The Little Black Book

The Little Black Book

George Dasher

The man was riding his bicycle down a narrow trail of gravel.

It was a warm summer evening, and there were cornfields on both sides of the trail, with tall corn, and a rail fence on his left. The trail was straight, smooth and well cared for, and slightly downhill. He was in his bike’s highest gear, pedaling hard, and was moving extremely fast, with nothing but the briefest glances for anything that he was passing.

There was something black and tiny in the trail, and he sped by it before he really noticed it. He applied both brakes and slid to a long stop in the gravel. He then got off his bike, and walked back to the item. It was, to his surprise, a tiny, black notebook.

His bike had no kick stand, and he dropped it onto the grassy berm beside the trail. The man then stooped and attempted to pick up the book. It was stuck in the dirt, and he could not remove it. But he was able to open it, and when he did so, he fell backwards utterly surprised, with his mouth open in astonishment.

The book, when opened, grew and became a large building-like structure constructed entirely of cardboard. It was perhaps twenty feet high, and the same length wide, and seemed to reach all the way to the rail fence.

The man sat there for the longest time, his hands on the gravel beside him, staring upward at the thing that was now towering over him. He looked to his right and then left, both up and down the trail. He saw no one else, and he had to wonder if that was a good or a bad thing. It might be a good thing if another person could offer him advice in a kindly manner. It might be a bad thing if that person decided he was an idiot: “Sure, all of that came out of a tiny black book you found in the trail,” that other person could say derisively.

He continued to sit there, on the gravel. Finally, with no other options, the man stood, and peered into the interior of the cardboard container. There was a path leading into the box’s depths. There were cardboard flowers and trees, and even a butterfly or two suspended above the plants, and everything was brightly colored. There were, in fact, so many different colors, that the man wondered what printing process could produce so many rich and wonderful shades and pigments. And there was a sky at the top of box, which was of a deep cobalt blue, with wisps of white clouds.

The man stared into the box for several minutes. He again looked up and down the trail, and saw no one. The cardboard path leading into the container invited entry, and he stepped into the box.

And the entirety of the world around him utterly changed. Nothing was now cardboard—it all had transformed into what appeared to be candy. The man touched one nearby surface. It had a coating that seemed to be made of a hard sugar, and it was smooth when he rubbed one finger against it. The trees, the grass, the flowers, the sky and clouds above him, and the gravel under his feet all appeared to be made of candy. The butterflies—there were now more than two—were also made of candy, and they now fluttered above his head in random up and down movements. The man wondered if he had been transported to some wonderland, or was now in the Land of Oz—or was perhaps in one of the cartoons in the Song of the South. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah music.

The man looked back into the world he had come from. His bicycle was still there, lying in the grass beside that gravel path. That was comforting. Beyond was the cornfield, and above that were the afternoon’s gray clouds. He turned and stared back into what had been the container. The candy path led onward there, winding between the strange trees and flowers.

He followed it, walking silently. It turned to the right, and then to the left, and then there was a tiny humpbacked bridge that crossed a narrow stream of chocolate. And, on the other side of that bridge, the world he was in became even more fanciful. There were huge lollipops standing vertically, eclairs dripping with fillings, truffles and marshmallows, and the gravel under his feet was rounded bits of multicolored candies.

The container, if container it was, did not end when the man reached the location where the cornfield should have been, but continued into a deeper infinity. He could see, on what appeared to be a far horizon, a green hill with a winding yellow road crossing it. His path became that road, and the man peered forward and looked for yellow bricks. There were none, and the man considered that a good thing.

He tasted none of the candy objects around him. He touched nothing. The candy butterflies continued to float around his head. He looked back the way he had come, and saw that the cornfield behind him was still there. He considered the fact that he might have fallen, while riding his bicycle, and was now lying on the trail having some kind of strange hallucinating dream, but he decided that was not the case. He thought about his last meal, and the one before that, and remembered nothing out of the ordinary that he had consumed, and which would be contributing to this strange experience he was having.

Whatever else, the man now knew he was going no further into this bizarre world. He turned, and slowly and silently started back the way he had come. But now, as he walked in that direction, he noticed a second narrow pathway of candy on his left, one that paralleled the chocolate stream.

