Christopher Robin_The Novelization Page 9

  Pooh shook his head. His friend wasn’t how he remembered him, but he knew it was still Christopher Robin on the inside. He had just lost his way. He was foggy, like the Hundred-Acre Wood. From the sounds of it, though, Christopher didn’t want to remember who he had been. “I’m sorry,” Pooh said as he slowly began to back up. “You should let me go. For a fish in the sea.”

  “A fish in the—?” Christopher repeated, trying to figure out what Pooh meant. Then he realized it. “It’s efficiency!” Stuffing the papers he had gathered back into the briefcase, he slammed it shut. When he looked up, Pooh was gone. The only thing Christopher could see was the fog still surrounding him.

  Christopher gulped as silence fell over the woods. What had he just done?

  As he ran through the foggy woods, Christopher’s mind raced with unwanted thoughts. Thoughts of Pooh, lost and hungry. Thoughts of the bear, sad and alone. Over and over again a picture of Pooh’s face, his eyes full of tears, flashed in front of Christopher, filling him with guilt. He hadn’t meant to be so hard on Pooh. If he was being honest with himself, he had said all those things because he was mad at himself, not because of anything the bear had said. He was mad at himself for making the numbers “work” at the cost of peoples’ jobs. He was mad at himself for having no choice but to do what his boss had said to do. He was mad at having to be efficient without feeling. And so he had yelled at Pooh, and Pooh, in turn, had disappeared.

  And it was all his fault.

  “Pooh!” he shouted. “Pooh! Where are you?” Over and over again he called into the fog, and over and over again the only response he got was his own voice echoing back to him. It was growing darker as the daylight hours faded. Christopher knew that if he didn’t find Pooh soon, he would have to wait until the next day.

  Christopher tripped over an unseen branch on the path in front of him, and his arm windmilled as he struggled to keep his balance. He managed to stay upright, but as he stopped to catch his breath, he found himself once more staring at the Heffalump warning sign. He had done the same thing Pooh had done: gone around in a complete circle. Only this time, instead of staying away from the sign, Christopher ran straight toward it. “There are no Heffalumps!” he said to the air. Then, with a burst of speed, he brushed past the sign and headed right in the direction the sign warned him not to go.

  He ran and ran until the sun sank behind the trees, throwing the woods into an early dusk. Shadows that had been harmless in the day became frightening as they lengthened. The rustling of the trees, once simple white noise, now sounded eerie, causing Christopher to move faster. His eyes scanned the darkening woods, desperately seeking any sign of Pooh. He saw nothing.

  But then he heard something. A roar filled the woods. It was a horrifying noise that was a cross between what an elephant and a dinosaur would sound like. Christopher stopped in his tracks; the hair on his arms stood on end. It couldn’t be. Could it? “Heffalumps and Woozles are not real,” he said, hoping to reassure himself. He moved forward, his eyes now scanning the woods for not just Pooh, but creatures he hoped against hope didn’t exist.

  And then he heard that very same roar again.

  Christopher spun around, his head swiveling left and right—then right and left. “Not real, not real, not real,” he chanted. But as he did so, the fog began to lift, and through it, Christopher saw shadows appear. Large shadows that looked a lot like elephants. Or more precisely, a herd of Heffalumps.

  Another roar sounded. This time, Christopher didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran…

  Right into a Heffalump trap!

  With a shout, Christopher felt his legs go out from underneath him—and then he was falling through the air. He landed with a thump at the bottom of a large hole. “Ouch,” he said. Lying on the cold ground, he caught his breath. He could hear the Heffalumps roaring and was, for the moment, pleased to be ten feet below ground and not any place where they could see him.

  When he felt he had lain there long enough, Christopher pushed himself to his feet. He craned his head back, looking way up to the opening of the hole above him. He could see the first stars glinting in the sky above. He knew soon enough he wouldn’t be able to see his own hands, let alone the top of the hole. He had to get out of there—fast.

