5 Skylights

   Vole peaked over the the top of the vanity, but didn’t really need to. His father, even though his back was to him, called out, “That’s a lad, get up here and give me a hand Vole.”

   Chagrined, Vole pulled himself up to the “roof” of their home. The surface of the vanity’s top was covered in a thick dust and he noticed that his father had drawn shapes in it in seemingly random places and sizes. His father had, in fact, been gnawing his way through the roof, and now Vole noticed that there were a few already completed holes that opened into the home below.

   “Uh, Da’, what exactly are you doing?” Vole asked.

   Vole’s father stood up and eyed him suspiciously. “Mum sent you up here to spy on me, did she not?” Vole only smiled.

   “I thought as much,” Vole’s father said. “Putting in skylights!”

   “Skylights?” asked Vole. He paused for a moment, trying to compose an intelligent question as to his father’s eccentricity. He could think of nothing, so simply asked, “Why?”

   Vole’s father smiled and motioned for him to follow as he walked towards a lumpy something covered over with a piece of cloth. As his father pulled back the cover, Vole’s eyes widened at the sight of what lay beneath. For there before him lay a pile of gleaming jewels, able to catch even the faint light of the basement and amplify it in brilliant prisms of color.

   “Diamonds?” Vole asked.

   “Most, yes,” answered his father. “The red ones are what they call rubies, I believe.”

   “Where did you find them?” Vole asked. “They’re beautiful!”

   “Those were a prize I won for your mother, a long time ago,” he answered. He pointed to a spot just past the gems.“I removed them all from that.”

   Vole could see where the precious gems had been attached to the loops of a golden necklace, which was now lying in a discarded pile of knots. “These shall be our skylights. When the evening sun comes through that window there, its rays fall all throughout this area where the holes are. Each hole is chewed precisely to accommodate a particular gem. If my calculations are accurate, they shall catch the sunlight and direct it downward into our home. Your mother likes the light so much, I thought that it would be something if I could capture it for her.”

   “I think that she will love it,” Vole told him, excited at the concept. “What can I do?”

   “Help me finish the holes. You can start them, but don’t chew all the way through. I have in my mind the final dimensions for each gem’s place, so I’ll come and finish out the holes that you have started to ensure a proper fit.”

   And so they began. Father and son working in tandem, each with his own reasons for blessing the woman that waited in the darkness below them. Vole quickly fashioned rough holes for his father to finish out, then walked over to where the gems lay. He stared into their depths for what seemed like eternity, for that is what he saw there. Eternity. His eyes dried and teared over, but still he could not tear his gaze from the welcoming depths of those pure colors. He gave himself over to them. Lost himself into their beauty. He was thinking of clouds.

   Vole’s father stopped his work briefly and watched his son. He smiled, and with a shake of his head, continued finishing a hole. He was just like his mother, he thought. And that was fine with him. The world needed more like her.

   Vole’s father’s name was Valoir, and he was just that. The French meaning “to be of worth.” He had taken the name during his courtship with Astucieux. His original name had been forgotten, for he had become something new when she had allowed him to win her heart. And isn’t that what happens? It is the woman who always decides, he knew. And it is the man who somehow thinks he has attained it on his own. He had never felt himself worthy to stand beside this woman. She had convinced him finally that, yes, he was of worth to her. And from that moment forward, he chose the name Valoir for himself. His life before her was quickly forgotten.

    Valoir continued his work as Vole, trance now broken, moved to the mirror. Vole had always been curious with regard to the mirror. For there, on it’s surface was himself. Vole had always wondered, that if he were the real one, then who was there on that side. An imposter? Another mouse that mimicked his life in opposite actions? Or was he the illusion, and the one on the other side was, in fact, the real mouse. Vole shrugged and his eyes moved deeper into the mirror. He watched his father’s twin working through the glass. It was a brilliant idea, and to see his father working with such focus only heightened his eagerness for the clouds all the more.

   Determination and calculation and vision, these Vole had inherited from his father. The will and talent and foresight to make the dream come true. Vole, like his father, would work tirelessly to bring a smile to the face of Astucieux. From a small token left for her to find, to elaborate, wonderful surprises that took a great deal of planning and help from a goodly portion of the cellar’s inhabitants. And all of these traits, and more, Valoir and his son put to use to enrich the life of their beloved Astucieux.

 

   But it was Astucieux that caused them to dream. And there is where this tale had its beginning. For Vole did well to inherit the talents of his father, but he was doubly blessed in that he had inherited his mother’s ability to dream.

   Vole now noticed that his father was speaking to one of the holes. Intrigued, he turned from the mirror and faced Valoir once more. He walked towards his father, and, drawing closer, heard his mother’s voice drifting up from the hole at Valoir’s feet.

    “...and so if you are through with him, please send him back down to me,” Astucieux was saying through the rather large hole that now looked down into their parlor.

    “Yes love,” Valoir said. “He has finished in his help to me and I can complete my task without him.”

    “Good enough,” she said. “He can escort me out to the gardens. Aileen has come around from her grief a bit, and I think that I shall be the one to deliver my letter to Harriet myself.”

   “That would be perfect, for when you return to me, my gift to you will have been completed. Then you may then see my dream that I have brought into your reality.” Valoir said to her. “I’ll send him back down. And dearest, please be ever mindful of the daylight.”

   “Of course, my Valoir,” she said. “You needn’t worry, we shall return long before sunset. And, may I assume that these holes throughout the ceilings of our home have some purpose?”

   “I’ll say no more of it,” Valoir huffed, and feigning a sternness with her, also added, “And a promise from you that you wont pry into our son to learn my secret!”

   Astucieux started to reply, then stopped and only smiled up at him through the hole. Finally she said with a smile, “So be it. I shall not inquire of him. But if he should...”

   “He wont speak a word of it, will you Vole?” Valoir interrupted.

Vole looked up at his father, for he now was standing at the edge of the hole, looking down at his mother during this exchange between his parents.

   “Oh. No, of course not,” Vole assured. “Wont say a word about it.”

   “Good,” Valoir said. “Now off you go, and not one word.”

   “Not a word,” Vole promised. And he would keep his promise, for if nothing else good could be said of mouse-kind, it would always be said that they were always true to their word. Of course, there were so many other good things that could be said of a mouse.

   But if one should ever have need to confide in another, a mouse was the very best person to whisper your secrets to.