Tongjee

As far as he knew, Tongjee was the only fire breathing grasshopper in existence. Out of all of the baby grasshoppers, 572 of them, that had crawled out of the egg sac with him on May 24, 2008 in Georgiana Ferguson’s Rose Garden in Bellaire, Wisconsin, he was the only one who could hop, fly, chirp with his legs, and breathe fire.

Though all of his brothers and sisters wanted him delegated Fire Chief of the Georgiana Ferguson Rose Garden Insect Fire Department when he had accidentally charred all of the head feathers off a robin who had swooped down upon him for lunch a week ago last Monday, Tongjee tried to assure his siblings that a Fire Chief was one who was supposed to put out fires, not start them.

Tongjee’s mother, Isabella, who had always insisted that all of her children remember their manners, speak politely to strangers, and avoid being enticed into the back porch limelight, was rather upset the following week when the Georgiana Ferguson Rose Garden Grasshopper and Beetle Community Auxiliary Summer Planning Committee had sent Tongjee a personalized specially engraved invitation to help with the Fourth of July Bar-B-Q cooking and kitchen detail. The invitation had included a clipping from the Tuesday family section of The Weekly Weed and Compost Chronicle, which had accidentally slipped to the ground by their front door mailbox from the large red and white envelope that Mr. Mantis, the postman, had delivered that very noon. Tongjee’s younger brother Freddie, by three seconds, had fought hard through all of the other scrambling children for it where it had landed at their feet, and had hastily handed it back to their mother, who had sternly requested it, as Freddie jumped and hopped and exclaimed, “I never get anything sent to me. Why does Tongjee always get everything?”

“You get love and shelter, and food, and have lots of friends and fun, and you don’t really need anything else, and neither does Tongjee,” Isabella stated, as she smiled and glared at all of her bouncy, jouncy children surrounding her.

“But Mom, can’t you please read it to me, please?” pleaded Tongjee.

“All right, then, everyone: quiet, quiet, QUIET!! EVERYONE!!” Isabella held both the letter and the article high over her head on their front lawn until all of her children present around her had become more or less still.

“I’ll read the invitation card first, if that’s O.K. with you Tongjee,”

“Sure is, Mom,” he said.

Clearing her throat, Isabella Grasshopper began,

“To the young and distinguished

Master Tongjee Grasshopper

3rd American Beauty Rose Bush Lane

Across from the bird bath June 27th, 2008

It has come to our attention (see newspaper article enclosed) that all of us in the Grasshopper, Beetle, and Insect communities are privileged to be living in the most extraordinary of times. Therefore, we, the duly elected members of the Georgiana Ferguson Rose Garden Grasshopper and Beetle Community Auxiliary Summer Planning Committee do hereby congratulate you, Tongjee Grasshopper, on your most recent success at dispelling a ferocious robin attack with your breathtaking fire-breathing internal combustion equipment. We are all so delighted with your newly discovered talents, and extend an invitation to you, if you so choose, and if your parents consent to such an arrangement, to participate both as a specially designated cook in this summer’s upcoming 4th of July Bar-B-Q celebration and as the chief incendiary engineer at the fire works display immediately following. We look forward to hearing from you at your convenience.

Most Sincerely,

Members in good standing of the GFRGG & BCASPC

Mildred M. Grasshopper Secretary General

Montgomery T. Beetle Pro Council

Franklyn Q. Grasshopper General Secretary of Community Holiday Affairs

Trevor Bartholomew Beetle the 3rd Ad Hoc Administrator to the Secretary General”

“Wow, Tongjee,” whispered Anna, Tongjee’s younger sister by six seconds, “Do you really think you’ll be able to help cook all of the food and shoot off all of the fireworks?”

“He’s not going to shoot off anything,” blurted out Isabella, “if I can help it; not until after I’ve spoken with his father about all of this.”

“Ah, Mom, I’ll be careful,” pleaded Tongjee.

“Hush now, child, let’s not get in a heated uproar, just yet. I told you I’d speak to your father.”

A tug on her apron to her left got her attention. “Mom?”

“Yes, Charlie?” asked Isabella.

“Can I please read the newspaper article?”

“As long as you read it out loud so that everyone can hear it,” said Isabella. “Will you need some help?”

