320 Book: 'The Gas Light Man Comes to Night'
Meet Our Read-Aloud Story for October
Hiya. It's funny how stories get assembled from scraps of experiences. This one combines my love of the U.S. Desert Southwest with an idea I had to publish a book written in glow-in-the-dark ink. While I won't be able to publish the book that way, I think it may add to the experience if you read it by flashlight at bedtime. Let me know how you like it. -- Jeff
PS. This one is dedicated to my daughter Maya.
1
There was a girl who hated darkness before she came to love it, because it was in darkness that she learned to see.
The girl was named Sonder and she lived in a village that nestled into the nooks and ledges of a long-ago desert canyon. Days in that desert were cauldrons of fire. But the nights were a paradise, starlit and cool.
Like all wise creatures, the people who lived there adapted themselves to the land.
They slept by day. They lived by night.
Each evening at nightrise, when darkness spread its healing hands across their world, the people emerged from the sheltering shadows of their cliffside homes. Moving out along the canyon floor, they tended to their canyon world — the fields of corn, the cactus gardens, the flock of goats, the slender stream running through the center of it all.
When you live gently, there is room for stories. Each night when their work was done and hours of dark yet remained, the people would fill the air with stories. Stories of lost children who found their way home. Or mischievous goats with magical powers. O broken worlds where darkness never reached.
On the night their world changed, the chief storyteller was telling the story of beginnings.
Long ago, our ancestors fled their homeland during a time of invasion and traveled into the desert. They walked for days in the heat until they reached a night when they could walk no farther. Thirsty and exhausted, they asked the Great Sky for help. The Great Sky contemplated their request, then flung a star into the West. The people followed the path of the star until they came to the edge of the Canyon Lands. But the canyons were sheer and deep. How could the people descend from the terrible plateau to water and safety? They searched for a way down, but found none. And so they took a step of faith. The people stepped into the darkness and descended to the canyon floor unharmed. They followed the stream here. And from that time on, they lived by starlight in this village they named Night.
"That story is so boring," whined Sonder to her mother. "That's, like, the billionth time I've heard it and it's always the same. Why can't it have something exciting in it, like a monster? We could all fight the monster. That would be so cool."
Her mother shushed her. "We're Nighters. The story tells us where we come from."
"I know where I come from," the girl grumbled, "Boringland." She drew a monster in the dirt with a branch. "If I told the story," she said to herself, "it would have exciting stuff. A monster. A girl like me to fight the monster." She drew a girl. "And goat farts, because goat farts are funny."
Sonder looked up from her drawing because the Nighters had all gone suddenly quiet.
Down the canyon, the sun had risen in the wrong place.
2
"It's too early for dayfall," said the mother.
"That's not the sun," said the chief storyteller.
"It's the monster!" shouted Sonder. She sprang to her feet, brandishing her branch-sword.
Nighters watched the skyglow brighten until, with a heap of creaking and jangling, a wagon rounded the last bend of canyon and pulled to a stop in the gathering place.
The wagon was pulled by a mule. The mule was steered by a man. The man sat on the wagon.
False light seared the landscape. The wagon, it seemed, held a floating star. The people shielded their eyes as the driver leaped catlike from the seat to the wagonbed, tugged his hat brim, and cleared his throat.
"Greetings to you good people of ..." he paused. "What's the name of this ... uh, city?"
"Night!" shouted Sonder, squinting and dancing excitedly from foot to foot.
The man cleared his throat. "Weh-heh-heh-hell, you good people of Night, I, too, am a Knight. The Light Knight of Night. Also known as the Gas Light Man, the man with the plan. A plan with precision. A mission. A vision. A Night-vision vision to light up your night. Brought to you all by me and my haul-mule, Rufus. What do you all do here? Do tell and don't spoof us."
The Nighters' eyes adjusted. They could see now that the star was a bright light, perched atop a post. "Portable fire," whispered the chief storyteller. Curiosity topped fear. The crowd crowded close. "We tend the cactus gardens," someone said. "Watch the goats," said another. "Make blankets," said a third.
"We tell stories," said the chief storyteller.
"It's really boring!" shouted Sonder. Her mother shushed her.
"I see! I see!" said the Gas Light Man. "Well, now. How would you like to do more, do better, do faster?"
"Yes!" said Sonder.
"No, thank you," said the chief storyteller. "We're happy."
