The Long Yellow Road

The wind had been shouting all afternoon. It took the roof of the little farmhouse and it took the house itself, and it carried both of them up into a grey sky that went round and round like a churn. Dorothy sat on the floor with her hands over her ears. Toto sat in her lap and shook. The house turned this way and that, and the wind grew tired of its game, and it set the house down, soft as a hen on a nest.

Everything went quiet. Dorothy opened the door and looked out.

Green. The grass was green, and the trees were green, and the light itself seemed to have a green edge to it. Her shoes were silver, and they shone.

A group of small people came hurrying over the hill. They wore tall pointed hats and clothes the colour of new leaves. An old woman walked in front, and she laughed when she saw Dorothy.

“You are welcome here,” she said. “And you have done us a great service without knowing it.”

“I have?” said Dorothy. “I only fell out of the sky.”

The old woman pointed at the corner of the house. Two feet stuck out from under it, wearing a pair of silver shoes exactly like Dorothy’s.

“That was the wicked witch of the east,” she said. “She kept us all in her fist. Now she is under your house, and the shoes are yours, because they were hers and she has no more use for them.”

Dorothy looked at her own feet. The shoes fitted perfectly.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“You are in the land of Oz,” said the old woman. “And you are far from home.”

***

“Far from home,” said Dorothy. The words sat heavy in her mouth. “My aunt will be watching the road for me. She will think I am lost.”

The old woman, whose name was the Good Witch of the North, sat down on the grass and patted the place beside her.

“Sit,” she said. “There is a road in this country, and it is made of yellow bricks. Follow it, and it will take you to a city. In that city lives a wizard.”

“A wizard,” said Dorothy. “Like in a story?”

“Very like,” said the old woman. “He is called Oz, and he is the only one who might send you home. He is not always easy to find, even when you are standing in his front room. But he is fond of doing impossible things.”

“And the road goes there?”

“All the way. Yellow bricks, from here to the gates. You cannot miss it. It is the one thing in Oz that never moves.”

Dorothy stood up and brushed the dust off her dress. Toto jumped out of her arms and ran a circle around her legs.

“Will anyone hurt me on the way?” she asked.

“Some people are kind and some are not,” said the old woman. “That is true of every road. But you are wearing the silver shoes, and they are worth more than you know. Keep them on.”

“I will,” said Dorothy.

“And keep your manners,” said the old woman. “They will carry you further than magic.”

Dorothy looked out at the green hills, and there, running between them like a ribbon, was a line of yellow bricks. She took a breath, and she started walking.

The yellow bricks ran straight through fields of tall corn. Dorothy walked with Toto at her heels. The stalks rustled on both sides. Then she saw a man made of straw standing on a pole above the corn.

He wore a pointed hat and a kind face. His arms were spread out like a scarecrow’s arms. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Could you help me down?”

Dorothy reached up and lifted him off the pole. He was light as a pillow. “Thank you,” he said. “I have been up there a long time. The crows laugh at me.”

“Why do they laugh?” asked Dorothy.

“Because I have no brains,” said the Scarecrow. “I am stuffed with straw. I cannot think of anything clever.”

“I am sorry,” said Dorothy.

“Do not be sorry,” said the Scarecrow. “I am not. But I would like some brains. Are you going to the Emerald City?”

“Yes,” said Dorothy. “To ask the Wizard to send me home.”

“May I come with you?” asked the Scarecrow. “I will ask him for brains.”

“You may,” said Dorothy. “But you have no brains. How will you know the way?”

The Scarecrow smiled. “I do not know the way,” he said. “But I can walk, and I can talk, and I can be company. That is something.”

They walked on together. The Scarecrow told Dorothy about the corn. He told her about the crows. He told her about the sun and the rain. He had no brains, but he noticed everything.

“You are very kind,” said Dorothy.

“I am not kind,” said the Scarecrow. “I have no heart either. Only straw.”

“You are kind anyway,” said Dorothy.

Toto sniffed at the Scarecrow’s leg. The Scarecrow laughed. “He likes me,” he said. “That is a good start.”

The road went on. The corn ended. A dark wood began. Dorothy held Toto closer. The Scarecrow walked beside her.

***

Inside the wood the trees were close together. The light was green and dim. Dorothy heard a sound like a gate creaking in the wind.

“What is that?” she asked.

“I do not know,” said the Scarecrow. “But it is not far.”

They came to a clearing. A man made of tin stood there. His arm was raised high, and an axe was in his hand. He did not move. His mouth was open. His eyes were fixed on nothing.

“Are you ill?” asked Dorothy.

“Rust,” said the Tin Woodman. “I have stood here a year. My joints have seized. Please oil them, if you have any.”

