Chapter 19

The Stranger in the Manger

image [https://i.imgur.com/cIwMjBz.jpeg]

Of all our heroine’s powers, this one was by far the strangest. It happened late at night when she fell into her deepest sleeps. For the longest time, she thought they were just funny dreams. Until one day something extraordinary happened. Upon awaking, she heard some snoring next to her. Slowly, she rolled over and peeked over the side of her bed. The stranger she had seen in her dreams that night had followed her home!

She reacted exactly the way you would, reader. As loud as she could, she shrieked. The stranger woke up and started shrieking too. So did Samson, who nearly jumped up onto the chandeliers. But the funniest reaction of all came from Sophie’s father who, upon hearing them, casually strolled in holding his plain cup of coffee. Far from panicking, he just stood there and said, “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” Then, he took a sip, turned around and calmly walked away like nothing had happened.

Shortly after, the sharp-featured gentleman discovered our heroine’s barn. Finding it to his liking, he decided to move in. Sophie’s father warmly welcomed him there, telling Sophie it would be her job to take care of him. From that day onward, her morning chores would never be the same again.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed the stranger heartily. “Good day, good Mistress Sophie!”

He stood up tall and smiled.

“Good morning, Motumbo . . .” our heroine squeaked.

The giant man stepped forward, but then suddenly started losing his balance.

“Wo!” he cried, wobbling. “Wo! WoOoOo!”

He began falling backwards. Our heroine had to run to save him.

“Oh, Motumbo! Be careful!” she shrieked.

“WoOoOo! Ho! Ho! Ho!”

She got there just in time—right before he fell on a pitchfork! With all her might, she shoved him in the opposite direction. But that only ended up making things worse.

“WoOoOo!” he kept wailing again, this time falling sideways. “WoOoOo!” Sophie had to run and push him again . . . and again! Back and forth they went, turning the barn into an even greater mess! If she hadn’t grabbed onto his beard, he would have tumbled right into the trough.

“Hold . . . on . . . Motumbo!” she cried. “I . . . got . . . you!”

It was working! He was almost standing upright. But then the unthinkable happened. He teetered and fell straight towards her!

“UH OH!” he bellowed.

“Motumbo!” she shrieked. “MOTUMBOOO!”

She tried to get out of the way, but it was too late. He tumbled right on top of her.

“Oof!”

Fortunately, the hay broke their fall and neither of them got hurt. They stood up and brushed off the straw.

“Goodness!” sighed Sophie. “What a fright!”

It was a power our heroine would never get used to because of how much chaos it introduced into her life. Motumbo was so silly! So different! So wild! Sophie used to enjoy doing her morning chores, but now they always felt like a nightmare.

“WwWwoof!” the man started growling next. “WwWwoof!”

He lowered his head and began kicking up hay like a bull.

“Eek!”

Then he started chasing her.

“Snort, snort! WwWwa! Snort, snort, snort! WwWwa! WwWwa!”

“Eek! Eek!”

The only good thing about this chaos was that it made our heroine much more patient than she would otherwise have been. As frustrating as these trips to the barn could be, they were perfect practice for all her adventures. Believe me when I say, reader, that patience more than anything is something our heroine will need!

Speaking of which, let us see if she is finally ready to begin those adventures. We’ve awoken our heroine. You’ve gotten to know her. You’ve seen her powers and how she can control them. But can she control herself? Can she remain calm and steady, as she’ll need to be? Can she listen, even when it’s hard? There is only one way to find out. Let us frustrate her even more this morning, reader! We’ll put our heroine’s patience to the test!

Suddenly, Motumbo started chasing her even faster! He threw hay up into the air! He beat his chest like an ape! He made sillier and sillier sounds!

“Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP! Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP!”

He tickled her heels as she ran! He poked her sides! He bent his face into funny, but frightening shapes! How red Sophie turned! How she shrieked! Her little heart beat faster and faster!

“Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP, WHOOP! Hee, haw! Hee, haw! Whoop, whoop, whoop! Snort, snort!”

“EeEeEek!”

The barn got even messier. Sophie’s shoes were ruined! Her dress got a big, ugly tear in it! Soon, the poor girl could run no more. Motumbo had her cornered. There was nowhere else to go.

“WwWwoof! WwWwoof! WwWwWwWwWwoof!”

Finally, she lost her temper and wailed at the top of her lungs. “That’s it . . . STOP THIS INSTANT, SIR!”

