Nothing to say, yet
Transcription
In this episode of the Short Story Writers Podcast, they share a story called "The Cuckoo Clock". Griselda, the main character, goes on a midnight expedition to the clock and talks to the cuckoo bird inside. The cuckoo eventually forgives her and promises to consider her request for someone to play with. The next morning, the cuckoo is fixed and Griselda's aunts are happy. Griselda wonders when the cuckoo will have considered her request for a playmate. Hello and welcome to Season 2 of the Short Story Writers Podcast where our goal is to promote writers at any level by showcasing their short stories in our weekly podcast. If you happen to be a writer and you have a short story that you would like to have published you can email us to shortstorywritersinfo at gmail.com. This podcast is free to listen to but we do accept small donations to keep our show going. Now if you would like to join us as a member, contributor, ask a question, or leave a comment please also email us at shortstorywritersinfo at gmail.com. And now this week's story. This story was written in 1877 by Miss Mary Mosworth. The Cuckoo Clock Episode 3 Obeying Orders. Narration by Ben Wilfrey. There was moonlight, though not so much in the saloon and the anteroom too, for through the windows like those in Griselda's bedroom had the shutters closed. There was a round pot at the top high up which the shutters did not reach to and in crept through those clear uncovered panels quite as many limpings as you may be sure as could find their way. Griselda, eager though she was, could not help standing still for a moment to admire the effect. It looked prettier with the light coming in at those holes at the very top even if the shutters were open. She said to herself how gold-silvery the cabinet looks. And yes, I do declare the mandarins are nodding. I wonder if it is out of politeness for me or does Auntie Grisel come in at last at night and touch them to make them keep nodding till morning. I suppose they are sort of little policemen to the palace. All sorts of beautiful things inside, how I should like to see them all through it. But at this moment a faint tick-tock of the cuckoo clock in the next room reaching her ear reminded her of the object of this midnight expedition of hers. She hurried into the ante room. It looked darker than the great saloon for it had but one window but through the uncovered space at the top of this window there penetrated some brilliant moonbeams, one of which lighted up brightly the face of the clock with its strange overhanging eaves. Griselda approached it and stood below looking up. Cuckoo, she said softly, but there was no reply. Cuckoo, she repeated rather more loudly. Why don't you speak to me? I know you are there and you're not asleep for I heard your voice in my own room. Why won't you come out, Cuckoo? Tick-tock, the clock said, but there was no other reply. Griselda felt ready to cry. Cuckoo, she said reproachfully, I didn't think that you were so hard-hearted. I've been so unhappy about you and I was so pleased to hear your voice again for I thought I had killed you or hurt you very badly and I didn't mean to hurt you, Cuckoo. I was sorry the very moment I had done it. Dreadfully sorry. Dear Cuckoo, won't you forgive me? There was a little sound at last, a faint coming sound, and by the moonlight Griselda saw the doors open and out flew the Cuckoo. He stood still for a moment, looked around him as it were, and gently flapped his wings and uttered his usual note, Cuckoo, Cuckoo. Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but in her delight she could not help but very softly clapping her hands. The Cuckoo cleared his throat. You've never heard such a funny little noise as he made, and then in a very clear, distinct, but yet Cuckoo-y type voice he spoke. Griselda, he said, are you truly sorry? I told you that I was, she replied, but I didn't feel so very naughty, Cuckoo. I didn't really. I was only vexed for one moment and when I told the book I seemed to be very little fun in it too, and it made me unhappy when you went away, and my poor aunties, they've been dreadfully unhappy too. If you hadn't come back I should have told them tomorrow what I have done. I would have told them before but I was afraid it would have made them more unhappy and I thought I had hurt you dreadfully. So you did, said the Cuckoo, but you look quite well, said Griselda. It was my feelings, said the Cuckoo, and I couldn't help going away. I have to obey orders like other people. Griselda stared. How do you mean, she asked. Never mind. You can't understand at present, said the Cuckoo. You can understand about obeying your orders, and you see when you don't, things go wrong. Oh yes, Griselda said humbly, they certainly do. But Cuckoo, she continued, I never used to get into tempers at