THE LITTLE MUSHROOM

A childhood memory

 

In a small, northern European country called Estonia, there once was a mossy, shaded little hill. On this hill there lived a family of mushrooms. It was a big and happy family. The father was tall and strong. The mother was smaller and gentle and smiled often at her five offspring. They were all of different sizes and had special characteristics - each was different from the other. The parents loved them all for their individuality. The parents encouraged independent thinking.

The mushroom family had many friends - the bushes around, the visiting sparrows and even two doves.  In fact, birds of many kinds stopped by to chat.  The butterflies were a little silly, fluttering about, gossiping and never saying anything of consequence.

A small white rabbit hopped by now and then, just to see all was well with his friends. Above all, they enjoyed visits from a cute little blond girl in pigtails. She came to talk every day, running in her bare feet down the path.

Sometimes she had lilies - of the - valley in her hand. She liked to call them Maybells because they grew in the month of May and were indeed shaped like little bells. The little girl was never reluctant to talk and tell the family what was going on in the world. Sometimes she sang or recited a poem.

"Such a friendly child," her father said.

"Yes," the mother said, "but she seems lonely."

"How can she be lonely when she has a family?" one of the daughters said. "Nobody with a family such as ours need ever be lonely or lack for company."

"She is a human being and humans often have feelings we don't understand because we don't have the same problems," the mother said.

She liked her children to ask questions because that would develop their minds.

One son shook off a raindrop with impatience.

"When I grow up. No child of mine shall ever be lonely or sad."

"And when I grow up, I shall become an important politician so all people will admire and love me," the eldest son said.

The parents smiled at their handsome son.

"Being a politician will not always bring you either love or admiration," the father said in a grave voice. “It is the kind of politician you are that matters."

"Well, I shall be a good one! Nobody can criticize me then."

The father sighed. Did young minds only see black and white? How can a father explain all the gray shades that lie in between? And how could a father explain to his young son what was good for some was just the opposite for others?

He must have been muttering out loud because there was an answer from his pretty wife.

"You might try asking questions," his wife said.

"While you are debating the issue I want to say I shall grow up to be a famous actress of the stage," one of the daughters said. "I know I have a natural flair."

Coming from that child, it was a surprising statement because she was so shy and not as pretty as her sisters. To her parents she was comely enough but to be an actress on the stage... it seemed an impossible dream for that youngster.

Still, neither parent believed in discouraging their children.

"When I grow up, I want to travel far and see everything in the world."

These words came from their youngest daughter, the "baby", and were the most surprising of all. The child didn’t often express an opinion.

"Why do you want to leave your family?" One of the elder sisters asked. "We love you and you’re safe with us. The world has many dangers for a young mushroom like you, and we will not be around in a circle to protect you if you go away from us."

"The birds see everything," the youngster said. "Even the foolish butterflies can roam around at will. A swallow told me he goes to a warm climate where the sun always shines and there is no rain at all. He told me of Paris in the spring, and of the young lovers who line the river Seine; he told me of elegant restaurants..."

Just then, the little blond girl came running for her daily visit. She was flushed and her pigtails seemed untidy.

"Oh, my mushroom family, I must talk to you!"

Her voice was high and nervous.

"Calm down, child," the mushroom mother said. "Sit down and tell us what is troubling you."

“My governess is Russian…”

The girl was out of breath.

"Do you speak Russian?" One of the mushroom children asked.

"Of course I do! But that is not what I came to tell you. My governess - Tjotja Tamara Nicolaiovna- brings me wonderful books from her collection. The illustrations are painted by hand.”

"What's a Tjotja?" One of the children asked.

"Tjotja means aunt in Russian. I call her that. But listen now..."

"What have you to tell us that is of such importance?" the father asked, bemused.

"Please listen to me," the girl said. "I just read a story which told me people eat MUSHROOMS!"

"Eat us?" the mushroom family said in unison.

"Yes, and they make sauces and gravies and soups from you and they say you are delicious and smack their lips.”

"Oh, this is terrible! What can we do to save ourselves?" the mother asked and looked at her handsome children. "Little girl, you must find a way to protect us! My family is so dear to me...help us, please."

The girl, now breathing in a more normal way, was twirling a ringlet of hair around a finger.

"My governess told me there is a way... She knows many things because she is Russian and smart. Your family must gather into a tight ring because that’s magic. It will hide you as well. Do it now!" The worried mushroom family did as it was told. Only the "baby" was reluctant to join the ring.

"What of my travels around the world?" I cannot stay in the ring if I am to see the wondrous things the birds have told me about."

"Well..."

The golden-haired girl said.

“Maybe you are too small to be made into a sauce, anyway, so it may be safe for you to stay outside the circle for now. But I will find out more if I can, and I will come back tomorrow to see you are all safe."

She ran back to the big house in which she lived because her parents were preparing to have a large weekend party. All the guestrooms would be filled and there would be singing and reciting and much talk. She hoped her Uncle Trelin would come; he liked children and could spend hours playing with them. He could always think of an exciting game.

Of course, there would be much food despite the terrible war. Somehow, her mother always managed to have an elegant table. Oh, if the Nazis found out about that... they would all be done for!

The party went on as scheduled - there was much merriment, even dancing. The best jokes were about the Nazis who were occupying the country. They always caused the most laughter.

Even Tjotja Tamara seemed to be in a good mood; sometimes she could be melancholy, thinking back to her life in Russia. Russia must have been a wonderful country under the czars and Tjotja Tamara had taught the girl songs and stories of the old Russia.

