The Hop (4 page)

DROPS OF DEW, like tiny see-through moons, clung to the grass as the morning sky turned pink. Most of the blossoms from First Night had blown away, but Tad could still make out the circle where the toads had celebrated. He found the old prophet sitting on a rock and thumped the ground three times in respect. “Greetings, Seer.”

“I have been expecting you.”

Seer inched over, making room on the rock. Even though Tad was among the smallest of the hoppers, the ancient prophet had shrunk so much that he was even smaller. The great bony ridge protruded between his eyes. A place between Tad's own eyes flickered.

“Tell me what you dreamed in your winter sleep,” Seer demanded.

Tad almost fell off the stone. “How did you know?” he finally croaked.

“I felt the jewel between your eyes as I gave you my blessing in the Hall of Young Hoppers yesterday. And the jewel marks a dreamer—a someday seer.”

“But I don't want to be a seer!”

Seer made a harrumphing noise.

Seers were old and blind. And Tad hadn't even sung on the pond bank with a pretty hopper yet. “I'm more like an ordinary toad,” he explained.

When a sun ray lifted over the edge of creation, Seer said, “I had my first winter dream when I was your age.”

“But I wouldn't be a good seer,” Tad said. “I'm small. My voice is weak.” And he was scared of many things—not just crawdads. He was scared of scurrying sounds in the leaves, and of falling stars.

Other toads had begun to stir out of Tumbledown, looking for worms in the cool of the morning. Tad saw Buuurk under the redbud tree, blossoms drifting down around him. Buuurk was big and brave. Why couldn't
he
have the dreams?

“Mother Earth and Father Pond placed the jewel behind your eyes for a reason,” Seer said. “I think perhaps they have chosen you to save us.”

Tad swallowed. He didn't know what to say.

The stone beneath them grew warm as the sun floated higher. A slow blackfly droned over Tad, and he automatically zotted it. It made such a fuss going down his gullet with all its buzzing and struggling that he almost spat it out.

“Blackflies are good for courage,” Seer said. “Did you know that?”

“I don't really like blackflies.” Any other of the young hoppers—
anybody
—would be a better choice to save Tumbledown.

If it was up to Tad to save them, surely Rumbler would come and tear the skin off Mother Earth and chase Father Pond away and kill all the toads. Tears stung Tad's eyes, but he would not let himself cry. The stone was growing hot. Tad wanted to hop into the shade, but something as sticky as honey held him there.

“Maybe we shouldn't tell the others about my dreams,” he heard himself croak. It wasn't a brave thing to say, he knew, but it was better than crying.

“I will let you get used to the idea first. But tell me everything you dreamed, toad.”

And so Tad told Seer of the bellowing, stinking monster, though he hadn't known it was called Rumbler. Seer nodded. And Tad told Seer about trying to get something important done, though he wasn't sure what, and how he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. “See?” he demanded. “Even in my own dreams I let the toads down.”

“I am often weak in my dreams too,” Seer said. “Eat more blackflies.”

Tad shuddered.

“What else did you dream?” Seer asked.

Tad explained the music the best he could, stamping his diggers to the rocking rhythm and croaking out some words about going to the hop.

“Going to the hop?” mused Seer. “What's a hop?”

“I don't know.”

“There's nothing like that in my visions,” Seer said, sounding surprised.

Tad couldn't bring himself to confess that he'd turned into something freaky and horrible in his dream too.

The two sat in silence.

“When will I have more dreams?” Tad finally asked.

“When you need them, toad.”

“IS IT OKAY TO PICK ANYTHING?” Taylor called to her grandmother, who was resting on the deck. It had been a month since Eve started chemotherapy, and it seemed like she was always tired.

Eve was a garden photographer. Lots of books and magazines had her photographs in them.
Photography by Eve Murphy, West Des Moines, Iowa,
it would say below the picture, which always made Taylor smile. These days her grandmother didn't take many pictures. But still, Taylor decided she should probably ask before she wrecked a flower bed that Eve planned to photograph.

Taylor wanted the tall pink tulips—the ones that made her think of sunrise—for the May basket she was making her parents. They were at work, of course, even though it was Saturday.

