Michael Tate wished he had locked his bedroom door. His big sister, Nicole, had just barged through it, like he’d never posted the “Keep Out” sign on the front. He rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock on his nightstand. It was seven am, and on a summer morning, too. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to focus.
“It’s time for you to stop pretending it didn’t happen, Michael,” she was saying in a loud voice. “Grandpa died three months ago.”
Michael groaned. Here it comes again, he thought. That same old bogus story about their grandfather, his Gankum, dying…she wouldn’t quit. It was like listening to a bee buzz around inside his head. He wrapped his pillow around his ears and shrank back under the covers, but he could still hear her.
“He went to bed one night, fell asleep, and never woke up. He went peacefully, Michael, but he went.” Her footsteps clipped the hardwood floor as she stalked the length of his room. Huh-uh. No way! Gankum, didn’t die because he would never leave Michael, not without saying good-bye. He was sure of it. Gankum understood him better than anyone else in the world. And besides, he could not be dead if he was still here—here with Michael.
Images of his grandfather began playing through his head like a movie. He could see Gankum throwing his head back to laugh at a joke...Gankum in the garden holding a cricket gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, pointing out the thorax...and then there were Gankum’s tanned and leathery hands digging in the dark garden dirt...his eyes glittering, his voice deep and rumbling...
Michael felt himself floating away, dreamlike. He was together again with Gankum, just the way they always were, and the way it was supposed to be.
“I know you and Gankum were really close, Michael, but that doesn’t change the facts.” Michael heard the buzzing start up in his head again and his dream vanished like a punctured balloon. This was too much…way too much. What was it going to take to get rid of her anyway? Maybe if he kept ignoring her this time, she’d get bored and leave. He could keep his mouth shut, he was pretty sure, as long as she didn’t start talking about the funeral again. He could deal with anything almost, except for that…just not that.
“Don’t you remember, Michael? We buried him at the Mt. Shasta Cemetery. Everyone came to the funeral.”
Michael heaved the covers off. “Stop it! You better stop! And I mean it, Nini!” Nini? Had he really called her that? Michael cringed. He’d invented the nickname for her when he was a little kid. Most of the time that was okay, but not now…when he was so mad. It didn’t make him sound very tough.
He sat up stiffly, his fists clenched. “Gankum visits me ‘most every day y’know!” Nicole stopped pacing his room and dropped her jaw.
“That’s not true, Michael! Grandpa can’t visit you if he’s dead. He was old, eighty-one years old, okay? He lived a long time, and now he’s gone. And you have to accept that. The casket may have been closed at his funeral, but it was Gankum’s body inside it, and it was Gankum’s coffin we buried.” A sharp pang hit Michael in the chest. He narrowed his eyes at Nicole, who had scrunched up her face and was glaring back at him. It made her look a lot older than thirteen. Michael wondered briefly if being bossy was what made you get old.
He seized his pillow and hurled it at her. She captured it easily in one hand. “No, I didn’t see Gankum at the cem’tary, just some dumb ol’ box. And Gankum doesn’t talk to you, only me. So you don’t hear him. That’s all.” No one, not Nini, Mama, nor even Papa, was going to tell him that his precious Gankum had gone into the dirt locked up inside a dark and ugly box.
He sprang out of bed and pushed his face into a snarl. Most of the time Michael enjoyed looking ferocious. It made him feel like a warrior, which helped to make up for the fact that he was small, even for a seven-year-old. He wasn’t having any fun right now though—there was too much thinking going on for that.
He started growling, thinking it sounded pretty realistic, but she charged toward him anyway, still gripping the pillow. He flinched as she skidded to a halt in front of him. “Yeah?” she cried, shaking the pillow over his head. “So, tell me—If Grandpa is still alive, then exactly where does he live, Michael? Like, we already sold his house.”
Sold-Gankum’s-house. They had really done it. After living next door to his grandfather for as long as Michael could remember, his family had sold the house last month to a young couple, newly married. It had felt like an armed invasion when they had moved in, with all their furniture and boxes and boxes of stuff. Barely a week had gone by before they had plowed over the vegetable garden in the back—the same one Michael and Gankum had tended every spring and summer for three years.
