is that! Too bad The Family's garden didn't have a loo outside. It would've saved him many an embarrassing accident.
He checked inside the other door and found another loo, only this one had a fountain in the wall. Shaking his head at the wonder of it all, he then walked completely around the building. He didn't find a compost pile behind this building either, but he did find a large rubbish bin with its lid chained to one of its handles. Boy lifted the lid and peeked in. A putrid smell hit his nostrils.
Only one thing smelled like that – rot. This must be the place for the clippings he thought, but before dumping them in, he poked into the refuse pile inside, with a boy's natural curiosity and desire to prod at anything stinking.
On top, he found discarded cans, newspapers, and a paper bag with a half-eaten hamburger. He reasonably deduced that the perfectly good newspapers must've accidentally been lost in the bin. The Family never tossed theirs away. Each week Ma'am would neatly bundle them up to donate to something called 'The Church Paper Drive' so that Master could get something else called 'A Tax Write Off'. No one would intentionally throw something so useful into a compost pile, so the newspapers must've been lost. Additionally, since they were 'lost' they'd fall under Cousin's lost and found rule.
"Find and keep!" Boy chortled gleefully pulling them out of the bin and flicking off the bits of other rubbish that still clung. He smoothed them out into a neat pile. He would've claimed the cans too, as metal never belongs in compost, only someone had crushed them into an unusable condition.
The only other 'good find' was the half-eaten hamburger. His eyes grew large and round at the sight despite their puffiness. Food! Real food! The meat was cold and the bun hard, but Boy's mouth watered over it remembering the dinner his most wonderful Miss Tonks had shared with him in the garden. He snatched up the burger and raised it to his lips before he realised it was happening. Suddenly the collar began to tighten.
Coughing out the bite, his mind couldn't deny knowing that unlike the cans, waste food did belong in the compost. He couldn't justify it being 'lost' like the papers, as it was right where it should be. Unlike eating crumbs that had fallen to the ground, Ma'am had made a rule against him eating from the trash when she discovered him sneaking bits of edible scraps as he transported them between the kitchen and the compost pile. To make sure he minded, she started treating the kitchen scraps with a mixture of bleach and dish soap from squirt bottle she kept by the sink. After that, it only took one more stolen bite for Boy to resolve never to break that rule again, now here he was doing that very thing. It was only too bad he hadn't found it on the ground. But he hadn't.
Boy rapidly shoved the burger back into the rubbish bin, but kept the crumpled paper sack. It would be perfect for storing his dandelions. Sinking to his knees in hunger, he wiped off his tongue with the palms of his hands to get rid of any wayward residue, the collar loosening at his forced obedience. After he caught his breath, he used the rim of the bin to pull himself back to his feet, and then resolutely covered the burger up with the clippings until not even a corner showed. He hadn't readily spotted the source of the odour, but then again, he was no longer keen to locate it.
Hands shaking, he firmly put the lid back into place and returned to the tunnel. It was hard not to cry as he turned his back on the buried burger, he was that hungry. However, rules were rules, and he broke enough of them unintentionally to do any on purpose in spite of Piglet and Pooh's opinions on the matter. They didn't have to live with the consequences - he did. Besides, he had his dandelions. They'd have to do.
While his body continued to slowly heal, Boy continued to harvest his crop. The foredawn found him weeding the wood, gathering edible dandelions and red clover blossoms. He added a few more thin strips of the white willow bark to his stores, plus several handfuls of berries that the birds and squirrels had missed. Those came from a small Elder tree in the corner of the wood, whose branches dipped over the ornate fencing from a neighbouring yard. He was also grateful to find some peppermint growing wild near the metal building. Chewing on peppermint leaves always helped curb his hunger. He wished he could've also stumbled across a patch of the prickly aloe vera plant such as what Ma'am grew on her kitchen window sill, it being good for burns, but instead he soothed his skin with mud.
As soon as dawn rose, he'd scurry back to his hiding place to rest for the day. When he couldn't sleep, he'd watch the hundreds of tiny spiderlings crawling across the ceiling under the watchful eyes of their mother. Within a day or two they were all proficient at dangling from silken threads and left the tunnel to establish webs of their own. With the tunnel to himself, Boy cut some of the cattail rushes by the stagnant pond and along with the found newspapers made a crude pallet to soften the corrugated metal he laid on to sleep.
