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* -- denotes soonish.
Luckily for Onion, and luckily for us (for surely you don't wish Onion any harm) he didn't drown. This is what happened to him.
Instead of giving up and accepting himself drowned, he continued to struggle against the current, which continued to struggle against him. He was tossed up and down and left and right and sideways and backwards which then became up. He stopped flailing his arms, and in the process, his brain stopped flailing around too.
"Okay, Onion, think," he said to himself. It was something he often heard his dad say. (Well, his Dad didn't call himself Onion, but he said basically the same thing.) He often worried about this dad and all the self-talking his dad did, but his dad seemed to get to work everyday and never was mean to him, so he couldn't complain. After a few seconds of ceased flailing, Onion began to notice an odd thing. The current had stopped thrashing him about, but he was still moving. Slowly. He was slowly floating in a certain direction, which meant, aha!, that that was up. Because air in water goes up, and he had a big gulp of air in his lungs right now. He turned over and started kicking with his legs and pushing with his arms to go quickly in that direction. Soon he saw light, but it was still far away. His lungs, which had behaved themselves until then, upon seeing light, started shouting at him in words he imagined sounded like this: "HURRY UP!!! WE NEED AIR!!! GET US SOME AIR NOW!!!" Onion was attempting to oblige them. The urge to breathe in was getting greater and greater. If his lungs were a balloon ... well, you get the picture. Sploooosh!
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh." Onion gulped in air as he surfaced. He accidentally swallowed a little water, which he noticed tasted salty. After a few more gulps, his lungs finally quieted down, and Onion sent a silent prayer out that his lungs never yell at him like that again. Looking around while doggy-paddling, Onion saw that he was just off the coast of a white sandy beach. He began swimming in that direction, glad his mother had insisted that he take swimming lessons when he was very young. Those lessons had just saved his life. The trade-off, that is, the large amounts of pool water he had swallowed the first few lessons, and the several bologna sandwiches that had then turned sour in his stomach and come back up, well, it was all worth it now.
As he climbed onto the beach, his soaking clothes began drying immediately, even though it wasn't that warm. He had a peculiar feeling like a blowdryer had just been turned on inside his clothes. He shrugged and tried to shake the water out of his hair, until he realized that he still had the silly old cap on. After pulling it off (it was already dry), he shook his short white hair until it too started feeling dry.
"There, much better," he announced, to no one in particular. Which was too bad, because suddenly there on the beach with him were three men, all brandishing large orange glowing sticks.
"Odur Island Patrol, Tarroc Division, please state your name and business with the Island of Odur."
Onion stared at the three men. They all were broad-shouldered, with protective orange gear on their chests which made them appear even bigger. They had green helmets that had what looked like a miniature palm tree sticking out of the top of them. They were obviously very fit, for their legs were skinny but very muscular. And their feet, tucked inside black shoes, Onion noted, were absurdly small for such large bodies.
"Repeat: Odur Island Patrol, Tarroc Division, in charge of maintaining peace with peace-keeping pugel sticks, we have asked you two questions. What is your name is what is your business?"
"Actually," Onion said, "the first time it was a statement, not a question." He really probably shouldn't have said that. But they were being rude to him, and he felt like being rude back. He had just almost drowned, and he would have died with that ridiculous old hat on his head. And now these three police officers, if they really were that, were bullying him around. And he was just a kid. What did they think he was gonna do, steal the island.
"By not responding to a direct question, you have violated Section Cee One Ar Squared Theta Tau of the his High and Royally Emulated Figurehead's Code of Prompt Behavior and General Decency, Not to be Confused with General DeCence Who Served Us Faithfully in the Stench Wars and Who Is Currently Acting Ambassador to Ughs and Grmphs."
Onion blinked several times.
"Um, excuse me?" he asked.
"Questions can no longer be answered by Tarroc Officers. Please conduct yourself with the utmost effluvium to Tarroc headfourths for Interrogation and 3-star dining."
Onion opened his mouth to speak again, but this time decided to keep it shut. Pickle was always telling him how smart he was because he didn't speak before he thought about what he was going to say. Onion wasn't really sure where he was being taken, or where he was, or where Mr Peckins had gotten himself off to, or actually, of anything right now (though he did pinch himself once ... just to make sure, but no, it hurt), but there was one thing he was certain of. One thing in all this madness of moving grounds, dirty old hats, near-drowings, strange speaking men and ughs and grmphs. One reason to move his feet. He wanted something to eat.
