King Matt the First

by Janusz Korczak

  All the tribesmen began to scream so loud Matt thought they had gone mad. But then the witch doctor with the two heads untied the ropes on Bum Drum and began dancing the wildest of dances; he climbed up onto the pyre where Bum Drum had been lying a moment before and touched the lighted torch to the wood. The wood must have been doused with some highly flammable liquid, for it immediately burst into flames so huge that Matt and Klu Klu barely managed to leap aside in time.

  The airplane was not far from the pyre. One wing caught on fire, and the fuel in the motor exploded with a roar. Bum Drum’s wives grabbed hold of Matt and seated him on a golden throne. Then Bum Drum and all the lesser kings and princes placed their heads at the foot of the throne and hit themselves in the neck three times with Matt’s right foot while uttering words that made no sense to Matt.

  The pilot’s body was wrapped in a shroud that had been drenched with so much perfume that Matt felt his head spin when he knelt beside the pilot to say a prayer for him.

  What’s all this supposed to mean? Matt asked himself.

  Something extraordinary had happened, that was clear, but what? It looked as if Matt had saved Bum Drum and all his hundred wives from death. If that was true, Matt was not in any danger. But could you be certain of anything in this savage land?

  Where had that fearsome mob of tribesmen come from? What would they do next? In the meantime, they had lit a few thousand fires in the forest and were dancing, playing music, and singing. Each tribe had its own kind of music and its own different songs.

  Matt could tell by their costumes that they weren’t all Bum Drum’s subjects. Some must have been from the forests because they were dressed in leaves and feathers, some had huge sea-turtle shells on their backs, some wore monkey skins, and some were naked except for the decorations on their noses and ears.

  Matt was not afraid, because he had already looked death bravely in the eye more than once. But still, to be all alone, far from home, surrounded by thousands of savages, just little him . . . No, that was too much even for Matt’s valiant heart. And when he thought of his good companion who had perished so mysteriously, such sorrow overcame him that he burst into tears, weeping loudly.

  Matt was now alone in a tent made of lion and tiger skins, and so he thought he could cry freely, without being heard. But he was mistaken. Little Klu Klu was keeping watch over him, little Klu Klu had never left Matt for a single second. And now he could see her again in the light that came from an enormous diamond. Klu Klu was crying, too; she placed her little hand on his forehead while sad tears streamed from her eyes.

  Oh, how Matt regretted not knowing the cannibals’ language. Klu Klu would have told him everything. She was saying something, speaking very slowly and repeating the same words again and again, hoping Matt might understand. Then she showed him something in sign language. But there were only two things that Matt understood: Klu Klu was his most faithful friend in the world, and he was in no danger now, nor would he be in the future.

  Weary as he was, Matt did not sleep a wink that night.

  It was only toward morning, when the tribesmen quieted down a bit, that Matt caught a little sleep. But they woke him up and seated him on the throne again. A group from each tribe brought Matt presents. Matt smiled and thanked them, but he realized that there weren’t enough camels in all the world to carry everything back across the desert. And besides, before Matt’s departure, the foreign kings had announced that they would allow cages of wild animals to pass through their countries and nothing else, no matter how much Matt paid them.

  Oh, what a shame that my country doesn’t have its own seaport and its own ships, thought Matt.

  But, to tell the truth, Matt also thought that if a new war broke out and he won that one, too, he would make one of the foreign kings give him a seaport, so he would not have to depend on their good graces ever again.

  Matt would have been glad to stay a week to rest up, but he could not: what would happen if war broke out, and besides, how would he ever catch up on all his mail? After all, he had to read one hundred letters a day and at every audience give one hundred children whatever they needed most.

  “I have to go back,” said Matt to Bum Drum, pointing at a camel and waving his hand toward the north.

  Bum Drum understood.

  When the perfumed rags on the dead pilot were unwound, Matt saw that he was now all white and hard like marble. The pilot was placed in an ebony box, and using sign language, Matt indicated that he should be loaded for the return trip.

