Читать книгу The Gargoyle in My Yard - Philippa Dowding - Страница 9

Ballerinas and Daisies

At this point, most twelve-year-olds would have gone for help. Or at the very least gone shrieking down the hall and jumped under the covers of their parents’ bed.

Katherine did neither of these things. Instead, she stared the gargoyle right in the eye and tried to look fierce. Milly growled encouragement. Katherine gulped. She inched her window open a crack, and as quietly as she could, whisper-shouted down to the gargoyle.

“Hey! What the heck are you doing? You can’t throw stones at my window!”

The gargoyle didn’t miss a beat. He squared his little shoulders, stuck his tongue out at her, then smiled. His tiny lips pulled apart to show a very sharp row of glittering points. It was a sneering smile, not a cheerful, welcoming, happy smile.

She was a little offended and surprised at his rudeness. “You’re really rude!” she yelled quietly. “Don’t just smile at me. Explain yourself!” Katherine knew this last command was a rather weak one, copied from unimaginative adults trying to “get to the bottom of things”, but it was all she could come up with at the moment.

Then she heard a low chuckle, the same chuckle she’d heard the night before in the bushes, and he stuck his tongue out at her once more, turning his back on her.

“How rude! He really is rude, Milly.” Katherine was getting annoyed with him now. Who did he think he was? This was her house, her backyard, after all.

She and Milly could only watch helplessly as he walked casually over to the back door and bent down to pick something up. He knew he was being watched, but he didn’t seem to care.

Have you ever seen a gargoyle walk? It isn’t very pretty or graceful. It’s really more of a waddle, since they have very thick legs, wide sharp-toed feet, and their arms drag along the ground. They tend to look somewhat off balance, since their leathery wings are very heavy and throw them backwards. It makes them look slightly “off-kilter”, as Katherine’s grandmother would say.

Katherine was wondering what he was picking up? He seemed very interested in his squat little feet and was doing something to them.

Suddenly, it came to her. Her shoes! She had left her new red shoes with the white stripes beside the back door!

“Oh, no!” she groaned. As he waddled back into full view, she realized to her dismay that she was right. The gargoyle had taken her shoes and stuffed them onto his own ugly feet!

Katherine was too astonished to do anything. She could only watch aghast at what happened next.

The gargoyle did a ridiculous pirouette, pointing one of his feet wearing her new shoe as high as he could toward the sky. Katherine would have found it funny if she wasn’t so annoyed. Then he put his arms above his head and started prancing around, pretending to be a ballerina.

Katherine and her parents had seen the Canadian National Ballet perform The Nutcracker the Christmas before, so she knew what real ballerinas looked like. They were dainty and graceful.

The gargoyle’s performance wasn’t anything like that. He looked like an ungainly and ugly monster, aping something beautiful. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he looked freakish and frightening. He tried all the moves anyway. The jumps, the spins, the positions, the leaps. All he needed was a frilly pink tutu around his waist.

Katherine shook her head and plucked up the nerve to speak to him out the window again.

“Hey, stupid gargoyle, take off my new shoes!” she yelled as loudly as she dared. She really didn’t want to wake up her parents. Things were just getting interesting now that the initial shock of seeing the gargoyle alive in her backyard was beginning to wear off.

He stopped dead and turned to look up at her in mid-pirouette. “He really does look hysterical,” she thought, “but I can’t laugh now that he’s looking at me.” Despite herself, Katherine had a half-smile on her face.

Then the gargoyle spoke.

Have you ever heard a gargoyle speak? It’s unlikely, I know, but they do speak. They sound like leaves rustling in winter, and although they don’t speak English, or most of them don’t, children can understand their language without any interpretation. It’s a gift most children lose when they turn twelve or so (although some very wise children manage to keep the gift all their lives).

This is what he said: “Morgle mount flishin benjor taminki.” This is what Katherine heard his whispery voice say: “Did you call me stupid, little girl?”

She was caught off guard, she was so surprised. What was going on? But she wasn’t going to be silent and miss her chance to get her new shoes off his feet.

“Uh, yes,” she stammered, “I guess I did.” She grew defiant, and stuck her chin out. “Now take off my shoes!”

“Methol ment triagra.” Which meant: “Hmm, no I think not. I like these shoes.”

Then he proceeded to do the most awful thing that Katherine could think of. She watched, speechless with indignation and horror.

In her brand new shoes, he walked over to her mother’s prize-winning New England Asters and started stomping on them. With big, athletic jumps, he hovered, then landed, again and again, until all the beautiful purple flowers lay trampled on the grass in a ruined pile.

“NO!” she shrieked. “No, stop! You’re ruining my mother’s asters! Stop it!” She wasn’t being quiet any longer. All thought of her sleeping parents had long fled from her mind. She just wanted that awful monster to stop stomping her mother’s beautiful prize-winning flowers IN HER SHOES.

But it was no use. It seemed to her that the more she yelled at him to stop, the harder he stomped, and the more he enjoyed it. He wore a sneering smile the entire time, giggling and chortling with glee.

And if you’ve never heard a gargoyle giggle and chortle with glee, it’s just as well. It sounds like a bucket full of rusty nails being dropped onto the top of your parents’ brand new car.