* * *
Pickle stood at her full height, which was at least 12 feet lower than the large and monstrous creature in front of her, which had just been trying to blow its nose, which was oddly enough the nose about the same size as Pickle's. The monster opened its not-very-large mouth again, and again it said, "Grrr." A few more berries fell on the ground, shouting "Poison!" when they landed. Pickle was getting fed up with large berries falling near her head and large monsters trying to scare little girls.
"So what!" she shouted back at the monster.
"So, Grrr," the monster said.
This time the monster made a gesture, pointing at itself, and said for a third time, "Grrr."
"Wait a minute," Pickle said, because the monster was still causing berries to fall out of the tree every time it spoke. "Come stand on these tracks," she said, gesturing where the tracks were supposed to be. Just to make sure, she slipped the sunglasses back on.
Oddly enough, the great big hulking beast did just that. Almost at once. It jumped onto the track, sending earthly vibrations down the tracks for miles no doubt.
"My name is Pickle," Pickle said, pointing to herself. "What is your name?"
"Grrr," the monster said back.
"Your name is Grrr?" Pickle asked, and the monster got so excited, it jumped up in the air twice. Each time it landed, Pickle almost fell down.
"Grrr, please stop jumping!" Pickle shouted at him.
Grrr hunched over and got a "bad puppy dog" look about him that made Pickle feel awful right away.
"Oh, it's okay, you can jump, Grrr, just be careful. You're knocking all these berries off the tree."
"Grrr jump!" Grrr said, and jumped three times in succession. Then it leaned over and plucked a berry off the tree and handed it down to Pickle, who didn't quite know what to do with it.
"I'm not sure they are good for you," Pickle said. "I think they're poisonous." Grrr shook his tiny head, which was really hard to see all the way from the ground, and brought the berry up to his face. He took a small bite. As soon as he bit into the berry, it started shouting "POISON!" over and over at the top of its lungs. Not that berries have lungs, at least Pickle didn't think they did. To show Pickle that the berry was okay, Grrr belched loudly. Then he handed it back down to Pickle. There was a small nibble mark from Grrr's small mouth.
"No thank you Grrr, I have my own food, see?" Pickle said, and to prove it, she pulled out an orange and a banana.
"For Grrr?" Grrr asked.
"Well, I guess so," Pickle replied. She wasn't sure she had nearly enough food to feed Grrr's whole body. But she knew she should be polite, so she gave him a banana.
"Good size for Grrr," Grrr said. "Pickle friend."
Grrr at the banana happily while Pickle tried to decide what to do next. Grrr handed Pickle back the banana rind, and it looked quite absurdly petite in Grrr's large hand. Then Grrr sneezed.
"AAAAAAAAAAAA-CHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The earth trembled.
The tree almost fell down.
Pickle found herself several feet from where she had been.
Pickle's blue backpack was nowhere in sight.
A chorus of "POISON" was going on behind her.
"Bless you, Grrr," Pickle said as she stood up and brushed the leaves and sticks off of her.
"Mmmmmmfffffbbbbbbtttttt," Grrr said, sniffling.
"Grrr, are you sick?"
Grrr nodded his head. Or at least it looked like he did, way up there. "Well, Grrr, you are in luck. I have just the thing. Have you seen my backpack?"
After Grrr helped her track it down (it was about fifty feet away from the tree), Pickle got out her thermos and poured some tea into the thermos cap. "Here you go, Grrr. Drink this. It's You-Clipped-Us Tea. It clips colds right out of you."
Pickle handed the thermos cap to Grrr, who could barely hold it between his thumb and finger. He drank the whole capful, though, and immediately started sounding better.
"Pickle good friend! Grrr like. Grrr happy!"
"Why thank you Grrr. I hope you get better. But now I have to be on my way. I am in a hurry, you see, and I have already lost a lot of time. So, goodbye," Pickle said, and started waving at Grrr and walking onto the train track.
"Grrr go with Pickle," Grrr said, following her.
"Oh, I don't think so, Grrr," Pickle said. "I am running away. You probably have a family and friends and everything. But thanks for the berry."
