THE LITTLE MUSHROOM
By Amy Thompson In a small. Nothern European country called Estonia, there once was a mossy, shaded little hill. On this hill there lived a family of mushrooms. It was a big and happy family. The father was tall and strong, the mother was smaller and gentle and smiled often at her five offspring. They were all of different sizes and had special characteristics - each was different from the other. The parents loved them all for their individuality. The parents encouraged independent thinking.
The mushroom family had many friends - the bushes around, the visiting sparrows and even two doves. In fact, birds of many kinds stopped by to chat. The butterflies were a little silly, fluttering about, gossiping and never saying anything of consequence.
A small white rabbit hopped by now and then, just to see that all was well with his friends. Above all, they enjoyed visits from a cute little blond girl in pigtails. She came to talk every day, running in her bare feet down the path.
Sometimes she had lilies - of the - valley in her hand. She liked to call them Maybells because they grew in the month of May and were indeed shaped like little bells. The little girl was never reluctant to talk and tell the family what was going on in the world. Sometimes she sang or recited a poem.
"Such a friendly child,"said the father.
"Yes," said the mother, "but she seems a little lonely."
"How can she be lonely when she has a family?" wondered one of the daughters."Nobody with a family such as ours need ever be lonely or lack for company."
"She is a human being and humans often have feelings we don't understand because we don't have the same problems," answered the mother patiently. She liked her little children to ask questions because that would develop their minds.
"When I grow up," said one son,"no child of mine shall ever be lonely or sad." He shook off a raindrop impatiently.
"And when I grow up, I shall become an important politician so that all people will admire and love me," said the eldest son.
The parents smiled at their handsome son.
"Being a politician will not necessarily bring you either love or admiration, "said the father gravely. "It is the kind of politician you are that matters."
"Well, I shall be a very good one!" exclaimed the son firmly. "Nobody can criticize me then."
The father sighed. Did young minds only see black and white? How can a father explain all the gray shades that lie in between? And how could a father explain to his young son that what was good to some was just the opposite to others?
He must have been muttering out loud because there was an answer from his pretty wife.
"You might try asking questions," whispered his wife.
"While you are debating the issue I want to say that I shall grow up to be a famous actress of the stage," chirped one of the daughters. "I know I have a natural flair."
Coming from that child, it was a surprising statement because she was usually so shy and not as pretty as her sisters. To her parents she was comely enough but to be an actress on the stage... it seemed an impossible dream for that youngster.
Still, neither parent believed in discouraging their children.
"When I grow up, I want to travel far and see everything in the world." These words came from their youngest daughter, the "baby", and were the most surprising of all. The child rarely expressed an opinion.
"Why do you want to leave your family?", cried one of the elder sisters. "We love you and you are safe with us. The world has many dangers for a young mushroom like you, and we will not be around in a circle to protect you if you go away from us."
"The birds see everything,"said the youngster stubbornly. "Even the foolish butterflies can roam around at will. A swallow told me that he goes to a warm climate where the sun always shines and there is no rain at all. He told me of Paris in the spring, and of the young lovers who line the river Seine; he told me of elegant restaurants..."
Just then, the little blond girl, came running for her daily visit. She was flushed and her pigtails seemed untidy.
"Oh ,my mushroom family, I must talk to you!" she called, and her voice was high and nervous.
"Calm down, child,"said the mushroom mother gently. "Sit down and tell us what is troubling you."
"I have a Russian governess," said the girl breathlessly."She is a baroness who had to flee from Communists. Anyway, that is what my mother said.
"Do you speak Russian?" asked one of the mushroom children.
"Of course I do!" said the litttle girl." But that is not what I came to tell you. My governerness - Tjotja Tamara Nicolaiovna- brings me wonderful books from her collection. The illustrations are painted by hand and I must wash my hands every time before I read them... that is annoying..."
"What's a tjotja?"asked one of the children.
