Look, Sola! Wonder has found something—
Sola:
A feather!
Young Rumpopo:
What is it, Wonder? Is there something magical here?
Sola:
Such a beautiful emerald-green feather.
Young Rumpopo:
And perhaps, if we wave it in the air—
Sola:
It shall become—
(Lights come up again on the emerald table, laden as before, with food, at stage right.)
Sola:
An emerald table!
Young Rumpopo:
With golden plates—
Sola:
And food—
Young Rumpopo:
For kings and queens!
Sola:
And we will bring Mother and Father—
Young Rumpopo:
And we will dine until our stomachs burst!
Old Crone:
(in tree) The emerald table! Again!
Donkey:
Yes.
Old Crone:
Just as before!
Donkey:
Yes.
Old Crone:
And look, there is Sola!
Donkey:
And Wonder.
(Lights come up. Lucia and Pahchay return to porch.)
Lucia:
Oh, I love the emerald table story, Rumpopo.
Pahchay:
And tomorrow, will you tell us again about the golden rock? The palace?
Rumpopo:
Aye. I will.
SCENE 14
The cabin. All of the villagers, who have brought food, are gathered on the porch with the Old Crone, Rumpopo, Lucia, Pahchay, and the dog. The Donkey lingers nearby.
Rumpopo:
Thank you for these generous gifts. I am overwhelmed.
Old Crone:
(handing him a blanket) Here, this is for you. I made it.
Lucia:
How beautiful!
Villager One:
And I made the cake—
Pahchay:
Delicious!
Villager Two:
The roast is mine—
Rumpopo:
Thank you, thank you. What can I do to repay you?
Villager Three:
Will you tell us—
Villager Four:
—something amazing—
Villager Five:
—and spectacular—
Villager Six:
—and even, maybe, a little hazardous? Treacherous? Risky?
Villager One:
Will you tell us about the emerald table?
Villager Two:
And the golden rock?
Villager Three:
And the palace?
Rumpopo:
Aye, aye. That I can do. We will have emerald tables and golden palaces and maybe a little hazard, some treachery, some risk . . .
Villager Four:
Oh, thank you!
Rumpopo:
No, thank you, one and all. I feel like a young lad again!
Old Crone:
Maybe tomorrow you will all come to my porch?
The End
Read an excerpt from Sharon Creech’s novel
The Boy
on the Porch
1
The young couple found the child asleep in an old cushioned chair on the front porch. He was curled against a worn pillow, his feet bare and dusty, his clothes fashioned from rough linen. They could not imagine where he had come from or how he had made his way to their small farmhouse on a dirt road far from town.
“How old a boy is he, do you think?” the man asked.
“Hard to say, isn’t it? Seven or eight?”
“Small for his age then.”
“Six?”
“Big feet.”
“Haven’t been around kids much.”
“Me neither.”
The man circled the house and then walked down the dirt drive, past their battered blue truck and the shed, scanning the bushes on both sides as he went. Their dog, a silent beagle, slipped into his place beside the man, sniffing the ground earnestly.
When the man and the dog returned to the porch, the woman was kneeling beside the old cushioned chair, her hand resting gently on the boy’s back. There was something in the tilt of her head and the tenderness of her touch that moved him. He wondered if they would have their own child one day. No, no, time enough to think about that. No need to rush things.
2
The young couple, whose names were Marta and John, were reluctant to go about their normal chores, fearing that the boy would wake and be afraid, and so they took turns watching over the sleeping boy. It did not seem right to wake him.
For several hours, they moved about more quietly than usual, until at last John said, “It is time to wake that child, Marta. Maybe he is sick, sleeping so much like that.”
“You think so?” She felt his forehead, but it was cool, not feverish.
And so John and Marta made small noises: they coughed and tapped their feet upon the floor, and they let the screen door flap shut in its clumsy way, but still the child slept.
“Tap him,” John said. “Tap him on the back.”
