The Pumpkins King

The Pumpkin King
‘Deep in the middle of the woods,’ said my mother, ‘is the place
where the king of the pumpkins lives.’
‘But pumpkins live in fields, not forests,’ I said to my mother
She wouldn’t listen to me. ‘I’m telling you,’ She said, ‘the king of
the pumpkins lives in the middle of the woods and the woods that he
lives in are the woods right next to out house, the woods you can see out
of the window over there.’ She pointed with her hand to the woods that
were, in fact, just outside the window behind out house. ‘He doesn’t live
in a filed like the either pumpkins,’ continued mother, ‘because he’s not
an ordinary pumpkins. He’s the King Pumpkins.
I shut up and decided to believe her, like you do when you’re a kid.
Firstly, I knew that it wasn’t worth arguing with my mother. She always
won. Secondly, when you’re a kid, you always believe what grown-ups
tell you, no matter how stupid it is. Like Santa Claus and stuff like that.
Kids always believe it, even though they know it’s stupid.
Still, I decided to go and find the king of the pumpkins, partly
because I was bored, partly because I was curious, and also – of course –
because I wanted to know if my mother reallt was talking nonsense or
not.
Mother often talked nonsense, I have to say that. There was the
times she told me that the moon was made of cheese. I knew that was
nonsense. The there were all the stories she told me. Stories about frog,
princes and shoes. Stories about donkeys and unicorn, gnomes and elves,
magic mirrors and magic cooking pots. Stories about why the name that
it has, stories about where the sun come from, why the sky is so far away
and why the elephant has a long trunk.
Some of these stories, I think, might have been true. I was never
sure, and it was difficult to find out. This time, though, with this story
about the king pumpkins, it was going tobe easy to find out is she was
telling the truth or not.
Some people used to call my mother a witch, but I knew that she
wasn’t a witch. Just a bit strange perhaps. And she used to talk nonsense.
Perhaps it was also because of the black cat we had. People say that
witches always have black cats, and we had black cat. But Mog wasn’t
witch’s cat. He was just a regular black cat. Mog could talk, though, I
have to say that. Perhaps that isn’t so regular in a cat, now I think about
it.
Anyway, I was telling you about the time I went to find the king of
the pumpkins. I set off with Mog the cat into the woods to look for the
king of the pumpkins. Even though we’d lived in that house near the
woods all my life, I had never gone into the middle of the woods. This
was the first time. I was glad I had Mog with me. I was a bit scared,
even though I didn’t really think that the king og the pumpkins lived
there.
‘watch out for the wolves!’ said Mog
‘Yes… and the grandmothers too!’ I joked
Let’s not leave the path’ said Mog
When people said my mother was a witch, I told them that witches
don’t have children. ‘Yeah,’ they replied, ‘that’s true. But you look more
like an elf than a regular kid.’ I looked in the mirror to see if I looked
like an elf or not. I think I looked like a regular kid, but you never can
tell really.
‘Do you think he’s real?’ I asked Mog
‘who, the wolf? He certainly is.’ Replied Mog
‘No, not he wolf. I know the wolf is real.’ I said to Mog.
Sometimes I could hear the wolf howling at night. I knew he was real.
‘no, not the wolf. The king of the pumpkins. Do tou think he’s real?’
‘Don’t know.’ Said the cat. ‘guess we’ll just have to find out.’
We walked on into the forest. The trees got taller and taller and
taller. The path fot narrower and narrower and narrower.
‘What does he do, then, this king of the pumpkins?’ asked Mog
‘I don’t know really,’ I said. ‘I guess he just kind of is head
pumpkins, boss pumpkin. He decides on pumpkin rules and pumpkin
laws, and punishes people who break them’
‘Oh, I see’ sai Mog. He was quiet for a bit, then said, ‘what kind f
this are pumpkin rules then?’
‘Erm, how big you can grow. What colour you have to be, Stuff
like that.’
‘You’re making this up, aren’t you?’ asked Mog
‘Yeah’ I Said
Eventually, we got to the middle of the forest. At least, I think it
was the middle of the forest, but it’s difficult to say exactly. There was a
clearing, a big space where there were no trees. In the middle of the
clearing was the king of the pumpkins.
At least, I think it was the king of pumpkins. It looked like a man
at first. He was quite tall and had legs and arms made frim stick. He was
wearing an of black coat. His head was a pumpkin. His head was the
biggest pumpkin I had ever seen.
Me and Mog went up close to him. He didn’t say anything.
‘Is that is?’ Asked Mog
‘I guess so,’ I said
‘Disappointing’ said Mog
‘Do you think he’s the real king og the pumpkins?’ I asked Mog
‘Who knows?’ replied the cat.
As we walked back along the path out of the forest, I started to
think about what was real and what was not. Could things that were
made up also be true? What was the difference between ‘story’ and
‘history’? One is real and the other isn’t – is that it?
‘What about all those other things that mother talks about? Do you
think they’re real?’ I asked Mog.
‘Hmm … I’m not sure,’ said Mog. ‘Those stories she tells
sometimes… about why the night is black and the days is blue, about
golden eggs and girls with golden hair, about why people have ten
fingers, ten toes, two feet, two hands and two eyes…Sometimes I think
she’s cracy, and sometimes I think she might be right…’
I knew what Mog meant. I felt the same way. ‘Perhaps the stories
aren’t true,’ I said, ‘but what they mean is’
.

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