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By Paul Dana
©2005 Paul Dana. All rights reserved. Used by permission only or for review purposes. Contact the author or publisher. Illustrations by John R. Neill revised by Joe Bongiorno. |
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THE MAGIC PICTURE
Jellia Jamb was stripping Ojo’s bed. Button-Bright watched the cheerful little maid from his own bed just opposite. Until now he’d never minded her visits to the suite he shared with his best friend Ojo, here in the Emerald City. Indeed, Jellia was a beloved fixture at the Royal Palace. This particular visit, however, he considered a trifle hasty. “Jellia,” the boy ventured. “Do you have to?” “Certainly,” replied Jellia. “Ojo’s gone. No reason to let the bedding get stale.” “But he made his own bed this morning, same as always,” Button-Bright argued. “Maybe he wanted you to leave it till he comes back.” “A tidy boy like Ojo? I doubt it.” Jellia seized the pillow and shook it briskly from its pale green case. “Anyway, that lesson plan of his is sure to keep him busy for months. You must have seen it. Queen Lurline wrote it out in her own hand, all forty-eight chapters of it. Yes, I’m sure he’ll be spending at least three months in the Land of An, if not more. Would you please help me with this?” He got up and took one end of a pale green top sheet. It was just a week since he had wished himself, quite by accident, into the dim reaches of Oz history. His best friend had followed him there, but before they could find each other poor Ojo had swallowed Queen Lurline’s own Magic Loaf, crammed with concentrated fairy magic. Awesome powers had descended upon him, unexpected and unsought. When Button-Bright first learned this, his reaction had been one of uncharacteristic anxiety. What would happen to Ojo? Sure enough, Queen Lurline had invited the Munchkin boy to her own country, the Land of An, for magic tutorials. And Princess Ozma had agreed! “I wish you’d saved half that Magic Loaf for me,” Button-Bright had told Ojo. “Then we’d both be magic and I could go to An with you.” “Don’t say that!” Ojo had protested. “It’s not what you think. It’s like having so much strength that you break everything you touch. I’m almost afraid to move, or even think! I wish it had never happened at all.” This made no sense to Button-Bright, then or now. He said as much to Jellia Jamb. “Think how much fun it would be if the two of us had the same power. We could go anywhere and do anything. We’d be free as birds!” “Seems to me you’re free already,” said Jellia. “Magic or no magic.” “Then why is it that Ojo’s gone and I’m stuck here?” Jellia laughed. “You know very well why. Ojo went to study, not to play. Maybe later, when he’s made some progress, you can visit him. Not before. Help me with this muslin slipcover, won’t you?” By the time she’d finished up and bustled away, Ojo’s bed had taken on a distinctly un-lived-in appearance. That, and the resounding silence that seemed to fill the little suite, were more than Button-Bright could endure. He soon took to the Palace hallways in search of companionship. Until lately he’d never minded finding himself alone. He even enjoyed an occasional bit of solitude and had, as a result, earned a reputation for getting lost. It was a habit that worried others a great deal more than it worried him. What did worry him, it turned out, was getting left behind by his best friend. Did other people feel this way when he left them behind? The echo of his own footsteps followed him down the corridors. What company could he rustle up? The Scarecrow had gone to his own small palace in the Winkie Country, with Jack Pumpkinhead in tow. Doubtless they were spending jolly afternoons with their old companion the Tin Woodman, at his nearby tin castle. Dorothy, along with Shaggy Man and the Wizard, had been sent by Ozma to the Gillikin Country, where an odd new tribe required investigation. Who, then? What about Grandma Natch? This thought brought a smile to Button-Bright’s lips. Grandma Natch was a cantankerous old Yookoohoo who had befriended him during his journey to the past. He’d promised to visit her one day, far off in the Forest of Gugu where she lived, and now would be just the time to keep that promise. It would be a long trip, but getting there was usually half the fun in Oz. Grinning, he quickened his steps. Here was the door to the royal chambers. Now it occurred to Button-Bright that he could ask the Magic Picture to show him what Grandma Natch was doing at that very moment. It could show him Ojo too, for that matter. Ozma’s door always stood open to her friends. Thoroughly cheered, he stepped across the threshold. He paused again almost at once. Someone else had gotten there first. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, so absorbed in the Magic Picture that she never heard Button-Bright’s footsteps behind her, was tiny Trot, a fellow American who had sought refuge in Oz with her devoted Cap’n Bill. Cap’n Bill was nowhere to be seen. Trot watched the Picture alone, and Button-Bright sensed that he had stumbled onto a private moment. A private moment was something he understood very well. He backed toward the door. Then his gaze fastened on the Picture. What he saw there was a room, oddly familiar: a kitchen that could exist only beyond the borders of Oz. Where? And the woman who moved across it, elderly yet spry – surely he knew her too. He walked forward till he stood beside Trot. Trot’s eyes never left the Magic Picture. But she reached out and took Button-Bright’s hand in hers, a simple gesture that told him he might stay and watch. He knelt down beside her. The woman in the Picture was dishing stew onto simple wooden plates. Every time she filled two plates, she whisked them to a table where five men, older than she, patiently awaited their dinner. One man, reaching for his plate, brushed a fork to the floor. It must have made quite a noise, for all five men jumped as if a cannon had gone off, and the woman snapped at her clumsy guest. He did not seem to mind much. When her back was turned, he and his mates grinned at one another. The woman served herself last, at the head of the table, and they all began to eat. Trot broke the silence. “Do you recognize her?” she asked. “Besides Cap’n Bill and me, you’re the only person around here who ever met her. But it was a long time ago and you didn’t stay long.” Button-Bright gave a low whistle. “It’s your mother, isn’t it? All the way out in California. Well, I’ll be.” “She turned our place into a home for retired sailors,” Trot informed him. “Mrs. Griffith’s Boarding House. Does she seem old to you? She doesn’t to me. But then, I look in on her pretty often, so maybe I don’t notice the changes.” “She looks fine,” asserted Button-Bright. Like his friend Grandma Natch, Mrs. Griffith had the stubborn look of one who would not let old age slow her down. She had a certain softness too, especially in the way she laughed at the things her boarders said. Button-Bright remembered that about her, as well as her short temper and sharp tongue. She had treated him kindly during his brief visit. “How long have you been looking in on her, Trot?” he asked. “Oh, ages,” answered the girl. “Ever since I heard about the Magic Picture. The first few times she was all in black. I guess she figured Cap’n Bill and I got drowned at sea. Later she started taking in boarders, and that’s what she’s done ever since. I think she’s happy.” “I think so too,” agreed Button-Bright, watching. He did not like to say how amazed he was at the years that must have gone by. Time meant little in the Land of Oz, where the seasons fled away and age left its mark on no one. On Mrs. Griffith’s face it had etched the tale of a long life nearer its end than its beginning. “The old salts seem to like her.” “Maybe they’re accustomed to taking orders,” Trot reflected. She sighed, then looked at her companion. “What about you, Button-Bright? Don’t you ever ask the Magic Picture to show you your mother?” “I didn’t know