Finger Puppets
I see that Erica still remembers you, Frodo, from when you came to the Smials on my birthday. I can still picture her then, sidling toward you and gravely showing you the little finger puppets Pearl made for her. You lowered your head and nodded your acknowledgement as she placed the pony on her thumb, the cat on the forefinger, the rabbit in the middle, and the robin and the squirrel on her ring and little fingers, naming them one by one. You asked her questions and she told you a complicated tale of the five animals, wriggling her fingers as she spoke rapidly, breathlessly. From across the room I watched your dark head and her tawny curls bob vigorously as the two of you exchanged whispered secrets and muffled giggles, fingers tangling as you borrowed her puppets and gave them voices. She followed you everywhere afterward, climbing onto your lap when you sat smoking in the study, kissing you good night with her arms around your neck before she went to bed. She was in love with you, as deeply and as passionately as I was after I met you for the first time when I was her age. "I will marry cousin Frodo when I grow up," she confided to her mother when Pearl tucked her in bed.
Now she stands before you, clutching the finger puppets in one hand. You smile at her, a distant, sad smile, and shake your head. "I can't play with them anymore," you explain. She pouts, eyes inquiring. You unfold your hands—you have kept them on your lap, unmoving, all night after dinner was over--and show her your right. "There is no place for Robin," you say softly. She gazes long at you and nods, shoving the dolls into her apron pocket. "I can still tell you a story if you want to," you offer.
But Pearl swoops in and gathers the girl in her arms, briskly telling her, "Time for your bath, love, then bed."
"But Mamma," protests Erica, "Cousin Frodo is going to tell me a story!"
"Tomorrow, tomorrow," says Pearl, walking away, holding the squirming girl close, avoiding your eyes.
From across the room I watch you smile and wave to Erica, who blows you a kiss over her mother's shoulder. From across the room I see the smile fades from your lips and from your eyes. I drop my gaze, hiding my tears in the pipe I light with shaking hands. When I look up our eyes meet. I smile and walk up to you and we spend the night trading jokes and gossips and trying to forget about five little finger puppets and a little girl's dream.
fin
I see that Erica still remembers you, Frodo, from when you came to the Smials on my birthday. I can still picture her then, sidling toward you and gravely showing you the little finger puppets Pearl made for her. You lowered your head and nodded your acknowledgement as she placed the pony on her thumb, the cat on the forefinger, the rabbit in the middle, and the robin and the squirrel on her ring and little fingers, naming them one by one. You asked her questions and she told you a complicated tale of the five animals, wriggling her fingers as she spoke rapidly, breathlessly. From across the room I watched your dark head and her tawny curls bob vigorously as the two of you exchanged whispered secrets and muffled giggles, fingers tangling as you borrowed her puppets and gave them voices. She followed you everywhere afterward, climbing onto your lap when you sat smoking in the study, kissing you good night with her arms around your neck before she went to bed. She was in love with you, as deeply and as passionately as I was after I met you for the first time when I was her age. "I will marry cousin Frodo when I grow up," she confided to her mother when Pearl tucked her in bed.
Now she stands before you, clutching the finger puppets in one hand. You smile at her, a distant, sad smile, and shake your head. "I can't play with them anymore," you explain. She pouts, eyes inquiring. You unfold your hands—you have kept them on your lap, unmoving, all night after dinner was over--and show her your right. "There is no place for Robin," you say softly. She gazes long at you and nods, shoving the dolls into her apron pocket. "I can still tell you a story if you want to," you offer.
But Pearl swoops in and gathers the girl in her arms, briskly telling her, "Time for your bath, love, then bed."
"But Mamma," protests Erica, "Cousin Frodo is going to tell me a story!"
"Tomorrow, tomorrow," says Pearl, walking away, holding the squirming girl close, avoiding your eyes.
From across the room I watch you smile and wave to Erica, who blows you a kiss over her mother's shoulder. From across the room I see the smile fades from your lips and from your eyes. I drop my gaze, hiding my tears in the pipe I light with shaking hands. When I look up our eyes meet. I smile and walk up to you and we spend the night trading jokes and gossips and trying to forget about five little finger puppets and a little girl's dream.
fin
