Rainbow's End - Wizard (14 page)

They were both quiet for
some time, but when a particularly raucous finch started screeching and squawking in the branches above them, Izzy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and made a sound like a kitten, covering his face with opened hands.

‘Have you been visiting Orson, Mr. Izzy?’ Thomas asked.
The question was so devoid of guile, it caused Izzy to cast a suspicious glare at the boy. Thomas was sitting on his hands and swinging his feet - his gaze angelically innocent and directed at some far away thing. The skinny old Traveller made the kittenish sound again and whispered, ‘Izzy, not
Mr.
Izzy. He seemed to gather his strength and then said, in a voice that was a sob.

‘
It happens every time… I never learn… Bloody Orson and that bloody dog.’ He got up from the bench and stumbled to the water’s edge, fell to his knees and dunked his head under for several seconds. When he came up, he blew like a beached whale, then made a cup of his hands and drank greedily. And then just stood on hands and knees - head hanging and running water in little streams.

A minute later, he shook himself like a wet dog and staggered to his feet,
then tottered back to his place on the bench; where he sat combing his thinning wet hair with slender, well-manicured fingers, all the time muttering and moaning under his breath.

Thomas gave him another minute
or two, and when Izzy seemed to moan less and open his eyes more, asked, ‘Mr. Izzy?’

‘Mmmh?’

‘Why do you stay on the Earth?’

‘What?’

‘You
are
a Traveller?’ Izzy nodded. ‘Then why do you live on the Earth,’ Thomas asked, ‘when you could be staying here - on Rainbow’s End?’

‘Fell in love…’ Izzy muttered.

‘I’m sorry…?’ Thomas said, not at all sure he’d heard right, and Izzy looked at him with gentle, albeit bloodshot eyes.

‘I fell in love, Thomas,’ he said
, with a sad smile. ‘I fell in love with a woman who wanted children of her own and I had to choose. Rainbow’s End or her… I chose her.’

He
took a deep breath and seemed to gather his thoughts, then continued: ‘I was thirteen when Orson brought me back to Rainbow’s End; he was thirty. My parents and I had been in a car accident. A very bad one… They were both killed on impact and I… Well, I was very badly hurt. Orson pulled me from the wreck and brought me back here. If he hadn’t, I would have died as well.

‘
I was fourteen when I started Travelling, and was supposed to take over from Orson when he went over. It didn’t work out that way.’ He looked at Thomas. The boy was listening, seemingly spellbound, and Izzy continued once more. 

‘On one of my Travel
s - I had just turned twenty-nine - I met a girl called Deborah. She was Scottish and the most beautiful thing in the world, and I fell head over heels in love with her… And she with me.’ Izzy pushed his fingers through his thinning hair again and smiled wryly. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said.

‘She was prepared to come live with me
at Rainbow’s End - I wouldn’t have been the first Traveller with a wife. She even came here with me once, and we had a wonderful time… And then Deborah found out that women at Rainbow’s End could not have children. She so badly wanted little ones of her own…’ He fell morosely quiet for some time, eyes turned misty with recall; then, ‘She had me choose,’ he shrugged, ‘and the rest is history. We went back to the Earth, to live, and I ran Rainbow’s End’s finances from there… Still do, and very well, if I have to say so myself.’ A little laugh. ‘There is a downside of course,’ he said and Thomas waited. ‘If I had stayed.’ Izzy said, ‘I would still be seventeen years younger than Orson. As it is, I’m three years older.’

Izzy saw
scepticism on the boy’s face. He explained. ‘The three or four days a month I spend at Rainbow’s End rejuvenate me Thomas. I don’t look it, but I am seventy years old. Orson is sixty-seven.’ He laughed. ‘Eleven years younger than John - his twin.’ Thomas looked the other way, politely, but not before Izzy saw the look on his face. It hurt, but he couldn’t help but laugh again.

