It was the strangest assemblage of animal parts she'd ever seen in her life. Flippers like on that dolphin – Flipper? - the boys watched on TV wiped tears from heavy-lidded cow eyes. He had big elephant ears and chubby round cheeks. From the back, though, he was all turtle, with a shell and wrinkled knees. And maybe it was her imagination, but a shock of wild black curls waved in the sea breezes on top of his head as he let out long, deep sighs.
“Avery? Mock Turtle?” Marcia shook his leathery shoulder with her puckered look of disgust. “Come on, buddy. You know it's all in your head. You don't have any problems.”
“Maybe he does!” Bill threw a paw around him. “I'd tell you my problems, and boy, do we have some problems! You know, the Red King is really on the warpath...” That only set him off sighing and sobbing again.
Adam went to his other side, looking a bit worried. “What's wrong, sir?”
Yes...somehow, that strange assemblage did look a bit like Avery Schriber, the cute but very strange comic with the wild curls and thick mustache who sometimes sat next to her on the show. “Sit down,” he wailed through the sobs, “and I'll tell all of you my story.”
“Once,” he wailed, waving his flippers in dramatic fashion, “I was a real turtle.” Brett wondered if the long pause of sobbing and wailing was for effect, or because he just wanted to be a drama queen. It seemed like an eternity before he finally finished crying and continued. “I went to school at the bottom of the sea. There was an old turtle we called Tortoise...”
David raised his hand. “Why did you call him a tortoise if he wasn't one?”
“We called him Tortoise,” said Avery, wrinkling his bushy mustache in annoyance, “because he taught us. Really, little boy, you must be very dull.”
Brett grabbed David’s hand before he could protest another adult calling him a kid. “Please continue, Mr. Turtle.”
“Yes, we went to school in the sea,” he continued, sobbing a bit less now, “and you may not believe it...”
“We never said we didn't!” Adam interrupted. His brother nudged him this time.
“We had the best education,” the Mock Turtle continued between great gulps, “and we went to school every day...”
“Hey man,” Adam grumbled, “we go to school everyday! It's not that big of a deal.”
“Speak for yourself, pipsqueak,” David sniffed. “Some of us will be going to college in a few weeks.”
“Boys,” Brett scolded, “hush. Let the...turtle...speak.”
The Turtle raised one bushy eyebrow. “With extras, kids?”
“Well, yeah.” Adam shrugged. “I took Spanish and drama and edited the school paper...”
“And I was on the basketball team!” David added proudly. “I was the center. Even got to make a few baskets.”
“Did you take washing?” The Turtle whimpered anxiously.
“Um, no.” David shook his head as his brother made a face. “We didn't need to. Humans sorta come knowing about washing.”
“Then your schools weren't that great,” the Turtle moaned with a sigh of relief. “See, we took Spanish, drama, sports, and washing – extra.”
“Yeah,” Adam added, “but you're a turtle! You wouldn't need to learn that!”
The Turtle shrugged heavily. “We couldn't afford the extras. I only took the regular course.”
Brett raised an eyebrow. “Which was?”
“Reeling and writhing, of course,” he explained as those great eyebrows waggled up and down, “and uglification and ambition and distraction and derision. There was mystery, ancient and modern, and Seography.”
“Lovely things to learn,” Brett muttered.
“What's Uglification?” David asked.
“You've heard of beautifying things, making them prettier?” The White Rabbit started. “Well, uglifying is the opposite. You make them uglier. Considering what some of the animals under the sea look like, it's a very popular class down there. Every fish and eel always takes it, and some take two courses, I've been told.”
The Mock Turtle burst into tears again! “Don't remind me! Oh, how I miss it so! But I miss Drawling most of all. We had a wonderful Drawling teacher, an old eel who taught us Stretching and Fainting in Coils.”
“Sounds like fun,” Brett went on quickly. “You know, with all those classes, how long were you in school?”
“You see,” whimpered the Mock Turtle, “we took classes for ten hours the first day, nine hours the second, eight the third, and so on, until we only had one hour at the end of the week.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Never heard it done that way, man.”
“Can we go to your school?” Adam added with a big impish grin.
“I'm afraid it's only for sea creatures,” the Turtle admitted ruefully. “Of course,” he added, “we didn't just learn. We played games, too, like the Lobster Quadrille.”
“Oh, I love that one!” Marcia grinned. “Teach 'em that one, Turtle! Bill,” she shoved the White Rabbit out from behind the boys, “you know it, too. You used to live down by the water with your warren.”
The Mock Turtle sobbed while Bill's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. Brett sighed as the rest of them waited for the Turtle to recover again and Bill to find what little wits he had.
“Mooom,” Adam whispered, “how long is he gonna keep crying? He sounds like he has a bone in his throat.”
