Journey of Nimble

“I’ve got just the one for you love, a very rare find indeed. It’s waiting out the back to be taken home!” And with that the old lady tapped me on the head with a wooden stick and jumped with a light spring off the chair.

I followed her through the den like “shop”, passing in between shelves, tightly packed from floor to ceiling with books, thousands of books, colourful and beautifully arranged! She led me behind a velvety curtain to a softly lit room, containing a small round table, a tall set of bookshelves and a ladder.

“It’s right at the top,” she said pointing upwards.

“I’ll get it,” I offered, feeling a bit nervous about her frail physique.

“It’s alright, I’m quite capable!”

“No disrespect, but... how old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“At least 90!”

“Looks can deceive,” she replied with a wink.

The little old lady, climbed swiftly to the top of the ladder, like a light and nimble twenty-year-old, while I attempted to steady it. She glanced down at me with a look of bewilderment, and said, “honestly, there’s no need young woman!”

I let go of the ladder as she tiptoed on the last step, and reached up with crinkled bony fingers to take the poor forgotten book, from days long gone. I waited with bated breath, as she slowly eased it from the shelf, swirls of dust circling about her head. She climbed down and placed the neatly wrapped book in my hands.

I put it on the table and carefully untied the bits of string holding the piece of faded cloth together, to reveal, a white ethereal creature, almost lucid, and transparent like a veil. It was a fox in a mesmerising dance. The more I stared, the more it seemed to come alive; its eyes following mine, its chest expanding and contracting, legs quivering as though it was about to jump from the book cover and onto my shoulder. Before I got the chance to open it, the old lady put her hand firmly on its cover and said, “if you open this book, your life will never be the same again.”

“Look... I’ve read many self-help books. None of them actually work you know.”

“This is not a self-help book, but it will change your life.”

“How?”

“It will connect you with something that very few people know about, and depending on how you see it, it could be a blessing or a curse.”

“Sounds like black magic to me.”

She shuddered upon hearing those words. I handed the book to her, which she refused and gently pushed back towards me.

“How much is it?”

“It’s not for sale.”

“Are you giving it to me?”

“Those who expect, do not get.”

“Why the riddle?”

“Reverse psychology.”

“Can I please borrow this book?”

“Yes,” she said with a chuckle, “return it to me when you’re done.”

As I made my way back, to the cold, lonely, 1970’s paisley wallpapered, poxy excuse for a home, I reflected on the strange encounter with the old lady and her secret shop. I’d heard rumours about the place for years, and how each person who went in there, received a personally recommended book - as if a prescription for medicine - subsequently changing their lives for the better.

All I said was, “I’m looking to be inspired.”

She must have held my gaze for about ten seconds, as if reading my soul, before a weird incantation tumbled from her lips. I felt small and embarrassed, as she stared into my depths, as if she could see it all. Somehow, I knew her intentions were good - must have been the long white hair.

***

I sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, and opened the first page:

The Journey of Nimble

Read on at your fortune, or read on at your peril, the choice is yours...

On the next page began:

If you are reading this, then you must indeed be a curious creature, for despite the warning from both voice and print, you have decided to read on. Human beings are such strange things, do you not think? They believe they have the right to everything they desire, without suffering the consequences. However, this book was not written for ignorant fools, but for those who seek to find more than what they see with their eyes. So, take heed! If you are weak and fragile in nature, easily frightened, are prone to nightmares and the like, lack patience, or have a feeble consistency DO NOT READ ON…

I closed the book. Was this some kind of cult? It’s so true though, we are all strange, aren’t we? It’s the forbidding which makes things exciting, dangerous, and thrilling. Plus, we don’t like being told what to do, or in this case what NOT to do…

Seen as I suffered from many flaws and imperfections, but none described in the above, I opened the book again and read on:

Still hush, don’t rush, in the big night, big bright full moonlit light, stars stir, flashes wur, sound of prancing, paws dancing, translucent dashing,            

Pure white… hush! Pay attention, perception changes, absorb the tension, something strange…

What a pity! You missed it! Too late? Not quite!

“What is this rubbish?!” I slammed the book shut. “I’m off to bed!”

That night, I dreamt of travelling on the back of a translucent nimble white fox with nine tails. The fox, who I shall call Daisy, because of her airy fairy and gentle nature, was many centuries of age, which had allowed her great wisdom and power to flourish, and with it the number of those tails. She took me to various parts of the world; to the holy lakes of the plateau of Tibet, the vast copper gorges of the Grand Canyon, into damp caves, balancing on the tips of great pyramids, and across infinite oceans. We were invisible to the world as we dashed through the starlit skies like a shooting star, skimmed below the blazing sun and over golden deserts and up through dewy clouds. We communicated through telepathy, but without the use of words.

