Lampie and the Children of the Sea

by Annet Schaap

  Lampie instantly knows what it is. She runs to the kitchen door, with the tea towel still in her hand.

  “Yes!” she says. “That’s perfect! However did you know?”

  CART

  “No,” says Edward. Of course he says no.

  Whatever is she thinking? Out of his room? Downstairs? And then outside, where it’s cold and the wind’s blowing, in some cart that will bump about all over the place so that he’ll fall out and have an accident? Outside, where everyone can see him? He can’t imagine anything worse.

  “Yes, but…” says Lampie. “You’ll finally be able to see everything for real. The trees, the birds, the—”

  “I already know all of the birds,” says Edward, and that’s true. Their plumage, their breeding spots, how they build their nests, the songs they whistle – he knows it by heart.

  “But that all came out of a book! And that isn’t the same.”

  He does not see why not. The real world just makes more noise – that’s the only difference.

  “No,” he says from under his bed. “Go away. Come back when it’s half-past three.”

  “Yes, but…” she says again. She can never keep her mouth shut. “We could even go through the gate one day. To the sea. We could go to the lighthouse if you like. Or go and take a look at the harbour, or…”

  “The harbour?” whispers Edward. Where his father’s ship always moors? “Really?”

  “Well, maybe not today.”

  “Oh, then forget about it. Never mind.”

  “But we could do it later. We’ll go for a short ride first, just in the garden.”

  “Hmm. No, I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll be really careful.”

  “No.”

  “And it’s not at all chilly out.”

  “No.”

  “And I can put a blanket over you.”

  “No.” He has crawled back under the bed, as far as he can. “I don’t want to, and you can’t make me. I said NO.”

  They sit there without saying anything.

  “Anyway,” he mumbles after a while, “I can’t get down the stairs.”

  Edward blinks. The light is bright, and the air is cool on his cheeks. There is so much light here, and lots and lots of sky. It is enormous, with clouds floating across like gigantic monsters, and the trees are towers with grabbing branches and they are green, everything is so ridiculously green, and there are so many smells all at once and so many sounds: rustling and whistling and barking, and on the other side of the garden there is a thin man in a big coat, and huge dogs are running by and everyone is staring at him, of course, at Edward. He buries his nose under the blanket and squeezes up closer to Lenny, who responds by holding him more tightly and that helps a bit.

  “Come on,” says Lampie. “Down these steps and we’ll be there. We’ll just go for a little trip this afternoon, just a tour of the garden. Lenny, you can be the horse.”

  Lenny nods seriously. Yes, he will be the horse.

  The cart has been crafted for Edward. His body fits snugly inside, and his deformity can rest on the cushion. Lenny carefully lays him in the cart, and Lampie puts the blanket over him. The horse takes hold of the handle and starts to pull.

  Edward squeezes his eyes shut. Why did he let her persuade him? He is so stupid, so stupid. This is going to be so painful and uncomfortable. So he braces himself. But the wheels turn smoothly, the blanket is warm, and the cart hardly bumps at all. Off they go, down the path.

  Edward takes in his surroundings, bit by tiny bit. A piece of bark. A tuft of grass. There: a branch with a hundred leaves that are moving in the wind. Maple, he thinks. Or a lime tree, or… He can’t see very well, because everything is intertwined. The birds are not taking it in turns to squawk and whistle either; they are all singing away at the same time and he cannot identify a single one of them.

  All of this has been here all along, he thinks. All of it belongs here.

  All of it except for him.

  He looks up. There is his tower, with his window, and his bed inside. If only he were back up there right now.

  “Are you all right, Fish?” asks Lampie. “It’s not bumping you about too much, is it?”

  “I’m fine,” says Edward grumpily. He can handle it, he really can.

  Lenny is a good horse. They go as slowly as anything. Around the smelly pond, past the half-finished hedge animals: the dogs, the dragon, the swan, which still has a bit of a lumpy neck.

  “Not bad for a horse, eh?” says Lampie, gesturing towards the animals with a smile.

  “What? He didn’t make those, did he?” Edward can’t imagine it.

  “He certainly did,” says Lampie. “Lenny is a wonderful clipper.”

  Lenny looks back, both proud and shy. Then he gives a little skip and a whinny.

  “Shall we go to the gate? Or do you want to go back inside already?”

  Edward shakes his head. Just a little longer. He is already sitting up a little straighter. He can do this. He is brave enough. There is nothing to it, in fact.

  Lampie brings him whatever he points at, so that he can take a closer look: a strange clump of fluffy moss, a flower that looks like an umbrella, which he intends to find in his flower book later, a stone with a vein of gold running through it. He gently places them under his blanket.

  The dogs are curious and come over to take a look. The bolder of the two even sniffs at his hand. Edward is brave enough to hold out his hand – it’s easy, in fact. You just have to let them know who’s the boss – that’s what his father always says. He knows their names: Douglas and Logwood. When he calls, they come to him, just as they come to his father. Well, they do if Lenny gives them a bit of a nudge.

  He pulls the blanket down a little. “We’ll go out again tomorrow,” he decides.

  “Great,” says Lampie. “Where would you like to go? To the sea? To take a look at the harbour?”

