Zofia and the Long Evening

Zofia is five. She lives in a white house beside an apple orchard near Grójec, in Poland, where the apple trees stand in long, long rows. In autumn the orchard smells so much of apples you could almost take a bite of the air. By the barn there are wooden crates full of the last, reddest apples, and on top of the crates sleeps a ginger cat called Kluska.

That Sunday, at lunch, Dad said, "Last night we put the clocks back. We all get a whole extra hour of sleep."

Zofia nodded and finished her rosół, the Sunday chicken soup with thin noodles. She didn't want extra sleep. She wanted a walk: down to the pond where the ducks live, and to the old apple tree where the hedgehog gathers leaves.

But while she hunted for her other welly, and Mum hunted for her hat, and Dad hunted for the keys, the window turned blue, then dark blue. It was only half past four, and outside it was already evening.

"The evening ate our walk!" said Zofia, and stamped her welly.

So she decided to catch the last sunbeam. It was still lying on the tops of the apple trees, pink and warm. Zofia ran down the row: stomp-stomp-stomp, crunch-crunch through the leaves. But the sunbeam hopped higher, onto the barn roof, then the chimney, then a cloud — and it was gone.

And the evening stayed right where it was.

So Zofia went back inside and fetched her toy clock, the one with a rabbit on its face. She turned the hand backwards, backwards, backwards, and whispered, "Tick-tock, turn back, clock! Tick-tock, turn back, clock!"

The hand went round and round, the rabbit turned somersaults, but outside it didn't get one tiny bit lighter. Only Kluska yawned.

And the evening stayed right where it was.

So Zofia switched on every lamp. Click — the kitchen. Click — the hall. Click — the bathroom, the pantry and the light over the stairs. She even opened the fridge so its little bulb would shine too. The house glowed like a lantern. The lamps hummed, Mum squinted, and Dad said, "It's like a railway station in here. Any minute they'll announce a train."

And outside the windows it was as black as before.

And the evening stayed right where it was.

Zofia sat down on a step with her chin in her fists. Lots of light, and not much fun. And then she had an idea.

Click — off went the hall. Click — the kitchen. Click, click, click — and the fridge door shut. Zofia kept just one light: Dad's torch. She hung a sheet across the doorway, shone the torch at it and folded her fingers. A long-eared rabbit began to hop across the sheet.

"Shadow theatre!" Zofia announced. "Family shadow theatre. Tickets are free."

Dad crossed his hands — and a stork on long legs strode across the sheet. Mum spread her fingers — and out came a hedgehog, round and prickly. Kluska simply strolled past the torch and turned as huge as a tiger. Everyone laughed so hard that the stork fell over.

They put on a play about a little apple who wanted to see the moon. The apple rolled through the orchard, the rabbit nudged it along, the hedgehog carried it on his back, and the stork lifted it high, high up. Meanwhile apples with cinnamon were baking in the oven, and the whole house smelled sweet and warm.

Afterwards they ate the baked apples right there on the floor, on the sheet where the theatre had just lived. It was completely dark now, but not sad at all.

"The evening didn't eat our walk," said Zofia. "It brought us a theatre."

"A long evening isn't a lost day," said Mum. "It's time together."

Zofia switched off the torch. Over the orchard hung a round moon, like a big bright apple. The clock in the hall ticked slowly, slowly: tick… tock… tick… tock…

And Zofia was already asleep.