my mother much,” he responded with a small shrug. “She died when I was little.” “Really?” This took Trot by surprise. “How come you never told me that before?” “The subject never came up. I don’t think about it much.” “But you must think about it sometimes,” the girl insisted. “Don’t you miss her?” Button-Bright shook his head. “Not really. You can’t miss someone you barely remember.” “Maybe not. But what about the rest of your family? All those von Smiths! I know you remember your father because you’ve mentioned him. Your uncle, too. What’s his name?” “Uncle Bob,” Button-Bright supplied. “Yes, I remember them. And the rest of my uncles. And Grandmamma von Smith. They raised me, after all.” “Well, then. Have you ever watched them in the Picture?” “I never thought to try,” admitted Button-Bright, and immediately wondered why he hadn’t. These memories lay buried within him, and on their way to the surface they seemed to scrape at his insides. He said, “Papa’s dead, too. He died when I was eleven. I remember everybody dressed up in black, just like your mother when she thought you were dead. Then I remember staying on with Grandmamma.” “What did your papa die of?” Trot wondered. “Something to do with his heart. He was older than you might think. He had six brothers, all younger, and Uncle Bob was the youngest of all. I liked Uncle Bob. Come to think of it, it’s because of Uncle Bob that I’m here right now. Here in Oz, I mean.” Trot did not comprehend this, so Button-Bright went on. “I liked Uncle Bob because he understood about my getting lost. In those days, Trot, I got lost even more than I do now. Can’t say why, exactly. I just did. Papa and Grandmamma had fits, especially the time I went to Oz with Dorothy and Shaggy Man and Polychrome. I was only four and we were gone such a long time.” “I’ve heard,” said Trot. “And then you took that trip to Sky Island with Cap’n Bill and me.” “Another long one. What a ruckus my family made! I was several years older then and you’d think they might have calmed down. But they hadn’t. Except for Uncle Bob. He said I had the Wanderlust, which he knew about because he had the Wanderlust himself. His house was full of strange things from other countries.” Trot nodded. Cap’n Bill, in his seafaring days, had collected a small treasure trove from around the world. Every item had a story that went with it, and Trot had loved settling into Cap’n Bill’s lap while he told one story after another. But she was not to be distracted. “What did Uncle Bob have to do with your coming to Oz?” she asked again. “I’m getting to that,” said Button-Bright. “You remember it was my Magic Umbrella that took us to Sky Island? Well, after I got home that time, Papa locked the Magic Umbrella up in the attic. And it was still there when he died, three years later. I became pretty unhappy then, partly because I missed Papa and partly because Grandmamma didn’t like me much. She agreed that I had the Wanderlust, but when she said it she made it sound awful. ‘He didn’t inherit it from me!’ she always said. So I spent most of my time at Uncle Bob’s. Or as much as I could. And one day he said he had a present for me.” “A birthday present?” “No, not a birthday present. It was the key to the attic.” That did not sound to Trot like much of a present. “Oh, but it was!” Button-Bright assured her. “Uncle Bob had a funny way about him. He almost never came out and told you what he thought. Some people didn’t like that, but it seemed natural enough to me. Somehow, he and I always understood each other. When he gave me that key he said, ‘You need this, Button-Bright, because you’re young and you have the Wanderlust.’ And I knew exactly what he meant.” “What did he mean?” asked Trot, mystified. “Why, that if I wanted to leave home I should do it. Because this key was the key to that locked attic where Papa kept the Magic Umbrella.” “Oh! And once you found that, you could fly back to fairyland.” Trot nodded. “Now I see.” “Right. I said goodbye to Uncle Bob and then I flew to all the places I’d heard about at Ozma’s birthday party: Ix, Ev, Merryland and Mo, where you found me in a popcorn snowbank. It was a good thing you did, too, because I’d lost the Magic Umbrella. Or rather, I’d sent it home.” “Sent it home? To your Grandmamma?” “Not to her. To Uncle Bob, with a note that read, ‘Having fun. Thanks for everything. BB.’ I signed it ‘BB’ because grownups like notes that you sign with your initials. I wrote the note, tied it to the Umbrella and said, ‘Fly home to Uncle Bob in Philadelphia.’ And away it went.” “Did it ever get there?” “I don’t know. I never thought to check.” Trot laughed and shook her head. “That’s you all over, Button-Bright: off on some adventure and never a thought for what you’ve left behind.” “What do you mean?” asked the boy, startled. “Why, think about it,” said Trot. “When Cap’n Bill and I left home, it wasn’t because we up and decided. No, a whirlpool carried us off so we couldn’t get back, even though we wanted to. But you just opened your Umbrella and waved goodbye. You left it all behind. The least you could do is check on your Uncle Bob.” “What? Now?” “Of course now! We’re here, the Magic Picture’s here. Don’t you want to find out what happened to him?” Button-Bright considered. What would it be like? He had almost forgotten his Uncle, but now, having remembered again, he felt a powerful urge to see him. At the same time, he felt that to do so would somehow change him forever. How, he did not know. “All right,” he said finally. “We’ll do it.” “Good!” cried Trot, clapping her hands. “You ask. He’s your uncle.” The affair seemed to have acquired its own momentum. Button-Bright faced the Magic Picture and took a deep breath. “Show me my Uncle Bob,” he said. “In Philadelphia. Or wherever he is right now. Please.” At once the Picture shifted to a room he recognized. Papa had used it as a study long ago, and most of his old furniture still remained. Bent over the fine mahogany desk sat a gentleman in late middle age, silver-haired and rather handsome, though perhaps a little tired. For an instant Button-Bright thought it was Papa, returning to complete some great work he’d left unfinished when he died. But no. Those eyes, with their kindly and rueful droop, could only belong to one person. “Is that him?” asked Trot. Button-Bright nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s Uncle Bob.” “And that thing hanging above the desk -- just there, on the wall. Is that your Magic Umbrella?” “Where?” Button-Bright leaned forward, barely breathing. Then he whispered, “You’re right.” Because of the angle, it looked almost as if it hung suspended in midair over Uncle Bob’s head. There could be no doubt, though; it was certainly the Magic Umbrella, large as ever and very much at home. Attached to its handle, furthermore, was a small scrap of paper that could have been Button-Bright’s own note, signed “BB.” The boy felt certain that it was. And the sight of it, preserved where Uncle Bob could see it every day, sent a pang through him. He looked at Trot. “I have to go there,” he said. Trot’s eyebrows shot up. “Go? You mean, in person?” “Yes,” said Button-Bright. “But why? He doesn’t look like he’s in trouble. I don’t think he’s sick. Why go there?” “Because he remembers!” Button-Bright said helplessly. How else to express the feelings that washed over him when he saw the Magic Umbrella on Uncle Bob’s wall, or that grubby shred of paper clinging to its handle? “But won’t it upset him?” Trot protested. “My mother has her life all squared away, neat as a pin. If I burst through the door right now she’d faint. Or have a heart attack. It wouldn’t help anything.” There was no rational answer to this, and Button-Bright didn’t attempt one. He simply held out till Trot knew he meant what he said. “Looks like you’ve decided,” she sighed. “All right, then. Might as well ask Ozma to send you there today. Just promise you won’t get lost, all right?” Button-Bright knew better than to make that kind of promise. As for Trot, she knew better than to expect it.
