His music was like
writing on the sky
that drew the
eye and slowed
the breath.
“Seems to me you’ve got yourself a rat problem,” said the Piper, removing his silver pipe from his thin lips.
“What makes you say that?” said the Mayor, absent-mindedly pointing to her garish sash with a bony digit – keen to establish authority with the stranger and seem cool, even though there was a rat trembling in her bra.
“We are just addressing our rat problem now, you peculiar man,” said Fat Bob’s Dad. He always thought he’d be a better mayor. The Piper surveyed the melee – that means he looked at all the madness.
“I reckon this geezer’s a wrong ’un,” said Gretchen’s Mum.
“I’ll iron you out, you mug!” said her dad.
Gretchen’s parents were well up for a scrap. It meant they didn’t have to think about their relationship which was going badly.
“What if we did have a rat problem?” began the Ice Cream Man.
“What would you do? Judging from your outrageous clothes you’ve just come from a mental hospital!”
The Piper was not a man who took kindly to hostility and the lingo of sarcasmo, so he played a few bars on his silver flute. The music rolled through the town hall connecting the minds of everyone there with invisible threads of dancing light and they knew then that the Piper could help them and their pride began to diminish – that means, get smaller.
The Mayor decided to begin negotiations with the peculiar Piper.
“Let’s begin negotiations, peculiar Piper,” she said. She was a direct woman who lacked tact. She made a note to work on that before the next election.
The Piper once more withdrew his shimmering pipe. He spoke in a voice that meant you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, people found it confusing. Sam liked it though. “I suppose I could remove these pests for a bag of gold and a sandwich.”
As well as being a bit stuck up, the Hamelinians didn’t like to part with cash. They thought cash made them important and safe. But what choice did they really have? Their beautiful town, once so scenic with its elegant squares and pretty lights, was now a jungle of fumes and rat muck. Sam, listening at the window pane, leaned on his crutches and wondered what would happen.
Fat Bob’s Dad cleared his throat, which was always full of green stuff (he should’ve seen the doctor but was too embarrassed). He began to speak.
If he’d been typing instead of talking the font would have been called sneaky because he was a man with a plan.
“You can have your sandwich now, Piper,” he offered, “as we do seem to require your assistance. But the bag of gold will not be issued until the rats have successfully been extricated.” That is a posh word for got rid of.
The glint-eyed Piper didn’t even seem to move. The glint-eyed Piper didn’t live in the world of men and rats. The glint-eyed Piper had no need for sandwiches and gold as he lived by a higher code. His pipe was a connection to a secret thing, a secret that we all keep in our quiet minds. We hear it whisper when we are at peace, when we ain’t all wrapped up in a need for candy or attention and crap.
“You are a shrewd businessman, Fat Bob’s Dad,” said the Piper, and the Mayor felt a little jealous.
“What day would you like the rats gone?”
“At once!” carped the Mayor, thrusting a ham sandwich that she fortunately had in her mayor’s bag in the Piper’s direction. He looked at it down his slender beak.
“I’m vegetarian,” he said.
It was agreed that when the town’s proud clock struck six o’clock, the Piper would remove the rats, and there was a lot of hubbub about how he’d do it.
“I reckon he’ll smash their skulls with his pointy boots,” said Gretchen, pulling a string of bubble gum all long from her gob in a way that got her a lot of attention.
“Perhaps he’ll eat them,” said Fat Bob.
“Nonsense,” began his dad. “He’ll dig a hole as big as a hippo and shove those damn rats down it.”
The rats themselves tried to carry on as normal, kicking up a fuss and smashing vases and heirlooms but their confidence had definitely been dented. Casper, who when under pressure had a tendency to show off, set fire to a child’s pram in the town square and Flamenco danced all round it. But even as he clicked and snapped and whirled, secretly checking there was no baby in the pram, he was nervous inside. Everybody wondered what would happen: the Mayor, the kids, the rats.
What do you think will happen, children? Look around inside your mind, listen to what it says …
The Piper strolled down from the tallest hill in Hamelin where he’d been sitting perfectly still whilst watching the clouds. Occasionally he’d blow gentle notes from his pipe and they’d travel effortlessly through the air like tiny vibrating birds and mingle with the clouds.
Sam stopped feeding the
sparrows and watched as the clouds
changed shape. There was a rat. There
was the Mayor. Ah, and a perfect circle.
The Piper is a
special man,
thought Sam.
Everyone gathered around the clock in the square, as it was 5.59 p.m. Then, as the clock struck six, the Piper mooched into view, his pipe swinging at his hip from a leather holster. It was really cool. The sun was going down and the sky was filled with crazy shaped clouds that only Sam noticed.
“Come along, Piper,” said Fat Bob’s Dad. “It’s six o’clock. You’ve had your sandwich. It’s time to get rid of these rat bags.”
“Yes,” added the Mayor, adjusting her hair. She knew that Fat Bob’s Dad was really taking the lead in this issue and decided to act a bit tough. “We the people of Hamelin will happily give you your gold just as soon as the plague is ameliorated.” This is a word so fancy it lives in its own mansion, but it just means made better.
