Abducted to Oz - Bob Evans and Chris Dulabone
The Emperor is a splendid old hero! That he could survive such wounds
never entered my head--yet by the news I judge he is actually
recovering. It is worth something to be a Lincoln or a Kaiser Wilhelm--&
it gives a man a better opinion of the world to show appreciation for
such men--& what is better, love of them.--I have not seen anything of
this outburst of affectionate indignation since Mr. Lincoln's
assassination gave the common globe a sense of personal injury. Ich habe
der Consul Smith gesehen ein Paar Wochen ago, & told him about that
Pass, und er hat mir gesagt das er wurde be absent from this
gegen--(something) zwei oder drei Wochen, aber wann er sollte hier
wieder nachkommen, wollte er der pass geschlagen worden & snake it off
to Berlin. Vielleicht hat er noch nicht zu Mannheim zuruck-kehrt.
Now as to the grammar of this language; I haven't conquered the
Accusative Case yet (I began with that) & there are three more. It
begins to seem to me that I have got to try to get along with the
Accusative alone & leave the rest of this grammar to be tackled in the
future life.
With our kindest remembrances to you & yours
Yrs sincerely, S. L. Clemens
Hotel de l'Ecu de Geneve Sept. 8/78
My dear Mr. Taylor:
I have learned the German language & forgotten it again; so I resume
English once more. I have just returned from a walking trip to Mont
Blanc--which I was intending to ascend, but was obliged to give up the
idea, as I had gone too early & there was still snow on it. I find your
letter here; if you will be so kind as to forward Slote's letter to the
above address I think it will be in time to catch me--& in any case I
will make arrangements to have it follow me. (I am going to try to
enclose the necessary stamps in this, but if I forget it--however, I
won't)
We have been poking around slowly through Switzerland for a month; a
week hence we go to Venice--to Rome & other places later; & we are
booked for Munich Nov. 10 (for the winter.) One of these days I am going
to whet up my German again & take a run to Berlin, & have a talk with
you in that fine old tongue.
Yrs Ever
S. L. Clemens
No. 1a Karlstrasse,
(2e stock) Munich, Dec. 14 [1878]
My Dear Mr. Taylor:
When we were poking around Italy 3 or 4 weeks ago, I was told that you
were ill, but straightway saw it contradicted in a newspaper. Now comes
this paragraph in Galignani which not only shows that the contradiction
was erroneous, but shows how ignorant one may be in this country about
what is happening only a few hundred miles away; especially when one is
buried in work & neither talks with people or often looks in the paper.
We three folks are heartily glad to hear that you are coming happily out
of it; & we are venturing to hope that by this time you are wholly
restored.
We are located for the winter,--I suppose. But the children are having
such a run of coughs & diptheria [sic], that I can't tell at what moment
Mrs. Clemens may take fright & flee to some kindlier climate. However, I
stick hard at work & make what literary hay I can while we tarry. Our
little children talk German as glibly as they do English, now, but the
rest of us are mighty poor German scholars, I can tell you. Rev.
Twitchell (who was over here with me a while,) conceived a pretty
correct average of my German. When I was talking, (in my native tongue,)
about some rather private matters in the hearing of some Germans one
day, Twitchel said, "Speak in German, Mark,--some of these people may
understand English."
Many a time when teachers & dictionaries fail to unravel knotty
paragraphs, we wish we could fly to you for succor; we even go so far as
to believe you can read a German newspaper & understand it; & in moments
of deep irritation I have been provoked into expressing the opinion that
you are the only foreigner except God who can do that thing. I would not
rob you of your food or clothes or your umbrella, but if I caught your
German out I would take it. But I don't study any more,--I have given it
up.
I & mine join in the kindest remembrances & best wishes to you & your
family.
Sincerely Yours
Saml. L. Clemens
We are going to try to run over to Berlin in the spring_.
As Graham finished Mark Twain's last letter--the one to Mr. Fields,
dated 1874--he noticed that the next letter from Dickens to Mr. Fields
was dated 1867--seven years prior. He wondered if the two famous writers
had actually crossed paths or had just known the Fields independent of
one another. Either way, it was interesting to note that they were
contemporaries. He had always imagined that Dickens had lived in a much
earlier era than Twain. Well, to continue:
_Westminster Hotel, New York Sunday, Twenty-ninth December, 1867
My Dear Fields:
When I come to Boston for the two readings of the 6th and 7th, I shall
be alone, as the Dolby must be selling elsewhere. If you and Mrs. Fields
should have no other visitor, I shall be very glad indeed on that
occasion to come to you. It is very likely that you may have some one
come with you. Of course you will tell me so if you have, and I will
then re'mbellish the Parker House.
