All text copyright © Keith Sheppard, 2009.
All images copyright © Cynthia Brownell, 2009.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced Alice became. Her bed had not been moving when she got in to it. She could clearly remember Dinah jumping up to wish her good night. "She really is such a clumsy cat," Alice thought. "I am sure she could never have managed it if my bed had been bobbing about like a cork on a pond. It’s not as if it’s the sort of thing one could easily be mistaken about. Perhaps if beds stayed still some nights and bobbed up and down on others, one could be forgiven, once in a while, for forgetting which sort of night it was; but beds don’t behave like that."
There were other things wrong too. Alice could hear birds singing and feel a soft warm breeze blowing against her face – as if in a meadow on a summer’s day. That’s not at all right when you’re supposed to be tucked up in bed in the middle of the night.
Alice often found problems easier to solve if she kept her eyes tight shut, but this was not one of those times. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to open her eyes and take a look.
"Well, that really is… How totally extraordinary," exclaimed Alice. "Not at all what I had expected."
In truth, Alice wasn’t at all sure what she had expected but, whatever it was, it was not to find an old, and rather bedraggled, mongrel dog seated on the end of her bed. Granted, mongrels are not, of themselves, that remarkable; although to discover one, uninvited, on your bed could be considered a little out of the ordinary - especially if that Dog were wearing grey flannel trousers and a bright red shirt. However, what Alice saw when she opened her eyes was so totally extraordinary that the mere appearance of a fully dressed Dog seemed almost normal by comparison. More curious by far (so far as Alice was concerned) was the fact that the Dog was holding a pair of oars and with them he was propelling the bed, very skilfully, along a narrow and tranquil canal between rows of tall trees.
The sun flickered in and out between the trees and the only sounds were those made by the birds, and the gentle trickling noise of the water as the boat glided through it.
"Excuse me," said Alice, slightly startled but nevertheless not forgetting her manners. "Might I ask what you are doing on my bed in the middle of the night?" It seemed self evident that a Dog intelligent enough to wear clothes and row a boat would be able to talk and answer questions.
The Dog looked quizzical. After much deliberation he spoke. "I don’t know. Do you think you might?"
"Might what?" replied Alice.
"Might ask. You asked me whether you might – although it’s a very strange question if you did, because this isn’t a bed nor is it the middle of the night. I don’t think I can be doing anything somewhere else at a time that isn’t now. Perhaps you should tell me what you are doing in my boat."
Alice could think of no sensible answer. Instead, she asked "do you know what happened to Dinah? She’s my little cat. I do hope she hasn’t fallen overboard. She isn’t very good at swimming you know."
"Would that be the small black cat with a white patch over the left eye?" asked the Dog.
"Yes, that’s her," replied Alice eagerly. "Is she safe?"
"Oh, I expect so," the Dog assured her. "She was trying to cast off when I arrived. I came over and offered to help but when she saw me she ran off."
The Dog’s last statement certainly rang true. Friendly as the little kitten was, no one could accuse her of being excessively fond of dogs. As to casting off though, Alice seriously doubted Dinah’s ability even to attempt such a thing. She had often been known to tie the most complex of knots in a ball of wool but she had never, to Alice’s knowledge, succeeded in untying anything.
Nevertheless, Alice was reassured that the Dog thought Dinah was safe. She looked around to take in her surroundings. The trees along the bank all looked decidedly odd. Every single one seemed to have grown to the shape of one of the suits in a pack of cards. There were heart-shaped trees, diamond-shaped trees, a few club-shaped trees and several shaped like spades. The spade-shaped trees looked the most normal of all of them, but even they looked very carefully fashioned.
It was as if some over enthusiastic gardener had wandered through the forest carefully trimming every tree until it looked like one of the four symbols. She was about to ask the Dog whether someone had indeed cut them, or whether they simply grew like that, when the Dog spoke again. "We shall be there in about ten minutes."
"Where are we going?" asked Alice, but the Dog said nothing. A little put out, she continued curtly, "it’s extremely rude to ignore people’s questions."
"You did it first," replied the Dog, mimicking her tone. "I distinctly recall asking you what you were doing in my boat."
"I am sitting down talking to you," said Alice, a little smugly.
"That’s a trick answer, so it doesn’t count," said the Dog. "Clearly I meant why are you in my boat?"
"This isn’t your boat, it’s my bed," replied Alice indignantly. "A few minutes ago I was sleeping quite peacefully then suddenly I found myself here. I should be very grateful if you could return both me and my bed to dry land and help me find my way back to my bedroom."
