Chapter 9 Chapter Nine Mekki Sedec

The third of the three friends was Lottie.She is a little one.Not knowing what adversity is, seeing the changes in her little "foster mother" puzzled her greatly.She had heard rumors that something unexpected had happened to Sara, but she could not understand why she had changed—why she had put on an old black dress and was in the classroom just to teach instead of sitting on her. Listen to the lectures by yourself in that honorable seat.When the little ones found out that Sara no longer lived in the rooms in which Emily had been sitting pompously, they whispered to each other.The most difficult thing for Lottie was how little Sara said when she was asked questions.To a seven-year-old child, mysterious things must be explained clearly in order for her to understand.

"Sarah, are you poor now?" Lottie asked quietly on a morning when her friend was teaching French to the little ones. "Are you poor like a beggar?" She thrust a fat hand into Sarah. In the thin hands, a pair of tearful eyes were opened. "I don't want you to be poor like a beggar." She looked like she was about to cry, and Sarah hurried to comfort her. "Beggars have no place to live," said Sarah courageously, "but I have a place to live." "Where do you live?" Lottie pressed. "The new girl is sleeping in your room, and that room isn't so pretty anymore."

"I live in another room," Sarah said. "Is it a nice room?" asked Lottie. "I'm going to have a look." "Stop talking," Sarah said. "Miss Minchin is looking at us. Tell you to whisper and she'll be mad at me." Sara has long since found herself responsible for everything she should have done wrong.If the children were not paying attention, if they were whispering, if they were restless, then it was she who was to blame. But Lottie was a determined little fellow.If Sara didn't tell her where she lived, she'd find other ways to find it.She talked to the little mates, followed the big girls, listened to their gossip, acted on the information they let slip, and so started prowling one evening, up the stairs she never knew existed, into the attic that layer.She found two doors close together, opened one of them, and saw Sarah, whom she loved, standing on an old table, looking out of the window.

"Sarah!" she cried, stunned. "Mother Sara!" She was struck by how empty and ugly the attic seemed, far out of this world.Her short legs seemed to have climbed hundreds of stairs. Sarah heard her voice and turned around.This time it was her turn to be stunned.What would happen now? If Lottie started crying and happened to be overheard, it would be unlucky for them both.She jumped off the table and ran to Lottie. "Don't cry, don't make a sound," she begged, "or I'll get scolded, and I've had enough scolded all day. This--this room isn't too bad, Lottie."

"Not bad?" gasped Lottie, biting her lip and looking around.She is still a spoiled child right now, but for the sake of her adoptive mother whom she loves deeply, she tries hard to control herself.That said, any place Sarah lives in has the potential to be a good place for whatever reason. "Why isn't it too bad, Sarah?" the voice was almost a whisper. Sarah hugged her tightly, trying to laugh.The warmth emanating from this fat and childish body gave people a kind of comfort.She had had a rough day and had been gazing out the window eagerly. "You can see all kinds of things that you wouldn't see downstairs," she said.

"What kind of things?" asked Lottie curiously, which Sara always aroused even in the older girls. "Those chimneys--near us--smoke wreathed and rose like garlands and clouds, up into the sky--and the sparrows hopped about, like men talking to each other--and the other attics At any moment, someone’s head might pop out of the window, and you can wonder who’s looking. You feel like it’s all over there—like another world.” "Oh, let me see," cried Lottie. "Hold me up!" Sarah lifted her up, and they stood together on the old table, leaning against the edge of the skylight in the roof and looking out.

Those who have never seen it in this way do not know what the different world they see is like.On either side of them the roof of slate tiles sloped down to the gutters of the eaves.The sparrows made their nests there, chirping and jumping, fearless.Two of them, perched on the top of the nearest chimney, quarreled furiously until one pecked the other away.The adjoining attic window was closed because the house next door was unoccupied. "I wish someone lived there," Sarah said. "It's so close, if there's a little girl in that attic, we can stick our heads out the window and talk, and we can crawl over to meet each other, if we're not afraid of falling."

