🥔 Small Potatoes
Spudwig Wright was a potato, and not a particularly attractive one at that. Rumour had it that there was more than a bit of rutabaga on his father’s side of the family. And even if that wasn’t actually true, he certainly had the looks, which were anything but pretty.
As a consequence, he had been bullied throughout his young life in the root cellar. The others regularly made fun of him and called him turnip-head, yam-face, and much worse things.
“Spuddy, my old buddy, you’re too ugly even for mashed potatoes!” Potatrick, his only friend – if you could call him that – opined at every opportunity. And the sad thing was that Spudwick had to agree. He didn’t look like the other potatoes in the cellar. He was a misshapen and deformed spud without any prospects. In a world of russets, he was a root.
As a consequence, he spent much of his time alone, sitting quietly in an out of the way corner of the root cellar, hiding in the shadows to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to himself. He liked to sit in the dark, all curled up and cosy on the hard dirt floor and imagine a different life for himself. This was another thing that set him apart from his peers; he had an imagination. Whatever he lacked in looks, he made up for in vision. He imagined a life for himself that was so far beyond what a potato could dream of. He did not want to end up in a salad, or as a baked potato, smothered in sour cream, butter, and chives. He dreaded the idea of being mashed despite what Potatrick had to say on the subject. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to achieve yet, but he was certain that the usual and mundane options were not for him.
Some potatoes sprouted and were replanted to secure the future of potato-kind into the next generation. Yet, again, this was not what he envisioned for himself. His dreams were fuzzy, but so much larger.
As the season went on, potatoes were taken out of the cellar, never to be seen again. Legend had it that higher beings, perhaps even gods, took them away to a different and higher level of existence, but Spudwig doubted that. Most likely, they were to be eaten. No one ever returned to tell the tale, but everyone knew about the kitchen. It was something of a foundational memory that pervaded the very fibre of potato-kind, so being made to leave the root cellar was an ambiguous event that was greeted with a mix of euphoria, dread, and resignation.
One day, he heard quiet sobbing and although he usually tried to stay out of things, curiosity got the better of him. He rolled along the wall, following the sounds until he saw an old, wrinkled potato that was crying.
“Hello,” he said politely.
“Oh, it’s you, Spudwig,” she said dismissively. “I’d know your ugly mug anywhere. Can’t you leave an old potato alone to grieve in peace?”
“I’m sorry. I heard your crying and couldn’t help but wonder why you are sad.”
“Well, if you have to know, I’ll tell you. My daughter Tattyana is missing! I think they picked her up earlier today! And I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to her.”
Spudwig nodded seriously. He could understand the old potato’s plight. Losing a loved one was never easy, or so he imagined, if he’d had any loved ones. Out of an inexplicable impulse he drew himself up to his full height and said, “I’ll go and find out what happened to your daughter, so don’t worry!”
She gaped at him for a long moment before speaking.
“Yea, right. Ugly old Spuddy will save the day!” she scoffed.
“I will, too!” he said hotly and stormed off in his odd rolling motion.
As he rolled towards the cellar stairs, he had to wonder at his own actions. He knew Tattyana, of course. She was one of the mean girls that always taunted and insulted him, so why did he want to find her? He had no ready answer, but felt that it was the right thing to do. Perhaps he wanted to be the hero for once, to be admired and praised? Did he have special feelings for Tattyana that he had not been aware of? He didn’t know, but he would find out one way or the other.
Spudwig had a difficult time ascending the stairs. He had to bounce up and down, take a running start and hope that he could jump high enough to reach the next step. More than once he missed his mark, rolled backward and had to begin his ascent anew. But finally, after hours of exertion, uncounted failed attempts, and numerous bruises all over his body, he reached the top stair. Luckily for him, the door was slightly ajar. Otherwise he would have been stuck with no way forward. He was much too short to reach the door knob, after all. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t know what a door knob was or how to operate one.
The floor in the hallway was smooth and clean; very different from the dirt floor in the root cellar he was used to. Rolling forward was much easier, but on the whole, he thought that he preferred the dirt floor to the tiles.