Then each evening after the sun set he started all over again, busying himself with general tidying, picking up trash from the ground and pulling it out of the stagnant river. The bullfrog croaked happily as the water started to clear and run freely again. He would work steadily through the night to foredawn, when it was easier to see the weeds. Boy wished he had some of the gardening tools he used to use so he could do more, but his hands and the little silver knife had to suffice. Even so, it only took a few days before the little wood started to look less neglected.
Boy felt his hard work deserved a reward, and since he was no longer worried about where to find food, he finally decided to eat the other apple. Maybe just one tiny bite wouldn't hurt. But as Pooh would also say – it's hard to stop with one smackerel of hunny, it turned out that axiom held true for apples as well. The apple was still very juicy. One tiny bite turned into another until there was only a suggestion of a core left. As much as he relished every bite, he also regretted no longer having it in his stores. Especially when the seemingly limitless supply of dandelion greens suddenly dried up.
For on the fifth day after his wakening, his return to the tunnel wasn't a moment too soon. As soon as his feet followed his head into the hole, a truck stopped against the curb with a squeal of brakes and the crunch of tyres. Settling into as comfortable a position as he could, to wait out the day, Boy carefully peeled the ring of bitter green sepals, off a fluffy yellow blossom, and popped it into his mouth. As he did, unfamiliar voices reached his ears.
"Clyde! Get yer fat arse over here! Yer gotta see this," a man's voice shouted from directly outside the tunnel. The reverberations made boy quake with fear. Had they seen him?
"My arse ain't fat!" a second voice retorted. "In fact, Sheila says its one fine chunk of man flesh."
Boy heard a hand slapping a bum. His own cheeks smarted in sympathy assuming from the sound, that the first man struck the other. If he'd been able to see and not just hear, he would've seen that in fact the second man had patted his own behind while he strutted around for his friend to evaluate for himself, the fineness of his posterior.
The first man snorted a laugh, "Sheila's right – if hunk's another word for fat. And now that you managed to haul it o'er here, looky there…"
"Where?"
"Here."
Boy curled into a ball to make his own self smaller and so, hopefully, less visible in case the men should venture to look down the tunnel. It never worked with The Family – but still, always worth a try.
"At what?" Clyde asked bewildered.
Maybe it worked – they can't see him!
"Look!"
Boy held his breath.
"Again… at what?"
"At nothin'."
"Bob, what are you on about? What nothin'?"
"That's right – nothin'. Can't you see it? There's nothin' 'ere. Not a blessed thing. The boss called us in on our day off, sent us to pull up the 'lions by the swings, all 'cause a wee one got stung by a bee in this here park."
"That's right. I heard the kid's nose swoll all up like a cantaloupe and now his da is tryin' to make the Little Whinging Parks Council pony up a pretty penny for mental anguish."
"Sump'thins mental alright - but I'd say it were the Da. Saw him too comin' out of the boss's office. One scary looking silver-haired dude. Looked like that cane o' his was stuck up his butt. If it were me he be after, an' I had the deep pockets, I'd surely pay up to get 'im to go 'way, that's for darn sure."
"So wha' that's to do with the price o' a pint?"
"Just sayin' the boss is cheap - calling us in on a Sunday at minimum wage rather than ta' pay through the nose to that bastard. But we get here and there ain't any to pull. Just ones there by the fence. Either sumbuddy's doin' our job for us, or the boss did it 'imself, so he wouldn't have to pay us."
"The boss, do manual… labour?" Clyde's voice went up an octave on the last word trying not to laugh. Didn't work. Both men broke out laughing.
"No, really, ha-ha-ha, who'd do that?"
"Thompson?"
Boy exhaled. Good! They hadn't seen him – just that the dandelions were gone. Wait… Were they someone else's breakfast? Boy almost choked on a flower that had since turned to mush in his mouth, at the thought that he might have inadvertently inconvenienced this mysterious Mr Thompson.
"That suck-up? Yer right - just like sumpin' he'd do."
"Yeah, tryin' to make us look like wankers to the boss for not hoppin' right on it. Mebbe we ought not stopped for those pints and bangers."
"Nah… mans gotta have his brekkie, besides, its not a workin' day. Inhuman if you ask me - ordering a man out his bed on a Sunday. Lor' if I wanted to do that, I'd go to church and make the missus happy, not haul my arse to work."
"Hey, speak of the devil and the devil shows up," Clyde hoarsely whispered to Bob and nudged him in the ribs to get his attention before calling out loudly in a forced friendly voice. "Hey, wha'cha doin' on a fine Sunday mornin' such as this, in this part of town Tommy-boy?"
"Thompson to you slackers. Thought I better check and make sure the job got done, it being the weekend and all," the third man stated.
