Molly Moon & the Monster Music (16 page)

“Hmm—a coincidence,” Molly observed. “My favorite color. Where do I change?” Molly pointed at her own clothes and then at the green kimono. The woman nodded and curled her finger, indicating that Molly should follow her.

They made their way along a low-ceilinged passageway, Molly treading quite slowly in the traditional Japanese shoes. They passed through a sliding paper-paneled door and along a passageway with a tiny bathroom at the end.

Molly was left to change into the green kimono. She was careful to put her precious gold coin into its pocket, along with a handful of yen. Five minutes later, the woman returned and tied Molly into the kimono. She ushered her toward a stool and opened a pretty enameled makeup box. Before long, Molly looked like a traditional Japanese geisha girl, with whitened skin and rosebud lips. Black sticks in her hair completed the picture.

Molly shuffled to the
ryokan
's front door.

“When you get to teahouse, sit on seat there,” the woman told her. “Garden calm mind and senses.”

Molly walked back through the magical garden and sat on the seat. A minute later, Mr. Proila came out. He put his hand to his mouth in delight when he saw Molly. She suspected that he had been waiting all afternoon for her to appear. He was also dressed in a kimono. His was black silk, with gold coins embroidered on its lapel.

“Nice outfit, Mr. Proila,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” he said. “And you, I must say, look enchanting. Now, Molly, the first thing you must do is cleanse yourself. This stone water basin is a
tsukubai
. You must take some of its water and rinse your mouth and then your hands. That is part of the ceremony.”

“I love it!” said Molly, and she did as he said. Then her host led her inside.

The interior of the teahouse was a picture of simplicity. In an alcove facing the entrance was a scroll with Japanese writing on it. A simple flower arrangement stood below in a vase.

In the center of the room, in a sunken square section in the floor, was a hearth where a charcoal fire burned. Beside the hearth were two cushions, one red and one black. A woman in a light blue kimono busied herself with a kettle.

“I like the pad,” Molly commented.

“I'm so glad you do,” Mr. Proila gushed, bowing as he spoke. “This building is three hundred years old. It has been frequented by Japanese notaries, noblemen and -women, and sophisticates since it was built.” He spread his small hand out. “Please, Molly, be seated. You are in the place of honor.” He let Molly make herself comfortable on one of the cushions while he stood, and then he lowered himself onto the other like a duck onto an egg.

The woman in the blue kimono carefully laid out porcelain cups and saucers on a large tortoiseshell tray. Then she placed a small antique teapot, a gold whisk, and linen cloths beside them. Mr. Proila gazed at Molly. The woman took some powdered tea from a tea caddy and sprinkled it into the teapot. She added some hot water from the kettle and stirred it with the gold whisk.

“It is marvelous,” Mr. Proila enthused. “These things have been used for hundreds of years. That is why Miss Oko here uses them with such reverence.”

Mr. Proila poured two tiny cups of tea and then put his hands together and shut his eyes, as though praying.

“Drink down in one,” he said, nodding solemnly.

Molly shrugged. She sipped at the tea. It was warm, with an orangey tang. As instructed, she
drank the cupful in one. “Best tea I've ever tasted. Well done, Mr. Proila! For a little person, you've got a lot of style!”

Mr. Proila leaned toward her. “If you are fond of tea, perhaps the teahouse could be yours.” He filled her cup again.

Molly nodded and smiled. “That is what I was thinking,” she said. “It will be one of my little treasures.” She knocked the second cup of tea back as easily as the first.

“They always say,” Mr. Proila said, “that three cups are for good luck. But you've probably had enough. I will pour my own.”

“No,” Molly said. “Me first. Pour me another cup.”

“Certainly.”

Molly downed her third cup. When she looked up, there were two Mr. Proilas sitting before her. “I didn't know you had a brother.”

“I do,” Mr. Proila said. “He's taller than me.”

“He doesn't seem it,” Molly said. “And he talks at the same time as you.”

“Yes,” Mr. Proila said. “Is he talking as I'm talking? So rude!” He chuckled. “How are you feeling, Molly?”

Molly's head swam. She felt wonderful. It was as
if she were sitting in a magical grotto, for the ceiling seemed to shine, and she felt full of excitement and warmth. It was a sort of birthday feeling, but a thousand times as strong.