“Maybe,” said Charlie.

“O.K., I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Charlie.

“Here it is,” as Isabella handed the article to Charlie, and all his siblings huddled around closely to peer at his face, or the article, or their mom, and all got completely silent and wide eyed.

“Start from the top,” said Isabella.

“O.K.” Charlie straightened the article, looked once more at his mother, and began,

“Tuesday, June 24th, NEWS FLASH, from the Weekly Weed and Compost Chronicle, by Jay F. Beetle, Garden and Marsh Correspondent:

The tell-tale dangers that lurk in the seamy underworld of everyday life in the heart of Georgiana Ferguson’s Rose Garden could not have been brought to bear more clearly than on this past Monday, June 23rd, at approximately 3:47 PM as little Tongjee Grasshopper, aged just 30 days, was innocently playing a game of ‘Hop Scotch’ with his friends and younger brothers and sisters, when a hook-billed, beady-eyed, talon extended Robin swooped down from the apple tree situated at the northwest corner of the yard, with intent to do harm to Tongjee and his companions. This reporter had the opportunity of interviewing Tongjee and his siblings and family and friends just minutes after the attack. The first to come running over to this reporter announced himself as Tongjee’s older brother Charlie [that’s me] and blurted out, ‘We were playing and it was Tongjee’s turn, and a robin swooped down in front of him and stretched out its neck to grab him and Tongjee just opened his mouth to scream, and I’ve never ever heard him scream ever before, but just when he screamed, there was this huge blast of fire that came out of Tongjee’s mouth, and that robin got it full in the face, and she had to fly up and dunk her head in the bird bath to put herself out. We all cheered and laughed, it all happened so fast, I wish you guys had gotten a picture of it. You should have seen the expression of surprise on Tongjee’s face.’

‘Slow down, young man,’ I said, ‘I’m a reporter, not a court stenographer. Now hold on, what game did you say you were playing at the time?’

’It was “Hop Scotch,” said Tonya, Tongjee’s younger sister by ten seconds, ’but we’re going to rename it “Hop Scorch.” They all giggled.

‘Well,’ said I, ‘I think that Tongjee is a bona fide hero for stopping and preventing a potential massacre before it got started.’

‘Hero, nothing,’ chimed in Isabella, his mother, who had come running from her kitchen with some of her children trailing behind her, her apron in a flurry, like an airport windsock, with soapy water dripping from her hands, ‘And where is he?’

‘Mommy, Tongjee’s over there sitting on a toadstool holding his hands over his mouth so he don’t blow up anybody else,’ said Sonya, younger by fifteen seconds from Tongjee.

‘What are you talking about, blowing up anybody else?’

‘We were playing Hop Scotch, and a robin attacked Tongjee, and he opened his mouth to scream and he lit her on fire, like this,’ said Sammy, who tried to imitate Tongjee, but dribbled a whole mouthful of spit down his chin, ’but when he did it, fire came out of his mouth,’ said Sammy.

‘Wipe your mouth, Sammy,’ insisted Isabella. Sammy grabbed a long thick blade of crab grass and dragged his face slowly along both sides of it.

‘Tongjee, is this true?’ demanded Isabella. Tongjee shook his head up and down slowly, while still holding his mouth shut with both his front hands.

‘Open your mouth,’ demanded his mother. With a look of sheer horror on his face, Tongjee desperately shook his head “no,” while still holding his mouth shut with both his hands.

‘All right, young man, you’re coming with me right now to see Dr. Samantha Butterfly this instant.’ Isabella grabbed Tongjee’s arm, which still held his mouth shut, while all of his brothers and sisters and friends and this reporter followed in a parade to the Rhododendron Bushes. Dr. Samantha Butterfly has, as you all know, a mobile medical unit, depending on which flowers are dispensing with the most currently dripping nectar.

‘Dr. Butterfly, Dr. Butterfly,’ hollered Isabella, ‘I’ve got a problem.’

‘Over here, Isabella; I’m in the Forsythia Bush collecting ingredients for the Darning Needle twins. I hope it’s not poison ivy, again, hay fever, or seasonal allergies.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ yelled Isabella, ‘Tongjee seems to have contracted some sort of a sore throat with a touch of inflamed tonsils. Could you please have a look at him?’