He said,
‘Orson came to Rainbow’s End when he was just ten years old, Thomas. He had just turned twenty-one when he fetched John. But while Orson had aged eleven years on Rainbow’s End; John had aged twenty-two on the Earth, and so, was thirty-two. It takes a bit of arithmetic, but it’s simple really.’

He
was quiet for a minute, and then said, ‘My doctors say I have the stamina - and the organs, of a forty-year old.’ He gave an Orsonish cackle and jabbed Thomas in his side with an elbow. And spoke with a put-on Scott’s accent, ‘It’s a pity about me face, right?’

They
both laughed and then enjoyed the day in silence for a while, before Thomas asked, ‘How many children
do
you have, Izzy?’

‘More than
two hundred,’ the thin old man replied, matter of fact. And gave a long, hearty laugh at the boy’s shocked expression. (He liked laughing, Izzy did). ‘Do yourself a favour Thomas,’ he said. ‘Never play poker. Your face will bankrupt you. It’s too much of an open book.’

He looked at the still water
of the pool again and said, ‘I fund - through Rainbow’s End - fifteen orphanages back on the Earth, Thomas. Most of the children in them are from here; or have been here. They feel like my own and I like to think of them as my own.’

H
e shook his head then, slowly, and said, softer, ‘But none of my own; Deborah and I had no children of our own.’ His new smile was as sad as his eyes, and Thomas had to strain to hear what Izzy said next.

‘She died five years ago, my wife. We
’d been married for thirty-five.’ His eyes turned soft in recall and he said, ‘
Thirty-five
beautiful, wonderful years that I would not exchange for
three hundred
at Rainbow’s End.’

A few more seconds of introspection and then Izzy seemed to shake himself, and said, in a lighter tone, ‘I’ve had a good life, Thomas.’ Laughing softly. ‘You might say I have traded longevity for the life of a lorry driver. A delivery man, but a very happy one.’

*****

The huge rainbow arching over the cliff and waterfall was only a few hundred metres away, its seven pillars shimmering in the early morning sunlight. The fish eagles were busy with their interminable patrolling of the river, and already a few children’s voices could be heard in the distance. The finch was working on his nest again and making the usual racket, but otherwise, all else at Ariana’s Pool was at peace.

She’d
come out of the water again and was sitting next to Annie, both of them had their feet in the cool water fronting the Talking Rock. An almost imperceptible breeze was blowing: it turned the kiss of the sun into a soft caress.

‘
Gypsy Rose,’ Annie said and Ariana sat looking at the fidgety finch for a long minute before turning to her visitor. ‘Are you sure, Annie?’ she asked.

Annie
looked at the “younger” woman next to her with adoration in her eyes. She loved Ariana - as a friend, a mother, a sister; and sometimes, a daughter. The woman, or goddess, had given her life meaning. A purpose.

Almost
forty Rainbow years ago, a twenty-six year old Annie Murdoch had found out that she - who loved children more than life itself, would never be able to have any. Her job application to fill an opening at the local crèche had also been turned down, as she was suffering from, and dying, of tuberculosis.

She
was standing on top of her ten storey flat block and was about to jump, when a snooty little man of around thirty suddenly stood next to her and said, in a haughty voice, ‘She wants you.’

Annie smiled to herself. Orson was spectacularly ugly
- even then.

‘I’m sure Ariana,’ she said. ‘Very sure.’

‘So that’s why…’ Ariana breathed, and her voice was suddenly animated. ‘That’s who! That’s who, Annie!’ She nudged her friend’s ribs excitedly. ‘It was Rosie! Rosie sent me that signal! It was Rosie who asked me to fetch Thomas!’ The young woman fell quiet then, with a happy smile on her face.

‘Rosie’s grandson,’ she said
after a while, in quiet wonder. And then, as she remembered something else.

‘Oh my
. Oh, no.’

