The Sandburg Treasury

by Carl Sandburg

  “It’s a sign; it is a signal,” she said. “It is a buckle, a slipper buckle, a Chinese silver slipper buckle. It is the mate to the other buckle. Our luck is going to change. Yoo hoo! Yoo hoo!”

  She told her father and mother about the buckle. They went back to the farm in Nebraska. The wind by this time had been blowing and blowing for three years, and all the popcorn was blown away.

  “Now we are going to be farmers again,” said Jonas Jonas Huckabuck to Mama Mama Huckabuck and to Pony Pony Huckabuck. “And we are going to raise cabbages, beets, and turnips; we are going to raise squash, rutabaga, pumpkins, and peppers for pickling. We are going to raise wheat, oats, barley, rye. We are going to raise com such as Indian corn and kaffir corn—but we are not going to raise any popcorn for the popcorn poppers to be popping.”

  And the pony-face daughter, Pony Pony Huckabuck, was proud because she had on new black slippers, and around her ankles, holding the slippers on the left foot and the right foot, she had two buckles, silver buckles, Chinese silver slipper buckles. They were mates.

  Sometimes on Thanksgiving Day and Christmas and New Year’s, she tells her friends to be careful when they open a squash.

  “Squashes make your luck change good to bad and bad to good,” says Pony Pony.

  YANG YANG AND HOO HOO, OR THE SONG OF THE LEFT FOOT OF THE SHADOW OF THE GOOSE IN OKLAHOMA

  YANG YANG AND Hoo Hoo were two girls who used to live in Battle Ax, Michigan, before they moved to Wagon Wheel Gap, Colorado, and back to Broken Doors, Ohio, and then over to Open Windows, Iowa, and at last down to Alfalfa Clover, Oklahoma, where they say, “Our Oklahoma home is in Oklahoma.”

  One summer morning Yang Yang and Hoo Hoo woke up saying to each other, “Our Oklahoma home is in Oklahoma.” And it was that morning the shadow of a goose flew in at the open window, just over the bed where Yang Yang and Hoo Hoo slept with their eyes shut all night and woke with their eyes open in the morning.

  The shadow of the goose fluttered a while along the ceiling, flickered a while along the wall, and then after one more flutter and flicker put itself on the wall like a picture of a goose put there to look at, only it was a living picture—and it made its neck stretch in a curve and then stretch straight.

  “Yang yang,” cried Yang Yang. “Yang yang.”

  “Hoo hoo,” sang Hoo Hoo. “Hoo hoo.”

  And while Hoo Hoo kept on calling a soft, low coaxing hoo hoo, Yang Yang kept on crying a hard, noisy, nagging yang yang till everybody in the house upstairs and down and everybody in the neighbor houses heard her yang-yanging.

  The shadow of the goose lifted its left wing a little, lifted its right foot a little, got up on its goose legs, and walked around and around in a circle on its goose feet. And every time it walked around in a circle, it came back to the same place it started from, with its left foot or right foot in the same foot spot it started from. Then it stayed there in the same place like a picture put there to look at, only it was a living picture with its neck sometimes sticking up straight in the air and sometimes bending in a long curving bend.

  Yang Yang threw the bedcovers off, slid out of bed, and ran downstairs yang-yanging for her mother. But Hoo Hoo sat up in bed laughing, counting her pink toes to see if there were ten pink toes the same as the morning before. And while she was counting her pink toes, she looked out of the corners of her eyes at the shadow of the goose on the wall.

  And again the shadow of the goose lifted its left wing a little, lifted its right foot a little, got up on its goose legs, and walked around and around in a circle on its goose feet. And every time it walked around in a circle, it came back to the same place it started from, with its left foot or right foot back in the same foot spot it started from. Then it stayed there in the same place where it put itself on the wall like a picture to look at, only it was a living picture with its neck sticking up straight in the air and then changing so its neck was bending in a long curving bend.

  And all the time little Hoo Hoo was sitting up in bed counting her pink toes and looking out of the corners of her eyes at the shadow of the goose.

