N athaniel Inkblotter and the goose decided to go looking for Magic Goose Land together. When he got over being terrified, Nathaniel Inkblotter was very happy to meet a magic goose. He also liked that my name was Seymour, like the boy in his book. We sat in the little kitchen of his trailer and had grape juice in glasses with cartoons on them.
“When will we start looking for Magic Goose Land?” the goose asked.
“We will leave at once,” Nathaniel Ink-blotter said. “We will go in my car, we will pull the trailer with us, and we will find Magic Goose Land if it takes until next October!”
We had one more glass of grape juice, and Nathaniel Inkblotter gave me an autographed copy of his new book, Seymour and the Talking Electric Waffle Iron. Then they drove me home.
When we got to my house, the goose came with me to the kitchen door. Nathaniel Inkblotter waited in the car.
“I will be going now,” the goose said. “Good-bye.”
“Will you come back?”
“Maybe,” said the goose. “Maybe not. Here. You can have this.”
The goose gave me something.
“What is this?”
“A present.”
It was a green plastic pickle.
“Blow it,” said the goose.
I blew it. It made a sound like the wind whistling through the goose’s wings.
“It’s a whistle!” I said.
“Yep.”
“Is it magic?” I asked.
“Well, you got it from a magic goose.”
“That’s true.”
“I’m going,” said the goose. “Thanks for the cornflakes soup.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for the goose-back ride and the pickle whistle. I hope you and Nathaniel Inkblotter find Magic Goose Land.”
“Good-bye, kid.”
“Good-bye, goose.”
I went into the house. I washed the dishes we had used when we made cornflakes soup. I went back to my room. I looked at the pickle whistle.
A magic goose gave me this, I thought.
Nathaniel Inkblotter might write a story, I thought. He might call it Seymour, the Magic Goose, and the Green Plastic Pickle Whistle.
Then I went to sleep.