You’d better be careful what you wish for, an aunt of mine
once told me, because you might just get it.
At the time I couldn’t see anything wrong with having my wishes come
true, after all, that was what they were for – to be granted and make you happy.
I’d read enough of those ‘once upon a time’ stories to know how it worked.
Aladdin’s life went from awful to wonderful as soon as he rubbed the lamp and
met the genie. Three wishes later and he had the girl, the fortune and the
happy-ever-after. There was no hint in
the story about potential pitfalls. He had his flying carpet, he had his
princess and he had a very big smile on his face. . Cinderella dreamed of meeting her handsome
prince, her Fairy Godmother waved a magic wand, and off she danced in her glass
slippers. Dick Whittington had a dream
and, next thing you know, he’s Lord Mayor of London. Poor little Thumbelina
escaped her oversized world by wishing for a lover her own size, and magically
she met a flower-fairy boy, just the right height.
So I wasn’t sure what Auntie Lizzie was trying to tell me
all those years ago. I could see no downside to getting exactly what I wanted,
and didn’t actually believe that wishes could come true, so I forgot all about
it until a series of strange events reminded me and made me reconsider. I know
you won’t believe me, or you’ll think I’m as mad as a whirligig beetle, but for
more than a year now I’ve learned just how badly life can turn when dreams are
fulfilled. I have obtained my own
version of the genie’s lamp and it grants me up to three wishes a day. You’d
think such a prize would make me really happy, but I know now that getting
exactly what you want is hard work, and it’s the last thing I’d wish on anyone.
I should explain how it started. I was going through a low
patch, although it’s difficult to tell the difference between my highs and
lows. If life is a journey I have been living at the bottom of a steep valley
for most of mine. At school I’d had visions of becoming a famous actor, or
maybe a singer or dancer and I left home with lots of ambition and few
qualifications. Hollywood never called my name though, and the stage didn’t
beckon. I was an office worker, pushing papers around a desk and hitting a
keyboard from nine to five; drinks with colleagues on Friday nights and curry
with one or other of a series of not-serious partners. It was at the end of one
such unimportant relationship that my fortunes changed. I never thought I’d
found the love of my life, but I missed the company, and in common with other
times of stress I attempted to cure my disappointment by buying things. I enjoy
shopping; not the ordinary groceries and supermarket type, but I find browsing
for antiques fascinating and often bury my sorrows under a few purchases.
There’s something magical about antique shops that lifts my
spirits. From the moment I open the door, particularly if it has one of those
tinkling bells that chimes to announce your arrival, I am full of excitement
and anticipation of the treasures within. Perhaps it’s the smell; that glorious
mixed aroma of old leather, bright metal, lavender polish, beeswax, musty
books, aromatic woods, cloth, and a faint whiff of dust hanging in the air. But
just as alluring is the sight of the glassware, ceramics, furniture, pictures,
kitchenalia and bric-a-brac, scattered around and beckoning from every surface,
enticing me to take it home. My special love is finding one of those
glass-topped cabinets full of jewellery, a cascade of brooches, bangles,
strings of glistening beads, rings, cameos and other baubles.
On that first day I was in one of my favourite antiques centres.
I flicked through a few old books but decided against any of the titles. I
checked some vintage crockery; pretty little flowery teacups and fluted saucers
with gilded edges that would have perfectly complemented some I own. Then I
went through a railing of 1960s clothing that could have brightened my
wardrobe, but as usual I worked my way round eventually to the necklaces. I can’t resist them, and I knew as soon as I
started searching through them that one would be coming home with me. I loved
the sensation of the metal assortment under my hands, and I spent some time
caressing their various textures, knobbly glass beads, delicate silver links,
silken threads, Victorian, art deco, pop art, until my touch fell on one that triggered
a tingling in my fingers. Perhaps it was the pattern that caused the unusual
reaction, but I was immediately drawn to the piece because I had experienced
such a strange response. I picked it up, carefully unravelling its chain from
the pile until I could hold it closer.
The engravings on the golden surface were Oriental, perhaps
Chinese or Japanese, but I could not tell which. I don’t know enough about the
subject to be sure. The pendant was flat and circular, and there were odd Eastern
letters carved around the circumference. Other incisions had no obvious form,
but if you squinted a little, rather than looking directly, they could have
been dragons, or perhaps skinny monkeys. The same kind of carving continued along
the chain. Each link had some sort of individual symbol that together formed a
long, sinuous, fascinating, snake-like creature. Whatever they were, I fell in
love with it straight away: I wanted that pendant. Haggling with the stall
holder I managed to bring down the price, even though he realised that its
ticket had already undervalued it. There were no hallmarks, but I was pretty
sure it was real gold, and probably a genuine antique. I secured it for the
proverbial song.