  Turning, he scanned the area. To his surprise and annoyance, the first thing he saw was a sign that read: HEFFALUMP TRAP—GOTCHA! He groaned. “But I’m not a Heffalump,” he said softly. Then, his voice growing louder, he began to shout. “They’re out there! I’m down here!” But no one answered his call. There was no one who could hear him. Except perhaps the Heffalumps. “You are talking to no one,” he said. First I lose Pooh. Then I run into imaginary creatures who are not imaginary and end up falling in a silly trap that was supposed to catch the imaginary creatures. Truly, could it get any worse?

  And then, as if Mother Nature were listening, it began to rain.

  The drops fell slowly at first but then grew larger and fell faster. It didn’t take long for the ground beneath his feet to grow muddy. Christopher felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him. He had to get out of there.

  Frantically, he began to try to climb. His fingers dug into the crumbling dirt that made up the hole’s walls. But he couldn’t get any purchase. His fingers would just slip and he would come away with nothing but a handful of mud. Over and over again he tried. But always, the results were the same. It didn’t matter which side he attempted to climb or how he attempted to climb up; he just kept falling. And then, just when he thought all hope was lost, he began to inch ever so slowly up. One foot, then two, then three. The hole’s edge appeared, almost within reach. Christopher reached up, his fingers grasping for the edge at the top. He felt a fresh wave of air hit his face and then—

  He lost his grip and went tumbling backward.

  With another thud, he once more found himself on the floor of the hole. “Noooooo!” he shouted. “Heeelllp!”

  As if in answer, the rain began to fall even harder. The hole was filling up with water. It was at Christopher’s shins already and didn’t show any signs of stopping. Looking around for anything that could help him, Christopher spotted a vine dangling from the top of the hole. Putting down his briefcase, which made him realize that may have been part of what was impeding his escape, Christopher grabbed his umbrella from between the case’s handles. Then, standing on top of the briefcase, he reached up, stretching the handle of the umbrella toward the vine until it just ever so slightly seemed to hook on.

  YANK!

  Christopher pulled down hard on the vine. Nothing happened. He yanked again. Still nothing. Then he did it again.

  This time, something did happen. Unfortunately, it was not what Christopher had hoped. Instead of yanking the vine down, Christopher managed to dislodge a rock. The rock, and the vine, came tumbling down into the hole. Before he could duck out of the way, the rock slammed into the top of Christopher’s head.

  The last thing Christopher saw before he crumpled to the ground, unconscious, was a gush of water that came pouring down the side of the hole.

  “Owwww. Ow. Ow. Ow.”

  The pain in Christopher’s head jolted him awake. Gingerly, he reached up and ran his fingers over the top of his head. A large bump was already forming—and even the most tentative of touches sent a shot of pain streaking all the way down to his toes. He let out another groan, but it turned into a yelp when Christopher realized the water had risen while he had been unconscious. It was now all the way up to his chest.

  “Pooh!” Christopher shouted, panic filling him. “Pooh!” He didn’t want to be stuck in a hole in the middle of the Hundred-Acre Wood. He needed to see Evelyn. And Madeline. He needed to tell them how much he loved them and how sorry he was and how much…

  “Hello, Christopher Robin!”

  Looking up, Christopher nearly wept when he saw Pooh peering down at him from the top of the hole. The bear’s familiar face was the best thing Christopher had seen in a long, long time. “Oh, thank
goodness, you’re all right,” he said. “Can you help me?” he added as the water level rose.

  “Of course,” Pooh answered.

  Nodding, Christopher began to look around to see how they could make this work. “Okay,” he said, “I think I can get some leverage if you could just pass me a rope or—”

  SPLASH!

  The sound of a rather large object hitting the water next to him startled Christopher Robin and he let out a shout. A moment later, Pooh popped up from beneath the surface and began treading water beside him. The bear seemed completely unafraid of the fact that he was now swimming in a hole that was designed to catch Heffalumps. He looked over at Christopher and gave him a smile.

  “What did you do that for?” Christopher asked, dumbfounded.

  “You seemed lonely down here,” Pooh answered.

  “But now we’re both stuck,” Christopher said, his voice coming uncomfortably close to a whine. “And there are Heffalumps and Woozles out there. We’re not safe at all.” Just then, his briefcase floated by. Reaching out, Christopher grabbed it. Then he grabbed Pooh and tried to get him on top of it. If they both had to be trapped, the least he could do was protect Pooh. “We must get out of here. But I’m not sure what to do anymore.”