Michael shoved the pillow away. “He lives in my closet now, that’s where!” he said emphatically, pointing to it.
“Oh right, Michael. Your closet? And I suppose he sleeps standing up?”
Michael paused. He hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know,” he said at last, casting a fretful glance at the closet door, “but that’s where he lives.”
Nicole sighed and relaxed her hold on the pillow. “Geez, Michael. You’ve got to stop believing in this stupid pretend stuff. It’s just so stupid. And, you know, you can be gullible, too. For a smart kid, you sure are stupid and gullible.”
“I am not!” he cried, hoping gullible didn’t mean someone who didn’t know what gullible meant.
“Yes, you are.” Nicole sounded calm. “You even believe that dumb story Mama made up about us being made out of a couple of potatoes.” Her hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “C’mon now—do you really think Mama picked out some potatoes in the supermarket, and stuck them in a magic formula so they could grow into us, her babies? Now, does that sound right?” She cocked her head, smiling sweetly now. The invitation to surrender was clear.
Michael warned himself not to fall for it. Sure, his sister could be nice. And she was most of the time. He didn’t even mind it when she started acting like his mother, combing his hair or fixing his breakfast or something like that. It was okay until she started bossing him around like she was doing now, telling him what to think. He already knew what to think. Like this phony story about Gankum dying—he knew Gankum was alive because he had seen him with his own eyes—and now this other story that you can’ t make a baby out of a potato. Yes, a few very special babies were made from potatoes—he’d overheard Mama telling his sister. He’d even watched them laughing about it, like it was their secret. Phony baloney! Now he was certain that Nini was trying to trick him. He pushed her hand off his shoulder, and eyed the pillow. Nicole moved it high out of his reach.
“Yes,” he cried. “Only special babies can come from special potatoes, that’s why—most kids are born from their mamas but only one in a million can come from a potato—and Mama had to look really hard to find just the right ones to be her children too! She wanted us to be the very best!” He gave his head a sharp nod.
Nicole groaned. “Sure thing, Michael. We’re special because Mama picked out the very best potatoes in the whole store. Unlike other poor children, born live from their mothers. Boy, do I feel special.” With her free hand, she tossed her long, wavy brown hair over her shoulder, poked her nose in the air, and wagged her head. “I’m so special,” she cooed. “I came from a potato.” The last word sprayed out of her mouth as she broke up, laughing.
Michael waited, fuming quietly.
“I’m sorry Michael,” she said at last, not sounding the least bit sorry. “It’s just funny, that’s all.” Michael said nothing. “Oh c’mon now, Michael. Mama was just kidding when she told me that story. Okay? Get a grip.” Then she patted him on the head, grinning, as if he were a funny little duck or something.
Michael snorted and shook his head free. It was another trick. He was certain of it. And it wouldn't be the first time. She had been in on that lie about Santa Claus too, and he had believed her. She had even helped him to write a letter to Santa, promising to be good and obey his sister better. It had been a shock to learn that Santa didn't exist.
“Mama was not kidding! Only really good children come from potatoes, so maybe you didn’t and I did. And besides, I remember how to make the formula.” His voice grew louder as he ticked off the ingredients on his small fingers. “There’s peach fuzz in it— and, and rainwater—crushed walnuts—um, and apple seeds for a boy—and the bud of a rose if you want a girl! There, see?” He held up a handful of fingers. “I heard everything Mama tol’ you.” He finished with his chin angled sharply to meet his sister’s gaze.
Nicole shook her head, looking suddenly weary. “Yeah, okay,” she said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “So why don’t you just make the formula and turn a potato into a baby if you’re so sure it works. Hey, then you can show him to Gankum.”
