TEN OF DIAMONDS

… a little figure peeping
out from behind a newspaper stand …

W hen I looked up from the sticky-bun book, a fierce storm of thoughts raged through my head.

As I sat in the great Syntagma Square – with all the Greeks hurrying past with their newspapers and briefcases – it was even clearer to me that the sticky-bun book was an oracle linking my journey to something which had happened on the magic island 150 years ago.

I sat thumbing back and forth through the pages I had just read.

Even though Baker Hans hadn’t heard the whole of the old prophecy, there was a clear relationship between a lot of the sentences.

‘The baker’s son escapes over the mountains and settles in remote village. The baker conceals the treasures from the magic island. The future lies in the cards. The village shelters neglected boy whose mother has passed away. The baker gives him the sparkling drink and shows him the beautiful fish …’

The baker’s son was obviously Baker Hans. Frode had already understood that much. The remote village had to be Dorf, and the boy whose mother had died – it couldn’t be anyone but Albert.

Then Baker Hans had missed two of the Threes, but if I read the sentences of the other Threes together with the Twos’ sentences, there was another clear relationship.

‘The sailor marries beautiful woman who gives birth to a baby boy before she travels to land in the south to find herself. Father and son search for the beautiful woman who can’t find herself. The dwarf with cold hands points the way to remote village and gives the boy from the land in the north a magnifying glass on his journey. The magnifying glass matches chip in goldfish bowl. The goldfish does not give away the island’s secret, but the sticky bun does …’

This was all pretty clear, yet there were some sentences I didn’t understand.

‘The inner box unpacks the outer box at the same time as the outer box unpacks the inner …’ ‘The sticky-bun man shouts down a magic funnel, so his voice carries hundreds of miles …’ ‘The sailor spits out strong drink …’

If the last sentence meant that Dad would stop drinking every single night, I would be greatly impressed with him and the old prophecy.

The problem was that Baker Hans had heard only forty-two of the cards’ sentences. He had found it particularly difficult to concentrate towards the end, which wasn’t surprising, because the more the Joker Game progressed, the more distant it was from his own time. All this must have been veiled speech for Frode and Baker Hans, and that is always more difficult to remember than clear speech.

The old prophecy would be veiled speech for most people today, too. I was the only one who knew who the dwarf with the cold fingers was, I was the only one who had access to the magnifying glass, and nobody else would understand what was meant by the sticky bun giving away the island’s secrets.

Still, I was annoyed that Baker Hans hadn’t heard all the sentences, because now, due to his lack of concentration, a great deal of the prophecy would remain a hidden treasure for ever, and it was that exact part which concerned me and Dad. I was sure that one of the dwarfs had said something about us meeting Mama, and her wanting to return home to Norway with us …

While I sat flicking through the sticky-bun book, out of the corner of my eye I saw a little figure peeping out from behind a newspaper stand. At first I thought it was a child who was having fun spying on me because I was sitting on my own, but then I realized that it was the little man from the garage. He appeared only for a moment and then he was gone.

I was stiff with fear for a few seconds, but then I started to think: why was I so frightened of the dwarf? It was obvious he was following me, but there had been no indication that he wanted to harm me.

Maybe he knew about the secret of the magic island, too. Yes, maybe he had given me the magnifying glass and sent me to Dorf just so I could read about it. In which case it wasn’t so odd that he wanted to see how I was doing. Literature like that wasn’t easy to find.

I remembered that Dad had jokingly said that the dwarf was an artificial person who had been made by a Jewish sorcerer hundreds of years ago. Of course, he had only been joking, but if it was true, then maybe he had known Albert and Baker Hans.

I wasn’t able to think or read any further, because Dad came running across the plaza toward me. He was a good head taller than everyone else. I hurriedly hid the sticky-bun book in my pocket.

‘Was I long?’ he asked breathlessly.

I shook my head.

I had already decided to keep quiet about the dwarf. The fact that a little man was shuffling around Europe like us was nothing compared to what I had read in the sticky-bun book.

‘What have you been up to?’ Dad continued.

I showed him the cards and told him I had been playing solitaire.

At this point the waiter appeared and wanted his money for the last fizzy drink I had ordered.

‘That’s very small!’ he said.

Dad shook his head in confusion.

Of course, I knew the waiter was referring to the sticky-bun book, and I was afraid I’d be exposed. Therefore, I pulled out the magnifying glass, held it up in front of the waiter, and said, ‘It’s very clever.’

‘Yes, yes!’ he said. In this way I managed to avoid an embarrassing situation.

When we left the café, I explained: ‘I was examining the playing cards to see whether there was more on them than the naked eye could see.’

‘And what was the result?’ Dad asked.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ I said secretively.

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Дата добавления: 2015-10-28