Wishing Stone
Wishing Stone
Mr and Mrs Williams stepped from the small plane. The heat was intense, and as they walked to the airport buildings, they felt the heat of the ground through the soles of their shoes. It was not much cooler in the airport buildings. There was no air-conditioning: only fans. Mr Mugambo was waiting to meet them. He took their passports and hurried them through immigration and customs. ‘Welcome,’ he said, as he led them to a very old Mercedes. ‘We have a hotel booked for you: not the best in the world, But the best in town.’
He led them to a very old Mercedes.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Mr Williams said. ‘Don’t worry. My wife and I are used to travelling.’
‘Do you always travel with your husband, Mrs Williams?’ Mr Mugambo,’ asked as he drove the Mercedes along a dusty tarmac road towards the city.
‘Not always, Mr Mugambo,’ she replied, ‘but this trip has some importance to me.’
At the hotel, Mr Mugambo booked them in at reception. ‘They will provide you with whatever you want,’ he told them. ‘But, please remember, we’re still a poor country that doesn’t have the luxuries you’re used to.’
Again, Mr Williams said, ‘Don’t worry. We’re used to travelling.’
Mr Mugambo turned from the reception desk and extended his hand to introduce a young woman dressed attractively in native costume. ‘This is my wife, Onga,’ he said with a wide smile. ‘As Mr Williams and I will be spending a lot of time together talking business, I thought Mrs Williams and Onga would enjoy spending some time together.’
This is my wife, Onga.’
Mrs Williams and Onga shook hands.
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Mrs Williams said to Mr Mugambo. ‘I’m sure your wife and I will spend a very enjoyable time together.’
The next morning, after breakfast, Mrs Mugambo was at the hotel.
‘Well,’ she said to Mrs Williams, ‘our husbands are talking business. What would you like to do? Our city is very small: not like London, Paris or Rome. I think, perhaps, you did not know my country existed until you arrived. It’s so small and unimportant.’
Mrs Williams smiled thoughtfully. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I knew about your country a long time ago.’
‘Really?’ Mrs Mugambo enquired.
‘Yes, really,’ Mrs Williams replied. ‘It was when I was a very little girl. I was very, very young.’
‘You’re still very young, Mrs Williams,’ said Mrs Mugambo.
‘May I call you Onga?’ Mrs Williams asked.
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Then, please call me Sarah,’ said Mrs Williams.
‘Very well,’ Onga said. ‘Will you tell me about Sarah when she was a very little girl?’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Mrs Williams. ‘Sarah as a little girl? Who was she?’
Sarah lived in a quiet residential suburb.
Sarah lived with her mother and father in a quiet residential suburb of a large city. She was an ordinary girl in her first junior year at an ordinary school with ordinary friends. Her father was an ordinary office manager for a company in the city centre, and her mother was an ordinary housewife.
However, there was one extraordinary thing about Sarah, and that was her very special friendship with Granny Hicks, Who lived next door. Granny Hicks was not Sarah’s real grandmother, but Sarah liked to think of her a granny, and old Mrs Hicks liked it, too.
Sarah visited Granny Hicks almost every day. Often, her mother complained that she spent too much time next door, but Sarah did not care about her mother’s complained that she not care about her mother’s complaints. Granny Hicks was never too busy to see her, and there were always things to talk about, questions to be asked and answered, secrets to be exchanged and promises to be made, and of course, cakes and sweets to be eaten.
There were always things to talk about.
During one of her visits, Granny Hicks said to her, ‘I may have to leave soon, so there’s something I’d like you to have.’ Sarah was dismayed.
‘Leave? But, that’ll mean I won’t see you. Where will you go?’
Granny Hicks smiled and answered, ‘let’s not talk about it any more until nearer the time.’ She opened a box on the small table beside her chair and took from it a silver chain with a blue stone on it. ‘I’d like you to have this,’ she said, holding it out to Sarah.‘
‘I’ve always thought it was such a lovely blue: like the colour of your eyes.’
‘I’d like you to have this.’
