This is a small parable about the time I left Wonderland. It is explained after the story’s end.
Alice is invited to the White Rabbit’s dinner though not to a Tea Party.
“You MUST come!” says Tweedle-Die. “You WILL come!” interrupts Tweedle-Jolly, “Last chance to eat together since, after and before!”
The Board gleams and glistens. Stiff white lace tablecloth and napkins, glittering diamonds of cut glass, glinting silver cutlery, gorgeous greedy China plates. The Board groans as dish after dish course endlessly around it.
“We haven’t see you for a while.” says Tweedle-Jolly, “We want to see you hang. . .”
“. . . hang out with us again!” interrupts Tweedle-Die, “We are all here to hear your . . .”
“. . . tears and fears – behind you.” says Tweedle-Jolly. “Its time to say goodbye to . . .”
“. . . all that! Final words! Final words! Last whys, what’s and wherefores!” shouts Madmadam-Hat, “By the way – how could you do that Alice?”
Bedazzled Alice stares, silent and bewildered.
“All that you stole . . .” says Tweedle-Jolly. “. . . stole away with, flew away with – so heavy heartless,” interrupts Tweedle-Die, “so dear, so costly, money so needed by our King of Hearts, so . . .”
“. . . such a necessary part of you,” whispers quiet, little Dorminny Mouse. “your dreams, and your drawings, your documents, stories and poems as well as the divinations from your life, the only life you lived anywhere before you ran away from the smiling King of Hearts . . .”
“Under the table with you little Dorminny-Rat, or I’ll cut off your head!” screams Madmadam-Hat, “It’s money, money, money that Alice stole from our smiling King of Hearts on whom we depend for everything good!”
“You must pronounce the Sentence!” beg Tweedle-Die and Tweedle-Jolly in unison.
“SENTENCE!” bellows Madmadam-Hat. The guests shout her words in response. “SENTENCE!”
At the pronouncing of “SENTENCE” everything vanishes from around Alice as the smile on the face of the Cheshire Crocodile and the King of Hearts did long ago.
Alice finds herself alone at her kitchen table. There is a tap-tap, knock-knock at her door and then a knock-tap and a tap-knock. It is Jolly Tweedle-Die and Die Tweedle-Jolly who have come for the Supper decreed by the Sentence.
Alice does as she was taught by her father and mother. She cooks soup, meat and pudding and lays the necessary knives and forks for each dish and they all sit and eat.
“Ah-ha! Ha-ah!” burp Jolly Tweedle-Die and Die Tweedle Jolly together. “You’ve been SENTENCED! You must do without! Without you must do! ” Between them they gather up the plates and cutlery and they chant.
“One knife, one fork, one spoon and one dish is all you need and can have and you may not have a cat who fiddles, a little dog or a cow that jumps over the Moon!” Then they shut the door, once, twice, and disappear too.
That is last Alice ever sees of the Tweedles so she jumps over the moon all on her own as she planned.
Leaving Wonderland not why, but how explained
I left my husband over thirty years ago. Only one person ever asked me why and that was at his funeral 14 years ago. I didn’t say then and I won’t tell you that yet. My husband was essential to the lives of an significant community and I regarded my discreet silence as part of its maintenance. I had already discovered that doctor’s wives don’t sign a secrecy form but my father and politics had trained me to hold my tongue and that perhaps is why I’ve waited so long for this small and first revenge. I knew revenge was not something my husband held back from but I thought he would not hurt our children when he exacted it.
Perhaps two years after I left my home, I was invited to a dinner to meet friends from those past days but by the time the second course was served I was accused by those friends, of making my husband pay an exorbitant price to “repatriate” things that I didn’t need and shouldn’t want in my English home. I was not expected to answer but to accept their judgement. Interesting that it was women who accused me and that our children were friends too. The misogyny of divorce stated that women took ex-husbands to the cleaners. At this miserable meal, another guest, husband of a friend, said he would like to visit me a week later. He did. I cooked the best meal I could as usual and received a lecture from him about leading a more humble life and using less cutlery. I have no idea what my husband may have said about me. I was told he burnt all my paintings left on the walls of our house.
For the record
The repatriation of my trunk and case was paid for by the company that employed my husband. In it I packed my art materials, drawings, sketch books and unfinished work. I also packed my sewing machine and my computer with all the stories, notes and documents and political books that would later enable me to write my novels and poetry. these were my things and my life. I was fifty and had lived only for 6 years in Britain. My family was in Africa and my political friends had moved back there too. At our divorce my husband and I had equal financial assets, each from the death of a parent.