THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part VIII

Night comes early in the winter. The Streets of the city shine with ice and hoarfrost. Bundled people make their way down into warm fragrant rathskellers filled with beer and laughter. The little boy watched from across the cobbles.  The hot roast pork smelled so good. Everyone had it for New Year's, dripping with piquant saurkraut and spicy, brown mustard. But he didn't. Dinner was a dry piece of almond toast. Max had the same. They had to save. They had to be careful. Lucky he took the sweater. It kept him warm.  Max had a sweater of sorts too, made from a soft, wool scarf wrapped around his middle and tucked into his collar. They peed behind evergreen bushes in a small park and the sexton at a little church let them use the spigot in the kitchen. He said they could sleep inside on one of the pews, but the little boy was scared. It was so dark in there and the candles burned so red, so he lied. He said his father was coming back from Vienna and that he had to meet him at the Charles Bridge.  The sexton knew it was a lie, but he pretended to believe. The boy would be back tomorrow. He was sure of it. Perhaps he could do something then?


Now respectable people pay little mind to a young boy out after dark. A few of the women may go tisk-tisk-tisk. They may even ask his name and if he's all right and where he's going. But they rarely do anything else. One pretty, young woman gave him a handful of nuts before disappearing into a fine carriage with her friends. Max barked at the well groomed horses. The people inside laughed.  The rest of 'night one' was fairly uneventful. He cried just a little.  Max whimpered and licked away the tears. They quietly wandered  up and down streets lined  with quality townhouses. Rich burgers lived here, perhaps even a newly made baron or two. Bright lights streamed forth from the big, multi-paned windows. Sometimes, if the angle was just right, he could see inside. People laughed. They drank. They ate. Serving girls in starched, black uniforms circulated offering savory, hot, open-faced sandwiches on silver trays. And even the children had hot, spiced wine. He thought about New Year's with his family.  Even though he was small, he still remembered a few. They had cakes and good, salty salami. They had beer, good thick pilsner from the venerable local breweries. His father's friends from the bakers' guild came by. Everyone laughed. One man, from across the Vltava played a concertina. A lady from Budapest (somebody's wife) sang songs. Max wasn't born yet, so the little boy sat down in a doorway, a linen shop, I think it was, and told him all about it. Soon, they fell asleep, wrapped up and warm, in that almost  cozy spot, protected from the wind. They stayed there til morning, when the jingling keys of the shopkeeper scared them. So they jumped up and ran away.


But the next door neighbor's eldest son was looking for them. He knew they had four silver crowns. And a scared, little boy with a pocket full of money was to good to resist...


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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part VII

No one even looked at the scared little boy. The people from next door raced around examining things. The rough, loud wife liked the well kept kitchen. (she did give the boy a plate or two of hot food when his mama and papa first died). Her eldest son liked his spot in the second bedroom. The younger ones (there were two of them) would make do with cots in the kitchen. The husband and the landlord huddled in a corner 'discussing' things. And the lonely, little orphan sat down on a stool and waited. Max climbed up on his lap to keep him warm.

Then he heard a shout. The landlord yelled - You, boy! Come over here!...........He gently put Max down on the floor and walked over...... The landlord said - Get your things and clear out. These fine people will live here now.......... The little boy did not know what to say. He didn't know what to do. So he just dug into his pocket fished out the silver coins and offered them up........... The husband from next door stared down at the money. Then he looked at the little boy. How he wanted to grab those coins. But the landlord was there, so he just looked...........A few heartbeats later, the landlord said - What's this? Are you trying to tempt me?....And he laughed. The sly, sneaky husband from  next door laughed too. Then he said - I'm paying three times that! What cheek the little rat-a-kin has!............ And a bargain too! - said the landlord. Five minutes, boy and then it's all mine!!