Since I left Boston last, I have been so miserable that I have been
obliged to call in a Dr.--Dr. Fordyce Barker, a very agreeable fellow.
He was strongly inclined to stop the Readings altogether for some few
days, but I pointed out to him how we stood committed, and how I must go
on if it could be done. My great terror was yesterday's Matinee, but it
went off splendidly. (A very heavy cold indeed, an irritated condition
of the uvula, and a restlessly low state of the nervous system, were
your friends maladies. If I had not avoided visiting, I think I should
have been disabled for a week or so.)
I hear from London that the general question in society is, what will be
blown up next year by the Fenians.
With love to Mrs. Fields, believe me,
Ever Affectionately yours, And hers, CHARLES DICKENS_
Following this letter to Mr. Fields was the note dated 1869 and the
recipes for the brewing of pleasant beverages. Last was the program for
the two plays at the Tavistock House Theatre. Graham was really looking
forward to bringing all these things back with him.
As Graham got to the last line of the last letter, his eyes began to
feel heavy. The whirlwind of activity since his abduction had caught up
with him. Just as he was falling asleep, the sound of the captain's
voice on the intercom jerked him awake. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are
approaching Historicalfigureland International Airport. We hope you had
an enjoyable flight and hope to see you again on Oz Airlines. Oh, and to
our young guest from America, you are welcome to visit your friends here
any time. But I'm sure you want to continue with your mission, and you
will be glad to hear that we will be making an immediate turnaround
after the disembarkation of our other passengers. I believe you were
brought on board for the sole purpose of delivering some important
documents back to America, but you are certainly welcome to stay as long
as you wish."
At that, the plane landed with a slight bump and soon taxied to the
terminal. The doors opened and everyone began to file out--many,
anticipating that Graham would soon be returning, didn't engage him in
conversation, but shook his hand warmly and wished him well. Mark Twain
gave him a hug and said how much he had enjoyed his company. He said
that Graham reminded him a lot of Tom Sawyer who, he said, currently
lived down the street from him. Seeing Graham's puzzled expression, he
quickly explained that any imaginary character an author dreams up is
actually a person that the author has tuned into. And that an author
rarely has an original thought in his head but is really very good at
catching glimpses of activities (present, past or future) somewhere in
creation.
As Mark Twain turned to the exit, Graham suddenly remembered a question
that he had wanted to ask. "Oh, Mr. Twain," he called. "I wanted to ask
how you came to use the name Mark Twain. I know your real name is Samuel
Clemens...."
"Well," responded Twain, "no one has ever asked me that question
before--Just kidding," he added quickly, seeing Graham's expression.
"Yes, I am asked it all the time. The name was first used by an old
Mississippi river pilot named Isaiah Sellers, who used to write items
for the _New Orleans Picayune_, in which he told of his adventures. He
signed them Mark Twain, which in the parlance of pilots is a leadsman
call meaning two fathoms, or twelve feet. When I was a cub pilot, I
wrote a burlesque on Captain Seller's articles and published it in a
rival paper under the signature of Sargeant Fathom. Unfortunately, the
captain was so hurt by the burlesque that he never wrote another
article. I still feel badly about it to this day, for I would never have
intentionally hurt the old gentleman's feelings. Anyway, in 1863, when I
was working for the _Enterprise_ in Virginia City, Nevada, I wanted a
good pen name and, while I was trying to think of one, I received the
news of the death of the good captain. This brought to mind the name
Mark Twain, and so I adopted the name in his honor. I signed it first in
a letter from Carson City to the _Enterprise_ on February second, 1863.
So now you know, my young friend," said Twain as he handed him an
autographed photo of himself. "Something to keep for yourself, in
remembrance of your visit here." He hugged Graham again and waved
goodbye to the boy as he descended from the plane.
Several distinguished-looking gentlemen stopped to introduce themselves
to Graham. One said his name was Ralph Waldo Emerson and another,
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Yet another, Isaac Newton, who said Graham would
probably become a scientist.
"Undoubtedly a physicist," said Albert Einstein.
"Oh, no," interjected Eugene O'Neill. "There's no question that he will
be a writer." This last remark was overheard by Charles Lindbergh, who
insisted that Graham would be a flyer. Then two deep resonant voices
spoke in unison: "It is obvious that the boy is a born actor." The
speakers were Lionel Barrymore and John Gilbert. But Senator Charles
Sumner had the final word: "Whether he becomes an actor or not is
immaterial: I can assure you that this young man's ultimate destiny is
in the political arena."
