Chapter Four:

 

Dorothy and Toto made excellent progress for several hours. The weather in this land of Oz seemed to be consistently perfect, and the yellow brick road was virtually impossible to stray from. They made some good miles and passed through countryside that Dorothy found beautiful beyond all dreams.

At one point, thinking perhaps to tire Toto out a bit and reduce his screaming, she'd even begun to run, snuffling in great swallows of the delicious air like wine and opening out to her full stride. Quaint fields began to appear at either side of her, and the pure exhilaration of running through such surroundings did a great deal to calm her worried mind.

At a picturesque, perfect cornfield, however, her run came to an abrupt end. The yellow brick road divided in two at the very corner of the cornfield, and both paths looked equally wide, equally well maintained. There were no signs, no markers of any kind, no hint to tell her which way to take. She halted, catching her breath, utterly stymied.

Toto caught his breath too, and commenced to scream, louder than ever.

"Damn," she said, mystified. "Just when we were making such good time. Which way do we go now?"

A disembodied voice rose above the tall stalks of corn.

"Well, that way might serve your purposes. On the other hand, this way is as good a way as any. It would all depend on where you intend to go, actually, don't you think?"

Dorothy peered into the cornfield, trying to identify the origin of the voice. She could see no one, just a scarecrow a few rows in.

"Who said that?" she asked, feeling a small, unaccountable chill rushing up her spine and nesting in her hair. "Who's there?"

"Who indeed?" answered the voice. "I was just wondering the same thing about you. Why don't you step into the cornfield a moment? I'm right over here."

Dorothy took a tiny step into the rustling rows, dragging Toto behind her. She still couldn't see anyone. She moved forward a few more rows.

"Closer, please," requested the voice. It was an odd voice, soft and cultured, but with a metallic cutting edge to it, as though the speaker rarely used the voice at all. "I still can't see you properly."

Dorothy had the strange idea that the voice was coming from the scarecrow she could see leaning against a slanted post a few yards further in, its arms outstretched on a cross bar and its head tilted at an angle.

She wanted to dismiss this fancy quickly, because, somehow, it was not altogether pleasant. So, she moved to within three rows of the scarecrow, and, feeling half foolish and half unnerved, she addressed it.

"Hi. I hope you're not the one doing the talking."

The Scarecrow tilted his head toward her and stared at her for a long, long moment. His gaze seemed to crackle. And he had dark maroon eyes. Dorothy had never seen a scarecrow with eyes that shade before. She never seen anything with eyes that particular color, in fact.

"But I am," he declared. "Good afternoon. Is there something the matter with your lamb?"

Dorothy had to steady herself before she could answer. Meeting a talking Scarecrow in a pristine cornfield in some magical alternate universe was an experience entirely new to her.

"No, he just does that. He can't seem to stop. Uh, so, are you a Scarecrow? Or what?"

"I look like a Scarecrow, wouldn't you say? What do you think I am? Hmm . . . he screams like that all the time? Really? Why do you think he does that? Doesn't it bother you? How does it make you feel? Why do you keep him? What -”

"Say, you're a little nosy for a Scarecrow, aren't you?" she interrupted.

"Am I?" the Scarecrow countered.

"Hmm." she replied.  She was already getting the idea that this was one Scarecrow who could be a bit hard to keep up with.

"You were wondering which way to take, weren't you? Where the road forks in two out there?" the Scarecrow asked.

"Well, yes, I was. You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

"That depends, I think I mentioned, on where you want to go. I might know, if you told me."

"Told you where I'm going?" she asked, suddenly feeling strangely reluctant to reveal her destination to the Scarecrow.

"You could tell me your name first, if that would make you feel more comfortable. It would certainly be more courteous. As you can see," he paused and shook his arms, succeeding in rattling the crossbar he was wired to only a very little. "I'm in no great hurry."

"Oh. Sorry. I'm Special Agent Dorothy Gale. Pleased to meet you. Um, is that barbed wire you're stuck up there with?"

"Yes. For quite some time now. Dorothy Gale. Dorothy.  May I call you Dorothy?"

"Okay, I guess. Should I call you -?”

"I'm a scarecrow. It seems appropriate to call me that, don't you think?"

"How long have you been out here?"

"Eight years or so. A misunderstanding with local government administration. Are you new to Oz? You don't look like a native. Not with those shoes."

"Excuse me? What's wrong with my shoes?"

"Aside from being ugly, badly fitted, poorly made, and cheap, do you mean? Why, nothing."

Dorothy glared at the Scarecrow. He gazed back, unconcerned, an arrogant tilt to his head.

He was actually pretty beautifully dressed, for a Scarecrow, she decided, so maybe he had a thing about shoes. His were exquisite, clearly hand made, though a bit scuffed from the passage of many seasons of weather, and leaking a bit of straw around the ankles.

