A looking glass
Baggage
Pink Peony
Spuds the ballplayer
Four moons
Peacocks
Frogs
Oranges
Yellow silk handkerchiefs
HOW DEEP RED ROSES GOES BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN THE CLOCK AND THE LOOKING GLASS
ONE MORNING WHEN big white clouds were shouldering each other’s shoulders, rolling on the rollers of a big blue sky, Blixie Bimber came along where the Potato Face Blind Man sat shining the brass bickerjiggers on his accordion.
“Do you like to shine up the brass bickerjiggers?” asked Blixie.
“Yes,” he answered. “One time a long time ago the brass bickerjiggers were gold, but they stole the gold away when I wasn’t looking.”
He blinked the eyelids over his eyeballs and said, “I thank them because they took gold they wanted. Brass feels good to my fingers the same as gold.” And he went on shining up the brass bickerjiggers on the accordion, humming a little line of an old song, “Tomorrow will never catch up with yesterday because yesterday started sooner.”
“Seems like a nice morning with the sun spilling bushels of sunshine,” he said to Blixie, who answered, “Big white clouds are shouldering each other’s shoulders, rolling on the rollers of a big blue sky.”
“Seems like it’s April all over again,” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t talking at all.
“Seems just that way—April all over again,” murmured Blixie, almost like she wasn’t talking at all.
So they began drifting, the old man drifting his way, the girl drifting her way, till he drifted into a story. And the story he told was like this and in these words:
“Deep Red Roses was a lovely girl with blue skylights like the blue skylights of early April in her eyes. And her lips reminded people of deep red roses waiting in the cool of the summer evening.
“She met Shoulder Straps one day when she was young yet. He promised her. And she promised him. But he went away. One of the long wars between two short wars took him. In a faraway country, then, he married another girl. And he didn’t come back to Deep Red Roses.
“Next came High High Over, one day when she was young yet. A dancer he was, going from one city to another city to dance, spending his afternoons and evenings and late nights dancing, and sleeping in the morning till noon. And when he promised, she promised. But he went away to another city and after that another city. And he married one woman and then another woman. Every year there came a new story about one of the new wives of High High Over, the dancer. And while she was young yet, Deep Red Roses forgot all about her promise and the promise of High High Over, the dancer who ran away from her.
“Six Bits was the next to come along. And he was not a soldier, nor a dancer, nor anything special. He was a careless man, changing from one job to another, changing from paperhanging to plastering, from fixing shingle roofs where the shingles were ripped to opening cans with can openers.
“Six Bits gave Deep Red Roses his promise, and she gave him her promise. But he was always late keeping his promise. When the wedding was to be Tuesday, he didn’t come till Wednesday. If it was Friday, he came Saturday. And there wasn’t any wedding.
“So Deep Red Roses said to herself, ‘I am going away and learn; I am going away and talk with the wives of High High Over, the dancer, and maybe if I go far enough, I will find the wife of Shoulder Straps, the soldier—and maybe the wives of the men who promised me will tell me how to keep promises kept.’
“She packed her baggage till her baggage was packed so full there was room for only one more thing. So she had to decide whether to put a clock or whether to put a looking glass in her baggage.
“‘My head tells me to carry the clock so I can always tell if I am early or late,’ she said to herself. ‘But my heart tells me to carry a looking glass so I can look at my face and tell if I am getting older or younger.’
“At last she decides to take the clock and leave the looking glass—because her head says so. She starts away. She goes through the door, she is out of the house, she goes to the street, she starts up the street.
“Then her heart tells her to go back and change the clock for the looking glass. She goes back up the street, through the door, into the house, into her room. Now she stands in front of the clock and the looking glass saying, ‘Tonight I sleep home here one more night, and tomorrow morning I decide again.’
“And now every morning Deep Red Roses decides with her head to take the clock. She takes the clock and starts away and then comes back because her heart decides she must have the looking glass.
“If you go to her house this morning, you will see her standing in the doorway with blue skylights like the blue sky of early April in her eyes, and lips that remind you of deep red roses in the cool of the evening in summer. You will see her leave the doorway and go out of the gate with the clock in her hands. Then if you wait, you will see her come back through the gate, into the door, back to her room, where she puts down the clock and takes up the looking glass.
“After that she decides to wait until tomorrow morning to decide again what to decide. Her head tells her one thing; her heart tells her another. Between the two she stays home. Sometimes she looks at her face in the looking glass and says to herself, ‘I am young yet, and while I am young, I am going to do my own deciding.’”
Blixie Bimber fingered the end of her chin with her little finger and said, “It is a strange story. It has a stab in it. It would hurt me if I couldn’t look up at the big white clouds shouldering their shoulders, rolling on the rollers of the big blue sky.”
“It is a good story to tell when April is here all over again—and I am shining up the brass bickerjiggers on my accordion,” said the Potato Face Blind Man.
HOW PINK PEONY SENT SPUDS, THE BALLPLAYER, UP TO PICK FOUR MOONS
EARLY ONE SUMMER evening the moon was hanging in the treetops. There was a lisp of leaves. And the soft shine of the moon sifting down seemed to have something to say to the lisp of the leaves.
