Opa Opa and the Bundle of Danger

Vater und Kind beim Hoppe hoppe Reiter-Spiel (1863) by Charles Green

Once upon a time, Opa Opa was climbing a mountain. Rather, we should say Mr. Pipe was climbing the mountain, and Opa Opa was pretending to be fatigued on his back. The reason for the climb was simple: Opa Opa didn’t believe Mr. Pipe that clouds can’t talk. When they finally reached the summit, they stared around blankly at the pale blue skies spanning in every direction.

“Suppose we should have chosen a cloudy day, eh, Mr. Pipe?” he said, dismounting.

“No—matter,” Mr. Pipe wheezed. “I—checked with—Robin—the Hawk. He assured me—clouds are due—from the East—any moment.”

Opa Opa looked West. “Well, I don’t see any. What did you say the Hawk’s name was?”
“Robin”

“Well, that’s a bit confusing, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, which is it? It he a Hawk or a Robin?”

“It’s a she. And I really don’t see the problem. There are humans named Robin, you know. Or Lily or Olive or Poppy or Reed. Is it ever confusing that a human bear the name of a different animal?”

“But that’s different.”

“How so? Humans are animals aren’t they? Why shouldn’t your rules apply to them.”

“I don’t know why. They just don’t. Humans are—”

But as Opa Opa was cut short. He realized that he had lost his interlocutor. Or else Mr. Pipe had lost him. All he could see was white. Have I lost the mountain too? He wondered, not knowing he did so aloud.

Mr. Pipe’s reply sounded near as ever, though Opa Opa could see nothing of him. “Lost the mountain? Why, Opa Opa, you should know a cloud when you see one.”

“Is that you, old boy? Boy, am I glad to hear your voice. A cloud, you say? Fancy that.”

He was about to ask the cloud his first question—something about if they ever feel thirsty or not—when a shrill cry stung his ears.

“What on earth was that?” exclaimed Opa Opa. Then, to the cloud he added, “That’s not my real question; you don’t have to answer that.”

“I may be half blind, but I know a babe’s cry when I hear one,” replied Mr. Pipe.

Many nasty things can and have been said about Opa Opa, but never that he is a coward. This is largely because to be a coward you must first recognize danger in order to run from it, and Opa Opa never quite possessed this faculty in full. Nevertheless, it’s true all the same that he never ran from a terror. Now was no exception. Forgetting he was on a steep mountain, he ran toward the cry without so much as the ability to see his own hand through the fog. Miraculously, he made it to the source of the cry with nothing more than a few stubbed toes. 

“Why, it is a baby!”

“What kind?” asked Mr. Pipe.

“The kind that needs our help, you brute! Or is that not enough for you? Always with the question. I mean, really!” He scooped the crying baby in his arms and rocked it back and forth. The fog prevented him from getting a good look at the child, but the crying did peter to a stop. Now, it was simply a matter of finding its parents.

Mr. Pipe took his time going back down the mountain for now two babies were on his back instead of just one. Opa Opa had swattled the sniffling baby in a bundle to keep it arm. Though, truth be told, the baby was far warmer than Opa Opa. “It must have a fever. Hurry up, Mr. Pipe!”

The fog followed them to the foot of the mountain but no further. Opa Opa wasted no time running from hut to hut, asking every women he could find if they had lost a child. But all the women were either packing up their children and belongings or running away from him altogether. 

“Blast it all! I know I’m tall and muscular and must be rather intimidating to these delicate women, but this is uncalled for. I’m only trying to help this poor baby.” He looked down for the first time since leaving the fog. Two, deep-set black eyes stared back at him. Beneath them, a large mouth with rows and rows of knife-like teeth smiled. Opa Opa shrieked like a woman himself. He dropped the bundle. 

Then the sound and feel of a tornado descended on them. Dust flew up in Opa Opa’s eyes, forcing them closed. When he opened them again, a fully grown dragon was in front of him with the baby dragon in its sharp talons. 

Mr. Pipe stepped forward. “I perceive my friend has done you a grave disservice by displacing your hatchling. I assure you that he had only the best of intentions.” The dragon snarled, and Mr. Pipe spoke more quickly. Yet, Ms. Dragon, you are certainly due some recompense. Here is a gold coin for your trouble.” Quickly, Mr. Pipe nibbled a coin out of his saddle and spat it over the dragon’s head. The she-dragon’s eyes went wide, and a puff of smoke burst from her nostrils. She turned round to chase the coin as a dog might a bone.

“Quick, Opa Opa! Jump on my back.”

Opa Opa did so with no word of dispute, and Mr. Pipe rode them back into the thick fog where the disappeared from the sight of the furious dragon.

When all was safe, Opa Opa asked the cloud his question, “How do I make my trousers as white as you again?”

And now for the rest of the story…