The Mud Gullumpers

by E. L. Purnell

  “We’ve noticed that lately, mud’s spreading around

  from this creek bed to, well, all over the town!

  We want to know why you are stirring to action

  when ‘til now you stayed here with great satisfaction.”

  The king’s form relaxed, body rippling down,

  His mournful face looked languidly all around

  from his stream, and then off, towards the horizon,

  where he lifted his face for a look at the sun.

  Chapter 10

  “Oh yes,” he reflected, “I remember it well.

  But please have a seat, it’s a long story to tell.”

  So finding some large rocks on the edge of the creek,

  we, too, settled in snug, as he started to speak.

  “It was so long ago, but I feel a rebirth.

  Once ten suns shone together and they dried up the earth.

  So I spoke to the men who shot rockets up high,

  and implored them to blast a few suns from the sky.

  We were on good terms, so they did it for me.

  They left me with one sun; look up and you’ll see.

  The Mud Gullumpers were thrilled I’d saved them from dying.

  So they made me their king, and there’s no denying

  that I was honored at first - as anyone would be -

  to hear all of their voices cry “Hail King Hou Yi!”

  But as the days passed, my maturing royalty

  revealed to me the burden of loyalty:

  I worried their worries and feared all their fears.

  I fretted all problems that might now appear

  and make me look stupid, just like some old dunce

  who couldn’t protect them well, as I did once.

  But my biggest dread was the heat would return.

  So I tried to prepare for the worst kind of burn.

  My advisors told me, and I had to agree

  that our only defense was water –and plenty!

  I befriended beavers building dams in this creek.

  A well-placed dam made this pond here especially deep.

  But I couldn’t forget just how quickly before

  the heat from all those suns dried up our water.

  So I ordered that all Mud Gullumpers around

  secure their own private reserves in the ground.

  This was unpopular for a king to insist.

  Many under my rule did their best to resist.

  They grumbled about time; they griped about space.

  Few cared to prepare for crisis, just in case.

  So I held a meeting with my subjects around,

  to see if a quick solution could be found,

  to store water simply, so as not to annoy,

  and we needed vessels that we all could employ!

  Now, we can’t go to stores, and we don’t like a fuss,

  so we needed a container that came to us.

  All the neighborhood children who play in the creek

  wear boots we could use to hold water - on their feet!

  So we started to keep all the boots we could get,

  filling each with water so we’d always stay wet.

  This scared all the children, believe me, I know.

  We tried to say, “Excuse me” or a simple “Hello,

  do you mind if we borrow your boots for a while?”

  Most children ignored us, 21st century style.

  So I won’t say we stole them. After all, they came here!

  Once they stuck their boots deep in the mud, it seemed clear

  they were actually making an offering.

  Why wouldn’t we accept such a wonderful thing?

  There was internal trouble; I have to confess.

  I had trouble controlling one sprightly young lass.

  Her name was Chang Er, and captivatingly free,

  she took special delight in disobeying me.

  She’d purposely spill boots and just splash around

  in the wasted water that seeped deep in the ground.

  In better times, of course, I was more lenient,

  but as days got hotter, my patience was spent.

  Then a few days ago, it was hot; we were weak.

  Standing all shiny and moist, Chang Er looked really sleek.

  And curious, I tracked her movements that day

  to see how she stayed moist while we withered away.

  Thinking no one was looking, she’d steal others’ boots

  and she’d yank them down quickly and water her roots!

  At that sight, I was outraged she showed no concern

  -that she hoarded water while the rest of us burned!

  I told her to stop four or five different ways,

  but day after day she would still disobey.

  So I condemned her to death, just to get her to stop!

  Her punishment: be flung to the highest treetop!

  Her form clung to a branch, unshielded from the sun.

  She dried hard on the leaves, ‘til her spirit seemed numb.

  Then later that evening, when the world was all quiet,

  the Mud Gullumpers were thirsty, but cooled by the night.

  Some clouds filled the sky; the wind started to blow.

  Lightning flashed in the sky, making Chang Er’s form glow.

  We all looked to the sky, and begged for hints of rain.

  The Mud Gullumpers praised me for the sacrifice made.

  It started to sprinkle. Lightning lit up the sky.

  A few mourned Chang Er, as her form was nearby.

  Then the sprinkle increased to a steadier rain.

  We spread ourselves out to ease our own pain.

  When the rain splattered Chang Er, her form slowly rose,

  standing up on her branch, she stretched out her toes.

  We all watched amazed, as she stood proud and high,

  gasping from her beauty when bolts lit up her eyes.

  She took one last look, glancing over her shoulder,

  and she turned up her chin, snubbing all her beholders.

  Then she reached out her arm, without saying goodbye,

  she climbed from raindrop to raindrop right up to the sky.