  By and by little Hoo Hoo said, “Good morning—hoo hoo for you—and hoo hoo again, I was looking at the window when you came in. I saw you put yourself on the wall like a picture. I saw you begin to walk and come back where you started from with your neck sticking straight up and your neck bending in a bend. I give you good morning. I blow a hoo hoo to you. I blow two of a hoo hoo to you.”

  Then the shadow of a goose, as if to answer good morning, and as if to answer what Hoo Hoo meant by saying, “I blow two of a hoo hoo to you,” stretched its neck sticking up straight and long, longer than any time yet, and then bended its neck in more of a bend than any time yet.

  And all the time Hoo Hoo was sitting in bed feeling of her toes with her fingers to see if she had one toe for every finger, and to see if she had one pink little toe to match her one pink little finger, and to see if she had one fat, flat big toe to match her one fat, flat thumb.

  Then when the room was all quiet, the shadow of the goose lifted its left foot and began singing—singing just as the shadow of a goose always sings—with the left foot—very softly with the left foot—so softly you must listen with the softest little listeners you have deep inside your ears.

  And this was the song, this was the old-time, old-fashioned left foot song the shadow of the goose sang for Hoo Hoo:

  Be a yang yang if you want to.

  Be a hoo hoo if you want to.

  The yang yangs always yang in the morning.

  The hoo hoos always hoo in the morning.

  Early in the morning the putters sit putting,

  Putting on your nose, putting on your ears,

  Putting in your eyes and the lashes on your eyes,

  Putting on the chins of your chinny chin chins.

  And after singing the left-foot song the shadow of the goose walked around in a long circle, came back where it started from, stopped and stood still with the proud standstill of a goose, and then stretched its neck sticking up straight and long, longer than any time yet, and then bended its neck bent and twisted in longer bends than any time yet.

  Then the shadow took itself off the wall, fluttered and flickered along the ceiling and over the bed, flew out of the window and was gone, leaving Hoo Hoo all alone sitting up in bed counting her pink toes.

  Out of the corners of her eyes she looked up at the wall of the room, at the place where the shadow of the goose put itself like a picture. And there she saw a shadow spot. She looked and saw it was a left foot, the same left foot that had been singing the left-foot song.

  Soon Yang Yang came yang-yanging into the room holding to her mother’s apron. Hoo Hoo told her mother all the happenings that happened. The mother wouldn’t believe it. Then Hoo Hoo pointed up to the wall, to the left foot, the shadow spot left behind by the shadow of the goose when it took itself off the wall.

  And now when Yang Yang and Hoo Hoo sleep all night with their eyes shut and wake up in the morning with their eyes open, sometimes they say, “Our Oklahoma home is in Oklahoma,” and sometimes they sing:

  Be a yang yang and yang yang if you want to.

  Be a hoo hoo and hoo hoo if you want to.

  One Story About Big People Now and Little People Long Ago

  PEOPLE:

  Peter Potato Blossom Wishes

  Three whispering cats

  Hannah

  Hannah More

  Susquehannah

  Hoorn Slimmer

  HOW A SKYSCRAPER AND A RAILROAD TRAIN GOT PICKED UP AND CARRIED AWAY FROM PIG’S EYE VALLEY FAR IN THE PICKAX MOUNTAINS

  PETER POTATO BLOSSOM Wishes sat with her three cats, Hannah, Hannah More, and Susquehannah, one spring morning.

  She was asking different kinds of questions of the three cats. But she always got the same answers no matter what she asked them.

  They were whispering cats. Hannah was a yes-yes cat and always whispered yes-yes and nothing else. Hannah Mo
re was a no-no cat and always whispered no-no and nothing else. And Susquehannah was a stuttering cat and whispered halfway between yes and no, always hesitating and nothing else.

  “The bye-low is whistling his bye-low and bye-low again,” Peter said to herself with a murmur. “It is spring in the tall timbers and over the soft black lands. The hoo hoo and the biddywiddies come north to make a home again. The booblow blossoms put their cool white lips out into the blue mist. Every way I point my ears, there is a bye-low whistling his bye-low and bye-low again. The spring in the timbers and black lands calls to the spring aching in my heart.”

