Read The Colors of Madeleine 01: Corner of White Online
Authors: Jaclyn Moriarty
The Colors of Madeleine 01: Corner of White (24 page)
Okay, I’m back. It’s the next day. And I’ve been thinking some more about your issue. I just looked at your letter, and you seem in a STATE about it, so I wanted to tell you that I recently discovered that the way to solve a problem is to write it down. With, like, a question mark, and then WRITE THE ANSWER.
Try it. It totally works.
It’s the Isaac Newton approach.
Isaac was also a big believer in thinking about a problem. Just thinking. Here’s a nice quote from him about it:
“I keep the subject constantly in mind before me and wait till the first dawnings open slowly, by little and little, into a full and clear light.”
But wait, listen, I just remembered that my therapist, Claudia, once told me that sometimes you can solve a problem if you STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. Think about other things. Or just, like, go to bed. And tell your subconscious or whatever — your dreaming mind, maybe — to sort the whole thing out for you.
k, it’s 3 a.m., better go.
catch you,
M.T.
P.S. Sorry about the conflicting suggestions for problem solving, i.e., think all the time or don’t think at all. I guess it’s a choice between genius of all time Isaac Newton, or my (very nice and often quite sensible) therapist, Claudia Tilmaney.
P.P.S. In making your choice you might like to keep in mind that:
• Someone famous once said that you could split up the entire history of mathematics into two halves — the first half is all previous mathematics from the beginning of time; the second was Isaac Newton. And Isaac Newton was the better half.
• When Tsar Peter of Russia visited England back in the days of Isaac Newton, the things on his must-see list were: shipbuilding, the Greenwich Observatory, the mint — and Isaac Newton.
and
(most important of all)
• Isaac Newton invented the cat flap.
By comparison:
• I remember once Claudia telling me she was useless at her multiplication tables (it bothered me a lot — from then on, I was always kind of like wanting to say to her, “Nine twelves?” or “Eight sixes?”).
• To the best of my knowledge, Tsar Peter of Russia never once asked if he could meet Claudia.
and
• Claudia doesn’t even OWN a cat.
A few days later, Elliot Baranski replied:
Dear M.T.,
Thanks for your thoughts on the Butterfly Child.
She’s still sleeping, crops still dead in the ground, but my ankle’s on the mend and I feel like an ass for complaining like I did in my last letter. Sorry about that.
A wave of Reds is on its way — we get Color attacks here, not sure if you know about those. I think I recall that you don’t get Colors in the World.
Most often, you don’t have a clue that a Color’s coming until the warning bells ring (or until it’s on you), and most Colors travel alone, but Reds travel in waves, and in the open. So you get a week or two’s notice of them (towns up the line call it in).
Anyhow, if I write you a letter that’s sort of off-kilter in the next little while, don’t take it personally. Fourth-level Reds mess with your mind.
But then they’ll be gone —
— and I’ve gotta go myself.
Elliot
Madeleine could see him clearly, the writer of the Elliot letters. He was probably around her age. Shy and awkward, teeth that criss-crossed at the front, a high freckled forehead, round glasses, an awkward way of laughing at all the wrong times. Or a laugh like a snort that made him blush. “Elliot Baranski” was his alter ego — his avatar, his escape.
Who did it hurt to play along?
One thing about all this — the correspondence with “Elliot,” the romance with Jack — it felt truer to her previous self.
She had never even suspected that Jack liked her until the night he kissed her on the roof, but as soon as he did, it made sense.
Because that’s how it used to be. In her previous life, there were always eyes on her. People wanting her attention, just because she was rich and pretty. And mostly she’d be hanging with her own friends, but sometimes she had liked to meet these other people, answer their questions, ask
them
about themselves.
So now it was happening again, and she was having fun.
She liked them both, Jack and the letter writer, but even more, she liked their alter egos: Lord Byron and Elliot Baranski.
Around this time, Darshana Charan asked Jack and Madeleine to come over early to babysit.
Darshana was their Science and Mathematics teacher, the former microbiologist who now cleaned students’ rooms.
Her daughters were four and three: Rhani, the elder, was wild, loud, and passionate about robots and aliens; Chakiki, the younger, was sweet, obliging, and loved fairy wings and princess crowns.
“You are no child of mine!” Darshana often said to little Chakiki.
On this day, Jack and Madeleine arrived at the same time. They could hear the sounds of Darshana and her elder daughter impersonating monster roars, and the high voice of Chakiki explaining that their noises hurt her feelings.
“Remind me I have something to tell you,” Jack said as he knocked.
“Tell me now,” said Madeleine.
But the door flew open, and there was a tumble of little hands dragging them inside, while Darshana shouted instructions to everyone at once, and then was gone.
Some time later, the girls were watching TV side by side on the carpet, while Madeleine and Jack sat on the couch. There was a careful space between them; their fingers tangled once and then drew apart.
“This is what I have to tell you,” Jack said to Madeleine. “I’m
not
Byron after all.”
On the TV, a dinosaur roared, the sound like bathwater sucking down a drain.
“I’ve figured it out,” Jack continued. “I’m not him, but I met him once. In one of my former lives. That’s why I felt like I
was
him — because I knew him so well. We used to shoot the breeze, Byron and me.”
Madeleine turned back to the TV. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Me too. We had a blast, eh? You, me, and Byron.”
