While strolling down the ice licked sidewalk, one night in a lonesome October, I passed an old
fashioned snowman, complete with buttons, a scarf and top-hat. He tipped his hat
to me, calling out “Where were you last night, good sir?” I slowed my stroll to a
stop, and turned to face him.
“Why do you ask?” I said, wondering why he, a complete stranger, felt he had the right to
inquire about my whereabouts, on any evening.
Completely ignoring whatever he meant about “us types” I replied with another question, which is normally quite rude, but I was in a bit of a huff about being bothered on my way to wherever I was going, not that I had the faintest anymore where that was. “You don’t even have legs, sir. Begging your pardon, but how you can hope to dance?”
“Your legs haven’t any joints, sir. How do you propose you’ve been shuffling down the sidewalk?” He seemed awfully smug, for a snowman.
“What do you mean me legs haven’t got any joints? Of course they have.” Looking down I
saw that I was quite mistaken.
“Well I meant the Unpeople, sir. I thought that was rather obvious. Aren’t all the out of doors gatherings this time of year for us?”
“Now just because there’s something wrong with me legs, which I will have a physician look at, by the way, does not mean I am not a person!”
“Oh dear, you are new one! Sorry sir, I had...”
“Now what in blazes are you babbling on about man! A new what?”
“A newly awakened Unperson, sir. Come, look.” He beckoned me closer, and held out a silver pin that had fastened his scarf. He turned it so my image reflected back at me, showing me a face I had never seen, but was my own. My head was carved from a pumpkin. I snatched the pin from him, and continued scanning myself. My torso was a board that was also my neck. My head sat upon it, and my branch arms were nailed to it, as was the board that my legs were nailed to. I was wearing a flannel shirt and denim trousers. The snowman waited patiently all the while.
“So am I one of you? One of the Unpeople?” A scarecrow who moved like a man. I opened and closed my hand, marveling at the motion. I had no joints, no muscles. Yet I had wandered up to this kindly snowman. Without even a single vocal cord, I had somehow partaken in short conversation with him.
“Yes, sir, you are. I’d like my pin back when you are done, sir. If you would please.” He paused. “There’s no shame in being a scarecrow, sir. I won’t claim it’s nearly as glorious as being a snowman, but you’ll find your fellows to be a noble lot. We’re all sort of kin hereabouts anyways.”