I awoke feeling refreshed, relaxed and for the first time in years: positive.

***

When I got to Angel tube station that morning, the metal grills were closed. The whole of London - myself included - would be grinding its teeth yet again, red faced and moany all day. But no! I was not going to let this minor hiccup dampen my newfound joy. A man in a suit reading the notice nearby started cursing. “Dam strikes! Do they not realise that some of us have mouths to feed! Argghh!” He raised his fists in the air and I saw this as an invitation to approach him, see if there was anything this new person – A.K.A: I - could do to calm him down.

“Excuse me?”

“What?!”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to get to bloody work!”

“Yes, but where?”

“Green Park.”

So was I! What were the chances of that?!

“Really?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’m going there too!”

“Well, we might as well share a cab... assuming that we can get one,” he grumbled.

Shortly after, we hailed a black cab and were on our way! A few minutes into our voyage I decided to break the awkward silence and make conversation. The suited man - ignoring my existence - continued to stare out of the window and the cabbie, seeing my predicament, just shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me through his rearview mirror. Unlike most London cabbies - where banter comes as part of the parcel - he seemed a quiet and reflective sort of man. But just as I was getting out, after our arrival at Green Park, he perked up and called me over to his window, “Oi love! You should avoid Hyde Park today.”

“Why?”

“It would be better if you took the bus.”

“Why? And how did you know I was going…”

“I shall not repeat this again: advice from Nimble.” And before I could say anything else, he drove off, tires screeching for dramatic affect. Curious.

My regular job as cleaner/shopper/secretary/confident/back scratcher (only joking) for wealthy poet - trust fund baby - Edmonton Elias, was about an hour away by foot, in Kensington. The best ritual of my day was usually the morning walk through Hyde Park. But what was I to do? The cabbie’s advice was so random. I decided to brush it under the carpet and to do what I felt like doing, which was to take a slightly different route from the usual dusty track next to the bridal path, thus partly following the cabbie’s advice.

***

As I walked through the park, the wind picked up, kicking dust and stray leaves about. Then hundreds of pigeons started to disperse chaotically from the branches of the London Planes. The squirrels were acting weirdly too, darting about, as if frantically finding somewhere to hide. On either side of the walk, the Planes started to sway violently, and I looked up to see the peaceful sky transformed - too quickly for my liking – into something seething with threat. Dark clouds closed in from all directions, highly charged and menacing. Then came the rumbling. People nearby started to panic, for the rumblings got closer and closer until all of a sudden water burst through the skies with great force. In a matter of seconds, I and everyone around me were soaked. A few of us ran to the bandstand to take cover.

We stood there, strangers huddled together, shivering, and dripping, looking out onto the dramatic spectacle displayed before us. Bits of branches broke off, falling about the place and the wind got so fierce that we had to grip onto the railings to prevent our relatively flimsy bodies from blowing away. The sky got darker and darker still, and the rumblings got louder and louder and people started to scream.

“Dammit! I should have taken that bus!” I shouted to myself.

“Yes, you should have!” shouted a little girl in return, crouching at her mother’s feet next to me. Very curious.

A crackling noise roared overhead and all around, causing confused screaming people to scatter like ants, away from the bandstand. I stayed put, as the little girl next to me, who was already clinging onto her mother, reached out to hold my hand. She looked into my eyes and said, without any words, “next time listen to Nimble.” So very curious!

Again, a loud crackle permeated the skies and a sharp jagged light sliced through the nearest Plane, consuming a man and a woman who were sheltering at its base. They were clasping onto each other in terror, a pug wedged in their embrace. The tree fell apart where it was split into two and came crashing down on some of the people trying to escape. Then as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, the storm passed as quickly as it came, leaving an aftermath of screaming and sobbing and trembling humans in its wake. The mother and daughter, without me noticing, had already slipped away...

Then there it was, unmistakably, standing majestically in the middle of the split tree, staring straight at me. Its lustrous white fur shimmering in the creeping sunlight. Its penetrating almond eyes set upon a heart shaped face, ears prickled up, alert. Its nine tails fanned and swaying, and its nimble limbs ready to prance. No one else seemed to be paying any attention. Could they even see it? No, of course they couldn’t, it’s got nine tails! “Can anyone else see you?” I said to myself.

It shook its head and without words, communicated this to me, “Now will you please just listen when I give you a message.”