“Now I know why people have been drinking tea in this teahouse for hundreds of years. It's very special,” she said.

Mr. Proila laughed. “Yes, very special. And to make one's first experience here extra special, it is customary to give presents.”

“Oh! Lovely,” Molly gasped. “I love presents! And I deserve lots, too, seeing that I am so brilliant!”

“This one is for you!” Mr. Proila passed Molly a red velvet box. When she opened it, she found a gold medallion with the words “Thank you, Molly” engraved on the front. On the back was Japanese writing.

“That side says, ‘Thank you, Molly,' in Japanese,” Mr. Proila said.

Molly thought how sweet Mr. Proila looked, like a cuddly mascot. The coins embroidered on his lapels were amazing. They seemed to tumble down his chest like golden water.

“Thank you, Mr. Proila!” Molly said. “And by the way, you must tell me where you got that kimono—it's great. I want one, too.”

Molly hung the medallion around her neck. She smiled at Mr. Proila.

He looked expectant. “The tradition is that you give me a present, too—it's for the good luck to work,” he explained.

Molly nodded. “Yes, of course. The tradition. I love tradition—handed down from age to age . . . and luck is a good thing, too.”

“Yes, you hand something to me, then the tradition is passed on. Do you have any jewelry?”

Molly shook her head.

Mr. Proila looked worried. “For the luck to work, the present must be given.”

As Mr. Proila spoke, Molly's heart started to beat faster. The joy and wonder of the room, and of her life as it was now to be, blissful and perfect like this forever, felt like it might shatter if she did not give Mr. Proila a gift.

“Perhaps you have something in your pocket you could give me,” Mr. Proila suggested kindly.

Molly felt inside her pockets. In one there were a few bits of paper with Japanese faces on them. “Would you like these?” she said, offering the yen notes to him.

“The present has to be something more special,” coaxed Mr. Proila. “Perhaps in your other pocket?”

Molly felt about in her kimono. She pulled out a big heavy disc. It was the gold disc she'd been carrying about for . . . for what reason, Molly couldn't remember—for good luck, she supposed. She smiled and held it out to Mr. Proila. “Here, Mr. Proila, take this. It's jewelry of some sort. Do you think it'll make the luck work for us both?”

Mr. Proila put his hand out. “Let me see. Perhaps it will.”

Molly watched as he took the disc. His eyes lit up as his fingers felt it, and then they shut and Mr. Proila pressed the disc to his chest. Then he quickly put it in an inside pocket. When he next looked at Molly, his eyes were cold and mean and angry. He rolled up his kimono sleeves, revealing the tattooed snakes on his arms, and stood up, pushing the table roughly so that the cups and teapot clattered against each other and a few porcelain bowls fell to the floor and smashed. “You stupid little girl,” he said.

“W-what are you doing?” Molly laughed. “The cups have all broken! And I love the pictures on your arms.”

“I'm putting an end to you!” Mr. Proila snapped. “Fun time is over, Moon. You may think the world is perfect right now, but I assure you it isn't. When the drug that was in that tea I gave you wears off, the
world is going to seem black. Black as grimy soot. But even then you'd better enjoy it, because tomorrow it's curtains for you. And I don't mean the stage kind. I mean the hello-death, good-bye life curtains. I've had enough of you, Moon!”

Molly couldn't help laughing. “Oh, you're so funny, Mr. Proila! You look so sweet doing your Mr. Bad Guy act!” She looked at the quiet woman in the blue kimono who was staring icily at her. “And your sidekick is so cool!” Molly was brimming with pleasure. Nothing could stop the happy feeling inside her. She had no idea what was really happening.

The door opened and two muscled men came in.

“Take her to the cell,” Mr. Proila ordered them.

The men approached Molly and carried her out of the tearoom.

Molly began giggling hysterically. “Oh, I'm really ticklish. Stop it!”

The big men carried Molly through the beautiful water-filled leafy garden, back to the
ryokan
.

“Ah, home sweet home.” She sighed as they took her down some stairs there. They deposited her in a tiny room with a small window. “Oh, this is such a nice place! So calm and peaceful and simple!”

The guards gave her a look that she found enormously amusing. She burst out laughing. They left,
locking the door behind them.