  Pooh, who had not complained when Christopher grabbed him and shoved him onto the briefcase, looked down at him. His eyes were calm, and he did not seem to notice the water splashing up and over him, soaking his fur. “Sometimes the thing to do is Nothing,” he finally said with a shrug.

  In the water beside him, Christopher stopped struggling. “Nothing?” he repeated.

  Pooh nodded. “It often leads to the best Something.” As the bear spoke, the briefcase beneath him shifted in the moving water, throwing him off-balance. Pooh slipped off the briefcase and sank under the water. Within moments, all that could be seen of the bear was a trail of bubbles that rose to the surface.

  Oddly enough, Christopher didn’t feel a sense of panic as he watched the bear disappear. Instead, he felt eerily calm. There was a dreamy quality to everything. The water didn’t even feel cold as it rose higher and higher up his chest. He wondered if he was actually drowning. He had heard that people who drowned often just slipped into unconsciousness. Maybe that was what was happening to him. He stopped treading water and let himself sink.

  Down, down, down he went until his backside touched the bottom of the hole. Looking over, he saw Pooh calmly sitting on the ground. He was breathing normally, and when he spoke, the words did not gurgle the way one would expect if one were listening to someone else speak underwater. “It’s quite nice, isn’t it?” Pooh asked.

  “Yes, quite nice,” Christopher said. But he was beginning to think that it was all a bit too nice. Something was not right. Then he glanced down at his hands. Or rather, where his hands had been. They had been transformed into Heffalump hands. And when he reached up to touch his ears, he realized they were the large, floppy ears of a Heffalump. His eyes growing wide, he turned to Pooh for help, but the frightened bear frantically began to try to swim away from him.

  Desperately, Christopher reached out to comfort his friend, but instead of his arm, a large trunk moved through the water. It extended toward Pooh and then, before Christopher knew what was happening, the trunk sucked Pooh up.

  Christopher started spinning around and around. He had to get out of this hole. But every time he spun around, he came face-to-face with another Heffalump: a Heffalump version of himself. He couldn’t escape the creature. He couldn’t escape himself. As he spun faster and faster, he felt as though the air was being sucked from his lungs, and then one of the other Heffalumps’ trunks connected to him. He felt a strong pull and then, just like Pooh, he was sucked into the creature’s trunk….

  Christopher woke with a gasp. His breath heaved in his chest and he felt his heart pounding. It had been a dream! There were no Heffalumps. No powerful trunks. He was alive!

  But, as he took stock of his actual situation, he realized he wasn’t much better off. While he had been unconscious, the water had risen. He had managed to stay afloat by clinging to the briefcase, just like Pooh had been doing in his dream. It had acted like a life preserver. But the rain was still falling and Christopher knew he needed to quickly find a way out of the hole.

  Just then, his hands slipped on the briefcase and he slid into the water. He flashed back to his dream and felt the panic he should have felt then start to fill him. But before panic overwhelmed him, Christopher felt his feet hit the bottom. Pushing back up, he burst through the surface of the water with a triumphant cry. The water was filling the hole. So, if he just waited…

  “Just do Nothing,” Christopher said, echoing Pooh’s words.

  Floating onto his back, Christopher let his arms spread out and his legs lift up. Underneath him, his overcoat billowed out so that from above, he looked like he was lying on a beige raft. And then, he just did “Nothing.” He did Nothing as the rain continued to fall and the water in the hole rose higher and higher. He did Nothing as the sky began to brighten and the stars began to fade. He did absolutely Nothing until, finally, he could do Something.

  When the water neared the top of the hole, he flipped onto his front and swam to the edge. He then pulled himself up onto the surrounding solid ground and collapsed. He lay there for a long moment, enjoying the feel of the dirt beneath him—and the steadiness of the ground. When he had caught his breath, he turned back to the hole, fished out his briefcase and umbrella, and stood up.

  He was out of the trap. He was free.

