Читать книгу The Sand Sifter - Julie Lawson - Страница 5

It was early in the summer, shortly after moving to Weatherseed that Jessica first heard about the old man.

“He lives in the dunes,” her new friend Carey told her. “And he tells stories. You can come with me if you like. I’m going this afternoon.”

“O.K! Sure! Can I bring my brother?”

“No, better not this time. And don’t tell any-body. Only a few people know about him.”

“Will he tell stories if I’m there?” Jessica asked.

“Oh yes! He loves to tell stories. All kinds of stories! He knows everything, and he’s been everywhere!”

“He just tells stories?”

“Well … he just tells stories and sifts sand.”

“What do you mean, sifts sand?”

“You know … like he takes a handful of sand and puts it in a sieve so that the little bits go through.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To make the right sand for our beach, of course.”

“Oh,” said Jessica. She was not altogether convinced. But she was happy to have a secret.

Later that afternoon Jessica went with Carey to see the sifter of sand. Across the beach they walked, until they came to the dunes. Great masses of sand piled up by the wind, where you could slide and ride as if on the crest of a wave; where you could hide and never be found, or disappear forever, swept up and buried by the shifting sands. Across the dunes they went, climbing up, slipping down, sinking their foot-steps into the sand. Soon they came to the sand sifter’s tumble-down home, deep in the dunes. And there they found him.

He was old, old, old. Why, his body was like his home, shifting in the sands. Sometimes he

looked so frail and slight you’d think he’d blow away on the wind. But then in the next instant, he’d appear so strong and powerful even the waves could not break him. And his face! Weathered by time, furrowed with lines, like the ridges sculpted in the sand by the tides. It seemed like he’d been there forever, as much a part of the dunes as the wind and the sea.

“Don’t shake the sand off before you go in-side,” Carey said. “He doesn’t mind it.”

The old man beamed as they entered, and dusted the sand from their feet. Then he swept it into a pile to be sifted.

He was surrounded by pails. Pails of all shapes and shades, colours and sizes. And every-where you looked were piles of sand! Mountains of sand, peaks and gentle hills of sand! Some pillars stretching up to the ceiling, some no more than a handful. And every pile in its proper place, waiting to be sifted into the proper pail.

And for every type of sand there was a sieve. With big holes, medium, or small. And some so tiny you would hardly know they were there. To sift the fine particles from the coarser ones, and the very fine from the fine, and every type of sand in its proper place

“My wife’s tea strainers,” he said with a wink, catching Jessica’s eye. “Don’t tell her I’ve got them!”

“I didn’t know you had a wife,” said Carey.

“I don’t,” he said with a wink. “But don’t tell her that!”

Jessica looked confused. “I don’t understand.” “It’s just a joke,” Carey said. “Don’t worry about it.” To the old man she explained, “This is Jessica.”

“Ah, Jessica! Jessica the wealthy!”

“What?”

“Why, your name! That’s what it means!” “Well, I’m not rich, that’s for sure!”

“Oh, but you are! Why, you’ve just moved into that house up on the cliff, overlooking the cove, haven’t you?”

Jessica nodded.

“Well then— you’ve got the riches of the sea stretching out before you! See, riches come in many forms! Why, you’ve got the riches of a warm and loving family too, don’t you? And not long ago you turned nine years old! And you blew out your birthday candles and wished you didn’t have to move to Weatherseed, but your wish didn’t come true, did it? ’Cause here you are! And it’s better than you thought, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes!” Jessica agreed. “Way better!”

“There, you see!” the old man continued. “Sometimes it’s better if a wish doesn’t come true! And every morning you and your older brother Andrew go for a swim and make sand castles there on the beach. And every afternoon your brother plays in his Boys Only Fort, and you find a few more stones and shells to add to your collection— which you keep in an old cookie tin. And which you keep hidden from that brother of yours!”

“Wow!” Jessica was impressed. “How did you know all that?”

The old man chuckled and gave her a wink. “Why, it’s all in the sand! And every grain of sand tells a story. And that’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? Not to keep an old man company, no, no, no. But to hear a story!”

“Well, we’ll keep you company at the same time, if that’s alright!” Jessica said.

“Fine, fine! I’m only teasing, anyway. You can’t believe everything you hear, isn’t that right, Carey?”

“That’s for sure!”

“Except for what the sand sifter tells you.

And that’s the honest truth.” He settled himself down amongst his pails and piles of sand. Then, taking a sieve in his hand, he began.

He told of far-away places, and long-ago times — when he was young, and the world was young. In hushed tones he spoke of creators and mythical heroes. He spoke of enchanted places, and kingdoms beneath the sea where dragons guarded their treasures, and nymphs floated dreamlike across the sand. And he looked into their eyes as he wove the tales, and held them, entranced. And all the while he spoke, he sifted the sand.

Every grain in its proper place. Into one pail went the pearly grains, into another the misty grays. Into one the bits of sparkling mica; into another, the heavier black-lava grains. And there was a pail for the golden sun-drenched sands, and a pail for the crystally white. Every grain in its proper place, and every grain holding a story.

Day after day Jessica went to see the sand sifter. Sometimes with Carey, sometimes on her own. Her mind danced with the stories he told, and her dreams were filled with the images he created. Often she thought of telling Andrew. But then at the last minute she’d change her mind, and hug the secret to herself.