“It was the cab driver not you,” I replied, also communicating the meaning without words.

“It was me.”

“And the little girl?”

“Me.”

“How?”

“Shapeshifting.”

“Are you Nimble?”

“Yes, and for Christ’s sakes don’t call me Daisy.”

“Sorry, thought it suited you.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I’m not airy fairy, I am a highly respected kitsune, of which you know nothing about.”

“What’s a kitsune?”

“Exactly. Google it!”

And with a flick of her tails, she was gone...

***

“You should have just taken the bus home Lucy. I’m sure I would have managed a day without you,” said Edmonton, trying his best to sound sympathetic. “But seen as you’re here, you might as well get on with the washing up. We don’t want you to have come all this way for nothing do we?”

“No Mr Elias we don’t,” I said, faking a smile.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You’re already two hours late. Chop chop!” he said, clapping his hands.

I went into the kitchen with a heavy heart, as Edmonton switched on the TV in the study. I could hear the BBC news jingle, and crept back to peer discretely from behind the door to watch.

“News flash! Six people and a pug died earlier this morning in a freak localised storm in Hyde Park. Ten have been taken to hospital for trauma and eye injuries, and it’s thought that others who were in the area could be suffering from shock. Onto Clive Myrie who is live at the scene.

So, Clive, can you tell us more?”

“Yes, this kind of storm occurs about one once every hundred years, so anyone who was in the area at the time was very unfortunate. Anybody listening to this, please avoid Hyde Park today until the situation is stable.”

“Thank you, Clive, we’ll come back to you later. Stay safe!”

“Thanks Hew!”

Avoid Hyde Park today. That’s exactly what the cabbie had said. Did Nimble create the storm? Was it punishment for not following her advice? Or did she know the storm was coming and was warning me? In which case I could have warned others too and saved lives! I had to find out…

“Mr Elias,” I said taking my apron off, “I’m sorry but I’m feeling in shock. I think it’s best I go home.”

“You don’t look like you’re in shock.”

“My hands are shaky, and I wouldn’t want to accidentality drop some of your Hermès crockery on the floor.”

“Yes, now I’m looking at you properly dear, you are a little pasty. You should definitely go home!”

***

“.- -... .-. .- -.-. .- -.. .- -... .-. .-” (ABRACADABRA) I tapped.

“... - .- - . / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .--. ..- .-. .--. --- ... . ..--..” (STATE YOUR PURPOSE?) was the reply.

“.... . .-.. .--.” (HELP).

“.-- .... .- - / ..-. --- .-.” (WHAT FOR).

“-. .. -- -... .-.. . / - .-. --- ..- -... .-.. . ...” (NIMBLE TROUBLES).

The door opened with a creak, and the old lady peaked her head out.

“Shh… come inside,” she whispered. “Sorry, just wanted to check it was important,” she added, grinning to herself as she closed the door behind me.

“Here, you can have this back. It’s cursed,” I said, taking the book out of my bag and giving it to her.

“You were warned young lady.”

“My name is Lucy.”

“Lucy, I did tell you, and so did the first page of the book.”

“That’s not the point. I was tricked.”

“I apologise if you see it that way. Now sit down love and tell me what has made you so upset.”

“This evil Nimble creature staged a thunderstorm in Hyde Park this morning!”

The old lady started laughing.

“What’s so funny?!”

And she wouldn’t stop.

“This is not funny at all!”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?!”

“Yes, I know it sounds completely ridiculous, but people died and so did a pug!”

“Kitsune’s are powerful, but not that powerful. They’re fox spirits, not gods!” Then she spoke more softly, “they are wise helpers, they are protectors. They are deliverers of good and bad omens. Next time, follow the advice.”

“What do you mean next time?”

“They’re very loyal. Once you are bonded with a kitsune, they stay with you forever.”

“What? Just from reading a few lines from that book?”

“Yes. You are now stuck with Nimble, your faithful protector… It’s not such a bad thing, she’ll get you out of all sorts of trouble!”

“But what about all those people? I could have warned them.”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“Why?”

“Thousands of years of trial and error! Believe me, we’ve … it doesn’t work. Alas, if only it was that simple,” she said with an element of sadness. “But with guidance from your new friend, you will grow in self-confidence, and become wise, compassionate, strong and resilient... and that’s how you help others.”

“But why me?”

“Because you were looking.”

As I turned to leave, I’m sure I saw the old lady fidgeting with something behind her back, and as I was closing the door, she communicated without words, “sweet dreams,” just as I caught sight of - before she could tuck it away - one of her long white swishing tails...