Sarah took it and held it carefully. ‘Oh, thank you, Granny,’ and she admired the blue stone: its colour, its shape and its smoothness.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, dear,’ Granny Hicks sighed. ‘When he was young, my husband travelled to lots of different parts of the world. He brought back many different things. My memory isn’t good enough now, but I think it’s a wishing stone’.
He brought back many different things.
‘A wishing stone,’ Sarah repeated, looking at it even more carefully. ‘A real wishing stone?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ said Granny Hicks, ‘I don’t think you can have an unreal one, do you?’
‘I suppose not,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But, where’s it from?’
‘I don’t know if I can remember exactly, but, maybe, Persia.’
‘Persia,’ Sarah repeated. It sounded such a mysterious and interesting name.
‘Well, it was then,’ said Granny Hicks. ‘I don’t know what the country’s called now.’
‘Is the stone very old?’ said Sarah.
‘Well, you look at it and feel it. What do you think?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Sarah. ‘Yes, I think it must be. Is it valuable?’
‘Ah,’ said Granny Hicks, ‘You must decide’.
‘But, it is a wishing stone, isn’t it?’
‘But you mustn’t make too many wishes with it. Only very important wishes otherwise the power of the stone weakens and then you can’t make any wishes at all.’
‘Oh, no, I won’t make any wishes; not until I’m very certain,’ Sarah promised.
Sarah was extremely pleased.
Sarah was extremely pleased with the treasure Granny Hicks had given her. She showed it to her parents, but she would not let them touch it. ‘No, you can’t touch it,’ she told them. ‘You might rub the wishes off,’ and she went into her room to find a secret place to place to put it.
‘No you can’t touch it.’
More cakes and sweet were eaten.
She continued to visit Granny Hicks regularly. More questions were asked and answered, more secrets were exchanged and promises made, and more cakes and sweets were eaten.
One afternoon, Sarah hurried into her home from school and said to her mother, ‘I’m going to have my tea with Granny Hicks and I’ve got some things to show her.’
‘Why don’t you go and live next door?’
Said her mother.
‘Really? Can I?’ Sarah asked, believing that she could.
‘No, of course you can’t,’ her mother answered. ‘Now, make sure you come back home for dinner with your father.’
Sarah rushed off to Granny Hicks’ house with the special things to show her. She rang the door-bell excitedly and waited, but Granny Hicks did not come to the door. She rang again, but still there was no answer to the bell. ‘Granny Hicks isn’t answering the bell,’ she told her mother when she got back home.
‘Well, I suppose she’s asleep,’ her mother said.
‘No, no,’ said Sarah certainly. ‘She always sleeps in the arm-chair in the front room. The bell always wakes her up. She always wakes her up. She always hears it and comes to the door.’
Her mother thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Wait here a minute. I’ll go and checks.’
Sarah never saw Granny Hicks again. She saw men moving things out of the house into big vans, but she never saw Granny Hicks, and she missed her deeply. However, she had the wishing stone, which reminded her all the time of Granny Hicks, and she often thought about making a wish to see her.
Sarah never saw Granny Hicks again.
The days passed and the empty house next door looked a very lonely place. It took a long time for Sarah to realize that she could not go there any more.
One evening, after dinner with her parents, Sarah had a very unpleasant experience. They watched one of their favorite programmes on television and then the news came on. There was a report about a country in Africa where there were terrible problems and children were dying. Sarah could not believe that the pictures she saw were real.
‘You shouldn’t see this.’
‘You shouldn’t see this,’ her father said, and he went to the television to change the programme.
‘No, no,’ Sarah pleaded. ‘The children. I want to know about the children.’
‘But, you’re too young,’ said her father, and he changed the programme.
That night, Sarah could not sleep for thinking about the children, and she got the wishing stone and began to wish. In the wishing stone and began to wish. In the morning, she was reminded again about the children when she saw pictures in the newspaper and saw the headline: ‘HELP URGENTLY NEEDED.’ All day, she thought about the children in Africa, and clutching the wishing stone, which was in her pocket, she continued to wish. In the evening, she asked to see the news on the television.
‘You shouldn’t worry about it,’ her father told her. ‘Everything will be all right. Lots of countries are sending help.’
