The Binkle and the Catawampus Compass (Binkles and Magic) (5 page)

“Touch that. Feels like wood, doesn’t it?”

Jeep reached out and slid his finger over the surface. “Feels like wood. Certainly not plastic. So what is it?”

“What you felt with your finger is the woven essence of thousands of songs. It’s music made solid. Not just songs—but the merriment of the singers, the joy of the dance. All that resides in Arla. She was a gift from King Bedwald after I rescued his daughter from the trolls. That was way, way back, when I was still a young man, I mean gnome. Whenever I play Arla, I feel every bit that young again.”

Chapter 4—

TIME STANDS STILL FOR A WHILE

When Jeep offered to help clean up, but Adah shook her head. “The way I run the house is pretty easy. There’s not much cleaning up involved. The enchanted logs burning in the fireplace provide our light and heat. There’s nothing for me to do about that. And those oil lamps go on or off at a snap of my fingers.”

Adah didn’t cook in the fireplace—or anywhere else. “The special food you like so much is faduki. It looks like a bag of sawdust when it comes ready to eat from fairyland. All I do is add enough water to make it stick together in whatever texture I want. Making pudding or soup uses a lot more water than bread does.

“For something like cookies, I just pat the damp faduki into any size or shape. As you figured out, I don’t need to worry about spices, since everybody tastes the flavors they like. But sometimes I serve nuts or vegetables for a change.”

Water to the cavern came from an underground spring high above them. Adah only had to decide how hot she wanted the water to be in the rock basin. Dirty dishes (or clothes, for that matter) would march themselves through hot, sudsy water, climb onto the drain, +hen spin around until dry (they seemed to like that part), before marching back to where they belonged.

Adah showed Jeep a cabinet where she put garbage. Whatever was placed inside turned to fine dust that blew back out to the upper world through a chimney of some sort. Though he couldn’t see them, Jeep knew there had to be air vents somewhere, since the air was always as fresh and pure as anyone would expect in an enchanted woods.

Like someone sharing a closely guarded secret, Adah whispered, “Here’s how most of the work around here really gets done.” She pointed at an intricately carved wooden basket on the mantle. Jeep couldn’t quite see what was inside, but could tell it was yellow. 

Adah crooned, “Nelda, Nelda, Nelda, Nelda, Nelda...,” like one calls a cat.

Jeep heard a droning hum. Suddenly, the “whatever” in the basket wiggled. He saw a flurry of darting movements. Soon, a finger stuck up from the basket—then another, and another... With a single graceful motion, Adah scooped up the wiggling “whatever” in both hands and rubbed it against her cheek with gentle affection.

“Oh, Nelda, so glad you care to join us. This is Jeep.” Nelda stopped patting Adah’s cheek long enough to wave a single finger in his direction. Friendly or warning, he couldn’t tell.

 “Jeep, meet our Nelda—she’s a hand-over.” He saw a loosely stuffed yellow glove-like shape about the size of a pie.

Adah placed the whatever on the floor, instructing, “Put everything away, Nelda. Then dust and sweep, if you please.”

Nelda buzzed louder than before as it (or she?) and set to work, as she whizzed around the room. Jeep couldn’t take his eyes off the hard-working, nimble hand-over. Sometimes she did somersaults or high leaps to cover the distances quick as a wink. Jeep got the impression she was dancing on her fingers much of the time.

Adah beamed with appreciation. “I’ll bet you’d like a Nelda of your own, wouldn’t you, Jeep? Sorry, but I couldn’t imagine life without her.”

“You’re right. I want a Nelda, who wouldn’t?”

