Chapter 3
Nigel Makes a Discovery
The cat, above all other creatures, is the most sagacious.
The Author
It would have all come out differently, if it hadn't been for
Poohkums.
Nigel was again within his little kingdom the following Saturday
afternoon. Before entering, he had made sure all was clear before
crawling British-commando style, a tin can of water in one hand and
Pooh clutched in the other, along the picket and hedge.
Once he'd arrived at his den, he found he'd managed to spill nearly
not enough to muddy up his swamp. So he tossed the can aside and
pondered whether to make the perilous crawl back out. While thinking,
he discovered he was very itchy. Crawling on the lawn can be a very
itchy experience, particularly if one is bare, and Nigel was. He
beneath his arms, below his tummy and the tip and underside of his
penis and testicles and thighs. He became so uncomfortable that the
only solution he could think of short of going back out and getting
some lotion was to lie in the warm sand, in the sunny spot behind the
laurel trunk.
So after carefully looking for any hint of Poohkums-poop and finding
none, Nigel stretched out like a cat himself, like a Bengal tiger, on
his belly and laid his cheek against the affectionately warm sand. The
soothing heat eased into him, through his chest and tummy, and he
began to feel that delicious feeling of his penis stirring against the
soft and yielding earth. He gave a satisfied purr and pressed himself
further into the sand, closed his eyes and imagined he were
tiger-prowling along a beach in India.
It was just then that Nigel felt something fuzzy brush against his
elbow. Although he was feeling very sleepy, he opened his tiger-eyes
curiously.
Now it must have been God's plan that cats could not or would not read
his sign.
For Poohkums clearly could not read.
The boy-tiger slowly lifted his head and saw Poohkums directly in
front of him. She was wearing that unmistakable expression of
perturbed embarrassment as she stood there, her tail-twitching
tentative cat-stance announcing the impending delivery of an odious
up with a mighty roar, razor claws bared.
Or perhaps should not have. Poohkums, who was extra-skittish even by
cat standards, was so startled she sprung straight into the air,
spraying a fountain of urine in every direction, then scrambled up the
ancient wall, sending shards of old stone and dust and moss and torn
ivy leaves cascading down. Her abrupt disappearance so amazed the boy
that he leapfrogged over to the wall and peered upward. Dust and
debris were still filtering down and into his eyes, so he wiped his
face with a forearm and realised his arm was wet. It was cat pee. The
smell was atrocious.
after Poohkums. "You three-bee-word cat!"
Nigel had made a habit of saying "bee-word" because once, when Mummy
happened to hear him curse "bloody beastly bugger" about something,
routinely got up to five bees.
The boy's disgust was soon eclipsed by fascination, for as he knelt
looking up along the stones, the dust cleared and sunlight caught
something protruding from the face of the wall. It was, most
peculiarly, square and somewhat brownish and a corner of it reflected
a faint but unmistakable metallic glint down at him.
"What is it? Go up and get it."
Pooh didn't answer, probably because he was upset over being wet on by
the cat.
"Alright, then." the boy announced, "I'll go get it myself."
But his heart wasn't nearly as brave as his words. The mysterious
object appeared to be stuck in one of the larger niches in the wall,
and Nigel feared there'd be spiders up there, so he picked up Pooh
from his rock.
"You go, Pooh." Nigel said.
And he swung Pooh up by his leg, up toward the object. What Poohkums
had managed to start, Pooh finished. The object tumbled out of the
niche, through the ivy, striking Nigel on top of his skull with a
rattle and hit the ground behind him. Thunk!
"Ouch!" the boy cried, rubbing his head. "That hurt!"
It was heavy!
Kneeling, Nigel turned around to examine what had struck him. It was
a most mystifying thing. It was about the size and shape of a paving
brick and although it was heavy, it wasn't a paving brick at all. It
was brown and quite discoloured, but seemed to be metal. He dared to
pick it up. There had once been writing on the sides, but only a
a bit of green. There was but one obscured word the boy thought he
could make out, and it began with a "T."
"Treasure!" he whispered in awe, "Oh Pooh! It's a treasure box!"
He dared to shake the metal box lightly. There were things, heavy
things, rattling inside and Nigel squealed in excitement. If only he
it was a lid. He tried prying with his fingernails, of which he had
Mum and Dad had reluctantly accepted in lieu of him fidgeting with his
penis. Struggle as he might, Nigel couldn't seem to pry the lid open,
so weak were his busy little fingers and so dirty and corroded was the
box. All the while, the mysterious articles within jangled as it to
taunt him.
"Blast!"
And still it wouldn't come.
"Oh, sixty-bizillion bee words!" he cursed.
Nigel didn't know sixty-bizillion nasty bee words, but it summed up
how he was feeling. He squirmed in frustration and hurled the box. It
struck the garden wall with a clank. He immediately regretted having
done such a thing to a magic treasure chest. What if there had been a
genie inside? So he promptly picked it up. Turning it over, he saw
the rear of the box had been bent, and the lid slightly lifted. He was
almost in! He stuck the box firmly between his legs, tucked his penis
safely down between his thighs, and pulled with all his might.
The lid popped off.
He set the can down and cautiously peered in. Unlike the exterior,
the metal box was quite silvery inside. On top was what appeared to
be a handkerchief, stitched with the faded letters TW. Nigel
carefully removed it. Beneath it were perhaps a dozen dirty and worn
painted metal objects. The boy delicately reached in and took them
out one by one, confirming each as he did, and set them on Pooh's
stone. They were toys. Each was surprisingly heavy, although most
were no bigger than his father's thumb. First was a red and yellow
propeller airplane, with the word "mail" still emblazoned on the
wings. There were three or four olive green toy soldiers, all
shooting guns or throwing grenades or standing at attention. There
were two riders on a camel, a cat playing a xylophone, and a gray
snoopy dog sniffing along with his tail erect.
"Look, Pooh. Here's a wild American Indian!" Nigel gasped, "And a
Mickey Mouse!"
He was so excited he very nearly wet himself. Calming down a bit, he
removed the painted figure of a baby in a tee shirt, his outstretched
arms imploring to be picked up as he stood with his diaper fallen
around one ankle.
"What a cheeky baby!" he giggled and showed Pooh.
Nigel removed the last toy from the tin and gazed at it curiously. It
looked to be a rather rotund man with a derby hat on, standing with a
bottle in his hand and Nigel thought he might be a clown. What made
him different from the others was that one arm, the arm holding the
bottle, seemed to move ever so slightly. The boy tried to pull it up
gently, but the arm resisted and Nigel, afraid he'd break it, stopped
trying.
The boy had never in his life seen such a valuable collection of toys
and it dawned on him that they certainly must belong to another boy.
No one would simply abandon such wealth.
they must have belonged to Christopher Robin.
"Do you think Christopher is sad because he's not got his toys?" Nigel
asked Pooh, hoping his friend would disagree and encourage him to keep
the treasure.
Pooh didn't reply.
"I think we should give them back," Nigel suggested, hoping Pooh would
protest and want to keep them.
But Pooh remained silent.
Nigel set the toys back in the tin, closed the lid as best as he
could, and tucked it under an arm.
"Alright." the boy said, setting his hands on his hips and being a
little short with Pooh, "We'll give them back to him, but first we
need to wash them up so they'll look nice. Is that alright with you?"
Slowly and almost imperceptibly, Pooh's head nodded.
"You're such a pain!" Nigel said, lifting up Pooh and wrinkling up his
nose, "And you smell beastly! You need a bath!"
HMSVV2010
|
|