A week later, all over the town, big yellow posters appeared on which were written:
THE FABULOUS CIRCUS OF WHATSIT
See clowns! See acrobats!
Bareback riders! Trapeze-artists!
See tigers, ponies, elephants, fleas!
And, in their world premiere show:
NOÉMIE, the performing potato
And AGATHE, the guitar who plays herself!
The big top was full on the new show’s first night, for nobody in that part of the world had seen anything like it before.
When their turn came, the band played a military march while the potato and the guitar stepped bravely into the ring. To start with, the potato introduced their number. Then the guitar played a difficult piece by herself. Then the potato sang a song, accompanied by the guitar, who sang a harmony while playing herself at the same time. And then, the potato pretended to sing a wrong note and the guitar pretended to catch her out. The potato pretended to get angry and they both pretended to have a big argument, to the great delight of the audience. Finally, they pretended to make up and be friends again and they sang their last song together.
The potato and the guitar were a huge success. Their act was recorded for radio and for television and, soon, people were talking about it all over the world. Having seen it on the news, the Sultan of Bakofbiyondistan flew over that afternoon in his private jet, to see the ringmaster.
“Hello, Mister Ringmaster.”
“Hello, Mister Sultan. What can I do for you?”
“I should like to marry the potato.”
“The potato? Now, look here, she’s not a person!”
“Very well, I’ll buy her.”
“But she’s not an object either… She speaks, she can sing…”
“Very well, I’ll take her from you!”
“But you’ve no right to do that!”
“It’s my right to do anything I please, for I have oodles of money!”
The ringmaster realized he should try to be a little cleverer.
“You will cause me great sadness,” he said, sobbing. “I love that potato, I’ve grown attached to her…”
“And how I sympathize!” said the Sultan, with just a hint of sarcasm. “In that case, I can offer you a caravan full of diamonds for her!”
“Just the one caravan?” asked the ringmaster.
“Two, if you prefer!”
The ringmaster wiped away a tear, blew his nose loudly, then added in a wobbly voice:
“I feel, if you were to go as far as three caravans…”
“Done! Three it shall be, and let that be an end of it.”
The next day, the Sultan flew back to his sultanate, taking the potato with him, and also the guitar, for the two old friends were determined to stay together. That week, a popular weekly magazine published a photograph of the brand-new couple with the following front-page headline:
WE LOVE EACH OTHER
In the weeks that followed, the same magazine published more photos, and the headlines changed accordingly. In order of appearance, they went like this:
WILL THE GOVERNMENT DARE TO STOP THEM?
WILL IT BREAK THE POTATO’S HEART?
POTATO SAYS, WEEPING: THIS CAN’T GO ON!
GUITAR SAYS: I’D RATHER GO!
AND STILL THEY ARE IN LOVE!
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
And beneath that last headline followed more photographs—from the wedding of the Sultan and the potato. Only a week later, the newspapers were full of other news, and soon, everyone had forgotten all about the love story of the Sultan, the potato and the guitar.
The Cunning Little Pig
Once upon a time a mummy god was sitting in a big armchair, darning socks, while, sitting at the dinner table, her young god was finishing his homework.
The young god worked away in silence. And when he was finished, he asked:
“Mummy, can I be allowed to make a world?”
Mummy God looked over at him:
“Have you finished all your homework?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Have you learnt your lessons?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“Good boy. Then, yes, you may.”
“Thanks Mummy.”
The young god took a piece of paper and some coloured pencils and set about making his world.
*
First, he created the sky and the earth. But the sky was empty and so was the earth, and both were covered in darkness.
So the young god created two lights: the Sun and the Moon. And he said aloud:
“Let the Sun be the man and the Moon be the lady.”
So the Sun became the man and the Moon the lady, and they had a little daughter, who was called Dawn.
Next the young god made plants to grow on the earth and seaweed to grow in the sea. Then he made animals to live on the earth: some to crawl on the ground, some to swim in the sea and some to fly in the air.
Next he created people, the most intelligent of the animals to live on his earth.
When he had made all this, the earth was full of life. But in comparison, the sky looked rather empty. So the young god shouted as loudly as he could:
“Which of you animals wants to come and live in the sky?”
Everybody heard, except for the little pig, who was busy eating acorns. For the little pig is so greedy that he doesn’t notice anything when he’s eating.
Now all the animals that wanted to live in the sky responded to the young god’s call: the ox replied, and the bull and the lion; the scorpion and the crab, whose name was Cancer; the swan and all the fish; both centaurs responded, one of them being the archer Sagittarius; both bears were there, the Little and the Great; so were the whale and the hare; the eagle and the dove; the dragon, the snake, the lynx and the giraffe all responded; there was a little girl who was called Virgo; there was a whole bunch of Greek letters, and even a few objects responded, such as Libra, the weighing scales.
This crowd of creatures came together and began to shout:
“Me! Me! Me! I want to live in the sky!”