home, hardly never at least, and I liked my lessons then and I never was scolded about them. What's wrong here then, said Cuckoo. It isn't often that things go wrong in this house, but that's what Dorcas says, said Griselda. It must be with my being a child. My aunties and the house and everything have gotten out of children's ways. About time, remarked Cuckoo drearily, and so continued Griselda. It is very dull. I have lots of lessons, but it isn't so much that that I mind. It's that I have no one to play with. But there's something in that, said the Cuckoo. He flapped his wings and was silent for a moment or two. I will consider about that, he observed at last. Thank you, Griselda said, not exactly knowing what else to say. And in the meantime, continued Cuckoo, you'd better obey present orders and go back to bed. Shall I say good night to you then, asked Griselda somewhat timidly. You're quite welcome to, replied the Cuckoo. Why shouldn't you? You see, I wasn't sure if you would like it. For, of course, you're not like a person, and I've been told all sorts of strange things about what fairies like and don't like. Who said I was a fairy? inquired Cuckoo. Dorcas did, and of course my own common sense did too, replied Griselda. You must be a fairy, you couldn't be anything else. I may be a fairy-fied Cuckoo, suggested the bird. Griselda looked puzzled. I don't understand, she said, and I don't think I could make much difference, but whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one thing. What, said Cuckoo? I want to know how that you have forgiven me for throwing the book at you. Have you come back for good? Well, certainly not for evil, replied the Cuckoo. Griselda gave a little wriggle. Cuckoo, you're laughing at me, she said. I mean, you have come back to stay, and, Cuckoo, as usual, you make my aunties happy again. You'll see in the morning, said the Cuckoo. Now go off to bed. Good night, said Griselda, and thank you, and please don't forget to let me know when you've considered. Cuckoo, Cuckoo, was her little friend's reply. Griselda thought it was meant for good night, but the fact of the matter was that at that exact second of time, it was two o'clock in the morning. She made her way back to the bed. She had been standing for some time, talking to the Cuckoo. Though it was now well on into November, she did not feel the least cold, nor sleepy. She felt happy and lighthearted as possible, and she wished it was morning so she might get up. Yet the moment she laid her little brown curly head on the pillow, she fell asleep, and it seemed to her that just as she dropped off, a soft feathery ring brushed her cheek gently, and a tiny Cuckoo sound in her ear. When she woke, it was a bright morning, for the wintry sun was already sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale gray-blue sky. Oh, it must be late, thought Griselda, when she had opened the shutters and seen how light it was. I must have slept a long time. I feel so beautifully unsleepy now. How nice it will be to see my aunties looking happy again. I don't even care if they would scold me for being late. But after all, it was not so much later than usual. It was only a much brighter morning than they have had for some time. Griselda dressed herself very quickly. However, as she went downstairs, two or three of the clocks in the house, for there were several, were striking eight. These clocks must have been a little before the right time, for it was not till they had again relapsed into silence that they rang out from the auntie room the clear sweet tones, eight times repeated, of Cuckoo. Miss Grisel and Miss Tabitha were already at the breakfast table, but they received their little niece most graciously. Nothing was said about the clock, however, till about halfway through the meal, when Griselda, full of eagerness to know if her aunties were aware of the Cuckoo's return, could restrain herself no longer. Aunt Grisel, she said, isn't the Cuckoo all right again? Yes, my dear, I'm delighted to say it is, replied Miss Grisel. Did you get it put right, Aunt Grisel, inquired Griselda shyly. Little girls should not ask so many questions, replied Miss Grisel. Mysteriously, it is all right again, and that is enough. Going fifty years, the Cuckoo has never, until yesterday, missed an hour. If you are in your sphere, my dear, doing as well as fifty years, you won't have done badly either. No, indeed, you won't have done badly, repeated Miss Tabitha. But though the two old ladies thus tried to improve the occasion by a little lecturing, Griselda could see that, at the bottom of their hearts, they were both so happy, that even if she had been very naughty indeed, they could hardly have made up their minds to scold her. She was not at all inclined to be naughty this day. She had something to think about, and to look forward to, which