“So, now you know why everyone in fairyland (where Nelda’s kind live) can spend so much time playing.”

~~~

After supper Adah and Grikkl set Jeep down in front of the fireplace. “It’s time to tell you about the powerful energy Grikkl and I rely upon. Tonight you’ll learn about a remarkable force, a force that heals, a force that can resist evil. A force which has immense power—power to make remarkable things, wonderful things happen. You’ll take your first step to learn a well-guarded secret.”

Grikkl announced, “It’s called...,” and he mimicked a trumpet sound, da de da dum de da¼ followed by a long pause. “The binkle!”

“Binkle? What’s a binkle? I’ve never heard of it,” said Jeep.

“Exactly so, Laddie. And that’s a great tragedy. The binkle exists to bring joy, and caring, and energy into people’s lives—and yet its existence is almost unknown among humans. The binkle is the energy that’s created whenever people connect in a special way. You know, that moment when you feel a special closeness to someone. The binkle is the energy that’s created between you. You feel a little click inside. And it makes you want to smile.”

“What does it do?” He asked in frustration. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s not about doing. It’s more about feeling, that sense inside when you know things feel ‘right,’” said Grikkl.

“I know you’ve felt binkles, Jeep—everyone has,” Adah added. “A moment of joy, a moment when everything makes sense—then, you sense a tiny zizz of energy. Like an electric current deep inside. Binkles are tiny, very small and easy to miss. But get enough of them and things begin to change—inside you and around you. Pay attention to the energy you feel—whenever it happens. That’s the first step.”

       “But isn’t that just feeling happy?”

“You begin to see a little. They’re often found together.”

“Happy energy. Like when you sing to me?”

“That’s part of it, but there’s more to it as well. You’ll be able to spot the binkles whenever you sense a zizz that makes you feel more alive. That’s binkle energy.”

“Ohhh...K. You’ve made it all clear now,” said Jeep in a way that indicated exactly the opposite.

~~~

Meanwhile, back at home...

Chris left work mid-afternoon without saying a word to anyone. He didn’t rush as

he cleared the papers off his desk, and as he laid out the project he’d start with in the morning. Then he slipped out the side door without looking back.

He slid into his eight-year-old car and sat for several minutes, clenching and unclenching his hands on the padded steering wheel. After he relaxed enough to face what awaited him, he drove north into the country. He was a man on a mission—a mission that brought him no joy.

Ten minutes later, Chris pulled off the main road into the grounds of a fortress-looking complex. The guard at the gate recognized him and waived him through. He parked and locked his car. Then looking neither left nor right he entered the building.

Chris knew what he came to do. Yet his stiff movements and clenched jaw told even a casual observer that he was having to force himself to go forward. It was the third Wednesday of the month and he was visiting his wife (as he did every first and third Wednesday).

The nurse on duty greeted him. “Oh, Mr. Thompson, your wife’s doing fine today. Her hair’s done differently, so you might want to comment on it.”

He just nodded.

Chris entered an office with “Accounts” painted on the door. The clerk looked up as he dropped quietly into the chair by her desk.

“How much this time?” she asked without any greeting.

“Two hundred-fifty dollars is the best I can do right now.” He handed her a check.

“You’ve fallen behind,” the woman at the desk commented with disapproval. He fidgeted in his chair, like a kid sent to the principal’s office.

“Maybe next month¼,” the very same words he had said to her the month before. She glared at him and gestured for him to leave. What more was there to say?

After leaving the office, Chris marched with resolve through the echoing halls. He stopped just outside his wife’s room and paused long enough to straighten his back and bend his lips into a smile.

Then, like an actor who takes his cue and moves onto the stage, he opened the door and stepped through. “Hello Helen. I’ve missed you.” He walked over to her narrow bed. “Still in bed? No, that won’t do. Here, let me help you into your chair.”

With gentle tenderness, he lifted her from her bundle of blankets and set her down in the padded chair by the window. He stuck a pillow against the side arms to keep her from slipping sideways.

“No roommate yet, I see. That’s too bad,” he said as his eyes fell on the vacant bed against the opposite wall. It was a long time since anyone else shared her room. “I hate you being alone so much. You need company”

He arranged her chair for the best view out the window, even though it just overlooked parked cars. Only then did he bend over to kiss the top of her head, then sit down on the metal folding chair nearby.

“Helen, I had a nice drive over¼” he began. He always told her about Jeep. “He’s doing fine in school—got an A on his biology report, about lizards, I think. It looks like he’ll get his truffle survey done before the snow falls¼”

Early on, Chris had hung up a little bulletin board of photographs that had special meaning for her. Today he added a recent school picture of Jeep.

