PART 7

I picked up the hat and tried the trick many more times: nothing worked. Apparently satisfied with its previous exploit, the hat stayed empty. Maybe each accessory in this cursed box could only be used once? In the backpack that I had put behind me, I heard my brother softly sneer. He really had a knack for exasperating me, that one!

Time was passing. We had to act fast. I finally resigned myself to accept my fate. I put my brother on my back, put the magic box in the bicycle's basket, and got on my new acquisition. A circus bicycle had to be preferable to walking...

Well no, as it turns out, it wasn't preferable: it just so happened that the twisted mind who had designed this monstrosity had also equipped it with some sort of pear-shaped horn that went SQUEAK and HONK every time I pedaled. One pedal stroke, SQUEAK. Another pedal stroke, HONK. And of course there were the little windmills on the handlebar twirling in the wind, and me acting like a yo-yo on the seat because of the cursed back wheel that didn't turn properly. It was quite a scene. To top it all off, my brother behind me had decided to change register and use his rattling voice to sing along to O Little Town of Bethlehem the town speakers were playing. He was horribly off-key. The only consolation in this situation was that the streets were still completely empty. At least, that was something.

Luck definitely gave up on me when I turned the corner of the last street. I came face to face with two neighbourhood officers doing their rounds. Their job certainly didn't permit them to burst out laughing, but I clearly felt their eyes follow me and stay on my back as I went by them - SQUEAK, HONK -, straight as an arrow and deadly serious. I stopped a bit further down, in front of the train station. I got off my bicycle and casually dropped it on the sidewalk, looking like someone who has done that their whole life. Seeing this, my two uniformed admirers found nothing better to do than turn around and come see me.

They examined my bicycle in silence. The little windmills on my handlebar seemed to be particularly interesting. Was there a law against little windmills on handlebars? I was wondering. Then one of the policemen asked me:

– So little girl, what are you doing on our own in the streets on Christmas morning?

I was going to open my mouth to answer, but, in my bag, my brother was faster:

'TIS NAUGHTY TO BE NOSY, TWEEDLE DEE! 

The policemen froze and looked around them suspiciously:

– Did you just say that, girl?

Obviously not, it wasn't me! It's my idiot of a little brother, there, behind me! A stupid macaque that I had to stuff in a bag for him to keep still! And all this is the magic box's fault! You understand, right? You understand?

That is what, in my state of shock, I almost answered. Then I thought about it, and ended up stuttering:

– Yes. Well, no. I mean: maybe...

The two policemen frowned, obviously unimpressed by the power of my argumentation. Then their eyes fell on what I was desperately trying to hide from them. The inevitable question burst from them at the same time:

– What are you carrying in your bag?

I reluctantly took my bag off my back and placed it on the handlebar. I was freaking out. What would I possibly be able to come up with as an explanation? For a few seconds, my mind was completely blank. Then, suddenly, a flash of brilliance:

– It's... a toy. A toy that talks. I got it for Christmas.

I opened my backpack, and my brother's head burst out of it, a frenzied head with a strange grimace stuck under his nose and two big protruding eyes that immediately stared at the two officers. He cleared his throat as if he was going to pronounce a speech but in the end was satisfied with a masterful: 

KNICK-KNACK PADDY-WHACK, YOUR GRANNY RIDES ON CAMELBACK!

– Hum! It's the latest electronic model, I hastily added.

The two policemen sighed and gave me a vaguely pitiful look. I knew what they were thinking: what parents are twisted enough to give their child not only a completely ridiculous bicycle, but also the most absurd toy anyone had ever seen? One of them put a hand on my shoulder:

– Don't worry. We don't always get the best gifts. I remember one year...

WASHING-MACHEEENES LIVE LOOON-GER WITH CAAALGON!

my brother interrupted (singing as off-key as ever). Then, without even missing a beat, carried on:

I SEE LONDON, I SEE HANTS, I SEE TWO COPS IN UNDERP...

– I have to go! I shouted over his voice.

That had been close, very close.

I vaguely gestured towards the other side of the street:

– I mean, I have to go over there. Have a good day, and most importantly: Merry Christmas and a Happy New year.

I pushed my brother's head into the bag, quickly did it up again, took my box from the basket and turned around without waiting for a reaction. My circus bicycle? I was ready to give it away to whoever wanted it. On the house! After having put a fair amount of space between us, when I got to the bridge that went over the railway, I looked behind me: the two officers had not moved an inch. Stiff as snowmen, they kept staring at me, stunned.

(Go to PAGE 8 )