“Papa, tell me a story!” little Marian said, as her father was tucking her in.
“OK, punkin, but just one.”
“No—two!”
“Two? I think one’s enough.”
“No—two!”
“Let’s compromise: I’ll combine two stories into one.”
“What’s ‘compromise’ mean?”
“Break it down: it’s ‘co’ and ‘promise’ with an ‘m’ in between to make it sound better.”
“Huh?”
“It means two people—that’s the ‘co’ part—agree to promise something to each other.”
“What are we promising?”
“That you will get two stories wrapped into one, and be satisfied with that.”
“OK.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“Little Red Riding Hood!”
“It’s not too scary for you? It won’t give you nightmares?”
“If it does, I’ll cry out, and you come and hold me.”
“Well, papa needs his sleep; I’ll try to make it unscary. I’ll tell you what—I’ll combine the story of Little Red Riding Hood with the story about her brother Robin.”
“Little Red Riding Hood had a brother named Robin?”
“You’ve never heard of Robin Hood?”
“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t know he was her brother.”
“Ready? Here goes: Little Red Riding Hood—I’ll just call her ‘Red’ for short from now on—”
“No! Call her by her right name!”
“It’s either that or ‘Party of the first part’.”
“Huh?”
“Just listen. Red was going to visit her grandma in the forest.”
“Why does Little Red Riding Hood’s grandma live in the forest?”
“She lived in Michigan. It’s mostly forest there. Now listen: Red was walking through the forest, carrying her basket.”
“Was she by herself?”
“Yes.”
“Would you let me walk through the forest all by myself, Papa?”
“No, Marian; I wouldn’t.”
“Why did Little Red Riding Hood’s parents let her, then?”
“It was a different time then. Now listen. If you don’t stop interrupting, we’re going to have to leave the story until tomorrow night.”
Marian laid back on her pillow, closed her eyes, clasped her hands together on her belly, and smiled resignedly. “OK, then; proceed.”
“Red arrived at her grandma’s house and knocked on the door. She heard an unfamiliar voice call out, ‘Come in, little girl; I’m sick in bed and can’t come to the door.’ Red walked in, and from the vestibule saw someone in bed in the room to the left—”
“The vegetable?!?”
“No, ‘vestibule’; it’s the area just inside the door.”
“Oh.” Marian stored this new word away for future use, silently mouthing it a couple of times.
“Anyway, Red walked in and said, ‘Grandma, you must really be sick! Pardon me for saying so, but you look terrible!’
“But you see, Marian, it wasn’t really her grandma—it was a wolverine dressed up in grandma’s nightgown and night cap.”
“A wolverine?!?”
“Yes; Michigan is chock full of Wolverines. Oh, I forgot to tell you: when Red approached her grandma’s cottage, a Redwing flew off to warn Red’s brother Robin that she was in danger.”
“A boot flew off?”
“No, not that kind of Redwing, Marian; a Redwing is also a bird. Anyway, Red noticed that her grandma had a lot more hair and longer, sharper teeth than normal. She said, ‘Grandma, have you been bathing in Rogaine, taking steroids, and filing your choppers?’”
Marian opened her eyes, bolted upright, spread her arms out questioningly, and was about to pepper her papa with a series of inquiries, but he held his finger up to his lip and then wagged it at her. “No more questions, young lady, or the story ends.”
Marian rolled her eyes and shook her head exasperatedly, but finally sighed, settled back down, and double-winked her understanding of the condition.
“Just then,” Marian’s papa continued, “Before the wolverine could try to explain away his hairiness and scariness, Robin came running up at top speed. Without hesitating or knocking, he burst through the front door, took in the situation at a glance, yanked an arrow out of his quiver, loaded his bow with it, pulled the bow string against his cheek, and aimed the arrow at the vicious and fierce creature in the bed. ‘If you try to harm a hair on Red’s head, this arrow will do some exploratory surgery on your innards,’ Robin warned the ravenous beast.
“To make a long story short, Robin told the wolverine to ‘climb out of this’ and forced him at arrowpoint to take off the sheets and pillowcase. ‘Now take them down to the river and wash them; you got your hair and scent all over the linen. You laid in the bed, now make it.’
“While the wolverine was off doing his chore, Red and Robin went looking for grandma, who hadn’t heard any of the hullabaloo, and didn’t even know the wolverine had been in the house. Grandma was in the kitchen at the back of the cottage, making pies and listening to old Motown songs. As Red and Robin joined her there, the spry old lady was dancing around the kitchen, balancing as-yet unbaked pies on the palms of her hands.
“‘Oh, hi kids!’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’ Red and Robin didn’t tell her about the wolverine. Robin was going to make sure the wild beast never came back, so there was no need to worry grandma about it. She was working on five pies for Red to take home with her: one each of raspberry, blackberry, blueberry, juneberry and, of course, a strawberry-rhubarb.
“While Red visited with grandma, Robin returned to the room where the bed was. The wolverine was putting the sheets back on the bed and stuffing the pillow into the freshly-washed pillow case.
“‘Thank you, wolverine. But,’ Robin said, reaching over his left shoulder and tapping his arrows, ‘if I ever see you within 100 yards of Red, I’ll empty my quiver into you, and you will look more like a porky-pine than a wolverine.’”
Marian couldn’t help herself and spoke up before she realized she was breaking the contract: “Say it right, papa: it’s Por-CUE-pine, not Porky-pine.”
“I was just quoting Robin, Marian; that’s how he said it. I know it’s ‘porcupine.’ Now go to sleep.”
Papa kissed Marian on the forehead, then turned the light off on his way out the door. “Sleep well, Marian; I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, papa.”
In the morning, Marian was awakened by two things: the sun streaming through her bedroom window, and the smell of pie baking in the oven.