*****

John held open the door and when Thomas stepped through it, his mouth fell open. The room was massive - at least as big as a football field. And white: its walls and roof were of raw rock, but it, together with the large shining floor, had been painted a glaring white. There were four long and widely spaced rows, and their stacked boxes and parcels and shelves reached halfway and sometimes higher towards the roof. The whole warehouse - for that was what it was, was lit by pairs of long white fluorescent tubes that glared from on high and stretched into the distance.

Big John stood looking at the gaping Thomas, and when he said, ‘Big
, huh?’ the boy could only nod - speechless. The big man gave an amused smile, and said, ‘Let’s explore.’

They
slowly started walking down the first of the four rows, into a world Thomas felt sure, was what Father Christmas’ warehouse at the North Pole would look like if there was one (which he doubted).

*

The first row contained clothing, and Thomas had to make a conscious effort at keeping his falling-open mouth shut. Hundreds upon hundreds of shirts and shorts of every imaginable style and colour were piled into huge round wire baskets and stuffed into shelves and hanging from coat-hangers. PT shorts, Bermuda shorts, T-shirts, golf shirts, cotton, denim, wool, nylon, buttoned, zippered, pull-over…Name it, it was there. And semi-formal and formal wear: evening and day-suits and even a row of Tuxedos. And summer dresses and skirts and evening dresses and gowns; and long skirts and mini-skirts and midi-dresses…

And accessories
: handbags and hair combs and brushes, jewellery and hats and makeup. Socks and stockings and handkerchiefs. And sandals and slip-slops, and boots and slip-on and lace-up, and walking and running shoes…

‘
Most of it will never be used,’ said John, ‘but children love shopping. And they adore dressing up - especially the girls…’

*

The next row was furniture. Beds and bedroom-suites; dining room and lounge suites; fridges and freezers and microwave ovens. And toasters and mixers and mincers and blenders; and room-dividers and desks and small tables and throw-rugs and carpets and curtains and blinds.

And
electronics: TVs, DVDs, Hi-Fis, CDs, computers, home theatre systems…

Name it
…it was there.

When Thomas asked Big John wh
at a child would use a blender - or for that matter, a mincer for, the big man shrugged his massive shoulders and said, ‘You could always change it into something else…’

*

The next row was books. And stationary. And sports equipment.

The choice of books was
enormous. From Enid Blyton and Dr. Zeus to Shakespeare and Dickens; from Lewis Carroll and “Asterix and Obelix” to Edgar Rice-Burroughs and Ryder Haggard; C.S. Lewis, Asimov and Agatha Christie; Alexander Dumas and Hemmingway…

Name it
…it was there.

And colouring books and crayons and pencils and
stencils; and pens and paints and canvas and easels…And writing-pads and exam-pads and foolscap; and photo albums and staplers and paper-punches…

Name it…it was there.

And cricket sets and cricket whites. And tennis racquets and squash racquets and badminton racquets; and swimming suits and diving masks and flippers; and more running shoes and tennis shoes; and cricket shoes and rugby and soccer boots. And even some fishing rods and a bag with golf clubs…

Name it…it was there.

*

The last
row was toys - shelves and shelves and more shelves of them. Every toy Thomas had ever seen or heard of was there. TV-games, video games and computer games; pocket games and board games. Bags of marbles and dolls…

Barbie dolls and Kewpie dolls
, and floppy dolls and Cabbage Patch dolls. Crying dolls and talking dolls and singing dolls - even dolls that wet themselves. And their accessories: their houses and their furniture, their clothes and makeup, their cars and their boyfriends…

And balls. Balls, balls and more balls
: golf balls, cricket balls, Ping-Pong balls, volley balls, water polo balls, soccer balls, American football and rugby balls. Thomas even saw a full sized pinball machine…

You name it…
   

‘What happens if someone orders something from Izzy and the shops don’t have it?’ Thomas asked.

Big John’s eyes twinkled. ‘Then we use a blender…or a mincer,’ he said.