Finally she smiled, oddly amused.

"You're in kind of a bad mood, aren't you?"

"Oh, well, perhaps I am. Excuse me a moment . . .”he said. Then he raised his weird eyes to a crow that was passing over the cornfield, a bit too close.

The Scarecrow caught the bird's gaze and held it, and bared a mouthful of perfectly articulated white little teeth at it. Dorothy speculated that whoever had fashioned his head, they had certainly poured a great deal of detail into the task. The unfortunate crow stopped dead in the air and plummeted to earth in a fatal swoon of terror.

"MY cornfield!" the Scarecrow muttered. "Of all the unmitigated gall!"

He tilted his head back to Dorothy.

"You still haven't told me where you want to go, Dorothy," he reminded her.

Dorothy considered. It occurred to her that maybe this Scarecrow would make a better ally than an enemy.  He did seem to have a pretty good head on his shoulders, and to have a few talents that could be of some use to her down the road, even if he was kind of annoying. Still, you never knew. That thing with the crow had been a little unnerving.

She decided to open up a touch more.

"Well, the truth is, I'm going to consult the Wizard," she admitted. "Do you know which way I should go?"

"The Wizard? Is that so? I do know he lives in the Emerald City. Why do you want to see him?"

"I'm hoping he can tell me how to get home. Which way is the Emerald City?"

"Oh? Why do you want to go home? Don't you like Oz?"

"Which way is the Emerald City?"

"Hmm. You know, I just had a thought. About your lamb. I believe I know of a way to quiet his screams. Would you like to hear it?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question? It's darned irritating, to be honest with you."

"Do you want to hear what I think about your lamb? Yes or no?"

"There! You see? You just did it again!"

"What's your worst memory of childhood?"

"WHAT?? I beg your pardon? What's that got to do with anything? Listen, do you think you could help Toto or not?"

"I'm not sure. I don't really see why I should, anyway.  Personally, I don't mind if he screams until his little throat bursts."

"Goddamnit, what the heck is your problem? You're getting to be a real pain, you know it?"

"My problem? I'll show you. Come a little closer. Yes, that's right, just another step. Look here, just behind my left ear? Can you see that rip in my fabric? Can you see inside?"

Dorothy peered into the rent he mentioned, and could just make out a horrible mélange of very unpleasant items, all jumbled together inside his head. She saw rusty nails, venomous looking spiders, splotches of mold, shards of glass, poisonous weeds, very small squirming snakes, one small wasp nest and a few broken light bulbs, among other things. Dorothy shuddered and stepped back.

"You see?" inquired the Scarecrow. "No brain in there at all. Just a useless collection of really nasty bits and pieces. Whoever made me must have been deeply interested in suffering, wouldn't you agree?"

"Wow," she answered, feeling, for the first time, a measure of compassion for him. "That must feel awful. No wonder you're so difficult."

"Yes. Actually, while I've been crucified out here in this cornfield, I composed a little song about it. Would you care to hear it? I'm afraid I can't accompany myself, circumstances being what they are, but I could render it a capella, if you like."

"Oh, yes, please, I'd be interested. Wait . . .  hang on a sec . . .”she pulled Toto to her and clamped her hand around his muzzle firmly, thus shutting him up for the moment.”There, Scarecrow, that should do it. Go ahead."

"Thank you," said the Scarecrow, and cleared his throat. Then he began to sing:

"Look inside here if you're willing,
inside my head there's filling,
that my skull can scarce contain

It's a porridge made of spiders,
poison ivy and used lighters,
shards of glass and old wolfsbane

And I would stop at nothing,
To know who did the stuffing,
To whom I would complain,

Then I'd stuff refuse in HIS head,
The guilty party would be dead,
And I'd feast upon his pain!

Bu-uu-utt -

I could be a decent fellow,
You might even find me mellow,
If I had a proper brain!"

Dorothy applauded roundly, and Toto screamed his heartfelt approval.

"That was wonderful!" she assured the Scarecrow. "Really. You have quite a nice singing voice, actually, did you know that?"

"Do you think so?" asked the Scarecrow. "Well, Dorothy, now that we've discussed my problem, I think it only fair that we discuss yours, don't you think? Toto? He's still screaming, I must point out."

"Do you really think you could help him?" Dorothy asked.

"I might. But you'd have to do something for me."

"Hmm. What did you have in mind?"

"I've been in this cornfield eight years, Dorothy. Riding this blasted half cross the whole time. I want to get down. I want to get out of this cornfield. You could help me."

He stared at her another moment, visually digging into the meat of her mind. Then he went on.

"There's a very sharp knife in my breast pocket. It would cut through the wire quite easily, but I can't reach it. Get it out, loose one of my wrists, give me the knife, and I'll do the rest. What do you think?"

"I don't know. You're probably wired up out here for a reason. You mentioned something about government administration, didn't you?"

