by Ruskin Bond
“Haven’t yeh got a story to tell, Paddy?” a farmer once asked after sharing supper with the boy. “Or maybe some news or a song?”
Paddy looked at the ceiling. Then he looked at the floor. Finally, he shuffled his feet until the farmer, hopeful for any amusement, thought Paddy might be about to dance. Instead, not saying a word, Paddy just slowly shook his head no.
Well, each farmer who had an experience with Paddy told another, so it wasn’t long before Paddy’s reputation as a boring person was known throughout County Limerick.
One day after finding neither work nor a place to stay, Paddy dragged himself down a dark, narrow road. Weary, hungry, and cold, he finally spied a candle flickering in the window of an isolated house. The lonely, gray cement dwelling appeared so grim and cheerless that Paddy hesitated to stop there, but his circumstances pushed him to knock at the door. He heard heavy footsteps, then the door opened slowly.
A tall man wearing a gray wool suit and a starched, white shirt eyed Paddy somberly up and down. “Come in, Paddy Ahern,” he invited. “I have a turf fire going that will warm you.” Though he spoke in a low, doleful tone, his voice was kind and strangely soothing. “Have yourself a bite to eat.”
Paddy thought it odd that the man knew his name, as he had never passed this way before. Yet the lad sat himself down at the table eagerly and gratefully gobbled down the lamb stew he was offered. Then the man gestured for Paddy to take a spot in front of the fire. “You may stay here for the night.” The man picked up the candle and turned to climb a narrow staircase. “And in case yeh be wondering, my name is Seymour Specter.”
As Paddy stretched out to sleep, he saw by the light of the small fire that, though the house was plain on the outside, the parlor was richly furnished, with fringed rugs on the floor, hand-carved wooden panels decorating the fireplace, a maroon sofa with plush velvet cushions, and small tables topped with doilies and vases of white flowers. Such elegance Paddy had never seen.
It seemed to Paddy that he had just lain down to rest before the dying fire when a sudden cold draft awakened him. Three men bearing a coffin stood in the open door.
Paddy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Seymour! Seymour, where yeh be?” he called out. But no one replied or came. The silence of the night was broken only by the dismal voice of one of the coffin bearers.
“Get yourself up and help us carry this coffin, Paddy Ahern.”
With his knees a-knockin’, Paddy pulled on his jacket and helped the gruesome trio move the coffin out the door. “W-w-where are we going?” stammered Paddy.
The three men spoke together. “Over the fields and across the bog,” they chanted. “Walk, Paddy, walk.”
Paddy did as he was told. “O.K., O.K., I’m walkin’.”
Paddy stumbled more than a few times as he carried the heavy coffin through the moonless night. He tore his jacket on blackthorn bushes that seemed to jump out of the darkness, and slipped into the mud of a low, marshy bog. Finally, they came upon the stone wall of a cemetery.
“Lift the coffin over the stones, Paddy Ahern,” the men commanded. “Lift, Paddy, lift!”
“O.K., O.K., I’ll lift,” Paddy said to himself. He hoisted the coffin to the top of the wall, then climbed over and gently pulled it down to the other side.
“Are yeh a wee bit frightened?” the men jeered as they nudged each other. “Start digging a grave, Paddy.” They handed him a shovel. “Dig, Paddy, dig.”
“O.K., O.K., I’ll dig,” Paddy whispered.
“Open the coffin, Paddy,” the men sang. “Open, Paddy, open.”
“O.K., O.K., I’m openin’,” Paddy mumbled as, hands a-shakin’, he pulled up the heavy lid and peered inside, terrified at what he’d find. The coffin was empty.
“Get yourself in the coffin, Paddy,” the men’s voices rose. “Get, Paddy, get!”
“O.K., O.K., I’m gettin’.” Then Paddy shouted in a voice so loud, the three men stepped backward. “I’m gettin’ myself away from here!” And Paddy made a run for it.
The men chased after him. One grabbed onto Paddy’s jacket. Paddy felt the tug on his collar as his jacket tightened around his neck. But he twisted this way and that until he broke free of the man’s hold.
