“But I don’t like cheese…” Randy said one more time. It had become a ritual.
Mum served the cheese; Randy complained about the cheese. Ever since he had started to talk at the tender age of two weeks, those were his first words. Not “mama”, not “papa” — no, no — the words were “No cheese, please.”
And yet there he was, now one moon old, Mum Rosaline still gave him the same dreadful thing: cheese. Cheese on Monday, cheese on Tuesday, cheese on Wednesday… cheese, cheese, cheese… and more cheese. It didn’t matter how she presented it (squares, stars, circles) or the type of cheese it was (soft, hard, stretchy, melted). No, thank you, Randy just did not like cheese.
Unfortunately for Randy, he had been born in Villagloriosa, a mouse town settled inside an ancient human mansion. This grand manor where he lived was perched on the top of a hill in the middle of a vast forest the mice called “The Wild.”
Legend has it that hundreds — maybe thousands — of moons ago, a hero mouse named Glorioso retook the land. He triumphantly expelled the humans from the mansion and turned it into the town where we are now.
This hero was so obsessed with cheese that now even the mere suggestion of eating anything else had become taboo — a crime, even, if you asked some mice.
“Why can’t we eat something else, Mum?”
“Because cheese is the best food in the world,” Rosaline said, mustering the little patience she had left.
“But in the story you told me about Glorioso, mice ate other things too.”
“Yes they did — and such miserable lives they had. Some even went mad!”
“Mad?”
“Yes. Loony, crazy, mad. Mice who eat food from The Wild go very mad indeed,” Rosaline said, her voice lowered to make it sound more spooky. Perhaps that would do the trick.
Randy looked eagerly out of the hole of their home. It was one of many tiny apartments in a wall that faced the ancient human kitchen, which now served as the town square. A fountain gurgled from a pipe at its centre, crowned with a wooden statue of Glorioso holding a cheese in one hand and pointing at the oven with the other.
The large oven was where Mayor Euphemia lived. She was the most beloved mouse in town. Thanks to her wisdom and unwavering devotion to Glorioso, Villagloriosa enjoyed an unlimited supply of milk for making cheese.
Rosaline’s apartment was one of the tiniest because Randy was an only-child, which was very strange. Usually mice had either many offspring, or none; there wasn’t any case of just-one child, except for Randy, that is.
Due to this unfortunate situation, Randy was looked at as an oddity. Many mice even thought he was a bad omen and stayed as far away as possible from him. It didn’t help his case when he had let it slip out a number of times in public that he didn’t like cheese — blasphemy!
“What does the sun look like?” asked Randy, as he flicked a cheese ball back and forth on his plate.
“The sun?” Rosaline looked out at the square to see if any of the translucent curtains that covered the view of The Wild were open. Thankfully, they were not. “Why are you asking about the sun?”
“In your story about Glorioso you mentioned the sun.”
“Ah, well, it looks bright.”
“Can I see it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too bright. Randy, please stop being cheeky and eat the cheese!”
“Can I just save it for later? I am not hungry at all,” he said, looking at eight pieces remaining with sheer agony.
“Absolutely not — you’re too skinny. Why, I can almost see your bones!”
“I feel just fine being skinny.” he said, flexing an arm to demonstrate his physical prowess.
“You need some meat on your bones like everyone else in town.”
“Like Aunt Ruda?”
She glowered at him.
“Don’t be rude”
“Ruda’s rude, waaay more rude than me. And she’s very, very fat!”
Rosaline crossed her arms and frowned.
“Are you asking me to double your portion?”
“No, no — oh no… I am asking if I can go and play now, pleeeease.”
“Not until you finish your cheese — non-negotiable.”
Randy stared again at the remaining cheese. Rosaline always made far too much, at least twice the portion that guests could eat.
“Also, if you finish it you can wear your new jumper.”
Rosaline held up an awfully bright orange jumper with great pride. Randy winced. All the jumpers she ever made for Randy were always very bright, which made him stand out in town too much. But this one, this one took the cake — if there ever was a cake, which, sadly, there wasn’t.
“Mum, you said not to draw attention.”
She giggled, thinking this was a compliment.
“It’s just a jumper; all kids wear them.”
“You are always too kind, Mum,” Randy said, and he meant it, but not as a compliment; it annoyed him so much.
“Your grandma always treated me kindly, even though she wasn’t lucky enough to have all the cheese we have today. One day, you can also treat your little mice kindly.”
“Oh! Where is she?”