And so Marta did, tapping him lightly at first, and then more firmly, as if she were patting a drum. Nothing.
“Lift him up,” John said.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. You do it.”
“No, no, it might scare him to see a big man like me. You do it. You’re more gentle.”
Marta blushed at this and considered the child and what might be the best way to lift him.
“Just scoop him up,” John said.
And so Marta did just that. She scooped up the boy in one swift move, but he was heavier than she had expected, and she swayed and turned and flopped into the chair with the boy now in her arms.
Still the boy slept.
Marta looked up at John and then down at the dusty-headed boy. “I suppose I’d better just sit here with him until he wakes,” she said.
The sight of his wife with the child in her lap made John feel peculiar. He felt joy and surprise and worry and fear all at once, in such a rush, making him dizzy.
“I’ll tend to the cows,” he said abruptly. “Call me if you need me.”
Her chin rested on the child’s head; her hand pat-patted his back.
“It’s okay,” Marta whispered to the sleeping child. “I will sit here all day, if need be.”
Their dog normally shadowed John from dawn until dusk, but on this day, he chose to lie at Marta’s feet, eyes closed, waiting. Before John went to the barn, he scanned the drive again and circled their farmhouse. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he hurried on to his chores.
Marta closed her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered.
3
She must have dozed off, for she was startled by something tapping her face.
The child’s hand rested on her cheek, his eyes wide, a deep, dark brown, and his face so close to hers that she had to lean back to focus.
“Oh!” Marta said. “Don’t be afraid. We found you here, on the porch, don’t be afraid.”
The child did not seem afraid. He gazed back at her steadily and then turned to take in the porch, the trees beyond, and the beagle at his feet. He let his hand drop toward the beagle—not reaching for the dog, but as if offering his hand in case the dog should want to sniff it.
The beagle sniffed the hand and then the boy’s arms and legs. He licked the dust from the boy’s feet.
“I am Marta,” she said. “What are you called?”
The boy made no motion to move from her lap and he did not answer.
“You must be hungry,” Marta said. “Would you like something to eat? To drink?”
The boy looked out at the bushes, the drive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lyle Rigg
SHARON CREECH is the author of the Newbery Medal Winner WALK TWO MOONS and the Newbery Honor
Book THE WANDERER. Her other work includes the novels THE GREAT UNEXPECTED, THE UNFINISHED ANGEL, HATE THAT CAT, THE CASTLE CORONA, HEARTBEAT, GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUP, RUBY HOLLER, LOVE THAT DOG, ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS, CHASING REDBIRD, and PLEASING THE GHOST, as well as three picture books: A FINE, FINE SCHOOL; FISHING IN THE AIR; and WHO’S THAT BABY? Ms. Creech and her husband live in Maine. You can visit her online at www.sharoncreech.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
BACK AD
CREDITS
Cover art © 2013 by Zdenko Basic
ALSO BY SHARON CREECH
Walk Two Moons
Absolutely Normal Chaos
Pleasing the Ghost
Chasing Redbird
Bloomability
The Wanderer
Fishing in the Air
Love That Dog
A Fine, Fine School
Ruby Holler
Granny Torrelli Makes Soup
Heartbeat
Who’s That Baby?
Hate That Cat
The Castle Corona
The Unfinished Angel
The Great Unexpected
COPYRIGHT
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Creech, Sharon.
Replay / Sharon Creech.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: While preparing for a role in the school play, twelve-year-old Leo finds an autobiography that his father wrote as a teenager and ponders the ways people change as they grow up. Includes the text for the play “Rumpopo’s Porch.”
ISBN 978-0-06-054021-0
EPub Edition March 2013 ISBN 9780061972492
Version 04122013
[1. Conduct of life—Fiction. 2. Family life—Fiction. 3. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 4. Theater—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C8615Re 2005
2004028240
[Fic]—dc22
CIP
AC
* * *
13 14 15 16 17 CG/BR 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6
Revised paperback edition, 2013
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