  What was left of the burnt airplane was packed into another box. Matt made a gesture that meant he would not be taking that box. He was very surprised how happy that made Bum Drum, as if a burnt airplane were something special and important.

  But Matt still didn’t know the most important thing—had Bum Drum stopped being a cannibal or not? He had to take Bum Drum back with him, there was no other choice.

  And so Matt took Bum Drum with him. And the royal caravan set off through the desert on a route that was familiar by now.

  And it was only back in his study, in his own capital, that Matt understood all the strange goings-on he had witnessed in the land of the cannibals. The professor who knew fifty languages explained everything to Matt.

  “One of Bum Drum’s ancestors was poisoned when he decided to stop being a cannibal. And it was then that the head witch doctor had told of an old legend. He said: ‘A time will come when the cannibals will change their ways. This is what will happen. One day, toward sundown, an enormous bird will appear in the sky. It will have an iron heart and a dozen poison arrows hanging from its right wing. The bird will circle the royal glade seven times and then swoop to the ground. The bird will have enormous wings, four arms, two heads, three eyes, and two legs. One of the bird’s heads and two of its arms will be poisoned by one of the dozen arrows and die. Two thunderbolts will strike. Then the head witch doctor will be burned and the great bird’s iron heart will break. And all that will remain of the bird are a piece of marble, a handful of ashes, and a white man who will become the king of all the cannibals. Then the cannibals will stop eating people and begin learning the arts and sciences. But nothing can be changed until that bird appears. Any king who wishes to change things before the bird comes has to die, by fire or by poison.’

  “Bum Drum had chosen fire. And just when the ceremonial burning of Bum Drum and the poisoning of his hundred wives was about to take place, the plane with the two travelers had appeared. Two thunderbolts had flashed from Matt’s pistol, and the pilot—who was two of the bird’s arms and one of its eyes—had been killed when he accidentally touched one of the dozen arrows shot by the desert robbers. The head witch doctor had gone onto the fire of his own free will, the plane was burned, and Matt became not only king of all the cannibals but the leader of all the black kings as well. Now the cannibals would stop eating people and start learning how to read and write; they would no longer put shells and bones in their noses but would dress like everybody else.”

  “That’s wonderful,” cried Matt. “Let Bum Drum send a hundred of his tribesmen here. Our tailors will teach them how to make clothes, our shoemakers will teach them how to make shoes, and our masons will teach them how to build houses. We’ll send them record players, so they can hear beautiful music. Then we’ll send them horns, drums, and flutes, and violins and pianos a little later. We’ll teach them our dances and send them toothbrushes and soap.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I know what to do,” cried Matt suddenly. “I’ll install a wireless telegraph in Bum Drum’s capital. Then it will be easy for us to communicate. I can’t keep making these long trips every time I need to talk with him.”

  Matt called in the royal tradesmen and ordered them to make twenty suits for Bum Drum, twenty coats, twenty pairs of boots, and twenty hats. The barber cut Bum Drum’s hair. Bum Drum agreed to everything. And the only thing he didn’t like was the taste of the shoe polish and a piece of sweet-smelling soap he ate w
ithout knowing it wasn’t food. From that time on, four footmen kept watch on Bum Drum so he wouldn’t make any more silly mistakes.

  ON THE DAY after Matt’s return, the Prime Minister called a meeting, but Matt requested that it be postponed. Beautiful wet, white snow was falling, and about twenty boys, including Felek and Stash, were playing in the royal gardens. It would be sheer torture to have to miss all that fun.

  “Mr. Prime Minister,” said Matt, “only yesterday I returned from a hard and dangerous journey. And it was a total success. Can’t a king have even one day off? I’m still a boy, you know, and I love to go out and play. If there’s nothing that can’t wait a day, I’d prefer to have the meeting tomorrow. Today I want to play with the other boys. The snow’s beautiful, and it’s probably the last of the year.”

