Aeriel

                                                       A Fantasy

                                                                          By

                                                               Frank Imbragulio

  PART ONE

 

  It looked exactly like a dollhouse.  I had passed it each day when commuting to and from Southern Mississippi during my senior year, and the other three riders in the car with me and I often speculated on the kind of people that inhabited it. If it were lived in at all, that is. The color was dark brown and there was lots of gingerbread on it. There were yellow shutters on the windows, with tulips cut out of the side panels. I always thought like something out of "Hansel and Gretel". Not once, in all of the times we came and went, had we seen a single sign of life in the little house. Yet we all felt there were real people living there, because there always seemed to be fresh looking curtains hanging in tiny windows; the lawn freshly manicured; and often, that winter, there was a spiral of smoke coming out of the dainty chimney, on the side that we could see.

          And now. I stood there, upon the front porch, having just rung the doorbell. Its little ping-ping sounded like an oriental percussion instrument of some sort. I listened intently. There was no sound, other than the lingering echo of its two notes. Should I ring again? While I was trying to decide this, the door was opened soundlessly, and there stood the cutest little doll-like lady I had ever seen, looking me squarely in the face.

          "Good morning," I said, hoping I sounded cheerily, and gave my name. I told her that I had passed the house many times and had always longed to see the inside.

          She responded as though my request were the most ordinary thing in the world, and I was suddenly aware that mine was certainly not likely to have been the first curiosity pricked by the unusual domicile.

          "My name is Anne Angle," she told me. "We've lived here for seventeen years now."

          "Where did you live before coming to Hattiesburg?" Her attitude was such that I did not think she would resent my questions.

          "Oh, all over the place, really- but do come in, and get comfortable/"
          I moved into the living room, and took in each article of furniture with great care. The neat couch and matching chairs; the ottomans; a spinet piano in one corner of the room; the fireplace with its andirons, and the mantle above, with ample space for pictures of little people, in frames. She motioned me to a chair, as she continued answering my question.

"I was born in St. Louis, Missouri, and my husband is from, San Francisco, originally."

"How did you happen to wind up in Mississippi?"

"We met when Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer put out a call for all midgets with performing abilities to come to Hollywood to audition for the movie, The Wizard of Oz. We were to play the parts of the Munchkins. All expenses were paid by MGM, so we both traveled all that distance. Well, for my husband, it wasn't very far at all---but it was for me!" And her laugh was like silvery music.

"It turned out that we both had a few bookings with the Orpheum Circuit in the last days of vaudeville. Strictly song and dance stuff. But we were very good. It was the old clichéd 'Love at First Sight' story. We were married right there in Culver City, and after the film was finished (it took only a few weeks for our parts) we took all of that money (it paid us quite a tidy sum) and began looking for a nice, quiet place to settle down. One of the other Munchkins in the cast was from right here in Hattiesburg, and sold us on the place. We came here, fell in love with the whole area, bought this lot, built this house, had three children, and here we are!"

"Your children: are they at home now?" I asked eagerly.

"Oh, no: not right now. They're all in school. Scalene goes to high school and Isosoles and Pi attend the Demonstration School out at the college. But my husband is at home- and here he is!"

The little gentleman smiled broadly, as he introduced himself: "Hi! I'm Art Angle." And he held out his small hand for me to shake. I took it gingerly, afraid that I might hurt him otherwise.

"You're no doubt thinking 'What unusual names!'" and he laughed.

I didn't want to admit it, but that was exactly my reaction. I smiled instead of saying anything

Anne explained now. "My maiden name was Wright, and when I heard Art's last name, I just about dies laughing, Wright Angle!"

"Then when we decided to tie the knot, we said if the good Lord ever blessed us with children, we would give them appropriate geometric titles. And so far we have three," Art had continued the narrative.

I was bursting to know more about their children. Were they midgets, too?"

As if anticipating this question, Anne said, "Scalene is the eldest. She is full sized. She's getting so tall that we are getting a little concerned because we made the ceilings just six feet high."

Indeed my head had almost brushed against the ceiling when I entered the room.

"But, Isoceles and Pi are like us- midgets. And Pi is so little that even for a midget, he is very small."

"But wouldn't you like to see the rest of the house?" Art asked.

"Oh, yes!"

They both walked with me. There were three bedrooms, a kitchen (which enchanted me with all of its toy-like appliances) two baths, and a rather formal dining room. The amazing thing was that once inside, except for the low ceilings, there was no feeling of cramped quarters.

I felt that I had imposed upon them long enough, and made my preparations for departing.

"Why don't you stay and have a cup of coffee with us?" Anne asked me.

I have never cared for coffee, once breakfast is over and done with, but my curiosity got the better of me. "That would be great!"

We trouped back into the kitchen, with its blue and white chintz curtains, and its dinette set painted baby blue. I sat carefully on one of the chairs, while Anne busied herself filling the coffee pot at the sink. I noticed that Art was helping her at every step of the task and began to wonder what he did to support them.

"What kind of work are you doing now, Mr. Wright?"

"Please call me Art. Mr. Wright makes me feel so much older than I am. I'm retired," he added cryptically.

"But you're not that old," I protested. Indeed, he could have been almost any age. I placed him between forty and fifty.

Anne laughed her little silvery laugh again. "We were not so lucky." Then she went on, "After we built the house most of our savings were gone. It cost a good bit more than we had planned on., so we thought of going back on stage. But there was no longer any vaudeville: that phase of show business was totally dead. All that would have been left for us to do was work with the sideshows at fairs and carnivals. We had both done some of that work, but it is so demeaning to have audiences stare at you as if you were some sort of freak. And they can ask so many personal questions!"

My face burned at this remark.

"Oh, no," she quickly said, "you have not asked any personal or embarrassing or personal questions. She hurried on, "Well, anyway, then I found out that I was going to have a baby, Very awkward. Now, you tell what happened next, Art."

"An uncle that I didn't even know existed, died and left mea small fortune. It's enough to live comfo0rtably for the rest of our lives."

"So the only thing we're lacking is friends. The neighbors still think of us as sideshow freaks, I'm afraid."

I realized then that this must be the reason they were both so eager to show me their charming little home, and their reluctance to let us go so soon. Anne handed me a blue willow pattern cup and saucer, and began pouring hot coffee, steaming into the cup.

"Cream and sugar?" Art held the matching pieces of China in his hands.

"Yes, please," and I helped myself to both. Even the cloth napkins were blue and white checked gingham, as was the tablecloth.

As soon as I had finished my coffee, I made my excuses and left them, promising to return soon for another visit.

 

PART TWO

         

          My second visit was not unannounced. I phoned them before driving down to ascertain that they would be at home and not otherwise occupied. Their genuine and sincere delight in hearing from me, was all the assurance I needed. I had purposely chosen Saturday, being determined to meet the children.

          As I drove the familiar highway to Hattiesburg, and then following Fourth Street towards the college, I was filled with a sense of déjà vu. How many times had I ridden this same route as a student?

          I walked up the little winding walkway to the beautiful front door. The oriental ping-ping of the doorball was answered this time by a great hulk of a girl. She almost totally filled the doorway.

          "Hello! I'm Scalene." Her voice was deep, resonant and musical. She was not a pretty girl at all, and her size seemed absurd in the tiny frame of the doorway. Her eyes were too far apart, and her mouth was wide, with a distinct downward slant. Her auburn hair was almost exactly like her mother's, but somehow, on her, it seemed all wrong. I tried not to let her see my disappointment. After all, not many people are as nearly perfect as every feature of her parents' were.

I told her my name.

"Oh, I know all about you," she said. "Come on in; Mother's expecting you."

The little parlor was a scene of domestic tranquility, and the pretty picture that met my eyes will remains with me always. The two most exquisitely beautiful children that I had ever seen, sat on the floor before an open fire, playing at a board game. Anne sat doing needlepoint in her chair. The aroma of something delicious wafted in from the kitchen.

Many midgets have the appearance of ill-fitting arms and legs; their torsos are too long or short for the other parts of their bodies; but the Angles were beautifully proportioned (Scalene being the exception).

"Ah. My friend; how good it is to see you again!" Anne's greeting was warm and happy.

"And the very same to you!" I said, meaning each word.

"And these are our children: our pride and joys. You've met Scalene already, and this is Isocolies- and Pi." She pointed to each child, who stood up immediately and shook my hand, solemnly. The little girl was beautiful, as I have said, but Pi was an absolute vision of loveliness. His hair was so shiny black that it seemed to be made of wet glass. Hers was blond. But both were absolutely flawless. They had great brown eyes, dainty little mouths, and the tiniest hands and feet I had ever seen, except on babies. Their tiny shoes reminded me of those you see on Barbie dolls.

We sat and chatted a while, then Anne excused herself saying that she had to put the finishing touches on lunch, and of course I was to stay for that. I had not asked where Art was, but was now told that he was downtown at the Court House, taking care of some taxes and would be home in time for lunch.

Scalene went into the kitchen to help her mother with the lunch, I felt the two small children gazing at me with something like wonder.

"Would you like to play Pollyanna?: Isocoles asked now.

:"I love Pollyanna!" I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Memories of my own childhood, trying to find somebody- - anybody to play the board game with me, flooded my memory banks.

"Come on, then and play with us. You can be red."

"I much prefer yellow," I said, seeing that they had chosen blue and green as their "Men".

Pi found this amusing, and covered his mouth, trying to conceal a beguiling grin.

"Does either of you play the piano?" I asked.

"Not yet," Isocoles answered. I had yet to hear Pi say anything, and began to wonder if he were mute. "Scalene does, though."

"I take lessons from Mrs. Davis, out at the college," Scalene said from the doorway.

"Well, you're certainly in good hands," I said, not feeling the assurance I offered her. "Perhaps you'll play something for me after a while."

"I'd love to. Mother tells me you're a pianist."

I acknowledged that this was true. "What compositions are you working one now"

"A Bach two-part Invention, Fur Elise, and parts of The Children's Corner, by Debussy."

I was impressed by the repertoire, but reserved judgment until I heard her play. "Those are all excellent choices," I assured her.

Our Pollyanna game continued. They were adept at it,, and I had little difficulty allowing one and then the other of them to win.

The front door opened and Art walked cheerfully in. We shook hands and made small talk until Anne announced that lunch was served.

"I hope you haven't gone to a lot of trouble on my account," I said.

"Not at all,: she assured me. "We're just having soup, a sandwich and some pie."

"That sounds wonderful!"

The soup was a clear consommé, and was delicious; there was a hearty beef sandwich and a tray of olives, pickles, tomato slices and other relishes. We ate with gusto.

"It's so good to have you here again," Art said, as we ate.

"And I am enchanted to be here." That was the exact word: Enchantment. It was all rather like something out of a fairy tale, I couldn't help noticing.

When the time came for Anne to bring her steaming hot apple pie from the kitchen, Art stood up to do the honors. He cut the pie in six equally huge slices,

"Would you prefer ice cream or cheese with your pie?" Anne asked.

"Aw, come on. I'm going to have ice cream, and so are the kids." Art said. :My wife, being an old Midwesterner, likes the cheese on hers."

Anne laughed good naturedly,

"Well, you twisted my arm," I said. "I'd like the ice cream, too. I'm just a kid at heart."

When the meal was finished, and Scalene and her mother had cleared the table, they returned to the living room, where we had moved. Scalene asked me point blank if I would like for her to play for me,
          "Most assuredly!" I said enthusiastically, How unlike my brother, George, and me," I thought somewhat grimly, We would never volunteer to play for company when we were children.

"I'll play the Back Invention first,: she announced.

I expected the F Major, or the first one, in C, but instead, she played the seldom-played E Major two-part Invention. In my estimation, it is the most difficult of all. It was beautifully performed, with sensitivity, accuracy and musicianship. Her touch was lovely, and the piano fairly "sang".

"Thank you. That was truly beautiful," I told her when she had finished. "Would you play something else for me?"

"I could try the Beethoven," she said modestly.

I was prepared for the usual changes of tempo, and the too-rapid beginning, and was again surprised with her maturity and expertise. I never remember having heard this charming little masterpiece more delightfully played, and told her so when she was done.

Anne was thrilled with my assessment of their daughter's playing.

"Do you really think she has talent?"

"There's no question about it,"  I assured her.

It was getting late, and I felt I had been there long enough. I was reluctant to leave, however. The entire family was so charming that it was hard to leave their company. They seemed equally reluctant to have me go, but I promised, once again, that I should very soon return.

 

PART THREE

 

          Over the next several months I was a frequent visitor at the little gingerbread cottage. Our relationship grew ever stronger and more affectionate. It was with a great deal of sadness that I had decided to pursue my postgraduate degree. I hated to leave home, my family and my wonderful new small friends.

          When, in September, I called on the Angles to say goodbye, they were all there. Anne had, as usual, insisted on cooking a meal for me. The children clung to me for dear life. As I started to go, little Pi threw his arms around my neck and kissed me warmly on my lips. It was, without doubt, the sweetest kiss I ever received. As I drove away, the entire little family stood in the front yard, waving sadly to me. It was to be the last time I would ever see them.

 

PART FOUR

 

          It was early in October, and there was a definite touch Of autumn in the air. Scalene, Isosoles and Pi kissed their mother goodbye and were off to school. Their father had met with a tragic accident just a few days earlier, and none of them had really accepted the fact that he was dead. Art had been out taking his usual morning walk, and when returning, by way of the railroad tracks that ran below their little house, had failed to hear an oncoming freight train, He never knew what hit him.

          Pi, who rarely spoke anyway, was totally silenced by his grief; Isosoles , whose usual talkativeness had been reduced to monosyllables only; and even Scalene had shed not a tear at the funeral. Even Anne seemed beyond caring, but their grief was deep and real.

          The children entered the Demonstration School and walked silently to their separate classrooms. Pi arrived in his classroom to find a fever pf activity. Miss Donald was standing, and the class was listening intently to every word she said, for a change.

          "Oh, Pi," she greeted him, "You're just in time. We're about to go outside for today's science project."

          As was customary, he made no reply. He waited silently for further instructions.

          "Now, class, get your note books and a sharpened pencil. Luther, you can help me carry the equipment."

          The "equipment" seemed to consist of a can of Red Devil Lye, a Coca-Cola bottle and what looked like a clean pickle bottle filled with water. Miss Donald had her hands full with a mysterious white shoebox, her own textbook, and her usual assortment of pencils and erasers for those students who never seemed to have any.

          The students trooped noisily out of the building, as their teacher struggled to maintain some semblance of order. They were told to assemble at the rear, and Miss Donald came forward and exhibited a small silver coin with a square hole in the center.

          "This, Class, is a sales tax token. It was Mississippi's answer to a ten percent tax on everything that was bought. This was just a few years ago. For every dollar a person spent in a store, he had to pay one of these tokens. Louisiana and Alabama had similar tokens, but the shape of the center hole is what distinguished one's token from the others'.  Note the square hole in the center. There were one mill and five mill tokens. The five-mill token was made of copper, and were used with purchases of five dollars or more." She held up one of each of these tokens, pointing to the square holes in the centers. "The one-mill tokens were made of aluminum, and that is why we will be using them today. Billy, please bend this token for me, so it will fit through the neck of this Coke bottle."

          Billy was more than willing to oblige, and felt that he was exhibiting almost superhuman strength and impressing every little girl in the class as he grunted and bent the light weight token in two. Pi watched this with little interest as the experiment commenced. The bent token was placed in the bottle; then several more were bent and placed with that first one. When Miss Donald felt that enough aluminum was collected for the experiment, she instructed Billy, "Now, carefully pour some of the inlye into the bottle with the aluminum. But be very careful: don't let it get on your skin!"

          The class tittered nervously, as Billy very carefully removed the lid from the can and began to pour the lye, a few crystals at a time into the bottle. As soon as she felt that enough lye had been added for her experiment, Miss Donald said, "Now, let's add a little water to the mixture-- again going very slowly and cautiously."  She handed Billy the pickle jar of water, watching like a mother hen as he added drop by drop about a tablespoon of liquid. "Now, put one of these over the top of the bottle." She had opened the mysterious white shoebox, and extracted a red balloon. Billy looked as serious as his teacher had ever seen him, as he stretched the balloon open and slipped it over the top of the Coke bottle

          The lye had begun to eat at the aluminum tokens and there resulted a gas that filled the balloon ever so slowly at first. The class gasped in recognition of a new experience. When the balloon was filled to capacity, Miss Donald stepped forward and tied a long piece of string around its neck. Then she handed her 'assistant" a blue one to put over the bottle opening. The red balloon looked as if it had a life of its own, as it strained at the string and tried to rise.

          "Why 'zit tryin' t'raise up, Miss Donald?" Charlie Wilson asked.

          "Good question, Charles. We have created a gas known as Helium with this simple procedure. It is lighter than air, and that is why it rises so easily. They used to use hydrogen to fill the old time dirigibles, until the Hindenburg burned. After that they had to find something that was safer. That's when helium was created." She walked with the inflated balloon among the students. "Who would like to be the official keeper of the inflated balloons?" she asked. Every single hand shot up save one.

          "Pi. Wouldn't you like to hold the balloons as they are filed?"

          He looked solemnly at her with his great brown eyes, and silently nodded his head, "Yes."

          "Teacher's Pet-Teacheer's Pet," the class sang in a chant. Pi was, indeed, a great favorite ofry ev teacher he ever had. He was a model student: intelligent' easy to handle; clean; never a discipline problem. His size and beauty made every adult want to hold him and smother him with kisses, He had just the opposite effect on most of his peers, They resented his smallness and his beauty, and made no end of fun of him.

          When the blue balloon was filled and tied, and a yellow one was placed over the bottle's top, then another colored one was filled and handed ceremoniously to Pi. He took his duty very seriously,

          "Why does he het to hold all of th' balloons?" Jenny Sumrall demanded.

          "Don't worry, class, you're all going to get a balloon. And your choice of color, too!" Miss Donald laughed.      

          Nobody noticed that Pi was beginning to have difficulty keeping his feet ob the ground. He was too intent on doing exactly what Miss Donald had instructed him to do to complain. He was soon fighting gravity's pull for all he was worth, when his beloved teacher handed him still another balloon: this one, too, was red. It was one too many. Miss Donald turned back to discuss the experiment with the class as Pi rose from the ground completely. It was not until he was almost four feet from the ground that a classmate called out, "Look!: and pointed to him.

          The strange thing is that nobody made a move to stop it. They were all completely spellbound; incredulous! Even Miss Donald showed no sign of distress. She stood as though rooted to the spot, as little Pi rose higher and higher into the autumn air.

          His face had a look of supreme calm. Indeed, he had never appeared happier! It was as if his natural habitat were finally being approached and his natural destiny fulfilled. This was the first time he had smiled since his father's death.

          By now, his tiny body floated high above the trees surrounding the school, as he continued to hold onto balloons' strings. Up, up and ever upwards until there was just a dot on the horizon.

          The entire class and teacher had stood as though transfixed through the entire tragedy. But now, they came alive with shock.

          "He's gone!" one child said.

          "Where's he do to?" they all asked at once.

          "Oh, my God! What have I done?" Miss Donald suddenly realized the gravity of the situation.

          On the very spot where Pi had stood with the balloons, his little notebook and a pair of patent leather "Barbi Doll" shoes were all that remained of him.

          The family took the news with the calm and silence that was usually associated with them. But Anne had had enough. She packed their possessions, closed the little house forever, and they left as quietly as they had come.

          All that remains of the Angles is the tiny house near the railroad tracks on Fourth Street. This and two lonely little graves in the cemetery nearby.