Invasions

 Irusu the little dog usually enjoys pottering around the garden in the morning, sniffing at everything and looking at the birds and squirrels, soaking up the sunshine. Not this morning.

Today she left it as late as she could manage to go outside at all, then she just hid behind a shrub to do what all dogs have to, and positively ran back to the house, like a person urgently needing the safety of a hiding place.

She sits in the corner of the sofa, staring moodily across the room to the bright spring day outside, trembling.

"What's the matter Irusu? Come and have a cup of tea with us," says Danshari, who has been discussing some of the finer points of Buddhist philosophy with Hanafubuki.

Wretchedly, her tail between her legs and her ears down, her whole being drooping, still looking shaky, Irusu comes to join them.

"What's up, Ru?" Danshari says.

Irusu gazes at him, her eyes two pools of dread and despair.

"Yūgen says President Putin has invaded England," she says, her voice wobbly.

Danshari frowns, puzzled. "What? England? No, he hasn't. He's invaded Ukraine. In fact, some of the people from Ukraine — not as many as we'd like or as fast as we wanted, but that's another conversation — are coming here to live in England where they can be safe. I think you must have got the wrong end of the stick."

"I doubt it," says Hanafubuki. "Irusu is usually very clear on matters of personal security. What did Yūgen say to you, Ru? Tell us exactly."

"Well," quavers Irusu, "I'd seen all the tanks and explosions on the news, and the people at the railway station trying to get away to somewhere safe; and I said to Yūgen that I was scared.  I was frightened that President Putin would come here and ruin our lives and spoil our home and everything would be terrifying and our peace would be gone and nothing would be nice any more, not ever again. And Yūgen said, 'He already has.' And then she got up and went out of the room."

"Oh, I see!" Danshari's face clears. "I think, Ru darling, Yūgen was talking about attitude. I'll have to check, of course — though I'm certain President Putin hasn't invaded England — but I think what Yūgen meant is about responsibility. You know, to hold our light steady and practice cheerfulness, and keep a calm centre of peace. You know? To breathe in to our hearts, be kind to one another. Not that we ignore what's happening in Ukraine, not at all. If you have any money to help the people who are having to start again, I can help you find the most helpful place to donate it. But if you haven't got any money, you can still close your eyes and go into the quiet place in your heart, and send them waves of love and hope out of the fountain of light inside you."

"Unicorn light," chips in Hanafubuki. "That's the best sort. Sparkly white, with little rainbow crystal glints in it. Send them that. It's very transformative."

"So . . . President Putin hasn't invaded our country? Everything's going to be okay?"

Danshari looks at her. That's a tricky question, he thinks.

"We . . . we live in turbulent times," he says. "But if my guess about what Yūgen meant is right, then I think the 'Everything's going to be okay' part has to come from us. It has to come from the inside, not the outside. That's what she meant. Not to let your heart, the living core of you, be invaded by the sorrows of the world. Even the ones in England."

"See my horn?" Hanafubuki lowers it a bit to bring its sparkle down to where Irusu can't help seeing it because it's right there. "You have to kind of imagine you have one too. Unicorn horns are made of light."

"BUT I'M NOT A UNICORN!" wails Irusu.

"I said, imagine. Is that hard to do?"

"When I walk along the road," says Danshari softly, "I say quietly, over and over — provided there's no one else right there — that thing you just said, Ru: 'Everything is going to be okay.' Over and over I say it. For myself, for Ukraine, for the whole aching world. I say it because I am part of God (and so are you), and when God said, 'Let there be light,' there was light. So I'm experimenting with 'Everything is going to be okay'."

Irusu stares at him. "Is it working? Is everything going to be okay?" she wants to know.

Danshari hesitates. "In the end," he says. "But in the meantime, do you feel a little bit better?"

Irusu considers. She feels comforted by Danshari's kind face across the table, and Hanafubuki sitting just there next to her. "Yes," she admits.

"Well maybe," says Danshari, "that's the first step to being okay. Maybe that will have to do for now."

He makes a mental note to have a word with Yūgen.

How to live when there are no answers

 

I am sure you know this: time and space live in intimate relationship. This is why history rests always on geography.