The girl named Blixie Bimber came that particular summer evening to the corner where the Potato Face Blind Man sat with his accordion. She came walking slow and thoughtful to where he was sitting in the evening shadows. And she told him about the summer moon in the treetops, the lisp of the leaves, and the shine of the moon trying to tell something to the lisp of the leaves.
The old man leaned back, fumbled the keys of his accordion, and said it loosened up things he remembered far back.
“On an evening like this, every tree has a moon all of its own for itself—if you climb up in a thousand trees this evening, you can pick a thousand moons,” the old man murmured. “You remind me tonight about secrets swimming deep in me.”
And after hesitating a little—and thinking a little—and then hesitating some more—the old man started and told this story:
“There was a girl I used to know, one time, named Pink Peony. She was a girl with cheeks and lips the peonies talked about.
“When she passed a bush of peonies, some of the flowers would whisper, ‘She is lovelier than we are.’ And the other peonies would answer in a whisper, ‘It must be so, it . . . must . . . be . . . so.’
“Now there was a ballplayer named Spuds came one night to take her riding, out to a valley where the peacocks always cry before it rains, where the frogs always gamble with the golden dice after midnight.
“And out in that valley they came to a tall tree shooting spraggly to the sky. And high up in the spraggly shoots, where the lisp of the leaves whispers, there a moon had drifted down and was caught in the branches.
“‘Spuds, climb up and pick that moon for me,’ Pink Peony sang reckless. And the ballplayer jumped out of the car, climbed up the tall tree, up and up till he was high and far in the spraggly branches where the moon had drifted down and was caught.
“Climbing down, he handed the girl a silver hat full of peach-color pearls. She laid it on the backseat of
the car where it would be safe. And they drove on.
“They came to another tall tree shooting spraggly to the sky. And high up the moon was caught.
“‘Pick that one, Spuds,’ Peony sang reckless again. And when he came climbing down, he handed her a circle of gold with a blood-color autumn leaf. And they put it on the backseat of the car where it would be safe. Then they drove on.
“‘Spuds, you are good to me,’ said Pink Peony when he climbed another tree shooting spraggly high in the sky and came down with a brass pansy sprinkled with two rainbows for her. She put it on the backseat where it would be safe. And they drove on.
“One time more Spuds climbed up and came down with what he picked, up where the moon was caught in the high spraggly branches. ‘An Egyptian collar frozen in diamond cobwebs, for you,’ he said. ‘You are a dear, Spuds,’ she said, reckless, with a look into his eyes. She laid the Egyptian collar frozen in diamond cobwebs on the backseat of the car where it would be safe—and they drove on.
“They listened a while; they stopped the car and listened a longer while, to the frogs gambling with golden dice after midnight.
“And when at last they heard the peacocks crying, they knew it was going to rain. So they drove home.
“And while the peacocks were crying, and just before they started home, they looked in the backseat of the car at the silver hat full of peach-color pearls, the circle of gold with a blood-color autumn leaf, the brass pansy sprinkled with two rainbows, the Egyptian collar frozen in diamond cobwebs.
“Driving home, the spray of a violet dawn was on the east sky. And it was nearly daylight when they drove up to the front door of Pink Peony’s home. She ran into the house to get a basket to carry the presents in. She came running out of the house with a basket to carry the presents in.
“She looked in the backseat; she felt with her hands and fingers all over the backseat.
“In the backseat she could find only four oranges. They opened the oranges, and in each orange they found a yellow silk handkerchief.
“Today, if you go to the house where Pink Peony and Spuds are living, you will find four children playing there, each with a yellow silk handkerchief tied around the neck in a mystic slipknot.
“Each child has a moon face and a moon name. And sometimes their father and mother pile them all into a car, and they ride out to the valley where the peacocks always cry before it rains—and where the frogs always gamble with golden dice after midnight.
“And what they look longest at is a summer moon hanging in the treetops when there is a lisp of leaves, and the shine of the moon and the lisp of the leaves seem to be telling each other something.”
So the Potato Face came to a finish with his story. Blixie Bimber kissed him good night on the nose, saying, “You loosened up beautiful tonight.”
Three Stories About Moonlight, Pigeons, Bees, Egypt, Jesse James, Spanish Onions, the Queen of the Cracked Heads, the King of the Paper Sacks
PEOPLE:
Dippy the Wisp
Slip Me Liz
The Potato Face Blind Man
Egypt
Jesse James
Spanish Onions
The Queen of the Cracked Heads
The King of the Paper Sacks
The Queen of the Empty Hats
Hot Balloons
A snoox
A gringo
Sweetheart dippies
Nail-eating rats
Sooners
Boomers
MORE PEOPLE:
Cracked heads
Clock-eating goats
Baby alligators
Pink and purple peanuts
Empty hats
Bats, cats, rats
Ragpickers, rag handlers
Squirrels, fish, baboons, black cats
A steel car, an air car
Gophers
HOW DIPPY THE WISP AND SLIP ME LIZ CAME IN THE MOONSHINE WHERE THE POTATO FACE BLIND MAN SAT WITH HIS ACCORDION
THE SKY SHOOK a rain down one Saturday night over the people, the post office, and the peanut stand in the Village of Liver-and-Onions.
