Beans on the Roof (4 page)

George put a strip of dough around his snake’s neck.

“Look,” he said. “My snake has on a necktie. He is ready to announce.”

Jenny and Mrs. Bean smiled at the snake in a necktie. Anna smiled too.

But those were not the smiles George wanted. They were not Bean smiles.

He made his snake bow. He made his snake say, “Ladies and gentlemen!”

“Beans! Yoo-hoo! Where are you?”

It was Mr. Bean. He was home from the store.

“we’re in the kitchen, Sam. Supper is almost ready.”

Mr. Bean stopped in the doorway. He breathed deeply. “Ah, chicken pie,” he said. “And I have brought the dessert—fruit.”

He brought out four bananas. “They are only a little too ripe,” he said.

“Thank your father,” Mrs. Bean said.

“Thank you, Papa,” they said together.

“You are most welcome.”

As Mr. Bean passed the table, he stepped
on a piece of paper. It was the paper with George’s poem on it.

He said, “Oh-ho! What is this?”

George said quickly, “Nothing, Papa.”

George reached for the piece of paper, but Mr. Bean was too fast.

“Why, George,” said Mr. Bean, “it is your roof poem. You have done it at last.”

“Not now, Sam,” said Mrs. Bean.

“Why not? George is as proud of his poem as we are of ours. Let me read it.”

“Later, Sam,” said Mrs. Bean.

“I’m sorry, love. I cannot wait.”

Mr. Bean cleared his throat and read:

Mr. Bean smiled. “I hope so, George. I hope we all know to come in out of the rain. Now we all have poems.”

Mr. Bean sat down at the table. He reached for his napkin. Then he looked up. His smile faded.

“Why. Anna, what is wrong?”

Anna was crying.

She shook her head. “N-nothing,” she said.

“It is not nothing. My children do not cry for nothing. Anna, what has happened?”

“Later, Sam,” said Mrs. Bean.

“Not later! Now! My beautiful daughter is crying, and I want to know why.”

“Well,” said Anna, “you will all have to know sometime.”

She wiped her eyes. She looked down at the table.

“My poem is not going to be in the book. It was not picked.”

Mr. Bean jumped up so fast, he tipped over his chair.

“Anna Bean!” he said.

“I’m s-sorry, Papa.”

“Anna Bean, you have nothing to be sorry for! You are the first person in the Bean family to write a poem. That is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened in the history of the Beans.”

Mr. Bean put his hand over his heart.

“Children, my father could not read. He could not even write his name. And here, forty years later, is a Bean who can write a poem, a poem as beautiful as a song. That makes me very, very proud.”

“But it’s not going to be in the book,” Anna said.

“Not in this book maybe,” said Mr. Bean. “I don’t care about this book.”

“You don’t?”

“No, for if you keep on writing poems, Anna, one day you will be in a book. That’s the book I care about.”

“Oh, Papa.”

Anna ran around the table. She threw her arms around her father’s neck.

“I never want to be in a book,” Jenny said.

“So what do you want to be?” Mr. Bean said. He was still hugging Anna, but he smiled at Jenny.

“I want to be on the stage.”

“And you, George?”

“Well, I don’t want to be in a book either. Maybe I’ll …” George stopped to think. “Maybe I’ll build bridges.”

“George, I didn’t know you were going to build bridges,” Jenny said.

“Well, I didn’t know you were going on the stage.”

“Ah, three famous children,” Mr. Bean said. “A poet, an actress, a bridge builder.”

He reached out and gathered them into his arms. “What more could any man ask for?”

He breathed deeply.

“Ah, only one thing. Your mother’s chicken pie for supper. Get in your seats, Beans,” he said.

Jenny, George, and Anna ran to their seats. Mrs. Bean set the chicken pie on the table. Mr. Bean tucked his napkin under his chin.

“Yes,” he said, looking around the table, “I am a very happy Bean.”

George looked around the table too. Everyone was smiling. And these were Bean smiles!

“We are the luckiest Beans in the world,” he said.

And not one single Bean disagreed.