“Maybe I will,” Michael said, spying the unguarded pillow.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and turned to leave, then froze in her tracks, as if she were remembering something. “Oops, I almost forgot to tell you. Papa made some apple pancakes for breakfast. He says you’d better come get them while they’re hot—and, hmmm, they might still be warm…” She stuck a finger in the air as she turned to face him again. “…But you’d better hurry.”
Michael yelped, dove for the pillow and sent it arcing across the room in her direction. Mid-trajectory, however, it clipped the top of a chair and flopped into the seat. Hot- faced, he watched as it slipped slowly onto the floor and fell into a crumpled heap at his sister’s feet. Wearing a little smirk, Nicole reached over and grabbed it, flipped it lightly back into his arms and left the room.
Michael pitched the pillow back at the empty doorway and collapsed onto his bed, feeling deflated, like an empty rubber ball. “Potatoes can so grow into babies,” he mumbled, wishing he had someone to talk with him—someone that would understand him.
A shuffling noise on the end of his bed startled him, and he stiffened. Could it be? He spun around, blinked—and smiled.
“Hi Gankum!”
An old man was seated on his bed and was smiling back at Michael. His large and wrinkled old hands lay folded on his knee, and his dark eyes sparkled in a kindly old face. Michael often said his grandfather had eyes that smiled at you, even when his mouth didn’t. Right now, though, Gankum was laughing as his drooping, white mustache wiggled up and down.
“Good morning, little man,” Gankum chuckled.
Michael moved next to the old man, and wrapped his thin arms around him. “You smell good Gankum, like shaving cream,” he said, nuzzling his head into the crook of his grandfather’s neck. Gankum laughed.
“So what’s on your mind this morning, my wonderful little man?” Gankum said, rubbing the dense brown curls on Michael’s head.
“Well, I was just wondering, Gankum,” he said after a moment. “How do you sleep in the closet? I mean, there’s no bed in there.”
A low laugh rumbled out of Gankum’s chest. “I don’t sleep in there, little man.”
“You don’t?”
“No, it’s only a doorway—the one that I use it to find you.” Gankum poked him playfully in the chest.
“Oh.” Michael felt more confused than ever. He searched his grandfather’s face. “Then where is your bed?”
“There is no bed, little man. I don’t need to sleep because I am never tired any more.” The liquid lights within his grandfather’s eyes were shimmering.
“Why did you used to get so tired then, Gankum?”
“Probably from making that darned old bed every morning.” Michael watched him solemnly for a moment, until they both erupted into laughter. This was one of the things Michael loved best about his grandfather; he could make him laugh anytime, about anything, so that he always felt safe.
“Gankum?” Michael asked when their laughing had subsided.
“Yes, my little man.”
“Gankum, I’m going to get another baby for our family.” It was easy to share his secrets with his grandfather.”
“Oh? And why do you want a baby, Michael?”
“I just want one.” Michael paused to think. “A baby could play with me. I would be a good brother, and I would share all my toys. I promise.” Michael placed his hand over his heart, and Gankum laughed. Smiling, Michael lay his head back on his grandfather’s chest. “And the baby could be my friend,” he added softly.
“Sounds like you mean it, and I’m sure you would be a good brother, but how are you going to get a baby all by yourself?”
Michael answered quietly. “I know how to get one from a potato.”
Gankum smiled. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yes. I’m going to get another baby for our family.” Michael leaned into his grandfather’s ear. “You’ll see. Everyone will see.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Gankum said, stroking the top of his head, “and you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you just want someone else to love. Is that it, little man?”
Michael swallowed hard, and nodded. Gankum hugged him warmly.
Suddenly, they heard footsteps in the hallway approaching quickly. Michael glanced up toward the doorway. Nicole appeared in the opening and paused, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Michael, your pancakes are cold,” she said, but she was looking past him, her eyes narrowing. “Um, did I hear another voice in here just now? Were you playing a CD?”
Michael’s eyes darted toward the closet door, but he said nothing.
Nicole sighed, took several steps inside his room, and tilted her head to survey it. Her eyes came to rest on his closet door. Walking slowly toward it, she reached out to grab the knob. She must have had second thoughts though, because her hand froze midway. She gave her head a little shake, turned, and quickly left the room. Michael followed, feeling half-relieved and half-disappointed that she hadn’t opened it.