BACK IN PHILADELPHIA
Princess Ozma heard Button-Bright’s tale, it seemed, with more than her customary warmth and sympathy. All troubled souls found a ready listener in the girl ruler, whose throne room stood open to them each morning before lunch. So it did not surprise Button-Bright that she, sovereign of all Oz, should sit down to hear his small story. What did surprise him was the personal interest she took in it. “My dear friend,” she said. “Without knowing it, you and I have stumbled onto similar roads.” “Similar? How so?” Ozma smiled. “It was you yourself who brought it about. When you and Ojo made your journey into the past, you re-discovered the truth behind our legends of Queen Lurline, the fairy who made Oz a fairyland. You showed me that her heritage, and mine, is not lost but can still be found, far off in the Land of An.” “Queen Lurline said you came from there, Ozma,” Button-Bright remembered. “Indeed. But what do I know of An, the land where I was born? Nothing, for I was only a baby when Lurline brought me here.” Button-Bright nodded. “That’s why she picked you. She didn’t want some grownup who wouldn’t fit in here. She wanted you to be Oz through and through. And you are, Ozma.” “Yes,” the Princess acknowledged proudly. “Yes, I am. Oz is my life and I hope it will be so forever. All the same, now that I know my birthplace is a real country I can visit, with real air I can breathe, I feel that I must go there. I want to see what sort of people Lurline rules. I want to explore my own past.” Understanding dawned in Button-Bright’s face. “Now I see. It’s just like when Ojo and I traveled back to the beginning of Oz. You want to go back to your own beginnings.” “Yes, Button-Bright. And so do you. That’s exactly what we both want.” They smiled at each other, as friends do when they uncover a common bond they had never suspected. “I have to admit, though,” Ozma went on, “that this journey frightens me a little.” Button-Bright’s eyes widened. “Really? I think mine frightens me too! And yet I don’t know why it should. Why are you frightened, Ozma?” “Many reasons, I suppose. Perhaps the biggest is that I’m afraid I’ll be changed somehow. In fact, I’m sure I will.” “Changed?” Button-Bright considered this. “In what way?” “Changed as anyone is changed when they find out something new. Of course I can’t say now what that change will be like. Even after I’ve gone to An and spent a few days with Queen Lurline, it will be hard to imagine what new feelings I’ll bring home to Oz. Yes, no doubt I’ll be different. And that is not an easy thing to face.” The boy’s face darkened. “Ojo will be changed,” he said. “When he comes back from An. I know he will. And maybe, if I go to visit Uncle Bob, I’ll change too. Maybe we’ll both change so much that, when we see each other again . . .” He couldn’t find words to finish the thought. “You’ll lose your best friend?” Ozma guessed. He nodded, silent. “Button-Bright, that is one thing you need never fear. Whatever happens to Ojo, he will always be the most loyal and loving fellow in Oz. He will not change that way. And I don’t think you will either.” Button-Bright pressed her hand gratefully. “So you think I should see Uncle Bob?” he said. “I do. If you’re ready now, I’ll use the Magic Belt to send you there at once.” Button-Bright was ready. They returned to Ozma’s boudoir and she fastened the Magic Belt around her waist. Before doing more, however, she made him a small gift. “Take this emerald ring,” Ozma said. “Not to wear but to keep safe in your pocket. When you’re ready to return here from Philadelphia, just put on the ring and say, ‘Ozma.’” Wherever I am, I’ll hear your voice as clearly as if you stood at my side. Then I’ll use the Magic Belt to bring you home. After all, we don’t want to lose you forever!” Button-Bright pocketed the emerald ring and hugged his royal benefactor. Then he squared his boyish shoulders. “I guess I’d better go.” Ozma placed her palms on the Magic Belt. “Send Button-Bright to his Uncle Bob in Philadelphia!” she commanded. In all the world there was no magic swifter or simpler than this belt. Button-Bright felt nothing. He merely saw Ozma’s bedchamber transformed quietly to a somber American study. Before him, still absorbed in his work, sat an unwitting Uncle Bob. Button-Bright hesitated. It seemed odd, almost dreamlike, to be back in this room after so many years. Now that he’d arrived he didn’t know quite how to begin. So he walked around the great dark desk and took a closer look at the Magic Umbrella, with its worn canvas and its hastily scrawled message. The note was indeed his own. Someone in the Land of Mo, he remembered, had lent him pen and paper to write it. Its dusty, yellowing fragility seemed oddly venerable, like an artifact in a museum. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Uncle Bob had turned around in his chair. His lined face wore a look of mingled disbelief and gladness. “Button-Bright,” he said wonderingly. “It’s really you. Did you come by magic?” The sound of his voice, just a notch deeper than it had been when last they met, made Button-Bright feel suddenly at ease. “Yes, Uncle Bob. I thought I’d stop by for a visit.” Uncle Bob smiled the old kind smile that went so well with his sad-dog eyes. “Why, that’s just what I’ve been wishing you’d do,” he replied. “Though it seemed impossible. I got your note, as you see, so of course I never worried. I’ve just wondered sometimes whatever became of you. Where did you go? Where do you live?” “That’s easy enough,” Button-Bright grinned. “I live in Oz, Uncle Bob. Have you heard of it?” Uncle Bob had, it turned out, and he seemed glad now when his nephew described it to him. He never doubted a word but listened with shining eyes as the boy added detail upon detail. Most of all it pleased him to know that his nephew lived among such loving friends as Ojo, Ozma, Trot and the others. Last came an account of the Magic Picture and how, before sending him here, Ozma had given him her emerald ring. “So you can stay as long as you like,” said Uncle Bob. “That makes me very happy, and not just because I’m glad to see you. The truth is there are things I’ve wanted to tell you – things you would have been told long ago if I’d had my way.” “What kinds of things?” “Things about yourself, mainly. And a few about me as well. Are you hungry? Should I have Cook send up some lunch before I explain?” This sounded like a good idea, so Uncle Bob hurried off downstairs. By the time he reappeared with a tray full of food, Button-Bright had crawled onto a window seat and was watching the scene below. “It’s starting to rain,” the boy reported. “Maybe Polychrome is lost and her father is coming after her.” “Polychrome?” “The Rainbow’s Daughter. She’s an old friend of mine, though I don’t see her as much as I’d like. Actually, she’s the one other person who gets lost as often as I do. Her father, the Rainbow, always has to track her down. What’s for lunch?” A beaming Uncle Bob placed his tray on the desk. “The classic American feast! Thanksgiving was day before yesterday, so we’re still polishing off the leftovers. There’s turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, and heaven knows what else. Grab a plate.” Button-Bright needed no urging. It was during a leisurely meal that Uncle Bob began his tale. “I’ll start,” he said, “with the Magic Umbrella. How well I remember your first trip with it, the way you disappeared for days and finally turned up on my doorstep, Umbrella in hand. You were only nine years old! I was surprised, you’ll recall, but not as surprised as I might have been.” “You were never much surprised by the things I did,” said Button-Bright. “True. In this case, however, my not-surprise had a particular reason. I already knew about the Magic Umbrella. I’d taken a few jaunts with it myself.” “You, Uncle Bob?” This caught Button-Bright unawares. Uncle Bob laughed. “Yes, my boy, your musty old uncle has actually had adventures of his own. It was a long time ago, a good forty-one years in fact, when I was about sixteen.