So the little boy swerved past the evil men and ran upstairs. He did not have much, maybe a sweater, some socks, a change of under things or two. The pillow case made a handy sack. At first the eldest boy from next door tried to stop him from taking it, but when he saw the determined tears in the little boy's eyes he stepped back. Three minutes later it was over. He was out on the street. The door was locked and he was all alone. A few familiar faces peered out from behind closed curtains, but no one offered any help. It cost money to feed a child and he was so small. What could he possibly do in return? God would help him. That's what some of the 'nice' ones thought. The not so nice ones didn't think anything at all. And a few contemplated selling him  to a band of traveling tinkers.  Other children walked the streets alone. He would just be one more of them. Fortunately he had a few pieces of almond toast. The landlord did allow him to go back into the kitchen. But he stood there and watched, yelling - No spoons! No pots! No napkins!..... So the little boy had to leave without them. He almost forgot his new picture book, but  at the  last moment he remembered it and took it off the sofa while the two men were talking. And now he sat down on a curb. He was too shocked to cry. So he silently watched a brown, dead leaf float back and forth on a dirty puddle. Max jumped up and licked his face.

Prague is a very big place. The kings of old Bohemia once held court there. Good King Wensislaus Went Out On the Feast of Stephen..... Well, where do you think he went out from?.....Prague, he went out from right here. Indeed, the cathedral of Saint Stephen still towered above the city. Such a busy place it was, maybe the second or third greatest municipality in the whole Austro-Hungarian Empire. But the little boy did not know that. So he walked the cobbled streets searching for a place to hide from the cold, damp wind.. And the tiny puppy went with him....

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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part VI

He just woke up all of a sudden. There was no noise, maybe a carriage or two clop-clopped down the street, but that was normal in the city, no different than waves upon a shore. Maybe it was his mother's voice? Maybe it was his father's? He saw them in a dream. It was snowing and they walked passed the great shops with their beautiful windows. He stopped and ran over to admire a display of wonderful, multicolored blocks. Small, artificial, elfin children made castles with them just beyond the glass. Then they were inside. A young lady smiled at them, as she wrapped up the parcel. Papa wanted to carry it, but the little boy insisted. He was so happy. He was so proud. What wonderful cities he'd create. But then another tiny part of his  brain sprang to life. He saw a bent, boney man in a dark, dark suit step out of a crowd and glide toward them. Shadows veiled the face. A gnarled hand reached out, ready to dig into his shoulder and snatch him away. The small, frightened boy could not move. But then a great white coach, pulled by four sleek steppers flickered into view. A lady's hand, in a white kid skin glove came out from a window and pointed at the man, who withered down into a swirling column of dead brown leaves and blew away. The boy saw it all, but when he turned around, his mama and papa were not there. He was all alone. The parcel was gone. And then he woke up.

Max licked his face. The boy just laid there for a few heartbeats trying to forget. But he could not forget. The landlord was coming. So he ran upstairs to get ready (he did not mind being up there during the day, but at night it was  different.). Then, when he was all clean and all dressed, he came down the steps and sat. Max wanted breakfast. The boy went into the kitchen and crumbled up  a few pieces of almond toast for the hungry puppy. He thought about taking one or two for himself, but he could not. His tummy had no room for food. It was already filled with fear. Then he reached down into his pocket and felt the four silver crowns. He prayed they were enough. A yellow beam of sunshine sneaked in through the curtains. He watched it crawl across the floor.  Minutes went by..... many minutes. He looked up, but the small clock on the mantle was no longer there. Those who came to remove his dead parents made quick work of that, as they did with other interesting, eye catching trinkets. The wedding rings were gone. The mother of pearl hand mirror disappeared. A sepia-toned photograph of all three of them vanished too. The frame was heavy bronze, after all.

The little boy sighed. He got up and made sure the quilts on the sofa were neatly folded. Then he carried them to a small bench by the hearth and laid them down upon it. Maybe if the room looked nice the landlord would like him better?

AND THEN THEY WERE THERE.

RAP. RAP. RAP, hard against the door. A heartbeat went by, maybe two heartbeats. Then they did it again. The little boy walked toward the door and said - W-who is it?........... You KNOW who it is! Open up! - yelled the landlord, barely waiting for the bolt to clear the lock before BANGING the door against the wall and barging in.

The little boy jumped and stepped back. Max quietly growled as they stepped in. This was different. This was something new. The landlord was not alone..... The people from the house next door were with him. And the big, rough wife was already fingering the curtains, as her eldest son stomped noisily up the stairs.