"Grrr running away too!" Grrr said, hopping from giant foot to giant foot. Berries dropped from the tree and started their chorus again.
"Shut up you stupid poison-berries!" Pickle shouted at them.
"Where Pickle go?" Grrr asked.
"I'm really not sure, Grrr," Pickle said. "Far, far away. Somewhere where my parents can't find me or ground me. Away from here."
"Grrr know good place, take train," Grrr said.
"Take what train, Grrr? Is there a train on this track?"
Grrr bobbed his whole body up in down, as a sort of nod.
"Grrr carry Pickle, get there fast," Grrr said, reaching down and plucking Pickle off the ground like a flower.
"Oh, Grrr, be careful," Pickle said, but soon she was resting easily on Grrr's shoulder, so close to his small head that it was like talking to someone her own size. Grrr began jogging down the train tracks, and Pickle learned that Grrr, too, really was running away.
* * *
"Violating any Ar Squared codes means death," Tarroc Officer Number One said as they were walking to headfourths. Onion kept walking with them as they talked among themselves.
"Not true, if the Ar is followed by a Theta," Number Two said. "'Any Ar followed by a Theta is a mere monetary fine, or, in the event of the perpetrator having enormous wealth, forced labor.' The Code says so plain enough."
"Also not true," Number three chimed in. "For you're forgetting that any violation involving a Tau means forced marriage. It's plain enough: he'll have to get married. Unless he's already married. You married lad?"
Onion shook his head. It was the third time they had asked him. They kept having the same argument, usually changing their points after each round. So far Onion was going to be: killed, doused in tar and feathers, married, forced to eat duck, poked with needles, tickled for 30 minutes, stretched three inches, frowned at by all townspeople for three days (apparently the absolute worst one of all), and made to shower without soap or shampoo for a month (an equally terrible punishment). Since they had yet to reach an agreement, and since there was apparently way too many different ways to read the law, Onion didn't feel like worrying until he needed to. Besides, they all agreed on one thing: dinner first. So Onion patiently followed them to the gates of the town of Odur. The sign welcoming visitors read, "The Figurehead Always Nose Best."
* * *
Grrr talked slowly and without a lot of adjectives, Pickle found out, but he also explained himself well. He told her that he really truly was running away too. He, just like his parents and all of the rest of those who looked like him, called Grmphs (Grrr explained that if there was one word she should never call a Grmph it was a writing-utensil head, which Pickle later figured out meant Pinhead but Grrr refused to say it and she didn't feel like confirming her suspicion) were born into non-ownership. Meaning, they didn't own themselves. There was a law somewhere that someone had passed (Grrr didn't explain so well) that meant that all those like Grrr had to work until they were 50 years old, after which time they could retire to Grmph Island, which was very far from where they were now. Grrr had decided that instead of being a non-owner, Grrr was going to take possession of himself and make a run for it. Punishment, if he was caught, was strict. If they caught him, he would never be able to retire. But he didn't care. He had been working for a nasty couple who made him do the dirtiest of things, and were mean to him all the while, and he had had enough. So he was making a break for it.
He had heard of a train where travelers could travel In-Cog Neat-o, which means secretly. The only place to catch this train, though, was at the Teapot Depot. So that's where he was headed. It suited Pickle just fine. Neat-o travel sounded great. Being in a cog didn't sound so good, but she really wasn't sure what a cog was, and perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Fish had whiskers, after all, her mom says.
Grrr stopped talking when the walking became rough, as they were heading up the side or a large hill or mountain. Pickle was pretty sure she had never been this far away from home. All the trees were immense -- most towered over Grrr. Grrr's steady rhythm slowly rocked Pickle into a daze, and before she knew it, she was asleep.
"Whoooooo-whooooooooooooooo!"
Pickle awoke from a dream where she was eating dinner and the whole time the dinner was complaining about her lack of dinner manners. "Really," the pork roast was saying to her, "I would expect only the sharpest of knives from a sharp girl like you." Before Pickle could ponder the dream further, she heard another train whistle:
"Whoooooo-whoooooooooooooooo!"
She was still perched atop Grrr, but he was slowing down now, looking slightly nervous.
"Grrr wait here. Pickle get tickets," Grrr said.
Pickle was still rubbing the wool out of her eyes. "But Grrr, I haven't any money. Don't you have some?"
