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

And then is was over. His face was scratched. The pillowcase was gone. His pockets were empty. Some of the people living on the street had to hear. But they did nothing. An urchin in trouble. What else is new? He sat up and looked around. It was hard to see in the dark. And a later age would have termed him slightly near-sighted. So he felt around, but found nothing. Even the mittens were gone. He started to cry. He said - mama...mama...... No mama answered. He reached for Max, but the puppy wasn't there. The neighbor's eldest son had him, securely tied in the pillowcase. At first he planned to drown him in the river. Weigh him down with a stone and heave him off a bridge. Why not? Boy's did things like that all the time. It would be fun watching the makeshift bag sink down into the dark, cold water. Maybe there'd be bubbles? Maybe he'd see the little paws struggling inside the cloth? Just like a Roman emperor, or a Grand Inquisitor condemning people to the stake. But this oaf was sly for an oaf, so he thought again. Nice, little puppies have value. Some people actually dote on them. He saw the cages in the 'live' market. True, most were merely rabbits and chickens destined for the pot, but some were dogs...some were cats. Who knows, a lonely old crone might pay good money for this one? So he cancelled the death sentence and carried little Max into his world.


The little boy got up. His hat was there. The scarf still hung 'round his neck. At least he had shoes. But now he was dirty. And the spigot in the kitchen behind the church seemed so far away. He wanted to see the house, his house. He didn't care if the evil people were there. He just wanted to see it. He would peek 'round the corner and look. His mama's curtains  still hung in the window. And the nice, little bench his father made was right by the steps. It had to be. Maybe he could curl up and sleep under it? No one would know. They'd never find him. He'd wake up real early and sneak away before they all came out.  


He called for Max. But then he remembered. The puppy wasn't there. So he sat down in a corner against cold, brick walls and cried. Ten heartbeats later, it began to snow. But it was a warm, dry snow. The air was still. The street was quiet. He fell asleep. And whatever spirit it is that watches over little children sent five, crisp pages of the Bohemische Tagblatt floating in on a breeze to cover him, a sad, little soul, hiding from the night.....


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

There was an outdoor market. Vendors sold basic wintertime foodstuffs  to careful housewives and kitchen maids.  The little boy wandered among the stalls. He held Max tight against his chest, lest someone step on him. The puppy did not like it. He squirmed an awful lot, but the little boy would not let go. He said - You do not want me to put you into the pillow case, do you?....... And he waved it so the puppy could see. After that, Max behaved. 


One man saw him looking at some oranges. It was hard to get them this time of year, but this man had them, all stacked up into a golden pyramid. He said - Would you like a sweet drink from Spain, my little man?............. The frightened little boy blushed and said - No, thank you.............. But business was good, so the friendly fruit vendor  deftly popped three juicy Valencias  into a green paper bag and gave them to him. The boy tried to give it back, however the man would  not hear of it. He went- tut tut tut and gently pushed him away.  Then the little boy saw a lady selling cheese. It looked so good and he was so hungry. He took off a mitten and reached down into his pocket, fingering some coins (not the silver crowns. he wouldn't spend them, but he did have a few pfennigs and a tummy wants what a tummy wants). First he watched the other customers. Most of them said - Three pfennigs, please........ The woman picked up a shiny, steel knife and sliced off three thick slabs. So when it was his turn, the boy looked up and said - Three pfennigs please....... The woman quickly went about her business and six heartbeats later he had a nice, waxed paper bag filled with approximately one English pound of rich, yellow cheese.  Some pieces of almond toast still remained. He hated to finish them. His mama made them, after all. But deep inside, he heard her voice. It said - Eat them, my little dumpling. Someday you'll have more......... So he found a seat on a wooden bench near the horse trough and sat down to lunch. Max got his share first, four big mouthfuls of fresh, tasty cheese and a palm full of crumbled up almond toast.  An old lady told him what a nice dog he had. But he did not like her. She wanted to steal Max. He knew it. Max did not like her either. You could tell, because he growled. But she soon waddled off to fight with a butcher-woman in a bloody apron, so then it was all right. The little boy ate his food. It was especially nice having an orange for desert. Max licked the juice off his fingers. They both wanted something to drink, but the kvass (middle european, alcohol-free beer) vendor scared him. He had a pointy little beard, just like one of the pirates in his story book. And his little tin cups looked dirty too. They could get some water from the spigot in the kitchen behind the little church, if he could find it again. He was sure he could. The sexton would let him in. He was a nice man. So the little boy got up, carefully put his 'groceries' into the pillowcase and slowly walked off, with Max keeping pace beside him. 


They turned down a dim, shady street. The houses reminded him of ones near the church. He was almost sure this was the way. It got cold. He put his mittens back on and scooped up the little puppy.  The pillowcase, he tied to his belt. And that was it, a poor little boy all alone on the streets of a great, indifferent city. Was he scared? A little. Was he lonely? Of course. He'd look up at the carefully pained doors and think - Maybe there's a 'mama' in there? Maybe she would like me? But he did not knock and ask. And soon the sun began to set. Lights warmed the windows of the snug, little houses. Yet where was the church? He could not find it. And he did so want a drink. Max wanted one too.


He stopped to look around. Almost no one else was on the street, certainly no other children. He was tired. He was thirsty. He needed to use the privy. There was a tiny lot, mostly  dirt, but with little mats of cold, dry grass. It was almost dark. Most of the lot was in shadow. So he quietly walked in to pass his water. And Max passed water too.


But then he felt it, a rough, hard, sharp punch right on the back of his neck. He fell down. He couldn't breathe. He tried to roll over. Max barked and barked and jumped. Yet what good are little puppy teeth (sharp as they are) against a thick winter coat. So the neighbor's eldest son pinned him to the dirt and rifled through his pockets. The little boy cried and screamed. The older  boy squeezed his throat and said - Keep that up and you'll die......... So what could he do? The screaming stopped...but not the hiccups and tears....


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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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