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Grimmypop!

-Lalen 67-

So it was that Rulatani the Wildbun and Barzan Quip became fast friends and traveling companions. They knew not where they went in the world, but always found themselves there together.

The remainder of their tales are recorded in the Balsamic Ballads, as performed by legendary songstress Anastasia the Whippoorwill, who is said to have known the Two Friends personally and heard each story from their very lips. Regretfully these tales are presented in no particular order save that which came to Quip and Rulatani at the time.

It so happened that Quip, who was a Borzoi and suited nicely to the cold, cared little for it, as it served to her a reminder of all she had lost. Rulatani’s bulk was proof against a hard chill, but upon learning of his friend’s discomfort, suggested they travel south at the first true signs of subotal. This they did, until the crunch of golden leaves gave way to wetlands, and those wetlands grew up into a jungle. The curious plants and giant water lilies there were new to them, and they had trouble discerning the fairest game.

You might think sustenance a mere trifle to the ageless, but aside from their persistent days they were otherwise quite mortal, being spared neither pangs of hunger nor dryness of thirst. Their wanderings in the humid south set Rulatani’s ears up and Quip’s tongue to lolling so badly that they were obliged to seek the hospitality of a wayhouse on the road one night.

This house—called the ‘Blue Cockatoo’—was nightly host to scores of avian patrons, who were prideful of their colorful plumage and curved, solid beaks. They were friendly enough, if not raucous, and repeated one another’s words such that Quip was reminded of a game the bearded folk used to play called badminton, in which nothing much happened but passing the shuttlecock around without end. They served acorn rum and cashews in bowls without utensils, for unlike ourselves, they saw neither vulgarity nor ridiculousness in eating with one’s face.

“Your pardon, Keeper,” said Quip on their third night in attendance, “but my drink has gone cold even before I received it. Might I have another?”

The keeper’s plumage rose up high on his crown, and he was heard to shout: “Grimmypop!”

The other birds took up the word, shouting it in chorus, until poor Quip felt embarrassed for even having asked. Rulatani, whose ears doubled his overall height when they were fully perked, laid his paw on the bar with some authority.

“No self-respecting creature drinks acorn rum cold!” he insisted. “What will you do about it?”

“Grimmypop!” they all said. “Grimmypop! Grimmypop! Grimmypop-pop-pop!”

Quip receded into her mantle as far as her long snout would allow “It’s alright. Let it be.”

On the morrow they left that place, but wherever else they went things ended up the same. If ever they were misunderstood or misdirected and gave voice to their troubles, the birds all shouted “Grimmypop!”

Soon they became afraid to speak up at all.

On a certain afternoon while the Two Friends walked, Rulatani trod before a pair of ant colonies, where workers went about their toil. A plump anteater had come out to take her place in the circle of life, but this strange, long-eared creature stood in her way.

“Pardon me, Sir,” said the anteater, “but would you kindly make way to the fire ants’ nest?”

She made this request specifically, but Rulatani, who knew nothing of ants, instead made a path to the other. When she pointed out his error and asked him to rectify it, he might as well have burst into plumage on the spot, for he had this to say:

“Grimmypop! You complain and complain, and whine like reeds in the wind! Grimmypop-pop-pop!”

The anteater wilted with embarrassment, and abashedly she scurried away.

For a fortnight Rulatani made many booming utterances of the strange new word, and each time he did the parrots backed him up from their high branches. He renounced every indiscretion with cries of ‘grimmypop’, and his breast swelled with the comfort of belonging, for he had no kin to call his own.

Quip, who was as lonesome for her own folk as he, began to feel feathers growing in her coat too. She nearly said the word herself one day, but was interrupted by the sound of a pitiable song. Her ears swiveled towards it, and she turned Rulatani’s attention that way.

“Someone is in trouble,” said she. “Let us see if we can help.”

Amid the lilies they came upon a green-backed sparrow who was neither injured nor emaciated. They asked her what was the matter, and she explained it to them in a most maudlin tone.

“I’m called Grimmypop. It was my mother’s name and her mother’s before. It is a beautiful name you see, and I wanted very much to share it with my hatchlings, but that can’t happen now, for they would only end up a laughing stock like me. I will never give my name again. There will be no more Grimmypops.”

“Why do they use your name this way?” asked Quip.

“I do not know,” the sparrow lamented. “One of them decided that a ‘grimmypop’ is any creature who askes for correction or makes complaint, and the rest of them normalized it with their mimicry. One can scarcely refuse to use it these days, nor can anyone stand against it. I am ashamed just to be me. How can I ever fly high again, with my name to weigh me down?”

Rulatani was sore ashamed. He bade the little sparrow ride on his girthy shoulder, and hopped with her back to the Blue Cockatoo with haste. When the rum was again served cold, he made a point of it.

“Grimmypop!” said the birds. “Grimmypop-pop-pop!”

“You want so badly to belong that you make it so others cannot,” Rulatani declared. “I have done the same. Because of my words, this sparrow cannot love herself anymore.”

“It is only a joke,” said the Keeper. “You are too worked up over it.”

“A joke that brings harm is no joke at all,” quipped Quip. “What if we called all dirty and disorderly establishments ‘blue cockatoos’?”

The birds began to repeat that phrase, but the keeper cried: “No fair, no fair! My place is not like that!”

“And neither is Grimmypop,” rumbled the Wildbun. His ire was focused on himself and so he raised no paw against them, but his countenance was imposing, and the parrots parted in his wake.

“It is better to find fellowship in kindness,” said Quip, recalling a lesson given by her absent prince. “If you use a word often, make it always a good one, and never take them from where they are needed.”

The confused parrots continued to pop for some time thereafter, and so Quip, who was well-read and knew many good words, went among them and gave out better ones to use (none of which were other creatures’ names). The keeper staked his reputation on warm acorn rum, and Grimmypop gave her firstborn hatching a wondrous gift that may very well have outlived the Two Friends themselves.

As for Quip and Rulatani (who apologized and was forgiven), their plumage fell out, and they went on their way.