After the distinguished group finished arguing about Graham's future
vocation, they said that, since he seemed to be starting an autograph
collection, they would be glad to add theirs to the list. Even John
Dickens, father of Charles Dickens, signed the sheet. Then Emerson also
handed him a note that he had written to--of all people--Mrs. Fields!
"Don't mention this to Dickens or Twain," he said. "They'll just be
jealous."
Turning to make sure Emerson had disembarked, Nathaniel Hawthorne winked
at Graham and whispered, "Here's a little note that I, too, wrote to
Mrs. Fields. Not a word now to Emmy, Dickybird, or Marky-Mark." Graham
laughed out loud at the nicknames being given to Emerson, Dickens, and
Twain, as well as the schoolboy-like antics being displayed by these
great men. Then Edward Lear, who wrote _The Owl and the Pussycat_, also
handed him a handwritten note to Mrs. Fields. Graham could not help but
think what a popular lady this Mrs. Fields must have been in her day. He
wished he could have known her.
Hawthorne then handed him a signed photograph, as did Isaac Newton,
Charles Darwin, Thomas Alva Edison, Albert Einstein, and H. G. Wells.
Even Stephan Crane and Rudyard Kipling produced photographs.
Mr. Shakespeare was the last to leave. He had gone back to his seat when
Messrs. Twain and Dickens were vying for Graham's attention. He, too,
hugged the boy as he said goodbye, then handed him a piece of paper. "I
have written down the verses I recited to you earlier, my friend--just
in case you are not able to remember them all. It is important that this
be given, simply because so many people doubt my authorship. I suppose
after it is published there will still be doubters, but so be it.
Skeptics have always existed and, I assume, always will. Some people
like to doubt the reality of certain phenomena that appears quite
obvious to others. I suspect it makes them feel secure: something they
no longer have to deal with. Well, good luck, my little friend. I'm sure
you will find your way home. Oh, incidentally, I almost forgot. I didn't
want to one-upmanship Dickens and Twain in their presence, but I was an
actor too, you know--long before those two. You might also like to have
my autographed sketch. You will note the difference in my spelling of my
name and the later versions." He stuffed a piece of paper in Graham's
shirt pocket as he exited.
As the plane's doors closed behind Shakespeare, the flight attendant
brought Graham a refreshing glass of lemonade. His thoughts turned to
Telly, who had been so sad at being left behind. He eagerly looked
forward to seeing the little guy again.
Graham slept the entire trip back. He awoke just as the plane taxied to
the terminal. And who should be waiting in exactly the same place as he
left him but Telly, who was so glad that Graham had returned that he ran
up and hugged him for the longest time.
"I knew you'd come back," he said. "That's why I waited. I knew that the
plane couldn't be going to America. In fact, I still don't believe that
there was any plane or airport or anything. I think it was all some
trick of the Witch to confuse us. Planes simply cannot exist in Oz.
Transportation is either by foot or via some magical contrivance such as
the animated Gump or the famous Red Wagon."
"Well, I hate to disappoint you," replied Graham, waving the bundle of
letters, photographs, and drawings in his hand. "But where do you think
these came from if the whole thing was some kind of hallucination? And
how could I read German words if the words weren't in my consciousness
to begin with? And I certainly couldn't have made up Shakespeare's
words."
"And I hate to disappoint YOU," answered Telly, quite tartly, "but you
might wish to look behind you."
Graham turned to look behind him to catch a glimpse of the entire
airport fading away. Not only that, but the papers in his hand had also
faded away to absolute nothingness. "Oh, no!" cried the boy. "Now I have
no proof of my experience!"
"That's because it never happened," Telly replied dryly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
THE WINKIE COUNTRY
Oz was as unlike America as it could be, yet also familiar. It was not
very long at all before Graham began to feel almost at home among the
soft yellow countryside of the vast Winkie territory in which the pair
now found themselves. In fact, Graham had come to feel so comfortable
that he had all but forgotten about the evil Witch. He might have
remained content and carefree indefinitely, had he not heard the growl
that came forth from a nearby top-hat bush. It was a most deafening
growl that sounded as terrible as a buzz-saw and as alive as an unfed
zoo animal. Graham shuddered. He wondered what sort of macabre being
could possibly make such a horrendous noise. Then a voice rang out. It
was not a human voice at all, and this made Graham shudder even more,
whereas Telly seemed quite unfazed. (That was only because he was
walking and napping at the same time.) Apparently he had switched to
automatic pilot, then closed his eyes as he drifted into a state of
oblivion.