“Don’t bother to wrap it, I’ll wear it now,” I told the
disgruntled trader, and I lifted the ornate chain over my head and around my
neck. Another tingle ran through me, this time starting at the back of my
skull, but I dismissed the experience as first signs of a migraine and vowed to
go home and spend time sitting in a darkened room to fend off the worst. Every
time I try to avoid my migraines I fall asleep and this time was no different. Within minutes of lying down on the bed I was
away with the little people. I didn’t even bother to get undressed, and the
pendant stayed comfortably in place, nestled near to my heart. My dreams were
unusual, and remarkably happy compared with my normal slumbers. I had reached a particularly promising part –
my latest film had just won several Oscars and I was nominated for best actress
– when something woke me. Drowsily I opened my eyes, unsure whether a sound or
something else had disturbed me, when I noticed someone sitting on the end of
my bed.
When I say ‘on the end of my bed’ that’s exactly what I
mean. Not sitting on the mattress, but perched on the foot board, with its
knees under its chin. And when I say ‘someone’
I might be exaggerating slightly. The shape, while generally human, was squat
and very hairy, and it had bright, beady eyes in a flat face that was turned
towards me and staring. Assuming I was still asleep I rolled over, hoping that
I would be able to recover the Oscar dream before I missed the award, but the apparition
spoke to me.
“Hello”, it said, and flashed a huge grin towards me,
revealing a lot of teeth, with incisors longer and more pointy than any human
would ever need. “You aren’t imagining me. I’m really here.”
“And who the hell are you?” I replied, forgetting any
pretence at politeness in my confusion. Strangely I wasn’t afraid, just
slightly apprehensive about what this creature might want, because I was pretty
certain it wanted something.
“Nothing to do with Hell I assure you.” It grinned again. “I’m
here to help.”
“Help? What help?
Why? Who are you?”
“That’s a lot of questions all at once, but if you just shut
up for a while I’ll explain.”
As he spoke my visitor began to look slightly more human. He
sat up straighter and stretched out his legs and gradually filled out to a more
normal size. But he was still very hairy.
“I’m here because you called for help. You obviously need
someone to look after you and sort your life out.” At that point he gave a
disdainful look around my room, pausing rather too long on the piles of clothes
scattered around the floor awaiting transfer to the laundry basket.
“I am part of the deal you made today. Think of me as your
fairy godfather. I have certain powers that will let me grant you up to three
wishes a day, depending on circumstances. If you’re careful you should become a
very happy woman in the not too distant future.”
“If I’m careful,” I echoed. “Meaning what?”
“Well.” He drew out the word and gave a little sigh at the
end of it. “It’s complicated. Let’s not go into that right now. You can learn
as we go along.”
It didn’t sound like a threat when he said it, but I’ve
since learned quite a lot ‘as I’ve gone along’
“You just carry on with your life as normal and up to three
times a day I’ll step in to help out. I’ll grant you what you wish for. Be
warned though, it might not always be immediate, so if you do something stupid
like driving the wrong way down a one-way street and wishing that the lorry barrelling
towards you would disappear, you might be disappointed.”
“So what do I call you?
What’s your name?” I asked.
“You don’t need my name. I’m going to help you anyway. I’ll
answer to anything polite.”
“What is this,” I asked, “Some modern version of
Rumplestiltskin?”
That made my new friend laugh. “That’s not my name, though
you can call me it if you like. At least Rumplestiltskin is polite.”
“What’s with all the ‘polite’ stuff? I think I have every
reason to be rude to you actually. You turn up in the middle of the night....”
“Day.”
“What?”
“Day. Not night. You were asleep mid-afternoon. That’s
downright lazy.” Clearly he didn’t have to be polite to me.
“OK. Middle of the day then. But you still turned up in my
bedroom uninvited....”
“But I was invited. I told you. I am part of the deal. And a
pretty cheapskate deal it was too, if you ask me.......”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“Haggling over the price for a wonderful piece like me!”
Suddenly things started to fall into place. Haggling. The
only place I’d done that was at the antiques centre.
“The necklace! You’re attached to the necklace!” He nodded. “You’re some sort of a genie!”
“I’m nothing of the sort. And that type of accusation would
count as impolite. But just this once, I’ll let you get away with it. On
account of you being new to all of this.”
“OK. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I’ll try harder in
future.” The look he gave me ensured I would try very hard. “So when does all
this start?” I asked him.
“It already has started. You don’t have the migraine any
more do you?”
And I was stupid enough to believe him. It didn’t occur to
me at the time that I hadn’t wished to get rid of my headache Nor did I realise
then that the tingling sensation I’d mistaken for a headache symptom was actually caused
by the pendant. Like I said, I’ve learned a lot since then.
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