The Yggyssey (15 page)

"Did no one ever tell you about another meaning of the name? Have you ever heard of Yggdrasil the World Tree?" "Oh, yes," I said. "There was something about a tree, but I never got that part straight."

"Well, the old Norse folks made some weird connection between trees and horses, for some reason—so they might give a tree a name like the Terrible One's Horse, and it's a tree, always was a tree, was never anything but a tree, and there isn't an actual horse in the story. Don't ask me why."

"Not rational, huh?"

"And a long time ago. Parts of the puzzle are missing. Anyway, Yggdrasil, also called the World Tree, is a giant ash tree that links together all the various worlds."

"So the ancient Norse knew there were different worlds, or planes of existence?"

"Yep. And the thing that connects them is the tree: Yggdrasil."

"Cool. So it is kind of neat that I come from a different world, and here I am in this one."

"It is neat. Beneath the three roots of the tree are the realms of Asgard, Jotunheim, and Niflheim. There are three wells, too: Mimisbrunnr, which is guarded by Mimir; Urdarbrunnr, which is guarded by the Norns; and Hvergelmir, the source of many rivers."

"Who and what are all those?"

"No idea, but it sounds cool, doesn't it? Four deer run across the branches of the tree and eat the buds—there's a squirrel named Ratatosk who carries gossip, and Vidofnir, a rooster who perches at the very top. There's a snake called Nidhogg who gnaws on the roots, and on the
day of Ragnarok—that's when the whole universe is destroyed, but don't worry, it starts over again—a giant named Surt will set the whole thing on fire."

"Some tree. I have to get a book and read about all this stuff."

"We used to have a book. It was about a little girl piglet who lived in an apartment."

"So my name is the name of the tree that connects the different worlds."

"Nine of them."

"My last name is Birnbaum. Does that mean anything?"

"Yep. Pear tree."

"A tree again!"

"You're a tree person."

"I like it. Thanks, Mama Banana."

"Oh! I just remembered who the Norns are. They are like the fates, also like witches, but not exactly. By the way, try not to get a witch pissed off at you. Anyway, some stories say that every person has a Norn who takes care of him or her."

I hoped I had a Norn, and it was about Yggdrasil the World Tree, and the old Norse myths, and how I was a tree person that I was thinking as we walked along.

"So we just continue along this little road," Big Audrey said. "And eventually it will take us to New Old Hackensack. Nothing to it."

"And we should keep a lookout for a ghostly black bunny on the way," I said.

"So, how long will it take us to get to New Old Hackensack?" Neddie Wentworthstein asked.

"The hoopies didn't say. They seemed to think it was too far for them, but they're really old. Probably isn't that far, really."

It was a winding dirt road, just wide enough for a single car—only there were no cars. There were no houses either, just woods and fields. The weather was mild, the sky
was blue, a little breeze was blowing, there were flowers blooming along the roadside. It was a perfect day for walking. Now and then we would come to a cold, clear stream and drink the best-tasting water. When we got hungry, we dipped into the bags of crunchy granola and fresh fruit the hoopies had given us.

"So, what do we do when night comes? Just sleep on the ground next to the road?" Neddie asked.

"I guess so," Big Audrey said. "Unless we find some kind of shelter."

"I hope it doesn't rain," Seamus Finn said.

"It doesn't look like rain," I said.

"You'd think there would be a house, or a person, or a sign or something," Neddie said.

"It doesn't look like wild forest," Big Audrey said. "I mean, this is a road, not just a path—someone must use it—and some of the fields are cultivated, so there must be farmers who take care of them."

"Yes, but where are they?" Neddie said.

"It's getting late," I said. "The sun is getting low."

"It will be dark before long," Seamus said.

"Getting a little cooler, too," Big Audrey said.

"Yes."

"Yes."

We walked. The sun was setting. Lower and lower. Shadows got longer. Then the rim of the sun disappeared behind distant hills. The sky got purple. The breeze was starting to feel a bit chilly. Nobody said anything. The twilight was deepening.

And then.

"A light!" Neddie said.

"Yes! A light!"

It was a friendly yellow light, twinkling through the trees. As we rounded a curve, we could see it plainly. Not far off. It was a house!

"Should we go there?" Seamus asked.

"Yes!" we all said.

"Maybe there's a barn or something we could sleep in," I said.

"Maybe there are hoopies, or other nice people there," Big Audrey said.

We were running across the fields. As we got closer, we could make out the house more clearly in the fading light. It was a nice house. It was sweet. It had pointy roofs, and three porches, and several chimneys. It was painted in many colors, and there were all kinds of carving and scrollwork, spindles, cutouts, little spidery bits of woodwork.

"What a fancy house!" Big Audrey said. "What kind of house do you call this?"