made her quite a different little girl, and made her take thought in doing her lessons as well as she possibly could. I wonder when the Cuckoo will have considered enough about my having no one to play with, she said to herself, as she was walking up and down the terrace at the back of the house. Hearing the rooster crow, Griselda looked up at him. Your voice isn't half so pretty as the Cuckoo's, Mr. Rook, she said. All the same, I dare say, I should make friends with you, if I understood what you meant. How funny it would be to know all of the languages of the birds and the beasts, like the prince and fairytale. I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy gave me a wish. No, I don't think I would. I'd far rather have fairy carpet that would take me anywhere. I'd go to China, and I'd see if all of the people there looked like Auntie Grisel's mandarins. And first of all, of course, I'd go to Fairyland. You must come in now, little missy, said Dorcas's voice. Miss Grisel says you have played enough, and there's a nice fire in the ante-room for you to do your lessons by. Play, repeated Griselda, as she turned to follow the old servant. Do you call walking up and down the terrace play? Dorcas, do you? I mustn't loiter, even to pick a flower, if there were any. I mustn't run, for fear of overheating myself, I declare, Dorcas. If I don't have some play soon, or something, to amuse me, I think I'll run away. Now, missy, don't talk like that. You'd never do anything so naughty. And you're so like Miss Sabilla, who was so good. Dorcas, I'm tired of being told I'm like Miss Sabilla, said Griselda impatiently. She was my grandmother. No one would like to be told that they're like their grandmother. It makes me feel as if my face must be all screwed up and wrinkly, and as if I should have spectacles and a wig. That was not what Miss Sabilla was, said Dorcas. She was younger than you, missy, and as pretty as a fairy. She was? asked Griselda, stopping short. Yes, indeed, she was. She might have been a fairy, so sweet she was, and gentle, and yet so merry. Every creature loved her. Even the animals about seemed to know her, as if she was one of themselves, you know. She brought good luck to the house, and it was a sad day when she left it. I thought you said it was the cuckoo that brought good luck, said Griselda. Well, it was. The cuckoo and Miss Sabilla came here on the same day. It was left to her by her mother's father, with whom she had lived since she was a baby. And when she died, she came here to her sister's house. She wasn't own sister to my ladies, you see, missy. Her mother had come from Germany, and it was in some strange place there that cuckoo clock was made where her grandfather lived. They make wonderful clocks there, I've been told, but none were more wonderful than our cuckoo, I'm sure. No, I'm sure not either, said Griselda softly. Why didn't Miss Sabilla take it with her when she was married and went away? Well, she knew her sisters were so fond of it. It was like a memory of her left behind them. It was like a part of her, and do you know, missy, she died soon after her father was born, a year after she was married. For a whole hour, from twelve to one, that cuckoo went on cuckooing in a soft, sad way, like some living creature in trouble. And, of course, we did not know anything was wrong with her, and folks said something had caught up maybe into the springs of her works. But I didn't think so, and never shall. But Dorcas's reminiscence were abruptly brought to a close by Mrs. Grizzles at the other end of the terrace. Griselda, what are you doing luttering for so long? Dorcas, you should have hastened, not delayed, Miss Griselda. So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, and Dorcas to her kitchen. But Griselda did not mind so much. She had plenty to think of and wonder about, and she liked to do her lessons now, in the empty room, with the tick-tock of the clock in her ears. And the feeling that perhaps the cuckoo was watching her through some invisible peephole in his closed doors. Dr. Selda, if he sees how hard I am working to try to do my lessons, well, it will perhaps make him be quick about considering. She did try very hard, and she didn't speak to the cuckoo when he came out to say it was four o'clock. She was busy. She felt it was better to wait until he gave her some sign of being ready to talk to her again. For fairies, you know, children however charming and sometimes rather strange to have to do with, they don't like to be interfered with or treated except for very great respect, and they have their own ideas about what is proper and what isn't. I can assure you of that. I suppose it was with working so hard at her lessons, most people say it was been up the night before, running about the house in the moonlight, but as she had never felt so fresh