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The Heart of a Mouse

It was lovely to be back m Norway once again in my grandmother's fine old house. But now that I was so small, everything looked different and it took me quite a while to find my way around. Mine was a world of carpets and table-legs and chair-legs and the little crannies behind large pieces of furniture. A closed door could not be opened and nothing could be reached that was on a table.

But after a few days, my grandmother began to invent gadgets for me in order to make life a bit easier. She got a carpenter to put together a number of slim tall stepladders and she placed one of these against each table in the house so that I could climb up whenever I wanted to. She herself invented a wonderful door-opening device made out of wires and springs and pulleys, with heavy weights dangling on cords, and soon every door in the house had a door-opener on it. All I had to do was to press my front paws on to a tiny wooden platform and hey presto, a spring would stretch and a weight would drop and the door would swing open.

Next, she rigged up an equally ingenious system whereby I could switch on the light whenever I entered a room at night. I cannot explain how it worked because I know nothing about electricity, but there was a little button let into the floor near the door in every room in the house, and when I pressed the button gently with one paw, the light would come on. When I pressed it a second time, the light would go off again.

My grandmother made me a tiny toothbrush, using matchstick for the handle, and into this she stuck little bits of bristle that she had snipped off one of her hairbrushes. "You must not get any holes in your teeth," she said. "I can't take a mouse to a dentist! He'd think I was crazy!"

"It's funny," I said, "but ever since I became a mouse I've hated the taste of sweets and chocolate. So I don't think I'll get any holes."

"You are still going to brush your teeth after every meal," my grandmother said. And I did.

For a bath-tub she gave me a silver sugar-basin, and I bathed in it every night before going to bed. She allowed no one else into the house, not even a servant or a cook. We kept entirely to ourselves and we were very happy in each other's company.

One evening, as I lay on my grandmother's lap in front of the fire, she said to me, "I wonder what happened to that little Bruno."

"I wouldn't be surprised if his father gave him to the hall-porter to drown in the fire\xADbucket," I answered.

"I'm afraid you may be right," my grandmother said. "The poor little thing."

We were silent for a few minutes, my grandmother puffing away at her black cigar while I dozed comfortably in the warmth.

"Can I ask you something, Grandmamma?" I said.

"Ask me anything you like, my darling."

"How long does a mouse live?"

"Ah," she said. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that."

There was a silence. She sat there smoking away and gazing at the fire.

"Well," I said. "How long do we live, us mice?"

"I have been reading about mice," she said. "I have been trying to find out everything I can about them."

"Go on then, Grandmamma. Why don't you tell me?

"If you really want to know," she said, "I'm afraid a mouse doesn't live for a very long time."

"How long?" I asked.

"Well, an ordinary mouse only lives for about three years," she said. "But you are not an ordinary mouse. You are a mouse-person, and that is a very different matter."

"How different?" I asked. "How long does a mouse-person live, Grandmamma?"

"Longer," she said. "Much longer."

"How much longer?" I asked.

"A mouse-person will almost certainly live for three times as long as an ordinary mouse," my grandmother said. "About nine years."

"Good!" I cried. "That's great! It's the best news I've ever had!"

"Why do you say that?" she asked, surprised.

"Because I would never want to live longer than you," I said. "I couldn't stand being looked after by anybody else."

There was a short silence. She had a way of fondling me behind the ears with the tip of one finger. It felt lovely.

"How old are you, Grandmamma?" I asked.

"I'm eighty-six," she said.

"Will you live another eight or nine years?"

"I might," she said. "With a bit of luck."

"You've got to," I said. "Because by then I'll be a very old mouse and you'll be a very old grandmother and soon after that we'll both die together."

"That would be perfect," she said.

I had a little doze after that. I just shut my eyes and thought of nothing and felt at peace with the world.

"Would you like me to tell you something about yourself that is very interesting?" my grand\xADmother said.

"Yes please, Grandmamma," I said, without opening my eyes.

"I couldn't believe it at first, but apparently it's quite true," she said.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The heart of a mouse," she said, "and that means your heart, is beating at the rate of five hundred times a minute! Isn't that amazing?"

"That's not possible," I said, opening my eyes wide.

"It's as true as I'm sitting here," she said. "It's a sort of a miracle."

"That's nearly nine beats every second!" I cried, working it out in my head.

"Correct," she said. "Your heart is going so fast it's impossible to hear the separate beats. All one hears is a soft humming sound."

She was wearing a lace dress and the lace kept tickling my nose. I had to rest my head on my front paws.

"Have you ever heard my heart humming away, Grandmamma?" I asked her.

"Often," she said. "I hear it when you are lying very close to me on the pillow at night."

The two of us remained silent in front of the fire for a long time after that, thinking about these wonderful things.

"My darling," she said at last, "are you sure you don't mind being a mouse for the rest of your life?"

"I don't mind at all," I said. "It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody loves you."

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