‘Sure can,’ said Samantha, as she came out of the Forsythia Bush and fluttered down to where Isabella and Tongjee and crew were waiting.

‘Well now, young man,’ said Samantha, as she stooped down to look at Tongjee, surveying his face, arms, legs, and body, all very quickly. ‘Do you feel O.K.?’

He nodded his head ‘Yes.’

‘Does your throat hurt?’

He shook his head ‘No.’

‘Is there a reason you’re holding your mouth shut?’

He shook his head ‘Yes.’

‘Can you open your mouth, please, for me to take a look?’

(A chorus of, ‘You better duck,’ ‘Watch out!,’ and ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ pattered around the assembled children)

‘What’s this all about? I’m a doctor,’ stated Samantha to the crowd of children, ‘I’m not going to catch anything that Tongjee’s been exposed to.’ There were murmured echoes of whispered fright, and whining, and whimpering, and squealing.

‘Tongjee, please open your mouth, and let me have a look….Thank you.’ Tongjee slowly let go of his mouth, dropped his hands, and opened his mouth for the doctor.

‘Say “Ahhhh”,’ said Dr. Butterfly. As he said ‘Ahhhh,’ all of his siblings and friends hit the deck flat all at once and didn’t move.

‘Your throat’s a little red. You said it didn’t hurt?’

‘Nope,’ admitted Tongjee.

‘Are you hot?’ asked the doctor.

‘I don’t feel hot,’ said Tongjee.

‘Dr. Butterfly, Jay F. Beetle, here,’ I said, ‘reporter for the Chronicle, Ma’am. Tongjee’s brother, Charlie told me that Tongjee was attacked by a robin about 25 minutes ago, and when the robin was about to grab him, Tongjee tried to let out a scream, but instead of just a scream coming out of his mouth, a blast of fire hit the robin full force, and it had to fly away. That’s what Charlie told me, and all of the rest of these kids confirmed what he said.’

‘Is this true Tongjee?’ asked Dr. Butterfly. He nodded his head several times, his head falling lower and lower with each nod.

‘Here, Tongjee,’ said Charlie, running with a seeded dandelion in his hand to about 15 inches away from Tongjee, while he held it up straight. ‘Here, Tongjee, do it again. Scream at this dandelion, but don’t miss.’

‘My son is not going to light a dead dandelion on fire. This is the most ridic…’

‘Wait a minute, please, Isabella,’ said Dr. Butterfly, ‘I’m still doing my examination of Tongjee. Tongjee, please scream at that dandelion, and aim for the top, not the stem, which your brother is holding. Can you do that?’

‘Sure,’ said Tongjee. Tongjee slowly stood up, and squared his shoulders, while everyone assembled put their hands to their mouths in anticipation.

‘Wait a second,’ I blurted out. ‘I’ll need a picture for the Chronicle, if you don’t mind, Dr. Butterfly, Mrs. Grasshopper?’

‘Sure, why not,’ the two ladies said in virtual unison. This reporter, Jay F. Beetle, ran over to a spot triangulated from Tongjee and the dandelion, took the cap off the lens of my camera, checked for lighting, and hollered, ‘All set, here, do your best.’

And so, as we all waited and watched, Tongjee screamed. A huge straight fierce blast of fire, red, yellow, and blue exploded out of his mouth, and vaporized the white ball of dandelion seeds, sending sparks into the air that vanished as they shot in every direction.

‘Good gracious Vesuvius!,’ bellowed Dr. Samantha Butterfly. ‘I’m not sure I’ve got a specially brewed tonic for that, just yet.’

All of his siblings and friends clapped and cheered and jumped up and down, except for his mother, who put her face in her hands, shook her head, and said, ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

‘Patience, Isabella,’ said Samantha, as she looped her wing gingerly around her friend. ‘Remember, seldom is it that Mother Nature does one thing, and Divinity another. There must be a purpose in all of this, that we down here do not yet perceive, or yet may never perceive; but this could prove to be as marvelous as it is peculiar.’

‘Tongjee,’ asked Samantha, ‘Would you please open your mouth again for me, without screaming?’

