Under the Earth, Rabbits Will Sing

  

Szerykl and Dziadek read Malamud's The Natural

 In a park near their Kraków apartment, Michael ...           (also known as Neighborhood Grandpa, aka Dziadek)

… sat on a brown wooden bench with Szerykl peering over his shoulder. He held an open book, and as he recited a sentence, Szerykl read after him.

            “As dawn tilted the night…”

            “As dawn tilted …”

            “--the night…” said Michael.

            “--the night…” read Szerykl.

            You see, Michael had learned from Sheri (aka Babcia) what Szerykl had told her, that Szerykl – being a magical rabbit – could understand every language ever spoken, whether animal or human. She understood Bearbuli and Spricketish and Latin and Polish and Urdu and Doggerel (all those woofs and whines). She could speak Pigeon and Pidgin, CatCanto and Gaelic, and even Baltimorese.

            “But I never learned to read,” she whispered, dropping her gaze toward the floor. “They don’t let rabbits go to school.”

            Well. Michael and Sheri both worked as teachers, so no problem there. And Szerykl, as you might imagine, was a quick study. This was especially true because Michael and Sheri only taught her to read English. Soon, Szerykl was reading Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! and The Mouse and the Motorcycle and even Watership Down.

            “But why don’t through and enough rhyme?” she asked.

            Michael sighed.

            “And why,” asked Szerykl, “does the CH in your name sound like a K and the CH in chair doesn’t? And the CH in machine sounds like …”

            Michael sighed again. Learning to read can be difficult, but have you ever tried to teach someone – especially a smart rabbit –  to read English?

            Scrape your forehead on tree bark; it’s like that.

            Anyway, it’s all exhausting, so later that day, everyone napped: Michael and Sheri in the bed, Szerykl on the window sill, which stayed warm from the all-day sun. Szerykl’s little nose quivered, and her ears lay so gently across her back, and she dozed and whistled out of her nose and dreamed, and in her dream she heard her name.

            “Szerykl.”

            She opened an eye. And again heard her name. Maybe this wasn’t a dream? The voice sounded as if it came from a mouth full of soggy spinach, a voice that had never ever sung a song, not even one. Szerykl glanced across the street to the building called Pod Pająkiem, Under the Spider, and she saw the spider, green and stretched across its web, long legs gleaming.

            “You have a message for me,” said the soggy-spinach voice, and Szerykl knew that the voice belonged to the spider.

            Szerykl whispered, “How do you know?” and though she whispered, the spider heard her and answered.

            “My web-threads reach everywhere. They float in the sky, weave among cave tunnels, drift across waters. Through them, I hear all whispers and breaths, every prayer and every secret.”

            Szerykl’s nose quivered. She’d never before spoken to a green, copper spider. In fact, she’d hardly ever spoken with any spider, because spiders tend to be the silent, introverted type, always fleeing if you even breathe on their webs. And Babcia Sheri had said this spider couldn’t move, but she must have been wrong. Szerykl began to tremble. Her voice quavered.

            “The message is from my friend E. She told me what to name you.”

            “Did she?”

            “E said your name should be Gummy, because of all the sticky, yucky bug guts found in your web.”

            “Sticky and yucky are the best words,” said the spider. “But Gummy is not a Polish name. Call me Lepki. Means the same.”

            “E likes Gummy.”

            “Try Goomee. Sounds more Polish.”

            “E likes Gummy.”

            “Names, names,” sighed the spider. “Give them, get them, learn them, forget them, change them, keep them secret. So much of life depends on names.”

            This seemed true to Szerykl. It sometimes seemed that all Michael and Sheri ever did in Poland was to learn names. Like the time they learned too late the name of instant coffee (whoops!). To not know names means you are a visitor. To know names means you are home.

            “Okay,” said the spider. “Call me Gummy. But do so with reverence.”

            Szerykl curtseyed. “Oh, shrewd and revered Gummy, you are the Gummiest.”

            “Now: return to your dreams, Szerykl. We’ll talk again, after you meet your visitor.”

            “…!”

            If a spider can smile, the shrewd and revered Gummy now smiled. “Remember,” Gummy said, “I hear everything.”

            Now, Szerykl felt nervous. Who would visit? When? Would the visitor bring good news or bad? Or chocolate? Or fresh lettuce?

            Sheri and Michael ate dinner and watched a TV show and went to bed, but Szerykl stayed awake all night, all tucked into herself but alert. By morning, she twitched from her lack of sleep, head jerking toward every noise from the street below: the tram bell ringing, the nuns’ shoes clopping on the cobblestones, the teenagers munching hot dogs, the doors of the pastry shop opening and closing. Michael and Sheri said goodbye, we’re taking a bicycle ride, Do zabaczenia! See you later! So Szerykl sat alone in the apartment, awaiting her visitor.

            She didn’t have to wait long!

            “Dzień dobry,” came the voice. “Good day.”

            Szerykl turned and gasped, because she saw beside her the most remarkable rabbit. Sleek and white-faced, legs polka-dotted green, and with flowers in red and blue and yellow to decorate its sleek self. Eyes of dark blue and long, elegant ears also pretty with flowers.

   

The Rabbit Prince arrives

            “I love your tattoos,” said Szerykl. Being from Baltimore, Szerykl had seen about eleventy-thousand impressive tattoos. And that was just on Wednesday.

            “Tat-whats?” said the visitor. “Never mind. I’ve come to find Szerykl, the Magic Rabbit.”

            “That’s me,” said Szerykl. “How did you find me?”

            “That’s easy. This house is called Pod Króliczkiem. Under the Bunny. And you are The Bunny. I’ve come to ask your help.”

            Szerykl’s nose juttered. She already had a job: making sure the Neighborhood Grandparents returned to Baltimore. She didn’t need MORE work!

            “Since the days when I was a kitten, I’ve heard the prophecy,” said the visitor.

            For Poland’s Rabbit Prince

            to become its Rabbit King

            requires the help of a magic thing.

            Under the Bunny, twitch then hop,

            then to gather the amber drops

            from dragon, from knight, from dwarves and mice.

            If prince will become king, here is the price.

            Pod ziemią zaśpiewają króliki.

 

            “Under the earth, the rabbits will sing,” said Szerykl. “I’d like to hear that. Are you the Rabbit Prince of Poland?”

            “Tak,” said the Rabbit Prince. “Yes. But to become king I need the help of a Magic Rabbit. So I’ve come to you. If all goes well, we’ll arrive together in a beautiful mountain village the human people called Królik Polski, or Polish Rabbit, underneath which run tunnels and dens and warrens, the great capital of all Polish rabbits. Together, you and I, we’ll bring the drops of amber, and under the earth, rabbits will sing, and I’ll become king.”

            Szerykl felt dizzy. “What was that,” she asked, “about a dragon?”

Red Pine mushrooms (Rydze grzyby)

            Suddenly, the apartment door opened. Here came Michael and Sheri, pushing their bicycles, carrying mushrooms and coffee and raspberries. “Time to pack,” Sheri said to Michael. “Do you think we need to bring Szerykl, or should we leave her here?”

             Szerykl didn’t know what to do: tell her visitor to hide or to introduce him or offer him a nice, fresh raspberry. But he decided for her, because when Szerykl turned to where he’d sat a moment before, she found only a red flower where he'd sat. The Rabbit Prince was gone.