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Button-Bright demanded, rather miffed to find that his favorite uncle had secrets. “I actually planned to, a few years later. But you were only nine when you found the Umbrella, and I thought that was too young for magical adventures. Now I see how wrong I was. If anything, sixteen is a little too old!” “It isn’t,” Button-Bright contradicted. “Trot’s Cap’n Bill was much older than that when he came to Oz. And Shaggy Man’s not young, either. Or the Wizard.” Uncle Bob said he’d take the boy’s word on this. “Maybe it’s how old you feel,” he mused. “Responsibilities will add a few years if you let them. And I do have responsibilities: property, business, workers, lots of things that keep me anchored right where I am. Just now, for example, even though it’s Saturday, I’m occupied with papers I brought home from the office. I envy you, Button-Bright.” “What about your adventures?” Button-Bright reminded him, drumming his heels impatiently against his chair legs. “Where did you go? What did you do?” A faraway look crept into Uncle Bob’s eyes. “None of it would have happened,” he said, “without my crazy, wonderful Aunt Meg.”
UNCLE BOB’S STORY Aunt Meg, it seemed, was the black sheep of the von Smith family. She had too much spirit, too many opinions and too little respect for her elders, or for just about anyone else in the family. She liked her nephew Bob, however, and on his sixteenth birthday she took him aside. Before she was finished he’d sworn a blood oath, the direst oath she could think of, not to reveal her secret till he found exactly the right person. Bob swore, naturally, and she told him about the Magic Umbrella. With the Magic Umbrella, Bob learned, Aunt Meg had traveled the world. She had even visited places beyond their world, including a mysterious country called Oz. Now she had grown too old for such jaunts, she said, and the time had come to pass on her secret treasure. She took the Magic Umbrella from its hiding place and set it in Bob’s hands. He tried it out as soon as he could. After the first thrill of flight had palled, though, he got to thinking about magic. “This Umbrella is real magic,” he thought. “Not some carnival trick but real, authentic, honest-to-goodness magic. And there’s got to be more magic, magic that this Umbrella can help me find. All I need to do is make the right wish.” Young Bob knew the fairy tales about wishes that ended in humiliation or disaster, and he did not care to end his own adventures that way. So he took the time to plan his wish carefully. He wrote it down, crossed it out and wrote it again. He felt sure he was the cleverest fellow in Philadelphia. And when it was done he made his wish. “Umbrella,” he said, “take me to the home of the strongest magic there is.” Just that. And away he went. It was a colossal mistake. Eating breakfast beforehand was the one bright thing he did, for the journey lasted many hours. He reached his unknown destination in the dead of night, exhausted and aching for rest. What sort of place he had found, he could not say. He slept where he lay. Hours later, he awoke to the pleasant spectacle of a grassy dell dotted with wildflowers. He heard birds singing, and a sweet breeze among the daisies. Sweeter than the breeze, though, and surely not far off, was the sound of a stream in its stony bed. Beside him sat a little girl with flowers in her hair. “Excuse me,” said Bob. “Can you tell me where to find the stream I hear?” “Oh course,” said she. “It’s just beyond this rise. You can’t miss it.” He stood and walked up the rise, whistling as he went. Perhaps this trip would turn out better than it had seemed at first. Below he saw the stream, right where the little girl had said. He started down, expecting to get his drink in half a minute. But a minute went by and he was still walking. “It’s some trick of the light,” he thought, for the stream looked further away than before. He kept on, a little faster now, and still he didn’t reach it. He broke into a run and soon found himself slipping and slithering down a scree of loose shale and stones. The stream had vanished altogether, but by now he was moving so quickly that he couldn’t stop. He seemed to be falling, clutching at rocks that came away in his hands and fell with him. Everywhere was the sound of falling rocks, like malicious laughter in his ears. When he finally hit bottom a small avalanche rained on top of him, battering and bruising him till he groaned with the pain of it. He raised his head. To his astonishment he found himself lying, not at the foot of a steep hill, but in a muddy ditch. The rocks had gone. Above he saw the little girl’s face, peering over a grassy verge. ‘There’s the stream,” she said brightly. “Why don’t you drink?” Dazed, Bob looked down. He was lying in two or three inches of filthy, stagnant water that smelled of rot and decay. A deathly cold rose from that black water, filling him with fear. It seemed to him that if he could not scramble out at once he would surely die. But as soon as he reached out with his hands he saw the little girl’s face, and the grassy verge, lifting upward away from him. The ditch was transformed into a deep well whose top rose up and up, higher and higher, till only a pinprick of sky remained overhead. Again, cruel laughter filled his ears. That was when he remembered his own idiotic wish: “the strongest magic there is.” He’d found that magic, sure enough, and it had taken him for a plaything. He sat back on his haunches and wept. Bob would never know how long he crouched there, wakeful and terrified, a prey to hunger and panic. At length he fell into a wretched sleep. When he roused, still in that same well, he knew the horror of despair. His tormenters had left him to perish, slowly, in the cold depths of the earth. Then he heard a voice. Where it came from he couldn’t tell. It seemed to whisper, “By your left hand is a mug of hot milk. Drink.” His body stiffened. He feared another trick, like the stream. But the voice told true. His fingers closed round something small and solid, his lips tasted something warm and delicious. He pulled up his knees and sipped, as a child