The clock made its sixth chime. “Now it’s six!” said the glint-eyed Piper. A rat that was eating his discarded ham sandwich looked up fearfully. All the rats paused. The Piper silently drew in a long breath through his long nose.
The glint-eyed Piper knew that each breath we take is borrowed.
The glint-eyed Piper knew that all things are connected – the clouds, the people, the rats, the pipe, the music.
All things are connected by invisible threads.
The people of the town didn’t know that, they only cared about things they can see and eat and get prizes for. “Hurry up,” shouted Fat Bob’s Dad even though it wasn’t even one second since the sixth chime. He didn’t like to be patient.
The Pied Piper’s eyes rolled back in his head so all you could see were the whites. His lips wrapped around the pipe. The borrowed breath rushed from his black and white lungs and filled the fuselage of the silver flute. His nimble fingers danced along the holes in the shaft like limbless ballerinas.
And if the people of the town had been looking properly they’d have seen that the Piper, the pipe, the beautiful music that was even now pouring across the square like golden wine, and the sky were all blurred, that the lines between them were imaginary.
Only Sam could see this.
The music cascaded through the air and into the rats’ minds. It was so full, so sweet that there was no space for rat thoughts in their rat brains – only the Piper’s music.
The tiny tunnels in the rats’ brains tangled with the music and the music led to the pipe and the pipe led to the Piper and the Piper began to dance a gently demented jig.
And he danced out of the square and he danced into the hills and he danced to the sound of his own pipe and the rats became as one like a river of shimmering fur. They swirled about his spiky feet.
Like a jagged star on the horizon the Piper stood, the rats all about him. A quiet hurricane whirred about his legs. The square and the town was pristine, neat as if the rats and the Piper had never been there at all. Only Sam sa
w that the clock still chimed six. Only Sam saw that time hadn’t moved at all.
The rats and the Piper had all gone from view.
The music could no longer be heard.
And if the people of Hamelin had been smarter they would have been grateful in their rejoicing. But as they laughed and patted each other on the back, it was kind of like they forgot about the Piper. Everybody whooped and sang:
“The rats are gone!
The rats are gone!
The rats are gone!
What a fantastic day!”
“How clever of me to employ the Piper,” blurted the Mayor.
“I think it was my idea,” said Fat Bob’s Dad.
“The rats probably would have left anyway,” said Sexist Dave, even though the issue did not involve gender discrimination.
“Hamelin is a fine place!” sang the children and everyone was buzzing. It was a really good vibe, baby! The Mayor announced that The Most Gorgeous Child in Hamelin Pageant would be staged at once and the crowd roared with spineless appreciation. Sexist Dave suggested dancing girls in skimpy outfits and everyone said that was fine.
Fat Bob and the other favourites rushed home to scrub up. Homeless Jeff was politely ushered out of the square, his vagrancy always an obstacle to unbridled shallow beauty. Fat Bob won the pageant of course and strutted like a portly peacock with the hastily rinsed trophy wedged in the folds of his clammy belly. The town song was put on, a feast was organised, cakes were baked and sherbet lamb-legs scoffed. Everyone put on their best stuff and nobody considered the departed Piper.
Sam thought this was a pretty sordid state of affairs so he sat on his own by the fountain and reflected on the Piper and the clouds.
“Go to the feast though, Sam – you’ll have a nice time.” Sam’s Mum was so busy polishing graves all day that she didn’t understand the complex troubles of Sam’s social arrangements. Sam didn’t mind.
He was the only one who wasn’t off his nut with tribal fever. People were pumped. That night, at the WE BEAT THE RATS feast, Fat Bob literally wore a crown and danced on the table. All the grownups drank wine and said things they’d regret later. Fat Bob’s Dad and the Mayor flirted and she even let him wear her crass mayor’s sash, which really annoyed Fat Bob’s Mum, who hardly ever gets mentioned. The feast went on till past everybody’s bedtime.
They were so happy that everything was back to normal. They loved things being normal.
The next day early in the morning as the drowsy townspeople stirred to life they found the Piper already there in the middle of the square, cool as a cucumber in his pied outfit, leaning against a fountain twirling his pipe between his fingers.
Everyone felt a bit confused and threatened by the tranquil Piper so they just sort of pretended he wasn’t there. The Mayor hurried past, straightening her stained sash, trying not to make eye contact. Fat Bob’s Dad pretended to tie his shoelaces even though he was wearing slip-ons. The Piper played one sharp note on his pipe and if Hamelin was a window this was a stone right through it. The Pied Piper said nothing. The Pied Piper knew what was coming.
The Pied Piper knew that only the moment you live in is real and everything else is pretend.
The Pied Piper put out his hand. It was awkward. Fat Bob’s Dad knew, the Mayor knew, everybody knew it was …
What do you think the people of Hamelin did, children? My oiks, my twerps, my silly little nits. He’d played, did they pay? The music had been heard, but did they keep their word?
“I suppose you want your bag of gold,” said Fat Bob’s Dad, feeling confident as everyone gathered round. Sometimes grownups are bullies too.
