Billy finished reading the story of “Perseus and the Gorgon” and closed the School Journal.
“It appears,” said Old Smoko, “that all you have to do is to pour the liniment on the mirror while your wicked stepmother is looking into it.”
“But –”
“But what?”
“But what if I see her reflection?”
“Easy! Just remember to look at what you are doing in the lid of the milkpowder tin.”
“Would you like to do it, instead of me?”
“Who ever heard of a horse being a hero?” asked Old Smoko. “Not only are you going to bring back your own real mother, but you are going to win the undying admiration of all the other kids for bringing back their mothers as well.”
“But what if I’m turned to stone?”
“Kia toa!” said Old Smoko. “Think of Harrietta Wilson.…”
“I’m thinking hard of Harrietta,” said Billy.
They buttered the bread Old Smoko had sliced, made hangied pork sandwiches without crackling, and talked over their plan again.
“I just hope the echo’s right,” Billy said.
At the Morrinsville corner, in the morning, everyone sat under the yellow A.A. sign, and Old Smoko and Billy handed round hangied pork sandwiches for breakfast.
“Harrietta’s story gave us an idea,” Billy said. “What the wicked queen said to her mirror.”
Johnny Bryce sniffed, and Harrietta looked at Billy, blue eyes shining.
“The stuff about the mirror,” he said, “it fits with a myth in the School Journal about a boy called Perseus, a piece of advice my real mother gave me in a letter, and something an echo told me and Old Smoko.”
“There’s a myth about a nymph called Echo,” said Maggie. “She fell in love with Narcissus, but he was too busy looking at his own reflection in the water.”
“He must have been a mirror kisser,” grunted Johnny Bryce.
Maggie grinned. She liked Johnny even if he did grunt and pretend to be tough. “Echo pined away with love, growing thinner and thinner till she disappeared and only her voice was left. That’s who’s calling when we hear an echo.”
“Echoes?” said Johnny. “Myths? Mirrors? Reflections? If my father hadn’t gone lackadaisical, he’d say you’re letting your imagination run away with you again.…”
Maggie stared at Johnny as if pining away with love for him. “… run away with you again.…” she echoed. Harrietta giggled and started everyone laughing.
Johnny blushed and grunted, “Where’s our crackling, I’d like to know?”
“We hangied the pigs last night,” said Billy. “That’s why there’s no crackling on the pork today.”
“I miss my mum,” said the little boy. He sounded as if he was pining away, so everyone felt sorry for him.
“If Billy succeeds, all your real mothers will be home tonight,” said Old Smoko. “And Billy will be a hero!”
“What if he doesn’t succeed?” asked Johnny Bryce.
“Then he will be turned to stone.”
“Are you going to cut off Medusa the Gorgon’s head with a curved sword?” asked Maggie, who knew by heart most of the myths and legends in the School Journal.
“I’m going to tip oil of wintergreen over her reflection,” said Billy. “Witches hate it, so the Gorgon will, too.”
“Our stepmother hates the stuff!” everyone said. “She can’t stand the stink.”
“But it’s different to Perseus,” Maggie said. “You’ve got to avoid looking at the reflection in the mirror.”
“I’m going to do it while I’m looking at her reflection in the mirror in the reflection in the lid off a milkpowder tin.”
“Sounds pretty tricky to me,” said Johnny Bryce. “If you get turned to stone, can I have your sticking knife?”
Billy swallowed loudly, and Maggie looked at Johnny and went, “Tsk!”
“But is my real mum really coming home?” asked the little boy, his voice going very high which everyone knew meant he was near crying.
“We’re doing our best,” Old Smoko told him. “But things can always go wrong.”
“Yeah,” Johnny Bryce said. “People can get turned to stone.”
“Are you letting your imagination run away with you?” Harrietta asked him, and Johnny was silent. The big kids climbed back on Old Smoko and pulled up the little kids behind them, and they rode to school. Nobody spoke. The Rotorua Express came whistling through from Morrinsville, saw them sitting silent in a row on Old Smoko’s back, and was so surprised it ran off the rails, and the stationmaster said, “It’s all the fault of the school bus.”