  The rain seemed to stop as she climbed up each drop,

  as if sent to extract her and bring her up top

  - an escalator zipping her up to the moon!

  I shrieked with such rage that I started to swoon.

  All looked on in horror as I thrashed and I screamed,

  for she was the punished, and yet she was redeemed.

  All the nights since have been clear and so still,

  and the Mud Gullumpers think me an imbecile.

  Chang Er smiles down from the moon every evening hour.

  I’m a miserable king who has squandered his power.

  Mud Gullumpers praise Chang Er - honor her as their queen.

  Each sprinkle we get makes them reach for their dreams.

  They flee from this creek, darting off in all ways,

  climbing high, then desiccating in the sun’s rays,

  in the hopes that when a good rain comes again,

  like Chang Er, they can climb to the moon on the rain.

  So what is a failed monarch supposed to do?

  I can’t make them stay and ail under my rule.

  I’m not such a bad ruler, I’m proud to admit.

  The problem’s with the weather –I can’t control it!

  But my mandate of heaven was clearly withdrawn.

  They’d be foolish to stay once that blessing is gone.

  So I told them all ‘Go! Take your chances and flee!

  Climb as high as you can on each rooftop and tree.

  Have faith in yourselves when you dry hard in the sun

  that with the next storm, up the raindrops you’ll run’.”

  With that, King Hou Yi sank down low i
n the creek.

  All his talking above ground had made him quite weak.

  Pam and I sat in silence, digesting the news,

  remembering events and sorting out clues.

  “That explains all the treetops covered in mud,

  and the rooftops and lightposts dirty with dried crud.

  They’re Mud Gullumpers in waiting, primed to fly high

  off this planet of ours to their Queen in the sky.”

  Pam and I understood all the strange events clearly.

  After thanking the king, he begged us sincerely

  to make it rain hard, and make it rain soon

  so his dear Mud Gullumpers could escape to the moon.

  We confessed that we had no power to change the weather,

  but he shouldn’t fall into despair altogether.

  For we had just learned in school, that in early fall,

  hurricanes often form, and bring one or two squalls.

  So while we can’t make it rain, we can safely predict

  that some rain will come this month that should do the trick.

  The king bid us our health and a whispered ‘goodbye’

  as he slipped back under with a bubbly sigh.

  His final words popped from water-strider cover,

  “Oh, by the way, say ‘hello’ to your brother.”

  “My brother?” I gasped, “so you do know him!”

  But the king didn’t rise from the creek again.

  Pam and I headed home, rounding the briar bend,

  not opening our mouths ‘til well past the dead end.

 

  Chapter 11

  Blasting from cheap speakers at the end of my street.

  “Turkey in the Straw” = an icy treat.

  “I have money!” I yelled, grabbing Pam’s right hand.

  Hot air pushed my bangs off of my face as we ran.

  From his bedroom window, second house on the right,

  Danny peeked through his blinds and saw us in flight.

  Curtains pulled half-way closed, he intensely opined

  that the ghastly Mud Gullumpers chased us from behind.

  But we didn’t stop sprinting ‘til we reached the crowd,

  pushing to the truck window and ordering too loud,

  “Two ice pops!” I gasped, plopping down all my dimes,

  exhausted, but happy we’d made it in time.

  Our grass-tickled legs crossed as we sat on my lawn.

  The street emptied once the ice cream truck had gone.

  We deftly attacked our fast-melting ice pops,

  slurping and licking so not one dribble dropped

  on our legs or the grass, or slid down our arms.

  Any sugary mess would soon make the bees swarm.

  My two sisters were playing with kids ‘cross the street,

  drenched by a sprinkler from their head to their feet .

  Mothers sat on front steps like guardian sphinx,

  maintaining their cool with before-dinner drinks.

  The sprinkler full throttle, the mud was splattering.

  I watched intently the mud that was scattering

  all over the yard, jump up in leaps and bounds,

  but it wasn’t in rain, so it fell to the ground.

  “Hey Pam! Look at those Mud Gullumpers over there!

  They’re trying to climb up, but crash when they hit air!

  They’re clueless, you know. They think the sprinkler’s rain.

  Were it not for the grass, they’d go right down the drain!”

  My sisters both squealed, back and forth through the spray.

  It really looked like they were happy to play

  with the Mud Gullumpers now, for they danced in the drops

  and the mud climbed their legs as they spun and they hopped.

  The fun was disrupted by Eileen, of course,

  who kept crimping the hose now and then with great force

  -just long enough to make the sprinkler spray pause

  eliciting a sad chorus of “a-aawwwws.”

  Then Grace grabbed a jump rope and skipped through the spray.

  Each jump drenched the rope caked with mud and thick clay,

  which then splotched small amounts on her body each twirl

  She really became a Mud Gullumper girl!