  Now the three whispering cats heard what Peter Potato Blossom Wishes was murmuring to herself about the spring heartache.

  And Hannah, the yes-yes cat, answered yes-yes. Hannah More, the no-no cat, answered no-no. And Susquehannah, the stuttering cat, hesitated halfway between yes-yes and no-no.

  And Peter rubbed their fur the right way, scratched them softly between the ears, and murmured to herself, “It is a don’t-care morning—I don’t care.”

  And that morning her heart gave a hoist and a hist when she saw a speck of a blackbird spot far and high in the sky. Coming nearer, it hummed, zoomed, hong whonged . . . shut off the hong whong . . . stoplocked and droplocked . . . and came down on the ground like a big easy bird with big wings stopped.

  Hoom Slimmer slid out, wiped his hands on the oil rags, put a smear of axle grease on Peter’s chin, kissed her on the nose, patted her ears two pats—and then they went into the house and had a late breakfast, which was her second breakfast and his first.

  “I flew till I came to Pig’s Eye Valley in the Pickax Mountains,” Hoom Slimmer told her. “The pickax pigs there run digging with their pickax feet and their pickax snouts. They are lean, long-legged pigs with pockets all over, fat pocket ears ahead and fat pocket tails behind, and the pockets full of rusty dust. They dip their noses in their pockets, sniff their noses full of rusty dust, and sneeze the rusty dust in each other’s wrinkly, wriggly, wraggly faces.

  “I took out a buzz shovel and scraper, pushed on the buzzer, and watched it dig and scrape out a city. The houses came to my ankles. The factories came to my knees. The top of the roof of the highest skyscraper came up to my nose.

  “A spider ran out of a cellar. A book fell out of his mouth. It broke into rusty dust when I took hold of it. One page I saved. The reading on it said millions of people had read the book and millions more would read it.”

  Hoom Slimmer reached into a pocket. He took out in his hand a railroad train with an engine hooked on ahead, and a smoking car, coaches, and sleeping cars hooked on behind.

  “I cleaned it nice for you, Peter,” he said. “But the pickax pigs sneezed rusty dust on it. Put it in your handkerchief.”

  “And now,” he went on, “I will wrap off the wrappers on the skyscraper. . . . Look at it! . . . It is thirty stories high. On top is a flagpole for a flag to go up. Halfway down is a clock, with the hands gone. On the first floor is a restaurant with signs, ‘Watch Your Hats and Overcoats.’ Here is the office of the building, with a sign on the wall, ‘Be Brief.’ Here the elevators ran up and down in a hurry. On doors are signs, bankers, doctors, lawyers, life insurance, fire insurance, steam hoist and operating engineers, bridge and structural iron and steel construction engineers, stocks, bonds, securities, architects, writers, detectives, window cleaners, jewelry, diamonds, cloaks, suits, shirts, sox, silk, wool, cotton, lumber, brick, sand, corn, oats, wheat, paper, ink, pencils, knives, guns, land, oil, coal, one door with a big sign, ‘We Buy and Sell Anything,’ another door, ‘We Fix Anything,’ and more doors, ‘None Such,’ ‘The World’s Finest,’ ‘The Best in the World,’ ‘Oldest Establishment in the World,’ ‘The World’s Greatest,’ ‘None Greater,’ ‘Greatest in the World,’ ‘Greatest Ever Known.’” And Hoom Slimmer put his arms around the skyscraper, lifted it on his shoulder, and carried it upstairs where Peter Potato Blossom Wishes said to put it, in a corner of her sleeping room. And she took out of her handkerchief the railroad train with the engine hooked on ahead and the smoking car, coaches, and sleeping cars hooked on behind. And she put the railroad train just next to the bottom floor of the skyscraper so people on the train could step off the train and step right into the skyscraper.

  “Little railroad trains and little skyscrapers are just as big for little people as big railroad trains and big skyscrapers are for big people—is it not such?” she asked Hoom Slimmer.

  And for an answer he gave her a looking glass half as long as her little finger and said, “The women in that skyscraper used to look at themselves from head to foot in that looking glass.”

