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P apa J oe's T.S.S presents: ( Papa Joe's Travelling Storytelling Show) |
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Papa Joe ~ Telling Tales About the Story �The Ghost and the Apple Sauce - a new New England Folktale by Papa Joe (c)996 Once there was a miser. He wasn't an ordinary miser. He didn't hoard gold or silver. He hoarded apple sauce. He lived in a village, far from the other villages and he owned all of the apple trees. Every year at harvest time, the miser would pick his apples. He would mash them into apple sauce. He would fill up his bottles... Hundreds of bottles, Thousands of bottles, Hundreds of thousands of bottles! Then he would put most of the bottles down into his apple sauce cellar. If someone was to say, "Excuse me sir, may I have a little taste of your apple sauce?", the miser would say, "NO! NO! NO, NO, NO! I won't share my apple sauce with anyone! If you want apple sauce, go make your own!" Of course they couldn't make their own apple sauce. The miser owned all the apple trees. He wouldn't even share his apple seeds with the people of the village, not for all the money in the world. Do you know why? Because he was a miser and misers never share. Yet the miser loved his apple sauce. He ate it all the time. Do you know what he ate for breakfast every morning? He ate apple sauce on his toast, apple sauce on his pancakes, or apple sauce on his waffles. His favorite breakfast treat was apple sauce in his oatmeal. The miser had apple sauce every day for lunch. He would have apple sauce in his beans or apple sauce in his soup. He even ate apple sauce sandwiches. I bet you'll never guess what the miser had every night after dinner for his dessert. That's right, apple sauce. The miser loved his apple sauce. He ate it all the time. One day an old beggar made the long trip between the villages. He had been walking for three days. He hadn't seen a soul. He hadn't had a bite to eat in all that time. When he came out of the woods, he looked down at the village and said, "Oh, houses! Where there's houses, there's people. Where there's people, there's food. If I could just get a crust of bread and a sip of milk, I'd be so happy." He practically crawled to the first house in the village. He pulled himself up the stairs. He lifted the knocker. Bang! Bang! Bang! Then he leaned against the door post and waited. Yet the house that the beggar knocked on was the house of the miser. The miser had just sat down to a delicious hot dog and apple sauce lunch. The knocking surprised the miser. No one had knocked at his house in years. Would you? He went to the door, swung it open, and in his gruff voice said, "What do you want?" The beggar said, "Please sir, could you spare a little..." That's all the beggar could say, before the miser interrupted. "NO! NO! NO, NO, NO! I won't share my apple sauce with anyone. Go elsewhere for your food, you miserable beggar." Then the miser slammed the door. The beggar was leaning forward and the door came crashing into his head. It knocked him off the stairs. He landed in a heap on the ground. He didn't move. A strange thing began to happen then. A mist began to form over the body of the beggar. A mist that grew taller and taller, thicker and thicker. It had large gaping holes where eyes should have been. It had a large gaping hole where a mouth should have been. It moved across the yard, up the stairs. It lifted the knocker. Bang! Bang! Bang! The miser had just sat back down. He stood up. "Oh! That beggar's back again! I'll teach him to disturb my meals! I'll give him what-for!" He went stomping to the door. He swung it open. "You mis... Oh... a-a-a W-w-what do you want?" The ghost said nothing. It just moved forward. The miser moved back. The ghost moved forward. The miser moved back. The ghost moved forward. The miser moved back and back and back... until he bumped into his kitchen cabinets. "W-w-what do you want?" The Ghost said nothing. It pointed to the cabinet where the miser kept his handy supply of apple sauce. The miser whined, "Oh no, not my apple sauce, anything but my apple sauce." The ghost moved forward. The miser clawed at the cabinet door. "All right, I'll get you some." The miser took out his smallest bowl. He put one tiny spoonful of apple sauce into it. He tried to give it to the ghost, but the ghost roared, "MORE!" "All right!" He took out a medium size bowl and filled it with apple sauce. He tried to give it to the ghost. Still the ghost roared, "MORE!" "All right, you can't blame a guy for trying." The miser took out a large bowl and filled it with apple sauce. Again he tried to give it to the ghost. All the ghost would say was 'MORE!' "All right!" The miser took out his largest mixing bowl. He filled it with bottles and bottles of apple sauce. He slid it across the table to the ghost. The ghost stood over the apple sauce. A noise like the wind filled the room. 'Whoooosh!' The apple sauce was gone. The ghost called for 'MORE!' The miser cried, "That was seven jars of apple sauce! That's more than I eat in a day." Still the ghost would only roar for 'MORE!' "All right!" The miser filled the bowl again and again. He would slide it across the table. The ghost would stand over the bowl. The noise like the wind would fill the room...'Whoooosh'. Then the apple sauce would be gone and the ghost would call for 'MORE'. Until the cabinet was empty. The miser sobbed, "Look! It's all gone now. Will you go away too?" The ghost did not go away. It pointed to the trap door in the floor, that led down to the apple sauce cellar. "Oh dear, I was hoping you didn't know about that." The miser spent the rest of the day going down into the cellar and bringing up bottles of apple sauce... Hundreds of bottles, Thousands of bottles, Hundreds of thousands of bottles! He spent the rest of the day opening them up, pouring them into the bowl, and sliding it across the table. Each time he did, the noise like the wind would fill the room with a 'Whoooosh!' The apple sauce would be gone and the ghost would call for 'MORE'. Until there was only one jar left. "Please mister ghost, would you leave me this one last jar?" All the ghost would say was 'MORE!' "All right!" The miser opened the last jar. He poured it into the bowl. One last time he slid it across the table. One last time the noise like the wind filled the room. 'Whoooosh! Then the ghost and the apple sauce were gone. The miser fell to the floor crying, "I lost all my apple sauce." He might have cried for days. No one ever knew, for no one ever checked. Outside, at the body of the beggar, there was the mist. It was getting thinner and thinner, lighter and lighter until it fell to the ground, like the dew on the morning grass, covering the beggar with a fine, fine spray. His eyes fluttered. They opened. "What, what happened? I must have fainted from hunger. Wait a minute. I'm not hungry. In fact, I'm full. Wow! It's magic. It's a miracle!" He went dancing off to the next village. He didn't need to eat for three weeks. Ah! But the miser?? One day he ran out of tears. He stood up. Do you think it was his own fault he had no apple sauce? If he had shared his apple sauce with the beggar, wouldn't he still have apple sauce for himself? If he had even shared an apple seed with someone in the village, why then they would have an apple tree, apples, perhaps even apple sauce to share with him. But he hadn't. He was a miser and misers never share. When harvest time came around again, the miser was out picking his apples. He mashed them into apple sauce. He filled up his bottles... Hundreds of bottles, Thousands of bottles, Hundreds of thousands of bottles! The miser gave away a lot of his apple sauce. He gave away all of his apple seeds. He only ate apple sauce three times a week and he was never a miser again.
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