He followed it, and it led uphill. The man wondered how this was possible. The container, when it had opened, had had a flat floor.

The way became darker and he entered a tiny glade, where the candy flowers and trees pressed in close against him. The man stopped, and had no intention of going any farther. The tiny chocolate stream bubbled out of a small opening in what appeared to be a candy rock wall. One of the butterflies now landed on a small rock there, and—as the man watched—it grew in size and morphed into a tiny midget, very fat, with bright pink skin, a round, happy face, and wearing green. He was not made of candy.

All right, the man thought, now I am leaving. He started to turn to go back the way he had come.

But then the midget spoke. He waved a hand, and said, “Please stay.” His voice was friendly, soothing, imploring.

The man stopped, stared at the midget, and shook his head no.

The midget waved one pink hand, and a large chest overflowing with jewels and gems magically appeared on the candy grass next to the chocolate stream. The midget repeated, “Please stay.”

The man had no idea what was happening, but he wanted nothing of what the midget was offering. He again turned to leave and again the midget waved a hand, and the large chest turned into a stack of gold bars. “Please stay,” the midget said once more. His words were silky, and now seducing.

The man was having none of this. He continued to turn slowly, and the midget waved his hand again and the stack of gold bars became an immense pile of silver dishes, bowls, and pitchers.

The midget said nothing this time, and the man—who was half turned toward the exit—made no attempt to move toward the silver.

The midget again waved his hand, and the pile of silver became a stack of money, with a sign that prominently read, “$10,000.” The man did not move, and the midget waved his hand again. The pile of money became larger with the letters on the sign reading, “$20,000.” The next wave of the hand again increased the size of the pile of money, and the sign read “$50,000.” The sixth wave doubled the size of the pile, and the sign read “$100,000.”

The man liked none of this, and was becoming frightened of what might happen if he did stay. He turned once more toward his exit, and the midget waved his hand yet again, and became a slim, very attractive young woman with long red hair, a sweep of freckles across her face, and a pleasing smile. This, the man knew, was someone he needed to stay far away from. He now took a step toward the entrance.

The woman now waved her hand, and the money, the gold, and the treasure chest all returned. The blouse the woman was wearing suddenly became smaller, thinner, and clung to her body. The skirt, which had reached below her knees, now slid above her thighs and had somehow obtained a wide slit that showed darkness between her legs. Her face took on a deep tan, there was thick black mascara below each eye, and her long red hair became blond with an elfin look. Her mouth was sensuous, and was demanding to be kissed. And her smile had become larger.

The man knew he was facing danger, and he raced back toward the bridge over the chocolate stream. He jumped across the bridge, and ran back toward the opening with the cornfield beyond. He had a terrible fear, as he approached it, that it was going to melt away or somehow disappear, but it did not—and he quickly jumped into the sunlight beyond the fantasy world he had visited.

He fell onto the grass. He looked up and down the bike trail, and saw no one, and he turned back and stared into the realm he had just left—and was surprised to see that it was again all cardboard. He discovered that he was breathing hard. He took several deep breaths and calmed down somewhat. He looked again up and down the trail, and he again saw no one.

He then stood and approached the cardboard world, stooped and examined what he perceived to be the edge of the tiny black book. He pushed at it with one finger, and discovered that he could close it.

He did that, very gently, and when he did, the entire cardboard world disappeared back into the book. He stared at that, not believing what had happened. He looked up, checking to make sure that the strange world was gone, and saw only the cornfield in front of him.

He then, with difficulty, pried the black book out of the ground, and he carefully—so that it did not open—held it in one hand. Then he threw it, as hard as he could, into the cornfield beyond the rail fence.

He yanked his bicycle up off the ground, pushed it forward, and jumped on it while it was moving. He checked to make sure it was in the highest gear possible, and he stood above its seat and powered his way down the trail.

And, he admitted to himself, as he did so, that there was one thing he really liked about bicycles. They, when you wanted, could go really, really fast.

“Ride, boldly, ride,

The shade replied,

If you seek for Eldorado!”

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