Beauty and the Serpent: Thirteen Tales of Unnatural Animals
128
Beauty and the Serpent: Thirteen Tales of Unnatural Animals
128Paperback
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Overview
Barbara Ann Porte, who is known for her superb storytelling, is in top form with this new collection of inventive tales paired with Rosemary Feit Covey's dramatic wood engravings.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781416975793 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Aladdin |
| Publication date: | 04/14/2008 |
| Pages: | 128 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.40(d) |
| Age Range: | 12 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
A Doggish Tale
Marlene looks up. ("Pronounce it Mar-lay'-na," she's forever telling people.) Marlene's orange hair is styled in spikes. They stick out perfectly all over her head, precisely perpendicular to her scalp. The lipstick she has on today is black, or possibly purple. Little gold and silver rings are attached to her nose, one of her eyebrows, her ear rims and lobes. Her jaws are moving furiously.
Though Ms. Drumm would outlaw body piercing if she could, all she tells Marlene now is: "Feet on the floor, please! Sit up straight! There's no chewing in the library. Get rid of the gum!" Marlene swallows it.
"Eat gum and your insides will stick together. Your rectum will close up. Didn't your mother ever tell you that?" Ms. Drumm asks Marlene. Rectum? Did the librarian actually say "rectum"?
Momentarily, Marlene is speechless. Then, regaining her composure, she says, "Right! Swallow a watermelon seed and a watermelon tree will grow in your stomach. Anything you pick up off the ground and put into your mouth for sure will poison you. I stopped believing all of that when I gave up Santa Claus."
"I see," says Ms. Drumm. "But you know just because one story isn't so doesn't mean another can't be. Take poisoning, for instance. Not that long ago, and in this neighborhood, there was a most peculiar case. Listen," she says. Then, sitting atop the table beside Marlene's, Ms. Drumm begins:
Once, on a dreary and overcast day, a teenage girl was pushing a little boy in his stroller. Baby-sitting that afternoon, she'd timed their excursion wrong. Therefore, while they were out it had begun to drizzle, really just a fine mist, but nevertheless unpleasant. Also, she'd walked too far, so that by now it was well past time for the baby's snack. On top of which, she'd forgotten to take along the diaper bag packed with the baby's toys, juice, and crackers. The usually pleasant baby was fussing. Soon he began crying full force, which may help to explain what happened next.
Increasingly out-of-sorts herself, and feeling somewhat put-upon, the teenage girl had just wheeled the stroller with the shrieking baby in it under an overpass. It was not quite a tunnel, but almost. As they emerged, she saw, lying nearly at the edge of the sidewalk, a tan-colored pacifier, the sort you stick into babies' mouths to comfort them and make them be quiet. Only the tip of its squared-off handle and the edge of its circular shield were in contact with the pavement. Its plump, rounded nipple was sticking up, enticingly, at a forty-five-degree angle from the ground. Though not wrapped, the pacifier looked brand-new, as though, perhaps, it had fallen from some baby carriage before ever being used.
Just like that, the girl bent over, picked it up and, wiping the nipple on her jacket sleeve, popped it into the baby's mouth. How she could have done so, I'll never know. Immediately, though, the baby stopped crying and began to suck happily. He went on sucking all the way home and, once there, was reluctant to give up the pacifier even for food. Afterward, that pacifier became the baby's favorite possession, and he never willingly went anywhere without it. Nor would a substitute satisfy. Even well past the pacifier stage, he held on tightly to that one.
"It looks ridiculous in such a big boy's mouth," his mother frequently told him. Yet what could she do? From being a pleasant baby, her child had turned into a wild thing with a mind of his own, a terrible temper, a piercing howl, and very sharp teeth. To try to take that pacifier away was to risk being bit. How embarrassing!
"I guess that's why they call it the terrible twos," his mother said, shamefaced, to the baby-sitter.
"Ummm," said the baby-sitter, neatly sidestepping her unruly charge. He hadn't always been this way. She remembered to the day when his badness had started. Now just the sight of his pacifier made her uncomfortable. Whatever had possessed her to pick it up so blithely and put it in his mouth? Also, she was astonished to see it still looked brand-new. How was that possible?