“Go ahead,” Eve answered. “If the storm comes, they'll get pounded down anyway.”

The air felt like a storm. There was no breeze and the sky was no color.

Taylor snipped seven tall pink tulips because she liked the number seven. The two remaining tulips stood among the heliotrope all by themselves. They looked strange and ugly. She glanced up at her grandmother.

Her grandmother's hair was like the last two tulips. A little was still there after her first chemotherapy treatment a month ago, but it looked strange and disturbing. Taylor had held back tears earlier when Eve had said she was going to shave her head.
I should get it over with,
she'd said.
Bald will look better
than dead hanks.
But Taylor had just shaken her head.

Now, feeling her grandmother's gaze, Taylor bent down and cut the last two tulips. She took a deep breath. “It's okay to shave your head,” she said, standing up and meeting her grandmother's eyes.

After a moment, Eve nodded.

Taylor drifted down the hill to where the last of the phlox and a few daisies were blooming around the tumbledown shed. They would look pretty with the tulips.

People in hard hats had been around with stakes and surveying equipment, and she knew she was on somebody else's property.

The purple phlox grew wild among the caved-in walls of the shed. When Taylor bent down to cut a stem, a toad bounced, making her sort of scream. They were so startling! She watched the little toad for a moment, frozen near the tip of her shoe.

When she looked up, she saw the man in the hard hat who had been walking around the pond. He was coming toward her.

She looked back at the house. Eve had gone inside.

She knew she wasn't supposed to be over here. Maybe she was going to get in trouble. But she didn't move, even though her heart was pounding.

“These are my grandmother's flowers,” she said, when the man stopped, his hands on his hips, looking at her from behind dark glasses. He had an underbite, like a bulldog.

“You help yourself, hon,” he said, taking off his hard hat and wiping sweat with his shirtsleeve. “All this will be gone soon anyway. Does your grandmother live there?” He pointed to Eve's house.

Taylor nodded.

“Well, it's okay to pick the flowers today. But I'm going to be bringing some heavy equipment in here tomorrow, and then it won't be safe to be over here. I need to get the woods down by the road bulldozed first. And then take this shed or whatever it was out of here. Then the big guys will be coming in to get rid of the pond, and this old place will be cleaned up. Shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks, depending on the weather.”

His cheerfulness about destroying her world made her shake inside.
Cleaned up?
Did he think she was stupid and didn't understand what was really happening?

He didn't know a thing about how it felt to jump off the dock on a hot day. How the boards creaked as she ran the length of the dock. How the frame felt warm when she curled her toes against it to push off for a dive. How the cold currents tickled as she settled deeper and felt a fish brush her leg.

“There's a groundhog who lives in there.” Taylor pointed to the tumbledown shed. Last Saturday, she and Kia had seen little groundhogs waddling through the grass. For the man, Taylor made her voice sound sweet. Sometimes grown-ups were suckers for animal stories. “She has three babies. The other day she stopped in my grandmother's yard and we got to watch her nurse them.”

“Aw,” he said.

He was such a phony. Taylor wanted to kick his shins. “So what's going to happen to that family?” she demanded.

“Well, I guess that old groundhog will just have to move,” he said cheerfully.

Taylor glared at him over the armful of phlox, then turned and stormed back up the hill.

“Remember, it won't be safe to be over here after today!” he called. “Don't want any accidents with the machinery.”

He couldn't banish her from her own kingdom! She would protest! Her grandmother used to protest things.

She pounded up the steps. “Eve!” she cried. “He's taking out the pond!”

Her grandmother came out with two glasses of iced tea and put them on the table. “Did he say that?”

Taylor nodded.

Her grandmother breathed a sound like somebody had just yanked out a tooth. And she shut her eyes for a minute. Then she slipped her arm around Taylor. “I'm sorry, sweetie.”

Taylor pushed back. “But he
can't do that
!
”
Nobody had ever done such a thing to her. How could she have her summer swimming parties? And her winter broom hockey games? That's who she
was
. She would be somebody else if she didn't have the pond. She would be ordinary.

Taylor's heart thudded. She didn't know whether to scream or cry.

“Do you see what I see?” her grandmother finally asked.

