Long ago, on the corner of a dreamy little square in Dwaele, there stood a little house. It wasn’t easy to find. That’s how small it was. In the cottage lived Albert, an old man who kept to himself. After all, he was far too busy inside.
One day Albert received a grand visitation when a posh lady in a posh dress alighted from a posh carriage, and knocked on his door. When the door finally swung open, a man of diminutive stature stood there. He had short arms, short legs, and a bulging belly. Above his beard, he wore a cheerful smile. His cheeky eyes looked at the lady. ‘Good day.’ He said kindly. ‘You’re Albert?’ the lady asked.
‘Albert? Uh yes, yes,’ he said, ‘I’m Albert.’
‘Good. Mister Albert, my name is Anna Jacoba Maria Insettia. I’m here on behalf of the King. Is this a convenient moment?’
‘Uh, yes, indeed. Of course. On behalf of the king. My goodness, okay. Please, come in.’ The little man beckoned the lady inside. She had to bow her head deeply to enter through the small door. Once inside, she looked around in amazement. She stood surrounded by countless boxes. They were everywhere. In large stacks. Reaching right up to the ceiling! The room was also crisscrossed by literally hundreds of bottles, large and small. It took all her concentration to avoid tripping over them.
‘Please tell me,’ said Albert, ‘to what do I owe your visit?’ From under her arm, the lady grabbed a dossier of papers and began flipping through them. ‘Well, it’s about that work of yours.’
‘Mister Albert, certain unsavory events that are said to take place in your residence have come to His Majesty’s attention. His Majesty has decided that this should be stopped, and His Majesty has therefore commanded me to get to the bottom of it.’
Albert looked up at the tall woman in front of him. ‘Oh? Yes, yes. And what bothers His Majesty so much, if I may ask?’ The lady nodded toward a huge pile of boxes beside her ‘It’s about your… collection.’
‘My collection?’ Albert’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘You mean my museum.’ The lady looked around the room. ‘You… call this a museum?’‘Absolutely,’ Albert expressed proudly, ‘the Wee Museum of Grandeur.’ The lady looked around. ‘Well, wee it certainly is,’ she said, struggling to make her way across the room.
‘But Mister Albert, surely you can’t possibly claim to run a museum here. All I see are boxes and bottles.’ Albert smiled cryptically. ‘Yes, but of course it’s not about the boxes and bottles. No, people don’t visit this museum for that. No, no. It’s all about what’s IN those boxes and bottles.’
The lady looked at a large box sitting on a small table in front of her. ‘Oh, so what’s in here, then?’ Albert nodded toward the box. ‘Just read it. There’s the label.’
The lady bent down and read. Then she looked at Albert in surprise. ‘You can’t be seriously saying that what’s on this label here, is in that box?’
Albert smiled. ‘Absolutely.’ The lady read the label aloud. ‘The Village Windmill?’
Albert came and stood beside her. ‘Yes, yes. With sails and all!’ The distinguished lady frowned. ‘But that mill collapsed from neglect years ago.’
‘Correct.’ Albert answered. ‘And so that made it a lot easier for me.’
‘But… Such a huge mill. In such a wee box. That just doesn’t fit, does it?’ said the lady in despair.
‘Oh, you think it doesn’t fit.’ Albert responded. ‘It’s right in front of you, isn’t it?’
The lady walked around the box. ‘Well, you seem quite sure. Then could you open this box so I can check it?’ Albert shook his head. ‘No, no, no. That’s not possible. You must understand that a large village windmill doesn’t just fit into such a box. That requires skill, you see? Competence. And weeks of squishing.’ The Royal Envoy looked at Albert in amazement. ‘Squishing?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Albert said. ‘Squishing. Otherwise, it wouldn’t work, would it. It really takes years of experience. And even then, it’s a miracle every time it fits. So this box just stays closed. With due respect, of course.’
The posh lady looked at the box and thought about how such a little man had managed to cram a whole mill in there. A miracle. You can say that again. Or rather, absolutely impossible! She walked over to a shelf on the wall and picked up a bottle. She held it up to the light and shook it. ‘And what is in this, if I may ask?’
Immediately Albert ran up to her and grabbed the bottle. ‘Please be careful! You have no idea what you have in your hands. This bottle contains last year’s winter storm. It must absolutely not be shaken! Indeed, the storm hasn’t even died down yet.’ With wide eyes, the lady watched as Albert placed the bottle back extremely carefully.
‘Mister Albert. You don’t think I believe you squished an entire storm into a bottle like that, do you?’
‘Believe what you want,’ Albert said, ‘but it certainly didn’t happen by itself. That storm was a really wild one. It was all over the place. In the forest, on the coast, under rooftops. But with some hard work, I finally succeeded. A wonderful addition to the collection.’
The lady shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure about that. It all sounds very implausible to me.’ She tapped her foot on a large box in front of her. ‘So, what’s this supposed be?’
‘That’, Albert announced solemnly, ‘that’s Rondelmund Abbey.’
The woman spluttered. ‘Ach, come on, Rundelmund Abbey! It’s never been found. People have been wondering for centuries if that abbey ever even existed at all!’ Albert shrugged. ‘Well, the answer is staring you in the face.’
He looked at the emissary sternly, but she avoided his gaze and stared at the box at her feet. ‘Mister Albert,’ she said finally, ‘I think I’ve seen and heard enough. It seems I’m being taken for a fool here. I don’t believe a word of it. I congratulate you wholeheartedly on your vivid imagination, but I don’t think that the residents of Dwaele should have to suffer this folly. This so-called museum of yours is a pure scam and a disgrace to this village. This stops now! In the name of His Majesty, I am ordering you to close down your fraudulent practices by tomorrow night.’ At this she turned and strode out. ‘Consider yourself warned.’
Albert looked around bewildered. The lady’s words still echoed among the huge piles of boxes and endless collection of bottles. Pure scam. A disgrace to this village. Close down by tomorrow night. He was overcome with sorrow. As a pale afternoon sun peeked weakly through the windows, he briefly slumped down beside his boxes.
The next evening, at the stroke of midnight, the royal carriage stopped in the square once again. The door swung open and the posh lady stepped out. She smoothed her dress and stepped toward Albert’s house. But… wait, what? Was she seeing right? This couldn’t be happening, could it? She blinked repeatedly, scanning the square. Where had Albert’s house gone? It was definitely there yesterday, right on the corner of the square. And now it was… gone? She walked up to where she had stood in front of the door the previous day. But there, among the other houses, was nothing… Well, almost nothing… For there on the ground sat a box. She looked up at the gap between the other houses, and then back down at the box. It couldn’t be, could it? On the box was a note. She bent down to read it:
Dear Mrs. Insettia,
Does it begin to dawn on you?
Or is your heart still hard as rocks?
Yet if you might just dare to do,
You’ll find the answer in the box.
It’s time to trust in a miracle,
Not your own understanding.
It’s way beyond the empirical,
When your faith begins expanding!