might sip hot chocolate after a long day in the snow. Drop by drop the hot milk penetrated his frozen body and warmed his being. He began to feel alive again. That same voice whispered, “By your right foot is a dish of porridge. Eat.” This time he did not hesitate. He seized the porridge, complete with its own spoon, and ate gratefully. More followed, and still more, till his hunger had gone. He ventured to thank his unknown friend, as well as to ask his name and the name of this horrid place. “My name is Jandilay,” the voice whispered. “But because I keep to myself, others call me Hermit. I am a Phanfasm, unfortunate stranger, and this is the Mountain Phantastico.” The words meant nothing to Uncle Bob. He admitted as much. “Of course,” whispered Jandilay. “No one who had heard of us would dare come to our Mountain as you have done. Know, then, that of all evil spirits in this world, the Phanfasms are the cruelest and most powerful. No act is too vicious to give them joy, no wretch so miserable that they will pity him.” “But you have pitied me,” Bob managed to say. “Haven’t you?” A sigh was heard in that dreary place. Jandilay said, “I alone, of all the Phanfasms, am ruled by the tyrant Pity. I help poor strangers when I can. If you trust me, I will help you.” Bob had no choice. No sooner had he made up his mind, however, then Jandilay took fright. “The others are coming!” he whispered. “I must go. Be strong and don’t lose hope.” Suddenly, Bob’s prison walls fell away into echoing vastness, empty but for a dreadful weight of malice that pressed from all sides. Out of the blackness hideous faces appeared, more dreadful than any nightmare monster. Gaping jaws full of jagged teeth snapped at him, and eyes of fire raked across his body. Were these the Phanfasms themselves, or were they spirits sent to devour him? Too terrified to think, Bob fled into the night. The faces harried him mercilessly. He dodged them as best he could, through a darkness so complete that he couldn’t have said what ground he ran on. Never had he run so far so fast, or with so little hope. Soon it became clear that he was being herded, forced this way or that by beings who easily could have caught him if they wished, but who instead chose to run him down like a stag. It was as if they gorged themselves on his terror and drank his panic like wine. That same terror and panic kept him running no matter what, long past the point when his legs should have failed him. Perhaps he hoped that his heart would burst in his chest before they tore him to pieces. He simply ran while time stood still. All at once, just ahead, he saw a river of fire spanned by a single narrow bridge. Some fearsome creature barred the way, a crocodile, scarlet and glaring. He had no time to slow down before invisible hands caught him up and swung him bodily across this barrier. He felt the crocodile’s hot breath like sulphur in his throat. He screamed. Then he was running again, running and running through inky blackness, till he burst unexpectedly into a blaze of sunlight. That final shock finished him. His legs buckled and he tumbled headlong into something soft and springy. There he lay, dazzled and exhausted, while his lungs heaved up and down. Every moment, he thought, would bring the Phanfasms down on him. He closed his eyes and waited. Time passed, though, and gradually he became aware of the silence all around. This silence did not mock, as it had when he lay crumpled in the well. The air seemed fresh, even warm, and his springy bed smelled of green, growing things and rich soil. He moved his fingers; they closed on leaf and stem, bud and blossom. Could this be real? He opened his eyes. It was on a wild and weedy bank that he lay. Though it had a spare, uninhabited look, yet the place seemed, not exactly benign, but certainly not evil. He sat up. At once his heart leaped into his mouth. Beside him sat a pale boy, or young man, with a tiny child in his lap. Another apparition of the Phanfasms? He could run no more. He would meet his end here or wherever the creature dragged him, but he would not stir a step though they shrieked till sundown. Then the young man spoke. He was Jandilay! Bob almost wept with gratitude and relief. “Do not be afraid,” said Jandilay. “I am indeed a Phanfasm, and I’ve rescued you in the only way I can. You are safe now. You are free.” Safe and free, too, was the tiny boy who sat perched in Jandilay’s lap, alert and still, another rescued prisoner. This child, Jandilay said, had arrived mysteriously in the shape of a gray goose, cast onto the Mountain Phantastico by a storm that left him too battered and spent to say much. Jandilay had sensed that this goose’s natural form was something quite different. A simple spell restored him at once, to the shape of a tiny child. This would have been fine except that the child was so very young, probably less than two. He couldn’t speak and thus could tell Jandilay nothing about himself or where he belonged. Unless a home could be found for him, his future would be bleak indeed. At this point in the story, Uncle Bob’s voice trailed off and he seemed to fall into a reverie. Button-Bright waited a bit, then gently prompted him, “Some two-year olds talk a little. Don’t they?” “Oh, a few words here and there,” Uncle Bob said. “They can say Mamma and Papa, I suppose, and cat and dog. I’ve never had a child myself, so I’m no expert. But this one couldn’t talk at all. Jandilay was at a loss.” “Till you came along,” Button-Bright guessed. “Exactly. By sheer good timing, I became a foster-parent at the ripe old age of sixteen. Not that I didn’t put up a struggle. No teenager wants a child, and I was very much a teenager. But Jandilay had a trump card up his sleeve, or rather behind his back. Along with us castaways, it seems, he had thoughtfully rescued my Magic Umbrella. He had every intention of giving it back to me – if, that is, I agreed to take the child off his hands. If. How else could I get home? I took the child and flew away.” Button-Bright was agog. “You didn’t bring it here, did you?” he gasped. “I had to,” Uncle Bob replied. “I could hardly have left the poor thing at an orphanage.” “But it was a fairy baby!” Button-Bright marveled. “An actual baby from fairyland. In Philadelphia! Oh, Uncle Bob! What did you do with it?” “Well, by good fortune I had several brothers old enough to have gotten married already. The eldest had no children and no likelihood of getting any, as his wife was terribly ill. He needed something to live for and this child came as a gift from the gods. That was how my brother Ned became a father.” “Ned!” echoed Button-Bright, rising abruptly from his chair. “But – that was my father! Edward von Smith! Uncle Bob, there’s something crazy going on here. Are you telling me I had a brother? How could I have had a brother? And from fairyland! You’re not making any sense!” “Try to understand,” Uncle Bob said gently. “You never had a brother. There was only one child, the one that came from fairyland. That child was you.” “Me?” Uncle Bob placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Oh dear, I’m afraid