Chapter 18
The evening rain seems
to hang in the air, darkening the sky and soaking the sheep in the
fields. In a lonely expanse of sodden countryside the beautiful mansion
sits, besieged by the elements and the creeping of time. It is 1941 and the house is in darkness. In the servants quarters Mrs Macready
pauses in her nightly reading of the bible and looks darkly at the ceiling.
Although two floors below the children's room she can hear the creak
of the floorboards as Lucy stomps around, swigging from a bottle of
gin and raging impotently at her situation.
“Lucy we have to get
on with our lives, we have to move on.” Susan implores.
“But I was a
princess!”
“I know Lucy, we both
were. But we have to get on with our...”
“But I was a fucking princess in a kingdom of magic and wonder!” Lucy shouts, throwing her
sister's hand aside, “I had a lovely boyfriend, some servants and a
group of friends! Now I'm 8 years fucking old, it's pissing down
with rain, it's the fucking blitz and I'm never going to see my
boyfriend ever again.”
“We have the
opportunity to start our lives again, make them whatever we want.”
“Terrific! I have to
live the next ten years as a child and then get a job. I can't even
remember what jobs there are in this world, can you?”
Susan tries to
think, to remember the world before. It seems hazy and distant like a
half remembered film.
“Clerical work.”
she settles on eventually.
“Right,” Lucy says,
“I don't know what that is. But it doesn't sound as good as being
an actual fucking princess. Is clerical work in any way comparable to
being a magic princess with a healing potion and a dagger?”
“The Professor says
we can go back! One day we'll return to Narnia and have more
adventures!”
“Oh don't talk to me
about that old prick!” Lucy shouts, uncorking the bottle and having
another swig, “he's clearly supposed to represent the author of the
book, he can take us back whenever he likes! And besides Susan,”
Lucy spits her sister's name with scorn, “in case you've forgotten,
what seems like a second in this world is fifteen fucking years back
home. Our friends are probably all old or dead now. We've missed the
best years of our lives just because we were chasing that stupid
stag.”
Susan
makes for the door, looking concerned and older than ever which is
ironic if you think about it.
“Stay
strong, Princess Lucy the Valiant, one day we'll return to Narnia,
one day. Remember; once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or
Queen.”
“Oh
piss off!” Lucy cries and lies down on the bed.
“How
art she?” Peter asks as his sister gently closes the door. Peter
hasn't adjusted well to not speaking in a fantasy style.
“Not
good.”
“By
the Lion's Mane I trust rude health shall return to our sister soon
enough. Tis a queer situation we find ourselves in, returned to
childlike form having gone through puberty, grown accustomed to sex, alcohol and sword fights and stuff.”
“I
know,” Edmund says, “I tried to have a lovely wank earlier.
Nothing doing I'm afraid.”
“Why
has this happened to us?” Susan asks, burying her head in her
hands.
“I
know not” Peter sighs, staring out of the window at the ordinary
British countryside as the ordinary British drizzle fills the air, “but we
have to get on with our lives. We have to live...”
*
Susan,
Peter and Edmund are in the drawing room. They have been back in the
real world a week but still sit awkwardly in their unfamiliar
children's bodies. Edmund is stuffing his face with rationed sweets
because he can't find any Turkish delight and Susan is knitting a hat
with a lion on it. Peter is standing at the window, running a razor
over his bald, child's face and staring blankly at the rolling fields
of rural England. There is a sudden banging from the room above and
all three children look up and then at each other.
“Is
she still up there?” Edmund asks nervously through a mouthful of
liquorish,
“Yes,”
Susan says sadly, “three hours she's been in that wardrobe, just
sitting amongst the coats.”
“But
we can't get back to Narnia that way, the Professor told us.”
“She doesn't trust him. She thinks he's a literary device, and a weak one at that.”
“She doesn't trust him. She thinks he's a literary device, and a weak one at that.”
*
Inside
the musky old wardrobe Lucy sits crossed legged with a box of matches
in her hand. One by one she lights them and watches as the roomy
interior illuminates and then slowly recedes back into
darkness. She has explored the wardrobe more times than
she can remember but it refuses to lead her back to the kingdom of
Narnia. She has concentrated, prayed and even pummelled the back
panel but to no avail. Sighing deeply she lights the last match in
the pack and the brightness flickers steadily before being vanishing into
smoke.
Lucy
sits in silence for a moment, willing Narnia to appear before her.
She almost thinks she can feel a breeze on her neck.
This
time, she thinks to herself and crawls to the back of the
wardrobe. But her hand touches only thick winter coats and oak
panel.
The End
C.S Lewis, 1950
Love it! Jx
ReplyDeletepure gold.
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