Юстасия Тарасава - The Magic Cheese

At home Vovka washed his hands first – after all, he was a big boy to know about bacteria. Then he went to the kitchen, turned the kettle on and put cups and saucers on the table: for Mama, Grandpa, Grandma, and for himself. He put biscuits and sooshkas into a biscuit dish and got a sugar-pot. As for the cheese, Vovka sliced it thinly and laid on a plate. He couldn’t help having a tiny slice of it. “What an unusual smell!” he thought in amazement. “It doesn’t smell like cheese at all – it smells of summer, flowers, apples, water-melons, a little bit of a damp forest where mushrooms grow, loud splashes of water on the river, fresh milk that you drink before going to bed. And at the same time it smells of Christmas, of a Christmas tree, decorated with tangerines and brightly-wrapped candies, of a goose roasted in an oven, merry Christmas carols singers, frosty air that pinches your cheeks when you slide down the hill. Wow! How can they make cheeses like that? I’ve never had anything like that in my whole life! I wish I could take a glance at how they make it,” thought Vovka.

Immediately the usual kitchen surroundings vanished somewhere, and Vovka found himself in a huge green meadow. The boy was absolutely confused. Only a minute ago he was making tea at home and then – imagine that! – he was in a meadow! And oh, what a meadow it was! The grass was thick, bright and rich, and it was coloured with flowers – blue, yellow, pink, purple, white and red, large and small ones. They made the meadow look like a fine carpet. There also was a path across this flowery carpet, but not a single person anywhere. Vovka couldn’t even ask anyone what kind of a place he got at. And, which was more important, how did he get there? Surely, it was some kind of magic. Vovka thought that perhaps he was only dreaming and pinched his hand. It became white, then red – no, a bruise wasn’t a dream at all. The boy looked around again and walked along the path decidedly.

Vovka had never seen such amazing paths before. It was very much alive and joyful. It seemed to Vovka that the path was playing with him, slightly pushing the boy ahead. But of course, that couldn’t be true, just because it couldn’t be true at all. Still Vovka thought that only such paths were able to ‘lead’ you. This one was really doing that! Vovka had no idea what kind of a place it was, but he enjoyed it. On both sides of the path there were trees. They grew thicker and thicker until they turned into a real forest, and into a rather strange forest, one should say. Tiny yellow, orange, pink, red, green and blue birds were sitting on the branches of the trees. There was even one purple bird. All of them were singing about something kind and good, and these songs filled Vovka with joy and strength. The warm wind caressed the boy’s face, and brought fruit and (for some reason) honey fragrances. In the thick grass bright flowers were blooming and butterflies of many colours were flying over them. Beautiful green trees grew in the forest and almost all of them were in full blossom. Those that were not had ripe juicy fruit on their branches – cherries, plums, apples, pears, oranges, apricots, figs and many others. Well, even a small child knows that all these fruit trees can’t grow at one place and bear fruit at the same time. This isn’t possible and such cases are unknown to science. But Vovka saw that with his own eyes and even could touch the trees. Every time he would exclaim, “That cannot be!”, wondering at this miracle, an orange or some other fruit dropped into Vovka’s palm. Yes, this forest was truly magic. Its trees seemed to understand human language and gladly treated the boy to their fruits. Vovka wasn’t hungry yet, and he also remembered well that in magic gardens not all the fruits were harmless. If you tried them, you could have donkey’s ears or deer’s antlers afterwards. Or, which was even worth, you could stop breathing. Vovka had no wish to try these fruit, but he also didn’t want to hurt the trees, refusing them. He thought a little and put the fruit into his pockets. The trees seemed to notice what Vovka was doing, and started to give him more. “This way I won’t have any room left in my pockets very soon,” worried the boy. But then quite suddenly the forest came to an end.

It happened so abruptly that Vovka didn’t even have time to get surprised, when he saw a green meadow with bright flowers, a house made of yellow stones not far away, a wooden well and a mouse that was pulling the water out of it. It was the mouse from the cheese wrapper – the one that winked at Vovka. The boy saw the wells similar to this one in the country and even tried to take water out of them himself. At first you had to tie a bucket to a chain or a rope and then throw it down, turning the handle until the bucket came up. This work wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t too difficult either. With some training everyone could easily do it, but – a mouse?! A little grey mouse with a thin tail? Even if it were dressed up like that – in a fine scarlet pinafore embroidered in gold threads, still it wouldn’t be able to do it. Vovka decided that it was some kind of a trick. And then the mouse turned around and said not very politely, “There is no shame, you know, when one is bowing low. You can show respect by bending your back.”

Vovka was taken aback and didn’t even say ‘hello’ to her. He had never seen talking mice before. And also no one had taught him how to bow. He could shake hands or say ‘hello’ all right, but bowing?! Still, he remembered seeing it either in a book or in a movie and bowed low to the mouse. He had no idea how to behave properly to talking animals and decided to be as much polite as possible – just in case.

“Hello! Will you pardon me, please, but I’ve never seen talking animals before. Is it really you talking or is it a trick of some kind?”

The mouse grew kinder and grumbled quite friendly, “Well, live and learn, you know. Are you trying your luck and here got stuck? What fairy-tale are you from, dear?”

“I am not from a fairy-tale. I am from a city district. The only thing is that I have no idea how I’ve got here and which bus I should take to get back.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the mouse and clasped her paws. “If you have no place to go, welcome to the old mouse’s home! Once we have a seat, we can talk and have some tea.”

The mouse ran to the house, but she hadn’t forgotten the bucket. Vovka wondered how she was able to carry it.

“Let me help you with the bucket,” he offered.

The mouse gave it to him and said, “Thank you for your help. The one who is kind to the rest will surely be blessed.”

With these words they approached the little house made of yellow stones with a little bit of orange in them. It didn’t appear small at a closer look. Vovka liked it at first glance. Everything was so nice and cozy that you had a feeling of having been here already. The porch was painted blue, there were flower pots on window-sills, embroidered curtains and bells made of clay, hanging over the door.

Vovka came into the house, following the mouse, took his shoes off (he didn’t want to make crocheted rags dirty) and went to the kitchen. In spite of the warm spring day there was fire in a big Russian stove. It smelled of fresh cheese, the ‘Magic cheese’ Vovka had tried at home before he found himself in the meadow. Near the stove there stood a huge red cat in a colourful apron and a chef’s cap. He stirred something that was cooking in a pot.

Without paying Vovka any attention, the huge cat grumbled at the mouse, “I told you, stop br-ringing str-rangers home. He wasn’t called, so he shall go away. I have my hands full without him. Even if a fr-riend is ver-ry dear-r, I cannot stop making cheese her-re. Why are you not at wor-rk?” he asked Vovka rather sharply.