Taylor sniffled. “What?” Not that she much cared.

Eve pointed to the deck railing.

Taylor didn't see anything.

And then she did. She barely made him out against the scraggly sweet-pea vine from last year. The praying mantis was totally still, his pale sticklike body about five inches long.

Taylor bent down, hands on her knees, to look. His head was a flat triangle, and little rows of spikes ran along his arms.

“Isn't he ugly?” Eve said.

“Hideous.”

“But their name means
prophet
in some languages. The legend is that they point the way for travelers.”

As if on cue, the mantis moved. His triangular head turned so he was looking at Taylor. And his body was pointing straight at the pond, as if to say,
Better get going, girl
.

TAD TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT the jewel growing in his head, though sometimes he felt it. He began staying up all night. He leaped into the toadly slick and slop of the mud, and sang until he was hoarse, knowing each sunrise might be the last for Tumbledown. He had not actually felt Rumbler yet, but sometimes his warts prickled with promise that Rumbler would come.

The weather was nice, with lots of warm rain to soak into a toad's skin and lots of sun to hatch juicy bugs. The old toads said it was the best spring ever. But everybody saw the humans with big yellow pumpkins on their heads coming and going around Tumbledown.

“I didn't know you were such a party toad,” Buuurk remarked one afternoon as they pulled chamomile that hung over the pea patch and twisted it into sweet-smelling wreaths for Anora and Shyly.

Tad tucked a violet into the wreath. There were lots of things Buuurk didn't know. Buuurk didn't know about Tad's winter dreams or his talks with Seer.

Just then, something quivered under Tad's belly. At first he thought it was a night crawler, and he cocked his tongue for the big
zot!
But it was bigger than a night crawler. Much bigger! The earth shook.

Tad looked at Buuurk, who hugged the ground. Shyly's chamomile wreath quivered and blurred, and all of Toadville trembled. Tad shut his eyes and gripped the grass. Was Tumbledown going to end now, before he even had a chance to try to save it? But after what seemed long enough for the sun to rise and set, the rumbling finally stopped.

“You can open your eyes now, toad,” Buuurk said.

Tad did.

Buuurk's warts were flat, and there was a pool of terror around him.

“Rumbler,” Tad whispered. “That was Rumbler.” Tad had finally heard him. And he had survived! “Buuurk,” he said, “I have to tell you something. In my winter sleep, I didn't just close my eyes and open them again. I saw things happening. It scared the warts off me.” He was still trembling so much he could hardly croak.

Buuurk stared at him. “What are you talking about, toad?”

“Dreams. Seer says I'm going to be a dreamer like him.”

Buuurk's look turned to pity.

“I don't want to be a dreamer,” Tad confessed. “But I can't hide anymore. I dreamed about Rumbler just like Seer did.”

Buuurk shuddered. “The monster got into your sleep?”

Tad nodded.

“Oh, you poor toad,” Buuurk said.

Buuurk's pity made Tad feel even worse. He felt lower than a night crawler, because he wanted to hide when he might be able to help.

“What else did you dream?” Buuurk asked, his pale warts saying maybe he didn't really want to know.

“I heard this strange music.”

“Was it scary?”

“No.”

He tried to sing the song that played the most often in his head, the one about going to a hop. He caught the rhythm and hopped back and forth in the pea patch as he sang.

The look of pity on Buuurk's face turned to amazement.

Tad went on rocking on his diggers and rolling his belly from side to side. He was glad to make Buuurk smile again.

As Tad rocked and rolled, Buuurk began to laugh. He laughed until he was rolling in the peas, holding his speckled belly. Tad could have sung more, but his laughing friend was cracking him up. How could they be silly at a time like this, when Rumbler had just made his first visit? The toads might not see the full moon rise. But still Tad and Buuurk laughed and thrashed in the peas until they were worn out. They sprawled in the dirt, twitching as they hiccuped. Tad didn't dare look at Buuurk, lest he start up again. And if you laughed too long, you'd get eaten by a grackle. Everybody knew that.

“Toad,” Buuurk said, sitting up, “I didn't know you could dance!”

