Copperfox
Well-known member
When supper was over, Ulrich and Greta's gradeschool-age son Ethan said, "Mister Henry, Doctor Alipang, we have a surprise for you. Please come outside." Alipang and Henry did so, accompanied by the whole family; they went out the back door, which in Amish houses was used more than the front door.
Greta Reinhart gestured to some handmade chairs on the grass. "Gentlemen, please have a seat...then close your eyes." When the guests had done so, Ulrich took over: "Although mortal nations and their secular traditions mean little to us Amish, we understand that the memory of an older America means something to you. And you have proven yourselves true friends to our people. So we want to give you a little gift. Keep your eyes closed, and we shall take you on a trip in time, back to when the Fourth of July was celebrated. With your eyes closed, friends--enjoy the fireworks!"
Alipang was almost startled into _opening_ his eyes by what he heard next. It was a banging and popping, as if a Fourth of July fireworks display really were in progress, perhaps a kilometer away. The seeming explosions went on for better than half a minute. At last they fell silent, and Greta said, "Happy Independence Day, brethren; you may open your eyes."
Now Alipang and Henry could see that Ulrich and Greta's children, with other Amish children who had come over from the neighboring farms--the teenage Lydia among them--had been making the noise by inflating and popping a great quantity of plastic bags and lightweight paper bags.
"That was radical!" Henry exclaimed; and Alipang asked, "Where did you get all those bags?"
"A man I trade with had a lot of them," Ulrich explained; "he had turned them up in the cupboards of a condemned house, in the first year of the Enclave. Used some for this and that, but wasn't sure what to do with the rest. Our Esther had the idea to use them for sound effects in just the way the children have now done, to give you gentlemen a treat when we would next see you here. I hope it gave you memories."
"Absolutely," Alipang told him. "General Longstreet Park, my first July Fourth in the United States."
"As for me," said Henry, "it made me remember the one time I was in Phoenix for a July Fourth celebration. Thank you, thank you all."
"It also gives me an idea," Alipang resumed. "Since Hezekiah's article in the paper went over so well, maybe someone among you Amish could write a friendly little article about this act of kindness you've just done."
"One of you men could equally write about it," Ulrich suggested. "From the recipient's viewpont."
"But Henry and I both have a relatively warlike aura about us. If we wrote an article about a remembrance of Independence Day, it would be easier for some idiot to dig up and re-use the tedious old cliches about 'violent patriotic fanatics clinging to their guns.' It would be better coming from an Amish author; even Kasim Rasulala never was able to convince himself that _your_ community was plotting a violent mutiny."
Greta Reinhart gestured to some handmade chairs on the grass. "Gentlemen, please have a seat...then close your eyes." When the guests had done so, Ulrich took over: "Although mortal nations and their secular traditions mean little to us Amish, we understand that the memory of an older America means something to you. And you have proven yourselves true friends to our people. So we want to give you a little gift. Keep your eyes closed, and we shall take you on a trip in time, back to when the Fourth of July was celebrated. With your eyes closed, friends--enjoy the fireworks!"
Alipang was almost startled into _opening_ his eyes by what he heard next. It was a banging and popping, as if a Fourth of July fireworks display really were in progress, perhaps a kilometer away. The seeming explosions went on for better than half a minute. At last they fell silent, and Greta said, "Happy Independence Day, brethren; you may open your eyes."
Now Alipang and Henry could see that Ulrich and Greta's children, with other Amish children who had come over from the neighboring farms--the teenage Lydia among them--had been making the noise by inflating and popping a great quantity of plastic bags and lightweight paper bags.
"That was radical!" Henry exclaimed; and Alipang asked, "Where did you get all those bags?"
"A man I trade with had a lot of them," Ulrich explained; "he had turned them up in the cupboards of a condemned house, in the first year of the Enclave. Used some for this and that, but wasn't sure what to do with the rest. Our Esther had the idea to use them for sound effects in just the way the children have now done, to give you gentlemen a treat when we would next see you here. I hope it gave you memories."
"Absolutely," Alipang told him. "General Longstreet Park, my first July Fourth in the United States."
"As for me," said Henry, "it made me remember the one time I was in Phoenix for a July Fourth celebration. Thank you, thank you all."
"It also gives me an idea," Alipang resumed. "Since Hezekiah's article in the paper went over so well, maybe someone among you Amish could write a friendly little article about this act of kindness you've just done."
"One of you men could equally write about it," Ulrich suggested. "From the recipient's viewpont."
"But Henry and I both have a relatively warlike aura about us. If we wrote an article about a remembrance of Independence Day, it would be easier for some idiot to dig up and re-use the tedious old cliches about 'violent patriotic fanatics clinging to their guns.' It would be better coming from an Amish author; even Kasim Rasulala never was able to convince himself that _your_ community was plotting a violent mutiny."
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