I led the goose out into the backyard.
“Nice yard,” the goose said.
“Thanks,” I said. I took the belt from my bathrobe and tied it around the goose’s neck.
“Not too tight,” the goose said.
“Relax. I know what I’m doing,” I said. “How does that feel?”
“It feels okay,” the goose said. “What if it comes undone when we’re flying?”
“I did a square knot with a double fisherman’s bend,” I said. “There’s a whole section with illustrations about knots in The Haphazard House Junior Dictionary for Little Scholars. This won’t come undone.”
I climbed onto the goose’s back and took a tight hold of the bathrobe belt.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“It feels funny with you on my back,” the goose said.
“Just fly. You’ll get used to it.”
The goose spread its wings. I held tight.
This is exciting! I thought.
“I can’t do it,” said the goose.
“What do you mean, you can’t do it?” I asked.
“All of a sudden, I sort of forgot how to get off the ground,” the goose said. “It doesn’t feel right, with you sitting on my back.”
“Just fly,” I said. “Don’t think about me. Just fly the way you usually do.”
The goose flapped its wings. I felt a great rush of air. I held on extra tight. The goose flapped faster.
“We’re not moving,” I said.
“We’re not?” the goose asked.
“We’re not moving an inch,” I said.
“I can’t understand it,” the goose said. “Why can’t I get off the ground?”
“It’s because of the extra weight,” I said. “You’ll have to do a running takeoff.”
I climbed down off the goose’s back and led the goose by the bathrobe belt. I led him to the far end of the backyard.
“Now, what you have to do is start running and flapping,” I said.
“What will that do?” the goose asked.
“We’ll build up speed, running along the ground, and the movement of air under your wings will help us take off.”
“You think so?” the goose asked.
“I’m sure of it. That’s how airplanes take off.”
“How do you know so much?” the goose asked.
aviation ay-vee-ay-shun: the operation of heavier-than-air aircraft
“I read about it,” I said. “Now, let’s try it.”
The goose began to run. Its webbed feet slapped against the ground.
“Flap your wings! Flap your wings!” I shouted.
“Too many things to think about!” the goose shouted.
We got to the end of the yard.
“I have to rest for a minute,” the goose said. “I’m getting all confused.”
I waited while the goose stood quietly, composing himself.
“Ready to try again?” I asked him.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go back to the other end of the yard and try again,” I said. “This time, start flapping before you start running.”
“Why not just turn around and run the other way?” the goose asked.
“Because we have to run into the wind. It will help us take off.”
“You read about that, too?” the goose asked.
aeronautics ay-ro-naw-tiks: the art or science of flight
takeoff tayk-awf: a rise or leap from a surface in making a jump or flight or an ascent in an aircraft or in the launching of a rocket
windward: being in or facing the direction from which the wind is blowing—compare LEEWARD
“Yes,” I said.
The goose and I went back to the far end of the backyard. I climbed onto the goose’s back.
“This time, I will tell you what to do, and you will do it,” I said. “Ready?”
“Ready!” said the goose.
“Flap!” I shouted.
The goose flapped.
“Flap faster!”
The goose flapped faster.
“Flap very fast!”
“I’m flapping as fast as I can!” the goose shouted.
The goose was flapping its wings very-fast. I felt the rush of air, and dust and bits of grass were whirling around and hitting me in the face.
“Now, run!” I shouted.
The goose ran.
“Run faster! Flap harder!”
I heard the goose’s webbed feet slapping against the backyard grass. Then I felt the goose bob upward. The sound of the feet had changed from slapping to scratching. The goose was running on tiptoe. Another bob, and I could not hear the feet at all. Over the goose’s head I saw the backyard fence drop down and pass underneath us.
“We’re flying!”
5. Night Flying
This is definitely neat,” I said.
“It feels funny flying with someone on my back,” the goose said.
We were high above the neighborhood. I could see my house and my street. Things looked different from high in the air. It looked like a toy neighborhood. The houses were like toy houses, and the cars were like toy cars. The streetlights were like little flashlights, blinking through the trees.
“Neat!” I said. “Neat, neat.”
“I get to see stuff like this all the time,” the goose said. “I guess it is kind of neat, now that you mention it.”
“Let’s fly over my school!” I said.
“Which way is it?” the goose asked.
“Hang a left.”
The goose flew over the same streets I walked on going to school every day. There was the school building, with all its lights out.
“There it is! That’s my school!” I said.
“Nice school,” the goose said.
“Fly around it!”
The goose flew slowly around the school.
“This would be great if we could do it on a school morning,” I said. “You could fly me to school. The kids would go wild when they saw me arrive on a magic goose.”
“I suppose it would sort of blow their minds,” the goose said. “You want to fly around the school again?”
“No, let’s go up high!”
“Sure you won’t be scared?” the goose asked. “I can go pretty high.”