Randy would love to ask grandma about the cheeseless past.
“Grandma? Oh, well, she’s uh… she’s retired.”
“Where?”
“Well, she is at, uh, the… the cemetery,” Rosaline said. She was fidgety, avoiding his eyes.
Randy had never heard of death. Rosaline always “evicted” characters in her stories, and she didn’t want to start discussing the topic now.
“Why retire there? What’s special about it?”
“It’s a place everyone goes to rest after they’ve lived a long, productive life, or when they’re hurt.”
“What if they don’t want to go?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Everyone wants to… they have the best cheese — and it’s really comfortable…”
“Then why don’t we go now?”
“You are not going anywhere until you finish your cheese!”
“I want to go — take me!”
“Randy! Don’t say that.” Rosaline shuddered. “It’s not our time!”
Randy’s plan for the day was to play at the town square, just like yesterday and the day before, not that he was allowed to go anywhere else. Rosaline always said he was still too young for trekking and adventuring all around town. But now, oh no, not playing at the square. Today was the day he visited grandma at the cemetery.
“Can I try the jumper on now?” he said, taking a sudden interest in the garish item.
Rosaline was only too pleased to accommodate his request.
“Oh, you look wonderful, dear, just wonderful,” she said after he put it on.
Oh well, Randy would pick looking stupid over eating cheese any day. Speaking of which, it was time to finish the cheese if he wanted to leave.
“Wow, the jumper made me so hungry,” he lied, and stuffed his cheeks with all the cheese on the plate to the point of exploding.
He mumbled something unintelligible and showed the empty plate to mean he had finished. Then he dashed out of the flat and down the wall tunnels towards the square.
Once he was down the corridors inside the wall, well out of Rosaline’s sight, he spat out all of the cheese — a blob that rolled down the spiral tunnels, picking up speed until it burst into Vinagretta’s doorway with a loud bang.
Randy prayed that Vinagretta was not at home, but who was he kidding, she was always at home. Sure enough, she opened the door, took a step out, and her foot sunk into the gooey blob of cheese.
“You rascal, you miscreant, insolent mouse!” Vinagretta shouted, looking at her dirty foot in indignation. ”Your mother had one job with you, one simple job. I'll be giving her my lessons on parenting right now!”
Which was rather ironic, because Vinagretta never had any offspring. For some reason, no mouse was ever able to romance her, or so she kept saying.
“Thank you!” Randy said. It was the only thing he could think to respond as he flew past her onto the square.
But oh, he was in so much trouble now! He had to escape the square before Rosaline caught up to him, otherwise his adventure to find the cemetery would come to a quick and tragic end, and he would be back on the cheese-torturing chair.
He quickly headed north, towards one of the four promenades that led outside of the square.
Kids playing around the fountain pointed and laughed at his orange jumper while some of the mothers gave him their most disapproving scowls.
He was almost at the exit when Mr. Oregano, the old square guard, spotted him. Rosaline was on friendly terms with Oregano; she gave him some of her wonderful cheese, and he in turn kept an eye on Randy to make sure he was safe, and that he did not leave the square. Escaping Mr. Oregano would have been easy as he was a little blind, but Randy's bright jumpers made him too easy to spot.
Mr. Oregano beckoned as he saw him approaching the exit and Randy felt compelled to obey, expecting a lecture or a discourse about how young mice should behave in Villagloriosa.
Just then, some kids playing around the fountain pushed another one in, splashing water all over the floor. The loud crying from the wet kid diverted Mr. Oregano's attention, and he rushed to see what was going on. Randy seized his chance and raced towards the Promenade of Love.
The Promenade of Love was lined with pictures of ancient human lore: knights, princesses, Greek heroes, and statues of gods and goddesses. Randy was fascinated by their size and poise — humans looked like such dignified creatures.
“Look!” a mouse walking by whispered to his date, pointing at Randy. “That mouse has no siblings — isn’t that bizarre?”
It was the only interesting thing her date had said all day.
Randy hurried on, reaching the end of the hallway, where a statue of Aphrodite stood next to the outside gate.
Sadly, the gate was shut so he couldn’t get out. He was about to turn back when he heard noises from a nearby room, a venue in town he had never been in. He tentatively walked in. It was darker than the town square, with gentle light coming from the translucent blinds.
A large piano dominated the centre of the room, beckoning him; he couldn’t resist — he had to climb it.
Once he reached the top he looked at the keys with curiosity. He pressed the first note with his paw.
