“Pasta twists,” Bonnie replied. “With tomato sauce.” Simon sat down on his knees on the sofa and Bonnie put the box down on the table in front of him. He lifted it up again and started to shake it.
“I think maybe it’s a lamp,” he said wisely.
“Well, then it must be a little one,” Bonnie said. “Or perhaps it’s a flashlight. I’m sure that Erna wouldn’t have much use for that. Although, actually, if there’s a power outage, and she has to find the fuse box... I can just see her stumbling around the house, banging into her horrible furniture, knocking over the lamp, and tearing the curtains.”
Simon chuckled. “Pasta twists first because then the secret will be even bigger. Race you to the kitchen!” He grabbed hold of the footstool he needed to stand on to reach the countertop as he raced past. He liked to watch his mother making food; he liked her thin fingers with no rings.
“That’s good, you can watch and learn. One day, you’ll grow up and move away from home, and then you’ll have to cook your own food.”
Simon shook his head. “But I want to live with you; I don’t want to leave home.”
Bonnie filled a pan with water and put it on the hotplate. After a while, it started to boil and she opened the bag of pasta and the tomato sauce. Simon got some dry pasta to play with. He lined the pieces up on the countertop end to end like a string of pearls. She asked what he wanted to read when he went to bed.
“Where the Wild Things Are,” he said without any hesitation.
“But we read that yesterday.”
“I know, but I want to hear it again and again, a hundred times.”
Bonnie put the food on the table and sat down. Simon kept glancing into the living room at the box that was waiting there with only a temptingly thin piece of string around it. He ate as fast as he could and afterward helped his mother clear the table. She rinsed the plates in warm water and stacked them on the side of the sink. Finally she wiped the table and then came into the living room. She put the box on his lap, and Simon started to struggle with the string. Erna had tied a really tight knot, but Bonnie didn’t help him. He had to do it himself. That way they could eke out the precious moments.
“Maybe it’s money,” he said, full of hope, because he knew that was something his mother never had enough of.
“Banknotes don’t weigh much,” Bonnie said. “This is heavier.”
“What about coins?” Simon suggested. “Ten-kroner coins.”
“No, then we would have heard them clinking. And anyway, Erna’s a miser.”
Bonnie was getting a bit impatient now too; it was exceptionally rare for someone to give her a present. Simon had finally managed to loosen the double knot. He threw the string down on the floor and sat for a minute with the tip of his tongue peeping out of the corner of his mouth.
“Shall we do a fanfare?” Bonnie questioned, laughing. “Then you can take off the lid.”
She put her hands in front of her mouth to make a trumpet. Then she performed a long jubilant fanfare and finally Simon lifted the lid off the box. For a while, they just sat there and stared, Simon’s face reflecting his disappointment.
“It’s just newspaper,” he said, throwing the lid down onto the sofa.
“That means it’s something fragile,” Bonnie explained. “You have to unwrap it. Be careful.”
Simon took out a small package. He quickly saw that there were several of them and his curiosity was piqued.
“It must be trinkets,” Bonnie guessed. “She has so many of them.”
“Trinkets?”
“Decorations. Little figurines and things like that.”
He opened the package carefully, which wasn’t easy because he was so excited. But soon he was sitting there with a small bottle in his lap.
“Perfume!” Bonnie exclaimed. “Just what I’ve always wanted but could never afford.”
Simon admired the bottle. His mother was happy and that made him happy too. She took the bottle from him and took off the top, then held it under his nose.
“Oscar de la Renta,” she said. “Very expensive.”
“Who’s Oscar?” Simon asked.
“Oscar is the man who makes the perfume.”
“But why is it so expensive?”
“Perfume is made from flowers,” Bonnie explained. “And you need an awful lot of flowers just to make a small bottle. Can’t you just picture Oscar walking through his garden picking flowers and putting them in a big basket?”
“Does he pick them himself?”
Bonnie had to laugh. “No, the perfume is made in a factory. Open another one; there are more.”
She put the perfume down on the table, where the gold cap sparkled in the lamplight. Simon took out another package. He dropped the paper on the floor in front of the sofa; they could tidy it up later.
“Gucci,” Bonnie said enthusiastically. “We have to smell this one too.”
She let Simon smell it first, and then she took the bottle from him and sniffed. The bottle was different, but it was also beautiful. She put it down next to the Oscar de la Renta. The third bottle was shaped like a woman’s body. The cap was where the head should have been, and they each sniffed it. The fourth was small and round like a bauble, about the size of a tennis ball, and then there was only one left. It was square, simple, and boring. Simon sat with it in his hand; he thought the other bottles were much nicer. But Bonnie clapped her hands with joy.
“I don’t believe it!” she cried. “This is the best of them all, Chanel Number 5.”
“Are there lots of flowers in that one?” Simon asked.
“Yes, loads and loads of flowers. You know, Simon, this is the world’s most famous perfume. All the film stars wear it.”
Suddenly she hid her face in her hands and started to sob. Simon was horrified. He took the bottle from her and put it down beside the others. He didn’t know why she was crying — she’d been so happy a moment ago. She dried her tears and stroked his cheek.
“I’m just so touched,” she said. “I would never have dreamed that I’d get all this from Erna.” She picked up each bottle and looked at them one by one from every angle. “You’ll get a present tomorrow as well. We’ll go to the toy store.”
Simon clapped his hands. “But can we afford it?” he asked.
“Yes, tomorrow we can afford it. I’ve been given a present, so you should have one too. And now I’m going to put on a drop of Chanel Number 5.”
She unscrewed the square cap from the bottle and dabbed her index finger on the top, and then she rubbed it lightly on her left wrist.
“Why do you put it on your arm?”
Bonnie put the bottle down and explained: “Well, because the skin is so thin there. And under the skin there’s a big vein, so the skin is very warm just there. And when it’s warm, it smells better. Come on now, let’s build a huge tent.”
Four chairs and four sheets later, Simon had his own beautiful tent in the middle of the living room. He took some cushions from the sofa and crept inside. Bonnie got down on her knees and crawled in after him. For a while, they sat there in silence.
“I’ll go and get Where the Wild Things Are,” she said. “You stay here. And we have to have a flashlight.”
She found the book on the shelf and went back in, settling down on a cushion.
“Can we get a real tent one time and sleep out in the forest?” Simon asked hopefully.
“Yes,” she said. “I promise. But it may be a while before we can do that. Here, you hold the flashlight.”
She read the whole of Where the Wild Things Are. Her voice rose and fell and Simon could vividly imagine all the scary monsters. He loved it just as much as always. It was only a story, after all. And it had a happy ending: little Max always got home safely.