“Nice looking boy, don’t you think, Helen? Your eyes, your smile.”

The mention of Jeep made him feel guilty. Chris knew he wasn’t much of a father to her son, even though he intended to be. Besides, Jeep was a constant uncomfortable reminder of the woman he loved, but who was so far out of reach anymore. He didn’t dislike the boy, but their relationship was mighty puny—without Helen around to hold them all together.

Chris didn’t have any experience being a dad—not that he had to step into big shoes. Jeep never knew his real father. Helen treated her first husband as a brief presence in her life, so had rarely mentioned him.

Chris brought her up to date about the truffle project—not sparing any of the details. “As soon as that money starts rolling in I’ll get you out of here, Helen. We’ll find the best specialist; they’ll know what to do. And then we’ll be a family again.”

Comments on this and that poured from Chris more to fill the empty silence than anything else. He knew better than to stop talking, because then it would be obvious that the only words spoken were his. He stood up and paced back and forth on the worn tiles as he carried on his impersonation of a conversation.

A while back Chris taped up a poster of a ferry boat above her bed, to act as a reminder of a perfect day. His eyes lingered there now, as he recalled the first time he’d seen her—on the Bayside Ferry. She wore a fuzzy pink sweater over her neatly pressed slacks. Her flowered scarf kept flapping because she faced into the wind the whole time. He and she were the only passengers who didn’t duck into the warm ferry cabin. She stayed outside for the view—and he stayed outside because she did.

Her wide blue eyes never left the shoreline ahead, and he could feel her impatience to get there. “First time to Bigelow Island?” he asked despite his usual bashfulness.

She nodded yes. So he pointed out the well-known landmarks you could see on the shore, and told her bits of the local history. Before the ferry docked, they each felt an easy comfort with the other. Once ashore, the two of them stopped at a local hang-out for scones and hot tea, before they headed their separate ways.

He traced all his happiness back to that one unforgettable day on the ferry.
I had it all, and it’s all been pulled away from me. And I have to act like I can stand it. I have to carry on as though anything matters—which it doesn’t—not anymore.
And although such thoughts kept coming to mind, he couldn’t let on—not to anyone. Not even to himself.

~~~

Chris reluctantly pulled his mind back into the present, back into the gloomy room and a sadness he couldn’t ignore.
This woman is the right size and pretty enough—but she’s not my Helen
,
who’s been gone for too long. This person can’t smile or talk to me. And there’s no reason to think she hears a word I say.

Early on, the doctor told him, “Your wife might be alert sometimes, so don’t do or say anything to upset her.” That’s why he took care to put on a cheerful false face. But each visit left him with greater despair.
Just to be here with you reminds me of how much I’ve lost, how much it hurts inside. It’s been so long… Every time I come you seem further away.

To him she’d always be like her famous namesake—Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. He used to tease her about that, “You’re something special, that’s for sure.”

But it wasn’t her face he found most appealing. He loved her lighthearted energy. Even strangers felt it, without quite knowing why. Chris responded to that quality about her right away—lively, alert, filled with curiosity. Sure, he liked her, but he especially liked how he felt
about himself
whenever they were together.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune when you liked me back, then loved me back, then married me. And truthfully, my life wasn’t that great before then
.

He recalled them eating a pizza about a month after the day on the ferry.
You smiled your sunny grin, our eyes met and I knew—just knew “She’s The One.” And apparently that was precisely when you knew, too. Your love’s the bright spot of my life
.
Our three years together were the happiest I’ve known—that is, until you came here.

Now
¼
Don’t go there
, he reminded himself.
Don’t even think about going there.
But he couldn’t stop remembering back—to the good times.

Chris was fed up with the doctors—irritated, actually. He hated the unemotional way they spoke of Helen’s illness or their predictions about her recovery (“not to be expected”). In the beginning they implied they’d be able to make her better—and then they didn’t.
As far as I can tell you’re no better than
when you came here. They’re just not trying hard enough.

The medical experts treating her used technical terms like “catatonia” or “schizophrenia” that really didn’t explain anything. Even though her illness came on quickly they implied there must have been signs—if anybody had been noticing.