"Do you remember how the Wicked Witches sent the terrible Forest Monster
after the Wizard?" said the voice.
"Of course I do," answered a second voice, equally unhuman-sounding "And
who could forget the time Allidap sent forth those fearsome gray wolves
after little Dorothy? They could easily have ripped her to shreds."
Both of the voices sounded distinctly throaty and animalistic. In fact,
they sounded as a wild beast might sound, could a wild beast speak
English. It occurred to Graham that this was Oz. Wild animals COULD
speak English!
"And do you think that Witch pulled a good scare when she sent those
angry birds to attack Dorothy and her friends?" said one of the wild
creatures.
Graham could take no more of this. It was obvious that they were
surrounded by hidden animals sent by the Wicked Witch to eat them (at
least him; he doubted they would attempt to eat Telly, since he would be
highly indigestible). He quickly jabbed Telly in his rib-cage to awaken
him to the imminent danger and, at the same time, he stooped over to
grab a yellow rock from the ground. It was not much of a weapon, but it
would have to do. He held up the rock threateningly.
"Okay, wolves or monsters or whatever you are!" he shouted. "I hear you
conspiring. And I know that you are working for the Wicked Witch! We're
not going to give up without a fight, so I suggest that you all go
away!" He smiled with a hint of pride in his brave speech. But suddenly,
there was a rustle of leaves behind him, and a huge creature sprang out
from behind a bush and leaped at the pair. Graham, not wanting to be
attacked from behind, swung himself around to face the creature. As he
did so, he absently lowered his weapon at the sight of two rows of
gleaming white fangs and claws that could easily have torn a little boy
like himself apart in an instant. He realized that the rock in his hand
was a puny weapon indeed for confronting such a ferocious beast. But
nevertheless, he raised it again as a sort of reflex action and thrust
it directly at the teeth of the creature. At that moment, out of the
corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of another set of jagged teeth
and claws attacking from his right. It raised a huge paw and knocked him
off balance. The rock fell to the ground, out of reach. The little boy
watched in horror as one of the two animals stepped forward and looked
at his face. The other one was watching Telly.
"What do you think?" asked one of them.
"Looks like a little boy and a tin can with arms and legs carrying a TV
set," said the other.
"The boy's not all dressed in yellow, so he's not a Winkie."
"Nor is he all in blue, like a Munchkin."
"Or purple, red, or green. He matches none of the Oz colors. I wonder
where he came from."
"Maybe he's from Ev. Or Ix."
"Can you speak, boy?"
Graham struggled to sit up, while Telly just stood and glared
at the beasts. He was not happy with their description of him and was
seriously considering giving them a tongue-lashing, but thought
discretion was the better part of valor, at least for the moment.
[Illustration]
When Graham was able to collect himself, he discovered that the two
beasts walked on all fours and were of the feline persuasion. These were
no hungry wolves or monsters at all. Actually, they were a lion and a
tiger.
As Graham jumped to his feet, the lion sprang backward. "Yikes!" he
screamed, jumping behind the tiger. "Is he g-going to h-hurt us?"
"I don't think so," answered the tiger. "I imagine he's just getting up
to look for some din-din." At this point, as if on cue, a loud growl
echoed from the vicinity of the tiger. Not from his mouth or throat, but
from the deepest recesses of his tummy.
Graham looked at Telly, and Telly looked at Graham.
"Apparently," said Graham, "the angry growling that we heard was nothing
more than the sounds of an empty stomach. So you aren't slaves of the
bad Witch, or sent to kill me?"
The tiger looked a little sheepish, which is not easy for a tiger to do.
"Of course not," he said. "Don't you know who I am? I am the Hungry
Tiger of Oz. Everyone's heard of me. There have been volumes of books
written about me! I am always hungry, but I am not a carnivore. I am
afraid I would feel just awful if ever I ate up one of my fellow beings.
Here in the Land of Oz, as you know, all creatures are treated equally.
I can't stand the thought of eating up any organism that might
ultimately become a friend. This makes me feel bad, too. I am reduced to
a strictly vegetarian diet. I yearn to gobble up a few scrumptiously
delicious fat babies, yet I am reduced to struggling through meals of
tofu-strips and Loveburger. Oh, if only my conscience would let me feast
upon a fat baby just once! But, alas, I am cursed with a very strong
conscience."
