The Gnome of Elderberry

by Porphyro

  THE GNOME. Bah!

  Wait. Is The Gnome mad because of the umbrella?

  RUTHIE. (suddenly remembering her argument) Hmph!

  THE GNOME. You aren’t one to listen to anything are you, girl?

  RUTHIE. Oh I listen to a lot of things. More importantly, I sell a lot of things, too.

  THE GNOME. Yes, but you weren’t supposed to sell everything! You dumb, dumb--

  RUTHIE. Well how was I supposed to know?

  THE GNOME. Had you listened--!

  RUTHIE. --you mean had I paid attention to one voice out of eager hundreds waiting to buy my goods?

  THE GNOME. ‘Eager hundreds.’ Bah! More like dozens.

  RUTHIE. Dozens more than you ever had in your line. (she crosses her arms) Hmph!

  THE GNOME. Yeah? And what good did it do you?

  RUTHIE. What good? How could you say that, Mr. Gnome? I sold everything. According to you, I was so successful, I overdid it and nearly ruined you.

  THE GNOME. Yeah, so what? What did you get out of it? (he looks up at the umbrella) This stupid thing?

  RUTHIE. I only bought it to shelter you from the rain.

  THE GNOME. I would have rather borne the rain and had my ticket than--!

  RUTHIE. --you’ve no idea how expensive things are, Mr. Gnome! No idea!

  THE GNOME. You’ve no idea how to price things, girl! You’ve no idea about anything! No idea!

  RUTHIE. (brazenly) Well you’re a liar, sir. A real liar. You promised you’d show me the way home and you haven’t. (she waits for a moment) …so there!

  THE GNOME. OK. I’m a liar. So what?

  RUTHIE. …what?!

  THE GNOME. Get out! Get out! I’ve no need for you anymore! Get out! You’re lucky I don’t write you a bill and sink you in debt. You undersold all of my assets. Way, way, undersold them. Oh you’re very lucky I don’t write you a bill!

  RUTHIE. You would if you knew how.

  THE GNOME. Get out!

  RUTHIE. You would throw me out into this rain?

  THE GNOME. Get out!

  Ruthie doesn’t need to hear it again. She gets up and leaves as quickly as she can.

 

  Fine! Let The Gnome suffer! He won’t get anything done without her. Anything!

 

  Once he eventually realizes this, he’ll get up from his sorry spot and come looking for her himself. And then she’ll have leverage on him. Real leverage. She might even force him to buy her a ticket back home. Hmph!

  6.

  And what do you know? Look up, Ruthie! It’s like the weather agrees with you; it sides with you; it wants to cheer you up.

 

  Rather than RAIN, RAIN, RAIN and THUNDER! and BOOM! the sun comes out. He’s kind of a mess, though, the sun; it’s like he’s only half-dressed: one sock on, hair still greasy from a lengthy nap.

 

  It’s still misty out and his shine isn’t so bright. But he’s trying. He’s trying, all right.

 

  Ah but it’s the clouds that are doing a better job of things for Ruthie. As much as they would like to go on and keep on clouding, they restrain themselves. They don’t even drizzle.

  RUTHIE. (looking up) Thank you, kind weather!

 

  And if the weather could blush right now, it would. It most definitely would. But it has to wait for evening for any of that.

  RUTHIE. (looking around) Hmm. It’s so dirty now….

 

  And it is. It is dirty now. And it’s a shame.

 

  Before, the marketplace--despite being so crowded with goods and peoples and critters--had a clean feeling to it. Spick and span, spick and span. The cobblestone paths were nice and swept--no dirt between the cracks. The trash was all picked up, too. And there was nothing like black gum stuck on the ground to soil the appearance of the place. It was a pristine marketplace. It was a sanitary marketplace. If Ruthie had dropped a pickle, she would have picked it right back up and munched on it.

 

  But now? She’d consider it the loss of a perfectly good cucumber; there’s no way she’d eat a dropped pickle. No way.

 

  Because the marketplace looked downright grotty now.

 

  Grotty. There’s something about the rain that brings out the grottiness in people.

 

  And can you blame them? The water’s falling hard. It’s drenching your favorite shirt and ruining all of your sensitive valuables; anything that’s paper won’t last long in the downpour, not even inside the sturdiest pockets of the sturdiest pants. Well money is paper. Pictures are paper(like). Love-letters are paper, as are epiphanies quickly jotted down in the middle of the street. These are all important things. You’d run for cover too if the rain were destroying them.

 

  So people are in a hurry to get dry. And so they forget trash, or it falls from their wet grip, or they’d rather leave it behind than encumber their free hands that could be used to cover their exposed heads.

 

  They get mud on their shoes and don’t watch their step. Things got knocked over, things get spilled.

 

  In short, everything becomes chaos.

 

  The grottiness, then, is perfectly justified.

  RUTHIE. (looking around) Yes, but still…. Must things be so very dirty?

 

  Ruthie wonders: how could so much trash have accumulated so quickly? More importantly, how could so many bizarre and out of place pieces of waste and litter have made their way over here? For instance, there are leaves and twigs and branches all over the roads. But there aren’t any trees. It doesn’t make any sense to her.