  Now he needed to go find Pooh.

  Taking off into the woods, Christopher shouted out the names of his friends. “Pooh? Eeyore?” he called. “Anyone?” No answer came, but still he kept going. The woods weren’t that big. He had to run into someone eventually.

  And then, just like that, he saw something he recognized. Slowing, he grinned as Pooh Sticks Bridge came into view. He moved closer. Christopher’s grin grew wider. Sure enough, there was a sign that read: POOH STIX. One side was labeled DROPING SID, and the other was labeled WATCHIN SID. He couldn’t remember the number of times he and Pooh had come here to play their made-up game. It was so simple and silly—dropping a stick from one side of the bridge and running to the other to watch it appear—but it had entertained them for hours upon hours.

  Walking onto the bridge, Christopher looked over the railing on the “dropping side.” His reflection stared back at him. But the person looking up at him wasn’t a young boy full of innocence. The face that stared back at him was old. Old and caked in drying grey mud. Frowning, Christopher picked up a stick at his feet and threw it down, shattering the reflection. Then, out of habit, he stepped to the opposite side of the bridge to watch his stick float by.

  But instead of a stick, he saw Eeyore. The pessimistic donkey floated out from under the bridge. He was on his back, staring up at the sky with a frown of his own. Upon seeing Christopher, the dour look only deepened. “Just my luck,” he said in his sad voice. “A Heffalump. Leering at his lunch.”

  “Eeyore!” Christopher shouted happily. “I’m not a Heffalump!” He was so glad he had finally found one of his friends that he wasn’t even upset he had been mistaken for an elephant-like creature.

  The donkey shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” he said. “Headed for the waterfall. Be gone soon.”

  Turning, Christopher looked in the direction Eeyore was floating. Sure enough, there was a waterfall. “Swim! Swim!” he shouted to the donkey.

  But Eeyore made no attempt to swim. Instead, he somehow managed to start floating faster. As Christopher watched, the donkey’s body disappeared briefly as it dipped down one of the smaller falls leading to the larger one. The water turned rougher as Eeyore entered the faster-moving part of the stream. He was getting closer and closer to the large waterfall. If Christopher didn’t do something, he would lose another friend before he had even really found him.

  Racing off the bridge, Christopher began to run
along the shore, calling out to Eeyore as he did.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Eeyore responded, his voice monotone despite the dire circumstances he was facing. “Can’t change the inevitable. Just have to go with the flow.”

  Approaching a spot on the shore that jutted out into the water, Christopher slipped and slid down until his toes touched the stream. He reached out his hand as Eeyore floated past. But it was no use. The donkey was too far out and his arms weren’t long enough. “Don’t worry, Eeyore!” he shouted.

  “I’m not,” Eeyore said. “One mustn’t complain.”

  “I’ll save you!” Dramatically whipping off his overcoat, Christopher threw it to the ground, ran along the bank, then dove into the water. But to his surprise—and pain—he didn’t dive down far: the water was only a few feet deep. Christopher stood up, dripping once again. “Oh, right,” he said, starting to smile. “I’m grown now.” The smile grew wider as he realized how ridiculous he must have looked. And how little he cared. He started to laugh—lightly at first; then the laugh grew and grew until tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. Standing there, wiping them away, Christopher tried to remember the last time he had laughed that hard. Sadly, he honestly had no idea.

  “Laughing at my misfortune. Oh, well,” Eeyore said.

  Eeyore’s ho-hum remark snapped Christopher back to the present, and he quickly waded over to the donkey. Grabbing him just before he went over the waterfall, Christopher then carried him back to the riverbank. Wringing him out like one might wring out a dishcloth, Christopher gently placed Eeyore on the ground.

  “Hello, Eeyore,” he said.

  “Hello, Heffalump,” Eeyore replied.

  Christopher smiled, the feeling less foreign this time around. “I’m not a Heffalump,” he said. “I’m Christopher Robin, the one who used to try and cheer you up.”

  Eeyore shrugged. “I don’t remember being cheery.”

  Knowing it would do no good to try to explain, Christopher changed the subject. “How did you end up in the water?” he asked instead.