“Thank you!” Molly called after them. “I love this place!” She took off her wooden shoes and lay back on the floor, gazing with appreciation about her. She admired the jagged cracks in the antique plaster on the walls and the stains on the ceiling that made such pretty patterns. The light outside filtered through the tiny barred window, that to her looked like the iron pillars of a miniature ancient portico.

“Aah,” she hummed to herself. Then her eyes began to glaze over. She was exhausted. Content as a field mouse in its woven nest, Molly curled up and fell asleep.

Back in the tearoom, Mr. Proila was sitting with his feet up on the table. “When the drug has worn off,” he said to his bodyguard, “I'll have made up my mind what to do with her. Now, one of you—go to that instrument shop on Meida Dori Avenue in Ochanomizu. I've ordered a grand piano. Make sure it gets delivered to my apartment. And bring the violin, the electronic keyboard, and the flute I've chosen here. The traffic's bad, so get on with it. I'll be in the retiring room on the top floor of the
ryokan
.”

Molly slept contentedly for about half an hour. She
felt very strange, heavy-headed and bleary, when she woke up. For a moment she didn't know where she was. Then she shook her head and remembered the pretty tearoom and the sweet, peaceful . . .

Molly sat up. Was this the same room she'd gone to sleep in? The one with the pretty ceiling? In a flash Molly saw that it was but that it was nothing more than a crumbling cell. In the next second she remembered Mr. Proila and the tea ceremony. Like a horrific beast rising up to greet her, the truth of how Mr. Proila had tricked her and imprisoned her was overwhelmingly clear.

He had taken her coin, her precious coin; the one that she had loved; the coin that had helped her hypnotize the world! Molly shook. Beads of perspiration began to gather on her forehead. She felt hot, really hot, as though she might explode; and then, suddenly, she felt cold, as cold as the stone floor beneath her. Her teeth began chattering.

Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her face. She felt a horrible, lonely pain in her stomach, as though she had lost her closest friend. She knew the only thing that could make the pain stop was the coin. She bent over, clutching her stomach, rocking backward and forward, moaning.

She thought of the coin now, in Mr. Proila's pos
session. A jealousy, the likes of which she had never felt in her life, engulfed her, drowning her in its green fury.

“It's mine,” she hissed. “MINE!”

She thought about the lovely music she'd made. How she wished she could hear even a note of it right now. But as she wished, she caught sight of a tiny thought waving frantically to her from the corner of her mind. The thought suddenly shouted, “HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU! GET OUT OF HERE!”

Molly looked at the tiny barred window and then at the heavy cell door with its small viewing pane. Suddenly she was petrified. Adrenaline began pumping through her veins, making her focus. She wanted her coin back. But she had to forget that for now. Right now she had to escape or she wouldn't be seeing tomorrow.

The cell was completely secure. The only way she'd get out was if someone let her out. Molly knew that her hypnotism hadn't worked the last time she'd tried to use it. Neither had her mind reading. Part of her was tempted to try them again. But the realistic part of her knew that all her skills had gone. If she wanted to escape, she would have to use her wits.

She went over to the door. “HELLO!” she
shouted gleefully. It took a lot of energy to sound cheerful because she was crying inside. “HELLO-EEE! ANYONE THERE? THIS ROOM'S SO PRETTY AND SWEET! HELLO! CAN YOU COME HERE A MOMENT, PLEASE?” Molly heard someone stir in the corridor outside. She began singing. “La la la la—life's such fun! Full of beans, full of sun, HOW I LOVE!” One of the bodyguards appeared at the door's small window. “Oooh, hello!” Molly smiled happily at the man. “I have a little problem,” she said sweetly. “I really, really, really need to go to the, hmmm, what's it called in Japanese? . . . I know, toilee.” Molly sang the word as though she were the happiest person in the world. The man outside grunted, judging that Molly was definitely still under the influence of the tea that Mr. Proila had given her. Molly heard keys rattling, then the sound of metal slotting through metal.

“OK, OK.” The man nodded.

Molly gave him a big hug. Then she made an “I'm desperate” face and said again, “Toilee, toilee, toilee!” as cutely as she could.

The guard led her up the stairs toward the room where Molly had gotten changed. As she walked past her own clothes that were folded on a bench, she thought what a fool she had been for not being
suspicious of Mr. Proila. She stepped past the guard into the bathroom, humming and smiling all the way.