Beans on the Roof (2 page)

Anna stopped. “That’s all I’ve got so far, Mama,” she said. “I have to think of something that rhymes with too.”

“Goo, boo, cuckoo,” said George.

“Do your own poem,” Anna said.

“I did!”

“The cat poem does not count. If you can’t do a roof poem, you have to go down
stairs, and write at the table. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

George said quickly, “My cat poem was a practice poem. Now I will do my real poem. It will be a roof poem.”

To himself he said, And it will be the best roof poem in the whole world. It will even be better than Anna’s.

He turned his paper over. He twirled his pencil. He bit it. He admired his teeth prints in the wood.

He closed his eyes to think.

George got up. “I need a break,” he told Anna. “This is hard work.”

George walked to the side of the roof. He looked over the wall.

His sister Jenny was on the sidewalk below. Jenny was jumping rope.

Instead of “Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear,” Jenny was saying:

George yelled, “Jelly Bean! Look where I am!”

“Time out,” Jenny said. She stopped jumping and looked up at the roof of her apartment building.

George said, “Hello down there.”

Jenny said, “String, is that you on the roof?”

George said, “It’s not Santa Claus.”

Jenny said, “String Bean, you know we are not allowed on the roof. I’m going to tell Mama.”

Jenny ran upstairs and into the kitchen.

“Mama!”

“Don’t shout, Jenny,” Mrs. Bean said.

“I have to shout! You have to hear this! String is playing on the roof!”

Mrs. Bean said, “Jenny, I asked you not to call your brother String.”

“I forgot. I’ll start over. George is playing on the roof.”

“That’s better. Both George and Anna are on the roof, Jenny, but they are not playing.”

“They aren’t?”

“No.”

“Then what are they doing?”

“They are writing roof poems.”

Jenny’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t know they could write roof poems, Mama.”

“Yes, they can.”

“George too?”

“George is trying. The only place a Bean can write roof poems is on the roof.”

“Can I go up and write a poem?” Jenny asked quickly.

Jenny held her breath. After she wrote her poem, she would recite it for the rabbits.
And the pigeons. It would be like a play! She was sure the rabbits and the pigeons had never seen a play.

“Oh, I guess so,” Mrs. Bean said. “But it has got to be a roof poem. Otherwise, you write at the table.”

“It will be a roof poem,” said Jenny. “That is a promise.” She crossed her heart.

“And don’t bother Anna.”

“I won’t. That’s another promise.”

“Or the pigeons or the rabbits.”

“I won’t. That’s—” Jenny stopped. “Does that mean I can’t say my poem for them?”

“Well …”

“Please, Mama, they never get to hear poems.”

“All right.”

Jenny stopped at the door. “And, Mama …”

“What?”

“Thank you very, very much.”

Jenny ran up the steps. She pushed open the door. She stepped out on the roof. She took a breath of good roof air.

Sheets snapped in the wind. Pigeons cooed. Rabbits hopped. Jenny smiled.

“I’m here, everybody,” she said. “Mama says I can write a roof poem too!”

“It’s not easy,” George warned.

Jenny ran to the edge of the roof. She called to her friends, “I can’t jump rope anymore. I have to write a poem. Bye!”

Then she sat down between Anna and George.

She said to George, “I love it up here. I am on top of the world.”

She said to Anna, “This was a wonderful idea, Anna. I love being on the roof.”

Anna frowned. She said, “Jenny, I thought you came up here to write a poem.”

“I did.”

“Then write it.”

“I did.”

“You’ve already written your poem?” George asked in surprise.

George’s cat poem had come fast. His roof poem had not come at all.

“Yes,” said Jenny. “Do you want to hear it?”

“I do,” George said quickly.

“Here goes,” Jenny said:

“It’s short,” George said.

“I like short poems,” Jenny said.

“But it doesn’t rhyme.”

“It does when I say it,” Jenny said.

Jenny was missing two front teeth. She said her poem again to show that it did rhyme:

Then she said, “See?”

Anna said, “Yes. Now stop bothering me.”

Jenny got up. She went over to the rabbit cage. She said, “Want to hear my poem, rabbits? You too, pigeons?”

George said, “Mama said not to bother the rabbits and the pigeons.”

“I’m reciting a poem for them. That is not bothering them.” She grinned. “Come on, String, you can be my announcer.”

“Oh, all right.” George got up. He said to Anna, “I’ll do my poem later.” Then he went to the cages.

“Announce it the way they do on the radio, String. Say—”

“I know what to say. I listen to the radio too.” George cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen!”

“It would be better if you said, Rabbits and—”

George said, “Rabbits and gentlemen!”

“Not Rabbits and gentlemen! String, you’re making me laugh. I won’t be able to say my poem. Rabbits and pigeons!”

