When Suzanne and Roger left after the last story they were mysterious
about the next one, except that they did tell me to bring along a
sandwich. The next morning, when we gathered at Three Palms, we each
had a bag with sandwiches, cookies, and a container of milk.
'I took you seriously yesterday,' I said, waving my bag.
'Good that you did,' Suzanne answered as she settled down on to the
sand. 'Are you ready?'
'Yes,' I said, 'I'm ready. Which of you will tell this one?'
'We're going to have to share this one.' Roger leaned back as he spoke.
'I'll start.'
***
The next morning, bright and early, Suzanne and I have our breakfast
and hurry to brush our teeth. We're dressed and anxious to be on our
way. When Mother and Dad are ready we head for the trail. We're are
on our way to visit the Little Old Man on the other side of the island.
This Little Old Man is not just an ordinary old man. He's special. He
lives in an old stone hut near the sea cliffs. The house is tiny; only the
Little Old Man can get into it, and he does that only to sleep or for
shelter on rainy days. The rest of the time he sits outside and children
come from all over to sit near him and listen to his stories. That's why
we're excited this morning. We want to hear one of the Little Old Man's
world-famous stories.
The trail across the island is wide and not too long. We get there in time
to join a crowd of children and parents who are walking around or sitting
on the ground in a half-circle, waiting.
In the clearing, leaning on a cane, is the Little Old Man. He waves us in
to join the others and points to an empty space nearby. We make our
way to where he points and take our places. Mother and Dad sit behind
us. I look at the Little Old Man and understand why he is called that.
He is a small man, and, stooping over his cane, he looks small indeed.
On his feet he wears leather sandals. His faded blue coveralls have
patches on the knees and seat. A wide-brimmed straw hat is tipped back
on his head.
He removes his hat to wipe his head with a red handkerchief. His long
white hair is tied in a ponytail, and his wrinkled face is tanned to nut
brown. Eyes twinkling, he smiles at the audience. I feel good just
watching him.
The people who came to hear his story shift about to get comfortable and
I do, too. The Little Old Man's voice is deep as he begins.
'When I was young,' he says, 'I was a sailor and traveled to lands in all
the far corners of the world. I have been to strange places, and I have
seen and talked to strange people. Listen to me about a strange place,
and a stranger adventure.'
He stops, stares out to sea, and rubs his chin, deep in thought. His eyes
open wide as he looks back at us as his head turns from one side of the
seated audience to the other.
'After you've heard my story you'll decide for yourselves what to believe.'
Putting his wide-brimmed hat back on his head, he lowers himself
slowly to a large flat rock. He places his cane on the ground beside him
and crosses his legs just as I often do when I watch television.
Everyone's eyes are on him; it's very quiet.
'Come with me to lon n n g ago and far away,' he begins in his
deep voice. 'We're on a gallant, full-rigged sailing ship crossing a wild
and stormy sea. After many weeks, we drop anchor in the cove of a
mist-shrouded shore where high waves break against gray rocks. The
rocks are huge, black, and jagged, and they line the shoreline as far as I
can see in either direction. Beyond the beach is a dark forest.
'We leave the ship in the care of my First Mate and swim ashore.
Climbing over the rocks, we dash across the beach into the forest. It is
not only a dark forest; it is a dense and drippy-wet forest.
'We cut our way through heavy underbrush for many hours and finally
come to a high mountain. Fierce winds roar down the mountain slopes,
and swirling mists twist and churn in streamers across the mountain's
slopes.
'We climb and we climb, until we reach a pass close to the peak. Now
we must lower ourselves by ropes along a steep cliff. The base of the
cliff is hidden by a blinding snowstorm. Reaching the bottom, we are in
a deep gorge. The snow and the winds disappear, but there are other
dangers ahead.
'We string a rope bridge across a wide, swift river. On the other side rise
dense and wet forests of twisted trees and dripping, slime-covered vines.
'Tree branches and sharp thorns brush against us from both sides as we
push our way through. They scratch our faces and arms. Above us the
leaves are packed so close together that we cannot see the sky. The mud
is soft and squishy under our feet.
'We're tired, but we can't stop to rest. We must reach our destination as
fast as we can. There is no time to lose.
'We must rescue our Princess from the Trolls!
'Now you know who we are. You and I are rescuers. We have sailed
across stormy seas, climbed steep mountains, crossed deep and swift
rivers, and now we are making our way through this strange forest for
one reason only: to free our Princess from Trolls.
'Our mission is to return our Princess to our King and Queen who are
our Princess's mother and father. They love her and miss her. The
Trolls were wrong to take the Princess away from the castle that is her
home, and they have no right to keep her.
'So here we are, slithering and stumbling through squishy mud in the
deep, thorny, drippy forest searching for the caves of the Trolls.
'From far off in the distance we hear heavy rumbling. We're close.
'Up ahead is an open space filled with huge boulders. We know that the
Trolls for whom we're searching make their homes in caves hidden
among such boulders.
'We move slowly and silently. We must not be caught. Luckily for us,
we arrive while it's still daylight. Had we arrived during darkness, the
Trolls would have been up and about. You see, these Trolls are awake at
night and sleep all day.
'We tiptoe around a huge boulder. Facing us is the darkened opening of
a cave. From inside we hear the sound of a Troll-snoring; that was the
rumbling. Did you ever hear a troll snore?
'The snoring of one troll-I mean just one troll-sounds like ten
locomotives, all working together, pulling long trains up a steep hill. Ga-
a-roar and chlupp, over and over, and then a real heavy phytt-phytt,
followed by a high whistling cha-leep.
'We're there, all right. We have reached the caves of the Trolls. Now we
must find the Princess.
'Crawling on our hands and knees, looking in all directions, we make our
way to the cave from which the snoring comes. Peering in, we see the
troll in the half-darkness of the far side, sound asleep. His lips flap as
he snores.
'The troll looks almost human, except for two horns that rise from his
shaggy head, bristly-wire whiskers, bumpy nose, long pointed ears and
no teeth. He looks interesting, but we didn't come all this way to stare at
Trolls. We have a job to do.
'We do not see the Princess. We move on. Quietly, not to waken the
Trolls, we slip among the boulders, peering into one cave after another.
The Trolls are all asleep-that's what we think.