  The Prime Minister felt sorry for Matt, because even though he was the king, he still asked for permission to go out and play.

  “Oh, it can wait a day,” said the Prime Minister.

  Matt was thrilled. He put on a jacket so he could run freely, and one minute later he was with the other boys, throwing snowballs. At first, they didn’t throw any snowballs at Matt, because they weren’t sure if they were allowed to or not. But then Matt noticed this and shouted: “What fun is it if nobody throws any snowballs at me? Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Snowballs aren’t poison arrows, you know.”

  Now everything was fine. They divided up into two sides. One side attacked the snow fort, and the other one defended it. There was so much noise that the footmen came running out. Then they saw the king, and though they were surprised, they said nothing and went back into the palace.

  Nobody could have recognized the king now without looking very closely. Matt was covered with snow—he had fallen twice and had been hit by snowballs in the back, the head, and the ear. But he was defending himself furiously.

  “Listen,” he shouted suddenly, “let’s make it a rule that anyone who gets hit by a snowball is dead and out of the game. That way, we’ll know who won.”

  That wasn’t a good idea, because everyone was dead after a couple of minutes. So then they decided that three hits meant you were dead. But some of the boys cheated and didn’t stop, even after they’d been hit three times. But it was still a better way to play. They talked less, made better snowballs, and took closer aim. Then they changed the rules so the dead ones could rejoin the game.

  It was great fun.

  Then they made an enormous snowman who had coal eyes, a carrot nose, and held a broom in one snow hand. Matt kept running back and forth to the royal kitchen.

  “Cook, two pieces of coal, please.”

  “Cook, please give me a carrot for our snowman’s nose.”

  The cook was angry because all the other boys came running in after Matt; the kitchen was so hot that the snow on them melted and made a mess of the floor.

  “I’ve been the royal cook for twenty-eight years, but I don’t remember my kitchen ever being turned into such a pigsty,” grumbled the cook. Then he barked at the kitchen boys and ordered them to mop the floor.

  Too bad there’s no snow in Bum Drum’s country, thought Matt. I could teach the children how to make snowmen.

  When the snowman was all done, Felek suggested they go for a sleigh ride. There were four sleighs and four ponies in the royal stables. The grooms hitched the ponies up to the sleighs.

  “We’ll drive them ourselves,” said Matt to the grooms. “We’ll race around the gardens. The first one to go around five times wins. All right?”

  “All right!” agreed the other boys.

  Matt had just climbed onto his sleigh when he caught sight of the Prime Minister walking quickly toward them.

  It must be for me, thought Matt with a sigh.

  He was right.

  “A thousand pardons, Your Royal Highness, that I must interrupt Your Royal Highness’s play.”

  “That’s my tough luck. Play without me,” said Matt to the boys. “So what’s happened now?”

  “Our most important spy has just returned to the country,” whispered the Prime Minister. “He has brought news that he could not put in writing for fear the letter would fall into the wrong hands. We must have a meeting immediately, because the spy has to leave the country again in three hours.”

  A sleigh had just tipped over, because the pony had not been in harness for a long time and was so angry that he jumped to the side instead of going forward. Matt watched sadly as the boys got up laughing from the snow and began to turn the sleigh back over. But there was no sense in thinking about it, his fun was over for the day.

  Matt was curious to see a real spy. He’d heard about them but had never laid eyes on one.

  Matt thought they would bring in some barefoot boy or an old beggar with a sack on his back, but the spy was elegantly dressed. For a moment, Matt even mistook him for the Minister of Agriculture, who worked out in the countryside and only rarely came to meetings.

  “I am your number-one spy in the old king’s country,” said the elegant gentleman. “I have come to warn Your Royal Highness that the king’s son finished building his fortress yesterday. But that’s not the worst of it. A year ago he built a top-secret munitions factory in the forest and is now completely ready for war. He has six times more gunpowder than we do.”