  Then she ran to the middle of the yard and said,

  “Watch out!”

  as she spun the rope over her head.

  Like a helicopter blade rotating quickly,

  flinging mud in a circle around her thickly.

  “That’s enough!” declared my mom. “This game is done.”

  Leave it to a grown up to end all the fun.

  And that’s the difference between Eileen and adults

  Eileen is annoying, but play’s still the result.

  And I wonder what causes playfulness to wane

  I don’t look forward to meeting my adult brain.

  “Poor King,” uttered Pam, in between swift licks

  on her red, white, and blue melting ice pop stick.

  “He’s such a nice guy! How can Mud Gullumpers resent

  someone only trying to end their torment?”

  I sat quiet for a moment, looking at the lawn.

  Pam was right. The king really had done nothing wrong.

  But even a leader in pretty good shape

  can fail against someone who offers escape.

  “His plan wasn’t working. His plan lacked vision.

  It relied on a dwindling provision.

  He was trying to squeeze every inch out of life

  and an outdated custom which doomed future strife.

  Everything changes and we need leaders who say

  ‘It’s not that we can’t, but we should not live this way.’”

  Cyd walked next to Ryan, both sucking on clover.

  Seeing us on the grass, they both sauntered over.

  “Made it out alive?” Ryan coyly taunted.

  “We met the king,” Pam piped up, fully undaunted.

  “He was enormous, but also very nice!

  He explained why they’re fleeing and asked for advice!”

  “You could see him?” squeaked Ryan, looking shell-shocked.

  “You could understand all of his words when he talked?”

  Eileen trotted over from across the street,

  “How many gullumpy old friends did you meet?”

  “A KING?” crackled Cyd. “You said it was a bird!

  Just how many are there? This is just absurd!

  Are they real or pretend? What the heck’s going on?

  What on earth’s happening in our dead-end creek pond?”

  Pam and I burst out laughing at Cyd’s fulmination.

  then continued, maintaining his marginalization.

  “They need rain,” I began. “They’re in pain when it’s dry.

  They need rain so they can climb way up high in the sky,

  all the way to the moon just to be with Chang Er.

  They think they’ll live forever if they get to her.”

  “You talked to the king?” Ryan asked with a heave,

  “But surely he’s not also planning to leave!”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, “but as he sunk away

  he told me to tell you ‘hello’ anyway.”

  Ryan sat on the lawn, visibly upset,

  wearing an expression that I’ll never forget.

  Like a train passed him by though he clearly waited,

  my brother looked completely devastated.

  “If they’re real….but what now?” Cyd spoke eerily.

  “We just wait for the rain,” I replied cheerily.

  “They’ve no plan to attack, or take over the world?”

  Just then, Jon raced toward us on his silver skateboard.

  “Did I miss it?” he gasped, hopping off of his skate.

  “Did the ice cream
truck leave? I knew I’d be too late!

  I had work to do before I could come out.”

  He sat down on the curb with a comical pout.

  When he noticed the clover in mouths tightly lipped,

  “Don’t ingest any more of those,” he sagely quipped.

  Jon knew things about every plant that there was,

  such as if it could be eaten or if it would cause

  a horrible rash or a sour stomach ache.

  He protected us from many grave mistakes.

  Mom dried off my sisters, and crossing the street,

  called us to come in since it was time to eat.

  “You can have my ice pop. Though, there’s only blue left.

  I don’t like to see you sitting there so bereft.”

 

  I held out the ice pop, pinching close to the tip,

  so Jon could hold from the clean end of the stick

  “Thanks,” Jon smirked shyly through a lop-sided smile,

  “even one chilly flavor is clearly worthwhile.”

  “Hey Bits,” Jon went on, “I think I figured out

  how that mud made it here, beyond any doubt.

  I must have had some of it stuck on my shoes

  when I first moved here.” Jon continued, enthused.

  “I wandered the neighborhood those very first days.

  Finding the creek by chance, I came back to play

  in the water each day to catch some tadpoles.

  My soles transferred the mud during those strolls.”

  The street softly filled with sounds of dragging feet

  as everyone began their dinner retreat.

  I sat next to Jon for a few minutes more

  to detail the clues of the Mud Gullumpers’ lore.

  I’d been squinting too much, since the sunset was bright

  and I’d given myself an ache above the right

  eye, deep in the brow was a sharp, stabbing pain.

  I gently touched my eyes as I tried to explain.

  “I know just what to do,” Jon said turning towards me,

  “Just take a deep breath and relax your body.”

  I did what he said and then I allowed

  his two fingers to press midway between my brows.

  He rubbed very firmly in a circular churn

  ‘til my brow stung with pain and began to burn.