Paddy ran all the way back to Seymour’s house. Before he could knock, the door opened. Paddy stumbled in and collapsed on the floor, worn out by the fright of it all.
When Paddy opened his eyes again, he saw only the fringed rug and other furnishings he had admired the evening before. Night was over.
“So, are yeh well-rested?” asked Seymour, who had descended the staircase.
“To be sure, I’m not!” Paddy gasped at the man. “Twas a night I shall never forget. You’ll not be seeing the likes of me here again.” Paddy stood up to go, confused that his clothes were as clean and well-mended as if he had never run for his life from the coffin bearers.
“Well, Paddy,” Seymour responded. “I had heard before you even got here how you never had a story to tell. I guess that’s no longer true. Tis a grand story you’ve got now.”
Paddy spoke not a word. He put on his tweed jacket and left the house straight away. When he turned to look back, his mouth gaped open in surprise, for nothing was there.
“What a night that was!” Paddy said to himself as he trotted down the lane. “I sure do have a story, but I want to be away from here when I tell it!”
So, Paddy found his voice at last. Throughout County Limerick, farmers were entertained by Paddy from then on, and he never walked a hill where he was without an offer of supper and a night’s rest at any cottage. Too bad the farmers never believed a word Paddy said. “Tis no lie!” Paddy always exclaimed, with a bang of his fist on the table.
The farmers all answered Paddy the same way. “Sure, Paddy, sure … now, would yeh like more supper?”
The Explorer
by Christy Lenzi
Illustrated by Gavin Rowe
The mighty sea monster’s tail curled around the bow of the ship, poised to crush the sturdy vessel into splinters. Crisp lines of dark charcoal outlined every tooth and claw against a background of dingy white paper.
Hendrik scowled at his drawing and rubbed his chin with blackened fingers. The creature needed more space. Sketching on the backs of old shipping orders never gave him room to draw anything properly.
He hugged his knees and gazed out over Oude Delft, the principal canal of the city. The water was as blue as the famous delft ware pottery the ships exported, and it shimmered like the expensive silks they carried home. One day Hendrik would sail away from the bank of the canal. Leaving Holland on an explorer’s ship, he’d travel to the far reaches of the earth. He’d become a captain’s artist, sketching exotic creatures no other person had set eyes on. Of course, he would use fine, large parchment so the drawings might be preserved and marveled at for ages to come—
“Hendrik!”
The stern voice shattered his daydream. Lunch scraps of pancake and herring slid into the water as Hendrik bolted to his feet. Trying not to tumble over the canal bank, he flailed his arms and legs like windmills to keep his balance.
“Break’s over!” the man shouted from a nearby window.
“Yes, sir!” Hendrik stuffed the sketch into his pocket and sprinted toward the brick building that comprised the office and warehouse of Delft’s East India Company. He raced past the men unloading a ship’s cargo from the East — cinnamon and other aromatic spices, planks of teak, fine porcelain — and skidded to a stop inside the main office, panting for breath as he awaited his instructions.
The clerk tucked his writing quill behind his ear and glanced at his large sandglass. “Captain van Krimpen left a package to be delivered to …” He shuffled the mass of shipping orders and cargo lists cluttering his desk. “Ah, here we are.” He waved a crumpled note in the air. “To a Mynheer Leeuwenhoek —”
“Mynheer Leeuwenhoek, the draper?” Hendrik’s face fell at the thought of delivering something as ordinar
y as cloth or buttons. He’d hoped for a more interesting package, like Captain van Krimpen’s journal of seafaring adventures or a newly charted map of distant lands. Perhaps he might have stolen a peek —
“Well?” The clerk raised his eyebrows, waiting for Hendrik to take the bundle he held out.
At fourteen, Hendrik had worked hard to be the East India Company’s best messenger boy, hoping that one day the captain of a ship would notice his skills and hire him for a voyage. He straightened his shoulders. “Right away, sir!” This was no time to dawdle. He whisked the gunnysack from the man’s fingers, but it was clunky and heavier than he’d thought.
“Careful, boy!” the clerk yelped. “The specimen’s in a breakable jar!”
“Specimen?”
Liquid sloshed around inside.