The kitchen was down the hallway and Spud had no trouble finding it. Once inside, he had to get used to the bright light that entered the room through a hole in the wall. It was very strange and not at all comforting to his senses. He had to blink his many eyes until he became used to the illumination. Once his vision was clear, he immediately spotted the abducted potatoes. They were huddled inside a woven basket that sat on a low stool.
“Pssst! Tattyana! Are you in there?” he hissed.
“Who’s this?” came the frightened question from the middle of the pile.
“It’s me! Spudwig! Spudwig Wright!”
“What? Old Rutabaga-head?”
“Yes, it’s me!” He didn’t know whether to be insulated by the name calling or pleased that she remembered him at all. “Your mum told me that you had disappeared and I promised to find you, so here I am!”
“Wow! You’d do that for me?”
“Yes, of course I would. Now, come on and jump down and I’ll get you out of here!”
“I’m afraid!”
“Don’t worry, just jump down and I’ll catch you.”
“I don’t know…”
“Go on. There might not be much time! Hurry!”
The basket began to rock gently and a moment later, Tattyana jumped down and landed squarely on top of Spudwig.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, looking at the fresh bruise on his side. “All right! Let’s go!”
“But, it will be noticed that I’m missing. We can’t just run off like that.”
That much was true. Spudwig considered the problem for a long minute before reaching a decision.
“All right. I’ll take your place. I’ll jump into the basket and you hurry back down to the root cellar. Simply roll through the door and turn right. You can’t miss it.”
“All right. I’ll get going. So long.” She studied him for a moment. “Thanks, Spuddy.” She turned and rolled out of the kitchen.
Spudwig began bouncing in place until he had reached sufficient momentum to jump into the basket. He landed on the other potatoes with a soft thud.
“Hi guys. Sorry for the commotion, I hope I didn’t tread on anybody’s… um… potato.” (Potatoes have no word for feet).
There were no replies. These were hibernating potatoes that had left sentience long behind. Small loss there, Spud mused. The important thing was that Tattyana was back home and safe.
As time passed, the light that came in through the hole in the wall travelled across the floor. It was interesting to have a measure of time passing. In the root cellar days and nights were all the same.
Suddenly there were footsteps. One of the large creatures approached and placed the basket on the counter. Spudwig and his mute compatriots were briefly doused in cold water and dried off. Then a silver implement descended from above and he felt himself being cut into strips. It was a strange sensation, not exactly painful, but not pleasant, either. He could see parts of himself through his eyes and he had to wonder at the changed perspective. Now that he was sliced, he didn’t look any uglier – or even different – from the other potatoes. In this moment he felt overwhelmingly happy, almost ecstatic to be here. He was glad to have made the journey. Moments later he felt himself being picked up and held above a round metal container. Heat rose in sizzling wafts and golden liquid bubbled below. Then he was falling, released from gravity to dive into the golden beyond. In a sizzling flash he saw his life replay before his eyes and then he discarded it in favour of the golden future that lay ahead.
Heat rose in sizzling wafts and golden liquid bubbled below.
“Mother! Mother! You won’t believe what happened,” Tattyana exclaimed as she rolled close to her wizened old parent. “Spudwig came and rescued me from the above.”
“He said that he would do that. Who knew that he really had it in him,” her mother shrugged. “Well, I’m glad that you are back, my dear. Next time be more careful.”
“But you don’t know the half of it,” Tattyana said. “He came to rescue me and took my place. He stayed and gave me the chance to escape. But I didn’t roll home straight away. I hid and watched. He was cut up into slices and thrown into hot liquid. The sizzling sound was deafening.” She shuddered. “That would have been my fate, if not for him. His selfless act saved my life.”
“Well, so old Spuddy was good for something after all,” her mother said.
“It’s so much more than that, Mother!” she admonished and turned to the large pile of potatoes in the root cellar’s centre. “Listen up, everybody! Poor Spudwig is gone! He died so that I might live, but more importantly, he died for all of our sins!”
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