THE NEXT DAY we rode back to Nonno. At first we couldn’t find him, but soon we heard the sound of his flute behind a little hill. He sat there playing to himself while the sheep grazed around. When he caught sight of us he took his flute from his mouth and laughed and said, “You’ve come again!”
He seemed glad that we had come back. We took out our flutes and played, all three of us. The songs were so pretty, I didn’t understand how we could play such lovely melodies.
“It’s a shame there’s no one to hear how fine we play,” I said.
“The grass hears us,” said Nonno. “And the flowers and wind. The trees hear how we play, the willow trees that lean over the stream.”
“Do they?” I said. “Do they like it?”
“Yes, they love it,” said Nonno.
We played a long time for the grass and flowers and wind and trees. But I still thought it was a shame there weren’t any people to hear us.
Then Nonno said, “We can go home and play for my grandmother if you want to. My grandmother that I live with.”
“Does she live far from here?” I asked.
“Yes, but the way will seem short, if we play as we walk,” said Nonno.
“Yes, yes, the way won’t be long, if we play as we walk,” said Pompoo. He wanted to walk home to see Nonno’s grandmother as much as I did.
In fairy tales there are always kind old grandmothers. But I’d never met a real grandmother, though I know there are many. That’s why I thought it would be so fun to go and meet Nonno’s grandmother.
We had to take all Nonno’s lambs and sheep with us. And Miramis. We were a whole caravan. First went Pompoo and Nonno and I, then came the sheep and lambs and at the end rambled Miramis. Practically as slow as Charlie. We walked over hills and played as we went along. The lambs probably wondered where we were taking them. But I think they enjoyed it, because they bleated and skipped around us the whole time.
When we had walked for many hours and over many hills, we came to Nonno’s house. It was the kind of house in fairy tales, too, a funny little cottage with a thatched roof and lots of lilacs and jasmine outside.
“Be quiet now, so we can surprise Grandmother,” said Nonno.
A window stood open and we could hear someone bustling about inside. We lined up by the window, Nonno and Pompoo and I.
“Let’s start,” said Nonno. “One, two, three!”
And we did. We played such a merry tune that the lambs skipped and danced when they heard it. An old, old woman came to the window; she looked very kind. She was Nonno’s grandmother and she clapped her hands and said, “Oh, what beautiful music!”
We played to her for a long time and she remained by the window listening until we were done. She was very old and looked like a character out of a fairy tale, though she was a real grandmother.
After that we went into the cottage. Nonno’s grandmother asked us if we were hungry, and we were. So she brought out a loaf of bread and cut thick slices from it which she gave us. It was crisp brown bread, and it was the best bread I’ve ever eaten in my life.
“Oh, it tastes good,” I said to Nonno. “What kind of bread is it?”
“I don’t think it’s any special kind of bread,” said Nonno. “We call it the Bread That Satisfies Hunger.”
Miramis wanted to eat with us, too. He came and stuck his head through the open window and neighed a little. We laughed at him because he looked so funny. But Nonno’s grandmother stroked his nose and gave him some of the good bread too.
After that I was thirsty and when I told Nonno, he said, “Follow me.”
He took us into the garden, and there was a clear well. Nonno lowered a wooden pail down into the well and brought up some water and we drank out of the wooden pail. It was the coolest and best water I’ve ever tasted in my life.
“Oh, that’s very good,” I said to Nonno. “What kind of well is it?”
“It’s not any special kind of well,” said Nonno. “We call it the Well That Quenches Thirst.”
Miramis was thirsty, and the lambs and sheep too, so we gave them water to drink.
Soon it was time for Nonno to walk back to the pastures among the hills, with his sheep. He asked his grandmother for the cloak he would use to wrap up in while sleeping out in the pastures at night, watching over his sheep. She brought out a brown cloak and gave it to him. I thought Nonno was very lucky to be able to sleep in the pastures. It was something I’d never done before. Sometimes Ben and his mama and papa used to ride their bikes out to a campground. They would pitch their tent on a pleasant wooded hillside and sleep in their sleeping bags at night. Ben always said it was the best time, and I believe it.
“I wish I could sleep outside all night,” I said to Nonno.
“You can,” said Nonno. “Follow me!”
“No,” I said. “My father the King would be worried if I didn’t come home.”
“I can take a message to our lord King that you’ll be sleeping out in the pastures tonight,” said Nonno’s grandmother.
“And to my father, too,” said Pompoo.
“To the Master Rose Gardener, too,” agreed Nonno’s grandmother.
Pompoo and I were so thrilled that we skipped and jumped even more than the lambs.
But Nonno’s grandmother looked at our short white jerseys, which were all we had to wear, and she said, “When the dew begins to fall you’ll be cold.” She suddenly looked very sad. “I have two more cloaks,” she said in a quiet little voice.
She went over to an old chest which was standing in a corner of the cottage and took out two cloaks, a red one and a blue.
“My brothers’ cloaks,” said Nonno, looking so sad, too.
“Where are your brothers?” I asked.
“Sir Kato,” whispered Nonno. “The cruel Sir Kato seized them.”
When he said this, Miramis neighed outside as if someone had whipped him. All the lambs ran anxiously to their mothers, and all the sheep bleated as if their last hour had come.
Nonno’s grandmother gave me the red cloak and Pompoo the blue, and she gave Nonno a loaf of the Bread That Satisfies Hunger and a pitcher of water from the Well That Quenches Thirst. And so we walked back over the hills the same way we had come.
It made me sad to think of Nonno’s brothers, but I couldn’t help feeling happy since I was allowed to sleep out in the pasture.
When we came to the hill by the willow tree that leaned over the stream, we stopped and Nonno said we should camp there for the night.
And we did. We lit a fire—a big, warm glorious fire. We sat around it and ate the Bread That Satisfies Hunger and drank the water from the Well That Quenches Thirst. The dew fell and darkness came, but it didn’t matter, because by the fire it was light and warm.
We wrapped our cloaks around us and lay down close to the fire and around about us slept all the sheep and lambs, and Miramis grazed nearby. We lay there, listening to the wind whistling through the grass, and saw the light from the fires far away. Many, many fires were lit tonight because so many shepherds lived on Greenfields Island. We heard them playing in the darkness, the old melody that Nonno said shepherds had been playing for thousands and thousands of years. Yes, we lay watching the fires and listening to the old melody played by a shepherd we didn’t know, but who played for us through the night. And it was as if the melody wanted something particular from me.
The sky twinkled with stars, the biggest and brightest stars I’ve ever seen. I lay there and looked at them. I turned on my back, lying there so warm in my red cloak and I watched them. Then I remembered how we had played for the grass and flowers and wind and trees, and Nonno had said they liked it. But we hadn’t played for the stars. “Do stars care if you play to them?” I wondered just that. I asked Nonno and he said he believed they did. So we sat around the fire, took out our flutes, and played a little song for the stars.