The Gnome of Elderberry

by Porphyro

THE GNOME. You think it’s just straight over beyond those woods somewhere, girl?

  RUTHIE. Well--yes. That’s the way I came.

  THE GNOME. Are you so sure about that?

  RUTHIE. I’m positive.

  THE GNOME. Then how did you get so lost?

  It was a pretty good point.

  RUTHIE. You’re saying…?

  THE GNOME. I’m saying things are different around here, girl. You made a grave mistake coming to this world in the first place.

  RUTHIE. I didn’t mean to, sir.

  THE GNOME. Nevertheless, you’re here.

  RUTHIE. How do I get back?

  THE GNOME. You’re actually a lot closer if you come into town with me. You’ll have to take an airship back.

  RUTHIE. An airship?!

  THE GNOME. A shrinking one, yes. It’s massive at the start. Huge! It’s huge as--

  Here you suspect he’ll say his nose, eh? But he doesn’t! Instead, he says:

  THE GNOME. It’s as huge as a house. A mansion, even. (he stretches his arms out wide, wide) But that’s only at the start. Once you’re up in the air and floating for a while, it starts to shrink. By the time the craft gets back to your land, it’s as tiny as a midge. (he pinches his fingers together) You’ll have to give it a few weeks before you grow back to your normal size.

  Wait just a darn minute here, Gnome slick. None of this sounds right!

  RUTHIE. But--!

  THE GNOME. It’s expensive, too. A ticket. Really expensive. Unimaginably so.

  RUTHIE. But--!

  THE GNOME. That’s because there’s no tourism in your parts of the world. There’s nothing to do where you come from. So no one bothers going that far. I mean, sure, there’s a route the driver can take if someone actually buys a ticket. But it hasn’t been used in years. Decades.

  RUTHIE. But--!

  THE GNOME. Well, that’s enough of that! Are you done wasting my time? Are we actually going to do this thing or not, girlie?

  RUTHIE. We are, sir. We are….

  THE GNOME. Good! Then get moving! Get!

  And for the first time in her life, Ruthie feels like crying. None of this seems right. Is The Gnome merely lying in order to convince her to carry his heavy load?

  Oh! Pray, let him be a mischief-maker! A fibber! A prankster! When they get back into the city, let him say, “I gotcha, girl! The way back home is actually very simple! Just take such and such road and go a little to the left and baboo! you’re back.”

  Because surely it’s impossible--everything he’s saying. A mansion-sized airship that shrinks to the size a midge? It’s so ridiculous! Is the way here actually that much easier than the way back?

  Is finding trouble actually that much easier than coming across good fortune?

  Say it isn’t so!

  2.

  I will spare you the thirty miles they spent together. Just know that for the last ten of them, the enormous city before them only grew bigger and bigger to their dazzled eyes.

  Now, with only but a few miles left to go, the city downright dominates the skyline.

  THE GNOME. That’s where we’re going?! Hee-hee! Hoo-hoo!

  See, like the girl, The Gnome has never been there before.

  RUTHIE. (struggling with the cart) You’ve never been there before?

  THE GNOME. (defensively) …have YOU? Eh?

  RUTHIE. No…but--

  THE GNOME. --look!

  There’s a small group of travelers up the road ahead. They’re not too far, especially with a good hustle.

  THE GNOME. Come on, girly! Get a move on! They’re our first customers!

  RUTHIE. But, sir! My arms! I can hardly--

  Oh but is Ruthie always destined to be interrupted? At that very moment, a Shyster speeds right past them. He’s carrying his very own cart. And by the look of things, it’s just as filled with thoughts as The Gnome’s cart is.

  SHYSTER. Zabee-ba-da-doo! (it licks its eyeball)

  But what is that thing? Is it a toad? It looks like a toad. But if it’s a toad, it’s an awful big one. Ugly, ugly creature.

  “Zabee-ba-da-doo!” What does that mean? The way it said it…. Hmmm. Perhaps akin to something like, “Out of the way!”

  THE GNOME. Hey! Hey! Come back here!

  But the toad doesn’t listen. It’s too busy speeding towards the small group of travelers.

  The thoughts in the toad’s cart look much better than The Gnome’s. They’re much prettier--a swoonesome emerald color. Not like the blackest black that comprise The Gnome’s.

  If anyone’s going to sell a thought or two, it’s going to be the toad. That much is obvious.

  THE GNOME. Hurry, girl! Hurry! The Shyster’s beating us!

  RUTHIE. But my arms!

  THE GNOME. Hurry!

  RUTHIE. I can’t….

  Thoroughly exhausted, she drops the cart and drops to her knees.

  RUTHIE. I’m so sorry…..

  THE GNOME. Bah! Pathetic, pathetic!

  So much for gratitude!

  THE GNOME. Pathetic, pathetic!

  The Gnome takes up the cart and speeds towards the Shyster and the group of suckers.