"That you may be," said the Gas Light Man, leaning forward, "but are you happy enough? You see … if you see more you can do more. If you do more, you can buy more, if you buy more, you can have more. If you can have more, you can happy more! It's scientific! More's terrific, sure as light. Am I right? It's a fact. But you gotta act."
The girl whooped. This was the best night ever! "What can we buy? What can we buy?" she shouted, wriggly with joy.
"Glad you asked," said the Gas Light Man. He opened a trunk, pulled out a thick catalog, and held it over his head. "This," he paused for effect, "is a dreambook. Come look. It's filled with every thing you always wanted, but didn't know so didn't get, which left you haunted. Quite a bit. Come see what I've brought. It's a lot."
"What's inside?!" yelled Sonder. "Tell us! Tell us!"
The Gas Light Man took a breath. "There's beekeeping gear to keep you unstung. Baskets for cactus. Bells to be rung. Ropes for goats. And soaps and boats. Boxes of jewels and chests full of tools. There's boots and flutes and toys for tykes. Blocks and clocks and locks and yikes! Just look at all these sparkly socks. Bicycles and tricycles. Christmas lights that look like icicles. There's soda cans — but don't shake 'em. Ceiling fans — but don't break 'em. Ice skates and paperweights. Coffee presses and," he winked at the girl, "ballroom dresses. Whatever you want, this book is your guide. It's all right here, right here inside. That's all. I'm done." The Gas Light Man paused. "Who wants one?"
Nighters mobbed forward, none faster than Sonder, who dashed to the front of the throng, screaming, "Me! Me!"
Once the Gas Light Man had passed out all the dreambooks and the dreambooks had begun to swallow their readers, the only sounds in the gathering place were astonished gasps and the riffle of pages turning. The Gas Light Man watched the people, smirking, and writing numbers in a ledgerbook with a stubby pencil.
He didn't see the girl tiptoe to the back of the wagon, slink up onto the wagonbed, and burrow under the tarp. Nobody else noticed either, they were too mesmerized by the dreambooks, the beautiful world of things.
The Gas Light Man at last told the people, "Now I must go, but I leave you the light so your nights are all sunny. I'll be back in a month. In a month we'll talk money. Good night, Night."
He snapped the reins. "Giddyup, Rufus Mule."
"Wait!" called the mother. "How do we turn it off?"
"Off?" laughed the Gas Light Man as he rode away. "There is no off."
3.
Sonder's body remained motionless under the tarp, but her brain did acrobatics.
This was the unboringest night of her life!
What adventure would the next night bring, and the next, and every next night for the rest of her life? Her plan, which she was making up with each wagon bounce, was to hide until the Gas Light Man was too far away to take her back to Night. Then when he saw her, she would ask and beg and demand. "Make me your assistant," she would say. He would of course say yes. She would be the dreambook hander-outer She would see the world. She would buy ballroom dresses and sparkly socks. She would be happy happy happy.
The wagon squeaked and creaked and jangled and jounced down the widening canyon through the last of the dark and until it emerged onto the flatlands. The sun took one great stride over the horizon and flung its golden arms wide. Sonder peeked out from under the tarp at the sparse landscape, already retreating into itself ahead of the coming heat.
Sonder roasted. Would the Gas Light Man stop soon for shade? How long could she stay under the tarp? Why hadn't she brought water?
Rufus Mule hauled the wagon deeper into the brutal embrace of day, bumping and thumping over ruts and roots and rocks. Sonder grimaced with every bruising jolt. She lifted a tarp flap, gasped air, and snuck a look at the Gas Light Man. He slouched unmoving beneath his hat, whistling a cracked tune. Sweat streamed down his neck.
Heat engulfed the land.
Rufus Mule pulled the wagon ceaselessly through the furnace of morning. Onward, onward. Sonder's tarp nest became a kiln. Heat clutched her in its claws and winged her to delirium. She floated up outside herself, a spirit above a desolation. Hours passed. Or minutes. Or days. Until far below in the world, she heard a faint voice. "Whoa, there Rufus Mule. Let's rest. Let's refuel."
Sonder's spirit spiraled down and down and down and into her body again. The Gas Light Man had stopped at a cluster of acacia trees huddled around a meager spring. The trickle flowed a few yards before fading into the sand, but the water was enough to nourish a small green community and the rare parched traveler.
While the Gas Light Man led Rufus Mule to water, Sonder crept from her cocoon and wobbled blearily to a deep puddle of shadow between a high boulder and a thicket of creosote bushes.