in her life as when she got up in the morning, it could hardly have been that Griselda felt so tired and sleepy that evening that she could hardly kept her eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half an hour early than usual, which made Miss Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be ill. But as there was nothing better for the children than to go to bed early, even if they are going to be ill, Miss Grisel told her to say good night. After she was in bed, for almost before her head touched the pillow, she was as sound as a top. She had slept a good long time. And again, she was awakened suddenly, just as she had done the night before. And again, with the feeling that something had awakened her. And the strange thing that was the moment she woke up, she felt so very awake. She had no inclination to stretch or yawn and hope it wasn't quite time to get up yet. And think of how nice and warm her bed was, or how cold it was outside. She sat up straight and peered out into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an adventure. It is you, Cuckoo, she said softly. There was no answer, but listening intently, the child fancied that she had heard a faint rustling or fluttering in the corner of the room by the door. She got up, feeling her way, opened it, and the instant she had done so, she heard a few steps only in front of her, it seemed, the familiar notes, very soft and whispered, Cuckoo, Cuckoo. It went on and on down the passage. Griselda trotting after it. There was no moon tonight, and it was heavy clouds, and outside, the rain was falling heavily. Griselda could hear it on the windowpanes, through the closed shutters and all. But dark as it was, she made her way, along, without any difficulty, down the passage across the great saloon, in through the ante-room door, guided only by a little voice now, and then to be heard in front of her. She came to a standstill, right before the clock, and stood there for one moment, or maybe two, patiently waiting. She had not a very long wait. There came the usual murmuring sound, then the doors above the clock face-opened. She heard them open. It was far too dark to see. It was just two o'clock, and the cuckoo was killing two birds with one stone, telling the hour, and greeting Griselda at once. The bird sang out, Cuckoo, Cuckoo. Cuckoo, Cuckoo. Good evening, Cuckoo, said Griselda. Good morning, you mean, said the cuckoo. Good morning, then, Cuckoo, said Griselda. Have you considered about me, Cuckoo? Well, the cuckoo played his throat. Have you learnt to obey orders yet, Griselda, he inquired. I'm trying, replied Griselda. But you see, Cuckoo, I haven't had very long to learn in. It was only last night when you told me, you know. Cuckoo sighed. Well, you've got a great deal to learn, Griselda, I dare say I have. But whatever lesson I have, I couldn't ever have any worse than those addition sums for Mr. Kneebridges. I have made up my mind about that for a day. Do you know, Cuckoo? Yesterday, corrected Cuckoo. Be exact in your statements, Griselda. Well, yesterday, then, said Griselda, rather tautly. Then, then, well, you know what I mean. I don't see that you need to be very particular. Well, I was saying, I tried and tried, but still, they were fearful. They were, indeed. You've got a great deal to learn, Griselda, repeated Cuckoo. I wish you wouldn't say that so often, said Griselda. I thought you were going to play with me. There's something in that, said Cuckoo. There's something in that I should like to talk to you about. But we could talk more comfortably if you would come up here and sit beside me. Griselda thought her friend must be going out of his mind. Sit beside you up there, she exclaimed. Cuckoo, how could I? I'm far, far too big. Big, returned Cuckoo. What do you mean by big? It's all a matter of fancy. Don't you know that if the world and everything in it, counting yourself, of course, was all made little enough to go into a walnut, you'd never find out the difference? Wouldn't I? said Griselda, feeling rather muddled. But not counting myself, Cuckoo, I would then, wouldn't I? Nonsense, said Cuckoo, hastily. You've a great deal to learn, and one thing not to argue. No one should argue. That's a shockingly bad habit. And it ruins the digestion. Come up here and sit beside me. Comfortably. Catch hold of my chain. You'll find you can manage it if you try. But I'll stop the clock, said Griselda. Aunt Grisel said I was never to touch the weights of the chains. Stuff, said the Cuckoo. It wouldn't stop the clock. Catch hold of the chains and swing yourself up. There now, Missy, I told you you could manage it. Thank you for listening to this story. The Cuckoo Clock. Episode 3, Obeying Orders. Narrated by Ben Wilfrey. And written by Miss Molesworth. Thank you again for listening, and we'll see you next time. Good night.