“Oh, all right! But this is the last time I’m doing it. Rabbits and pigeons! Here is a Bean saying a poem!”

“Thank you.” Jenny Bean stepped forward. She said:

“String!” a voice called. It was Frankie at the window across the street. “What are you guys doing on the roof?”

Jenny called back, “Oh, Frankie, we’re having so much fun. We’re making up poems.”

“Don’t tell him that!” George said. “Don’t—” He broke off. He went and sat down by Anna. His face was red.

Frankie said, “String is writing a po-em? String, can I hear your po-em?”

George didn’t answer.

“Can I come over and do a po-em?”

Mrs. Bean heard Frankie. She stuck her head out the window. “No, Frankie, you can’t come over. Only Beans on the roof.”

Frankie said, “Yes, Mrs. Bean.”

“And,” Mrs. Bean went on, “the word is poem, Frankie. Not po-em.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bean.” Frankie moved back from the window. Mrs. Bean did too.

Suddenly Jenny said, “Mama!”

“What? What happened?”

Mrs. Bean put her head out the window again.

“Nothing happened—I just had a wonderful idea. I want you to come up on the roof and write a poem.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Why, I could never write a poem. I didn’t even get to finish school.”

“Come on, Mama,” George said. “I will help you, and you can help me.”

“Yes, Mama, please try,” Anna said.

Mrs. Bean said, “Oh, all right.”

She came up the stairs, wiping her hands on her apron.

Mrs. Bean stepped on the roof. She went over to the clothesline. She felt her clothes to see if they were dry. Then she sat down with Jenny, George, and Anna. She looked up at the sky. She smiled.

“I’ve got mine,” she said.

“Already?” asked George.

“Yes. Do you want to hear it?”

“Of course, Mama,” said Anna.

“Please,” said Jenny.

“I guess so,” said George.

“Well, if you really want to.” Mrs. Bean stood up. “Here it is.”

Mrs. Bean sat down. “It’s not a great poem,” she said, “but it is a true one.”

“It is a beautiful poem, Mama,” Anna said.

“Very, very beautiful,” said Jenny.

“I liked it too,” George admitted.

Now, George thought, I am the only Bean in the whole world who does not have a roof poem.

“Beans! Yoo-hoo! Where are you?”

It was Mr. Bean. He was home from the store. Mr. Bean sold fruit and vegetables.

“Sam,” Mrs. Bean called back. “we’re up here on the roof.”

“The roof?”

Mr. Bean came up the stairs.

“Yes, Sam. We’ve been saying roof poems. Please come up and say one. It’s so much fun.”

Mr. Bean stuck his head out the door.

“Yes, Papa,” said Anna, “I would love to hear you say a roof poem.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Bean. “I don’t want to say a roof poem. I want to sing one.”

Mr. Bean had a good singing voice. He sang along with the radio at night.

“That would be wonderful, Papa,” Anna said.

“Oh, yes, Papa, please sing one,” Jenny said.

“I want to hear it too,” George said. He hoped it would give him an idea.

Mr. Bean came out on the roof.

Jenny said, “Wait, Papa. You want George to announce you?”

George groaned. “Please don’t make me do any more announcing.”

Mr. Bean smiled. “I will announce my-self. Here is Sam Bean singing a song for his beautiful children.”

Mr. Bean held out his hands as if they were full of gifts. Then he put one hand over his heart.

“Oh, Sam,” said Mrs. Bean.

When Mr. Bean put one hand over his heart, he really meant what he was saying.

Mr. Bean stood taller. He said again, “For my beautiful children.”

He cleared his throat and sang:

“Sam!” said Mrs. Bean.

Her cheeks got pink.

“Not so loud, Papa,” said Anna. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking out the window.

George glanced at Frankie’s window.

“Why not?” said Mr. Bean. “It is true.”

Mrs. Bean’s cheeks got pinker. She jumped up.

“We have been out here long enough,” she said. She hid her smile with her hand. “I have got to get supper.”

Mrs. Bean started for the door.

“I will help, love,” Mr. Bean said.

“Me too,” said Jenny.

“I’ll set the table,” said Anna.

Mrs. Bean turned. “But, Anna, don’t you want to finish your poem?”

“I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“George, are you coming?” Jenny asked.

“In a minute,” George said.

George felt terrible. He really was the only Bean without a roof poem.

He sat down. He closed his eyes.

Then he tried it with his eyes open. He tried crossing his legs. He tried lying down and looking up at the sky.

Nothing worked.

The sheets blew in the wind. The pigeons cooed. The rabbits hopped.

It started getting dark. George started getting cold.

“George,” his mother called.

“What?”

“Come in now. Supper’s almost ready.”

“I haven’t got my roof poem.” George’s voice shook a little.