She awoke in the healing dark.
Rufus Mule and the Gas Light Man had drifted to sleep, so Sonder stole to the spring and finally, gratefully drank. The journey had wrung the thrill from her and now she felt lonely. She returned to her shadowed place and lay down. The dreambook pillowed her head and Sonder dreamed a parade of beautiful things.
4.
"Heya, Rufus Mule. Wanna hear a story?"
Rufus Mule flobbered his lips.
The girl groaned softly and pulled a bouquet of thorns from her side. A glance at the stars told her it was a few hours past nightbreak. Time to announce herself. She stood up.
"It's about a town called Night," said the Gas Light Man.
The girl paused. She wanted to hear the story. She edged from behind her boulder and peered through the brush.
"Once upon a time there was a little town in a canyon that time forgot. People there were a primitive lot." The girl frowned at that word, primitive. "And every night, those benighted people would mostly waste time not doing much, playing games and talking and such." The girl scowled. WASTE time!? "Life there was a total bore," Well, that much was true, thought the girl. "'Cause no one knew what life was for. Until the night a man brought light." The girl leaned forward, caught in the story. "And because of that, the people found they could work a lot more. No more stories. No making stuff. They built a store to buy stuff. And all that stuff was not enough. So they worked more, bought more, and did more. Faster and faster, forever and ever. Distraction was speed and attraction was need. They made home a hoard. And they never got bored. Yep, that's the story and we get to sing it. Light is coming and we bring it. Which is cool, Rufus Mule."
Rufus Mule nickered.
"Speaking of work, we ought not to shirk." He began to pack up.
The Gas Light Man's story whirled the girl. A barrage of thoughts careened across her brain.
The light was supposed to HELP us. Life in Night was boring, wasn't it? Oh, all those beautiful things. Shouldn't our people have what they wanted? What exactly DID they want? What did they NEED? What do I want? What do I need? Are they the same thing? When would I wear a fancy dress really? What would it cost? It would cost everything. What do I really want?
Sonder looked up at the night and whispered, "Stay or go?"
The Gas Light Man climbed up on the wagon.
A shooting star streaked north, toward home.
There was a rustling in the brush. "What the hoo-hah?!" said the Gas Light Man. But Sonder had already disappeared into the dark.
5.
Sonder raced across the desert through the moonless, star-dappled dark. Her feet carried her instinctively home. The world poured into her. A kiss of nightbreeze on her cheeks. Soft perfume of cactus flowers. Whoosh of batwings. Sonder felt unspeakably alive.
All night she ran.
At dayfall, spent but happy, she climbed the ladder to her home in the cliffs and fell gratefully into her bed.
When Sonder woke that night, though, the house was empty. She hurried down the ladder and trotted to the gathering space. The Nighters were gathered around the gas light, lost in their dreambooks. The girl ran to her mother, who was sitting with a cluster of other village women, and wrapped her up in a hug.
"Mom, it's okay," she said. "I'm back." Her mother mumbled something without looking up. "Mom! I said I'm back."
Her mother looked up vacantly. "Back?" she asked, confused. "Did you go somewhere? Where's your dreambook?"
The girl tugged at her mother's arm. "We have to talk," she said.
"Not now."
"Yes, now." The girl tugged harder.
The mother sighed. "Okay, but hurry. There is so much I need to read." She rose reluctantly and trudged after her daughter. Sonder led her mother away from the gas light, toward the dark folds of canyon.
"Now, Sonder, what's so important?"
"The light is bad, Mom." Sonder told her mother how she'd stowed away on the wagon and what she'd heard in the Gas Light Man's story. "The dreambooks are bad, too. I didn't believe it until I heard him talk about what happens to people. All they ever do is work and buy stuff."
"That sounds lovely."
"Mom!" the girl said, "they lose their story!"
The mother was silent a moment and then she started to laugh. "That's the silliest thing I ever heard. I'm going back to my book." She left her daughter alone in the dark.
Sonder howled with frustration.
Not knowing what to do, she wandered upcanyon. The soft crunch-crunch of the sand underfoot calmed her. The cliffs closed in. The dark got darker. The night filled her with its sounds and spaces. The murmuring stream. The wind nuzzling the cottonwoods. And sometimes the sound of no sound at all.