Lottie was fascinated by the fact that the sky seemed much closer than it seemed from the street.From the attic window through the chimneypipes, what was going on in the world below seemed almost unreal.It was hard to believe that there were Miss Minchin, Miss Amelia, and the classroom, and the rumble of the wheels in the yard seemed to belong to another world. "Sarah!" cried Lottie, nestling in Sarah's guarding arms. "I like the attic--I like it! It's better here than downstairs!" "Look at that sparrow," whispered Sarah. "If only I could throw some crumbs at it."

"I've got some!" put in Lottie sharply. "I've got a crumb in my pocket, which I bought yesterday with my own money, and I've saved a little." No sooner had they thrown some crumbs than the sparrow jumped up and flew to the top of the next chimney.It was clearly not used to close friends in the attic, and was startled by the unexpected appearance of crumbs.But then Lottie kept absolute silence, and Sarah imitated the bird's chirp very softly--as if she herself were quite a sparrow--and the sparrow saw that the thing which had startled it just now was Treat it to a treat.It turned its head on one side, blinking down at the crumbs from its perch on the chimney.Lottie could hardly keep still.

"Will it come down? Will it come down?" she whispered. "It looks like it's about to come down," Sara also whispered back. "It is thinking over and over again whether it dares to come down. Yes, it is going to come down! Yes, it is coming down!" It flew down and jumped at the crumbs, but stopped inches away and turned its head to the side again, as if considering whether Sara and Lottie would suddenly turn into two big cats and come at him.At last his narrow eyes told him that they were more friendly than they seemed, so he jumped closer and closer, rushed to the largest piece, pecked at it, caught it, and flew to the other side of the chimney. go to one side.

