JACK OF HEARTS

… a little man rummaging
around in the back seat …

N othing was said about Grandpa as we drove north the next morning until Mama declared that this idea about the baker in Dorf was just about as much as she could tolerate of boyish pranks.

Dad gave the impression that he didn’t believe any more than Mama did about the baker in Dorf, but nevertheless he defended me now, and I appreciated it greatly.

‘We’ll drive the same way home,’ he said, ‘and we’ll buy a big bag of buns in Dorf. At least we’ll be nice and full. And as far as boyish pranks go, you must admit that you have been spared this for many years.’

Mama put her arm over his shoulder and said, ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Careful now,’ he murmured. ‘I’m driving.’

So she turned to me instead. ‘I’m sorry, Hans Thomas. But please don’t be too disappointed if this baker doesn’t know any more about Grandpa than we do.’

The bun feast would have to wait until we reached Dorf much later that evening, but we needed to eat something in the meantime. Later that afternoon Dad pulled into Bellinzona and parked in a back alley between two restaurants.

While we ate pasta and roast veal, I made my biggest mistake of the whole trip: I started to tell them about the sticky-bun book.

Perhaps it was because I couldn’t keep the great secret that it all happened …

I began by telling them I had found a tiny book with microscopic writing in one of the sticky buns I had been given by the old baker. Therefore, it had been perfect that I’d already received a magnifying glass from the dwarf at the garage. Then I told them roughly what the sticky-bun book was about.

I have asked myself many times since then how I could have been so stupid as to break the formal promise I had given the old baker, when we were only a few hours from Dorf. I think I know the answer now: I so much wanted it to be Grandpa I had met in the little Alpine village – and I really wanted Mama to believe it, too. However, I just ended up making everything much more difficult.

Mama glanced at Dad before returning her attention to me. ‘It’s good that you have a lively imagination. But the imagination must have limits as well.’

‘Didn’t you tell me something like this on the roof terrace in Athens?’ Dad piped up. ‘I remember I was envious of your imagination – but I have to agree with Mama that all this about the sticky-bun book is stretching things pretty far.’

I don’t know why exactly, but I started to cry. I felt as though I had carried so much on my own, and now that I had spilled the beans to Mama and Dad, they didn’t believe me.

‘Just wait,’ I sniffed. ‘Just wait until we get back to the car. Then I will show you the sticky-bun book, even though I promised Grandpa to keep it a secret.’

Dinner was finished at top speed, and I hoped that Dad would at least keep an open mind to the possibility that I might be telling the truth.

Dad left a hundred Swiss franc note on the table, and then we rushed out into the street without waiting for the change.

As we approached the car, we saw a little man rummaging around in the back seat. It is a mystery to this day how he managed to open the car door.

‘Hey, you!’ shouted Dad. ‘Stop!’

With that, he ran at full speed over to the red Fiat. However, the man who had been half inside the car dashed out onto the street and hurried around the next corner. I could have sworn I heard the sound of bells as he disappeared.

Dad followed; he wasn’t a bad runner. Mama and I stood by the Fiat and waited almost half an hour before he came lumbering round the same corner he had taken at furious speed.

‘As if he sank into the ground,’ he said. ‘The devil!’

We started to check the luggage.

‘I’m not missing anything,’ Mama said after a while.

‘Neither am I,’ said Dad with one hand inside the glove compartment. ‘Here’s my driving licence, our passports, my wallet and my chequebook. He’s even left the jokers. Maybe he was just after a drink.’

They both got inside the car, and Dad let me into the back seat.

I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, because I remembered I had only hidden the sticky-bun book under a sweater. Now it was gone!

‘The sticky-bun book,’ I said. ‘He’s taken the sticky-bun book!’

I broke down again.

‘It was the dwarf,’ I sobbed. ‘The dwarf stole the sticky-bun book because I couldn’t keep the secret.’

It ended with Mama joining me in the back seat and sitting for a long while with her arm around me.

‘Poor little Hans Thomas,’ she said over and over again. ‘It’s all my fault. We’ll go back to Arendal, but first I think you should try and get some sleep.’

I sat bolt upright. ‘But we are driving to Dorf?’

Dad swung onto the highway.

‘Of course we’re going to Dorf,’ he assured me. ‘A sailor always keeps his word.’

Just before I fell asleep, I heard Dad whisper to Mama, ‘It was a bit strange. All the doors were locked, and you have to admit he was a little guy.’

‘That fool can probably move through locked doors,’ I said. ‘And that’s because he is an artificial person.’

Then I fell asleep in Mama’s lap.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-28