Kanso, who likes life to be simple and quiet — unadorned, you might say — knows that sometimes peace is found only by long waiting. Tonight, when he wants some time with nothing else in it, to sit with Danshari and talk things through, he has to hold the space inside himself until the children have gone to bed, Two Hours Max and Hineni are deep into a game of chess, and the other animals have gone out in the moonlight as darkness falls — all except for Irusu who prefers dozing on the warm hearth rug in the comfortable presence of Shanti and Sophia and Auntie Jessie. Technically, Ananda too; but he's fast asleep in his chair, so only notionally present.

And now the two of them — Kanso and Danshari — are alone, with enough space around them for proper conversation.

"This war," says Kanso; "it stirs up memories."

Danshari says nothing. He can see it would. He just listens. 

"There were times," Kanso says, "when I couldn't find any more courage; when I was there only because I had to be. There were nights when we huddled in sodden blankets, holding the little ones to keep them warm, all of us in a two-man tent, knowing we must be awake before dawn, because the police would come and trash everything — and we needed to save a little bread, not lose our phones, make sure we hung on to a blanket for tomorrow. I didn't know, Danshari, how to be. Or even who I had become — if I still existed, if you see what I mean. I was cold. I was hungry. I was tired beyond telling. That is who I was — all I was. I'm not sure I even felt afraid any more; fear takes energy."

Danhari breathes quietly, and he listens. 

"I see people in their bomb shelters making coffee, sharing bread, keeping little ones amused, doing their bravest best to be cheerful and calm while the city explodes and burns and the buildings fall. I want so much for it to stop — for there to be a surprising intervention, some kind of a miracle, something that would mean life could be rebuilt and hope rise from the ashes."

He glances at Danshari, then looks down at the table. "I don't want them to go through it all; losing the people who meant the world to them, on the road with only what they can stuff in rucksacks, sheltering under bridges, lining up for soup given out by volunteers, not knowing where to go or how to get there. Tired and cold and damp and dirty and hungry and feeling ill — all the time, every day. Danshari, I don't want it to happen to them."

Before he lost everything, Kanso already knew the magic of simplicity; he developed the practice of it into a super-power. He knew that if you live with very little, and own almost nothing, you can extend your possibilities to an astonishing degree. When those days came in which people's homes and possessions turned themselves into weapons of the enemy — became avalanches of rubble, heaps of twisted metal, flew from their shelves on the shaking walls — having very little showed its advantages. Sleeping on the floor wrapped in a blanket feels less severe when it is the familiar everyday way of doing things anyhow. 

But almost nothing and actual nothing are very different things. Simplicity is not the same as destitution. Kanso believes simplicity enriches everyone's life; he wouldn't wish destitution on his worst enemy.

Because he holds silence inside the chambers of his heart; because he has lived with simplicity so long, he is able to put his hand now on what he really means, and eventually he manages to say it to Danshari.

"I just don't think I can bear any more of it," he says.

Danshari doesn't try to appropriate anyone else's feelings. He doesn't look for comparisons in his own emotions or experiences. 

He just sits in silence with his friend and sees the tears begin to fall.

The whole world, he thinks, probably can't take any more. The whole Earth is worn out. This was supposed to be our chance — the last chance we would ever have — to find our way in to healing, and peace. This was our time to make it right again, to give the trees and the sky and the waters some space to breathe. It wasn't meant for bombs. 

Danshari offers no false hopes, but no bitter counsel of despair either. 

He sits at the table with Kanso, and lets it just be what it is.

Having a friend to live through it with you is what makes it possible.

 

Danshari knows that. 

Scaramouche Rickshaw

 "What shall we do?"

Hineni sat on the steps of the deck, looking out at this garden full of grass and flowers in the height of summer. "Shall we go for a walk in the park? Shall we go down to the beach? Do you feel like walking down to get an ice cream?"

He looked at his friend, his attention snagged by the quietness. Two Hours Max was dithering. Hineni thought they looked embarrassed. "What?" he said.

"Well," said Two Hours Max, "it would be nice to do something later, but this morning I have to go out."

"Oh." Hineni tried not to look disappointed. He didn't want to be nosy, but he couldn't help asking, "Where are you going?"

Two Hours Max did some more hesitating. Then, "I need to go and see my friend," they said.

Hineni processed in silence the pain of jealousy. It had never occurred to him that Two Hours Max might have another friend. Everyone has friends, and things to do. Hineni wasn't stupid, he knew that. But somehow he had imagined that Two Hours Max was his special friend, and now they would do everything together: but apparently not.

