“Quentin is the pomegranate prince,” declared the farmers living near Pest. He even sold whole pomegranates from his bakery. The villagers adored pomegranates, so Meanie often squeezed juice from pomegranate pods into his party confections, to give them extra tang. The edge of Pest’s grove came exactly to the edge of the village square. Pest and the other farmers traded with each other every day.īut Pest sold most of his pomegranates to Meanie’s village and to Meanie himself. In return, they gave him wheat and eggs and cotton. Pest gave some pomegranates to the other farmers who lived near him. ![]() “We have never in our lives tasted such luscious fruit,” the letters read. Everyone who received Pest’s pomegranates wrote him letters. Pest sent his round red pomegranates to kings and prime ministers and presidents throughout the world. He thinned the scarlet flowers with his three-fingered, moss-green hands. He pruned and shaped his trees, cutting gently as he peeked from under his droopy hood. The cloak draped across his forehead and lower face, leaving just a slit for his round black eyes. The thick, cotton cloak covered him fully from head to ankles, ending just above his moss-green, hairy feet. He watered them every week, spraying carefully to protect his pale-blue cloak. Inside each red fruit were dozens of tiny, shimmery, ruby pods, bursting with tart, sweet juice. For hundreds of years Pest’s family had grown the most delicious pomegranates in the land. His pomegranate grove stretched from the rippling creek to the humpback hills. “Elliott’s a sugar wizard,” everyone said. He formed grizzly bears and baseball gloves, galaxies and tadpoles - all from sugar pulled or blown or shaped. On regular days, Meanie made sugar treats for the villagers’ birthdays and anniversaries and as prizes for athletic competitions. “Can’t you give us a hint?” But he never did. ![]() “What will you invent this year?” they’d ask Meanie all year long. Then at sunset he’d break his creation into pieces to give everyone a taste. On Extravaganza day, everyone would gape in amazement at Meanie’s beautiful work. They believed this because every year Meanie designed a new sugar sculpture for the Annual Dessert Extravaganza. “He can make anything,” the villagers claimed. Meanie had practiced his sugar artistry since childhood. It melted like springtime in their cone-shaped mouths. It smelled irresistible to their small square noses. The sugar felt satiny smooth on their moss-green fingertips. He could add food coloring to the liquids or paint color on the finished shapes.Įveryone in the village loved Meanie’s confections. If he mixed the sugar with corn syrup, he could stretch the mixture into long ribbons or twist it into jungle gyms or blow it into hummingbirds with his cone-shaped mouth. If he mixed the liquid sugar with gelatin, he could wrap his moss-green hands around the paste and shape it into log cabins or platypuses or children. To build his castles and carousels and gardens, Meanie cooked sugar in a pot. Sometimes Meanie made sugar gardens blooming with luminous sugar fruits and flowers and leafy sugar trees, and sugar ponds filled with sugar fish. If his bulbous head or bushy beard hit a swan, he had to set it up again with his three-fingered hands. Meanie had to stand tip-toe on his hairy, moss-green feet to position a music box. The carousels were as big as the castles. Meanie also built sugar carousels, with parasol sugar roofs and dancing sugar swans and real music boxes in the middle. Sugar knights galloped on sugar drawbridges toward sugar gates. Each castle stood high as the lantern hanging from the bakery ceiling. Each castle totally covered the wooden baking table in Meanie’s bakery, Dulcet Dreams. Every castle needs defenses, don’t you think?” On his way out, Pest pointed at a large table. He handed Pest the bag and a half-blong coin. “So I owe you half a blong for the pomegranates,” he said. ![]() Meanie wrapped tissue paper around Pest’s dinner and dropped it into a bag. Give me three seashells, two penguins, and a drum.”
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