Wise Children by Angela Carter Read Free Book Online Page A

up in the first-floor back while she was resting kept an eye on us while Grandma was gone, she taught us back-flips, we were having a whale of a time until Grandma came back with a face like the wrath of God. ‘You look like you need a cuppa,’ said the acrobatic dancer so they adjourned and we went on back-flipping until we fancied a bit of bread and dripping, which is when, tripping into the breakfast room, we overheard our grandma. ‘He flatly denies it and there’s sod all I can do.’ Neither Nora nor I could make head or tail of that, but both of them picked us up and hugged us. ‘Poor little things!’ And we got double rations, two slices each, and a bit of raspberry jam on it, too.
    That acrobatic dancer upped and married a peer, in the end. It’s a funny old world.
    So life went on, as usual, until, one fine day that self-same year, just a few weeks later, came a knocking at the door.
    Knock, knock; who’s there? And off I stumped to answer it.
    Knock, knock.
    The knocker got a shock.
    A naked child greeted the stranger. Not a scrap on but for the big, blue bow in my brown hair, and a black eyepatch. There was a big scimitar of silver paper in my hand and another child perched on the stairs, the spitting image, not so much a twin, more of an optical illusion, like as two peas except that her ribbon was green and she wore a red flag with the skull and crossbones on it knotted round her shoulders as a cloak. Both of us little girls stared at the newcomer with cold, round eyes: what have we here?
    What an unwelcome! Such an unwelcome that he couldn’t help but laugh.
    Ooh, wasn’t he a handsome young man, in those days. If I find myself describing him in the language of the pulp romance, then you must forgive me – there was always that quality about Perry, especially when he was glorious in his twenties, broad of shoulder, heavy of thigh, with his unruly thatch of burnished copper hair, the lavish spattering of freckles across his nose, laughing green eyes flecked with gold. He wore a scratched, weathered flying jacket with the shoulder flash of the US Flying Corps and his left arm was in a sling. It was our Uncle Peregrine from America but we didn’t know him from Adam.
    When he saw that he was hurting our feelings he smothered his laughter but there was still a delighted little quiver playing around his lips as he dropped down to his knees so that we were all three more equal in height to inspect his new-found nieces more thoroughly. He rummaged in his pocket and produced, not candy, nor pennies, but a pristine white handkerchief which he shook out and displayed to the girls: am I hiding anything?
    We shook our heads. No. We could see that, like ourselves, he hid nothing.
    He knotted the handkerchief and showed it to us again. A simple knot: nothing but a knot.
    We inched closer to him, fascinated.
    Ceremoniously he unknotted his handkerchief and, lo and behold! a white dove flew out, flew twice round the hall, then perched on top of the antlers on the grandfather clock, went: ‘Voo, croo!’ and, to the immense annoyance of our grandma, who just then ascended the basement staircase to find out what was going on, crapped on the carpet. Grandma had got her knickers on, thank God. Then we all went into the kitchen and drank tea and we little lady pirates sat on Peregrine Hazard’s knee and ransacked his pockets in search of more doves, finding none, but a Fuller’s walnut cake, instead, which Grandma accepted with wary politeness. Fuller’s walnut cake has gone the way of all flesh, worse luck, I wouldn’t mind a slice of Fuller’s walnut cake right now. It turned out we were all very partial to Fuller’s walnut cake so we had some slices of that and things eased up a bit, although Peregrine was thoroughly upset and embarrassed by the mission he’d undertaken out of a sense of duty to the brother he’d only just met again.
    And not even so much out of a sense of duty to Melchior as to the dead ones,