  Then Peter sang out like a spring birdsong, “Now we are going to forget the pickax pigs sneezing rusty dust, and the Pig’s Eye Valley and the Pickax Mountains. We are going out where the bye-low is whistling his bye-low and bye-low again, where it is spring in the tall timbers and over the soft black lands, where the hoo hoo and the biddywiddies come north to make a home again and the booblow blossoms put their cool white lips out into the blue mist.”

  And they sat under a tree where the early green of spring crooned in the black branches, and they could hear Hannah, Hannah More, and Susquehannah whispering yes-yes, no-no, and a hesitating stutter halfway between yes-yes, and no-no, always hesitating.

  Three Stories About the Letter X and How It Got into the Alphabet

  PEOPLE:

  An oyster king

  Shovel Ears

  Pig Wisps

  The men who change the alphabets

  A river lumber king

  Kiss Me

  Flax Eyes

  Wildcats

  A rich man

  Blue Silver

  Her playmates, singing

  There are six hundred different stories told in the Rootabaga Country about the first time the letter X got into the alphabet and how and why it was. The author has chosen three of the shortest and strangest of those stories, and they are told in the next and following pages.

  PIG WISPS

  THERE WAS AN oyster king far in the south who knew how to open oysters and pick out the pearls.

  He grew rich, and all kinds of money came rolling in on him because he was a great oyster opener and knew how to pick out the pearls.

  The son of this oyster king was named Shovel Ears. And it was hard for him to remember.

  “He knows how to open oysters, but he forgets to pick out the pearls,” said the father of Shovel Ears.

  “He is learning to remember worse and worse and to forget better and better,” said the father of Shovel Ears.

  Now in that same place far in the south was a little girl with two braids of hair twisted down her back and a face saying, “Here we come—where from?”

  And her mother called her Pig Wisps.

  Twice a week Pig Wisps ran to the butcher shop for a soupbone. Before starting, she crossed her fingers and then the whole way to the butcher shop kept her fingers crossed.

  If she met any playmates and they asked her to stop and play crosstag or jackstones or all-around-the-mulberry-bush or the-green-grass-grew-all-around or drop-the-handkerchief, she told them, “My fingers are crossed, and I am running to the butcher shop for a soupbone.”

  One morning running to the butcher shop, she bumped into a big queer boy and bumped him flat on the sidewalk.

  “Did you look where you were running?” she asked him.

  “I forgot again,” said Shovel Ears. “I remember worse and worse. I forget better and better.”

  “Cross your fingers like this,” said Pig Wisps, showing him how.

  He ran to the butcher shop with her, watching her keep her fingers crossed till the butcher gave her the soupbone.

  “After I get it, then the soupbone reminds me to go home with it,” she told him. “But until I get the soupbone, I keep my fingers crossed.”

  Shovel Ears went to his father and began helping his father open oysters. And Shovel Ears kept his fingers cros
sed to remind him to pick out the pearls.

  He picked a hundred buckets of pearls the first day and brought his father the longest slippery, shining rope of pearls ever seen in that oyster country.

  “How do you do it?” his father asked.

  “It is the crossed fingers—like this,” said Shovel Ears, crossing his fingers like the letter X. “This is the way to remember better and forget worse.”

  It was then the oyster king went and told the men who change the alphabets just what happened.

  When the men who change the alphabets heard just what happened, they decided to put in a new letter, the letter X, near the end of the alphabet, the sign of the crossed fingers.

  On the wedding day of Pig Wisps and Shovel Ears, the men who change the alphabets all came to the wedding with their fingers crossed.

  Pig Wisps and Shovel Ears stood up to be married. They crossed their fingers. They told each other they would remember their promises.

  And Pig Wisps had two ropes of pearls twisted down her back and a sweet young face saying, “Here we come—where from?”

  KISS ME

  MANY YEARS AGO when pigs climbed chimneys and chased cats up into the trees, away back, so they say, there was a lumber king who lived in a river city with many wildcats in the timbers nearby.

  And the lumber king said, “I am losing my hair and my teeth, and I am tired of many things; my only joy is a daughter who is a dancing shaft of light on the ax handles of morning.”