Emma's Rug Read online

  Emma's Rug

  Allen Say

  * * *

  * * *

  HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON

  * * *

  Walter Lorraine Books

  Copyright © 1996 by Allen Say

  All rights reserved. For information about permission

  to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,

  Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,

  New York, New York 10003.

  www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Say, Allen.

  Emma's rug / Allen Say.

  p. cm.

  Summary: A young artist finds that her creativity comes from

  within when the rug that she had always relied upon for inspiration

  is destroyed.

  RNF ISBN 0-395-74294-3 PA ISBN 0-618-33523-4

  [1. Creativity—Fiction. 2. Rugs—Fiction. 3. Drawing—Fiction.]

  I. Title

  PZ7.S2744Em 1996

  [E]—dc20 96-14189

  CIP

  AC

  Printed in Singapore by Tien Wah Press (Pte) Ltd

  TWP 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11

  * * *

  To Frances and Leo

  When Emma was born, someone gave her a rug.

  It was a small rug, shaggy and plain, the

  kind that keeps your feet warm in the bathroom.

  So Mother laid it by the crib,

  for the day the baby could stand on her feet.

  And by the time Emma climbed out of the

  crib by herself, no one remembered who

  had given her the rug.

  Emma loved the rug.

  She lay on it and sat on it and she was happy.

  When she began to walk, she carried it

  everywhere she went, but never stepped on it.

  Now she only stared at it, sitting

  perfectly still, for long periods of time.

  "That's not a blanket. It's her television,"

  Father said.

  "What do you see in that fuzzy thing?"

  Mother asked.

  Emma did not answer.

  Before long, Emma began to draw and paint.

  Her parents were quite impressed.

  "Now, there is a wart hog,"

  Father would say.

  "Where did she see a pangolin? Is that

  a tapir?" Mother would ask.

  One weekend, Father put up a small drawing

  table in the kitchen, and right away

  the kitchen became Emma's favorite

  place in the house.

  On her first day at the kindergarten Emma

  went straight up to an easel and began

  to paint. Other children gathered around

  and watched her wave the long brush like

  a maestro's baton.

  The grown-ups were amazed.

  "She's special, that one,"

  one adult said to another.

  In the first grade, Emma won the top prize

  in the art competition.

  "What talent!" exclaimed the teacher.

  "How do you know what to draw?" the children

  asked. "Where do you get your ideas?"

  "I just copy," Emma told them.

  No one believed her.

  Emma won more prizes.

  Every time she entered a competition, she

  received an award. Sometimes it was a ribbon,

  other times a plaque or a trophy.

  Her room became filled with awards.

  Her parents were very proud.

  But Emma only looked at her rug,

  which she now kept hidden in the bottom

  of her chest of drawers.

  "What should I draw next?"

  Emma asked every day.

  Early one morning the telephone rang.

  It was the mayor, asking to speak to Emma.

  Mother thought it was a prank, but

  then she recognized the voice, which she had

  heard on television many times.

  "Congratulations!" the mayor announced.

  "Your daughter has won first prize in our

  annual citywide art competition. I am

  sending a limousine at three-thirty today.

  The reception is at the Museum of Art.

  Please be ready."

  At the reception many famous people

  stared at Emma.

  "She's so small!"

  "What a doll!"

  "Big talent in such a little thing!"

  "How can she hold a brush in that hand?"

  People cooed as cameras flashed. The mayor

  presented her the winner's certificate

  in a big frame.

  "So how does it feel to be a celebrity?"

  a newspaper reporter bent down to ask.

  Emma didn't say a word.

  The following morning, Mother went into

  Emma's room. She frowned at the unmade bed.

  Then she saw the rug, with the framed

  certificate on top.

  "Goodness' sakes, I don't think this thing

  has ever been cleaned." Wiggling her nose,

  she took the rug downstairs and put

  it in the washing machine.

  When Emma came home, she went to her room

  and stared in the empty drawer.

  She dashed into the kitchen and said,

  "Where's my rug?"

  "Oh, I washed it. It must be dry by now,"

  Mother told her.

  "You washed my rug?" Emma charged downstairs.

  The rug had shriveled. It was ragged. All

  the fluff was gone. It was very, very clean.

  Emma cried out.

  Next day at school, Emma didn't draw or paint.

  She never opened her mouth, and her hands

  didn't come out of her pockets.

  "Do you feel all right?" the teacher asked.

  Emma only nodded.

  "You can use my crayons," Alex offered.

  Emma pushed the box away.

  Days went by. Emma didn't speak, and soon

  the children ignored her. After a while,

  it was as if she weren't there anymore.

  Emma took down all the drawings and paintings

  from the walls of her room. She put

  the prize ribbons and plaques and trophies

  and medals into cardboard boxes.

  She gathered up her colors and pencils and

  brushes. Then she took them all down to

  the garage and stuffed them in the trash bin.

  The last thing she threw away was her rug.

  "There," she said. "Kid stuff."

  All afternoon Emma sat in her empty room.

  It seemed somehow larger and brighter.

  "No more pictures," Emma murmured.

  Then something made her jump. From the

  corner of her eye she thought she saw

  something move behind her. She knew there

  was only the wall there, all bare now, yet

  she turned—as if to catch sight

  of something flying away.

  She gave a cry.

  Emma rushed outside.

  "It can't be!" she said, breathing faster.

  She saw the eyes watching her and then

  the faces of creatures all around.

  She knew them from before.

  She had thought she would never see again.

  "I can see you!" Emma cried with joy.

  The trees rustled, as if laughing.

  And then it was quiet.

 

 

  Allen Say, Emma's Rug

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