As the silence lengthened, Hineni tried to think of something casual and ordinary to say, that would show it was okay and he didn't mind.

"Who is your friend?", he asked.

"Scaramouche Rickshaw," said Two Hours Max.

"Who?" Hineni's face distorted into bewilderment. "Scara . . . what?"

"Scaramouche Rickshaw," said Two Hours Max again, patiently. Not the kind of patient meant to make anyone feel silly and thick, just saying it again so Hineni could get it.

"That . . ." Hineni took it in. "That's a very unusual name."

"Well," said Two Hours Max, "Scaramouche Rickshaw is a very unusual person."

"Why?" Hineni felt curious now. "What's odd about . . ." he wasn't sure whether to say "him" or "her". 

" . . . them", he said.

"Oh . . ." Two Hours Max looked at a little sparrow sitting up in the cherry tree. "For one thing, they are invisible."

Hineni digested this piece of information.

"Invisible?" he said. "You mean they aren't really there?"

"No," said Two Hours Max. "No, I don't. Scaramouche Rickshaw is really there. Just invisible."

"But . . . " Hineni persisted. "In what sense are they there if you can't see them?"

Two Hours Max glanced at him and looked away again. "What d'you mean?" they said. "All sorts of things are there that you can't see. Air, and hope — and me when I'm not here. While you're here at home and I'm visiting Scaramouche, you won't be able to see me but I'll still be here; just somewhere else. If nothing was real except the things we can see, the world would be unreliable. And maybe flat. The sun couldn't rise. There'd be nothing over the horizon."

"All right," said Hineni. "I see that. But the sun and you are only invisible because you're somewhere else. And you can see air moving. And hope is . . . it's something you can see about to happen. But your friend is invisible while you are actually with them?"

"Yes," said Two Hours Max. "Several of my friends are."

"So . . . " Hineni frowned, thinking hard about this. "Can I meet Scara . . . your friend, then?"

"I don't know," said Two Hours Max. "I think that might be up to you."

"Can I come with you?" Hineni asked, consumed with curiosity.

"No," said Two Hours Max, after a short pause trying to think of a kind and polite way to say it.

Hineni's head buzzed with thoughts and questions. "What are they like?" he said. "What do they look like, if you can't see them? Although . . . I suppose if you can't see them they don't look like anything."

"Oh, they do," said Two Hours Max. "Scaramouche Rickshaw has shiny eyes and looks at you sideways. They stand with their arms folded, waiting under the tree. They have a sort of lop-sided grin and hair that sticks up all untidy. They're tall and skinny, with old boots and shabby clothes, and —"

"How do you know all this if you can't see them?"

For a moment Two Hours Max didn't reply. "Hineni," they said then: "haven't you ever had an invisible friend?"

Hineni stared at Two Hours Max in frank incomprehension. "No," he said. "Why no, I haven't. Two, the world is so full of people, where — and why — would I find — or look for — an invisible person?"

Two Hours Max waved their hand vaguely, trying to reach for a satisfactory explanation. "Scaramouche Rickshaw," they said, "and invisible friends in general, they are . . . erm . . . they are born out of necessity. I mean, you need them and there they are."

"Do you mean you make them up?"

"No," said Two Hours Max emphatically. "No, that's not what I mean. Look all I can say is — and I hope in a way you never need to find this out for yourself — if things get bad enough, and you don't know where to turn, look for Scaramouche Rickshaw, and there they'll be. Long and lanky, leaning against a tree with their arms folded, looking out for you with shiny eyes full of fun, that know you and understand you; and a lopsided smile. Even though you can't see them, you'll know they are there. Because that's how it is sometimes."

All that whole morning, while Two Hours Max was out visiting Scaramouche Rickshaw, Hineni turned the whole idea over and over in his mind. He didn't understand this thing at all.

He thought he might ask Yūgen about it. He didn't think his mother or father would have the first clue; but Yūgen might know.

Auntie Jessie comes home

It was evening when Auntie Jessie and Two Hours Max came into the garden, carrying their blankets and just one small bag of things. They didn’t have much. They walked very quietly down the path. Hineni looked up, and saw them standing there. “Hello!” he shouted. He scrambled to his feet and ran to meet them.

He showed them their space on the shelf, and they left their little mound of things there, and came down to join the others sitting round the fire.