Immediately, Motumbo halted. He scrambled backward to the middle of the room like an excited puppy and sat down nicely.

“Heavens to Betsy! Aren’t you frisky today!” Sophie exclaimed. Then she felt tears build up. She couldn’t hold back any longer and started crying.

This was all it took, reader, to bring our poor heroine to her knees. Already, she wanted to give up. Looking at the door, she felt tempted to storm out—the same way she’d done so many other times. But on this morning, something was different. After all that running away, she was finally beginning to realize that running wasn’t going to solve her problem. Sophie had only one choice. She had to get back up on her feet and try reasoning with him. But this only proved to be even more frustrating.

Stolen story; please report.

Slowly, Motumbo started shuffling back towards the sobbing girl. He patted her gently on the head and apologized.

“Aww, Motumbo sorry for frightening good Mistress Sophie. Motumbo not mean to. Motumbo just playing, that’s all.”

Then he gave her a great big, long, tight hug—and kissed her little hand.

“Eek!” she screeched, jumping up. His beard was so tickly!

“Motumbo won’t do it again,” he answered. “Motumbo promise! Motumbo LOVE Mistress Sophie. Motumbo love SO MUCH.”

Our heroine took a deep breath, just like her father had taught her. She sighed and did her best to remain calm.

“Oh, Motumbo!” she began. “I just can’t take this anymore! You . . . your behavior . . . calling me . . . calling me . . .” Sophie could hardly say the word, it was so upsetting. “Mistress . . .” She cringed and squirmed. “Won’t you stop all this silliness and come inside already? You’re a man, not an animal. I’m not your master. I’m just a girl! Please, please . . .” she begged, seizing his hands. They were so big. It felt like holding two bunches of bananas. “Please, come inside. We can build you a proper house. Or you can live with us! There is so much I could teach you.”

Motumbo listened very politely and sensitively as she spoke. His eyes were so full of affection, like he’d do anything for her. She began to think that maybe she’d finally gotten through to him. But that hope was shattered the moment she mentioned a house. He let go of her hands and burst into laughter.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! HO! HO! HO!” he chuckled. “Motumbo? Live in a house? But why would Motumbo do that? House too small for Motumbo!” He beat his chest again. “Besides, Motumbo love his barn. Barn Motumbo’s favorite place in WHOLE WORLD! Ho! Ho! Ho!”

“But . . . why?” our heroine moaned in pain. It felt like a knife was being plunged into her heart—and then twisted. Nothing frustrated our heroine more than absurdity and obscenity. “WHY!?” She seized him by the hand again, this time squeezing very hard. Now, she looked like the crazy one. “Look around! It’s a barn! A BARN! It’s cold . . . and FILTHY in here! Are you mad? What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want a bed to sleep in!? A nice, cozy blanket!?”

“Hmm . . .” thought Motumbo, scratching his chin. Then he burst out laughing again. “No! Motumbo don’t! Ho! Ho! Ho! Motumbo already have bed, see? Behold, Motumbo’s bed of straw! And as for blanket—who needs blanket who has friends?” He pointed to the wooly sheep—and big fat muddy pig he liked to cuddle with.

“Squee!” it seemed to croak in agreement. Motumbo started squealing again too. “Squee! Snort, snort, snort. Squee! WeEeEe!”

There was that feeling again, reader—like a second knife. Only this time, in her stomach! “Oh!” she gagged. “How . . . how . . . how revolting!” Every heroine has a weakness, reader. Hers was mud. It took every ounce of her strength just to stop herself from fainting. “But there must be SOMETHING we can do, Motumbo!” she begged. “Surely, we could at least make a few changes around here!”

Motumbo looked at her with a very doubtful expression on his face, but decided to hear her out. As she paced around the room pitching him some ideas, he followed along and listened.

“Why—how about some candles, Motumbo? Brighten up the place a bit! How does that sound?”

“Hmm. No, thank you!” he answered politely. “Motumbo afraid of fire . . .”

“Oh . . . I see,” said Sophie. “Well, what about a bookshelf, then? Look! Here’s a nice spot! What do you say?”

But he just kept shaking his head.

“No—reading make Motumbo sleepy.”

He stretched and yawned just thinking about it.

“O-kay . . .” she answered. “How about a grandfather clock? My father builds them, you know. He could make one just for you! We could put it in the corner here.”

