Snuggle down now and get as comfortable as you can.
Pull the covers up if you'd like them.
And let your head go heavy.
On the pillow.
Tonight.
We're going somewhere very warm.
Very far away.
And very long ago.
So long ago that if you counted all the years on your fingers,
You'd run out of fingers.
And then you'd run out of toes.
And then you'd probably fall asleep before you got there.
Which is fine.
Because you don't have to stay awake for this one.
You can drift off anytime you like.
And the story will look after itself.
It is the end of a long,
Hot,
Golden day.
Beside a grate.
Wide River.
The river.
Is called the Nile.
And it is so wide and so slow that from where we are standing,
Hardly seems to move at all.
The water is warm and brown and glassy.
And it slides along without a sound.
Past the tall green reeds.
Past the little boats made of blundered reeds tied up along the banks.
Past the palm trees,
Standing very still with their feathery tops against the sky.
And beside the river.
There is a village of small square houses.
All made of mud brick.
All baked warm as bread by the sun.
In one of those houses lives a girl called Mary.
Right now,
Merit is walking home along the river path with a clay jar of water balanced on her hips.
She is walking slowly.
Partly because the jar is heavy.
And partly because it is her favorite part of the whole day.
And she is in no hurry at all for it to end.
The heat is going out of the air.
The path is warm under her bare feet.
Somewhere out of the water,
A heron lifts up off the reeds,
And flaps slow and enormous.
And settles further along.
And the Nile goes on.
Slow and quiet.
And patient.
The way it always does.
Merit stops for a moment where the path bends,
Because from here you can see all the way across the water.
And this is the bit she likes the best.
The sun has gone down behind the far bank now.
And the whole sky is turning the color of peach.
And over there.
.
.
Far away on the other side.
Standing up out of the sand.
Three enormous shapes with smooth,
Sloping sides pointing up at the sky.
They catch the very last of the light.
For a little while their tops glow pink and gold.
As if someone had lit a lamp inside them.
And then,
Slowly.
Slowly.
As the sky deepens.
They go soft.
And blue.
And dim.
Until they are just three quiet shadows against the evening.
Mariette watches them until they've gone all the way blue.
Then she shifts the jar on her hip.
And turns for home.
Because she can already smell the bread.
The house is cool inside.
And them.
And smells of warm mud,
Brick and baking.
Merit's mother is setting out to supper on a low table.
Flat round bread,
Still warm,
Torn into pieces.
Dish of honey.
A little pile of figs and sweet,
Sticky dates.
And a bowl of onions.
Merit sets the water jar down carefully in its place by the wall and sits down on the reed mat with her legs crossed.
Her father comes in from the doorway.
Ducking his head the way he always does.
And sits down heavily.
And sighs the sigh of a man who has been standing up all day.
And Merritt's little brother Beck sits down beside her.
And immediately yawns.
An enormous yawn.
Far too big for such a small boy.
And rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.
And pretends he hasn't yawned at all.
Fade slowly.
There's no rush.
Someone lights a little clay lamp.
A small yellow flame stands up in it.
Steady and calm.
And makes everybody's shadow go long.
And soft on the wall.
On the shelf beside the lamp,
There is a tall jar with pictures painted on it in careful black lines.
A bird.
And an eye.
And a little wave of water.
Merit likes to trace them with her finger,
One after another.
While she finishes her bread.
Bird.
Eye.
Water.
Third eye.
Water.
And outside,
Past the doorway,
Past the reeds.
The Nile goes on.
Slow and quiet.
And patient.
The way it always does.
Now the village is putting itself to bed.
Out in the yard,
The geese have stopped their fussing and gone quiet.
All bunched together in a soft gray heap with their beaks tucked under their wings.
Donkey is standing in the corner with his eyes half shut.
Flicking one ear now,
And then,
But nothing at all.
Someone somewhere is singing.
Very quietly.
The way you sing when you don't really know you're doing it.
Through the doorway.
Without a sound.
Comes the cat.
Her name is Mew.
She lives here,
And she knows it.
She walks through the middle of the room,
Exactly as though the whole house belongs to her.
And honestly.
Nobody in this family would ever tell her otherwise.
When Miu wants to sit somewhere.
People move.
And Miu is asleep in a doorway.
People step over her.
She has the best spot in the house.
Near the door where the cool air comes in.
And it is the best spot in the house.
Because it's the one she chose.
Tonight then.
She doesn't stop there.
Tonight she goes past it.
And pauses.
Looks up at Merit with her big,
Steady green eyes.
And wait.
Because Miyu knows what happens next.
On hot nights like this one,
Nobody sleeps downstairs.
Merit's mother gathers up the sleeping mats.
And Merit takes her own under her arm.
Everybody climbs the little narrow stairs on the outside of the house.
And out onto the flat roof.
Under the open sky.
And up here.
It is lovely.
The bricks under Merritt's feet are still warm from the sun.
And they give their warmth back up slowly all night long.
So that lying on them is like lying on a cat that's been asleep.
In a sunbeam.
The air has gone cool at last.
There is the softest breath of a breeze coming up off the water.
And it moves over Merit's arms.
And makes her shiver.
In the nicest possible way.
They lay the maps out in a row.
Beck flops down onto his without a word.
And is more or less asleep before his head is properly down.
Where it lies down on her back.
And look south.
And all the stars.
There are so many of them.
Far more than you could ever count.
They came out slowly at first.
One.
And then another.
And then a few more over there Then.
All at once,
The sky is full of them.
Thick and glittering and scattered from one edge of the world to the other.
A great,
Pale river of them spilled right across the middle.
Mariette looks up at all those little lights.
And lets her eyes go soft and unfocused.
Until they blur.
And swim gently together.
There is a small thump beside her.
Then a warm weight against her leg.
And a bit of shuffling.
Turning around once,
Twice.
Three times.
A small determined sort of digging with two front paws.
Then Mew set as herself into the crook of Myrtle's knees.
Curls her tail neatly over her own nose.
Begins to purr.
It's not allowed,
Purr.
A low,
Rumbly,
Faraway purr.
Like something warm turning over very slowly.
Merit can feel it more than she can hear it.
Humming gently against her leg.
All around the village is quiet now.
The geese are asleep.
The donkey is asleep.
Beck is definitely asleep.
As he has now started making that little whistling noise he makes.
Somewhere down in the reeds.
A frog says one thing.
And thinks better of it.
And stops.
Merit's eyes are getting heavy.
The bricks are warm underneath her.
The breeze is cool above her.
The cat is purring against her knees.
Stars are turning.
Very slowly.
So slowly you could never quite catch them at it.
And down below.
Ask the houses.
Ask the reeds.
Wide and dark and glassy under all those stars.
The Nile goes on.
Slow.
Quiet.
And patient.
The way it always does.
And that's where we'll leave her.
Warm on the roof.
And draw all those stars.
With her family sleeping beside her.
And a cat to sleep on her legs.
The whole village breathing softly all around.
And the great slow river.
Going quietly.
Into the dark.
Everything just exactly where it should be.
Everyone's safe.
Everyone warm.
Everyone asleep?
Now.
It's your turn.
Let yourself go heavy.
And warm and soft.
Goodnight Merritt.
Goodnight Beck.
Goodnight,
Miyu.
And good night to you.