"Now it knows," Sara said. "It'll come back for other crumbs." He did come back, and brought a friend with him, and the friend flew away, and brought a relative back, and they ate together, chirping loudly, and stopping now and then to turn their heads to one side to watch Lottie and Sarah. pull.Lottie was so happy that she completely forgot the terrible impression the attic had made on her at first.In fact, when she was carried off the table and returned to reality as it had been, Sara was able to point out to her many beauties in the interior that she herself had not expected. "This attic is so small and so high above everything," said Sarah, "almost like a bird's nest in a tree. What an interesting sloping ceiling, see, this end of the room is so low you can hardly stand up straight. When the morning light comes, I can lie in bed and look up at the sky through the roof skylight. The sky is like a pool of light in all directions. If the sun is about to come out, there are small pink clouds floating in the sky, I feel almost touchable To them, if it rains, the raindrops make a tick-tick-tick sound, as if telling some good story. Besides, if there are stars appearing, you can lie down and try to count how many of them enter the square window. It can hold a lot. And look at that little rusty fireplace in the corner. Imagine how nice it would be if it were polished and lit again. Look, it's a beautiful little room. .” She held Lottie's hand, and was pacing about the little place, gesturing to describe all the good things she saw.She made Lottie actually see them too.Lottie had always been able to believe everything Sarah described. "You see," said Sara, "the floor here could be covered with a thick soft blue Indian rug, and in that corner there could be a soft little sofa with some cushions for you to curl up on and rest on, There could be a bookshelf full of books right in front of the sofa so they are within easy reach, a fur rug in front of the fireplace, a curtain on the wall to hide the white stucco, and pictures, they must be Small, but it should be beautiful, and there could be a lamp, with a dark rose shade, and a table in the center of the room, with a tea set on it, and a small round brass kettle sizzling on the mantelpiece. Squeaking. The beds could be quite different from what they are now, made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet, all beautiful. Maybe we could induce the sparrows to befriend us and they would come and peck window, ask to come in." "Oh, Sarah!" cried Lottie, "I love living here!" Sarah persuaded her to go downstairs, sent her away, and went back to the attic by herself.Stand in the middle of the room and look around.All the charm her imagination had cast on Lottie was gone.The beds were hard and covered with dirty, torn quilts.The whitewashed walls showed patches of lost plaster, the floor was cold and bare, the iron grating of the fireplace was broken and rusted, and the footstool was broken and tilted sideways, the only one in the room. seat.She sat on it for a few minutes, her head bowed on her hands.The fact that Lottie came and went made the situation seem a little worse--perhaps like a prisoner feels lonelier after his visitors come and leave them. "It's a lonely place," she said. "Sometimes it's the loneliest place in the world." As she sat like this, a slight sound nearby caught her attention.She looked up to see where it was coming from.If she was an excitable child, she would leave the old footstool in a hurry.It turned out that a big mouse was squatting on its hind legs, sniffing the air vigorously for something.Some of Lottie's crumbs fell on the floor, and the scent lured her out of her den. It looked so queer, like a gray-bearded dwarf or an earth god, that Sarah could not help being fascinated.It looked at her with shining eyes, as if asking a question.It was so obviously bewildering that a childish whimsy entered Sarah's mind. "I daresay being a mouse is tough," she mused. "Nobody likes you. People will jump up and run away, exclaiming 'Oops, what a horrible rat!' I don't like people seeing me and jumping up and exclaiming 'Oops, what a horrible Sarah!' and setting me up It's a good meal under the pretext that it's a good meal. It's very different from being a sparrow. But when the Creator created this mouse, no one asked if it would like to be a mouse. No one said 'wouldn't you rather be a sparrow? '" She sat still, and the mouse began to gather courage.He was terrified of her, but maybe he had a heart like a sparrow that told him Sarah was not one to pounce on.It's very hungry.It has a wife and a large family in the walls, and they've had really bad luck for a few days.Leaving the weeping children behind, feeling that it was going to be a big risk anyway to find some crumbs, it carefully lowered its forefeet. "Come on," said Sarah, "I'm not a mousetrap. You can eat these, poor things! The prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with mice. Shall I make friends with you?" I don't know how animals understand things, but they certainly do.Perhaps there is a language that is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.Perhaps there is a soul hidden in all things, which can speak to another soul without making a sound.But, whatever the reason, the rat knew from that moment that he was safe--even if it was a rat.He knew that the young man on the red footstool would not jump up and frighten it with frantic screams, or throw something heavy at it that, if it did not fall and smash it, would He limped and fled back to the cave in a hurry.It's a really good mouse, and it's not at all dangerous.As he stood on his hind legs sniffing the air and gazing brightly at Sarah, he hoped she would understand the situation and not start hating him like an enemy.The mysterious language that spoke no words told it that Sarah would not hate it, and it crept up to the crumbs and began to eat.It looked at Sarah from time to time as he ate, just like those sparrows, and his deeply guilty expression touched Sarah's heart. She sat motionless watching it.One of the crumbs was particularly large - not really a crumb anymore.Clearly he wanted the piece, but it was so close to the footstool that he was still a little on the fence. "I believe it wants to take it home in the walls," Sarah