i approached the hut, cleo said, caring not what i found…
the hut had a low door, and a single small window, in which had seen the light.
an old woman sat at a table. a large, ragged looking book lay open on the table before her, with the light from an oil lamp shining directly on the pages. the old woman was writing in the book with a long quill pen, though whether she was filling in blank pages or simply writing in the margins i could not tell by peering in the window.
there was no fire in the hut, nor any fireplace that i could see, or any bed or other furniture that i could see.
the old woman was a witch. i could tell because she was wearing a big witch’s pointed hat, the biggest and heaviest looking witch’s pointed hat i had ever seen. it might have been a shiny black when it was new, but was now worn looking, raggedy, and gray.
the hut was so small, and the window so close to the door, that i was able to rap on the door while still peering through the window.
the old woman did not look up, but i saw her lips move, and i took this as an invitation to enter.
when i did, she did not look over at me or greet me, and as i approached her i saw that she was indeed writing in a blank book, or at least on a blank page.
what is that you are writing, mother? i asked, out of politeness, because what i really wanted to ask her was if i could take shelter and if she could spare a morsel for me to eat, as it was growing cold outside and i would have liked to hoard the meager rations i was carrying in my handkerchief.
i am writing the book of life , she answered. i am writing everything that has ever happened or ever will happen.
of course, i replied. i was well aware of such claims, having heard something like them from countless gypsies and wise women, in carnivals and on street corners.
it is a great burden, a heavy responsibility, the woman continued. i would like to be relieved of it.
i am sure you would be, i said. and that hat looks very heavy too.
it is very heavy, she answered, would you like to wear it?
no thank you, i said, i have my own hat, thank you. i was wondering -
you were wondering if you could stay the night, and sleep in my straw.
as a matter of fact, i was.
the woman turned her face to me for the first time, and i saw that under her hat and her scraggly mass of white and gray hair, she had the face of a young girl, practically of a child.
would you like to take a turn writing in the book, she asked me.
at this point yeti, who had been listening politely in his usual way to cleo’s tale, interrupted her.
excuse me, he said, but i am a bit confused. are you recounting your life story, or are you describing the nightmare you referred to earlier?
oh, just let her go on with her story, the countess said, with an irritated glance at yeti.
just at that moment the butler reappeared.
dr franklinstein is here, madam, he tpld the countess.
yes, of course, if eddie is here, frank is sure to follow. show him in. is he alone, or did he drag anyone with him?
he is quite alone, unless he has someone in his pockets.
then show him in.
the butler left, and cleo took the opportunity to take a sip of the hot toddy she had been provided with.
dr franklinstein appeared and bowed to the countess, and then turned to the rest of the guests.
yeti! he exclaimed . what are you doing here?
it is a long story, doctor, yeti replied.
and we are in the middle of another one, the countess said. please go on , my dear, she told cleo.
after another sip of her hot toddy, cleo did so.
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