"We ca’n’t land here," said the Dog. "Just wait. We shall be there in half an hour. Besides, this is most definitely a boat. Beds don’t float."
The evidence certainly did appear to be in the Dog’s favour. In place of Alice’s iron headboard there was a wooden bulkhead. What she had thought was her pillow was in fact a lifebelt and she was covered not by sheets but by some old sailcloth. Pushing this aside, she was further surprised to find she was fully dressed.
She turned to the Dog once more but he seemed to have lost interest. He had lifted his oars on board for the moment and was taking a rest from rowing, letting the current pull them gently along. The Dog rummaged about in his pocket, pulled out a large orange, and commenced peeling it. Alice decided to keep quiet, as the Dog had an annoying knack of avoiding her questions.
After a while, the Dog finished peeling his orange and then, rather to Alice’s surprise, he tossed it into the water and proceeded to chew the skin thoughtfully.
"You really shouldn’t throw your rubbish into the water, you know," Alice scolded.
"I don’t see why not," the Dog said defensively. "The fish here are extremely partial to oranges."
"I thought one normally ate the middle part and threw away the skin."
"Merely a matter of preference," said the Dog. "Anyway, fish don’t usually eat orange skins."
"Where, precisely, are we going?" asked Alice, changing the subject.
"You’ll soon see," responded the Dog. "Just relax and enjoy the scenery. We’ll be there in an hour."
"I don’t understand," said Alice. "It seems to me we must be getting further away. Every time you tell me how long the journey is going to take, it’s longer than the last time."
"Oh bother," said the Dog, suddenly getting irate. "I’m going backwards again. God. God."
"Don’t blaspheme," said Alice, "It’s wicked."
"I’m not," responded the Dog indignantly, "I said I was going backwards, and I’m a dog. Dog backwards is god. Just because it’s made out of the same letters doesn’t mean it’s the same word as God with a capital G."
"How can I tell whether it’s got a capital G or not?" asked Alice. "You are talking to me not writing a letter."
Once more, the Dog ignored her. "It only sounds like God because I’m English. If I were French dog, it would be spelt N E I H C, but I can’t pronounce that because I don’t speak French." He paused a moment. "Do you know what a lamina is?" Alice had to admit she did not. "It’s a very thin flat sort of thing. That’s just what it feels like, being an animal going backwards."
Alice tried to imagine it, but found it impossible. She turned once again to look at the scenery. The trees on this stretch of the river were no longer shaped like card suits but were still just as peculiar. Each was shaped like some sort of animal. There was one which looked just like a duck. Another, shaped like a dog, was strangely reminiscent of her current traveling companion. All sorts of other animals were there - far too many to take them all in. One tree was shaped just like a man and the bough, which looked like the man’s arm, was swaying up and down in the gentle breeze. It looked for all the world as if it were waving to the little boat and its occupants as they passed by.
Suddenly her sightseeing was brought to an abrupt halt. The boat collided with the bank with such force that the Dog was flung headlong and landed in a heap on the shore. Alice stepped gingerly out of the boat and walked over to him.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Yet again, the Dog ignored her question. "We’ve arrived," he said.
"I thought you said it would be another hour."
The Dog grinned. "I was lying. I lie whenever I speak. I’m even lying now."
"Don’t be silly," said Alice rather curtly, "you c’an’t say I’m lying."
"Why not?" interrupted the Dog. "You just said it."
"I was quoting you. I mean you ca’n’t say I’m lying and mean it. If you did, it would mean you were telling the truth, and that would mean you were lying which would mean... Uncle Charles has a silly name for things like that – something like a parrot-ox?"
"Just because I’m telling the truth doesn’t mean I’m not lying," said the Dog.
Alice looked puzzled. "That doesn’t make sense."
"Yes it does. I’m telling the truth, but I’m lying on the grass."
"Oh you’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself," said Alice, but the Dog wasn’t listening.
"I don’t suppose," he said, "you have a bandage about your person. I seem to have cut my paw."
Alice confirmed she didn’t, whereupon the Dog started to lick its paw noisily. She made several further attempts to continue the conversation but the Dog just ignored her and continued to lick its leg. Finally, the Dog fell asleep in mid lick and started to snore noisily.
"Oh well," said Alice to herself, "I suppose I had better let sleeping dogs lie," and she smiled at the aptness of the phrase.
She looked around. There was a little path running alongside the canal but it looked very unsafe. In several places the bank had crumbled and the path had long since fallen into the water. The only alternative seemed to be a narrower path leading off into a wood bordering the waterway.