“I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously. I did! I did know Byron. And not only that but I was a guinea hen at the time.”
Madeleine laughed, and the two little girls turned and held their fingers to their lips with a sharp “shhh.”
Obediently, they stayed silent for a while, then Madeleine curled her feet beneath her and turned sideways to Jack. “Do you actually believe in reincarnation?”
“Of course I do. Have you not listened to a single word I’ve said? All of us are reincarnated. We all come back under the twelve different signs of the zodiac so we get to draw on the twelve different elements of our character, and I happened to be a Scorpio when I was hanging with Byron.”
“I thought you were a guinea hen.”
“Not a
scorpion
, a Scorpio. A Scorpio guinea hen, and there’s nothing hilarious about that, a guinea hen is a noble creature and I held my head high when I was one. It’s true that I don’t have
exact
memories of my former lives, but I’ve got glimpses and sensations and so on, and if you would ever, sort of like, listen to your heart, you might get glimpses of your own past lives too. You might even
meet
yourself from a former life, so, you know, be ready to be polite.”
“Okay, that part makes no sense.”
“Sure it does,” said Jack. “You never listen when I talk, do you? Time is crumpled, see. I’ve told you that before. It’s sort of folded on itself — there’s really only one time and it’s now, and Rhani’s goldfish there could easily be you from a former, or even future, life.”
They regarded the fish. It ignored them, lost in its own thoughts.
“It’s not a goldfish,” said Madeleine. “It’s blue. It’s a fighting fish.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Well, don’t let them forget to feed me,” said Madeleine. “And maybe you could get me a castle or something for my fishbowl.”
The dinosaur cartoon finished and
Sesame Street
began.
“Oh,
Sesame Street
,” said Rhani, turning to Jack and Madeleine. “We always get a chocolate biscuit when this comes on.”
Chakiki also turned. “Yeah, we do. We get the kind with the white bit in the middle, and we get two ones each.”
The only thing the little girls had in common was a swift ability to lie.
“You can look me in the eye,” Jack said, “and tell me that your mother flies to the kitchen to get you a couple of chocolate biscuits whenever
Sesame Street
starts?”
“She doesn’t
fly
to the kitchen,” Rhani withered. “She just kind of like strolls in.”
“I can look you in the eye,” offered Chakiki.
“I’ll call her and check, shall I?” Madeleine suggested, and the girls sighed noisily and turned back to the TV.
All four watched
Sesame Street
for a while, then Madeleine said: “How do you know you were a guinea hen? In your former life with Byron, I mean. Does a guinea hen
know
that it’s a guinea hen?”
“Well,” Jack conceded. “I’m not totally sure. I’ve just sort of pieced it together. See, I’ve figured out I was a small domestic animal in
all
of my former lives. Like a cat or a possum. And once, I was a Tasmanian devil in a petting zoo with a zookeeper that loved me.”
“Okay.”
“I remember being lower down than other people — there were always ankles around, see? Also, I remember they used to pick me up sometimes and cuddle me. So that’s why I know I was a small domestic animal.”
Madeleine considered this. “I think you’re remembering being a baby,” she said.
“No.” Jack shook his head. “I remember chasing pigeons. I remember kind of scrabbling away when humans tried to cuddle me. I remember this sensation of being helpless and
wanting
the things humans had, and I remember the noises I made. They were animal noises, like shrieks and things, and I felt good when I did that, but I also sort of scared myself. Plus I remember being a bear cub in a pit somewhere in Florence in the fifteenth century.”
“Okay.”
“That was lonely. In the pit.”
“I’ll bet. And you remember meeting Byron as a guinea hen?”
“It’s like this,” Jack said. “I was reading about Byron the other day, and did you know he lived in Italy for a while? Anyhow, he had horses, dogs, monkeys, cats, an eagle, a crow, a falcon, peacocks, guinea hens, and an Egyptian crane. I was reading this and the words
guinea hens
sort of caught at me and said: ‘
Jack!
’”
“Ah, then,” agreed Madeleine.
“He let all his animals live in the house. Peacocks and monkeys wandering up and down the stairs. Oh, except the horses. They weren’t allowed inside.”
“Poor horses,” said Madeleine. The girls were transfixed by the TV, so she leaned over and kissed Jack’s cheek. “I liked it better when you were Byron,” she murmured. “As sexy as a guinea hen can be.”
Jack turned back to the TV and sighed deeply. “Actually, now that I think about it, that’s all bollocks. Everything I just said. I was never a guinea hen. I
am
Lord Byron.”
He touched her thigh with a curled fist and she let herself lean into him.
“The letter of the day is
J
,” both girls shouted, suddenly turning and catching her quick shift back.
A key turned in the front door and a voice shouted, “The letter of the day is
J
, is it? But what is the
name
of the day? YOU DON’T KNOW, DO YOU?”
The girls ran down the hall, and Jack and Madeleine unfolded themselves from the couch.
There was Darshana’s voice at the door, but also another voice, an extra voice, laughing.
“Look who I’ve found, and she’s come to have morning tea with us,” called Darshana.
Holly Tully moved into the hallway light, smiling.
“We’ll have Science later,” Darshana said. “Or another day. Who cares. But, you small people who live in this house with me, you still have not told me the name of this day!”
“Saturday?” tried Rhani.
“Friday,” asserted Chakiki, confident.
“Ah! You are no children of mine!”