Nicholson Baker - The Everlasting Story of Nory

She held the catalog open on her lap. She asked the wind, ‘So what do you think, do you think I’d look good in this dress?’ And the wind would either turn the page or not turn the page, or rattle the page a little without completely turning it. If the wind didn’t turn the page, it meant yes, it liked the dress. If the wind only rattled the page, it meant that it still hadn’t reached a decision. And if it did turn the page, Nory would look at the new page and say, ‘Oh, so you think I’d look good in that dress? How interesting. I’m not so sure, but maybe.’ The wind was not all that chatty, but it seemed nice and it had definite ideas about the fashions Nory should wear. That was kind of fun, although it had something of a lonely feeling to it, too.

That night Nory had a bad dream, not horrible, but not exactly enjoyable. It came to her probably because the light in her bathroom had burnt out again and it was windy, which meant that squeakings kept coming from outside. She dreamed her winding way through old dark and deserted buildings and found a room where there was a giant ring of black metal, with black metal hooks all the way around it. She knew they were the hooks you use in a slaughterhouse, where you would hang up the meat. The ring was turning, slowly, but it looked as if nobody was in the building except Nory. That was the frightening thing.

She got up and paddled into her parents’ bedroom and asked them if it was morning, or if it wasn’t morning could she possibly read because she’d had a scary dream. They lifted their heads and croaked out that they were sorry she’d had a scary dream but everything was all right and yes, she could read. She went back into her room and turned on the light to read some of Puppies in the Pantry . Then she stopped reading and remembered a really good speech at Cathedral service. Mary, Jesus’s mother, had been frightened and someone told her, Do not be frightened, the Lord is using you as his servant, and we all must do as Mary did and strive to serve the Lord and be helpful to him. ‘I will strive to serve the Lord, I will strive to serve the Lord,’ Nory said to herself, and when she had said it she felt infinitely happier and smiled her way deep down into the pillow and closed her eyes. Before she went back to sleep, she had a strong wish to tell a quick story to herself about a girl who met a princess. Nobody had anything else for her to do, since it was plum in the middle of the night, so that’s what she did.

It was a bright, sunny day in May. A girl, by the side of a large creek, sang. She was happy and playing. She was totally content. She was an orphan; she lived on the street, or places like that. She ate wheat straight from the kernel, and whatever she could find in her wanderings. Except meat, which she did not care for.

She was not very big for her age. She was what’s known as a small, young girl, to most people. To herself, she was not young at all. She was very smart and had lived awhile. She had no recollection of what had happened in her younger days, but when she was ten years old, she got her dog, a big golden retriever. He was the person she looked after, and he looked after her. He was the person she knew best in the world. She loved him. He came along wherever she went. They were content.

Now she was in her thirteenth year, with jet black hair that hung in huge sausage curls down her back, which were tied up at night with long grass peels, and were wetted by pure lake water. Her hair was as gleamy and fresh-looking as ever. And when she tied it up with grass, she was careful to put basil in it, that would take the odors from the wet lake away from it, and make it smell so good you would want to just take one of the locks and eat it — maybe. She had never thought of doing that, but other people must have.

And now, she was playing. Playing, singing, and finding conkers, throwing them across the country to her beloved dog, Flame. He would jump and collect them, and run back with them. It was wonderful. He would be very careful not to miss the conker, for if he did, it could fall into the lake, and then he would not be able to have a conker, or a horse chestnut. We’ll call them conkers. Real chestnuts were harder to get, for though the horse chestnuts came in spikey shells, they were not so spikey that you couldn’t get them out. The chestnut shell was so spikey that you had to stamp on it. And when you tried to get the chestnut out after the shell was cracked open, it still could prick your finger. So the dog was being very careful not to lose them in the lake. And indeed he was good at jumping and catching them. He caught them almost every time.

Suddenly something awful happened. She threw the conker and it hit a tree, which rumbled and shook. Tons of conkers fell on the poor dog. She’d hit the largest conker in the largest conker tree, so that it had made the branch shake and all the fresh conkers in it fall all over poor Flame. Oh, how it bruised him, for they were huge ripe conkers. The girl picked up every single one. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Then Flame rolled over and they laughed together. That would be a good dinner for them, all those conkers. They were not very tasty on their own, but she found that if she let them sit in the sun all day, then put some parsley in, which grew very near by, mixed it with corn, and then added a bit of pepper in, it made a good dinner for them. Pepper was hard to buy, but she could get a job, whenever she wanted, and work, and buy some. As soon as she had enough to get the pepper she would say, ‘Thank you very much,’ keep on working for a while, and then go off.

As she picked the conkers up under the tree, she noticed something. There in the grass was a large purse of blue silk, with ruffles on it. Inside it were a number of precious things like a silver brush, and a tiny sewing kit, with scissors in the shape of a bird, and spools of gold and silver thread, and thimbles and needles so bright you could see them a mile away. She wanted to confiscate that purse, but she knew she could not. Just then, a ringing bell charmed in her ear. She looked up. What she saw was nothing but a lovely princess about her age.

The princess had neatly, neatly brushed hair. Her hair was in thick curls, and it was yellow. Shiny yellow hair. The girl loved the sight of that hair. The princess’s shoes were fancy and her dress, oh her dress, it was the most beautiful lavishing color of blue — turquoise blue. It was a lovely blue. Puffy sleeves, so gorgeous, and it reached down at her ankles. And little roses at the end. It was puffy beyond belief!

‘Hello,’ the princess said quietly. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Oh, ah, urn, uh—’ The girl was speechless. She was dressed thoroughly in rags and did not think it was a good idea to talk to this distinctive person. But then she thought she must answer. She didn’t have a name, though, she’d never had one. What was her name? she wondered. ‘Ah, mm, I don’t have one,’ she said finally, stuttering. ‘Urn, your majesty,’ she said. For the princess was obviously of royal vintage.

‘Hah, don’t bother about it,’ the princess laughed. ‘Don’t bother. I’m not very much a relative of the Queen, you see. My dad’s brother was related to the Queen so I trace back from the Queen, yes, it’s true, but not really closely …’ she said.

‘Oh wow,’ said the girl. ‘But, please — your name?’

‘Oh, urn, just call me, urn, just call me—’ The princess seemed to be thinking, too. ‘Just call me, well, most people call me Mademoiselle Saram Shi-Kah, but just call me Shee, for Shee-Kah.’

‘All right, Shee,’ the girl said. ‘Shee, how is it spelled?’