“I am not scared, and I will not be scared,” I said. “Go as high as you can.”
The goose flew in big circles, rising higher and higher. The streets and houses got smaller and smaller and soon were lost in the clouds. We were surrounded by stars and the night sky.
“Look how big the moon seems!” I said.
“It is big,” the goose said.
“Is this as high as you have ever gone?” I asked.
“I have never been this high,” the goose said. “I feel a little bit dizzy.”
“It’s cold up here,” I said. “But it’s neat.”
“I’m scared,” the goose said. “I’m going to fly lower down.”
“I’m not scared,” I said. “But if you want to go lower down, it’s all right with me.” I was not scared, not really, but I was feeling a little dizzy myself. I did not tell the goose.
“Thank you,” said the goose.
The goose slowly descended through the clouds, and we saw the lights and houses again.
“Look at the big buildings downtown!” I said. “Can we fly over there?”
“Why not?” said the goose.
The tall buildings were mostly dark. The goose flew between them. With the buildings on both sides, it was like flying through canyons, and I could feel how fast the goose was going.
“Yaaay! This is great!” I shouted.
“Watch this,” the goose said. “I can do loops!”
The goose flew loops and loop-the-loops between the tall buildings.
I held on tight.
“Do it again!” I shouted.
“Let’s go up to the tops of the buildings,” the goose said.
“Okay.”
Th
e goose flew up until we were as high as the buildings. I noticed that it was very quiet. When I had been downtown before, it had always been during the day, and there had been lots of noise from buses and cars, engines and horns. Now, with the buildings mostly dark, there wasn’t a sound.
Then, I heard something. It was a sweet sound. “Do you hear that?” I asked the goose.
“That music?” the goose asked.
“Yes!” I said. “Where is it coming from?”
In one of the dark buildings, near the very top, there was a light in a window. The goose flew near to the window, and I could see a man sitting in a chair, with his feet on a desk, playing a clarinet.
“He’s good,” the goose said. “He must be someone who works late at night. I assume he’s taking a break to play some music. Maybe this is his nighttime lunch hour.”
“Let’s listen,” I said.
The goose landed on the roof of the building just across the street from the one in which the man was playing the clarinet. I climbed off the goose’s back, and we listened to the music. The man in the building went into a fast tune, and the goose and I began to tap our feet.
The moon cast a beautiful light on the deserted downtown, the clarinet music drifted between the skyscrapers, and I danced with the goose until the man in the window put his clarinet away and went back to working at the computer on his desk.
6. Magic Goose Land
Let’s fly out into the country,” I said.
“Suits me,” said the goose. “Climb on my back.”
The goose, with me on his back, hurled himself from the roof of the tall building, rose into the sky, and soon the lights of the city were far behind us.
“It’s dark out here,” the goose said. “There’s not much to see.”
“There’s a river,” I said. “You can see it shining in the moonlight.”
“So you can,” the goose said. “Sort of pretty, isn’t it?”
“What’s that smell?” I asked. I was smelling something very strong.
“You don’t know what that smell is?” the goose asked.
“No,” I said. “It’s pretty powerful. What is it?”
“I’ll show you,” the goose said.
The goose flew straight for the smell. It got stronger as we got closer.
“Phew! What is it?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” said the goose.
We landed in a big open place. There were hundreds and hundreds of geese standing around. It didn’t smell very nice.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Magic Goose Land!” the goose said.
I looked around. The place was surrounded by a high fence. The hundreds and hundreds of geese were white, not gray like my goose.
“This is Magic Goose Land?” I asked.
“Neat, isn’t it?” the goose said.
“These geese are all magic?”
“Every one of them,” the goose said.
“They aren’t paying any attention to us,” I said.
“They’re just being polite,” the goose said. “It would be rude to make a fuss.”
“Do you know these geese?” I asked.
The goose looked around. “I don’t see anyone I actually know,” it said.
“Are you sure this is Magic Goose Land?” I asked.
“It does seem different somehow,” the goose said. “On the other hand, what else could it be?”
“I think this is a goose farm,” I said.
“A goose farm? What’s a goose farm?”
goose gooss 1: any of numerous large waterfowl (family Anatidae) that are intermediate between the swans and ducks 2: SIMPLETON, DOLT
farm farm: a plot of land devoted to agricultural purposes, the raising of animals and esp. domestic livestock
“A goose farm is where they keep lots of geese.”
“So? How is that different from Magic Goose Land?” the goose asked.
“These geese aren’t magic,” I said.
“They aren’t?” asked the goose. “So what are they doing standing around here?”
“These geese,” I said, “are going to be eaten.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
“No, really. Be serious,” said the goose. “They’re going to be eaten? Who would do such a thing?”
“People,” I said. “People eat geese.”
The goose looked at me.