“Preserved in brandy. The captain cut it from the creature himself! Now get along to Mynheer Leeuwenhoek’s.”
Hugging the sack to his chest, Hendrik nodded to the clerk and dashed out the door. The splashing noises grew louder with every stride. What could a draper want with a specimen? He ran under the lime and linden trees that flanked the canals, hurrying toward the cloth merchant’s home. The bright colors of the village blurred together as Hendrik sped past market stalls, red brick houses with green and white shutters, and horses drawing trekschuits along the canal.
He puzzled over the mysterious parcel in his arms. Surely the captain wouldn’t mind one quick peek. Hendrik paused at a footbridge to catch his breath. He gently pulled the jar from the sack.
A lone eye, large as an onion, lolled around in the brandy until it stopped and stared at Hendrik, who almost threw the object from him in shock. Swallowing his cry of surprise, Hendrik whisked the bag back over the jar and streaked across the bridge. When he reached a green door with a sign hanging above it that read Antoni Leeuwenhoek, Draper, Hendrik lunged for the silver knocker and clanked it loudly.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek appeared in the doorway, wearing an apron with a magnifying glass, scissors, and measuring tape peeking from its pockets. He tucked his long hair behind his ears and blinked through the glare of the afternoon sun. “Yes?”
“A delivery from Captain van Krimpen, sir.”
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek’s face lit up. “Ah, the whale’s eye! I’ve been looking forward to dissecting —” The merchant’s gaze fell to Hendrik’s feet. “What do we have here?” He plucked the old shipping order from the ground, where it had fallen from Hendrik’s pocket. “Is this drawing your creation?” he asked, studying the sea creature with great interest. “You’re an artist.”
Hendrik’s face burned hot as a griddle. “No. I mean … not yet.”
“Can you draw real creatures as perfectly as the ones in your imagination?”
Hendrik lifted his chin. “Of course.”
Beaming, Mynheer Leeuwenhoek returned Hendrik’s drawing and said, “Excellent! You’re just the person I need.” He turned on his heel and beckoned Hendrik into his home.
“Sir —” Hendrik hesitated. The clerk would expect his return soon, but an overwhelming curiosity tugged at him. “I … I can only stay a moment.” He followed the merchant into the front room, which served as a yardage and notions shop.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek suddenly grimaced and made a sound like a wounded dog. He bent over double, scratching feverishly at his ankle. Hendrik backed away, fearing the man was mad.
Behind them, a door swung open, and a rosy-cheeked girl, several years older than Hendrik, hurried in carrying bolts of cloth. She took one look at the shopkeeper and sighed. “Oh, Father! How long will you suffer those monsters in your stockings for the sake of experiment?”
Hendrik gulped. “Monsters?” he whispered.
The young woman laughed. “Yes, Father bought two lice from a beggar child and dropped them into his legging to discover how fast they multiply. It’s been a miserable six days.”
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek stifled a groan. “Yes, it has been a trial, but the poor suffer such hardships for a lifetime.” He shook his head sadly. “Experiments can be eye-opening in more ways than one.” He straightened up and set the brandied whale’s eye on a table. “Maria, this young man is —” He motioned toward Hendrik.
“My name is Hendrik.”
“He’s an artist!”
“Ah!” Maria clasped her hands together. “I’m so glad Father found someone to sketch his beautiful beasts. Our drawings look like chicken scrawl!”
Beasts? Hendrik peered through the doorway, looking for a caged bird or pet dog.
Maria threw up her hands. “Oh, they’re everywhere!”
He glanced nervously around the quiet room.
“Father, show him the louse.”
Hendrik’s shoulders slumped. There was nothing interesting about lice. They were barely large enough to see and certainly too small to sketch.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek slipped his magnifying glass from its pocket and untied his stocking. He pinched a louse from his leg and held it under the glass.
Hendrik leaned in close and drew in his breath. The tiny creature now loomed before him in a coat of armor with six legs, pointy horns, and frightening pincers. Even as he drew back in surprise, his fingers itched to sketch the wonderful monster.