thought. "If I don't move, maybe it will come and take it away." She was so interested that she held her breath and watched.The mouse moved a few steps forward, ate a few more crumbs, then stopped, sniffed lightly, glanced sideways at the occupant of the footstool, and darted towards the crumb with the sudden, sudden movement of a sparrow. As soon as he caught it, he turned and fled towards the wall, slipped into a crack in the skirting board, and was gone. "I know he wants that piece of bread for his kids," Sarah said. "I fully believe in being able to make friends with it." A week or so later, on one rare night, Ermengarde found an opportunity to slip safely into the attic, and knocked lightly on the door with the tip of her finger, and for two or three minutes Sarah did not answer it.The room was really quiet at first, and Ermengarde wondered if she was fast asleep.Then, to her surprise, she heard Sara laughing lowly, coaxing someone. "There!" Ermengarde heard her say. "Take it home, Mechsedek! Go home to your wife!" Almost immediately Sarah opened the door, and immediately found Ermengarde standing on the threshold with wide-eyed horror. "Who—who are you talking to, Sarah?" she gasped. Sara drew her carefully into the room, but it looked as though something was amused and amused about her. "You have to promise not to panic—don't scream, or I won't tell you," she replied. Ermengarde felt on the verge of shouting, but managed to control himself.She looked around the interior of the attic, but saw no one.But Sarah was indeed talking to someone just now.She thought about ghosts. "Is that—something that frightens me?" she asked anxiously. "Some people are afraid of them," Sarah said. "I was scared at first - not anymore." "Is it—a ghost?" Ermengarde shuddered. "No," Sara said with a smile. "That's my mouse." Ermengarde threw himself into the middle of the dirty little bed.She tucked her feet into her nightgown and red shawl.She didn't scream, but was gasping for breath. "Ouch! Ooh!" cried Ermengarde in a low voice. "A mouse! A mouse!" "I was afraid I'd frighten you," said Sarah, "but you needn't be. I've tamed him. He's practically familiar with me, and he comes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to see?" to it?" The truth is, as the days went by, and the scraps brought upstairs from the kitchen helped Sara develop this strange friendship, she gradually forgot that the timid little creature she had come to know was nothing more than a mouse . At first Ermengarde curled up on the bed in horror and wrapped his feet up, but after seeing the calm expression on Sarah's face and hearing about the first appearance of Mechsedek, Curiosity finally piqued, and she leaned forward on the edge of the bed, watching Sarah go to the hole in the skirting board and kneel. "Would it—wouldn't it be quick to come out and jump on the bed?" she said. "No," Sarah replied. "It's as polite as we are. It's almost human. Look!" She began to whistle a low whistle--a voice so faint, so seductive, that it could only be heard in absolute silence.She blew several times with all her attention.Ermengarde thought she was bewitching.A mouse with a gray beard and bright eyes finally stuck its head out of the hole in response.Sarah already had some bread crumbs in her hands.She threw it on the ground, and the Melchizedek came up to eat it quietly.It grabbed the largest piece in its mouth and solemnly brought it back to its home. "You know," Sarah said, "that's for his wife and children. He's very kind. He only eats small pieces. When he comes back, I can always hear his family squealing with joy." Squeaks. There are three squeaks. One from the children, one from Mrs. Melchizedek, and one from Melchizedek himself." Ermengarde laughed. "Oh, Sarah!" she said. "You're queer—but you're nice." "I know I'm weird," Sara admitted cheerfully, "As for saying yes, then I'll try my best." She wiped her forehead with her little brown hand, and there was a slightly embarrassing but gentle expression on her face . "Daddy always makes fun of me," she said, "but I like that. He thinks I'm weird, but he likes me making up stories. I—I can't help it. Otherwise, I'm sure I wouldn't live." She paused Yes, look around the attic. "I'm sure I can't live here," she added in a low voice. Ermengarde was interested, as she always was. "When you're talking," she said, "it seems to get more and more real the more you listen. You talk about mekisedek as if it were a person." "It's personal," Sarah said. "It's hungry, it's scared, just like us, and it's married and has kids. How do we know it doesn't think things the way we do? Its eyes look like it's human. Because That's why I gave it a name." Sarah sat down on the floor and hugged her knees, which was her favorite position. "Besides," she said, "he's a Bastille rat, and he's come to be my friend. I always get a little bread thrown away by the cook, and that's enough to feed him." "Is this still the Bastille?" Ermengarde asked urgently. "Do you always pretend this is the Bastille?" "Almost always," Sarah answered. "Sometimes I want to pretend it's a different kind of place, but it's usually the easiest place to pretend it's the Bastille — especially when it's cold." At this moment Ermengarde almost jumped out of bed.She was startled by what she heard, like two distinct knocks on the wall. "What's that?" she yelled. Sara got up from the floor and answered in a completely theatrical way: "That's the prisoner in the cell next door." "Becky," cried Ermengarde ecstatically. "Yes," Sarah said. "Listen, two taps mean 'Prisoner, are you there?'" Sarah tapped three times on the wall and seemed to answer. "It means 'yes, I'm here and everything is fine.'" From Becky came four knocks on the wall. "That means," cried Sarah, "'then, fellow sufferer, let us sleep in peace. Good night.'" Ermengarde smiled. "Oh, Sarah!" she whispered cheerfully, "it's just like a story!" "That's the story," said Sarah. "Everything is a story. You're a story—I'm a story. Ms. Minchin is a story." Sara sat down to talk again, until Ermengarde forgot that she was more or less a fugitive prisoner, and had to be reminded by Sara that she could not stay overnight in the Bastille, but had to sneak back downstairs in silence. , and climbed onto the empty bed she had left behind.