“Hopefully not for long,” his mother muttered back. “I guess he led a very...full...life.”
“Now,” the Turtle sniffled once he got a hold of himself, “you may not have lived in the sea...”
“We haven't,” Brett muttered.
“And you may not have met a lobster...”
Adam started to mention they'd eaten lobsters when they visited their mother's family in Maine, but Brett elbowed him. “Um, we haven't,” she said quickly.
“So you have no idea how much fun a Lobster Quadrille can be!” The Mock Turtle managed to roll to his feet. “First, you have to form a line along the seashore...”
“Two lines!” Bill added, grabbing Marcia's arm and swinging her around.
“Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on,” The Mock Turtle added, swinging around them. “Come on, let's show you!” He grabbed Brett and twirled her around. “This is easier with a lobster as a partner, miss, but I think you'll do all right. Come on,” he said, “I'll even teach you the song!”
He dragged her on a rock as the others gathered. “Ok, everyone follow along with me,” he announced, wiping his eyes again. “This starts slow, but I assume you'll pick it up after a few tries. With that, he sang sadly and slowly. “Will you walk a little faster, said a whiting to a snail...”
She laughed as they all danced around the beach, slow and gentle at first. Soon, the song picked up in tempo. By the end of the number, they were all swinging each other around and weaving between each other like a fishy square dance.
These folks may be weird and temperamental, Brett decided, but they sure knew how to have a good time. The Mock Turtle even tossed her right out to the edge of the shore at one point! She hadn't felt so good since she and Charles went bar crawling and she got propositioned by four sailors who didn't know her real age.
“That was great, Mom!” David said as they all fell on the beach, out of breath. “Mr. Mock Turtle, you were really groovy!”
“I don't know what grooves have to do with anything,” sniffled the Mock Turtle, “but I am glad you enjoyed it. Now, tell us about your adventures.”
“Well,” Brett sighed, “we'll try to explain what we've been through today. It's no use going to yesterday. I was a different person then.”
Brett winced as the two animals hemmed her and the boys in. Even with their bug eyes staring at her, she did her best to explain how they ended up in Wonderland. They seemed especially impressed with all the rhymes Nipsey the Caterpillar came up with.
“I know a rhyme like his,” the Turtle gulped as he wiped his eyes again. “Only slower. And it's more like a song.”
“Well then,” Marcia grumbled, “let's hear it, before you flood the place with all that blubbering again.”
Brett's ears perked up as he sang. Something about “Beautiful soup, soup of the evening, beautiful sooupp...” It was as sorrowful as everything else he brought up, but it had a nice melody. It was actually rather soothing, listening to his song between sobs, with David drowsing on her shoulder and Adam in her lap. He hadn't cuddled in her lap since he was little.
“That was glorious!” The White Rabbit sobbed when he finished. “Do it again!”
They were spared another round of wailing and crying by the hasty arrival of Dickie's oldest son Mark. “Miss Brett! Duchess! Come quick!” he gasped, his blue eyes glittering with tears. “Dad...Dad's in trouble. The Queen put him on trial. She thinks he stole King Allen's tarts!”
“What?” Duchess Marcia rolled her eyes as she brushed sand off her black gown. “The White Knight's not a thief. He's never stolen anything worse than a kiss from a damsel in distress.”
Brett made a face. “Everyone's been sneaking those things all afternoon. I saw the Knave grab a bunch before we left. Somebody probably ate them when Dickie's back was turned.”
“It's the Red King, Miss.” Mark looked like he might cry harder than the Mock Turtle. “He told Queen Betty Dad stole the tarts. He didn't, Miss! Dad wouldn't! Honest!”
“We know, kiddo.” Marcia already started up the rocky hill. “Come on. Let's find out what the Red King's up to this time.”
Adam turned to the Mock Turtle. “Are you coming with us, sir?”
“That's all right, young man.” The Turtle sniffled and waved a flipper. “I'm not much for trials. I'll stay here with my memories.”
They left him bawling on the shore and followed Mark back over the rocky beach and into the garden. Brett put an arm around him. David went to his other side. “Where's your little brother, sweetness?” she asked gently.
“My brother said he'd hide. I don't know where.” Mark gulped and tried not to look too upset. “He didn't want the Red King's men to take him away, like he did Dad's men. He took them to his lands. They're not in the dungeon anymore.”
Brett's face tightened. “He took those poor boys away? All they did was paint roses the wrong color!”
“He doesn't care about that.” Duchess Marcia grumbled. “He'll either take their muchness – what lets them walk and talk – or zap their minds and make them into mindless drones, like the Red Knight.” The White Rabbit clutched her arm and muttered a mile a minute.
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