“Of course, this lens doesn’t do him justice; it’s for examining the weave of my cloth,” the draper’s voice was apologetic, “but with one of my stronger lenses, you can admire him properly — that is, if you can spare the time.”
Hendrik glanced at the sandglass on the table and winced as if he’d been splashed with icy water. Too many grains had slipped through since he’d set out from the East India Company. The clerk would be annoyed. There was nothing Hendrik would rather do than draw Mynheer Leeuwenhoek’s wonderful beasts, but he couldn’t lose his job.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek seemed to read his mind. “Yes, you must get going.” He dropped the insect back into his stocking. “Forgive me, I’m too easily distracted by exploring the handsome louse’s hidden world.” He grinned and added, “He’s not the only inhabitant, you know.”
Hendrik jumped as the door knocker clanked and Maria hurried to receive the customer. Mynheer Leeuwenhoek pressed a stuiver into Hendrik’s palm. “Thank you for delivering Captain van Krimpen’s most excellent gift. And if you are interested in a secondary job as artist —”
“Oh yes!” Hendrik interrupted.
A twinkle appeared in Mynheer Leeu-wenhoek’s eyes. “Wonderful! I collected a new specimen yesterday that I am most curious to examine. Maria and I will expect you this evening.”
“Yes, sir.” Hendrik could barely keep his voice steady.
While the merchant greeted his customer, Hendrik floated out of the shop in a daze. He flew over the hog-backed bridges and along the familiar canals toward the East India Company. Sea gulls called to him, ship sails beckoned, but for once Hendrik did not notice. His mind was on Mynheer Leeuwenhoek’s creatures and their hidden world.
When the shadows grew long, and the sun glinted golden on the ripples of Oude Delft, Hendrik returned from his final delivery of the day. The smell of stewed meat and hot bread wafted from kitchen windows as he walked eagerly through the village to the draper’s house.
This time, an elderly maid answered the door. “Mynheer Leeuwenhoek will join you in the study.”
She left Hendrik alone in a cluttered but cozy room crammed with papers, books, specimens in jars and vials, and several mysterious metal instruments. A new map of the world hung on the wall near a large celestial globe. Hendrik studied the map’s shorelines and islands. He ran his finger over the vast expanse of ocean and felt the old familiar longing to explore its mysteries.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek swept into the study, puffing on a long, thin pipe. He had donned a dressing gown over his waistcoat and wore pantoffels on his feet. When he saw Hendrik gazing at the map, he said, “Ah, to discover new worlds!”
Hendrik smiled.
“Do you know what all explorers have in common?” asked Mynhee
r Leeuwenhoek.
Scratching his chin, Hendrik pondered the question for a moment. “They travel far from their native land?”
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek rested his pipe on the table and raised a jar of murky liquid to the window. The setting sun gave the contents a greenish glow. “I believe that what they have in common is curiosity.” He returned the container to the jumble of jars on the table, next to the staring whale eye.
Hendrik noticed several small rectangular metal plates lying near the specimens. He wanted to pick one up and turn it over in his hands, but didn’t wish to appear impolite.
“Go ahead, take a closer look!” Mynheer Leeuwenhoek motioned to the instruments. “You’ll be using them to observe the specimens as you draw. They’re mounted lenses that I ground from fragments of glass.” A spark of pride lightened his eyes. “I believe they may be the finest and strongest magnifying lenses yet produced!”
In his palm, Hendrik cradled a slip of dark metal, no heavier than a key. He peered at the small hole in the middle, where a bead of glass had been secured, and examined the adjustable rods on one side of the plate. A maggot specimen had been mounted on a pin, directly in front of the lens.
Mynheer Leeuwenhoek lifted one of the other instruments to his eye. His face contorted for several minutes as he adjusted the screws and squinted through the tiny round glass. “Ah, there he is!” He passed Hendrik the magnifier. “Now you may have a proper look at our friend the louse.”
Hendrik’s hands trembled, and his palms felt sweaty. He tried to hold the instrument still, but it kept shaking. Squeezing his eyes half closed, he attempted to see through the small lens. For a moment he caught a glimpse, but lost it. Then the light hit the insect just right, and suddenly the louse’s head came into focus.
