1. The meeting

‘Bout some mouse

1.     The meeting

                 It was just one of many, rainy, autumn days; one of those twilight ones that make you crouch your head under the sky and seem never ending. Twilight rules over the world. That’s a common rule. Sometimes though, in a miraculous and unexpected way, a sunbeam peaks from before the gloomy and heavy clouds, only to fade away in wet-gray smog that covers the whole town. People were rushing, hiding under their hoods and sheltering under colorless umbrellas. You didn’t need a sharp eye to see that most of them wanted only two things, and they were: hot tea and comfort of a woven blanket. And only I, did it seem, had to slop over the dirty puddles.

                      I can’t remember what made me go out in this kind of weather now. Something that was pointless and unneeded seemed extremely important back then. But I can clearly remember that a certain asymmetric of a corner of an old house where the streets were forking was what attracted me. Color splash on a dull canvas, was what it was. It wasn’t right. There can be no color in grey of the late autumn, when even the last traces of yellow and red leaves are raked off by the yardman.  The world froze in its grayed daze, waiting for the new season to come and only the smell of wet clothes and grass filled the air.

                      And then that color splash appeared.

                      I came closer. Under a tiny umbrella, wearing old boots with his ties loose, sat a rat. A small, grey rat. An ordinary one, if you don’t mind the boots and the umbrella.

                      “It can’t be,” I whispered. “Impossible-“

                      “It isn’t polite to stare at strangers, you know.”

                      I shook my head.

                      “I’m talking with you,” said the rat.

                      This time I saw the rat’s mouth open up in time with words. It is either someone’s silly joke or I am really going insane. Though, I should be more or less crazy by now already.

                      “If you don’t want to talk, then so be it!” The rat turned away from me.”

                      “Oh, no! It’s just that you don’t meet a talking rat every day, don’t you?”

                      “No. It’s just that you usually don’t see us or don’t want to see. Humans only see what they want and everything that is beyond your own sight automatically doesn’t exist. Humans are the most primitive creatures on Earth. We never really understood, why story tellers like you some much. Building one anthill after another, just like those stupid ants and damning the whole place up…”

                      The rat sneezed and its long whiskers dropped. It was a pitiful sight.

                      “Listen,” I said all of the sudden. “We could go over to my place and warm up a little. It’s a bit too cold and wet for a decent conversation, don’t you agree?”

                      The rat looked me up calculatingly, up from my dirty boots till the hood of my worn-out jacket. I grew uncomfortable.

                      “‘Bout mouse.” It said suddenly.

                      “What?”

                      “My name – ‘Bout mouse. And yours?”

                      “Alexander.”

                      “So, Alexander, if you have a mouthful of warm milk, some cheese and a package of chocolate chips, preferably, I would gladly keep you some company.”

                      It stretched out its palm for me to shake.

                      This was how my friendship with ‘Bout mouse – the story teller had started. All and only with its granted permission I take on a duty to tell you some stories he has told me himself. Then, better start from the beginning.