Pausing briefly now, the librarian looks around. A small group of students have gathered to listen. She fixes her eyes on each in turn. "I'll tell you how. Remarkable though it may be, what's made in the devil's workshop comes with a lifetime guarantee. Well, I can see that you're skeptical. I'm not surprised. Why would sensible students like you believe in witchcraft, or in sorcery, or in spells? Yet think how many stories through the centuries abound with them. Have you never considered that at least one or two might be true? Maybe not. Most of us don't — until someone, or something, comes along to change our minds. Perhaps a puppy from hell....
"Ah, you smile; but believe me, now and then when the devil is bored, just to see what will happen, he sends such a puppy up into the world. Woe to families that take them in! 'It's a puppy from hell,' desperate owners say afterward to anyone who will listen. Certainly that was the case with the dog in this story." Then, giving a long, drawn-out sigh, Ms. Drumm continues to tell it:
The puppy arrived one day in a downpour, sucking its bubba, which is what pacifiers were called where it came from. Alas, soon after, it dropped it somewhere. Whimpering over its lost possession, the puppy huddled beneath a tree, shivering. The climate was considerably colder up here than below.
Eventually, a spry grandmother out for exercise came loping along. She was dressed in rain clothes and carrying an open umbrella. Seeing the bedraggled puppy, she took pity on it and popped it into an oversized, waterproof coat pocket. Back home, she told both her husband and his mother, who lived with them, "I've found the perfect pet to keep us company in our retirement, and also to entertain the grandchildren when they visit." But of course she hadn't. That puppy grew like a weed. In almost no time it was standing on tables, sprawling on furniture, knocking over lamps, grabbing food from everyone's plate, chewing shoes and whatever else was around and, in between, barking excessively. Also, it drooled.
"It's a puppy from hell," the despairing woman told friends and relatives.
"Maybe it's just in need of professional training," dog owners among them advised. Fortunately, a canine obedience school was nearby. The woman registered her pet for a beginner course, then took it twice a week for lessons. The dog did very well in school, even earning a diploma to hang on the wall alongside pictures of the couple's grandchildren; but it continued misbehaving at home exactly as before.
"Perhaps it has worms, or some sort of nervous condition," the woman's husband suggested. The woman took it to the veterinarian.
"This puppy needs worming, or else tranquilizers," she said, certain herself by now it was the latter.
"Oh, no," the veterinarian said, having examined the puppy briefly. "Very healthy animal, only high-strung, probably suffering pangs of insecurity. Very common problem among recovering strays. We're using drugs only as a last resort. Best first to try counseling." The veterinarian gave the woman a business card by way of referral. DR. SO AND SO, CANINE PSYCHOLOGIST. "Very capable, very busy. You may have to wait some months for an appointment," she warned.
Back home, feeling a bit high-strung and insecure herself, the woman slept poorly. All night she thought she heard the sounds of someone, or something, stealthily gnawing. She didn't have the heart to investigate. In the morning she discovered the puppy had chewed up the last of the kitchen chair legs so that everyone wobbled at breakfast, except for a visiting grandchild who still used a high chair, entirely chrome plated. The woman telephoned her own physician and made an appointment.
"You're my last hope," she said, and explained her situation: "I've grandchildren galore, in and out the door; my decrepit mother-in-law lives with me; and, as you can see, I'm no spring chicken myself. Now I've got this puppy from hell. I'd give it away, but no one will take it. The veterinarian said to try counseling. You have to help me. I'm at the end of my rope."
"Umm," murmured the physician, who could see that it was so, and also was aware the woman's health insurance plan did not include counseling. Therefore, she gave her a prescription for tranquilizers. "Come see me in a year," she told her.
"Thank you," said the woman. She had the prescription filled, went home, and fed the puppy four pills. Almost right away they started working. The dog stopped standing on tables, grabbing from plates, chewing shoes and furniture, and barking excessively. It also no longer drooled, dry mouth being a side effect of the medicine. It did sometimes still sprawl, though now very peaceably, on the living-room sofa, but as the sofa was old, the woman didn't mind.
"The puppy from hell is turning out fine," she told everyone.
"It's the lessons," said the trainer.
"It's the therapy," said the veterinarian.
"It's growing up," said the woman's mother-in-law.
"Ummm," said the woman, and smiled, sphinxlike, at them all.
Ms. Drumm stops speaking to clear her throat.