"There is poor Toto to consider. And, as it happens, I do know the way to the Emerald City, just incidentally. I've even met the Wizard, on one or two occasions. I could guide you there, Dorothy. Yes or no?"

Dorothy considered.

Well, she thought, I really could use someone who knows what he's doing around here. I sure as hell don't. Even if his head IS stuffed full of icky junk and he's a little scary. What the hell.

She carefully reached into the Scarecrow's pocket and pulled out a small, folded knife. She recognized the make, it was a Harpy. A very serious blade indeed. She unfolded the serrated, curved cutting edge, and then paused, searching the Scarecrow's face.

"Would you undo the left wrist first, please, Dorothy? That arm is the stiffest," the Scarecrow said.

"Am I gonna regret this?" she asked him, still holding the knife away from him.

"Possibly. But I give you my word that I'll never harm you. You're . . . interesting. All right? Will that do? Could you cut me loose now?"

Here goes, she thought, with a feeling like falling. She set the edge of the Harpy against the barbed wire wrapped around the Scarecrow's left wrist. The tough, rusty wire yielded to the blade like butter. The wrist came lose, and the Scarecrow flexed his newly freed arm gratefully.

"Ah-hh,” he said, luxuriating in the long overdue sensation. "That's perfect. May I have the knife now?"

She stepped to the outer limit of his reach and handed him the Harpy.

It took him less than forty-five seconds to free himself completely. He's awful fast with that knife of his, Dorothy thought, not without a certain amount of worry.

He hopped down from the post, oddly lithe for someone who'd been hanging on a post in a field for eight years. And who, so far as she could see, lacked a conventional skeleton.

"Thank you, Dorothy," the Scarecrow said, systematically testing the function in his arms and shoulders as he spoke.

"I've been thinking about what you said about the Wizard, " he continued, flexing his limbs "It's true, he doesn't like me much, but I do wonder if I could persuade him to give me a real brain. I might be able to trade him for it. What's your opinion?"

"I don't know. It depends on what you have to trade, I guess. What about Toto, speaking of trades?"

"Oh, that," the Scarecrow said, apparently satisfied that his limbs were working properly.

He cut a length of barbed wire off his former prison, then began to slice the barbs off with the sharp knife. Once that was completed, he unwound a silk ascot from around his neck, and wrapped it neatly around the wire.

"Bring Toto over here, would you please? That's good; just hold him still a moment. May I ask you a personal question? How did you happen to get gunpowder embedded in your cheek?"   

"How can you tell it's gunpowder?" she asked, startled.

He was wrapping the makeshift muzzle he'd devised around Toto's mouth and nose, leaving the noisy lamb room to breath and crop, but not enough slack to scream.  "I can smell it . . ." he answered, absently, absorbed in his task.

He finished Toto's new muzzle with a neat twist of wire, then lightly slapped the extremely puzzled lamb on the rump to set it trotting a few paces.

Toto ran in a few confused circles, sat down, stood up, tilted his little head first one way and then another, and then regarded both Dorothy and the Scarecrow with a look of comical bafflement.

Then to Dorothy's surprise and delight, the newly silenced lamb bounded to his feet, jinked playfully up and down the road, and ran in and out of the cornfield, gamboling prettily, just as a lamb is supposed to do.

"Will you look at that," Dorothy enthused. "I've never seen him so happy.  It's a damn miracle, Scarecrow, I kid you not. What a great idea!"

"Oh, I'd have thought of something much more effective than that, if I only had a brain," the Scarecrow demurred. "The muzzle is only a temporary measure, after all. Were you in a gun fight?" He pointed at her cheek. "Are you armed now?"

"Yeah, I shot a serial killer. But he almost got me first," she said.

"Really?" asked the Scarecrow, an amused smile on his face. "That's rather an odd coincidence. It's really very fetching, that mark on your cheek, if you'll forgive the observation. Let me ask you again, are you armed, Dorothy?"

"Yes, I am," she answered, fixing him with a level gaze and neglecting to provide him with any details regarding the ordnance she was carrying.

"Good," he said, not troubled in the least by her hard stare. "Our way leads near the haunted forest just ahead a few miles, and I'd rather you be equipped to defend yourself. Shall we go?"

Dorothy stared at her new companion. The Scarecrow stared back, very still, waiting patiently for her to make up her mind.

Okey, dokey, here we go, she thought, both apprehensive and strangely elated by her new prospects.  It seemed to her that the journey ahead had just become a good ten times more interesting.

"Yes, let's go," she finally answered, and the two of them fell into step, taking the left hand fork in the yellow brick road.

"Toto, come on, boy" she called, and the happy (and happily silent) little lamb bounded out of the grass at the side of the road and frisked about their feet.

 The three travelers moved past the cornfield, headed toward the next rise in the yellow brick road, and the haunted forest, miles beyond.