The Pumpkin Choir on the Windowsill

Only eighteen days until Halloween. Three pumpkins made from stiff paper lay on the low garden table. Flauschi had drawn a green stalk on each one. The first wore a broad grin, the second had a round, surprised mouth, and the third smiled a little crookedly. “That one looks like our real pumpkin,” said Puschel. At the other end of the table lay the whole pumpkin with its pale crescent mark. Today, only the paper was getting new faces.

Flauschi stood the three paper pumpkins in the wide groove of a small, smooth wooden strip. It held them upright. “We can put the strip on the windowsill later,” she said. “Then the faces will look in at us.” Puschel studied the row. “They look as if they want to say something.” “What would they say?” He leaned a little towards the broad grin. “This one wants to hum.”

Puschel hummed a low, cosy note. For the pumpkin with the surprised mouth, he tried a high note. The crooked smile received a short, bouncy hum. Flauschi listened and gently bobbed one paw. “Now we have a pumpkin choir.” “With three singers and one Puschel,” he said happily.

Then he wanted to introduce all three in turn. He pointed to the broad grin and hummed a very high note. The surprised mouth received the low one. Puschel paused. “Oh. The voices are the wrong way round.” Flauschi looked behind the paper row. “The pumpkins are the right way round.” “Then I mixed them up in my head.” He gently tapped his forelock. “There’s a lot of choir traffic in here today.”

They both giggled. Flauschi slowly pointed from one face to the next. Puschel gave each one its first voice again. This time it worked. “Can a big pumpkin have a little voice too?” she asked. Puschel nodded. “Of course. And a little one can have a low voice.” They swapped the voices once more. On purpose. Suddenly the choir sounded quite different, although the faces had stayed the same.

“Would you like to hum along?” asked Puschel. “Today I would rather listen,” said Flauschi. “Then you’re our audience.” She did not have to clap or play a part. She simply stayed beside him and smiled. Puschel hummed softly enough that they could still hear the autumn leaves rustling between the notes.

When the rehearsal was over, they carried the strip together to the low windowsill. Both stayed on the floor. The paper pumpkins stood securely and looked into the room. There was no need to open the window. Puschel looked at the crooked singer. “He’s singing very quietly now.” “And we can still imagine his voice,” said Flauschi. Outside, the real pumpkin stayed whole. Inside, three little paper faces waited for the next concert, whenever they felt like one.