The children stood in the crowd an’ all. The adults crossed their arms. No one liked the Piper much in spite of what he’d done for them. Only Sam liked the Piper. He liked that the Piper saw through silly things like threats, rats, cruel words, thin legs, bags of gold and sandwiches. Sam stood alone, leaning against his crutches. The Piper nodded. Sam felt sure the Piper smiled at him but the Piper doesn’t smile.
“Well,” blurted the Mayor. “The thing is, we don’t have it. Money’s tight. There is a double-dip recession on.” Sometimes if you say a confusing thing about money, people will back off. Others joined in.
“A bag of gold seems like a lot …”
“Yeah! All you did was play a dumb song.”
Everyone had something to say but no one was being very honest. “The way we feel,” said Fat Bob’s Dad, “is that the rat problem was never that bad.”
“They probably would have left anyway. It was getting cold and rats hate cold,” said a scientist.
“Yes, it’s likely a coincidence that the rats left. We can’t pay you for a coincidence, it doesn’t make economic sense,” offered the bank manager. The people were beginning to enjoy telling these crazy lies. Sexist Dave, who was still a bit drunk from the night before, actually claimed that he liked rats.
The glint-eyed Piper looked on. The glint-eyed Piper had no time for lies. The glint-eyed Piper dealt only in truth.
The townspeople – the grownups and the children – closed in on the Piper. There was an air of aggro, like the Piper was in trouble. Sam’s grip on his crutches tightened.
“You got nerve coming to Hamelin in your crazy clothes, with your crazy nose and your crazy mad music, demanding crazy bucks for pest control,” said Fat Bob’s Dad.
“Yeah!” shouted the crowd, for they’d reached the point where they all felt the same.
They were a horde, a mob with one mad mind.
“You’re a gangster!” screamed a policeman.
“Yeah, you’re committing daylight robbery!”
Slogans were shouted. The Piper was surrounded. People’s teeth grew sharper and their skin looked a little like fur.
“Get out of Hamelin!” screamed the Mayor.
“Yeah!” yawped the mob.
In spite of all this racket and rhubarb the Piper remained very calm and still. The mob roared and buckled and swayed. The children and the grownups all chanted …
The Piper raised the pipe to his lips and played a perfect note that sliced through time like a scalpel. Then he gave them one last chance, even though he knew they wouldn’t take it. They stood bristling and twitching around him. The Piper’s back was against the fountain, and in the moment of stillness the Piper spoke.
“Are you sure you want me to leave?”
“Did you imagine we were joking?” bawled the Mayor. She was really in her groove now and thought this was the kind of leadership that would definitely get her re-elected.
“Yeah! We ain’t joking,” said the mob. Then someone swore and someone else kicked a lamppost – it was starting to get edgy. The Piper did not frown or smile. He didn’t laugh or cry. He didn’t feel happy or sad.
He just raised
his pipe
to his
lips.
And the sound rushed into the world as the sunlight washed across the square and all the space between all the people was full of bright yellow sound.
And as the people stood there silent it was like their ears breathed this golden sound.
And all the tunnels in their minds tangled and mingled with the music like the rats’ minds had. The grownups stood still and stared. The children swayed as the yellow sound swept around them like a strong sweet wind.
The proud clock stopped. The Piper’s fingers danced. His spiky feet moved through the square and the Piper, the pipe, the music and the children moved through the square and through the narrow streets and up the tallest hill. Staring adult eyes unblinkingly teared as they realised with one mind what they had done.
The dream of Hamelin ended, as they watched the Piper like a jagged star on the horizon followed by the dancing children, and as they watched the proud clock motionless like a dead man’s face, they watched the Piper and the
children
disappear
from
view.
Some of you will wonder what happened to the children, others will wonder what happened to the Piper. Some of you may even wonder what happened to the rats.
Well this story, my darlings, my nose-pickers, my nincompoops, ain’t about that – what became of them is an irrelevant secret and none of us know, but if you want to know it, you can decide yourself, in your own little brainbox.
What I can tell you is that if you go to Hamelin now, you’ll find a very peaceful town, pretty but not fussy. They don’t need constant contests to remind them that they’re cool, the people remind each other all day long just by being nice. Strangers are always welcome and people of all shapes and colours are accepted and loved. They closed the depository for imperfect children on the outskirts of town when they realised that all children are perfect. There are a few rats there to this day but they’re pretty well-behaved, the kids are all nice to one another and don’t really care about who wins prizes because the important prizes can’t be won by individuals, only by us all. You may wonder how Hamelin came to change so much from the silly, greedy, pompous town it was in our tale. Well I’ve told you all I know but if you want to know more, and you should always want to know more, you’ll have to go there yourself on a bus that’s in your mind. When you’re there you can ask their new mayor. You’ll know him when you see him, you can feel he’s kind of special even though you won’t know why. He’s gentle and cool, he never wears the sash when he walks through the town and you’ll hardly notice him limping.
Published in Great Britain in 2014 by Canongate Books Ltd, 14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
Russell Brand's Trickster Tales Page 2