"Then I am not afraid of you," said Graham. "What about this lion?"
"He is the Cowardly Lion of Oz," explained the Hungry Tiger. "He's got
a pretty good conscience, too."
"Then why did he attack me like that?" Graham wanted to know.
"I didn't attack you," replied the Cowardly Lion. "I heard you say that
there were some wolves or monsters or something-or-others who were
working for the Wicked Witch. You announced that you were going to fight
them, so I naturally jumped behind you to cower in fear."
"Oh," said Graham. "I misunderstood your actions."
"So," continued the Lion, "are there really slaves of the W-w-w-witch
around here?"
"I heard them talking about how a Witch sent a forest monster and some
wolves to attack innocent people," said Graham. "But ..."
"That was us," explained the Tiger. "We like to talk about Oz history a
lot. We were in the bushes looking for some yummy kiwi fruits to help
satisfy my never-ending hunger when you came along."
"So the Witch isn't after me after all?"
"Guess not," replied the Tiger. "Should she be?"
"Well," he said meekly. "I played a couple of rather crude tricks on
her. I suspect that she'll be pretty peeved when she does find me. I
left her admiring herself in a ... well, a kind of self-induced trance.
It's kind of hard to explain. But when she finds a mirror ... well, I
dread to think what will happen."
The Lion and the Tiger looked at one another. The Lion stood to his full
height, which was actually somewhat larger than most of the lions we can
see in zoos, and smiled a toothy smile. "I'll protect you, my son!" he
snarled. And how he could snarl and smile at the same time was beyond
Graham, but let it suffice that he did do it. "No Wicked Witch will get
'hold of any pals of mine! I'm a raging lion, after all! I am big! I am
strong! I'm the unchallenged King of the Beasts! I am the--" He dove
behind a bush when the Tiger tapped him on the shoulder.
"Er, excuse me," said the Tiger, "but I only wanted to get your
attention."
"Sorry," the Lion said meekly, slinking back into the open.
"I think we should learn about our new chum," suggested the Hungry
Tiger. "After all, now that you've vowed to protect him, aren't you just
a little bit curious as to who he is?"
Graham, seeing that he was expected to introduce himself, told the two
cats who he was and how he came to be in Oz, how he had tricked the
Witch, and how he met Telly, and how they had conspired together to
trick her again, et cetera, et cetera.
The Cowardly Lion shuddered. The Hungry Tiger swallowed hard (an act
that normally comes quite easily to him). Even Graham became a little
nervous as he recounted his dealings with the Witch and was reminded
that he was in imminent danger. "If you two would care to accompany us,
you are certainly very welcome," Graham said to the Lion and Tiger.
"Well, I don't know about that," replied the Lion. "At the moment, the
old Witch isn't bothering us. And if she sees us with you two, she might
decide that birds of a feather flock together, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, don't be such a coward," admonished the Tiger. "She'll see right
away that we're not birds."
At that, everyone laughed as the four headed off into the sunset.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
THE MEETING WITH PRINCESS OZMA
Graham knew that he would need to have a good plan of action if he was
going to get home in spite of the Witch. He looked beseechingly at his
two new-found feline friends. Both were certainly both powerful and
agile. Still, the boy knew only too well that the four of them were no
match for the Wicked Witch. She, after all, had the ability to transport
herself to any land she wished. Possibly even to other planets! If she
yearned to take them in tow as her prisoners, it seemed impossible to
stop her.
"It's terrible!" roared the Cowardly Lion. "I remember when that green
Witch appeared at the parade. She scared the living daylights out of
me!"
"But," added the Hungry Tiger, "what I can't figure out is why Queen
Ozma never did anything about her. She could easily have looked into the
Magic Picture to find the villainess, made a wish or two on the Magic
Belt, and PRESTO, no more Wicked Witch."
"That's puzzling, indeed," agreed the Cowardly Lion with an obvious
shudder. "Could the Witch have done something to Ozma? Maybe Ozma is
under some awful spell like she was that time when she lost her memory!
Oh, dear oh dear oh dear! We have got to save her!"
"Now let's not jump to any wild conclusions," replied the Tiger, a low
growl issuing forth from his stomach. "I suggest that we hurry back to
the Emerald City to ask Queen Ozma for her help. If she is under any
spells, the Wizard or Glinda will help us. If she is not under any vile
enchantment, then her Magic Belt can easily wish away the Witch. She can
also send Graham home with the Belt."