His hands felt so cold. His throat felt so dry. He just stood there, looking down at the clean, wood floor, searching for the little, yellow sunbeam (he did not know what else to do), but the sunbeam wasn't there.

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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part V

The little orphan boy and his puppy had a good dinner. He knew how to build a small fire in the black stove. True, he did get scared every time he had to strike the match. He'd pump some water into a pail, not too much, or he would not be able to lift it out of the sink. But just enough to splash out a fire. Max thought it was for him. He always tried to drink it, but the sides of the pail were too high for such a little puppy. So after a while he'd curl up on the floor, waiting for whatever they had to finish cooking. And believe me, most nights it was not much. Yet this time it was different. The boy used a bit of the money he got from the sale of his mother's fine new coat to buy some sausages. How nice they smelled sizzling in the pan. The boy knew how to cook sausages. Mama taught him, although she always stayed right by. It made him feel so big. But now he wished he did not feel so big. Now he wanted his mama. And he wanted his papa too.

When all the cooking was over, he took his bowl and went back into the sitting room. Mama did not approve of eating in there. But he liked to sit on the sofa right by the fire. He knew  how to keep it going. They had wood in the back, right through the kitchen door. There wasn't much left, so he did not use much. Sometimes the older boy from the house next door, hopped over the fence to steal some. But the little orphan never said anything. He was afraid. Only right now, he was not afraid. He smiled, as he watched Max dive into his little bowl of sausage and potatoes. Puppies love good dinners. So do little boys. When both bowls were wiped clean, he took them back into the kitchen and washed them in the sink. Papa once made a strong, little stool, just for him. He needed it to reach the sink and when he pushed it over, he used it to reach the big glass jars on the wide varnished shelf. That's where the almond bread was. One piece for him and one for Max. Then he washed it down with a drink of water and curled up on the sofa to look at his picture book.Were there crumbs on the sofa? Were there grease marks? No, there were not. The little orphan boy was very neat. Max jumped up to sit next to him. They snuggled into the quilts together. The orange glow flickering out from the hearth made the cozy, narrow house feel like a robber's cave. If he was alone, he might have been frightened, but Max was with him, so he was not. Besides, the people next door were very noisy and he always heard the papa stomp and yell. Just who it was he was slapping was difficult to tell, because they all cried exactly the same way. You could tell they were related.

He opened the book. The pages were clean and new. The colors were very bright. Mama and Papa used to read to him. He could read some of the words himself. If there was a word he did not know, the picture always gave him a clue. But he pretended they were there with him now, one on each side. The arm of the sofa was Mama. Max played the part of his Papa. Pirates sailed 'cross the first illustration. He could see them up in the rigging. He could see them running across the deck. Each page held new delights. A battle with the Turks. A unicorn plucked from a circus. A monkey does a dance, as the king gives every pirate a hat. And that was only the first tale. But he soon fell asleep, safe under the quilts. The fire burned down to a few glowing embers. But it would not go out, for the fire loved the little boy and would never leave him in the dark. The curtains were drawn. The door was bolted shut. The narrow, cozy house settled down for the night, as the souls of his parents watched him sleep.

The next day, the landlord came.

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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale partIV

The little boy just waited there while the grown-ups were talking. Frau Hochmann wanted a new waistcoat for her husband. The old one was too tight. And Mr. Pavelchek, the tailor, looked through his records, searching for  Herr Hochmann's measurements. When he found the card, he showed it to Frau Hochmann and said - Is this correct? How much bigger, please?........ She scrunched up her little owl eyes and thought. Then she said - Humph, better give him four more inches. One for the strudel. One for the schnitzel. And two for the kirschen mit schlag...... That was her big joke. She loved bragging about all the fine, rich food they had. Yet she did not have to say a word. You could tell just by looking at her heroic buttocks. The fabric of her long, full skirt could not hide that.