Sonder came at last to the Pinch, a place where the canyon walls squeezed close as if they wanted to touch each other. The girl had to turn her body and scuttle sideways. In one thin place, new rockfall blocked her way. Sonder scuttled upward, pressing her hands and feet against the walls. She paused at the top of her ascent, snugly wedged, and gazed heavenward. Far above, the sky was a thin black ribbon, dusted with shine.
Sonder crabbed down past the rockfall and continued through the Pinch. Her thoughts rounded back to her people and the problem of light. How can I get them to listen? Raise a ruckus? Shout and shout all night? Make a list of all reasons why the light is bad? Maybe I could steal the dreambooks.
Nothing seemed right.
She emerged out of the Pinch. The canyon widened again, then serpentined. Sonder walked on, criss-crossing the stream at intervals until at last the cliffs drew apart like curtains parting to reveal a treasure. Sonder had arrived at the Heart of the Canyons, a colossal grotto where a high stone arch soared across the stream. She lay down on her back, pressed her palms together. She thought about nothing, which is the best way to find answers.
A question arose. How did the Old Ones get down here?
There was no way down to the canyon floor that she could see. Or one she'd ever heard of. No trail. No footholds. Everywhere the walls were too high for ladders or ropes. No deep pool to jump into. The canyons all sooner or later ended in cliffs or sheer waterfalls. Yet the first Nighters had to come down somewhere.
Sonder closed her eyes and saw the Old Ones in her mind. Men, women, elders, children all limping across a sun-blasted plateau. Bedraggled, thirsty, hollowed, but trusting their star. They come at last to the edge of the Canyon Lands. They peer down into the dark but don't see water. They believe it's there. And then ... Then what? They are almost out of time. They won't make it another day. Dark is retreating. They are squeezed between an oven and a chasm. Squeezed between doubt and belief. Squeezed into that narrow place between light and dark.
Sonder sat up quickly, her heart going thunk-thunk-thunk. Because she knew. She knew how they'd done it. She bowed to the stone arch and dashed downcanyon to the Pinch.
At the narrowest part of that narrow place, Sonder spread-eagled against the walls and she began to climb. Left foot up. Left hand up. Right foot up. Right hand up. Constantly pressing in opposite directions, she ascended steadily. The Pinch deepened to black beneath her. In places, the canyon narrowed so much she had to squirm wormlike upward. In other spots, it widened to the full span of her arms. But as she rose the canyon always kept her safe.
When Sonder emerged out of the canyon onto the high desert, she threw her hands to the sky and howled, "Ah-woooooo." She danced across the stone and sand, inhaling the creosote-scented air.
The sky clouded over and then dark was absolute. Sonder laughed and her laughter was good. She imagined her way back in time. I am an Old One. I'm tired and I'm thirsty. She walked back toward the canyon rim. I've been walking across the desert for days. I'm following my star. How much farther? How much farther? It must be close ... it must be ... She came again to the canyon rim, but not where she'd come up.
She'd lost her place.
Sonder felt her way to the edge of the abyss. How would she get down? I could wait for the light. Or … I could make the story live again."
I am an Old One. She took a step of faith.
Her foot touched canyon.
Sonder descended. Left hand down. Left foot down. Right hand down. Right foot down. Over and over until she reached the bottom.
The canyon floor welcomed her home. Sonder ran to Night.
6.
The next night, Sonder pried her mother away from the gas light the only way she could — by snatching her dreambook. Sonder skipped ahead, her mother followed, pleading.
As they danced their awkward dance upcanyon, Sonder told her mom a story. "A long time ago, there was a village where everyone got what they wanted but not what they needed and because of that the world died."
"Darling, please. My dreambook."
They rounded a bend. The world hugged them to its dark. The girl reached for her mother's hand and continued the story. "The little village was tucked away in a faraway canyon in a fiery desert land where people lived by night."
"That sounds familiar," said the mother, smiling.
"And every night," the girl said, "the people would only work as long as they needed to for food, and then they would spend the rest of the time playing and telling stories. And sometimes being bored. But being bored was okay, because that meant their hearts were busy making new stories."
The mother squeezed her daughter's hand.
"Until one night, there came a man who showed them a bright new thing. And the people thought that because of the bright thing, the man must be much wiser than them."
They splashed across the stream and walked on, hand in hand.
"And because of that the people grew ashamed of who they were and all the things they didn't have. But one of the people, a girl, was so impatient for change that instead of waiting for it to come to her, she decided to run away to it."