"I don’t see any point in remaining here with this slumbering Dog. He wasn’t very good company when he was awake and his snoring is really quite unbearable." So saying, Alice set off into the wood.
"Who could have cut all those trees so carefully," she wondered, thinking back to the curious shapes she had seen along the bank. "It must have taken an awfully long time. I wonder if they were paid to do it, or whether they were just excessively fond of gardening. I’m sure there is a special word for cutting trees in fancy shapes, if only I could remember what it was."
And so she went on for some time, discussing the trees with herself (for want of any other companion to share her conversation). After a while, though, she was growing a little worried. "This path is twisting and turning so much. To the left, then to the right, then back to the left again. You know, I get the distinct impression it doesn’t know where it is going at all."
She tried walking slightly faster, then finally broke into a run. For several minutes she ran as fast as her legs would carry her, but to no avail. There was still no sign of an end to the wood. Finally, exhausted, she sat down on a patch of moss.
"I wish my bed had stayed where it was. Perhaps it isn’t very exciting going to sleep in one’s bedroom and then waking up in exactly the same place, but at least one then knows where to find the dining room for breakfast. What if I should never find my way out of this wood? Either I shall starve or I shall have to eat mushrooms. I’m not exactly sure how to tell the difference between mushrooms and toadstools, so I shall probably eat the wrong sort and make myself ill."
Overcome by the desperate and distressing nature of her situation, Alice began to cry quietly to herself. Almost immediately, her sobs were interrupted by a deep but sympathetic voice. "Why are you crying little girl?"
Alice looked up, but could see no one. There wasn’t a living creature in sight. The voice continued "Why are you so sad?"
"Who on earth is that?" Alice asked.
"Not on earth, so much as in it," answered the voice.
"How very strange," thought Alice, "the voice appears to be coming from that wizened old oak tree on the other side of the path."
Alice walked over to the tree and, feeling slightly foolish at trying to talk to a tree, addressed it. "Is that you, talking?"
"What a ridiculous question," said the voice. "Whoever was talking they would have to answer yes."
Alice re-phrased it. "I mean, are you really a talking tree?"
"Of course," said the Tree. "What’s so strange about that?"
"Nothing, I suppose," said Alice. "It’s just I’ve never heard a tree talk before."
"You obviously weren't around in the old days," said the Tree, wistfully. "Once upon a time we trees used to talk all the time - gossip all day about comings and goings in the forest. Then it became fashionable to tell your children only to speak when they were spoken to. After a while, no one would ever start a conversation at all."
"You started talking to me," said Alice.
"Yes," said the Tree, "but I was an orphan. No one ever told me the rules of etiquette."
Suddenly Alice had a bright idea. "Couldn’t you talk to all the other trees, just to get them started in conversations?"
"I’ve tried that," said the Tree. "They all thought I was so rude for talking out of turn that they wouldn’t speak to me."
"That’s silly," said Alice.
The Tree agreed. "Anyway," it continued, "enough of my problems. I asked you why you were crying."
"I’m lost," replied Alice.
"Perhaps I can help," said the Tree. "Where are you trying to get to?"
"I don’t really know," said Alice.
"Well that’s no good," said the Tree, gruffly. "If you don’t know where you are trying to get to, how do you know you haven’t arrived?"
"I hadn’t thought of that," admitted Alice.
"Really!" snorted the Tree. "A well educated young lady like you ought to think more," and he recited a little rhyme:
"You can lead a horse to water,
But you cannot make him drink.
You can educate your daughter,
But you cannot make her think."
Alice tried to justify herself. "There’s one thing I do know. I don’t want to be here."
"Oh." The Tree sounded slightly offended. "I think this is a very nice place. I’ve lived here all my life."
"I’m sure it’s nice enough if you live here," Alice said apologetically. "It’s just that I want to get back to somewhere I know - to find people I know."
"My advice to you," said the Tree solemnly, "is to make up your mind where you want to go, and then follow the path until you get there."
"But the path might not go there at all," protested Alice.
"Oh don’t you worry," the Tree reassured her, "this path is an old friend of mine. He can be very helpful if you give him the chance, but if you don’t know where you are going, how can he know where to take you?"
It seemed to Alice a most peculiar idea - relying on a path to find your way about for you. Still, she was desperate to find her way out of the wood and was prepared to try anything. Thanking the Tree for his advice and wishing him a good day, she closed her eyes tightly and thought very hard about finding someone she knew. Then she opened them and ran off down the path.
The path suddenly took another of its sharp turns to the left but this time it didn’t turn back again to the right. Instead, it led Alice straight out of the wood and she emerged onto a neatly cut croquet lawn.
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