Chapter Two AT THE POTATO FACTORY
“Hey, what the…”
The man called Andrews sucked in his breath as the box jiggled in front of him on the conveyor belt. He turned off the belt and waved excitedly to another man working on a machine just behind him.
“Hey, George, check this out! Can you believe it? Is this a killer potato or what?” Grinning widely, he held up the most enormous russet potato that either of them had ever seen, and pretended to march it in the air like an approaching beast. “Doom- doom, doom-doom,” he sang with each thrust.
Hey! Give it here, Andrews!” George laughed as he snatched the potato from the other man. He cupped it in his hands and released a soft whistle as he examined the brown ends that jutted out from both sides of his palms. It was oddly shaped, like a pear yet gigantic, more than twice the size of a normal potato. He held it up to his face for a closer look, when suddenly and without warning, his hands flew apart and the potato dropped to the floor with a thud.
“What’s the matter? Did it bite ya?” Andrews’s eyes grew wide as he studied the stunned expression on George’s face.
“It…. it...the thing...it m-moved.”
“Whadaya mean, it moved?” Andrews said, his eyes growing wider still. “Potatoes don’ t move by themselves…whadaya talkin’ about?”
“I mean…I…I felt the thing move. Like it just went thump inside or something…like…like something was alive inside of it,” George said, his voice trembling slightly.
“What? Hey, it’s not an egg, y’know! There’s no baby chick inside. It’s just a potato.” Andrews bent over to investigate the vegetable on the floor. It lay quite still so he picked it up and held it cautiously, passing it back and forth between his palms as if he thought it might burn him if he held it too long in one hand. “Hey, you’re crazy…it’s just a potato, man. C’mon!” He held it up for George to see. “Look, a potato. It’s a potato, man.”
George shrugged and turned away. Andrews gave a last wary glance at the potato before dumping it back into the box with the other ordinary russets, and covering it firmly with a lid. The box rolled away along with dozens of others on the belt. They rattled out the factory door where they were loaded onto a truck’s platform. Within the hour, the truck could be heard rumbling noisily out of the lot and heading for its destination at Crossroads Market in the city of Mt. Shasta, California.
Chapter Three COLLECTING THE INGREDIENTS
After breakfast, Michael peered around the corner into the playroom and spotted his sister buried under a thick book and half swallowed by an overstuffed chair. He stole softly into the room and planted himself beside her. Nicole lifted her head slightly, but her eyes did not leave the page.
“Not now, Michael. I’m really into this chapter.”
Michael said nothing, and waited. Finally Nicole sighed and lowered her book.
“Okay, okay. What do you want?”
Michael took a deep breath, wondering how to begin. He needed her help, but convincing her to give it could prove tricky, since she’d already nixed the whole idea. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Nicole shifted impatiently, and Michael knew that he was losing her. He decided he’d better say something, pronto.
“I want another baby in our family,” he blurted. It sounded pretty silly without an explanation.
Nicole looked amused. “Why do you want a baby, Michael?”
Relieved to hear the question, Michael again described how he could be a good brother, promising to play with the baby and take care of it, except for the diaper By the time he had finished, Nicole was grinning. “That’s really cute Michael, but I think Mama and Papa get to decide if we’re going to have another baby in the family.” She patted him on the head and turned back to her book.
“No, wait. We can make one from a potato—remember—with the formula?”
Nicole’s book fell into her lap.
“Oh, Geez Michael, not the formula again. I told you—that story is just pretend. Mama made it up. She was kidding when she told me. She thinks it’s funny, that’s all.”
Michael felt himself grow hot-faced. “No, it’s not pretend. I want a baby and I need you to help me make the formula.”
“Michael...that’s impossible!”