‘But it might not be enough,’ she said.
‘I’m sure it will be,’ her father said comfortingly. Sarah, however, was not so certain.
In the morning, she saw in the newspaper the headline: ‘HELP TOO SLOW AND NOT ENOUGH.’ All day, Sarah could think of nothing else but the wishing stone in her pocked that she could save them. Again, that evening, she asked to watch the news on the television, but her father said it was not good for her. She wanted urgently to know if her wishes with the wishing stone were helping to save the children, but how could she know if she could not watch the news?
In the morning, after a night of wishing, she searched the newspaper for a headline, hoping to find good news. But, the news was the same. ‘Why, why, why,’ she asked herself, ‘is the wishing stone not saving the children?’ All day, she asked herself the same question and she tried to find reasons. Perhaps she was not wishing strongly enough. Perhaps the stone could not word such a big wish. Perhaps she stone had lost its power. But, it was valuable, she told herself. It was very old and valuable, she told herself. It was very old and valuable. Perhaps the power of the wishing stone was in those things, she began to think.
When school finished, she did not go home but went to the High Street, where all the shops were. She went into the baker’s shop. Mr Watson greeted her with a warm smile.
‘Yes, Sarah,’ he said, ‘what can we do for you?’
‘I want to sell this.’
Persia any more, so it must be worth some money.’
Mr Watson looked at it. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said gently, ‘I can see that, but I think it’s too valuable for me. I’m sorry, Sarah, but I can’t buy it.’
Sarah left Mr Watson and went next door to Mrs Sprat in the fish shop. Mrs Sprat greeted her warmly, too, and she also admired the stone, but she, too, said that she could not buy it.
Mrs Sprat admired the stone.
From Mrs Sprat, Sarah went to Mr Tomkins, the butcher. ‘Hello, Sarah,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Your mother was here earlier today. Did she forget something?’
‘No,’ Sarah said, and she told him that she wanted to sell the wishing stone.
‘Well, it’s a beautiful stone,’ Mr Tomkins agreed, ‘and, yes, it looks very old and must be worth some money, but I don’t think I’m rich enough to buy it.’
‘Well, it’s a beautiful stone.’
Sarah was now feeling terribly upset. No-one would buy the wishing stone. Tears were coming into her eyes, and she tried not to let the tears roll down her cheeks as she went into Mrs Dale’s shop.
‘Hello, Sarah,’ said Mrs Dale from behind a mountain of cabbages and cauliflowers.
‘What can we do for you?’ Then, she saw the tears on Sarah’s face. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I want to sell my wishing stone,’ Sarah told her, trying very hard to stop the tears, ‘but no-one has enough money to buy it.’
‘Oh, dear. What’s the matter?’
‘Really?’ said Mrs Dale. ‘Then it must be very valuable. Let me have a look at it.’ Sarah showed it to her hopefully. ‘Well,’ said Mrs Dale, ‘I don’t know how valuable it is, but, perhaps, I could give you two shillings for it.’
‘No, no,’ said Sarah, ‘that’s not enough at all. It’s for the children in Africa. It must be worthy more than that.’ Mrs Dale saw how terribly upset Sarah was, but there was very little she could do.
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ she said kindly, ‘but that’s all the money I have. Your wishing stone is too valuable for me. Why don’t you keep it? It’ll be even more valuable one day.’
‘But I must help the children,’ Sarah cried, ‘and it must be quick.’
‘Well, I’m sure they’re getting lots of help, my dear,’ said Mrs Dale comfortingly. ‘Really, I’m very sure they are.’
Sarah left the shop, wiping her tears and not knowing what else she could do.
Sarah left the shop, wiping her tears.
‘Cabbage, please,’ said a customer.
‘Certainly,’ and Mrs Dale pulled a cabbage from the mountain and snatched a sheet of newspaper to wrap it in. As she wrapped the cabbage, she saw the headline:
‘HELP TOO SLOW AND NOT ENOUGH.’
Above a terrible picture of the children.
