Chapter 40

"Why are you looking at me like that, Mary Poppins?" Bert yells. He's rowing, negotiating the small boat over the rising waves. They are surrounded by water and fog, with no land in sight.

"I'm upset, Bert!" Mary Poppins shouts back.

"Why are you upset! Look around you. It's a beautiful day. The wind is taking us where it will. But there you are with a sour puss on your face telling me that somethin' is brewin' and bout to begin."

Mary Poppins scowls. "A beautiful day, Bert! Are you blind? Indeed there are winds in the east, mist coming in. I feel rain. Something worse than my bad mood is definitely brewing and about to begin. We have been at sea for several hours, have we not? Still, there is no land in sight. I am concerned, Bert, gravely concerned. Moreso because there are sharks circling our boat."

Bert peers over the side. "Huh, I thought they were dolphins," he says about the crafty fish slithering in the water beside them.

"With eyes like that? Looking like they're ready to bite our heads off? Those are not dolphins, I assure you. They are whites, great whites, and we are lunch," Mary Poppins claims.

Bert shrugs. "If you say so, Mary Poppins."

"I do say so, Bert! And I'm wondering what you're going to do to get us out of this mess!" The boat rocks violently. Mary clutches the sides, holding on for dear life.

"Me?" Bert asks angrily. "Why is it up to me to save us? You told me to get you off the island, so I put you on a ship. Then you told me to get you off the ship, so I put you in this boat. Now I'm rowing as fast as I bloody well can!"

"In circles, Bert!" Mary says.

"Circles or not, I'm the only one rowing! It's you whose sitting over there iike old Mr. Dawes, shouting orders at me to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone, with no end in sight."

Mary jerks her nose in the air. "How dare you, Bert! Me, shouting orders! I have never shouted in all my life! I'm Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. I do not raise my voice in any circumstance. I am merely directing you."

"In circles, Mary Poppins, as you said so yourself."

"Be that as it may, someone needs to be in charge, and I am the best one for the job. Now, turn the boat around and go thataway. I don't think we've gone in that direction yet." Mary points her finger to the east, or maybe it's the west. She's not exactly sure.

Bert is alarmed. "Go thataway, Mary Poppins? Are you mad? We will be rowing into the storm. The wind will be against us!"

Mary wets her finger and sticks it in the air. "You're wrong, Bert. The wind will be with us."

"Against us!" he yells, thrusting a paddle in the air.

"With us!" Mary shouts back, standing to raise her finger higher. She looks victorious, bracing herself against the bad weather. That's until a high wave crashes against the boat, rolling it. Mary and Bert are tossed into the water.

Mary is sinking. The sharks are snapping at her clothes. Looking up, she spots a hand reaching for her. Grabbing it, Bert pulls her up, onto the underside of the boat. It's bobbing every which way, directionless. "Thank you," she gasps, holding Bert's hand.

"Not a bother," Bert says. "You'd stay away for far too long if I let you become fish food. Look, I see land over there."

Mary raises her head and peers through the lashing rain. "Indeed I also see land. Bert, we've been spared!"

"It seems that way, Mary Poppins. It all looks familiar to me - the shoreline, the cliffs. Where are we? Is that England?"

The boat is being carried swiftly to shore. Mary can see the landscape now, regardless of the storm. She recognizes the jagged edges in the steep walls of stone, the sandy beach stretching out beneath them. Of course she knows it. As a girl she climbed those walls and ran along the beach for hours, in between her studies.

Mary is bitterly cold in her wet clothes. Now her insides are frozen, as well. She's just spotted an enormous castle, perched on the cliff's edge, looming ominously over things like it's in charge of goings-on everywhere, which of course it is. "Oh no," Mary grunts. "Bert, I think we should turn back."

"Turn back to what? Death?" Bert yells. "Have you lost your mind, woman? That's England over there. We're home, Mary Poppins! Aren't you glad to see it?"

Mary doesn't have time to respond. The boat has just smashed into the rocks separating the ocean from the shoreline. Mary and Bert climb onto the rocks, battered and bruised, then wade through the shallow water to the beach. Exhausted, they crash upon the sand.

"Home!" Bert says, rolling in the grit. "Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee. A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be! Don't you feel lucky, Mary Poppins?"

"Not quite," Mary answers. She's too busy staring at a pair of polished, brown leather lace-ups in front of her, toe-tip to her nose, to say more. Looking up, she smiles cordially. "Maître, how do you do? It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Is it really?" Maître's tone indicates that she doesn't believe this to be true. She's a tall woman, authoritative in her own brand of uniform, as grisly as her smile suggests. Her dark hat and veil disguise her severe features. She ignores Bert's antics, rather she's more interested in Mary Poppins, her former most excellent pupil at The Prukinns School For The Education of Exceptions Au Pairs. Reviewing Mary's dishevelled state, she's concerned by what's missing. Indeed the absence of the thing that makes Mary Poppins practically perfect in every way is more alarming than her state of disarray. Maître puffs up her chest accordingly. Patience is required, that and cool authority when she asks: "And where, Mary Poppins, if I might inquire, is your umbrella?"