A Sea of Blue Tulle

Just before seven, a little boy on the front cushion kept pointing at the stage light. His dad whispered in his ear. The boy nodded and pointed again.

Mila watched through the gap beside the curtain. Grandma sat in the second row with Eva beside her. She'd loosened her scarf, and one end lay across Eva's knee.

Aron handed Mila the rain tin. He'd stuck a scrap of paper underneath so she could see at once which way to hold it.

‘Don't start with a downpour,’ he whispered.

‘I know.’

‘Yes. I'm reminding myself too.’

He pulled the fisherman onto his hand. Behind the curtain stood the ordinary chair he could sit on later. The painted window faced the audience, blue side out. The large silver cloth was safely put away in its protective cover in the side room.

Ilyas stepped in front of the curtain and asked whether anyone knew how many socks an octopus needed. The little boy on the front cushion shouted, ‘Two!’ The argument started before a single puppet appeared.

When the ceiling lights went out, the blue tulle became a sea. Mila glanced at the ordinary stage lamp. It shone steadily.

The fisherman appeared with an empty fishing rod.

‘Today,’ Aron grumbled, ‘I'm catching my supper.’

One purple tentacle rose from the water. It caught the end of the rod and vanished. The fisherman leaned over.

‘That's a very large worm.’

Up came the octopus. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The fisherman jumped so hard his cap almost disappeared behind the curtain. Ilyas draped the tentacles over the edge. One arm wore a sock. Another felt it uncertainly.

‘I lost that,’ the fisherman said.

‘This? I found it.’

‘Where?’

‘On my foot.’

The boy on the cushion laughed. Mila couldn't hear Grandma yet. She gave the tin a very gentle shake. A few raindrops pattered onto the water.

The fisherman looked up.

‘I'd better go home, then.’

The octopus stopped him. He dived down and returned with the boot. Flowers stuck crookedly out of the top. At the front was the smallest one, with its three petals.

‘I've already got a house,’ said the octopus. ‘The garden's a little high up, that's all.’

The fisherman examined the boot. He tapped its sole.

‘I lost that too.’

‘You are careless with your houses.’

Ilyas made the octopus try to climb inside. Two arms went in neatly. The third poked through the flowers. The fisherman tried to help and got a tentacle round his nose. Mila bit her lip to keep the tin still.

At last the octopus emerged, wearing a flower on his head. He solemnly took it off and put it back.

‘I think I need an extension.’

The fisherman looked at the audience. ‘I think I need a door.’

Mila made the rain a little heavier. Ilyas put the boot down behind the stage and pointed towards the newspaper with his free hand. She settled the tin into the folded cloth waiting for it. There it couldn't roll away.

The fisherman found the blue window. He knocked softly, then gave three impatient raps. Behind it, the octopus appeared.

‘You're very late.’

‘I didn't know anyone was expecting me.’

‘Then you should have come earlier.’

Aron turned the fisherman towards the blue window frame. Up went his hand to shoo away the cloud. Mila rustled the newspaper. A little wind blew. The fisherman held on to his cap, but the rain carried on.

He poked his nose round the other side of the window. Mila stilled the tin. As soon as he moved back, it began to patter again.

The fisherman looked left. Right. Left again.

‘I've had an idea,’ he said.

The octopus leaned towards him. ‘It happens.’

Aron gave Mila their agreed nod. She put down the newspaper and nestled the tin back in its folded cloth. Then she took hold of both sides of the window. The curtain-sewing woman released the two clamps. Mila turned the cardboard halfway round. A red letterbox appeared beneath the yellow frame. The woman fastened both clamps to the supports again.

The fisherman settled on the dry side and brought out his sandwich.

‘I'm staying here.’

The octopus stretched out a tentacle. ‘Can I have one?’

Aron moved the fisherman to guard his sandwich. The little stick tapped the underside of the window. The paper bread sprang out of its clip and dropped onto the blue tulle.

Mila held her breath. She knew the next line. The octopus was supposed to ask whether the fisherman would share. But his hand was empty.

‘Your sandwich!’ cried the boy on the cushion.

Aron made the fisherman look very slowly at his empty hand.

‘I didn't know it could swim.’

The audience laughed. Mila spotted the paper beside her knee, behind the bottom edge of the stage. She slid her free hand along the tulle and picked it up. The octopus leaned forward to ask the audience whether it had been brown or white bread. Meanwhile, Mila slipped it back into Aron's empty clip.

Aron glanced at her. Then he brought the sandwich up on the other side of the window.

‘Rescued,’ the fisherman grumbled. He inspected the paper closely. ‘Bit soupy on the wet side.’

Grandma laughed so loudly that Mila could pick out her voice above everybody else's. Mila started giggling too. She had to grip the rain tin in both hands to keep from adding a hailstorm.

The octopus invited the fisherman to live with him. They could stand the boot upright and build another storey on top together. The fisherman pointed at the flowers.

‘Those stay outside.’

‘They're coming with us,’ the octopus said.

The fisherman thought for a long time. Then he moved his sandwich aside.

‘We'll need a bigger windowsill.’

Together they looked for somewhere to put the garden. The fisherman wanted the boot by the door. The octopus wanted it on the roof. The audience could choose. Everyone shouted at once, so Ilyas made the octopus raise all his arms to vote as well.

In the end, the boot stood beside the yellow window. The fisherman could water the flowers without getting wet. The octopus could just squeeze through the door if he kept his arms neatly one behind another. He went back twice because he'd left one outside.

Mila let the last little shower fall on the far side of the window. Then all was quiet. The fisherman took off his cap and set it beneath the largest flower.

‘In case she loses her socks,’ he said.

The curtain closed. For a moment, all Mila could see were Aron's shoes and the window supports. Then the applause began. Something nudged her elbow. Aron held up his empty clip and grinned.

They went out in front of the curtain together, with Ilyas and the puppets. The ordinary hall lights were on again. Above the door, the clock said twenty-five to eight.

Grandma held her scarf in one hand and clapped the other against her knee. When Mila looked at her, she gave a thumbs-up. Over the boot, the little three-petalled flower was still trembling.