I’ve bungled this whole story. If I’d known you were coming today I’d have planned it better. You were the child Jandilay found on the Mountain Phantastico. You were the child I carried home, strapped to my back while I clung to the Magic Umbrella. You were the child Ned presented to his sick wife. She gave you her blessing, Button-Bright, as well as your nickname. It was you all along.” Button-Bright shook his head dazedly. “I wish someone had thought to tell me sooner,” he said. “I wanted to!” Uncle Bob exclaimed fervently. “It would have been the best thing for everyone. My worst fear was that Grandmamma would spill the beans and make it sound like a curse. She didn’t know about the Magic Umbrella, of course, or the Phanfasms. No one did except me and Ned. She just knew you were a foundling, which in her eyes was bad enough. But Ned made every one of us promise to keep it a secret. And till today I kept that secret. Sorry, Ned, wherever you are.” “So I’m not his son at all,” Button-Bright murmured. “I’m not even your nephew.” “Well, legally you are,” Uncle Bob hedged. “Ned did adopt you almost at once. And as far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be my nephew. Out of all my nephews – and believe me, there are many – you’re the one I love best. But no, in reality you and the von Smiths are not related.” “Not related. Not even American.” Button-Bright shook his head. “You know, it actually fits.” “Fits?” Uncle Bob didn’t understand. “Well, it makes a strange kind of sense. It’s why I started getting lost. I didn’t know where I belonged.” “Ah.” Uncle Bob smiled ruefully. “Your Grandmamma said the same thing, only not in a nice way. It used to infuriate poor Ned. And the worst of it was he couldn’t disagree. Her attitude appalled him, but her facts were rock solid. You never really belonged to us. And Ned knew it.” “So did you,” said Button-Bright. He sat for a moment, pondering what he’d heard. Then he said, “I do love you, Uncle Bob. You and Father. Did you know that?” Uncle Bob laughed. “Well, you kept turning up on my doorstep, so I guess I knew. As for Ned, I’ll tell you what he told me. He said, ‘Now that my wife is dead, there are only two people who love me just as I am. You’re one, Bob, and the other is Button-Bright. Oh, it’s true he doesn’t show it most of the time. But every so often, when I least expect it, he crawls right up into my lap as if it were a nest made just for him. And I can tell there’s not one thing he would change, not one single detail out of place. I’ll miss him when he leaves us.” “He knew I’d leave?” “All parents know their children will leave one day. In your case, he and I both felt the leaving would come sooner and take you further away. Ned just wanted to put it off as long as possible. I wish we could tell him where you’ve ended up. He’d like that.” “I’d like to know where I started out!” Button-Bright declared, so emphatically that he surprised even himself. “No, really. You’ve told me who my parents aren’t, which is nothing to sneeze at. But you can’t tell me who they are. Your friend Jandilay should have explained that.” He thought of everyone who could help him unlock the secret of his origins: Glinda, the Wizard, Ozma, or even Grandma Natch, the Yookoohoo enchantress. Not a one, he felt sure, would fail him if he asked. He touched his shirt pocket and the hard lump inside it that was Ozma’s emerald ring. Should he put it on? Should he beg his powerful friends for help? No, he decided. There was a journey to make and he would make it by himself. He would follow the trail, get lost if he had to, and he would find his real parents wherever they might be. It was the only way. He stood up and walked toward the Magic Umbrella. Its familiar canvas felt old and worn and full of power – not a great power like Ozma’s or Glinda’s, but a small and determined power that would take him where he needed to go. He removed his old note from the elephant’s head handle and placed it on the desk. “I’ll go to Jandilay myself,” he said. This notion did not meet with Uncle Bob’s approval. Indeed, Button-Bright had to explain more than once that things had changed, that the dreaded Phanfasms were no longer what they had been. Not long ago, when they tried to invade Oz, the entire tribe had unwittingly drunk the Waters of Oblivion. All their wicked plans had been forgotten and they had been sent home, as blank as newborn babes. It would be perfectly safe, Button-Bright insisted, to seek out Jandilay at the Mountain Phantastico. And this was just what he meant to do. Uncle Bob remained unconvinced till he remembered the emerald ring, tucked away in the boy’s pocket. “Tell me the truth, now,” he said earnestly. “Will your friend Ozma really look after you? Will she help you if anything goes wrong?” Button-Bright promised him that she would. And with this assurance Uncle Bob gave in. “I don’t like it,” he repeated one last time. “But you’re more experienced in these matters than I am, and you’ve known dangers I could never imagine – you and your Wanderlust! Well, I suppose I’d better give you this.” He took the Magic Umbrella from its resting place and held it in his hands. If, for a moment, he seemed reluctant to let it go, Button-Bright felt somehow that it was not out of fear for an intrepid nephew’s safety. Uncle Bob, too, had known the Wanderlust, and perhaps it slept still in his heart, like a dream of things dimly remembered or never known. “I’ll come and see you again,” promised Button-Bright, “when I’ve found out who I am. I’ll come back and tell you all about it.” “I’ll count on that,” Uncle Bob said warmly. He handed over the Magic Umbrella and they walked to the window together. Through this window, which opened onto Uncle Bob’s narrow balcony, they could see that a light rain still streaked their view of soggy Philadelphia. Westward, however, the storm had broken to reveal deep blue horizons. Golden sunbeams pierced the rain, and their union had bred a glorious rainbow that spanned the eastern sky, vivid against a backdrop of slate gray clouds. Uncle Bob laughed. “There’s your friend’s father,” he said pointing to the rainbow. “The one with the pretty name, Polly-something.” “Polychrome,” said Button-Bright. “That’s true. Polly must be up there with her sisters, dancing in the rain. I wonder how they manage to stay dry?” A sudden thought seized him. “Oh, Uncle Bob! I could visit Polly right now! Why, she’d be just the person to talk to! The rainbow goes everywhere and sees everything. If anyone knows what’s happened to the Phanfasms, it’s Polly.” “Can you really drop in on a rainbow?” Uncle Bob marveled. “I suppose so.” Button-Bright had never considered such a thing. “Except for Polly herself, I don’t know anyone who’s tried it. Maybe I’ll be the first.” He unlatched the window, stepped outside and opened the Magic Umbrella. A familiar sound of raindrops on old canvas filled his ears. It was as if the Umbrella were murmuring to him in a language all its own. “Good bye, Uncle Bob!” he called. “I’ll see you soon!” Then, looking upward, he said, “Umbrella, take me to Polychrome’s rainbow!”
