Read Online The Dragon Tree by Jane Langton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Langton
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faraway lonely places, fairy tales read to children in London nurseries and frontier cabins in the American wilderness.
The tree that had appeared only last May as a twig in the ground and had grown to such a gigantic height, the tree that had borne sweet-smelling flowers and shining apples, the tree that was now a legend in the neighborhood, had turned out to be something more than a freakish giant. It was the tree of myth and fable. It was Thoreau’s great dragon tree of the Western Isles.
30
UGGA-UGGA
S PREAD OUT ON the kitchen table, the leaves refused to lie still. They lifted at the edges and tumbled over one another. Noah drifted sideways and changed places with Scrooge. Huck Finn jumped over Aesop, Henry Thoreau skipped across Dante’s
Divine Comedy
and settled down between
Moby-Dick
and
Little Women
, Mother Goose sailed around the kitchen and landed on the teakettle before fluttering back to the table and floating gently down beside
Don Quixote
.
“Look at that,” whispered Aunt Alex. “They’re rearranging themselves.”
“In time,” said Uncle Fred. “They’re rearranging themselves in time.”
The nine members of the Fellowship crowded around the table to look at their harvest of scribbled leaves. “What I don’t get,” said Sidney, “is why some of them are blank. You know, way down at the bottom of the tree.”
“Me neither,” said Hugo.
“Wait a sec,” said Eddy. He struck a dramatic pose. “The mighty brain of your hero has plumbed the depths of this mystery.” He looked around, grinning. “How sad that the rest of you are such nitwits.”
“Mercy me,” said Hugo. “How disgusting that our hero is such a twit.”
“Such a jerk,” agreed Rachel.
“Such an asshole,” said Sidney. “Excuse me, Miz Hall.”
Aunt Alex smiled and then, very carefully, she began picking up the leaves while Uncle Fred found a paper bag and Eddy said, “Hey, listen, you guys, do you want to hear it or not?”
“Oh, please tell us,
darling
Eddy,” said Frieda.
“Well, okay then.” Eddy threw open the screen door. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Hey,” said Cissie, “it’s raining out there.”
“Our hero,” began Eddy, but Cissie said, “Oh, never mind,” and they all ran outdoors and huddled under the vast umbrella of the tree. Eddy reached up to a low branch and pulled off a leaf. “See?” he said, turning it over in his hand. “It’s blank because at first nobody knew how to write. For thousands and thousands of years they could say ‘ugga-ugga,’ but they couldn’t write it down.”
For a minute they stared back at him in silence. Then Rachel said, “Oh, I get it,” and repeated it softly, “Ugga-ugga.”
“Ugga-ugga,” whispered Georgie.
“Ugga-ugga,” gabbled Hugo, laughing and beating his chest.
“Ugga-ugga,” bawled Oliver. He sprang to his feet and bounded around in the rain like a caveman, whooping, “UGGA-UGGA, UGGA-UGGA.”
Then they all danced out from under the tree and began hopping up and down and shrieking, “UGGA-UGGA, UGGA-UGGA,” while the raindrenched their hair and ran down their faces and soaked their shirts and sneakers, and high overhead, peering down through a crack in the locked shutters of her attic window, Emerald murmured softly to herself, “Ugga-ugga, ugga-ugga.”
31
THE FIRST NOTE
E MERALD’S ATTIC PRISON was a bare room furnished with little more than a chair and a narrow bed, and under the bed a chamber pot. Emerald leaned against the chicken wire over her window and peered through a crack in the shutter at the crazy kids next door, until the rain at last drove them indoors. Then she sat down on the cot and tried to think.
If only she had a candle, she could light it with one of her precious matches. She could wave it back and forth like a signal. But there was no candle. Stretching out on the cot, Emerald wondered whatthey were thinking about downstairs, and began to be afraid.
When she woke up next morning, she
The tree that had appeared only last May as a twig in the ground and had grown to such a gigantic height, the tree that had borne sweet-smelling flowers and shining apples, the tree that was now a legend in the neighborhood, had turned out to be something more than a freakish giant. It was the tree of myth and fable. It was Thoreau’s great dragon tree of the Western Isles.
30
UGGA-UGGA
S PREAD OUT ON the kitchen table, the leaves refused to lie still. They lifted at the edges and tumbled over one another. Noah drifted sideways and changed places with Scrooge. Huck Finn jumped over Aesop, Henry Thoreau skipped across Dante’s
Divine Comedy
and settled down between
Moby-Dick
and
Little Women
, Mother Goose sailed around the kitchen and landed on the teakettle before fluttering back to the table and floating gently down beside
Don Quixote
.
“Look at that,” whispered Aunt Alex. “They’re rearranging themselves.”
“In time,” said Uncle Fred. “They’re rearranging themselves in time.”
The nine members of the Fellowship crowded around the table to look at their harvest of scribbled leaves. “What I don’t get,” said Sidney, “is why some of them are blank. You know, way down at the bottom of the tree.”
“Me neither,” said Hugo.
“Wait a sec,” said Eddy. He struck a dramatic pose. “The mighty brain of your hero has plumbed the depths of this mystery.” He looked around, grinning. “How sad that the rest of you are such nitwits.”
“Mercy me,” said Hugo. “How disgusting that our hero is such a twit.”
“Such a jerk,” agreed Rachel.
“Such an asshole,” said Sidney. “Excuse me, Miz Hall.”
Aunt Alex smiled and then, very carefully, she began picking up the leaves while Uncle Fred found a paper bag and Eddy said, “Hey, listen, you guys, do you want to hear it or not?”
“Oh, please tell us,
darling
Eddy,” said Frieda.
“Well, okay then.” Eddy threw open the screen door. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Hey,” said Cissie, “it’s raining out there.”
“Our hero,” began Eddy, but Cissie said, “Oh, never mind,” and they all ran outdoors and huddled under the vast umbrella of the tree. Eddy reached up to a low branch and pulled off a leaf. “See?” he said, turning it over in his hand. “It’s blank because at first nobody knew how to write. For thousands and thousands of years they could say ‘ugga-ugga,’ but they couldn’t write it down.”
For a minute they stared back at him in silence. Then Rachel said, “Oh, I get it,” and repeated it softly, “Ugga-ugga.”
“Ugga-ugga,” whispered Georgie.
“Ugga-ugga,” gabbled Hugo, laughing and beating his chest.
“Ugga-ugga,” bawled Oliver. He sprang to his feet and bounded around in the rain like a caveman, whooping, “UGGA-UGGA, UGGA-UGGA.”
Then they all danced out from under the tree and began hopping up and down and shrieking, “UGGA-UGGA, UGGA-UGGA,” while the raindrenched their hair and ran down their faces and soaked their shirts and sneakers, and high overhead, peering down through a crack in the locked shutters of her attic window, Emerald murmured softly to herself, “Ugga-ugga, ugga-ugga.”
31
THE FIRST NOTE
E MERALD’S ATTIC PRISON was a bare room furnished with little more than a chair and a narrow bed, and under the bed a chamber pot. Emerald leaned against the chicken wire over her window and peered through a crack in the shutter at the crazy kids next door, until the rain at last drove them indoors. Then she sat down on the cot and tried to think.
If only she had a candle, she could light it with one of her precious matches. She could wave it back and forth like a signal. But there was no candle. Stretching out on the cot, Emerald wondered whatthey were thinking about downstairs, and began to be afraid.
When she woke up next morning, she
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