“Do!” he giggled with delight, moving on to the second note. “Re!”
Shouts and howls came from inside the piano, but Randy was so taken by this fun activity that he did not heed them.
“Mi!”
And so on, he kept going, full of enthusiasm, dancing on the keys:
“Fa! Sol! La!...”
“Hey, you!” A fat mouse shouted, emerging from inside the piano and raising an angry fist at him.
“Stop that and go home!”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why you cheeky… go play with other kids at the square then!”
“Don’t want to, this is more fun!” He said, and bounced again on the keys.
“Fine, fine! Then come inside. You’re disturbing my Paff!”
Randy followed, stepping on all keys as he went. Inside, scruffy mice sat on the strings looking miserable; some were lying on the floor next to freshly formed pools of sour milk.
“Aren’t you the only-child?” a young patron asked as he spotted the bright piece of clothing.
Randy didn’t answer, he just blushed the same colour of his jumper.
“No wonder he looks so strange,” another patron slurred, thoroughly drunk.
“Well, that’s a new one,” said the Paff keeper. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Randy.”
“Randy? Well that’s just dandy!”
Everyone laughed, but Randy did not see the humour in the joke.
“I’m Chicory. Have some fermented milk, good for everything cheese can’t fix.” the Paff keeper said, then pounded the glass so hard that it splashed sour milk all over Randy.
It smelled awful. Randy tried it and grimaced his displeasure. It was even worse than cheese!
“You’ll learn to like it someday,” Chicory said.
“Chicory,” Randy said, wiping his fur clean, “I’m looking for my Grandma.”
“What makes you think your grandma is here?” Chicory asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” Randy said, “She is at the cemetery. Is this it?”
The Paff plunged into absolute silence, only peppered by the odd hiccup.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Chicory said as he pulled another glass from the bar. “Here, have some unfermented milk.”
“Why are you sorry? Where’s the cemetery? Mum says old mice retire there.”
More silence, punctuated with nervous coughs here and there. Finally, a mouse stood up with great effort, his head spinning.
“Son, I am afraid to say that your grandma’s dead.”
“Dead?” Randy asked, confused. “What’s dead?”
“Dead is…” Chicory shook his head, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation. “Gone, your grandma’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean? She is not at the cemetery?”
“I am sure she is. That’s where we bury the bodies,” Chicory said.
“Bury the bodies?” Randy asked, “You mean she is digging tunnels like my dad?”
“Not exactly… you see, dead is… when we stop being alive.”
“Who stops being alive? Why?” Randy asked in shock.
“Everyone dies one day, Randy. Death is as inescapable as the rising of the sun.”
“So we are all going to stop being alive one day?” Randy asked in shock, trying to digest the new information.
“Yes, one day, Son. That’s why you should make the best out of it: live life to the fullest, don’t have any regrets, okay?” the Paff keeper said. He then looked around the drunk patrons in his Paff in a way that didn’t exactly scream approval.
Randy sat, stunned. There was a beginning and an end. He’d die, Mum would die, Dad would die. Everyone would die!
“I’m going home,” Randy said, dragging his feet towards the exit and looking down at the floor.
“Aniso,” Chicory scolded the mouse who had revealed the grim truth, “why do you always have to talk?”
“He needed to know.”
“Take him home, this is your responsibility.”
“Okay,” said Aniso, toddling from his chair and stumbling across the bar.
“I’ll go alone, thank you,” Randy said, shuffling his feet out of the piano. ”I need to think.”
As he left the piano, he mindlessly stepped on every key again, causing more chaos inside, but this time no one dared to complain.
Back at home, Mum frowned as he came in. She clearly had received an extensive report with all manner of details and opinions from Vinagretta. But seeing his ghastly expression, she stopped short of scolding him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You never said we would die. The cemetery is where grandma is buried, isn’t it?”
Rosaline opened her mouth to speak, but instead she just rushed to hug him.
“One day, yes, Randy. But not soon. Before that you’ll be married, have a family, and they will have their families, so in a way, mice live on forever.”
“But you’ll stop being!”
“No, Randy. I’ll be put to good use. My body will become milk inside the earth, then cheese.”
Randy grimaced.
“We eat dead mice?”
“Not dead mice, Randy. The earth transforms everything.”
Randy just had another reason to dislike cheese even more.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” Randy said. “I am tired. I am going to sleep.”
He dragged himself to bed and Rosaline didn’t insist. But her leniency wouldn’t last.