  “That rat!” exclaimed Matt. “I’ve been building summer camps for children while he’s been making shells and cannons to attack my country and destroy what we’ve built here.”

  “There’s more to it even than that,” the spy said in his soft, pleasant drawl. “He has something even viler in mind. Knowing that Your Royal Highness will send the foreign kings invitations to the ceremonies for the opening of parliament, he bribed your Secretary of State to send out forged declarations of war instead of invitations.”

  “That sneak! I could tell he couldn’t stand me when I visited his country.”

  “I still haven’t finished yet, Your Majesty. The old king’s son is very tricky. If the Secretary of State fails to switch the letters here, the same papers have been prepared with your forged signature at the court of the sad king and at the court of the friend of the Oriental kings. And now if Your Royal Highness will permit me to say a word in defense of the old king’s son.”

  “But how can you defend such a treacherous bandit?”

  “It’s not easy, but he’s really just looking out for his country, as we look out for ours. We want to be top dog, and so do they. There’s no need to get angry, we just need to be vigilant and make the right moves in time.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Your Royal Highness can sign the invitations to the three kings right now, and I will take them with me and deliver them in secret. At tomorrow’s meeting, discuss the invitations as if the letters had not been sent yet. Let the Secretary of State switch the letters, then open the envelopes at the last moment and arrest him.”

  “Fine, but what about the fortress and the munitions factory?”

  “Simple as pie,” said the spy, with a smile. “The fortress and the factory can be blown up. And that is precisely why I am here—to request Your Royal Highness’s permission.”

  Matt turned pale. “But how can we? This isn’t war, after all. Blowing up your enemy’s ammunition in wartime is one thing. But inviting someone for a visit while playing a dirty trick on him is another.”

  “I understand,” said the spy. “Your Royal Highness thinks such actions are ignoble and ugly. I will do nothing without Your Royal Highness’s permission. But don’t forget—he has six times more gunpowder than we do.”

  Now Matt was very upset and began pacing back and forth. “But how would you do it?” he asked.

  “We have bribed the assistant to the factory’s chief engineer. He knows the factory like the back of his hand. There’s a small building near the factory. It’s full of wood shavings—the shavings will be set on fire and a fire will break out.”

  “And so they’ll put it out.” />
  “No, they won’t,” said the spy, with a smile and a wink. “For some strange reason, the main water pipe will have burst and there won’t be a drop of water in the entire factory. Your Royal Highness can rely on it.”

  “But will any workers die?” Matt asked.

  “The fire will break out at night, and not many workers will die. Nowhere near as many as will die if there’s a war.”

  “I know, I know,” said Matt.

  “Your Royal Highness, we must do it,” the Prime Minister interjected timidly.

  “I know we must,” said Matt in anger, “and so why are you asking for my permission?”

  “We don’t have the right to act on our own.”

  “All right, all right, burn down the factory, but don’t touch the fortress for now.”

  Matt quickly signed the letters inviting the three foreign kings to the opening of parliament, and went off to his room.

  Matt sat by the window watching Stash, Felek, and all the other boys laughing as they raced around in their sleighs. He rested his heavy head on his hands and thought: Now I understand why the sad king plays such sad music on his violin. And now I understand why he went to war with me even though he didn’t want to.

  IT WAS TIME for the meeting at which the signed invitations would be placed in their envelopes and sealed with the royal seal. Matt couldn’t wait to see how the Secretary of State would put the forged declarations of war into the envelopes instead of the invitations to attend the opening of parliament. He was very surprised when the Secretary of State did not come to the meeting but sent his assistant instead.

  “And so will both houses of parliament be ready?” asked Matt.

  “They most certainly will.”

  “Excellent.”

  This was the schedule. The festivities would last a week. First day: a religious service, a review of the troops, a gala dinner, and a grand presentation at the theater.