 

  And I suppose it shouldn’t make any sense to anybody. Because it’s true! Where are the trees?

  RUTHIE. Oh!

 

  Ruthie spots a “woman” in the distance. (Is it a rabbit?)

 

  She’s wearing a conical straw hat to protect her from the no-longer-showering-or-even-dribbling-rain. And she carries a huge “broom” or sorts with her. It’s a “broom,” by the way, and not just a broom because the bristles look…well they don’t look like bristles. The “broom” has been used so much, it looks more like a wooden stick with a carpet attached.

 

  The rabbit is obviously a cleaner. The city probably employs a lot of them. Yes--probably many, many cleaners. And so cleaning is not what’s interesting about her.

 

  What’s interesting about her is how openly she’s sabotaging her own job. Instead of cleaning the roads, she’s littering them with all sorts of junk she keeps inside a massive black bag. The rabbit reaches into the bag and WHOOPS! there’s garbage all over town.

 

  She doesn’t even bother to give a suspicious glance around. The nerve!

  RUTHIE. Hmm.

 

  But then--look at this: once the rabbit has finished her fake job, she starts on her real job. Yes, once the rabbit has finished with untidiness, she dutifully resumes with her tidy responsibilities and sedulously cleans off the litter on the ground. SWEEP, SWEEP, SWEEP, she becomes a scrupulous, sweeping rabbit. SWEEP, SWEEP, SWEEP. (But notice how she puts all of the trash back into the black bag. Isn’t that just a tad bit perverse? It’s a never-ending cycle. Oh! It’s definitely a tad bit perverse.)

 

  Gah! It doesn’t make any sense. Who’s even watching the rabbit work? For whom is she putting this show on?

  RUTHIE. Oh!

 

  Out of nowhere, people start to come back outside. Apparently, there’s news that the rain has stopped.

 

  Several people see the rabbit at work. You can tell because there’s lots and lots
of muttering about her. The people even point at her, too.

 

  It seems they really appreciate her for getting right back into the dirt and grime of things. The way they mutter and point, it’s like they’re saying the marketplace is a mess after the storm; it’s only due to hard-workers like that rabbit over there sweeping and picking things up that things return to normalcy relatively quickly.

 

  Yes, you can tell they’re saying such things, or at least thinking them, because they actually go on and reward her kindly. Yes, several people just waltz right on up to her and drop little green sacks by her feet.

 

  Green sacks!

 

  By golly, not even red.

 

  How much are the green baggies worth?

 

  Whatever they go for, it’s got to be more than the red ones. It’s got to be.

  RUTHIE. Little green sacks....

 

  Ruthie looks around. If she can somehow find a broom and a hat of her own, she might be able to save up some money…. Yes, a nice little collection. Little green sacks, little green sacks. After only a few hours of easy sweeping, she might be halfway home. After all, the tickets can’t be that expensive.

  RUTHIE. Surely The Gnome was exaggerating. He always is.

 

  And what do you know? Ruthie’s the lucky one yet again!

 

  Because over there in the distance, there’s a dozing sweeper; dozing, dozing, zzzzz. He probably snoozed right through the storm! The man looks tired past tired (is it a monkey?). Ruthie’s never seen such an exhausted expression on anyone. Poor man-monkey must be overworked!

  RUTHIE. Hmm. So much for “easy sweeping.”

 

  Still, the idea is worth trying out, especially when luck is so much on Ruthie’s side. First the weather, now this--Ruthie has to try her idea out. She has to.

 

  Besides, the man will probably be glad to be relieved of his duties for a few hours. While he sleeps, Ruthie will “borrow” his equipment and make some quick cash. By nightfall, she should have enough to bring back half the earnings to the man-monkey and still have enough to purchase her very own equipment as well.

 

  Yes. Ruthie is sure the poor man-monkey will like that very much. He’ll be making money as he rests. It’ll be a panicked rest once he wakes up and sees his equipment is gone. Sure, sure. That’s true. But Ruthie won’t be too long. The panic won’t last too long. She’s sure the man-monkey will understand.

  RUTHIE. I’m sure he will!

 

  As she starts to make her way towards him, though, she catches sight of something that puts an end to all her monkey business.

 

  A little up the road, she sees a man sprinting her way. It’s a real man, too. Not a monkey-man or a rabbit-man, but a man-man.

 

  Ruthie recognizes him immediately. Of course she does.

 

  It’s her father!

  7.

  Would it be worth mentioning he has a mustache? Most fathers seem to, so I suppose not.

 

  But then again, most fathers with mustaches have complete mustaches. It’s 100% on the upper lip. Not 55% like Ruthie’s father.

 

  What happened to the poor man? Usually his mustache is a 100% mustache, too.

 

  Why does he look so traumatized? Why does he have cuts up and down his arms? Why is he running so fast?

  RUTHIE. Papa, papa!

 

  He’s so intent on escaping, he doesn’t even notice his own daughter.