Dorothy found a can of oil in the grass beside him. She oiled his neck. She oiled his arms. She oiled his legs. His head turned. His arm came down. He let out a long breath.

“Thank you,” he said. “I thought I would stand there forever.”

“How did you rust?” asked Dorothy.

“I was caught in the rain,” said the Tin Woodman. “I have no heart. Nothing inside me keeps me warm or dry. So I rust.”

“I have no brains,” said the Scarecrow. “We are a pair.”

“Where are you going?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“To the Emerald City,” said Dorothy. “To ask the Wizard to send me home.”

“And I will ask for brains,” said the Scarecrow.

“Then I will come too,” said the Tin Woodman. “I will ask for a heart.”

“But you have no heart,” said Dorothy. “How can you want one?”

“I want to feel things,” said the Tin Woodman. “I want to be sorry when I do wrong. I want to be glad when someone is kind.”

Dorothy looked at his tin face. It was not a sad face. It was a face that was waiting.

“Come with us,” she said.

The Tin Woodman picked up his axe. He oiled the hinge on his elbow. Then the three of them walked on, and Toto ran ahead.

The road shone under the moon. It stretched ahead like a ribbon of butter, and the three of them walked along it side by side. Toto trotted behind, sniffing at the dark grass.

“Are you tired?” asked the Scarecrow. “I am not tired. I have no brains to get tired.”

“I am not tired either,” said the Tin Woodman. “I have no heart to pound. But I wish I could be tired. Then I would know I had done something.”

Dorothy yawned. “I am tired,” she said. “But I want to keep going.”

“What is it like?” asked the Scarecrow. “Being tired?”

“It is like your bones want to sit down,” said Dorothy.

The Scarecrow thought about that. “I have no bones,” he said. “Only straw. So I cannot want to sit down. I can only want to know things.”

“What do you want to know?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“Everything,” said the Scarecrow. “But mostly I want to know why the road is yellow and the shoes are silver.”

Dorothy looked down at her feet. The silver shoes caught the moonlight. They glittered like water.

“I do not know,” she said. “The little woman told me to wear them. She said they were important.”

“Maybe they will take you home,” said the Tin Woodman.

“Maybe,” said Dorothy. “But I do not know how.”

The cornfields ended. The trees began. The road went on, and the night was full of small sounds.

“I am worried,” said the Scarecrow.

“What about?” asked Dorothy.

“That the Wizard will say no,” said the Scarecrow. “That I will walk all this way and still have no brains. Then I will be a straw man forever, and I will not even know it.”

“You know it now,” said Dorothy.

“That is worse,” said the Scarecrow. “To know what you are missing is worse than not knowing.”

The Tin Woodman creaked. “I am worried too,” he said. “What if I get a heart and it hurts? I have heard hearts hurt.”

“They do,” said Dorothy. “But they are glad too.”

“I would rather be glad and hurt than never feel anything,” said the Tin Woodman.

They walked on. The moon went down. The stars came out, and then they went too. The sky turned grey, then pink, then gold.

***

Light came up behind the trees. The yellow bricks glowed as if someone had lit them from underneath. The three of them stopped at the top of a low hill.

“Look,” said Dorothy.

Ahead, far ahead, the road ran straight to a green shine. It was not the green of leaves or grass. It was brighter, like light through a bottle. It pulsed, soft and steady.

“Is that it?” asked the Scarecrow. “Is that the Emerald City?”

“It must be,” said Dorothy. “It is the only green thing that is not a tree.”

“I have never seen a city,” said the Tin Woodman. “I have only seen the forest. The forest is green too, but it does not shine.”

“The city shines,” said Dorothy. “That is what cities do.”

Toto barked. He ran a few steps down the hill and looked back.

“He wants us to hurry,” said the Scarecrow.

“I want to hurry too,” said Dorothy. “But my legs are slow.”

“Mine are not,” said the Tin Woodman. “I could run all day. But I will walk with you.”

“And I will walk with you,” said the Scarecrow. “I have no legs to ache, but I have a promise to keep.”

Dorothy looked at her friends. The Scarecrow stood tall and loose, straw poking out of his sleeves. The Tin Woodman gleamed in the morning light, his axe over his shoulder. They were the strangest pair she had ever met, and the kindest.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” asked the Scarecrow.

“For coming with me,” said Dorothy. “I was alone, and now I am not.”

“We are not alone either,” said the Tin Woodman. “That is a good thing to be.”

The road went down the hill and up the next one. The green shine grew brighter with every step. Dorothy took a breath. She could smell something sweet, like flowers and rain.

“Come on,” she said. “Let us go and ask.”

She took the Scarecrow’s arm. The Tin Woodman took his other arm. Toto ran ahead, and the three of them set off down the yellow brick road.