The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb - Melanie Benjamin [118]
In some places, such as Japan and China, where there were few Americans or Europeans, communication was impossible, if not comical; we bowed and scraped a lot. Our size, however, never failed to bring a grin or a smile even to the most dour Chinaman or round Buddhist matron; this was always our entrée into different cultures, and it always assured us goodwill and hospitality. If few of the people we met had ever seen an American, they certainly had never seen a very tiny one, and so Charles, Minnie, Nutt, and myself had to put up with much patting and touching and petting. Never did I feel there was anything sinister or insulting in it, though—and, after all, we were just as curious about their strange costumes and manners as they were about ours. So it was more of a mutual curiosity; we patted and touched and petted right back, free to do so in a way we were not at home—and we enjoyed it.
So used was I to seeing the world through a maze of table legs, wagon wheels, ladies’ skirts, and men’s trousers, I could only note, with pleasure, how much more colorful it was in these exotic lands. The vivid hues of the Orient were a welcome contrast to the more sedate—dare I say dull?—wardrobe choices of the West, such colorful silks in hothouse colors of pinks and oranges and greens!
When travel became difficult, particularly in Australia, where we had to journey hundreds of miles in the desert with only a faint pair of wagon tracks to guide us, the four of us—Minnie, Nutt, Charles, and myself—trudged through the sand just like everyone else, to give the horses a rest. The horses sank to their knees, as did Mr. Bleeker and the others; we did not, although it was difficult to get our footing, as we never reached solid ground.
Despite all the perils we faced—a typhoon on the way to Japan, pythons in Ceylon, wild kangaroos in Australia, fearsome spiders everywhere; despite the marvels we saw—the great Pyramids of Egypt, which inspired Mr. Bleeker to whisper that for once, he understood how we must feel, as he thought himself to be only about two feet tall at that moment—only once did I experience, keenly, my size and how vulnerable it made me. And that was in Nevada, before we even left our own continent.
Minnie, Mrs. Bleeker, and myself were perched in a hired wagon; it had a cover on it, but the sides were wide open to the elements. We had stopped at an inn, where the men and the driver got out to ask for directions. We were on a mountain road with drops so steep as to not be believed; as we waited patiently inside the wagon for the men to return, something startled the horses and they took off, uncontrolled, around the bend.
As the wagon careened faster and faster, the thundering of the horses’ panicked hooves ringing, like a blacksmith’s hammer, in my ears, Minnie and I bounced around helplessly; soon we were covered in bruises. I feared, desperately, that we would be thrown from the wagon. Our feet could not steady us, as they could not reach the floor, and our hands were too small to grip the rough wooden slats of the seats; at one point I looked down, amazed to see that my palm was cut and bleeding. Then I felt an arm around me; Mrs. Bleeker somehow managed to gather us both in her arms, grasping us tightly. And she began to pray, like the serene creature she was; she told us not to be afraid, even unto death.
Death seemed like a distinct possibility, for we could not know when the horses would stop, and sharp boulders surrounded us