On the way home, in the afternoon, Old Smoko stopped at the turnoff again and handed around a pikau full of hangied pork sandwiches for their tea.
“Pity about the crackling,” said Johnny Bryce.
“Thanks, Old Smoko,” said June Williams, taking hers. “As soon as the real Mrs Strap gets home, I bet she’ll put on her old All Black jersey and give Mr Strap a hiding.”
“Poor, Mr Strap,” everyone said.
Harrietta moved over beside Billy and said, “You watch out you’re not turned to stone.”
“She’ll be right!” Billy said nonchalantly, a word he’d always liked since he’d first heard the prime minister say it on the wireless.
Everyone stood and watched in silence as Old Smoko carried Billy and the Bryce kids away.
Going around Griffiths’ corner, Billy looked back and saw Harrietta still standing at the turn-off, waving. He knew he mustn’t wave back or Johnny Bryce would say something, but he did put his hand above his head and give it a sort of flap or two. Nonchalantly.
“What are you doing waving your hand around?” Johnny asked.
“Just scratching the back of my head.”
“Looked to me as if you were trying to see what it feels like when you’re turned to stone,” said Johnny. “Ha! Ha! Ha!”
Old Smoko pig-jumped, and Johnny fell off. “Walk home,” Old Smoko told him, “and be grateful for my forbearance. I have wrung the necks of dog-scoffing boar pigs for lesser impertinences.”
Lynda Bryce hung on behind Billy and said nothing all the way till they dropped her at Bryces’ gate. “I’m going to tell on you,” she told Old Smoko.
“Who will you tell?” he asked. “Your wicked stepmother? Your lackadaisical father? Billy is going to risk being turned to stone, so that your real mother can come home, and all you Bryce kids can think of doing is telling on us and asking for his sticking knife. Talk of base ingratitude!”
But, “Wahh!” Lynda was already bawling and running back to meet Johnny.
That evening, Billy pulled out the cork and splashed oil of wintergreen on his stepmother’s mirror as she was looking at herself. Unfortunately, because he was looking at her reflection in the reflection in the lid off the milk powder tin, he got a bit mixed up, and the first splash went all over her.
“Faugh!”
Nonchalantly, Billy splashed it again and, this time, got it on the mirror.
“Crawk! Crawk! Crawk!”
In the reflection in the lid off the milk powder tin, Billy looked at the reflection in the mirror: fat round cheeks that sprouted bristles – writhing yellow snakes for hair – snub-nose – bulging blood-shot eyes – lolling tongue – tusks and grinders.
Billy was so scared, he dropped the lid. He was a bit slow closing his eyes, caught just a glimpse of the tiniest bit of the reflection in the mirror, and felt his toes start turning to stone. He knelt on the floor, groped for the lid, held it up in front of his eyes, opened them, looked at the reflection of the reflection in the mirror, and saw something turning into a huge wild sow. Its enormous hindquarters just squeezed through the back door. It smashed the back gate, cannoned off the macrocarpa, careered down the hill, torpedoed across the Waihou River, and was joined by twelve other enormous wild sows.
Shrieking like old-fashioned air raid sirens, the coven of thirteen monsters spread in a line from south to north. Lightning scribbled across the purple sky and thunder shook the Kaimais. As Billy watched, the enormous wild sows turned into gigantic four-legged witches, their knees bending outwards, as they plodded like nodding towers across the Waikato towards Auckland. Each witch stood several hundred feet tall.
Forked lightning as jagged as barbed wire struck them so their arms jerked straight out from their shoulders, their hands dangled, and their flesh burned to ashes and blew away with a smell like singeing bristles. Their skinny skeletons were left glowing red-hot against the dark sky. Thunder shook like an earthquake. Billy heard rain hiss and sizzle as the skeletons cooled and turned to steel.
“They remind me of something,” Old Smoko said, but Billy was bending down and feeling the stony tips of his toes warm up as they turned to flesh again.