  By this point, the Shyster is busy being a huckster. And judging by the expression of the suckers, the hucksting is going quite well.

  THE GNOME. Wait! Wait! Waaaaaait!

  The group directs their attention towards The Gnome.

  But the Shyster doesn’t want to stop. He keeps going.

  SHYSTER. Zamanamana--zolo foo, ah way way.

  THE GNOME. Waaaaait!

  And hustle, hustle, hustle! The Gnome arrives fast enough. The group is still utterly captivated by him.

  THE GNOME. (panting) Don’t…buy…from…this…. (wheeze!)

  SUCKER 1. Horta canoo?

  SUCKER 2. Sha way way.

  SUCKER 3. Saloo.

  THE GNOME. Look!

  The Gnome rummages through the contents of his cart.

  He takes a little while--he doesn’t want to offer his best at first. Not only will that cost him bargaining power, but these suckers don’t even look that rich. Why sell them one of his most precious thoughts?

  No, best to find a cruddy one. An orb with chinks in it. One that isn’t too brilliantly colored.

  THE GNOME. (holding a dinky up) Look! Compare this one with that stupid frog’s! Much better, isn’t it?

  SHYSTER. (stamping its feet) Fana ma hooey, ma fa! BaZEE ma sha way, ma foo za!

  They don’t sound like very happy words. But The Gnome doesn’t care.

  THE GNOME. Eh? Eh? What do you suckers say?

  The suckers look at each other.

  And then, as though in absolute mutual agreement, they all walk away.

  THE GNOME. Hey! Come back here! If you don’t like what you see, I have this girlie here with me who can glaze them over all pink and pretty. It’ll cost you extra, but it might be worth it! Hey! Hey! Come back!

  But they don’t. They’re not interested in anything but getting away. And getting away quickly, too.

  THE GNOME. Pah! Pathetic, pathetic! (redirecting his focus towards the frog) Oh well. At least they didn’t buy from you, you dirty shyster. I saw them first.

  SHYSTER. ZAMEE NALA MA MALA MA NAA!

  THE GNOME. Yeah? What are you going to do about it? Fight me?

  The Gnome sticks his wee-little fists up.

  Unfortunately, he’s not as intimidating as he thinks is. The Shyster grabs hold of The Gnome’s giant nose and twists it about and nurples it.

  THE GNOME. Oww! Oww! Oww!

  SHYSTER. Zoi shala ma fey.

  Before The Gnome can do anything but cry and wince and jump about, the toad lets go and speeds off after the travelers.

 
THE GNOME. I’ll remember you! Oh I will! (he rubs his nose)

  Ruthie approaches him.

  RUTHIE. …do you speak their language?

  THE GNOME. Yeah, sure I do.

  RUTHIE. Well why didn’t you use it? I think it would make you a better salesman.

  THE GNOME. Because…!

  RUTHIE. Sir?

  THE GNOME. What is it?! (he pulls on his hairs) Don’t you ever slow down? Don’t you ever let someone finish their sentence?! (he pulls down on his cheeks; his eyes look huge and exasperated) You know what...? I’m going to tell you something...!

  He’s real sore about losing a sale, you see. And he can’t help but blame Ruthie now.

  He’s about to start dishing out the ol’ opprobrium, when all of a sudden, Ruthie catches him by surprise:

  RUTHIE. Where are we headed? What is this city called? (she points at the staggering metropolis dominating the horizon)

  THE GNOME. Oh.... ...yeah.... That. It’s called…. (he mumbles)

  RUTHIE. What was that, sir? I didn’t catch what you said.

  THE GNOME. Catch that.

  RUTHIE. Huh? What?

  THE GNOME. Cashdat, you dummy.

  RUTHIE. Cashdat?

  THE GNOME. The name of the city! Any idiot knows that.

  RUTHIE. I’m sorry, sir. I’ve only just arrived in these parts.

  And it’s at this moment that the girl realizes The Gnome knows absolutely nothing. He might be just as lost as she is. Yes, he might be just as much of a foreigner.

  Because who says there’s a limit on strange lands? There’s her world. And then there’s this world. What if there’s a gnome’s world as well?

  Hmm. A dilemma.

  RUTHIE. Sir?

  THE GNOME. What?!

  RUTHIE. Why are we heading to...Cashdat?

  THE GNOME. Because everyone’s ripping me off. I’m tired of it. Tired! It’s time to make my fortune. Enough of this charity business.

  RUTHIE. Ripping you off?

  THE GNOME. Yeah, dumb-dumb. Didn’t you see that damned shyster and his cart?

  RUTHIE. Oh.

  THE GNOME. Ever since I started my business, there’s been dozens of these damn copycats popping up all over the place. (he crushes his wee-little fist into his wee-little hand) I’m tired of it. Tired! Why should they make their riches while I languish in filth?

