Magic Parcel (2 page)

 

He didn't know very much about Uncle Reuben, except that he had always been there – well, ever since his father had died when he was five. Reuben had taken over responsibility for the education and wellbeing of both Jimmy and his brother, Tommy, who was now thirteen. Mother had shown Jimmy photographs of his uncle from years and years ago, from long before he had been born. The funny thing about him was that he never looked any different. He had remained the same ‘age' for the last twenty or thirty years at least; but that was impossible. Was it though? Jimmy had begun to wonder, especially since he had come to know him over the years.

“Hello Jim, old chap,” Reuben greeted his nephew as he rushed through the gate, which always closed itself, and down the path. Jim was his preferred name, not the ‘Jimmy' his mother insisted calling him, nor the ‘James' he so often was called at school. As with so many things, Reuben always knew what you were thinking and what your wishes were. He also treated you, not as a little boy, but as an adult, an equal.

“Hello, uncle,” Jimmy replied, “sorry I'm a bit late, but the bus was slow and I nearly missed my stop.”

“That galactic mission, eh?” Reuben asked, bushy eyebrows becoming almost lost in that black mop as they slowly crept up his forehead, and eyes twinkling above the rim of his spectacles. “Any way, come on in. Coffee's in the pot, and your favourite ice cream is on the kitchen table.”

Jimmy had stopped questioning how Reuben knew what he was thinking, and how he had discovered what his favourite ice cream flavour was for that week (he changed it so often); he now just accepted that's the way it was. He had even changed his choice of flavour on the bus that morning so only he knew his favourite; but to no avail. There it was, on the table when he got there, the flavour he had chosen! He was a marvel, that uncle was; the sort
every
boy should have.

“You know that story you were telling me the last time I was here?” Jimmy mumbled through a mouthful of walnut and coffee ice cream, his new favourite. “You know, the one about the other world - the one through the fence.”

“Yes, old man,” Reuben answered, eyes glinting over his glasses. “Yes, I do.”

“Well,” Jimmy went on. “You didn't tell me what happened. Could we finish it today, please? I've tried to think of ways the Chieftain might get his country back, but I'm sure I've no idea.”

My, that ice cream was good. He wasn't sure which he liked best - the ice cream or the stories. If only school was like this - he would stay there during the holidays! It was strange that the ice cream dish
always
stayed full until you had had enough, and only then did it empty. No, really, the stories were the best; foreign countries, other worlds, space travel, people. Reuben knew how to keep little boys interested forever.

“OK then,” Reuben grinned. Let's go into the lounge and see where we were.”

The lounge was one of those enormously high rooms so popular about a hundred years earlier, with a large decorated fireplace and a long, curved wooden mantle piece over the fire grate. It never changed. The décor always had that freshly painted look, as if the decorators had only just packed away their pots, brushes and covers, and walked out the door just before
he
had walked in. The late morning sun stole through the slats of one fawn-coloured, half-closed shutter as they settled in front of a crackling fire in the black-leaded grate. They sat with a large glass of orange juice on their knees.

“Before we start, Uncle Reuben,” Jimmy said, fixing his relative's glinting half-moons, “one thing has been puzzling me since the last time.”

“Yes, old chap,” Reuben asked, “and what is that?”

“Well,” he went on, “I've been looking at some old photographs Mum gave me, and ... and ... why do you look the same? I mean ... why don't you look older now?”

Reuben's eyes wrinkled at the corners as his brows met in the middle and threatened to cover his eyes altogether. That same smile played around his mouth, which widened slightly to reveal two rows of even, white teeth.

“I'll let you in on a secret,” he confided, bending closer to Jimmy as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “A secret I've never told anyone else yet.”

Jimmy's eyes widened, eager to learn anything about this remarkable man, particularly anything
nobody else
knew. His mouth opened slightly, and his cheeks grew vaguely pink as he almost stopped breathing in anticipation of what he might hear.

“You see,” he went on, “I'm at least three hundred and fifty years old, and I've been on other worlds different from this one as well.”

The light grew steadily dimmer in the room and all noise gradually faded away until all Jimmy could hear was the gentle hiss of complete silence. And all he could see was the glowing face of his uncle, not a hand's width from his own face.

“I don't age very quickly,” Reuben added, “so you wouldn't tell any difference if you were to see me a hundred years from now. Yes, I shall still be here in a hundred years time. You see, I'm ...”

There was a loud bang at the front door which made Jimmy jump almost onto the mantelpiece. He blinked his eyes, that slow blink as if waking from a long sleep and interesting dream, and found the room flooded with light again; and his uncle no longer there. He waited for a few minutes and, as Reuben didn't return, he decided to explore the garden to pass the time.

“Must have been somebody important,” he muttered as he stepped out of the scullery door into the brilliant late morning sunshine. Standing on the top step and surveying the scene before deciding where to go first, he noticed that the garden was an entirely different lay out from that he had seen the week before. Down towards the bottom of the long herbaceous border where there had been a great bank of thick leathery laurel bushes, there was now a wide gap, showing the sturdy fence beyond; and surely that shed ... had become much ... bigger?

Puzzled, he set off down the stone steps and climbed across the turned stone balustrade at the bottom, to strike out across the well-manicured lawn. Usually he didn't manage to reach the end of the garden, for interesting objects often caught his eye en route, off to the left or right. This time, however, there was no distraction; no deviation.

Reaching the end of the lawn, he stepped out onto the wide gravel path which led across the border to the fence. With only two strides crunched along its noisy way, he stopped, realising that the path he now took for granted, should not have been here at all. And the space he had just walked through should have been an enormous weeping willow! The fence, however, seemed to draw him, against his will almost; tall, black, sinister, letting through no chink of light from beyond, it pulled Jimmy ever closer.