Grrr shook his head. "Grmphs not allowed money," he said.
There were close to the depot building now, which was, not surprisingly, shaped like a large teapot. Pickle figured that the steam, er smoke, coming out of the spout was probably from a fireplace inside.
"Well, Grrr, since you have helped me get here, I'll try to get us tickets. Okay, you wait here," Pickle said, and Grrr, pleased to have Pickle help him, did a little dance which shook the earth just a bit, and then plucked Pickle from his shoulder and set her gently onto the ground.
"I shouldn't be long, one way or the other," Pickle said, and began walking up to the depot.
The sign welcoming passengers to the Teapot Depot read,
"Some call it dee-poe
Some call it dee-pot
If you don't buy a ticket
You'll probably be caught."
So much for sneaking aboard, Pickle thought.
As she approached the building, she noticed that quite a number of people were outside waiting for trains. "What a crowded place, out in the middle of nowhere," Pickle thought. She also noticed something peculiar: everyone was wearing a hat. Not only that, but each hat was different. Some were long and tall, like wizard's caps. Some were short and fat, like derbies. There were top hats and bottom hats, snow hats and summer hats, baseball caps and skull caps, hunting caps and fishing caps, pilot hats and motorcycle hats, bike helmets and army helmets, and much many scores more. All the people milling about were shouting at the top of their lungs to talk to one another, which was probably just the loudest thing Pickle had ever heard. She hoped the inside wouldn't be as bad. And it wasn't. She entered through a screen door, and inside there was utter silence. There was a big sign across the ticket windows that read in plain English, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Pickle noticed that as each person approached the window, they simply pointed to a place on the map, and then they gave the cashiers their money. Pickle wondered how she was going to explain that she didn't have any money. But she had to try something.
As she approached the tellers, she realized that people were talking inside, just in very hushed whispers. It seemed like everyone was looking and staring at her, and she was pretty sure she heard several people mutter, "Disgusting. Just look at her. No decency at all. She should be ashamed." She wasn't sure what she was doing wrong, but she stubbornly stayed in line, even though she felt a deep blush slowly creeping up her neck.
Finally she reached the front of the line. She took a moment studying the map next to her teller, then she saw "Grmph Island" and so she pointed at it, then held two fingers up, meaning two passengers, she hoped. The teller, who had been frowning, now shook his head vehemently. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, and showing it to her, it read, "Grmphs Only!"
Concerned, Pickle chewed on her thumbnail. It was a bad nasty habit, but she couldn't help it. Where should she go. There were several islands around Grmph Island, and she pointed to one, and again she got a note saying she couldn't go there. Finally she pointed at one that appeared to be acceptable. The clerk scribbled something down, and handed it to her, which read: "‡3 Doodads."
Pickle shook her head. She didn't know what Doodads were, but she was pretty sure she didn't have three of them. The clerk simply pointed again at the piece of paper. Pickled tried shrugging her shoulders to show her confusion, but the clerk just pointed again. Frustrated, Pickle began to say, quietly, "But I don't..." But the clerk looked so alarmed when she began speaking that she stopped immediately. Now the clerk took back the piece of paper and folded it, then wrote something new on it. He handed it to her. ‡2 Doodads. Pickle appreciated the clerk's effort, but she still had no idea what a Doodad was. She began rummaging around in her backpack, hoping something in it might look like a Doodad. There wasn't much in there. A few oranges. One banana. Some tea bags. Well, why not? It was the Teapot Depot.
Pickle pulled out two bags of You-Clipped-Us tea and held it up, questioningly, to the clerk. His eyes grew very big, and he began rubbing his small mousy hands together. He hungrily shook his head up and down.
She handed the bags through the window, and he stamped two pieces of paper and handed them to her. She started to thank him, politeness being ingrained in her, but she bit her lip just in time. The clerk was busy showing his two teabags to his neighbor, so Pickle walked happily outside the station with her two tickets. She found Grrr not too far away, sitting underneath a tree and humming a tune.
"Hello Grrr."
"Hello Pickle. You get tickets?"
"I sure did Grrr. The clerk wouldn't sell me tickets to Grmph Island because he said I wasn't allowed there. So I got tickets to an island next to it on the map."
Pickle pulled out the tickets, and looked at them.
"It looks like it's called 'Odor Island.' Yuck. Sounds smelly."