  His dark eyes widen. “Tomorrow? Can we do that?”

  “Why not?” says Lampie. “I can ask Nick for the key. We’ll just go out through the gate and then we’ll…”

  “Whatever are you doing? Have you all gone completely mad?”

  Martha is standing on the path with shopping bags full of fish and leeks. “No, no, no. This simply will not do. Go on! Back inside with the lot of you. Right now.”

  “Why?” asks Lampie. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Lenny, do as I say. Now.”

  Lenny always does whatever his mother tells him to do, and so he turns the cart around, so quickly that Edward almost rolls out. He gives a squeak, but then ducks back under his blanket. With a sniff, Martha walks past. She does not look at the boy in the cart.

  Lampie does not understand. “But what’s the matter? Why aren’t we allowed?”

  “Because you’re not! He’s not allowed outside, he can’t be on display for everyone to see. You understand that, don’t you?” Martha pushes her son ahead of her through the garden. She strides on with her bags, looking at Edward as little as possible. Lampie stomps angrily after her. She had thought it was such a good idea.

  “And certainly not…” Martha stops walking for a moment and gives the girl a stern look. “Certainly not outside the fence. Not ever. Never. Do you understand, child-who-never-listens?”

  “But why not?”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  When they get inside, Martha shuts the door with a bang. The sun remains outside, and the long corridor is dark and cold.

  “Go on,” she says. “Upstairs with him.” She points, but she still won’t look at the boy in Lenny’s arms. “No, wait. This affects him too.” She puts down her bags and takes something out of her pocket. “There was a telegram at the post office. Finally. The master’s coming home.”

  Edward’s face turns pale. “When?” he says. “When’s he coming?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say. Soon. A few days? A week? Who knows?”
Martha irritably beckons Lampie. “You, come with me to the kitchen, right now. When I think of all the work we still have to do, I feel quite faint, I really do.”

  AFTERNOON OFF

  Edward does not want to go out in the cart. Never again, he thinks. How did he let himself be distracted from what is most important? He stops giving reading lessons and he skips his baths. He has to stand – to stand and to walk. He practises all day long. Pulls himself up and falls and pulls himself up again and falls again. He goads himself on. Weakling, wimp, don’t give up! He does not give up.

  Not that Lampie has any time for reading. Martha is trying to squeeze a year’s work into a week, and everything needs to be clean. Now. She sends the girl into rooms where she has never been before, and Lampie sweeps out fireplaces, blows dust off rows of books and waves dusters out of windows.

  Martha tells Lenny and Nick to clip the ivy from around the windows and then clean out the filthy pond. The house smells of swamp and rotten leaves for two whole days, and Lenny and Nick have to eat their lunch outside, because the mud is dripping off all their clothes and they only have to look at something to get it dirty.

  Lampie runs around with tea and sandwiches. She does not really care if the house is clean in time for the admiral’s return. But she does have a plan.

  On Wednesday morning, Martha comes into the kitchen, all hot and bothered.

  “I completely forgot to peel the potatoes. I should have…”

  “Already done it!” says Lampie, dropping the last one into the water with a splash.

  And the soup is already simmering, Martha notices. She goes to make tea, but it is already there. Lampie pours two cups and gives her one. Martha sits down to drink her tea and catch her breath. She can still remember how disappointed she was when this skinny little girl turned up at the house, and how she would have preferred a strong man, who would be of some use to her. But she could not do without Lampie now, she has to admit. She will have to tell her as much, one day, when she is in the right frame of mind.

  “I, um, I was wondering if I could… leave now,” the girl suddenly announces.

  Martha gasps. “What? You want to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “For good? You can’t do that, you know.”

  “No, no, just for this afternoon. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it? And didn’t you say I could go to the fair?”

  “Did I now?”

  Lampie nods. “Yes,” she says. “You promised.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know then that…” Martha glowers at her. “Before we know it, the master will be here, and I haven’t even started on his room yet.”

  “I’ve already done it.”

  “What about the bed?”

  “I’ve put clean sheets on it. And dusted everything, all those cages with beetles and stuff. And if I go and do the windows too, can I leave after that? Please?”

  Martha downs her tea. This is all she needs. She wants to say no, because she always wants to say no. But then again. She was only just thinking: the house is brighter, him upstairs is keeping more or less quiet, and Lenny is clearly crazy about the girl. A bit too crazy… Far too crazy, in fact…

  “What about the outside of the windows?”

  “I’ll do that too! If Lenny can help me with the ladder. Please?”

  How can she say no? “Hm…” says Martha. And then, a little later: “Maybe.”

  “Oh, please,” says Lampie again. “I really, really want to go.”

  “To the fair, eh?” Martha can’t help smiling a little. When was the last time she went to the fair herself? So long ago. First alone and then arm in arm, and then later…

  “Um… yes,” says Lampie. “To the fair.”

  But Lampie does not want to go to the fair at all. Why would she?

  As soon as she has left the house, as soon as she has promised to enjoy herself and to be back by six, and has skipped through the gate like a girl who is looking forward to an afternoon of fun, as soon as she has gone around the corner, she starts to run.