  RUTHIE. Wait! Papa, papa! It’s me!

 

  But he keeps running and running and running.

 

  Ruthie takes off her slipper and tries her best to hit him.

  RUTHIE. Here I go…!

  Her slipper boomerangs through the air. WHIR, WHIR, WHIR, WIZZZZZ--

 

  --and luck of all luck! She actually manages to BOINK! the back of his head.

  PAPA. (looking back) Huh? Wha--?

 

  He finally sees his daughter.

  PAPA. Ruthie!

  RUTHIE. (rushing towards him) Papa!

 

  They embrace.

  RUTHIE. (touching his face) What happened to your mustache, dear Papa? Why is it shaven like that? Why do you look so ragged? What’s happened to you?

  PAPA. Oh, Ruthie!

  RUTHIE. Why are you running, Papa? Where are you going?

  PAPA. I’ve been looking for you!

  RUTHIE. Oh, Papa. You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have come. Now that we’re here, it’s impossible to get back.

  PAPA. Don’t say that, sweet child! (he looks around with wild eyes) One must keep the hope alive!

  He doesn’t sound very convincing.

  RUTHIE. What’s wrong, Papa? What’s going on?

  PAPA. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. This is a strange, strange land we’re in. An awful land. (he shudders) Hideous!

  RUTHIE. (touching his arms) What happened, Papa? What’s going on? I’ve encountered some strange things as well. Go on, tell me.

  PAPA. Oh, Ruthie! Don’t say that! Don’t tell me you’ve been through what I’ve been through!

  RUTHIE. Well what have you been through? I wouldn’t be able to say without knowing.

  PAPA. No, no, no. It’s impossible. (he studies her) I’m looking at you up and down and you look well taken care of. That’s good. That’s very good.

  RUTHIE. I can’t say the same for you, Papa. You look terribly abused. What happened?

  PAPA. Ruthie…! These people are awful! I was asking for directions when…. (he shudders)

  RUTHIE. When what?

  PAPA. I was deceived. Some little critter--it looked like an upright beaver with a big paunch--took me deep into the woods. He said he’d show me the way. He said he knew exactly where you were. I gave him your description like an idiot and he repeated it back to me. And so I followed him like a fool. I thought he knew you! I really thought he did!

  RUTHIE. And he pummeled you, dear Papa? Oh! We’ll be sure to find this beaver! He’ll be sure to pay!

  PAPA. It’s worse than that, sweet girl. Much worse. (he shudders)

  RUTHIE. He…? (she shudders) What happened?

  PAPA. He took me deep, deep into the woods. It was a long journey, my girl. So long, in fact, that eventually I was wheezing and was running out of sweat. My tongue started forming a thick, gluey texture to it. Even my eyeballs were drying out. I was awful thirsty, Ruthie. Awful thirsty. Thirst does terrible things to you. I believe the soul is a wet substance and that thirst sucks it away. Do you understand me, girl?

  RUTHIE. I do.

  PAPA. My head was throbbing and I was feeling so very angry. So angry. But more than that, I was feeling dizzy. Luckily, by the time I actually felt close to fainting, we were right by a spring. He told me to stop and relax. He told me to take my time and take a drink. So I knelt down and started cupping water with my hands. That first sip...! Oh! It was immediate relief! Immediate! (he caresses his throat)

  RUTHIE. I sure bet it was. (she caresses her throat too)

  PAPA. I was relishing it, when all of a sudden, a whole pack of those paunchy-bellied beavers fell right on top of me. I don’t know where they came from. But they tied me up, Ruthie. I don’t know where they got the rope, but they tied me up.

  RUTHIE. And did they leave you there, Papa? Are all these scratches and bruises from you trying to escape?

  PAPA. No, my girl. No. I only wish they would have left me there! But they didn’t. They took me even deeper into the woods. Deep, deep into the woods. We went so deep, in
fact, I could hardly see a thing. We walked for hours. Maybe even an entire day. It was so very deep into the woods…. Everything was dark, Ruthie. There are parts of the forest so deep and dark, the sun becomes a stranger. The foliage is so thick, it seems like there’s perpetual night. It seems like the moon has finally proven herself the only one who deserves the sky; like she has vanquished her enemy; like she has blown out the sun. FOO-woo! Those are her silver lips extinguishing the candle. ...darkness!

  RUTHIE. That sounds so frightening, Papa. How were you able to cope after all of that?

  PAPA. I only wish that was the worst of it, Ruthie! But I’m not done yet. Do you know what lives there in that deep, deep darkness?

  RUTHIE. Not at all.

  PAPA. Many vicious critters, my girl. Many. But none of them so bad as giants.

  RUTHIE. ...g--giants?!

  PAPA. (he opens his eyes up wide) Giants!

  RUTHIE. And…what makes giants so bad? (she shudders) Oh! Don’t tell me, Papa! I’m afraid to know.

  PAPA. Ruthie! Oh, Ruthie! (he sobs)

  RUTHIE. Papa! What’s wrong?

  PAPA. There were many of us, Ruthie. Many of us. Prisoners, I mean.