And after the rain, the sky shook loose a moon so a moonshine came with gold on the rainpools.
And a west wind came out of the west sky and shook the moonshine gold on the tops of the rainpools.
Dippy the Wisp and Slip Me Liz came, two tough pony girls, two limber prairie girls, in the moonshine humming little humpty dumpty songs.
They came to the post office corner where the Potato Face Blind Man sat hugging his accordion, wondering what was next and who and why.
He was saying to himself, “Who was it told me the rats on the moon in the middle of the winter lock their mittens in iceboxes?”
And just then Dippy the Wisp and Slip Me Liz came flipping along saying, “It is a misty, moisty evening in the moonshine, isn’t it?”
And he answered, “The moon is a round gold door with silver transoms tonight. Bumblebees and honeybees are chasing each other over the gold door of the moon and up over the silver transoms.”
Dippy the Wisp took out a bee bag, took bees out of the bee bag, balanced the bees on her thumb, humming a humpty dumpty song. And Slip Me Liz, looking on, joined in on the humpty dumpty song. And, of course, the bees began buzzing and buzzing their bee humpty dumpty song.
“Have you fastened names on them?” asked the Potato Face.
“These three on my thumb, these three special blue-violet bees, I put their names on silk white ribbons and tied the ribbons to their knees. This is Egypt—she has inkwells in her ears. This is Jesse James—he puts postage stamps on his nose. This is Spanish Onions—she likes pearl-color handkerchiefs around her yellow neck.”
“Bees belong in bee bags, but these are different,” the old man murmured.
“Runaway bees, these are,” Dippy the Wisp went on. “They buzz away, they come buzzing back, buzzing home, buzzing secrets, syllables, snitches.
“Today Egypt came buzzing home with her inkwells in her ears. And Egypt buzzed, ‘I flew and flew and I buzzed and buzzed far, far away, till I came where I met the Queen of the Cracked Heads with her head all cracked. And she took me by the foot and took me to the palace of the Cracked Heads with their heads all cracked.
“‘The palace was full of goats walking up and down the stairs, sliding on the banisters eating bingety bing clocks. Before he bites the clock and chews and swallows and eats the bingety bing clock, I noticed, each goat winds up the clock and fixes it to go off bling bling bingety bing, after he eats it down. I noticed that. And the fat, fat, puffy goats, the fat, fat, waddly goats, had extra clocks hung on their horns—and the clocks, tired of waiting, spoke to each other in the bingety bing clock talk. I noticed that too.
“‘I stayed all morning, and I saw them feed the big goats big hunks and the little goats little hunks and the big clocks big bings and the little clocks little bings. At last in the afternoon, the Queen of the Cracked Heads came with her cracked head to say good-by to me. She was sitting on a ladder feeding baby clocks to baby alligators, winding the clocks and fixing the bingety bings, so after the baby alligators swallowed the clocks, I heard them singing bling bling bingety bing.
“‘And the Queen was reading the alphabet to the littlest of the baby alligators—and they were saying the alligator ABC while she was saying the A B C of the Cracked Heads. At last she said good-by to me, good-by and come again soon, good-by and stay longer next time.
“‘When I went out of the door, all the baby alligators climbed up the ladder and bingety blinged good-by to me. I buzzed home fast because I was lonesome. I am so, so glad to be home again.’”
The Potato Face looked up and said, “This is nice as the rats on the moon in the middle of the winter locking their mittens in the icebox. Tell us next about that blue-violet bumblebee, Jesse James.”
“Jesse James,” said Dippy the Wisp, “Jesse James came buzzing home with a postage stamp on his nose. And Jesse James buzzed, ‘I flew and I flew
and buzzed and buzzed far, far away till I came where I met the King of the Paper Sacks who lives in a palace of paper sacks. I went inside the palace expecting to see paper sacks everywhere. But instead of paper sacks, the palace was full of pink and purple peanuts walking up and down the stairs washing their faces, stitching handkerchiefs.
“‘In the evening all the pink and purple peanuts put on their overshoes and make paper sacks. The King of the Paper Sacks walks around and around among them saying, “If anybody asks you who I am, tell them I am the King of the Paper Sacks.” And one little peanut flipped up one time in the King’s face and asked, “Say it again—who do you think you are?” And it made the King so bitter in his feelings he reached out his hand and with a sweep and a swoop he swept fifty pink and purple peanuts into a paper sack and cried out, “A nickel a sack, a nickel a sack.” And he threw them into a trash pile of tin cans.
“‘When I went away, he shook hands with me and said, “Good-by, Jesse James, you old buzzer. If anybody asks you, tell them you saw the King of the Paper Sacks where he lives.”
The Sandburg Treasury Page 13