You can’t always imagine how it will be with a person who comes to stay. People carry a certain amount of baggage on the inside as well as on the outside. People shine with different light from each other. It’s not easy to tell until they arrive. 

But Yūgen, sitting next to the Great Bear (who was all better now), looked at Two Hours Max, who had found a space to sit quietly by themself, and at Auntie Jessie who had somehow become surrounded by little girls, and she thought that — yes — this was going to work.

It wouldn’t be possible to say how this had happened exactly. Auntie Jessie was shy and quiet, though she had a kind of merriment in her smile. They were late with supper that evening — there had been a confusion about whose turn it was to cook. But when at last everything was ready and Kanso said it was time to eat, Auntie Jessie said to the little girls, “We can pretend we’re in a café, can’t we? Out on the town, the happiest people on earth.” 

And sometimes, what you pretend becomes sort of true. That’s how reality comes into the world. It starts with an idea.

Jab

And then, before Auntie Jessie and Two Hours Max even had a chance to move in from their old place and make their new home on the shelf, a thing came to pass that felt like the end of the world for a day or two. Ursa, the Great Bear, was ill. This had never happened before. Stars are not often unwell.

It was because the Great Bear had been for her injection — the one to protect a person against catching the virus. Ursa very much wanted to have this injection, because it is part of loving. 

When there is a virus like this one that goes all around the world, there are different things we can do to help. Just ordinary soap and water makes viruses give up and go away. And they need to hop from person to person, by a cough or a sneeze or by people touching each other — so when we stay at home or leave a big gap between people it helps. 

But now there is the injection, and that will be a big help. A person who has had the injection is protected against the virus, yes, that's true. But that was not why the Great Bear wanted to have the injection.

She wanted it because it meant that if she couldn't catch the virus, then she wouldn't be part of passing it on round the world. 

Ursa couldn't go to India and help the poor people who have been so ill. She didn't have a job in a hospital to look after people who needed help. She didn't have much money to help people whose lives had gone wrong because of the virus. But this one thing she could do. Having the injection meant she could be part of helping and loving, part of making it stop.

A person has a beautiful thing inside called the Immune System. It has a whole rainbow of loveliness, everything from special blood cells to the power of happiness. It gets strong from all kinds of things that you might not think were connected — sunshine and music, the food you eat and having a peaceful rest, being loved and playing in the garden, stroking animals and praying — all sorts of things make a person's immune system strong. Amazing.

The great work of the Immune System is to create wellbeing and parry the Adversary. It does this — and this might sound surprising — not by inflaming things but by calming them down. It is for generating and establishing serenity and cheerfulness. Its chief weapons are animal fur and vegetables. Who'd a thought it?

When someone has the injection to stop the virus spreading round the world, it makes the Immune System inside sit up, suddenly alert, and say, "Uh-oh!" And then, "On guard!!" It knows something that doesn't normally belong there has come into the body it lives in, so it pays attention with all its might, to protect the body where it lives — because that's its actual job.

And when your Immune System is parrying an adversary inside you, you can feel that struggle in every living cell! It can make you hot and feel sick, it can give you pains and even make you poo. A lot.

Ursa knew that the injection would help stop the virus from travelling around, and help keep her safe from catching that virus herself. But she also knew the injection might make her feel ill. She knew it could happen. She expected it. So she wasn't worried, but nobody enjoys being ill, do they?

The Great Bear went to the Vaccination Centre and had her injection and came home. 

And then in the evening, she began to feel very tired.

She sat down quietly.

She thought she might go to bed early.

Then she started to feel hot and shivery both at the same time.

Her legs were hurting. And her head hurt inside.

So she went to bed, but in the morning she still felt ill.

Ursa stayed in her bed and rested. She wasn't worried or afraid, she just felt ill.

Yūgen came to see her. "Are you okay?"

Ursa said she was okay really, and she was pleased to see Yūgen, but she didn't feel very well. So Yūgen sang her a little song and made her a cup of tea, and then just let her rest.

Danshari came to see her. "Can I get you anything, Ursa?"

He brought her some lemonade with ice in it, which was lovely. Then he stayed to read her a story. And then he just let her rest.

And after a while — not very long, just a day or two — Ursa's Immune System got over itself. It came to terms with the stuff in the injection and declared a truce. The Immune System and the injection stuff understood each other and could stop struggling. Once everything was integrated, and the injection stuff had come into harmony with her body, Ursa began to feel better.