So, the young god picked them all up, one by one, and stuck them up in the heavenly vault, with the help of those big silver drawing pins that we call stars. It did hurt them a little, but they were so happy to be living in the sky that they didn’t give the star pins a second thought!
When the whole exercise was over, the sky was studded with creatures, while the stars shone in all their magnificence.
“This is all very pretty,” said the Sun, “but when I rise in the morning, I’ll grill them alive!”
“That’s true,” admitted the young god, “I hadn’t thought of that!”
He pondered for a moment, then he said:
“Right, in that case, it’s quite simple: every morning, young Dawn will get up before her father the Sun and take down everyone who lives in the sky. And every evening, when the Sun has set, she will pin everyone back up there!”
And this is what they did. This is why, every morning, the stars disappear, only to return again at the end of the day, after dark.
Everything being now thoroughly organized, the young god looked down on his world with satisfaction.
“You know,” said Mummy God, “it’s just about time for bed. You have school tomorrow!”
“I’m coming, Mummy,” said the young god.
And he was about to get up when he heard a loud noise. It was the little pig racing in, as fast as he could, all out of breath and shouting as loudly as he could:
“What about me, then? What about me?”
“Well, what about you?” the young god asked.
“Why can’t I go and live in the sky too?”
“Why didn’t you ask me before?”
“No one told me you had to ask!”
“What do you mean, no one told you!” exclaimed the young god. “Didn’t you hear, when I called for volunteers?”
“No, I didn’t hear anything.”
“Wha
t were you up to, that you didn’t hear?”
“I think,” said the little pig, blushing, “that I was eating acorns…”
“Well, hard luck for you!” said the young god. “If you weren’t such a greedy guts, you might have heard me. I did shout very loudly!”
At this, the little pig began to sob:
“Oh pleeease, Mister Young God, sir! You can’t leave me behind like this. Can’t you squeeze me in somewhere? Tell the others to shuffle up a bit… If need be, you could pin me up on top of them! But do something, please, I don’t mind kissing your feet…”
“I can’t!” said the young god. “First because there’s no more space, you can see that for yourself. The others can’t squeeze together any closer. Besides, there aren’t any more stars to pin you up there. And lastly, I haven’t time: my mother has been calling me for a good minute already!”
With these words, the young god stood up from the table and went off to bed. Within ten minutes, he was asleep, and had quite forgotten about the brand-new world he had created. Meanwhile, the little pig was rolling about on the ground, sobbing:
“I want to be up in the sky! I want to live in the sky!”
But when he grew tired of rolling on the ground, he stopped and looked around, and realized the others had left him all by himself. So he settled down on the ground, laid his snout on his front trotters and began to grizzle:
“I knew they didn’t like me! Nobody likes me. They all hate me—even that god! He’s taken against me. He called while I was eating on purpose, so that I wouldn’t hear. And he made sure to fill up the sky with everyone else double quick, so that I’d be too late. And what’s that supposed to mean: that there aren’t any stars left for me? Couldn’t he make any more, huh? Oh, but I shall have my revenge! This isn’t the end of the story! So he says there aren’t any stars left for me; well, we shall see about that!”
He got up and trotted away in search of young Dawn.
Dawn had just got up, for the night was nearly over, and she was brushing her hair, getting ready to go, when the little pig trotted into her room:
“My poor little Dawn!” he said, with a sorrowful expression. “How unhappy you must be!”
“Unhappy, me? Not at all!”
“Oh, but you must be unhappy!” said the little pig. “Your parents are so hard on you!”
“Hard, my parents? Why do you say that?”
“Why? Isn’t it hard to force a child of your age to get up before daylight in order to pull down all the stars in the sky? And to make her stay up until dark so as to pin them all up again? I’m shocked every time I think about it!”
“Listen,” little Dawn said, “you mustn’t let yourself be so easily shocked! My work is rather good fun, you know… It doesn’t bother me. And besides, it isn’t my parents’ fault! It’s the young god who ordered this!”
“Let’s not even mention the young god,” said the little pig, bitterly.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Have I upset you?”
“Forget it, it’s nothing… You know, I only want one thing in life, and that’s to serve you. But if you hate me too much to accept my offer, well then…”
“But I don’t hate you!” little Dawn protested. “What is it that you want, exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t want anything for myself. I simply thought to suggest…”
“Spit it out, then; what is it you’d suggest?”
The little pig lowered his voice:
“Well, if you like, I could come with you this morning and help you with your work…”
“Well,” said young Dawn, “if that’s all it takes to make you happy…”
“But it’s not to make me happy!” the little pig explained, loftily. “I want to help you—that’s all I want to do!”
“All right then. Let’s go!”
Dawn put down her hairbrush, picked up a vast sack and slung it over her shoulder, and off they went.
As soon as they had reached the sky, they set to work. The little pig held the sack open while Dawn tossed the stars down into it pell-mell, on top of each other. As they were unpinned, the animals living up in the sky began to come down to earth where they would spend the day.
“This is wonderful!” said young Dawn. “I’m going twice as fast as usual! Thank you so much, little pig!”