"But what happened to the baby?" someone asks.
"I'm just coming to that part," the librarian replies:
Down in hell, the devil wondered that, too. Therefore, early one morning he came up into the world to peek in on the family and see for himself. Oh, my! No longer a baby, that boy had grown by leaps and bounds. "Like a weed," his father said. It was almost as though his son had undergone a metamorphosis. Uncommonly gangly, wild and disorderly, the boy knocked over lamps, stood on the furniture, wolfed down his food and, when he didn't get his way, howled raucously. He was doing all of it this moment, knowing it would make him late for school. How it warmed the devil's heart to see such pandemonium.
And there was more. Following the boy into his bedroom, the devil watched him as he dressed. How weird! From head to toe, the boy's body was fuzzy, and despite his tender years wiry hair was already sprouting in private places; his arms and his legs were unnaturally furry. Sometime back his mother had noticed this, too. She'd made an appointment with the pediatrician. "Is there something wrong with my son?" she asked.
"Precocious puberty," said the physician. "It's nothing to worry about. A slight imbalance in hormones that in a few years will all straighten out. Believe me, it's traumatic only for mothers."
"But he's only a baby. He still takes his pacifier to bed," said this mother.
"Ah," the doctor said, and looked serious. "Immature attachment to nipple," he jotted in his records. Then, consulting his patient's medical plan, which was generous, he recommended counseling. Naturally, they tried it.
"The main thing is to reinforce good behavior through a system of rewards," the psychologist told them. "Bad behavior we ignore until it goes away." Nothing tickles the devil, or adolescents, more than such advice. Certainly, in this case, the outcome was predictable. In the first place, there was never any good behavior to reward; and in the second place, the bad behavior just got worse. Thus, by the time the devil arrived, things were out of hand entirely.
"A belt applied to his behind is what that boy needs," his father said. But his mother argued it would be against the law. So, instead, that very day, his father signed him up for golf lessons. It's a disciplined game played by gentlemen; surely some good will come of it, he reasoned.
Clubs and hard balls, how appropriate, thought the devil, and returned home to wait. He didn't have long.
The boy hated golf; whacking little white balls seemed pointless to him. Bored, he struck up friendships with sportsmen at the bar who admired his wildness. One day, having guzzled down some leftover drinks, that wild child jumped into a golf cart, took off at high speed, and crashed headlong into a tree.
You can imagine the grief and the mourning, the local headlines and the television coverage. "He was the sweetest baby you'd ever want to see," his mother kept saying. Afterward, she kept in a box, as mementos, his baby pacifier and his first pair of shoes, bronzed.
When the boy arrived in hell, the devil knew him right away. "I was expecting you," he said, and apprenticed him to the demon in charge of the devil's kennels.
"At first the boy was slovenly and snappish, but in almost no time the demon had him whipped into shape. Then, to reward his good behavior, the demon gave him a present. "Suck it," he said. "It will take away your cares and troubles. Down here we call it a 'bubba.'"
"Thank you," said the apprentice. Then, popping it into his mouth, he sucked happily. It had that same wild, sinful taste as his old one.
"My new acolyte is doing fine," the demon reported to the devil.
"I'm not surprised," the devil replied.
"Well, neither was I," says Ms. Drumm. Then, standing, stretching, reaching for her walking stick, she asks anyone for a lift home. "My van's in the shop," she tells them. Driver ed. is a popular course. Even some juniors have cars. Marlene volunteers. Once there, she helps Ms. Drumm carry book bags to her door. They're met by a barking dog. "It's my puppy from hell, but don't worry — it doesn't bite." Ms. Drumm nuzzles its face, and it licks her ear. Then, "Here!" she says, and tosses it a baby pacifier to play with. Unfortunately, given the circumstances of placement and lighting, whether chewed or brand-new, Marlene can't tell.
Text copyright © 2001 by Barbara Ann Porte
Table of Contents
ContentsDear Old Golden Rule Days
A Doggish Tale
Squirrel Aunty
Ghost Story
Basement Imposter
Tokoloshi
Bird-boy
Fish Story
Father's Foxy Neighbor
Haunted House
Snakefeathers
A Conveyance of Lions
Escalator Escapade
Beauty and the Serpent
Notes on the Stories