From PATHS OF KNAPSACKÂ
The little Knapsack Man was tappin’ someone on the shoulder. The guy he was tappin’ said, “What are you doin’ that for?” Knapsack Man turned his head away and covered his mouth with his hand. “God! I was just tappin’ ya! That ain’t even really doin’ nothin’!” he cried. Since he had his mitten in his mouth, the guy could just barely understand
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mitten lodged all the way in his mouth, and the other mitten tucked under the brim of his hat, so as to cover his eyes. Almost immediately a rather peculiar coincidence happened. At the same time that two highly amused female passengers began laughing this hysterical, shrill laugh, the little knapsack man began to cry-at the very same high pitch! They even stopped at the same time and a brief silence was soon followed by deafening laughter from the whole bus. The bus driver, convulsing with manic, red-faced gasps, had to pull over. Every single pair of eyes was riveted to Knapsack Man. A well-dressed elderly gentleman spoke up in a deep, booming voice. "Good Lord, what have we HERE?" He held his hand out unwaveringly, with his pointing finger aimed at Knapsack Man. This was far, far too much for the little man to take. (Why, often even maintaining ordinary general conversation was far, far, far too great a stress on him!) This, coupled with a lack of sleep lately, caused him to fidget troublesomely.
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His first reaction to it all was to try to laugh along. The laughter died immediately after his first few ha-has. He then pretended to stare at a smudge on the ceiling, but his white, flushed body was shaking too badly. To try to calm his nerves he dropped to his knees in front of the seat and began to chew the upholstery. "Stop him!" someone yelled, and sure enough the bus driver bolted over and kicked the side of Knapsack Man's head. The driver pointed at the seat. There were two holes, several small teethmarks, and it was drenched in saliva. "Make him sit in it!" someone shouted, and automatically the bus driver picked him up and sat him in it. "Now what's your story son?" the driver asked him. Knapsack whipped out a pen and scribbled a crib note. The driver snatched it. The note read: "You will NEVER understand! I must bear the pack." The driver scratched his own head and took a comic double-take.
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"What's it say?" a tall black man in the front asked. The crowd bustled, enthusiastic in its desire to find out. The driver looked over at the black man. He read the note to him. "He bears a pack?" a passenger on the west in the back asked mockingly. As if on cue, the boy Knapsack rose up, eyes forward, and in one smooth, mechanical motion bent over revealing a bulky canvas pack. A woman across from him saw his small pickaxe dangling from the bottom of his backpack/knapsack, and babbled a warning. Everyone heard her clearly. A small child (looking like Nicklaus on 8 is Enough) scampered under the seat, grabbed the axe, and ran to the front of the bus. He ran into the arms of his lumberjack father, who lifted him high, laughing deeply,. Several shouts of hurrah came from all sides. "Next he'd a been sticking us with that small pick like he bit into the seat with his teeth!" the woman across from him cackled. "Naw," the bus driver said, loud and crisply, "Once he gets slapped like a pup, he becomes a nutless wonder." The bus was once again rocking in pandemonious fits of giggles.
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That same remark did something quite different to Knapsack Man-it burned him! It pushed him off his rocker for good. Â His face turned red and he told the whole bus (really the whole world) to "S-h-u-t-u-u-p-p!" He reached back deftly into a small compartment in his knapsack and pulled out an even smaller pickaxe. Seizing the initiative he feinted a chop towards the head of the woman to his left. It missed her head by quite a ways but she still jerked back from it. At this time Knapsack's tongue was hanging out. I mention this because a young photographer for the local paper took a picture of it. It was printed in that afternoon's paper and it drew the attention, the special attention, of a lot of people in town because of how stupid he looked.
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This unexpected confrontation caused a number of curious remarks all at once. A man who was in no great hurry joked that this was better than TV. The bus driver kicked him again, and knapsack's pickaxe flew into his forehead and bounced harmlessly off. The bus driver picked it up. "It's rubber!:" he yelled. "This isn't rubber!" