The Dragonfly Pool

“It was because of the king.”

“What king?” said Karil, startled.

“The king of Bergania, of course. I saw him on the newsreel and he looked so strong and brave—but tired, too. And when they wrote and said they wanted people to come to a festival, I sort of bullied everyone into coming.”

“But what could you know about the king?”

“I knew he had stood out against Hitler . . .” She saw the spider safely into her hole and went on. “We have a king, too, in England and he’s really nice—absolutely decent. George VI he’s called . . .”

Karil nodded. Carlotta had played with his daughters in Buckingham Palace.

“He has a stammer, and when he makes his speech on the wireless at Christmas my aunts get terribly worried in case he’s going to break down and not be able to finish. They sit there clutching their sherry glasses, just willing him to go on. But he’s not like the king of Bergania. He’s not a ruler.”

“I can’t see how you could tell what he’s like just from watching a film.”

Tally shrugged. “I don’t know . . . but I felt it. I was sure. Perhaps it’s because of my father. He’s not a king, of course, he’s a doctor, but he’s like that. He knows what’s right and he does it whatever it costs. I get annoyed when he’s back late and I wanted to be with him, but I wouldn’t want him to be someone who had nothing to do except look after me. Anyway, when I saw Bergania and the king I wanted to come here. I felt I had to. And I thought Matteo was behind me—he persuaded the others that folk dancing wasn’t sissy—but he’s been so odd since we came. He never seems to be there when you want him; it’s as though he’s hiding all the time. And just now he was furious with me for attacking the Nazi.”

“Well, of course. You could have got into serious trouble.”

“He can’t want me to just let things happen without fighting.”

Karil had been pulling the seeds out of a fallen pinecone. Now he threw it into the water. “Tell me again about the Bergania film. Tell me exactly.”

“I was with my friend Julia. She wanted me to come to the cinema and we saw an awful film—but before that there was this travelogue. And it was as though the country sort of spoke to me—it was so beautiful. It was silly, because I’d only been at school half a term and I was still settling in—progressive schools are hard work—but I knew I had to come.”

“Because the country was beautiful?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve told you. It was because of the king. Because he was brave and true to what he believed in and wouldn’t let himself be bullied. Because he knew that if you have power you must use it well and not be afraid.”

Karil said nothing. Something inside him was changing . . . a knot was dissolving.

She turned to him. “You live here,” she said. “You must know. Is he like that?”

Karil took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said joyfully. “He is like that,” he said. “That is exactly what he is like.”

They were silent for a while, watching the ripples made by a fish as it jumped for a fly. Then he turned to this unknown girl who had given him back his father and said, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“For what?” she said, surprised.

“Oh . . . just . . . never mind.”

She had taken out the handkerchief and was flattening it on the stone. She had not guessed, yet when she saw the initials and the crown embroidered in the corner, she was not surprised.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve been an idiot. I know who you are.”

He braced himself, waiting for a fuss—she would be too respectful, or angry—or back away, make him feel “different.”

“You’re Karil,” she said—and because she had used only his name and not his rank he allowed himself a moment of hope.

“I would have liked us to be friends,” he said, looking down at the ground. “I would really have liked that.”

“Well, of course we’re going to be friends. That’s obvious. It’s what’s going to happen.”

He shook his head. “It won’t work,” he said wearily. “They read my letters and the doors are locked and . . . Oh, you’ve no idea what it’s like.”

“Look, Karil, if I want to be friends with someone, nobody is going to stop me. Absolutely nobody. Perhaps I should tell you that I’m named after my great-grandmother who washed the socks of tramps in the London Underground. She came over as a young girl from America to marry my great-grandfather and she used to go up to these fierce men, some of them dead drunk, and make them take off their socks and give them to her to wash. Now that is difficult.” She folded up the handkerchief and put it in her pocket. “And I think you should stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not the end of the world, being a prince.”

In the palace the king came out of his emergency meeting with a lagging step. It seemed there was no end to the bullying his country had to endure. More than anything he wanted to see his son, but he had left Karil in a temper. Perhaps it was better to let the boy calm down in his own good time.