She was staring at him now, looking thoroughly vexed, when all of a sudden her eyebrows floated up, as if something had just occurred to her. Michael could almost see the wheels spinning in her head, although he couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. Then, wearing a little smirk, she lowered her chin and said darkly, “You know, there’s a little something else about the formula that Mama didn’t tell you…”
“Like what?”
“Something really bad…and if you’re actually going to make it…well, I guess you might as well know…” She paused and sighed heavily.
“What should I know?”
Nicole stared off into space, and shook her head. Then she glanced back at Michael, as if to make sure he was watching. “Well, okay,” she said, and heaved another sigh. “If you insist.” She turned to face him. “Pay attention then, because you’re going to want to get this right.”
Michael leaned forward, feeling the urgency.
Nicole continued in a whisper. “If you make a mistake, any little mistake at all, there’ll be trouble. Terrible trouble, Michael.”
“Okay,” Michael croaked.
“It sounds simple, but it isn’t…so are you ready?” Michael nodded nervously. “This is it. You have to let the formula age one hour, and that’s one hour exactly, because if you wait a minute too soon or too late…horrible things can happen...just horrible…”
“Why, what can happen?”
“The potato will not grow into a baby. It will have all kinds of deformities…extra arms and legs, four eyeballs, who knows? Anything’s possible if the formula isn’t just exactly one hour old when you use it.” Nicole was wagging her finger. “Otherwise you’ll have to take care of it for the rest of its miserable life.”
Michael gulped, and Nicole went on, looking encouraged. “Yeah. Very dangerous stuff, this formula. And if you happen to spill any of it onto an inanimate object, well that’s not too hot either. Objects like pencils, or dishes, chairs…just anything that’s not a living thing…the formula can bring these things to life…which is a very bad idea, believe me!” Nicole was shaking her head, as if picturing how bad it could be. “They’ll be monsters, because they’re not supposed to be alive in the first place, you know.”
Michael stood transfixed, letting it sink in.
The formula could bring a chair to life? That would be weird. What was a living chair like anyway? Could a chair turn into a monster?
Then he remembered a conversation he’d had with Gankum about things that didn’t go together—like strawberries and salt, pet mice and snakes—they had even made a game out of it, trying to imagine as many mismatches as they could—flying baseballs and windows. In a flash, it all became crystal clear.
“I get it!” he cried. “Objects aren’t like a potato that’s already a living thing and is supposed to grow into a baby. You don’t put salt on strawberries, and you don’t put the formula on things that aren’t already alive.” His spirits soared with his new understanding. “It isn’t meant to be, and that’s why bad things can happen—Oh, I’ll be careful. I will! I’ll let it age just right, and I won’t spill it on anything.” Michael peered up at Nicole. “Okay, Nini? Please?”
Nicole’s mouth was flapping but no sound was coming out. Michael quickly promised not to complain if he botched the formula and it didn’t work.
“You mean if it doesn’t work, then we can forget the whole thing?” she asked, looking hopeful. Michael agreed, so Nicole shook her head and sent him to find the ingredients, telling him to come back only when he had gathered all of them.
Michael darted out of the house and into the garden to do just that. Stepping cautiously through the flowerbeds, he remembered that the recipe for a baby girl called for a rosebud. He pinched a fat one off his mother’s rosebush, carefully avoiding the large thorns. surrounding it. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted another sister or a baby brother, so he decided to gather the ingredients for both with the idea that he could decide later when he was mixing it all up. He would need apple seeds for a boy, so he snatched an apple off the ground beneath their green apple tree.
Next he needed the ingredients for the main part of the formula, which were the same for a boy or a girl. First he would have to find a peach, but there were no peach trees on their property. Remembering that Mrs. Williams next door had one, he peered through a hole in the fence that lined their properties and spotted it. The limbs were laden with large, heavy fruit that hung in abundance from the branches. He raced over to Mrs. Williams’s front door, and when she had answered, secured permission to grab a peach for himself. He added it to his bounty and hauled everything back to his bedroom to take stock.