I knew. "It's a Victorian house. All the decoration was popular in the nineteenth century. It's called gingerbread. This is what you call a gingerbread house." The friendly yellow light was a porch light. The windows were lit up too, with a warm glow. There were flower beds bordering a winding gravel path that led to the gingerbread house. And we could smell a wonderful smell—someone was baking something. It made our mouths water.

We stopped just short of the porch with the light and stood in a little knot, deciding what we should do and say. "We can just say we are travelers and ask if there is a barn we can sleep in."

"Maybe we should just ask if we can have a glass of
water and wait and see if they are friendly and invite us in."

"We could offer to do some kind of work around the place in return for shelter for the night and maybe something to eat."

"What if we just knock on the door and then stand there looking cute?"

"Or pathetic! Pathetic might be good."

"How about cute
and
pathetic?"

"Yes! We'll do that!"

Before we could set foot on the porch, the door opened. There was a tall, thin woman, sort of old, but not old like the hoopies. She had gray hair done up tightly, in a neat bun, and a long gray dress.

"Why, it's children!" the woman said. "And what nice-looking children! Where can you have come from? Come closer, into the light, so I can see you. Oh! Such lovely children! Come in! Come in, children! I have hot apple pie! And milk! Come in! Come in!"

We crowded into the nicest, neatest, sweetest, friendliest, prettiest old kitchen any of us had ever seen. The smell of hot apple pie was so thick, we could almost see it. There were old-fashioned carved chairs, and a kitchen table to match. The stove was old-fashioned, black and made of iron. There were four or five fat, contentedlooking pussycats curled up on cushions near the stove, purring and licking their paws.

"Sit down, children! Sit down. You must tell me who you are and what you are doing way out here in the country at night. I have cold milk, and the pies are just cooled enough to eat. Isn't it lucky I baked pies? Come, children, sit. My name is Wanda. I hope none of you is afraid of pussycats. I have many pussycats, more than just these. I have, oh, millions of cats. Now who wants a slice of cheddar cheese on their pie?"

While we sat in Wanda's cozy kitchen eating apple pie with cheddar cheese, various cats walked in and out. She didn't have millions of them, but she had a lot. Every time a cat turned up, she would talk to it, tell us its name, and say something like, "Look, Sweetums! We have lovely children visiting us!" I guessed Wanda was a sweet old crazy woman who lived alone and had just the cats for company. The pie was fantastic.

We told Wanda about crossing the river in a coracle and visiting the hoopies. We didn't mention that we had busted Neddie out of Juvenile Hole in New Yapyap City. That might have made us sound like desperate characters. And we told her we were going to New Old Hackensack.

"So you walked all day, poor dears," Wanda said. "You must be tired and footsore. I have lovely beds, all made up. Come, I will show you where to sleep, and in the morning, perhaps you would like to help me feed the cats?" We told Wanda we would be happy to help her feed the cats.

"Are you sure? You know, I have a great many cats." We told her we would be happy to help feed the cats, no matter how many there were.

"You are such wonderful, polite, helpful children," Wanda said. "And you will help me until all the cats are fed?"

"Of course."

"And you won't go until all the cats have been cared for?"

"Certainly. We will stay until every cat has been cared for. It's the least we can do after your kindness."

"Such superior children. I wish you were mine and I could keep you always. Come, and let me show you to your beds."

Upstairs in Wanda's house there was a large room, warm and dry. In each corner was a little bed with a thick, fluffy quilt. Just looking at the beds made us realize how tired we were after our long walk. We crawled under the quilts, snuggled down, and were asleep in a minute. And it felt like a minute later when we heard Wanda saying,

"Time to get up, children! Wake up, wake up! There are pussycats to care for!"

We sat up in our beds, rubbing our eyes. It was still dark outside.

"Hurry, children! Hurry and wash! Line up and take your turn! The pussycats are waiting!" When I was splashing cold water on my face, trying to wake up, I noticed something in the washstand mirror. There was a little green collar around my neck. It had a little bell on it. I turned it around and around, trying to find where it fastened, but it was all one piece. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that the other kids had collars, too: Neddie's was red, Seamus's was blue, and Big Audrey's was yellow, all with little bells.

"What are these?"

"No idea. How'd they get there?"

"I can't get mine off."

"Me neither."

"Come, children! Help Wanda stir up the big bowls of food for the pussycats!"

Wanda gave each of us a large metal bowl full of disgusting goo, and a big wooden spoon.

"Now mix up the disgusting goo and start spooning it into the little pussycat bowls. Hurry, children—we have millions of cats to feed."

Again, there were not millions of cats. There were only a thousand, or maybe two thousand. They were hungry, switching their tails and mewing, rubbing against our legs, and batting us with their paws.

"Faster, children, faster! We have to feed all the cats before we start scooping out the litter boxes!"

"Scooping out the litter boxes?"

"Oh, yes! And then we have to wash all the bowls, and dry them. Then we have to brush the kitties and look for hairballs. So much to do! I am lucky to have you children to help me."