'Sod off,' Boy heard Bob muttered under his breath.
"But I see my worries were misplaced. Good job boys. Got the roots and all. But you missed a few over there…"
"That's right. Now toddle off and leave us to finish," Bob ordered him. The two men had a stare down. Thompson lost and left in a huff. The other two men went to work.
ROOOOOOOAAAAAARRRR!
The startling sound caused Boy's eyes to fly wide open and send him scuttling to the tunnel's entrance to see what was happening. Wiping the lenses, he put on the glasses and could see that a motorized lawn mower had rolled out of the metal building on the far side of the park and roared to life. Now it was in the process of relentlessly devouring wide swaths of turf, along with his precious fluffy yellow blossoms, hurtling the pungent aroma of cut grass and decimated dandelions into its blustery wake.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
As if ordered, the killing machine sputtered to a stop in mid-swath, the lingering sound of the cry hanging on the air in the ensuing silence.
"Dang this infernal contraption! Piece o' junk tha' wha' it is, always breakin' down."
Clyde climbed off the riding lawn mower and kicked at the tires as if that would miraculously start it back up. When it didn't, he and Bob, who stopped his job trimming hedges, pulled it onto the flatbed of their truck. Boy sighed with relief, thinking they'd get in and drive away, but they didn't. They came back to liberally spray the area with something that made the remaining yellow blooms almost immediately wither.
"Leastwise we got the worst o' them blimey dandies so the boss will be 'appy. C'mon, let's get the mower back to the shop," Clyde said, as the doors slammed shut.
"What about the rest of the cleanup?"
"Not my problem, Bob. I was only assigned to mow. Can't mow, so I go."
"Then who's going to do it?" Bob demanded of his lazy partner.
"Nobody I guess," Clyde shrugged. "Above our pay grade to worry 'bout it."
"That it is. Alrighty-o we go, but let stop off for a wee pint on the way back," Clyde agreed with a nasally drawl as the truck rattled off down the road.
Boy was shaking. He'd cried out before he could stop himself. Then, clapping his hands over his mouth to smother the sound, he'd sunk back into the tunnel's dark depths before spotted by the men. While the mower had stopped, it'd already destroyed his crop, and with the remaining sprayed, no more would grow. Now, what he going to do for food? He no longer had his apple to fall back on. It was so frustrating but there was nothing he could do about it.
While the catastrophe was a major setback for Boy and his meticulous cultivation plans, it was nothing but vindication for Hedwig. She'd never stopped searching for her little lost wizard. The Order of the Phoenix had begun searching in earnest throughout London for Harry Potter, based on a lead the Weasleys had managed to wheedle out of Dudley Dursley in one of his more talkative moments. For the better part of a week at Mercury's insistence, that they do as his mistress requested, she'd helped him search London section by section, swooping down alleyways, zooming low over crowded streets, and whooshing all over the town. However, never once did she pick up a sense of his magic. Finally, after another long night of fruitless hunting, her stubborn streak won out and she deserted Mercury and his assigned search area. Bah!
Relying only on her motherly instinct, Hedwig returned to where she last saw the boy, scoffing at the notion that he could possibly be anywhere else but in the humdrum neighbourhood. He was here, somewhere, she just knew it. All she had to do was be patient, but as it turned out, for not nearly as long as she was prepared to be.
Hedwig had settled into the crook of an old yew tree, the highest tree around which just happened to be in the backyard of Number 6 Privet Lane, giving her a clear view of the yard and house where her owlet lived. Only a scant hour past as best, when her sharp ears alerted to the sound of his distressed cry several blocks away. Her head did a slow swivel out from under her wing as first one big golden eye popped open and then the other. Then both eyes blinked together.
It was her wizard! There was no mistaking the feel of his magic – tentative, but strong. Even at this distance, the backwash from his accidental spell tickled the tips of her feathers. She delightedly raised her beak into the breeze and let the warmth of his magic wash over her before pushing off the branch and taking to wing. It was only a matter of a few beats before she started a graceful glide downward, landing atop a deserted jungle gym. Swivelling her head completely backwards on her flexible neck, she sent piercing looks into every corner of the small park.
No little wizard.
She took off and flew the perimeter, coming back to light in the same spot. It was puzzling. The magic was the strongest here, but still no little wizard was evident.
Frustrated and tired, Hedwig, normally a quiet bird, then did what any loving mother with a lost child would do in the same situation – she screeched demandingly at the top of her lungs for said child to appear immediately before her. With no if, ands, or buts!
"SCREEEEECHHHH!"