Twelve minutes later they were finished. The Battleship Frau Hochmann sailed through the door. Mr. Pavelchek watched her go. When he was sure it was safe, he said - Fet beetch. But the little boy's arms were getting tired. He held up the parcel as if on a tray. Now Mr. Pavelchek had to know he was standing there. He must have. Still, he went back to his stitching (on a fine, black, shiny Singer sewing machine), tucked into a corner behind the canvas remnant bins. Clickety, clickety, clickety, clickety, click went the needle. He bent close to check his work. Clickety, clickety, clickety, clickety, click it went again. Now Mrs. Pavelchek was not in the tailor shop today. Her roley-poley red cheeked Jan, had a toothache, so she had to drag him to the dentist and it was difficult dragging a boy weighing fiftyfour kilos, particularly one who was not ashamed to plop himself down on the cobbles and kick. So Mr. Pavelchek had no coffee. And Mr. Pavelchek had no cake What did he care for a scared, little boy when his stomach was rumbling? Yet curiosity reached out to stroke him under the chin and he said - What is it, boy!? Why are you here!? Speak up!..............The frightened little orphan, tucked his chin down on his chest, took a step forward and said - I have a coat, sir. It is brand new. My mama never wore it.............And you want me to purchase it from you. I know. I know. I know. People come in here with offers like that all the time. Don't they know I MAKE coats!? Go back and tell your mother, no, I don't need it...........But the boy just stood there. He did not know what  to do. He did not know what to say. This was not supposed to happen............Well? Go tell her - said the tailor....... I can't - said the little boy. I can't.....She is dead..........And he almost cried........... A merciful angel must have flown by at that moment and brushed Mr. Pavelchek with her wings, for he pushed himself away from the sewing machine,  slumped his shoulders and said - Come, let's lay it out on the big cutting table and see what we have. The little boy offered up the tissue paper bag and waited, as the craftsman carefully slid the fine garment out onto the smooth, wood expanse to examine it. He softly felt the quality fabric, a French, wool challis and eyed the careful stitches. The cut was first rate too. Coats like this graced shop windows over the Charles Bridge, where gentry lived. A baron's wife could hope  for none better. And the silver buttons were superb. The tailor knew he could steam it, dress it up with a bit of silken braid and sell it for perhaps ten crowns, maybe twelve. So he gave the urchin three crowns and ten pfennig, plus a thick, warm scarf, practically a shawl and felt quite pleased with himself, as he pushed the boy out the door..

And the temporarily happy orphan ran all the way back to his narrow, little home, clutching the money inside his mitten, next to his skin, only stopping once, for no more than a minute to buy two fat sausages, one for himself and one for Max....... Oh, yes. I forgot...and a little picture book too.

This day, compared to all the others, was a good day...

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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale Part III

Six pfennigs is not very much. And the days grew ever colder. The little boy bundled himself up and went outside. He missed the way his mother used to tie the scarf. She knew how to make it stay in place. She knew how to keep him warm. And one of his mittens needed mending, but he did not know how to do it. If he kept his fingers curled into the palm of his hand it was not  so bad. At least he had a cap. At least he had a coat. The warm, thick, woolen over-all's helped too. Still, the sole of one shoe had the makings of a tiny hole, but if he stepped lightly and did not scrap his feet, maybe it would be all right.

The man behind the vegetable stall sold him potatoes, little, round hard ones. The stout, fussy ladies did not like those. They would 'tut, tut, tut' and curl up their noses. They'd go 'humph' and plod away. So he let the poor,  little orphan have them...... five for a pfennig. If he had one for lunch and another for dinner, he might be able to eat for a while. Sometimes the woman in the dairy shop tossed him a cheese rind or two, one  for him and one for his puppy.  But most days she was too busy. Three of the big, glass jars on the shelf in the kitchen held good, sweet slices of almond bread. They were dry and chewy. If he counted them out carefully, they'd last for a few weeks too. But when he was hungry for meat, or perhaps a nice, fresh egg, there just wasn't any.