"Tjotja means aunt in Russian," said the little girl impatiently. "I call her that. But listen now..."
"What have you to tell us that is of such importance?" asked the father, bemused.
"Please listen to me, " cried the little girl. "I just read a story which told me that people eat MUSHROOMS!"
"EAT US?" said the mushroom family in unison.
"Yes, and they make sauces and gravies and soups from you and they say you are delicious and smack their lips. "Oh, this is terrible!"
"What can we do to save ourselves?" asked the mother and looked fearfully at her handsome children. "Little girl, you must find a way to protect us! My family is so dear to me...help us, please."
The girl, now breathing more calmly, was twirling a ringlet of hair around a finger.
"My governess told me there is a way...she knows many things because she is Russian and very smart. Your family must gather into a tight ring - because that is magic. It will hide you as well. Do it now!"
The worried mushroom family did as it was told. Only the "baby" was reluctant to join the ring.
"What of my travels around the world?" she asked. I cannot stay in the ring if I am to see the wondrous things the birds have told me about."
"Well..." the golden -haired girl hesitated. "You are probably too small to be made into a sauce, anyway, so it may be safe for you to stay outside the circle for now. But I will find out more if I can, and I will come back tomorrow to see that you are all safe."
She ran back to the big house in which she lived because her parents were preparing to have a large weekend party. All the guestrooms would be filled and there would be singing and reciting and much talk. She hoped her Uncle Trelin would come; he liked children and could spend hours playing with them. He could always think of an exciting game.
Of course, there would be much food despite the terrible war.Somehow, her mother always managed to have an elegant table. Oh, if the Nazis found out about that...they would all be done for!
The party went on as scheduled - there was much merriment, even dancing. The best jokes were about the Nazis who were occupying the country. They always caused the most laughter.
Even Tjotia Tamara seemed to be in a good mood; sometimes she could be a little melancholy, thinking back to her life in Russia. Russia must have been a wonderful country under the czars and Tjota Tamara had taught the little girl songs and stories of the old Russia.
In fact, the girl harboured a secret love for Czar Peter the Great who seemed to have been a man of vision and imagination in his youth. She had learned by heart many poems by Alexander Pushkin, one of them immortalizing Czar Peter and had seen an engraving of him, with his hair flowing. He was her first love, even though he had died many years ago.
The tables were laden with food. The girl's mother traded her French linen tablecloths so that her family could eat during the war which was going on in the whole world. She told her daughter that the farmers needed linen to make shirts.
Her husband, with the help of neighbors, had turned his beautiful flower gardens into vegetable patches and there was no shortage of fresh vegetables in the summer.
For the winter, vegetables were stored in the cellar or canned, pickled, and marinated by local women who were good at this kind of thing.
Everybody in the neighborhood benefited from these enterprises.
As the house was near to the sea, one could see the coast of Finland on a clear day. There was also a great deal of fish. A fisherman, who lived in an apartment in the back of the house provided much bounty from the sea. On the eve of the party, the little girl was not very hungry. When she was asked to sing a song, she was so distracted that she sang the Communist anthem! Everyone laughed, of course. Nobody liked Communists or Nazis in Estonia. Estonia wanted to be free.
Eventually, she grew sleepy, and her mother let her go to bed provided she ate some anchovies and milk, at least. She had a curious habit of mashing her anchovies into the milk. But her father laughed and said it all got mixed up in her stomach anyway. The child slept uneasily, and as soon as it was light, she dressed hastily and ran off to see her mushroom family.
The family was not there, only the littlest mushroom stood alone, weeping.The little girl was horrified. She tried to ask the tiny mushroom what had happened, where was the family? The little mushroom was too distraught to make sense.
Running back to the house in tears, the girl quickly found her Grandmother, her mother, and Tjotja Tamara in the kithchen. "Mushroom thief ... we have had a mushroom thief", she was choking on her words. "The thief took my mushroom family, all but the baby." She sank down on the floor in grief that only children can know.