  He wants to have a monopoly on thoughts. Hmm. How very Gnome-like of The Gnome!

  Ruthie hasn’t known The Gnome very long. But she already knows so much about him.

  Yes, she’s quickly forming many thoughts on what counts as “Gnome-like” behavior. And this avarice is definitely a great example.

  RUTHIE. You came up with this idea, sir?

  THE GNOME. What idea?

  RUTHIE. Selling your thoughts?

  THE GNOME. Well, no….

  RUTHIE. Others have done it before you?

  THE GNOME. Of course they have!

  RUTHIE. But…?

  THE GNOME. But what?

  RUTHIE. You were the first to…?

  THE GNOME. I was the first to buy a cart and lug my ideas around.

  RUTHIE. Ah!

  She doubts it. But perhaps she can learn something useful if she pretends to admire him.

  RUTHIE. That’s really impressive, sir. That you’re able to give shape to your ideas, I mean. That’s really impressive.

  THE GNOME. Yeah.

  RUTHIE. How do you do it, sir? How do you get something from out of your head and.... (Hmm. What’s the phrase?) And give it a physical dimension?

  THE GNOME. Ha! You’d never be able to do it. Nuh-uh.

  RUTHIE. Oh. I see. (she nods)

  THE GNOME. Now get moving! We still have some ways before we get into town.

  Ruthie rubs her aching arms.

  RUTHIE. I can’t, sir. I just can’t.

  THE GNOME. You’re going to have me carry my cart, are you? All the way there?

  RUTHIE. Well, not “all the way,” sir. To be fair, I’ve carried it most of the way.

  THE GNOME. You don’t know just how far I’ve come.

  RUTHIE. (she rubs her aching arms) I just can’t carry it anymore.

  THE GNOME. Fine! But you’ll have to make it up to me!

 

  RUTHIE. How so?

  THE GNOME. By helping me sell some of these thoughts!

  The Gnome takes up the cart.

  Ruthie can’t help but despair. Because what sort of foul, foul thoughts is The Gnome selling? They don’t look like very nice thoughts. They look rather pessimistic, actually.

  Well no one’s interested in any of that. They have enough of their own worries to contend with. They don’t need to listen to somebody else’s sourness. They have their own sourness due to their own sour lives--ah!

  But stop it, stop it, stop it, Ruthie! Stop it! Keep up the good cheer. You were able to transform The Gnome’s thoughts once. You gave them a rosy hue. Those will be much easier to sell, yeah? Yeah?

  Surely they will!

  ...but what if the buyers sense the desperation? She wasn’t so frantic before. If she tries again, she might turn The Gnome’s thoughts an acrid yellow.

  “Well,” Ruthie thinks to herself, “I suppose there are people who buy lemons. There are people who buy anything. Anything!”

  But it isn’t true. Not one person had bought a single one of The Gnome’s thoughts. Not one person.

  3.

  The Gnome stands in the middle of the marketplace. His voice is hoarse from all of the shouting, and his shoulders are smarting from all of the exaggerated arm-waving.

  It’s evident he doesn’t have much a talent for selling. What The Gnome is really good at--what he should earnestly pursue as a career--is crowd dispersal. Because somehow, The Gnome is able to steer massive amounts of people far, far away from him. He’s made a giant circle of empty space around him, which is something of a miracle.

  Yes: somehow, The Gnome has convinced hundreds of rude people to walk in line around him.

  He’s incredibly embarrassing. Prodigiously so.

  It’s amazing, really. Such a genetic gift is seldom nurtured to such fruition. And it must have been a genetic gift. It must have been. That seed must have been planted from birth, because you can’t possibly teach yourself to be so awkward and shameless.

  THE GNOME. (waving his arms) Come on, you suckers! You goofs! You imbeciles!

  RUTHIE. I think it would be best if we didn’t insult them so much.

  THE GNOME. They can’t even understand us.

  RUTHIE. Why don’t we try talking in their language?

  THE GNOME. ...cuz. (defensively) Hmph.

  But let’s take a moment to describe the panoply of peoples and critters coming up and down the market way.

  …ah! But let’s not. It would take too long, much too long. For a hundred earlobes, I’d have to give a hundred descriptions; each ear is so very different from the next. “But aren’t a pair of earlobes identical on each person? If there are a hundred earlobes, you only have to give fifty descriptions.” Yes, but that’s assuming these are normal peoples and critters. Some of these peoples and critters--you won’t believe me, but it’s true--actually have mismatched earlobes.

  And that’s just getting into earlobes. Imagine if we started focusing on chins and feet and heights and hair colors and voice pitches and all of that. “But so much detail isn’t necessary. Just general descriptions will do.” But you don’t understand how much variation exists in the crowd. You’re comfortable grouping eggplant and broccoli under the same label. But it’s a rather useless label, isn’t it? Vegetable. “It is not.” Well I say it is and that’s that.