Daughter and mother reached the Pinch and edged into it.
"And because of that, the girl learned that the world outside the town was full of bright things. But nobody was happy. They were too busy working so they could buy things to make them happy. But new things soon became old things, so they would open their dreambooks and look for the next new thing. So they could be happy. Over and over. Always seeking, never arriving."
They reached the thinnest part of the Pinch. The girl stopped. She handed her mother the dreambook.
"And because of that, the girl went home." As Sonder spoke, she ascended.
"But when she tried to tell the people what she learned about the world of things, nobody would listen." The mother looked up. The girl was a mere silhouette above her.
"So she went to a quiet place and asked the stars what she should do."
Sonder stood far above, a silhouette against the light of galaxies. She called down to her mother. "The stars told her that her people were very wise indeed. They'd just forgotten ..." Sonder stepped into the abyss. Her mother gasped. But the world had caught the girl. Sonder shimmied down, down, down until she reached her mother. "They'd just forgotten how to take a step of faith."
The mother dropped her dreambook. She clapped her hands and applause echoed upward.
"We have to live our story Mom. Not just tell it. You try. You try storying."
"No, I ... "
"You can. Just climb a little bit." So the mother climbed up and came down. She tried again, and climbed a little higher. Back down. Again and again. Each time higher. At last she reached the top.
"Step of faith, Mom!" the girl called upward.
Her mother stepped into the darkness and felt the canyon catch her. She climbed down, breathless and grinning all the way.
"How does the story end?" she asked her daughter.
Sonder shrugged. "We have to find out together."
Her mother pulled her daughter close. "Together."
They headed home. "Darling," the mother said, holding up her dreambook, "what should I do with this?"
The girl smiled. "Goats will eat anything."
Her mother laughed. "You know what that means?"
"Goat farts!" laughed the girl.
They fed the goats and began the work of story.
7.
Over the next month, Mother and daughter took the Nighters, one by one, upcanyon to the Pinch. They climbed. They stepped. They storied.
Some Nighters understood it fast. Some did not. Some quickly fed the goats their dreambooks. Others clung to dreams of bright things.
But each person who did understand told another person until the other person understood. And the other people told other people. And some of the people who didn't understand the story the first time, understood it the next time. So it was that night by night and person by person the story spread. The story of how the people took a step into darkness. And night by night, the cluster of people around the gas light grew smaller and lonelier while the flock of goats grew fatter and fartier. Until the gas light shone on nobody.
A month after he'd left, the Gas Light Man and Rufus Mule jounced into the gathering space of Night and found it empty.
"Whoa, now, Rufus Mule," said the Gas Light Man. "It's time we give our light some fuel. Hullo!" he called out. But all he heard was "Hullo-hullo-hullo" bouncing back to him off the canyon walls. "I best be getting the light on now." He climbed down off the wagon and walked belly-first into a cactus. "Yow!" The Gas Light Man stumbled into a cactus patch. He sat down to de-needle himself, muttered and befuddled.
Sonder's voice sang out from the dark. "A long time ago ... " The Gas Light Man paused to listen.
"There was a faraway village in the cliffs," the mother called out from across the stream.
"And the village was full of very wise people," said the chief storyteller.
"And every night … " Another Nighter picked up the story. So it went, voice by voice across the dark. The people walked down from their cliffside houses, telling the story as they neared the gathering spot. They surrounded the Gas Light Man and the Gas Light Man got lost in the story. He held his breath at the girl's dangerous trip through the desert, laughed at the part about turning bright objects into goat farts, and gasped at the step into dark.
It was a good story. He didn't want it to end.
The chief storyteller spoke. "So the girl returned to her village and told her story to anyone who would listen. Some people had to hear the story many times before they truly heard it."
The mother continued, "But they realized in the end that what made them wise was not what they had, but what they did."
"And what they did," said Sonder, "was live their story. Until ... "
"Until what?" asked the Gas Light Man.
The girl walked forward until she stood directly in front of the Gas Light Man. "Until the girl asked the Gas Light Man 'Can you go out and tell a new story to the world? About taking steps in the dark? And the Gas Light Man ... "
Because it was dark, the Gas Light Man could finally see. He finished the story.
"The Gas Light Man said 'Yes I can!' "
Rufus Mule whinnied. Goats farted. Night cheered.
The man went out into the world to share with any who would listen.
Make your life a story.
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