DROPPING IN ON A RAINBOW
How well Button-Bright remembered the delicious sensation of flight! Rather than dragging him skyward by main force, the Magic Umbrella filled his body with an airy lightness that ballooned up into the heavens. He floated weightlessly on the handle, which drew him as gently as a mother’s touch. It was because of this weightless ease that he could take long trips without tiring past endurance. This flight, he assumed, would be a short one. The rainbow could not be far. To his surprise, however, it was not toward the rainbow that the Magic Umbrella soared. Instead, it shot straight up over the city till it poked a hole in the clouds themselves, plunging Button-Bright into clammy fog. Then where? All sense of direction vanished in the sudden rush of wind, the growing dark, and the echo of utter nothingness all round. What had happened? The Magic Umbrella always did exactly as it was commanded. That much he knew. But if the command were somehow confused or unclear, it might very well go off in an unexpected direction. He remembered one such case. Sky Island was an acre or two of land in the mighty Pacific Ocean; but when commanded to go there, the Magic Umbrella had flown straight to a different Sky Island, an airborne Sky Island, sailing the wind currents high above the earth’s surface. Where, then, was the Magic Umbrella going now? Perhaps, the boy thought, American rainbows weren’t like Polychrome’s habitable arch. Perhaps they were mere patterns of light reflected, as scientists said, on raindrops. Button-Bright had not asked for this; he had asked for Polychrome’s rainbow. And if Polychrome’s rainbow could be found only in fairyland, then the Magic Umbrella would surely go there. This would be a long flight. Like Uncle Bob, Button-Bright had made the journey once before and he knew what to expect. He remembered the hours spent shifting from dazzling brightness to utter dark, from clinging mist to featureless sky, from roaring wind to numbing calm. Rare as it was for mortals to stumble in or out of fairyland, there were nevertheless many ways to do it. Button-Bright had been sent to Philadelphia just this morning by one of the quickest. Dorothy Gale, on the other hand, had traveled by air, water and land, always amid violent upheavals. These ways had been dreadfully slow. Another slow way was the Magic Umbrella. Button-Bright accepted this with a rueful sigh. Soon his thoughts turned to his origins, once so clear and certain, now enigmatic and obscure. If he weren’t a genuine von Smith, as he’d believed till one hour ago, then who was he? He’d been found in a dark and dangerous part of fairyland, not in his own shape but in that of a gray goose. How had he gotten there? Where had he started out? And how had he been transformed? Button-Bright had never confronted such troubling questions before. Even with his talent for getting lost, he had generally known where his home was or was not. Now he found himself adrift, quite literally, in a void that supplied no helpful signposts, no glimpses of a distant shore. Where this journey would take him in the end, and whether or not he would find out what he wanted to know, he could not imagine. He flew onward, wondering. At long last, when his brain and his limbs had both grown weary, the grayness gathered itself into recognizable cloud shapes. Raindrops once more tumbled about him, and he felt himself descending toward an earth he could not yet see. Abruptly he dipped down out of the clouds. A cloudy ceiling spread far and wide overhead, while jagged canyons of cloud surrounded him on three sides. From the left, floods of sunshine flowed toward a distant landscape. Below, rushing upward as he plunged out of the sky was the Rainbow. Unlike rainbows in Philadelphia, this one grew steadily larger as he approached it, a vast arch that straddled acres of far-off earth. Even more amazing, its great bands of transparent green, blue and rose teemed with movement, flecks of living color that soon resolved themselves into the misty forms of dancing maidens. These, Button-Bright realized, were Polychrome’s sisters – who could have guessed she had so many? – And one of them must be Polly herself. He hoped that she would recognize him, for no one could hope to find her in the bewildering throng. The Magic Umbrella slowed its headlong descent. Now the faces of the merry maidens turned upward as they saw, to their evident astonishment, a boy floating down into their midst. Girlish voices reached his ears, and girlish arms stretched up to greet him. Their fingers brushed his cheek like puffs of warm air, sweet but not solid. The Rainbow itself, on which they danced so gaily, turned to light beneath his dangling feet. Whatever would he stand on? “It’s Button-Bright!” cried a familiar voice. And there she was, Polychrome herself, the loveliest sister in all this radiant sisterhood. She rushed to the boy, her gauzy draperies floating about her, and gave him an airy hug. “My dear friend, welcome! But this will never do. Here, let me help you.” With one fairy touch she turned his boyish body into a shimmer of mist and sun, like her own. His newly transparent feet made contact with the Rainbow’s quicksilver surface. He could stand! He folded up the Magic Umbrella and took Polychrome’s lovely hands in his. “Thanks, Polly,” he grinned. “You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you.” “You can’t imagine how surprised I am to see you!” she chided him, laughing. “It’s not often that we have a human guest up here before. Is it, sisters?” Girlish voices chorused their agreement. Button-Bright looked about and found himself hemmed in by Rainbow maidens, all examining him with great curiosity. “Is he really human?” asked one. “He can’t be,” said another. “You saw how he came down from beyond the clouds.” “But no one lives up there,” argued a third. “Father says so.” “What is he, Polychrome? Tell us, tell us!” The sisters joined in a burst of laughter, and Polychrome laughed with them. “Button-Bright is most certainly human, as he would tell you himself if you dared to ask him,” she teased. “He’s also a very good friend of mine. He comes from Oz, and you know Oz folks can turn up almost anywhere. But I don’t know how he happened to drop out of the clouds today. I think he owes us an explanation.” “Explain, explain!” demanded the Rainbow chorus. Button-Bright hesitated. He hadn’t expected to share his unusual problem with quite so many people. Finally, omitting the true purpose of his quest, he told them how his ill-worded command had brought him here rather than to the rainbow in far-off Philadelphia. This amused his hearers no end. “You thought you could find us in that other world?” they cried, and fell about in giggles. “Why, we’ve never been there in our lives!” “And we never will,” added one. “We’ve heard it’s a dismal place.” “No magic at all. Just think!” “Which is exactly why you’ve come back to us!” laughed Polychrome. “And very wisely too. Oh, Button-Bright, you must let me introduce you to Father. I can’t remember the last time an earth dweller met him. Do say you’ll come.” No one could have refused such a winsome invitation. At a nod from Button-Bright, she took his hand and pulled him up the slope of the Rainbow, watched by the crowd of dancing maidens. “Do you like our air castles?” Polychrome asked him as they skimmed higher and higher. “What castles? Where?” “All around us, of course. Don’t you see them?” Button-Bright scrutinized the huge cloud canyons he’d passed in his descent. Nowhere could he glimpse the least hint of a house or building. As for the Rainbow, it was all color and sweep – no castles there. He squinted sidelong at Polychrome. “I don’t see anything,” he said. Much mischievous laughter was heard from behind. Polychrome gave her yellow hair an equally mischievous toss. “I didn’t think you would!” she declared. “I’ll have to show you. Come this way!” They all but flew to the very edge of the Rainbow, and from there, to Button-Bright’s amazement, they leaped onto the nearest cloudbank. It held their airy forms beautifully. Now Polychrome stretched out her arms and parted the misty wall as if it were a curtain, revealing a door through which they passed easily. Beyond lay a small space enclosed by yet more walls of mist. “Here now!” Polychrome said triumphantly. “A perfect little room fitted with everything you could want. And just think: wherever the Rainbow goes there are dozens of these rooms, hundreds even, all waiting for one of us to step inside and get cozy. You have only to reach out and walk into the next one. Every cloud is a castle full of rooms! Isn’t it wonderful?” Button-Bright’s face wore a doubtful look. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “What do you do here?” “Well, sometimes I get tired of my enormous family. Wouldn’t you if you were me? Here I can be alone for a while, rest if I choose, or have something to eat.” Button-Bright understood about the privacy, though he’d never had such a thing as a sister. “But what do you eat?” he inquired. “On earth you never take more than a tiny sip of dew. And I don’t see anything that looks like food.” “Watch!” Polychrome dipped her transparent fingers into the wall. When she pulled them out again, a small lump of mist sat in the palm of her hand. “Everything is food!” she informed him. “Here, taste it!” She raised it to his lips. He nibbled mistrustfully, then sucked the tiny thing up in one gulp. A smile lit his boyish features. “It’s like sherbet!” he said, smacking his lips. “Only lighter and – I don’t know – sort of minty. Could I do this on earth when there’s a fog?” Polychrome shook her head. “No, unfortunately. Your usual solid self couldn’t taste our mist cakes, or even get hold of one. But up here you can have all you want. Try it!” He did, with as much ease as his charming hostess. The mist cakes felt deliciously cool in his hands and in his mouth. Hours of tedious flight fell away as this sky feast refreshed his whole transparent body. Uncle Bob’s lunch, after all, had been a long time ago. Button-Bright had not realized how hungry he was. “Now let’s meet Father!” Polychrome said, and drew him back outside. Instead of resuming their climb up the Rainbow’s shimmering curve, though, they slid and slithered down the cloudy crags alongside. Moments later they found themselves underneath the Rainbow! Here, Button-Bright saw, a huge heap of silvery-gray cloud pressed up tight against the mighty arch, almost like a massive cushion. No, it was not like a cushion – it was more like a mountainous man, his enormous shoulders bent beneath the Rainbow’s awesome weight and his great head covered with silver hair that flowed upward in rolling billows. Button-Bright peered about. “Where’s your father?” he asked Polychrome. Suddenly the cloud heaved and lifted. “Well, daughters!” boomed a voice like thunder. “What brings you down from your dancing? Come to visit the old man, have you?” Polychrome shook her own lovely head. “Oh, Papa!” she said. “Do pay attention. This boy is not one of your daughters. He’s my old companion Button-Bright from down below. Button-Bright, meet my father, the Rainbow.” Now, through strands of cloudy hair, Button-Bright saw two huge eyes gleaming out at him. What he had taken for the mere likeness of a mountainous man was, it appeared, the genuine article! True, from the ribs on down his body was lost in cloud, the great legs distant and invisible. As for his hair, it merged with the rainbow itself, blending seamlessly into the bands of color. Between, however, a great man surely stood. Cavernous chuckles rattled those ancient jowls. “An earth dweller!” rumbled the Rainbow. “Indeed. Daughter, are you sure this is not some clever prank? As often as you girls have made a fool of me, it’s no wonder I hide my face in my own long beard. Let me take a closer look at our guest.” The gray eyes narrowed. “You must forgive my staring,” the Rainbow told Button-Bright. “I have hundreds of daughters and they all look alike to me. Anyone with two arms and two legs I take to be one of them. Hmmm. You certainly have less hair than they do, and your clothes are different. What are you, precisely?” “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Button-Bright said frankly. “Polychrome calls you ‘The Rainbow,’ but you’re not the Rainbow, really. You just hold the Rainbow on your shoulders.” Polychrome concealed a sudden burst of giggles. Her father heaved a doleful sigh. “’Ah,” he lamented. “Dismissed so easily by one so young! Daughter, how long do you imagine I’ve been carrying this burden round the world? Fifty years, perhaps? A hundred?” “Oh, two-hundred at least,” Polychrome assured him, as solemnly as she could. The Rainbow’s bushy eyebrows flew up in mock astonishment. “As much as that? Surely not. Boy, what do you think? Have I been employed this way for two-hundred years?” Button-Bright, suspecting a joke at his expense, decided to call the bluff. “If you weren’t so youthful,” he said rather cheekily, “I might even have said two-hundred-and-fifty. But you don’t look anywhere near that old. Does he, Polly?” Thunderous laughter shook the cloud on which he stood. High-pitched echoes followed from above, where it seemed that a bevy of daughters had crept down to listen. Now they came skimming along their father’s hair, bouncing on his beard and dancing across his shoulders. “Don’t be mean, Papa!” scolded one. “Tell him the truth!” instructed another. “You see how it is,” the Rainbow said to Button-Bright. “These tyrants won’t let me get away with anything. Know, then, that I have carried the Rainbow on my back for as long as the world has known both sun and rain. That is more thousands of years than anyone can count, including I, who have outlived them all. Without me the Rainbow is nothing but a hope unfulfilled, and without it I am only vapor. We are one, the Rainbow and I, joined forever by the powers of water and light. That is why I am called Rainbow by those who know me best. It matters little.” A smile was seen through the misty tendrils of his beard. “What matters more, I think, is who or what you might be. Guest, would you be so kind as to explain yourself?” Button-Bright decided that this huge family could be trusted with his recent revelations. “I’ve always thought I was a human boy,” he replied. “Now I’m not so sure.” Polychrome frowned. “Not sure? Why, of course you’re sure. What could you be but human?” “That’s what I don’t know,” said Button-Bright. “I don’t know who my parents are, or even what they are. So I don’t know what I am, either.” “This is very peculiar,” the Rainbow said to Polychrome. “Daughter, do you suppose all earth dwellers are as vague as this one?” “No Papa,” Polychrome asserted. “And this one never has been before. At least, not in this way. Mind you, he does have a habit of getting lost.” “And now he has lost his parentage,” rumbled the Rainbow. “How careless. I’m sure you would be sorry, Daughter, to lose yours. By the way, which of my daughters are you?” “Polychrome,” said Polychrome. She and her sisters seemed unperturbed by this fatherly absent-mindedness. Button-Bright, however, was aghast. “You don’t know your own daughter’s name?” he demanded. “Indeed not,” the Rainbow chuckled. “I have hundreds of daughters, possibly thousands, and every one very much alike. That pinkish girl, for instance, might be my little Cerise. Then again, she could just as easily be Rosie, or even Magenta. And that blue one could be either Azure or Cerulea. I cannot keep track of them. They can’t even keep track of each other! You, who have lost your own parents, can hardly be surprised.” “But that’s different!” Button-Bright protested. “Even my adopted parents always remembered my name.” “And how many children did they have?” inquired the Rainbow. Button-Bright opened his mouth to say, “One!” Then he remembered that they had not, in actual fact, had any. These matters were more complex than he had imagined. His face fell. “You see,” the Rainbow said with surprising gentleness. “Your situation and mine are not quite comparable. Perhaps I do tend to view my daughters collectively rather than individually, but you must not hold that against me. They don’t. They claim to prefer it that way. They have a great deal of freedom.” Button-Bright nodded, a little embarrassed by his own outburst. “I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said. “Maybe it’s because I just found out that my parents weren’t my parents after all.” “If they loved you like |