Her headache stopped, and she felt less hot. Her legs stopped hurting and her whole body began to feel like its normal self again. 

"I am so very glad I had that injection," said the Great Bear to herself as she sat up and thought about eating porridge and going for a walk. "If just the injection made me feel ill like that, imagine what it would have felt like to get ill from the virus."

She thought about people all around the world who had been taken to hospital, and been terribly ill, and even died; and she was so, so grateful she'd been given the chance to have her injection and be part of a way to make it stop.

(Not) telling Nimby

Last night when everyone sat round the fire and heard about Two Hours Max and their Auntie Jessie moving in, Nimby had not been there. It had been raining and he’d gone out looking for slugs.

Danshari thought it would be prudent to tell Nimby in advance about the arrival of two more trolls. He might need time to get used to the idea.

So he went down the garden to see if Nimby was at home. 

It wasn’t always easy to tell. If you took the top off the compost bin and looked in, you could see the little tunnel Nimby had made, but he whisked away down it out of sight as soon as he heard the first noise of the lid being lifted. 

Usually Danshari knocked on the front door, and called out, “It’s me.” Mostly he added, just to be sure, “Me, Dan de lion,” in case his voice came through the compost all muffled and Nimby mistook him for George Fox. Nimby absolutely refused to answer the door to George Fox. 

George accepted this humbly. “After all,” he said, “not every Fox lives by the Peace Testimony. But one day they will. It says so in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, saith the Lord. The lion shall lie down with the lamb.”

George Fox thought they’d made a good beginning in this garden.

But he had to concede that the vision of the prophet had apparently not extended to rats and foxes, and everybody must live with reality. Still, they’d made a start, and sometimes that’s all you can do.

As Danshari approached the compost bin, he heard a squeaky little rat voice from inside. Nimby was singing. Danshari paused. He stood and listened to the song. It went like this.

“Oh the way of the world

Is all stony and rough

But the worst bit is travelling with you.

The teeth must be sharp

And the tongue rasped and tough

To get by, to survive, to bite through.

The fruit is all rotten

The bread hard and dry

The mildew is turning it blue.

The bedding is lumpy

And riddled with fleas

But the worst bit is travelling with you

Yes, siree: 

The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

Is sharing this muck heap with you.”

Danshari hesitated for a moment, then tiptoed quietly away. Another time, maybe.

He found Yūgen sitting by the fire with a cup of tea. She looked up. “Was Nimby home?” she asked. “Did you tell him?”

“He was singing to himself. I didn’t like to interrupt him.”

“Oh, yes,” Yūgen nodded. “I caught a snatch of Nimby’s song when I was in the garden first thing. Did it go like this?

“The wind’s from the east

The rain’s turned to hail

And this gristle is frightful to chew.

I’m thirsty and bored

And the fruitcake’s gone stale

And there’s nothing in this bag but poo.

That fruit is fermenting 

It smells foul in here

But the worst bit is travelling with you.”

“Yes,” said Danshari. "Yes, that was it.

“The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

The worst bit (but what can you do?)

The worst bit

The worst bit

The worst bit by far

Is sharing this muck heap with you.”

Yūgen nodded thoughtfully. “Catchy,” she said, after a moment’s reflection.

“I think it’s a love song,” she added. “He was probably singing to his wife.”

“What?” Danshari looked up sharply. “I didn’t know Nimby had a wife!”

“Oh, yes,” said Yūgen, “but you don’t often see her. She doesn’t get out much, and when she does it’s mostly at night.”

“Do you know her name?” Danshari asked.

“Dental Floss,” said Yūgen.

Danshari took this in. “Pretty name,” he said. “What does she look like?”

“She looks like Nimby,” said Yūgen. “It’s not easy to tell them apart. But if you go past the compost heap when Nimby’s singing, and you listen carefully, you can hear a second voice putting in the harmonies.”

“Well, I never knew that,” said Danshari.

Making room for Auntie Jessie

There came a day, once all the Anawim had come home, when the shelf was full. There was just room for everyone but no space for anyone else. In fact it was not always entirely comfy on that shelf, if the truth be told.

And that was without Two Hours Max!