‘Sure can,’ he replied. He was smiling, his eyes gleaming, his hands fidgeting, not knowing what to do, or how to move.

‘Say “Ahhhh”, carefully,’ said Dr. Butterfly.

‘ “Ahhhhh,” ’ said Tongjee.

‘I must say,’ said Samantha, ’your mouth appears exceptionally clean and healthy. You may need to chew some hibiscus, peppermint, and chamomile leaves which I have in stock, for any redness or discomfort; other than that, you look fine. But, you will need to have a serious talk with both of your parents on when and when not to use these new unusual skills. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ replied Tongjee.

‘You may also get a lot of strange requests,’ continued Dr. Butterfly, ’from friends, neighbors, and even your own brothers and sisters. But may I suggest to you that you ignore all of them. You will come to learn on your own, when and when not to use this fire appropriately, if ever you do intend to use it.’

Isabella Grasshopper then thanked Dr. Samantha Butterfly for her help, assistance, and advice, and holding Tongjee’s hand, firmly escorted him back to their home, followed by some of her children, while the rest stayed to examine the remains of the dandelion with Charlie, and talk about what they had just witnessed. This reporter hurriedly tried to assemble all of his notes and confirm names for this story, which turned out to be the most unusual account this aged reporter has ever been privileged to transcribe. THE END,”

proclaimed Charlie.

“Very well read, Charlie,” said Isabella Grasshopper. “Thank you very much. Well now, children, who’s ready for a meal?” she asked, as she folded the article and placed it carefully into the card, slipping it into the red and white engraved envelope so that her husband, Freeman, could read it all fresh later that day.

“We’ve got a good variety of fresh greens and a large quantity of last year’s seeds for anyone wishing to stay for lunch.” A large crowd of eager children, including the Isabella and Freeman Grasshopper kids, with their neighborhood cronies, followed Isabella and Tongjee into the Grasshopper abode, and assembled around the 36 ground floor oak leaf tables stretched out in the extended family dining hall from the kitchen foyer to the pantry.

“Who’s helping in the kitchen?” yelled Isabella, as she grabbed an apron and surveyed the youthful audience. “The acorn salad bowls and walnut serving bowls are here in the cupboard beside the sink spring. Make sure everyone and each table gets one. The vegetable stew and salad fixings are all self-serve, so do help yourself. But form lines, please. Herbs and spices to suit your taste are on the sideboard or on the tables. The root cellar and larder are overstocked, but don’t take more than you can eat, please,” hollered Isabella above the noise of 75+ kids, selecting bowls, foods, and tables.

After Tongjee, Alex (older than Tongjee by 32 seconds), Charlie, and Constance (older than Tongjee by eight seconds) helped pass out bowls to all of the regulars and the invited guests at the multiple tables, Tongjee went to sit beside some of his best friends and future schoolmates: Jessica Beetle, Susan Cicada, Alonzo Cricket, and Stanley Spider.

“Have you guys seen the new summer school curriculum for this year? Classes start next week and I really don’t think I can handle all of the new posted schedule: Agronomy, Micro-Economics, Cold Storage Physics, Seed Pod Harvesting, Assembly Line Cooperation, as well as Chorale Singing, Cooking, Track and Field, Line Dancing, and Self-defense.”

“Tongjee, please,” burst out Alonzo. “You, of all grasshoppers, do not need self-defense. And as long as we’re with you, wherever you go, we won’t need it either. By the way, do you suppose you could teach me how you do that thing with your breath or whatever it is you do? I’m sure my folks would pay for lessons. Come on, what d’ya say?”

“First things first,” said Tongjee. “I don’t know how I breathe fire, so there’s no point in my trying to teach you or anyone else how to do it. And second of all, I don’t know why I can do this, so even if I did know how to teach someone else, I’m not sure I’d want to teach it. And third, I know my parents would never allow me to.”

“Tongjee?” asked Jessica, dreamily, staring at him across the lunch table, while absentmindedly stirring her food with a fork. “What classes are you signing up for this summer, ’cause whatever you’re taking, I’m going to make sure I’m sitting right beside you in every class.” Then she sighed heavily, fluttered her eye lashes and feelers rapidly, as everyone else at the table groaned and rolled their eyes. Tongjee blushed.