He still needed walnuts, which he could get along with his special potato at the grocery store. The final ingredient for water was easy—anyone could turn on a spigot, but the formula called for fresh rainwater as well, which could prove a bit trickier to collect. Even so, he knew that afternoon thunderstorms were common in the region this time of year, even after sunny mornings like this one. He glanced out his window. A clear sky greeted him, except around the summit of Mt. Shasta, which was cloaked in puffy clouds. Feeling hopeful, he scratched rainwater off the list in his head and left his room to find his mother. He would need her for the next part.
He found her in the kitchen, clearing out food from the fridge.
“When are you going to Crossroads Market, Mama?”
“Soon. Can I get you something?”
“No, but can I go with you?”
“Well, okay. We’ll go when I’ve finished clearing this out.” Michael waited impatiently until she was ready to leave.
As his mother’s old Toyota crunched over the gravel in the driveway, Michael stared out at the tall pine trees, wondering how he was going to explain to her what he wanted with a potato and some walnuts at the market. She would want to know, of course, and if he told her everything, she would probably put a stop to it since it was so dangerous. But he didn’t want to lie either.
Gankum once said that every time you lied, you lost a little bit of your personal power. Michael wasn’t entirely sure what personal power was, but it didn’t sound like it would be good to lose any of it. Maybe he could share enough with her just so that she wouldn’ t ask any more questions.
“Mama?” he asked as she maneuvered the car into a parking spot at the market.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m going to try a special experiment, and it’s going to be a surprise. Okay?”
“Oh? Well, you’re not going to be using fire or anything unsafe, are you?”
“Well no,” Michael said, biting his lip. None of the ingredients were unsafe. Handling the formula was the dangerous part.
“Just a potato, walnuts—some peaches—water—stuff like that.” Michael hoped that he sounded calm.
“Well, okay. I guess that sounds harmless. Is it a science experiment?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
His mother cast a sideways glance at him before opening the car door. “Now I’m curious, Michael. Is it a school project?”
Michael hopped out of the car and joined his mother on the other side. “No. Just a surprise project.”
“Will you show it to me when you’re done?” she asked, taking his hand. Michael thought about this. It would be pretty hard to hide a baby after it finished growing from a potato. He didn’t think his parents would reject a real, live cooing baby after they saw it anyway.
“Yeah. I’ll show you.”
In the produce section of Crossroads Market, Michael filled a plastic bag with a few walnuts and smiled at his mother as he placed it in her shopping basket.
“Just three?” she asked.
Michael nodded, but offered no further explanation. After all, it was a surprise. Mama only shook her head, as if baffled by the contradictions that seemed to surround her young son these days. Sighing, she began the judicious process of selecting various oranges from a large bin, keeping one eye peeled on Michael, who had located the russet potatoes on the next table. Michael sensed his mother watching him as he fingered the potatoes one at a time, very carefully. He saw shoppers pass him with their carts and smile as he rolled and weighed and tapped each potato in his hands meticulously before setting it aside. All too soon, his mother motioned for him to follow her to the checkout stand.
“Not yet!” Michael cried anxiously. “I’m not ready!”
“Not ready for what Michael? What are you doing? There are lots of potatoes. Can’t you just take one?”
“No. I need a special potato.” He began nervously pushing and poking the remaining potatoes. Mama looked half-amused and half-puzzled as she repeated her instructions for him to follow.
At that moment, a very large potato dislodged from the back of the table and slowly rolled toward him. He fixed his gaze upon it and picked it up. His jaw dropped as he stared at it. It was huge and shaped like a monstrous pear, round on one end and pointy on the other. There was something else about it though, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He probed it carefully with his fingers, running them over the uneven surface. It felt like it had a hum inside it, a sort of buzzing, and a gentle throbbing. It felt—special. Yes, this was it! The one special potato for the formula—he had found it!
At the check out stand, Michael helped his mother load the food onto the counter, slipping his potato in with the rest of the groceries.
Now all he needed to do was prepare the ingredients and wait for rain.
A CHILDREN'S FANTASY ADVENTURE TATO by Kathe Gogolewski Chapter one GANKUM