At home, Sarah did not talk and did not eat her dinner. Her parents tried to comfort her, but all Sarah could do was think about the children and continue to wish with the ‘wishing stone’. The next day was the same although she did not see the newspaper in the morning because her father hid it from her.
That afternoon, she returned home from school and, while her mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner, she switched on the television to watch the early news before her father come home. The news was not good. Help was still not enough and was still arriving too slowly. The lives of the children were not being saved. Sarah looked at the ‘wishing stone’ in her hand and burst into tears.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ said her mother, hurrying from the kitchen.
‘The wishing stone,’ said Sarah, crying. ‘It’s no good, It doesn’t work. It’s not a wishing stone at all. Granny Hicks lied. She told me a lie.’
‘No, no, dear’ said mother, putting an arm around her. ‘You mustn’t say that Granny Hicks lied. I’m sure she didn’t. She was a very old lady and, perhaps, she didn’t really know what she said.’
‘She did! She did! She always knew what she said!’ Sarah cried. ‘I don’t like her any more and I don’t want her wishing stone!’
She threw the stone onto the floor.
And she threw the stone onto the floor. Her mother picked it up and put it onto the table. When her father arrived home from work, they sat at the table to have dinner, but Sarah would not eat. She sat looking at the stone with tears still in her eyes. Her parents did not know what to do. ‘I’m going to write to the television company and the newspaper,’ Sarah’s father said angrily. ‘They shouldn’t show these kinds of pictures. Don’t they know that children are going to see them?’
At that moment, the door-bell rang and Sarah’s mother went into the hall to open the front door.
‘Hello. Can we see Sarah?’
‘Why?’ asked Sarah’s mother, worried.
‘What’s the problem? Has she done something wrong?’
‘No, of course not. We’d just like to see her if we can.’
‘Very well,’ said Sarah’s mother. ‘Just a minute. Sarah!’ Sarah went into the hall and, at the front door; she saw Mrs. Dale, Mrs. Sprat, Mr Watson and Mr Tomkins.
‘Can we see Sarah?’
‘Hello, Sarah,’ said Mrs. Dale, smiling.
‘We’ve come about the wishing stone.
Do you still want to sell it?’
‘It’s no good,’ said Sarah unhappily. ‘It isn’t worth anything. It’s not valuable at all.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs. Dale, a little surprised.
‘Well, you see, the problem was none of us had enough money to buy it. We all wanted it, of course, but we didn’t have enough money. Now, we’ve put our money together and we think we’ve got enough. We had to ask other shopkeepers to help us, but it you don’t want to sell it…’
‘Oh, yes, yes, I do!’ replied Sarah excitedly, and she hurried to fetch it. ‘Here it is,’ she said, handing it to Mrs. Dale. ‘It really is old it really is from Persia, and it really is valuable, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, my dear, I think so,’ said Mrs. Dale. ‘Now, we didn’t want to carry so much money with us, so we’ve brought a cheque.’
Sarah took the cheque and looked at it. She had never seen a cheque before. ‘Look, Mummy! It’s for a hundred pounds!’
Sarah took the cheque and looked at it
‘No, my dear,’ said her mother. ‘It’s a thousand!’
‘A thousand!’ Sarah gasped. ‘Thant’s millions! We can save all the children with this money!’ Sarah looked and looked at the cheque and then, quite excitedly, she kissed it. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she cried joyfully. ‘Thank you so much, Granny Hicks.’
So,’ said Mrs. Williams, ‘that was Sarah, who didn’t know the difference between a hundred, a thousand or a million, and who thought she could save the world.’
She looked at Onga and smiled. ‘That’s how I know your country.’
Onga reached forward and touched Mrs. Williams’ hand. ‘Mrs. Williams … Sarah …,’ she said, ‘I know where I’d like to take you.’
They drove out of the city and through the desert until they reached a small village.
‘This is my village,’ said Onga. ‘The problem was particularly bad here: no food, no water, no medicine. You and I are the same age, Sarah. Look at the other young people who are the same age. They are the people you saved. Whether or not your cheque was a hundred, a thousand or a million pounds, to us it was life. Thank you.’