“It’s nothing, nothing at all!” puffed the little pig, chuckling to himself.
Now, just as Dawn was tossing the Little Bear’s stars into the open sack, the little pig jumped at the most beautiful one—the Pole Star, the one that shows which way is north. He caught the star in mid-air, swallowed it up like a truffle and ran away as fast as his trotters could carry him.
“Little pig! What on earth are you doing?” called young Dawn, after him.
But the little pig pretended not to hear her. He sped back to earth at top pig-speed and very soon vanished from view.
What could she do? Dawn would have gone after him there and then, but first she absolutely had to finish taking the stars down from the sky, for the horizon was already growing paler in the east. She got back to her work and only when she had finished did she set out in search of the Pole Star.
From sunrise until midday, she criss-crossed Asia. But nobody there had seen the little pig. From midday until four o’clock, she combed the continent of Africa. But the little pig had not been seen there either. From four o’clock, she searched all over Europe.
Meanwhile, knowing Dawn would be looking for him, the little pig had taken refuge in France, in a city called… —Well, what was that city called?—Oh yes! A city called Paris. And while scurrying all over Paris, he happened to turn into a street called… —What was that street called, now?—Yes, of course: rue Broca! And, on reaching a shop at number 69 rue Broca, the pig vanished into its open door. This was the cafe-grocer’s belonging to…—Oh dear, my memory! Who did it belong to?—Oh, yes. To Papa Sayeed!
Papa Sayeed was not there. Nor was Mama Sayeed. Both of them were out, I don’t know why. What’s more, their eldest daughter Nadia had been stolen away by the wicked witch of rue Mouffetard, and her younger brother Bashir had gone to save her. So now the only people left to look after the shop were the Sayeeds’ two youngest daughters: Malika and Rashida.
There the two girls were, enjoying the early-afternoon peace and quiet, when a gust of wind suddenly blew through the shop and, along with it tumbled a little pig—a rather pretty little pig, in fact, whose tightly stretched skin gave out a delicate pink glow (from the star that was glowing inside his tummy). The little pig begged them, breathlessly:
“Save me! Please, save me!”
“What should we save you from?” asked Malika.
“From a little girl! From young Dawn! She’s coming after me! She wants to kill me! And eat me whole!”
“No way!” gasped Rashida.
“She does, she does! She’s been chasing me since morning! If you don’t hide me, she will eat me up!”
And fat tears began to roll down the little pig’s cheeks.
The two girls looked at each other.
“Poor thing,” said Malika.
“We must do something!” Rashida decided.
“What if we hide him in the cellar?” suggested Malika.
“That’s a good idea!”
They sent the little pig down into the cellar and were about to close the trapdoor when he stopped them for a moment:
“Now, if anyone asks for me, you haven’t seen me. Understood?”
“All right!” said Malika.
“Oh, and I was forgetting: young Dawn will doubtless tell you some yawn of a shaggy-dog story about some star she’ll say I’ve eaten… Obviously, it’s total nonsense: little pigs do not eat stars. I hope you won’t believe her for a moment…”
“Of course not!” said Rashida.
“And one more thing! Don’t tell your parents about me, it’s better if you don’t… Parents, you know, they’re rather stupid, they don’t understand how life works…”<
br />
“Okay!” said the two girls, together.
And they let the trapdoor fall closed. Then they looked at each other:
“Why doesn’t he want us to tell our parents?” whispered Malika, anxiously. “There’s something funny about him!”
“And why does he glow in the dark like that?” asked Rashida. “Did you see him there, in the cellar, while he was talking to us? He looked like a lamp with a pink lampshade!”
Malika scrunched her nose up: she was thinking.
“Perhaps his story about the star is true, after all…”
“But then, are we wrong to hide him?” asked Rashida, very worried.
“Never mind.” said Malika. “We should have thought of that before! Now we’ve taken him in, we can’t betray him.”
At about five o’clock that afternoon, young Dawn walked into the shop.
“Hello, young ladies! You wouldn’t, by any chance, have seen a little pink pig today, would you?”
“Pink all over and glowing like a nightlight?” asked Malika.
“Just like that!”
“No, we haven’t seen him!”
“In that case, I’m sorry to disturb you,” said young Dawn. “Goodbye, ladies!”
And she left the shop. But five minutes later, she was back:
“Forgive me, ladies. It’s about this little pig… If you haven’t seen him, how do you know that he glows?”
“It’s because he has eaten a star,” replied Rashida.
“Indeed he has! Have you seen him, then?”
“No, never!”
“Oh. Right.”
And young Dawn left the shop for the second time. Hardly had she stepped outside when she stopped and frowned, then went back into the shop:
“Forgive me, ladies, it’s me again… Are you really completely sure that you haven’t seen the little pig?”
“Oh yes, quite sure! Absolutely sure!” chorused Malika and Rashida, blushing as pink as pink roses.
Young Dawn gazed at them doubtfully, but since she had no proof, she did not dare challenge them again and so off she went once more, for good this time.
The Witch in the Broom Cupboard and Other Tales Page 5