The White Harlequin

The clock stroke once, then two, three, four…twelve times. The eternal candle’s flame appeared bright and warm on the hat.

Presently, mysterious, strange, wonderful things began to manifest themselves in the magical room.

As it happened every night, the tiny door in the old grandfather’s clock opened widely or at least as wide as such a small door could ever open, and little magical creatures got out, arose in midair and then lightly and softly landed in various places in the magical chamber, like mischievous little elves. Their figures were amusing and amazing at the same time: tiny acrobats, magicians, fire eaters, clowns, and jesters.

Behold! One of them is balancing on the back of a mouse, while another is rolling on an old bobbin. A magician with his magic wand lets a comparatively gigantic butterfly fly out of his hat. They shriek and make all sorts of racket.

The white harlequin is finally awake.

After a good stretch and a great yawn, he allows his gaze to travel around the room filled with impressive automata of every kind, with ornate costumes like the noblemen and noblewomen of old as if they had sprung from a fable of fantasy.

He jumps out of bed.

The top of the kettle, where the rainbow pudding is being cooked, is jumping as if it wishes to dance to the sound of some magical melody, spreading around colorful smoke and charming iridescent bubbles of every conceivable hue and shade.

The automata begin turning their mechanical tuning keys, and everything around them is filled with life.

Ballerinas and marquises, countesses, and maidens like pure princesses, even the charming mechanical fairy birds on the bird-stand, start singing, initiating a game of levity and enjoyment where every automaton is moving in the rhythm of its perfect song.

Sugarcandy, the white harlequin, with his eternal candle ever-burning on his hat, climbs on his golden swing and begins swinging to the tempo of the fairy-birds unique, haunting melody.

Everything in the chamber seems to move hectically, almost frenziedly, guided by some unique magic.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Everything will be revealed in its own good time.

The harlequin’s house was built with some genuinely magical materials: the violet essence of illusion, the blue substance of delightful memories, that bring sweet melancholy with their fleeting, temporary nature and the indigo ether of sweet and dreamy fantasy.

A few yards away from the swing was the huge cup, filled with nectar from the great flower hanging from the ceiling, offering drop by drop its fragrant juice, flooding the chamber with sweet aromas.

However, this amazing nectar was not something Sugarcandy would ever drink. He only drank dewdrop liquor, made of real dewdrops, gathered by fairies in the morning from forget me nots, swaying gently in the passing breeze.

Having said that, the nectar was extremely useful because the white harlequin would take a refreshing bath in it.

A sculpture of gingerbread arose imposing in the middle of the room, observing everything. All the stools and chairs there were great Turkish delights, and the dining table was a big red mushroom with a flat top.

That is how most nights went by in the white harlequin’s house. Midnight and the wonders would begin. The grandfather’s clock would strike the hour of miracles and magic, the candle would light up, and all this beautiful, fantastic frenzy would not end till the crack of dawn.

That night, however, was not like the others. The secret fate had different plans.

Suddenly a knock echoed, coming from the door, then two more, and everyone in the room froze. Who could that be, intruding in their magical abode?

The harlequin ran to open the door. No matter who that was, it wouldn’t be polite to leave him out in the cold.

Standing on the threshold, Spot, the friendly donkeytaur, greeted his friend a bit anxiously, but with his usual jolly tone of voice.

A donkeytaur is like a centaur; the only difference is that he is smaller with the lower part of a donkey, and, in this case, this donkey part of his was covered with pink spots. He was Sugarcandy’s best friend and occasionally came by to share a refreshing cup of dewdrop essence liquor. That night, however, he seemed distraught and a little worried.

‘Come on, Spot, don’t stay out in the cold,’ said the harlequin with his oddly hypnotic voice. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, but there is enough rainbow pudding for both of us.’

‘I wish I could, but right now, I can’t; I’m already late, you see. There are marvelous events taking place, and I don’t want to miss them.’

‘What do you mean? What can be more marvelous than rainbow pudding?’

‘The storm-maidens, the wind midwives,’ yelled Spot overjoyed.

‘What about them?’ asked the harlequin.

‘They have prepared their loom and are ready to weave the deep magic.’ replied Spot.

‘How do you know?’

‘You don’t get it yet, do you?’ shouted Spot. ‘They haven’t brought their loom to some faraway place like they always do, but here to our land. Everyone is gathered in the diamond prairie, under our very noses.’

‘That is incredible!’ exclaimed Sugarcandy, filled with surprise. ‘The wind maidens have never picked the land of charms and reflections to weave their magic. Why didn’t you say it sooner? This is something we just should not miss.’

‘We need to act swiftly,’ said Spot. ‘As everyone knows, they spread their delightful magic with pure starlight. At the crack of dawn, they will disappear, probably never to return.’

‘We can mount my parrot,’ suggested the white harlequin, ‘we will be there in a heartbeat.’

‘Now we are talking!’ shouted the donkeytaur. ‘I’m a sucker for flying.’

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