Of course, Two Hours Max actually lived somewhere else, with their Auntie Jessie, but there had to be room for them when they visited, even if they never stayed very long. Everyone had to have a space on the shelf, even if they were just calling by.

On this particular day, Two Hours Max and Hineni were hanging out in the garden doing nothing special, just talking, wandering about here and there.

And then Two Hours Max said, in a matter-of-fact kind of way, “My Auntie Jessie can’t keep her house. We have to find somewhere else to live.”

Hineni didn’t know what to say at first. 

He had got to know Two Hours Max little by little, and put together some idea of Two’s home like doing a jigsaw puzzle. Just from things Two Hours Max had said.

“My Auntie Jessie was married to a troll called Ernie but one time when she was in the hospital she just never went back.”

“My Auntie Jessie says she has a Physical Elf and a Mental Elf and they’re both a bit crazy.”

“I used to live with Mum and Dad, but they wouldn’t let me wear the clothes I like and they wanted to call me by my old name . . . and other things . . . I asked if I could stay at Auntie Jessie’s instead, after she got her own place, and they said it would be a good idea. They thought I’d be good company for her when she was in a bad patch.”

“I won’t stay long. My Auntie Jessie isn’t very well. She says she’s fallen into a pothole in the Valley of Baca, right up to her neck.”

And now this.

“Where will you go?” Hineni asked. “Will you go back to your Mum and Dad?”

“No,” said Two Hours Max. “I asked, and they said I could have my old room again, but there wouldn’t be space for Auntie Jessie. I said she could share with me, but they said no, they didn’t want her. Dad said it was her own fault, she should have stayed with Ernie.”

“So . . .” Hineni thought about this. “Does that mean . . . So . . . You and Auntie Jessie — you won’t either of you have a place to live?”

“That’s right,” said Two Hours Max. “I expect we’ll think of something.”

Hineni had actually opened his mouth to say, “Come and live with us, then,” when he thought he’d better check.

Instead, he asked, “When do you have to move out?”

“A week on Thursday,” said Two Hours Max.

On a pretext of getting them some more apple juice and a bag of crisps, Hineni went in search of Danshari.

He found Danshari, after looking in a few different places, chatting to Yūgen and the Great Bear. They had a pot of tea on the table, and they were eating buttered toast.

“Can Two Hours Max and their Auntie Jessie come to live with us?” Hineni knew this sounded unexpected, but he wanted an answer in the time he could reasonably be thought to be fetching apple juice. “Auntie Jessie has to move out of her house a week on Thursday, and they haven’t got anywhere else to go.”

“Of course,” said Yūgen.

“Of course,” said the Great Bear at exactly the same time.

“Where?” said Danshari. “It’s getting a bit tight on that shelf. And Nimby won’t want them in the garden.”

“Well,” said Hineni, “I was wondering if they could have a little space of their own on the shelf where the medicine goes. At the end, where the things waiting to be washed usually hang out.”

“Sure,” said Yūgen.

“Good plan,” said the Great Bear.

“Where shall we put the laundry?” said Danshari. 

Hineni couldn’t think of an answer to this.

“I expect we’ll think of something,” said the Great Bear. “Tell Two Hours Max it’ll be okay to come here.”

“Auntie Jessie as well?” Hineni checked, to be sure. “I think she might be a little bit unusual . . .”

“Of course,” said the Great Bear. 

“It’ll be fine,” said Yūgen.

Danshari didn’t say anything. He was concentrating hard on solving the problem of where to put the laundry.

“THANK YOU!” said Hineni.

He took two bags of crisps and two glasses of apple juice out into the garden.

Two Hours Max smiled. “Cheese and onion,” they said. “My absolute favourite.”

“You can come and live with us,” said Hineni. “Both of you. Auntie Jessie as well.”

Two Hours Max’s hand stopped halfway between the bag of crisps and their mouth (Two Hours Max’s mouth, not the crisps’).

“What? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Yūgen and Danshari and The Great Bear say it’ll be okay. We can make space for you.

“Wow,” said Two Hours Max. “Well, I’ll be . . . That’s fantastic.”

Later on, as they all sat round the fire in the evening, Danshari told all the others about Auntie Jessie, and that she and Two Hours Max would be coming to live with them now.

So just like that, it was decided. Hineni hoped things wouldn’t be more crowded than Two Hours Max could cope with, and he hoped he would like Auntie Jessie.