In the gloom, underneath its shadow, he peered as you would through the doorway into a dark room, trying to see more closely. Suddenly, off to his right, he caught sight of something glowing slightly, about halfway up the oak staves. He blinked and strained his eyes again trying to make out what it was.

 

“Funny,” he muttered, “that wasn't there before. What is it?”

He moved closer, entering the shadow completely.

“Can't be!” he whispered to himself, though he didn't know why. There was no-one thereabouts to overhear him. “It's a ... a handle!”

Sure enough, there was the faint, silvery, ghostly outline of a curved, knobbed door handle in the fence, but no door could he find.

“Who on earth would want to put a door handle in a fence?” he puzzled, half-smiling, half-nervous. “I wonder if ...”

He reached out to touch the handle, but changed his mind halfway, only to find his hand drawn, involuntarily, towards the object of his attention. The silvery, transparent outline became solid as his fist closed around its metal exterior. He found himself putting his weight against the lever in an effort to open up whatever was beyond.

The handle was fully depressed when a small door-shaped section of the fence moved slowly inward towards the waiting boy. A grey mist began to form and to creep out from beyond, flowing along the ground towards him, as a profound silence fell over everything.

“Jim! Jim!” a deep clear voice, like a spring morning after a night of rain, rang out from the house, breaking the spell around him. “Lunch is ready!”

Jimmy spun around, loosing his grasp on the latch, and caught sight of his Uncle Reuben's unmistakable form at the bottom of the house steps. He waved, but turned once again to find that the handle was no longer there, the fence was simply a fence. And the whole area was flooded in warm sunlight the like of which he had never felt before.

 

 

 

“Uncle?” Jimmy's muffled voice struggled through a large mouthful of his favourite apple pie and ice cream.

“Yes, old man,” Reuben's smile spread even further, “what do you want to know?” He knew that whenever the lad used his name in that slow, puzzled, questioning tone, there was some insoluble problem bothering his mind. He never disappointed the boy, always answering every question with equal care.

“Why was there a handle in the fence at the bottom of the garden?” Jimmy asked, his face lifting upwards towards his uncle.

“Ah,” was the soft reply, as a new knowing look took over Reuben's eyes. “You've seen it then?” His tone conveyed the feeling that there was an air of inevitability about it - that Jimmy would have found ‘it' sooner or later.

“What would have happened if I had opened the door?” Jimmy insisted. “Where did it lead to? There was a bit of mist and a lot of darkness, and ...”

“Come through into my study,” Reuben suggested, noticing the boy had finished his second helping of pie. “We can talk better there without interruption.”

“But, there's no st...”, Jimmy half-protested, somewhat puzzled at the suggestion.

“There are ‘others' who may hear,” Reuben whispered, the smile almost disappearing from his face as he crossed his lips with his forefinger.

Jimmy's eyes widened and his mouth opened to a small circle as if he was about to suck invisible lemonade up through a transparent straw. Nothing further was said until they reached that most important of places Jimmy never knew existed let alone had seen - Reuben's study.

 

As they walked along the familiar thickly carpeted hallway towards the front door, uncle followed by nephew. Jimmy became even more confused, and was about to ask Reuben why they were going out, when, suddenly, there it was, to their right.
That
door certainly had
not
been there before. Jimmy was definite about that. It stood amidst shadow, slightly recessed from the rest of the wall, forming a small, square lobby in which somebody could stand quite comfortably and not be seen.

A deep and brooding silence had fallen over the house, so that even the ticking of the kitchen clock could be heard quite distinctly. As they approached the door, Jimmy tried to moisten his dry lips by his even drier tongue. The tiny hairs on the top of his back and base of his neck began to prickle with more than a little fear and apprehension, even though Reuben was there.

As they neared it, the door became much clearer; dark oak staves fitting closely together to form a thick barrier. Where had he seen that before? The fence! Yes, of course! It matched exactly the fence at the bottom of the garden, except that here there was neither handle nor knob, nor any visible means of entering.

Reuben stepped forward, closed his eyes and began to whistle softly, almost inaudibly, whilst passing both hands lightly over the smooth surface of the door. After a few moments, it began to move inwards; slowly at first, and then suddenly they were in, door fast shut behind them.

Jimmy simply stood where he was, unable to move for what he saw around him. Eyes wide with surprise, wonder and excitement, he let his gaze amble around the room, flitting from object to object, quite unable to believe what lay before him.

Large by the standards of his own home, the room was dominated by an enormous, dark, polished oak desk, carved around with intertwining leaves, stems and faces of animals he did not recognise. The green leather inset top of the desk was clear except for one object - a large blue and green geographical globe set on a golden stand. The countries traced on that globe, however, bore no resemblance to any Jimmy knew of. In fact, they were not countries which were to be found anywhere in his world.

The walls were half-covered in the most beautiful red rosewood panelling, which was inset with shelf upon shelf of books of all shapes and sizes; leather-bound, or paper-cased, all were well-thumbed as if in continual use. Many of the titles were in foreign languages he didn't understand, and the others were in an English, which might as well have been foreign for what sense they made to him.

Although he wanted to look at everything, he couldn't keep his gaze from being drawn to the most remarkable feature in the room. The walls above the panelling were hung with great sheets of shiny cloth upon which were printed maps of many different countries, some of which were flattened-out versions of countries on the globe. Others, however, were obviously not of
that
world either, and on closer examination, he discovered that the details on the maps
had been picked out in different coloured embroidery silks and were not in printing ink at all. Between the maps, giving further details of the countries, there were dozens of drawings on stiff card. They were of many items; from places to exotic animals to people dressed in strange clothes, clearly not of this land. He must have spent ten minutes in silent amazement before he realised that Uncle Reuben had been watching him all the time, face wrinkled in that irrepressible grin.