In fact, the girl harbored a secret love for Czar Peter the Great who seemed to have been a man of vision and imagination in his youth. She had learned by heart many poems by Alexander Pushkin, one of them immortalizing Czar Peter and had seen an engraving of him, with his hair flowing. He was her first love, even though he had died many years ago.

The tables were laden with food. The girl's mother traded her French linen tablecloths so her family could eat during the war which was going on in the whole world. She told her daughter the farmers needed linen to make shirts.

Her husband, with the help of neighbors, had turned his beautiful flower gardens into vegetable patches and there was no shortage of fresh vegetables in the summer.

For the winter, vegetables were stored in the cellar or canned, pickled, and marinated by local women who were good at this kind of thing.

Everybody in the neighborhood benefited from these enterprises.

As the house was near to the sea, one could see the coast of Finland on a clear day. There was also a great deal of fish. A fisherman, who lived in an apartment in the back of the house, provided many different kinds of fish from the sea. On the eve of the party, the girl was not hungry. When she was asked to sing a song, she was so distracted she sang the Communist anthem! Everyone laughed, of course. Nobody liked Communists or Nazis in Estonia. Estonia wanted to be free.

In time, she grew sleepy, and her mother let her go to bed provided she ate some anchovies and milk, at least. She had a curious habit of mashing her anchovies into the milk. But her father laughed and said it all got mixed up in her stomach anyway. The child didn’t sleep well, and as soon as it was light, she dressed and ran off to see her mushroom family.

The family was not there, only the littlest mushroom stood alone, weeping. The girl was horrified. She tried to ask the tiny mushroom what had happened, where was the family? The little mushroom was too distraught to make sense.

Running back to the house in tears, the girl found her Grandmother, her mother, and Tjotja Tamara in the kitchen.

"Mushroom thief ... we have had a mushroom thief", she was choking on her words. "The thief took my mushroom family, all but the baby."

She sank down on the floor in grief only children can know.

"They're gone... forever."

Her grandmother, for once, had no answer. She left the room, knowing there had been a delicious mushroom sauce for the party the night before. Her mother was bewildered - how does one comfort a hysterical child? She tried to explain there were other mushroom families to be looked at and admired but her daughter paid her no mind. The broken heart of a child cannot be mended with such ease.

Only Tjotja Tamara remained silent. She waited until the hysteria of her little charge changed into mere helpless sobs. She waited until the child was ready to talk. When all was quiet, she took the girl by the hand and smiled.

"Come to the library with me," she said and nodded toward the pile of books she had brought from her home.

As a rule, she made the excited girl wash her hands before allowing her to read the treasured, hand painted books which came from her home in Russia. Such delays caused much frustration, but her pupil learned to respect books for the rest of her life. On this occasion, she seemed to forget about hand washing.

"Come, I want to show you something special," she said and aroused some curiosity in the girl who loved books.

"Special? Is it about mushrooms?"

"Only in a way," Tjotja Tamara said before opening a large book with paintings.

She opened the book. After flipping a few pages, she stopped.

"I want to show you something”

The little girl looked. Curiosity overshadowed her sorrow for the moment.

"That's a painting of a white rabbit", she said non-plussed. "There are no such white rabbits here. Why are you showing me this, Tjotja Tamara?"

Tamara smiled.

"Don't you know the white rabbit protects mushrooms? For all we know, it might be out there right now."

Tjotja Tamara asked the little girl if she wanted to go and try to find the white rabbit. The child declined. It was too late to believe in Tjotja Tamara's fairytales and stories of magic. Tamara knew what was going on in her pupil's mind.

"Don't you even want to say goodnight to the little mushroom? Maybe it's all alone."

"Well, yes, I suppose we should", the child said with reluctance. "It's getting dark and maybe the little mushroom is all alone and frightened."

So Tamara went out with the girl. It was a pleasant evening, warm for September, and the path was filled with colorful leaves. The girl was wondering what she would say to the lonely mushroom. What comfort could she offer now?

She was deep in thought as they neared the mossy, green hill. Tamara remained silent, too. She knew when words were useless and a special silence was necessary.

As they neared the hill, the little girl said:

"Tjotja Tamara, we won't see a white rabbit here."

"Maybe not. I told you how shy they are. But remember anything is possible."

She fell into silence. They had reached the hill and the girl went to see the little mushroom with a heavy heart.

All of a sudden, she sensed, rather than saw, a slight pink glow from the spot where the mushrooms had been. It almost looked like a dim flashlight.

"It must come from the moon", she thought. Nobody was allowed to use electrical lights during the war.

She came to her favorite spot and kneeled. She rubbed her tired eyes. Then she rubbed them again, because what she saw had to be her imagination. There it was, her red capped mushroom family! It was a dream, such things didn't happen.

But they WERE there! They were chattering and arguing as always, too preoccupied to see their friend. "It can't be true," the child breathed to herself. Tamara heard her.

"It's true." she told her exhausted charge. "If you believe in miracles, they often come true."

"But I didn’t believe I would ever see my mushrooms again."

"Your heart is pure, little one. In a corner of that heart you have believed in a miracle all along."

"But what of the white rabbit, Tjotja? I haven't seen him."

"He may show himself to you one day if you need him", Tamara Nicolaievna said with a smile.

As the years passed, the girl grew to be a woman. Because her family was forced to flee from Estonia to Sweden in a small boat in order to escape Communists, she never saw her mushroom family again. Then she was taken to a strange country named Canada where she put down her roots.

She never forgot her little mushrooms. They were imbedded in her heart. And she never stopped believing in miracles. After she grew up to be a woman, she felt she had to write a story about them, and that story was read by new generations. The magic of the little girl she had once been never left her.

© Amy Thompson 1999