“Oh, not me! Not me! I have never eaten a goose! I don’t think anyone in my family has ever eaten a goose.”
“This is a joke in doubtful taste,” the goose said.
“It is not a joke,” I said.
“In that case, I think we should leave,” the goose said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Just a moment,” the goose said. He walked over to where a bunch of geese were standing around, not doing anything.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I don’t wish to alarm you, but I am informed that you are going to be eaten.”
“Honk,” said the farmyard goose.
“No, I really mean it,” my goose said. “I know it sounds silly, but you should really think about getting out of here.”
“Honk.”
“My friend and I would be happy to help you escape,” my goose said.
“What are you, some kind of magic goose?” the farm goose replied.
“Well, as a matter of fact. . .”
“Is that how you know so much?” the farm goose honked.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something, Mr. Magic Goose. You and your friend are crazy as bats. Who would eat a goose? It’s ridiculous! You might as well say that someone would eat a cow!”
The goose came back to where I was standing.
“Were you really serious when you said these geese are going to be eaten?” he asked.
“Yes, and have their feathers made into pillows,” I said.
“Pillows?”
goose down goossdoun: the soft feathers of a goose, used in making pillows and comforters
“That’s right,” I said.
“Very funny,” the goose said. “No wonder that other goose thought I was an idiot. You have a warped sense of humor.”
“I’m serious,” I said.
“Right,” said the goose. “Let’s go now.”
7. Lost Goose
Ipromise, those geese are going to be eaten,” I said to the goose as we flew away. “I wasn’t playing a joke on you.”
“You’ll say anything for a laugh, right?” the goose said. “I suppose I’d think it was funny, too, but I’ve got a problem that’s bothering me.”
“You do? What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t like to bother you,” said the goose.
“You won’t be bothering me,” I said. “We’re friends.”
“We are?”
“Of course we are. What is your problem?”
“You don’t happen to know how to get to Magic Goose Land, by any chance?” the goose asked me.
“You don’t know?”
“I just wondered if you knew,” the goose said.
“You thought the goose farm was Magic Goose Land,” I said.
“It was a mistake anybody could have made.”
“Do you remember how you got here?” I asked.
“Not precisely,” the goose said.
“You just turned up in my room, and you have no idea how you got there?”
“Yes,” the goose said.
“What do you remember about coming here?” I asked.
“Not much,” the goose said. “I sort of tend to live in the present moment. Geese are like that.”
“So, you’re completely lost.”
“I would say that I am completely lost,” the goose said.
“I thought geese were very good at traveling long distances and finding their way.”
“There are leaders and there are followers. I never paid much attention.”
“We could look for it on a map,” I said.
“What’s a map?”
map map: a representation usually on a flat surface of the whole or a part of an area
cartography kar-tog-ruh-fee: the science or art of making maps
“But I’m pretty sure it won’t be on a map,” I said. “This has to do with magic, and maps usually don’t.”
“Well, please don’t worry about it,” the goose said. “I will be fine.”
“We need to ask somebody,” I said.
“Could we ask your mother and father?” the goose asked.
“We could,” I said. “But I don’t think they’d know about Magic Goose Land. Besides, I’d have to explain why I was flying around with you when I was supposed to be asleep. I think we should ask somebody else.”
“Who?”
“I think we should ask Nathaniel Ink-blotter, author of Seymour and the Magic Pudding, my favorite book! He knows about magic things that turn up at night!”
“Fine. Let’s ask him,” the goose said. “Do you know where he lives?”
“I know how to find out,” I said. “Let’s look for a telephone booth. We can look him up in the directory.”
directory duh-rek-tuh-ree: an alphabetical or classified list (as of names and addresses): a phone book
8. Nathaniel Inkblotter
It turned out that Nathaniel Inkblotter, the famous author, lived in the Crummy Creek Trailer Park. The goose and I flew there. We found Mr. Inkblotter’s trailer. It had a rusted-up old car outside with a bumper sticker that said I’d rather be writing. All the windows of the trailer were dark.
“I forgot it was so late at night,” I said. “He must be sleeping. Maybe we should come back in the morning.”
“You forget I am a magic goose,” the goose said. “I will appear in his bedroom. It’s something I do well.”
“Good idea,” I said. “And he’ll probably like it. After all, he writes about stuff like that.”
I helped the goose clamber into an open window. He was heavy, and it was hard work. I had to sort of stuff him in. Then I waited outside Nathaniel Inkblotter’s trailer.
I heard a couple of thumps and crashes. Apparently the goose had bumped into things in the dark. Then, I heard nothing for a while.
A light came on, and I heard a blood-freezing scream.
“Oh, no! Bandits! Spare me! Don’t take my life! Take my money! Take my typewriter! Take my AM and FM radio! Take my electric waffle iron! But do not hurt me!”
Four Different Stories Page 6