  SPLINTERS

  Lampie runs stumbling downhill to where the forest stops and the sky opens up. She stops there, just for a moment. Finally. She sees the distant grey water and smells the salt. And there in the distance is the town, the harbour, the path to the lighthouse… She runs on.

  The streets are almost empty; here and there small knots of people are hurrying to the field where the fair tents have been pitched. She can hear snatches of music coming from that way, and some laughter and screaming. Good, then no one will pay any attention to her this afternoon. She goes around two more corners and then she is at the harbour.

  The afternoon is grey and the sea breeze chases drops of water along the quayside and then upwards, like rain in reverse. Lampie wipes her cold cheeks and licks her hand. Salt. It tastes good.

  And there is the lighthouse. Grey against the grey sky. Lampie stands and looks. She wants to drink it in.

  She runs up the sea path, the tide is out and it is dry enough, so it is easy today. But the closer she gets, the more she sees that everything has changed. Her house no longer looks like her home. Big, rough planks have been nailed over the green front door with the copper knob, crisscross, so many of them that she can hardly even see the green. The window next to the door has been covered with a splintering sheet of wood. The bench outside is gone, the vegetable garden has been flattened. Only the prickly grass that she always tried to weed out is still growing there and has finally found the space it needs to spread out its tough roots and to overrun everything else. As Lampie stands there, she feels her eyes start to sting.

  Come on, Emilia, she says to herself. Hey, it’s just grass. You can get rid of it in no time. She wipes her nose, her tears, seawater, all so salty, and then she walks on. She keeps looking up at the windows above and at the railing around the lamp room. Maybe he is in there right now. Maybe he will see her. Maybe he will even wave. She peers up, but she does not see anyone. Nothing moves.

  “Father!” she calls, and again, but no face appears at a window. At the house, she rattles at the hatch and tries to bang on the door through the planks. “Father, it’s me! Can you hear me? Or not? Father!”

  The wind blows her voice away and the planks give her nasty splinters; in no time, she has three of them jabbing into her. She pulls out two with her teeth, but the third one breaks off and a big chunk of it stays there, deep in the fleshy mound of her hand.

  “Father!!” She yells again, as loud as she can. No one comes. Nothing moves.

  What did you think would happen? mutter the planks on the door. Think you could just pop round for a nice cup of tea? This house is a prison now. It’s our job to guard it. When will he be allowed to leave? In seven years’ time. Seven. Have seven years already gone by?

  No… sighs Lampie and she sits down on the doorstep.

  So long to go, so long to go! scream the seagulls circling around the tower. Whatever were you thinking? What did you want?

  I just wanted to see how he is, and…

  That man? hisses the prickly grass. That man with the stick?

  The one who hit you? tease the waves rushing by. The bruise has only just faded, hasn’t it? Forget about him. He’s forgotten all about you.

  It’s not true, it can’t be, he would never…

  Oh, no, of course not, everything around her whispers. Because he was always so kind to you. Child, he loved his bottle more than you. You knew that, didn’t you?

  Lampie can picture her father, stumbling around the house, looking for that one bottle he could have sworn he had left, or the money he thought he’d hidden away. And, whether he found the bottle or not, he always disappeared.

  What are you doing here? You have a new home. Go and live there. Forget about him.

  Yes, but he wasn’t always like that. It really was different, once upon a time. This beach, this doorstep, she can see it all as it used to be. The pirates pulling their boats up onto the sand, the shrimps over the f
ire. Her father making jokes, her mother… Her mother, her mother…

  You know, the thing about the past, the whole world whispers in her ear, is that it’s over.

  Lampie rests her head on her knees and feels herself getting slowly colder and wetter.

  Yes, but, she thinks, Miss Amalia told me. He is here. And the lamp was on, I saw it. So why won’t he come to the door?

  “Hello there. You’re Lampie, aren’t you?” a voice says suddenly. “I suppose you must be, eh?”

  Lampie looks up. There is a woman standing on the sea path. She has a pan in her hand.

  “Is it your afternoon off? Did you decide to come and visit? Oh dear, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” She climbs up onto the doorstep, and Lampie feels the soft fabric of her skirt brush her cheek.

  “Mr Waterman!” the woman shouts through the hatch. “Look who’s here! Your daughter! And your food too, if you want it! So you come down here, do you hear me? Mr Waterman?”

  Lampie has stood up now and is listening. But she does not hear anything, just the rain tapping on the door, because it really has started pouring now.

  The woman shakes her head. “He came down yesterday,” she says. “So we won’t be seeing him for a while. It’s not your lucky day.”

  Lampie wipes her cheeks. Ouch, that splinter is really deep. Her whole hand is throbbing.

  “But he is there?” she asks, shivering. “He is upstairs?”

  “Where else would he be?” The woman has a wide, friendly face with wind-and-weather cheeks. “He’s not going anywhere. But sometimes he doesn’t come downstairs for days on end, even if I call up there a hundred times and tell him his food’s getting cold.” She takes the lid off and shoves the pan under the girl’s nose. “Look, it’s good now, but it won’t be for much longer.” Drops of rain splash into the grey mush.