Until that very minute, Tad hadn't known he could dance, either. “In the music I heard in my dreams, there were noises like sticks hitting something.”

“Teach me the words,” Buuurk demanded. “I'll sing, you dance. Anora and Shyly can hit something with sticks or shake pea pods. We'll do it for everybody tonight at Full Moon Eve.”

His friend seemed so excited, Tad couldn't say no. Plus, maybe it would cheer the toads up after Rumbler's visit. Word would get around that Tad had heard the music in his winter sleep, and he would never be able to just stalk moths with his friends again.

Seer dozed beneath the bridal wreath bush, having a dream brighter and stranger than any he'd ever had before. He thought for a gnat blink he might have come to the time of passing and would be carried by a crow up into the Great Cycle.

What was this wondrous rainbow of lights far brighter than any he'd ever imagined? What were these enormous shapes glowing in the darkness, one greener than any leaf or blade of grass? Ah…there was a sign…a giant arch of lights that rushed by him…or was he rushing by it? He whizzed under the sign.
RENO
.

Seer spun and tumbled dizzyingly into darkness for who knew how long. Gently, more shapes bobbed up around him, coming and going, as if both he and they were drifting aimlessly in inky water. Then a human wearing those strange shapes was bouncing to music like Seer had never heard before. Happy music. Hopping music. And Father Pond's deep voice said, “That's your queen. The Queen of the Hop. And if the young dreamer kisses her on time, he will save me and my tadpoles, and Mother Earth and her precious toads.”

The voice said no more, and Seer floated in the strange music for a long time until a young hopper touched his hand.

With the hopper's help, Seer made his way into the moonlight, and somebody tied something sweet-smelling around his head. He felt sorry for the young dreamer who would try to save them.

They waited in a silence that made Tad feel tender toward every old toad and young hopper. The sun had not yet set, but already a pale full moon hung in the sky. The Toad-in-the-Moon smiled down on them.

Thumping three times in respect of Seer, who had a purple clematis tied over his prophet's hat, Tad and his friends claimed a beam of the setting sun.

On a cue from Buuurk, Anora began to bang on something round and shiny with a stick, and Shyly began to shake dry pea pods. Tad rocked to the rhythm, and Buuurk began to sing about the Queen of the Hop.

The old toads stopped croaking. A young hopper carrying a beautiful blue beetle to Seer nearly dropped it.

Tad danced and bopped as fast as his legs could go. Anora pounded the stick, and Shyly shook the pea pods until they blurred. Buuurk's mighty singing rolled over the toads. Hop! Hop! Shake! Shake! Rock and roll!

When they were done, the evening was totally quiet. No croaks, no crickets, no cicadas. Tad watched the toads' faces.

One or two young hoppers began to clap, but it died out. Then an old toad slowly nodded, and gradually, like thunder rolling in from far away, the toads cheered and applauded.

Finally, the clamor quieted and the toads sat in a bemused silence until some toad called, “We have never heard such music. Where does it come from?”

Tad kept his eyes on the Toad-in-the-Moon as he confessed, “I heard that music in my winter sleep.”

Gasps and murmurs wafted through the crowd. Seer's raspy voice, stronger than it had been for a long time, claimed the evening. “This day I saw the Queen of the Hop in my dreams. Father Pond said the young dreamer was to kiss the Queen of the Hop if we are to live.”

At first Tad thought the toads had started to stomp and clap again, but then the sound grew louder. The air began to rumble and the ground began to shake. Something cleared its throat and bellowed like it would gulp Tumbledown in one bite and then make a stinky belch.

“Rumbler!” Tad cried, clutching his friends.

The toads turned to watch the monster come over the hill, its eyes gleaming. In the dying light, Tad saw its legs like giant night crawlers eating their tails. He heard the bellow of all the thunder in creation. He smelled a mountain of stinkbugs. And when he saw the full size of Rumbler, he peed.

Rumbler came closer and closer. Tad felt dizzy from its poisonous breath. He tried to hop out of its path, but his legs wouldn't work. Just as he thought they would all be mashed to jelly, the monster stopped. It shut its eyes. It gave a final stinky snort and fell silent.

The toads waited.

“Has it gone to sleep?” Anora finally whispered.