"They're gone... forever."
Her grandmother, for once, had no answer. She left the room, knowing that there had been a delicious mushroom sauce for the party the night before. Her mother was bewildered - how does one comfort a hysterical child? She tried to explain that there were other mushroom families to be looked at and admired but her daughter paid her no mind. The broken heart of a child cannot be mended so quickly.
Only Tjotja Tamara remained silent. She waited until the hysteria of her little charge changed into mere helpless sobs. She waited until the child was ready to talk. Finally when all was quiet, she took the little girl by the hand and smiled.
"Come to the library with me," she said gently, and nodded toward the pile of books that she had recently brought from her home.
As a rule, she made the excited little girl wash her hands before allowing her to read the treasured, hand - painted books which came from her home in Russia. Such delays caused much frustration, but her pupil learned to respect books for the rest of her life. On this occasion, she seemed to forget about hand - washing. "Come, I want to show you something very special," she said and aroused some curiosity in the little girl who loved books. "Special?" asked the child. "Is it about mushrooms?"
"Only in a way," said Tjotja Tamara mysteriously before opening a large book with paintings. She opened the book. After flipping a few pages, she stopped. "I want to show you something", she said. The little girl looked. Curiosity momentarily overshadowed her sorrow."That's a painting of a white rabbit", she said non - plussed."There are no such white rabbits here. Why are you showing me this, Tjotja Tamara?" Tamara smiled. "Don't you know that the white rabbit protects mushrooms?" she asked. "For all we know, it might be out there right now." Tjotja Tamara asked the little girl if she wanted to go and try to find the white rabbit. The child declined - it was too late to believe in Tjotja Tamara's fairytales and stories of magic. Tamara knew what was going on in her pupil's mind. "Don't you even want to say good - night to the little mushroom? Maybe it's all alone."
"Well, yes, I suppose we should", answered the child reluctantly."It's getting dark and maybe the little mushroom is all alone and frightened." So Tamara went out with the girl. It was a pleasant evening, warm for September, and the path was filled with colorful leaves. The little girl was wondering what she would say to the little lonely mushroom. What comfort could she offer now?
She was deep in thought as they neared the mossy, green hill. Tamara remained silent, too. She knew when words were useless and a special silence was necessary.
As they neared the hill, the little girl said: "Tjotja Tamara, we won't see a white rabbit here."
"Maybe not", said Tjotja Tamara. "I told you how shy they are. But remember that anything is possible." She fell into silence They had reached the hill and the girl went to see the little mushroom with a heavy heart.
Suddenly, she sensed - rather than saw -a slight pink glow from the spot where the mushrooms had been. It almost looked like a dim flashlight. "It must come from the moon", she thought. Nobody was allowed to use electrical lights during the war.
She came to her favorite spot and kneeled. She rubbed her tired eyes. Then she rubbed them again, because what she saw had to be her imagination. There it was, her red -capped mushroom family! It was a dream, such things didn't happen.
But they WERE there! They were chattering and arguing as always, too preoccupied to see their friend. "It can't be true" breathed the child to herself. Tamara heard her. "It's true." she told her exhausted little charge. "If you believe in miracles, they often come true."
"But I did not believe I would ever see my mushrooms again." "Your heart is pure, little one," said Tamara. "In a little corner of that heart you have believed in a miracle all along."
"But what of the white rabbit, Tjotja? I haven't seen him." "He may show himself to you one day if you need him", smiled Tamara Nicolaievna.
As the years passed, the little girl grew to be a woman. Because her family was forced to flee from Estonia to Sweden in a small boat in order to escape Communists, she never saw her mushroom family again. Eventually, she was taken to a strange country named Canada where she finally put down her roots.
She never forgot her little mushrooms. They were imbedded in her heart. And she never stopped believing in miracles. Finally, when she was an old lady, she felt that she had to write a story about them, and that story was read by new generations. The magic of the little girl she had once been never left her.
The End