One of the Mothers made a passing comment about how the grieving tortured Mother could stand to use a visit from the Nanny. This wasn’t a recommendation for her to get some passing help from any Nannies residing in the Building, but an allusion to a literary figure that exists in popular fiction. For comprehension’s sake, I’ve included a few relevant sections from the opening passages of the book here:
“I’ve done everything I can think of to control him, and I’m at an utter loss!”
The Mother was crouching in a corner, terrified, as the Nanny fearlessly stood in front of the bedroom where a demonic aura was emanating from the child’s messy room. Toys were flying around in malicious patterns and the Boy’s body was twisted around, joints bent backwards with rivers of vomit spurting out of his mouth.
“Hmm. This shouldn’t be much of a problem,” the Nanny remarked with an air of indifference before venturing inside and closing the doors.
One week later, the Boy was no longer sullen, and was happily cavorting with his parents in the house.
“Your aptitude of handling children is simply amazing! I can’t believe this is the same son I had!”
“I didn’t do much. Just helped out a little here and there.”
“You’re selling yourself short!” the Relieved Mother praised. Then she suggested, “I have a friend of mine who’d really appreciate your help. If you could help her out, I’m sure she’d be eternally grateful.”
Upon hearing this, the once-rowdy Boy’s ears perked up and raced towards his beloved Nanny with rapidly-pooling tears forming in his eyes. “Are you really leaving me?”
“There are others who require my services. You may miss me, but you no longer really NEED me, do you? And there are others who would be more benefitting of my services. Would you do me the disservice of helping them?”
“N-no, I guess not.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”
The Nanny left the grounds of her former charge and moved onto the next. She greeted the Frantic Mother who had the familiar harried air of tiredness and hopelessness as all her previous clientele, of having tried everything and coming up empty.
“My friend recommended you? Well, I’m welcome to any help I can get. I’m truly at a loss. I simply can’t seem to connect with my child. No matter what I do, he seems completely unresponsive.”
“Nonsense. All children are capable of loving care. It just requires a little thoughtful discipline and reaching out.”
The Frantic Mother looked insulted. “I’ve tried love. I’ve tried discipline. I’ve tried punishment and reward, all to no effect. They say you work miracles, but I’d like to see what you do.”
“Your child hasn’t met me yet,” the Nanny proudly proclaimed as she opened the door to the bedroom. “Now, let us seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...........”
The Nanny’s voice reached an inaudible pitch. In front of her was a lone child in an unremarkably neat room sitting in the middle, absently staring into space. The toys were carefully arranged in neat piles of ascending height and colour-coded patterns. After emitting a frequency that only dogs could hear, the only coherent sound the Nanny could make was a barely comprehensible “G”. All at once, the Nanny started choking, feeling weak in the knees, her face bursting out in hives.
“Are you alright?”
“This-this is WAY beyond me. I’ve - I’ve never seen anyone like that before.”
“WHAT?? What are you saying?”
“I thought I could just pop in for a few days, make a few rules in rhyme and everything would be resolved, but it’s obvious this child requires 25/8 supervision. My usual bag of tricks would have little to no effect on him.”
“What did you see in there???”
“I saw an indomitable iron will that’d resist any and all attempts to change his ways. I saw a Gordian knot of swirling and conflicting emotions without a quick fix to untangle them. No amount of coercion on my part would convince him to change his ways. This isn’t a one-time deal, this is a full-time job. You don’t need me, you need a specialist.”
The Nanny handed over a heavily bounded envelope.
“Don’t say the name on that card until I’m a block or more away. Better yet, wait until I’m out of sight. Forget being in the same country, forget being in the same continent, I don’t want to be on the same planet as her.”
The Frantic Mother watched as the Nanny moved like the wind and stared at the envelope she’d been handed. It was heavily bound and it took considerable tearing effort to reach the piece of paper inside. Once finally done, the Frantic Mother perplexingly read the name written there.
“Mrs. Traversham??”
“You called?”
The Frantic Mother jumped back. The no-nonsense figure standing beside her had appeared out of nowhere, peering through her dark sunglasses draped entirely in garish black with a white vest.
“I understand there’s a child you’re having trouble with?”
“Where did you - ”
Mrs. Traversham lifted her head up. “It sounds like your kid s inflicted with the persistent disease known as The Empty Fortress.”
The Frantic Mother was visibly relieved. Already this new arrival was beginning to impress her. “You know??”
“They say that victims afflicted with The Empty Fortress give the impression of putting an impenetrable wall around themselves, leaving naught but a hollow shell behind. But the thing everybody seems to forget about Empty Fortresses is that they have a lot of secret passages in them. And it takes a lot of exploring the numerous corridors to find the hidden treasures that lie within. With the proper amount of probing, I’ll be able to find the special talent your child has within.”
If you want to read more, you’ll have to get a copy for yourself. I don’t know what the consequences for breaching copyright infringement is like, and don’t care to find out. That, and the only book I have is extremely damaged, with the majority of the interior pages cut out, matching the outline of a hole-puncher.
(And for anyone asking, no, there was no hole-puncher inside the book)
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