In this way he managed to survive a few more weeks. When the pfennigs ran out he searched through the bottom of the wardrobe. His mother had a nice pale, yellow spring coat with  real silver buttons. She won it as a prize in an embroidery competition. His father made her enter. He knew how  good she was. And when she won, he was so proud. .But she never wore it, not even when they walked down by the river. It was just too good. He liked it there by the river, especially when the locust trees were covered in tiny, white flowers.. And there was a colorful. little kiosk that sold sweet ices. The little  boy liked lemon. Most times his father bought him one. But mommy always said - Next time. She didn't want to waste any money for herself. The little boy remembered all that. So he carefully lifted the spring coat out from the wardrobe and laid it down upon the bed. He counted the silver buttons. There were seven of them. But he did not know how many potatoes they would buy , or if there'd be enough to pay the landlord. Tomorrow was the thirtieth day. He had to make sure the snug, little house was extra neat. Maybe the old man wouldn't take so many of his monies, if he saw how careful he was? But what difference did that make, when he didn't have any money at all? So he silently folded up the coat and managed to get it back into the fine tissue paper bag. Then he bundled  up and went out. Max could not go with him this time. He needed both arms to hold up the bag, so the coat wouldn't get dirty.Maybe the husband and wife who ran the tailor shop would buy it? Max didn't like to be left alone. He started to whimper. After a few lonely heartbeats he curled up under the sofa quilts and went to sleep.......

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THE LITTLE MATCH BOY ~~~~ a re-telling of H.C. Andersen's poignant tale part ll

The stern old man, a true miser, if ever there was one, hobbled up the fourteen steps. Max wanted to chase him. The little puppy wanted to bite those stale, sour ankles, but the stout, shiny, walking stick scared him,  so he stayed right where he was, safe within the orphan boy's arms. And they hurried up the steps, only to find the man  poking his waxy fingers everywhere.......Where is it!? Where is my money!? You do have it, don't you? Don't lie to me, or you'll chew grass in the fields! -spat the old man. The little boy hated to see him touching his parents' things. He poked in drawers. He pulled open the wardrobe and crumpled all the clothes. There was not much, but he dug through it all.

At first, the sad, young orphan hoped he'd go away. Then they could run down the fourteen steps and burrow under the quilts. That's where he slept, right on the sofa. It felt safe there. He had the hearth. He could see the heavy bolt. He knew the door was locked. Nice, plain curtains (handmade by his mother) covered the windows. And best of all, he had Max.. But the landlord did not go away. He stayed and he yelled and he yelled. The little boy was scared the gendarme would come. Orphans fear the police. They'd scoop him up and lock him in. People said there was a special cubicle for orphans, far, far in the back of the damp, dark cellar, where only the crunchy bugs lived. And he was sure that was true. So he quietly crept under the bed and came out with a little box. The old man watched, as he opened it. His greedy eyes could not help but smile when he saw the coins inside......... Is t-t-this enough, sir? - piped the frightened boy..........Look, don't waste  my time! Let me see! Give it here! - barked the old man, who snatched up the box, as he plopped his boney self down on the carefully smoothed duvet to count it. The boy just stared at the floor and waited. Max laid down behind him and waited too.Finally, maybe twenty three heartbeats later, or perhaps forty seven (misers always count things twice) the knobby old goat shoved the box into the boy's chest and said - Here! Take it! Don't worry. There's still a bit left for you! More than you deserve, you little dust rat.............. The worried boy peeked inside. All the silver ones were gone. Only six copper pfennigs were left. And he just stood there, still as a gravestone, waiting for the old man to leave. He heard the bed squeak. Then the steps squeaked too, all fourteen of them.He heard the front door open and he prayed - Please let him go. Please let him go........ But the old man stopped and yelled - Thirty days and I'll be back!!..... Then he stomped out into the rain, banged the door shut and was gone.

The little boy straightened up his parents' things. He made the room right again. But the rancid smell of strong tobacco and bitter ale, left by the old miser, poisoned everything......... Then he picked up Max, held him close,stepped out into the tiny hallway and softly closed the door. They  quietly crept down to the carefully swept kitchen. He buttered a roll (the small, stone ware pot was almost empty) broke it into tiny, puppy sized pieces and fed it to his hungry friend. A dry crust of bread would be enough for him.

A little bit later, they went back into the chill, shadowy sitting room. He peeked through the curtains. The sky was still gray. Fat, cold raindrops continued to fall. A few people waddled about, mostly well fed matrons out haggling  for tonight's supper. But no one looked his way. So he closed the curtains and went back to the sofa. At least, under the quilts, it was warm......And Max thought so too.....

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