“Oh, no! No!” he pleaded. “Clocks make Motumbo late!”

“W-w-well . . .” Sophie stuttered. “Would you at least consider wearing some clothes?”

Sophie looked down and gulped. All Motumbo wore was a loincloth—one which was far too small.

“Nah!” he grunted, dismissively. “Too constricting. Motumbo prefer to be freeee!”

He started swaying back and forth, dancing again.

“Eek!”

Quickly, Sophie covered her eyes.

“Well, how about a proper education, then!” she shouted next.

Surely, Motumbo would want that. But once again, she was surprised.

“Edu-cation?” he asked. “What is edu-cation?”

Sophie sighed.

“You know—learning things!”

“Like what?”

“Things you might be curious about. I’m terribly curious about a lot of things, Motumbo! Aren’t you?”

Motumbo thought about it and shrugged.

“No, not really. Motumbo know how to love! Motumbo know how to serve! Motumbo know way to church! If edu-cation not teach Motumbo how do these things bett-ah, then Motumbo not interested.”

When all her heroic efforts failed, Sophie then asked Motumbo to close his eyes and describe what he thought would be the perfect home. She ran to a cupboard where there were pencils and paper. She would draw it! Then, her father and her would build it for him! Motumbo paced back and forth and gave a very detailed account—everything from the way the walls would be, to the kinds of toys he liked and the perfect bed. Sophie started getting very, very excited! “MmmHmm!” she’d say with a great big smile, “MmmHmm! What else!?” But when she was finished and looked down at the page, she realized that she had drawn a giant hamster cage. Motumbo laughed heartily and approved. So did the muddy pig. By the end, our heroine was completely exhausted and had run out of all the patience she had left. She gave up and collapsed onto her knees before him.

“Oh, Motumbo. . .” she sighed, seizing him by his enormous hands again. “Motumbo! Whatever am I going to do with you? “What is it that I can do? Please just tell me. I beg you!”

This time, Motumbo was the one who sighed.

“Hmm . . . you really want to know?” he asked with a great big smile spreading across his face.

“Yes. Yes!” she pleaded.

“Okay. Then, Motumbo tell you.” He went down on one knee and got as close to her as he could. “All Motumbo want from good Mistress Sophie is to let Motumbo be Motumbo—like good Sophie’s fatha’ does. Let Motumbo love. Let Motumbo serve. Let Motumbo come to church. Let Motumbo . . . be free.”

Just then, our heroine began to realize how she must have been making Motumbo feel all that time. She was always marching in there with the intention of changing him, avoiding him or wishing he were different. Did she ever once stop and think about whether Motumbo was just fine the way he was? Maybe she was the one who needed to change a little.

Sophie always lost her patience with Motumbo because she made the mistake of thinking she could control him—like she could control so many other things. But before she started her adventure, she had to learn that some things would always be out of her control. When she finally realized the truth that morning, all that worry and frustration suddenly melted away.

“Okay. . . okay. . .” she said sniffling and holding back her tears. “I’ll try. . .” She gave her friend a great big hug. “I’m sorry, Motumbo! Can you ever forgive me?”

Motumbo nodded and hugged her back.

They got along much better after that. Sophie didn’t mind being chased as much. She even found it fun sometimes. And if she ever didn’t want him to chase her, all she had to do was calmly raise her hand as he approached. Motumbo would stop dead in his tracks and behave like a perfect gentleman. She taught him how to tap dance, have tea parties and even how to play the banjo. Motumbo taught Sophie fun new games. I wouldn’t say these mornings became any less chaotic, reader—but they were certainly more fun. Instead of her morning chores ending in shrieking and crying, they concluded with hoedowns, rodeos and gales upon gales of laughter.

When our heroine came out of the barn that day, the sun was extra bright. The air smelled fresh. With just one conversation, her patience had tripled. She felt like she could get along with just about anyone now.

Around the corner, she found her father. He was sitting on the fence, tinkering with one of his tools.

“Oh,” he muttered, as if not expecting her. “So, how did it go this time?”

He was pleasantly surprised by Sophie’s answer.

“You know,” she said, “I really like that Motumbo.”

“Is that so?”

“MmmHmm! I think he’s right where he should be.”

“Good,” he nodded approvingly.

She turned around and he watched her head back to the house whistling and humming.

“ . . .That’s good.”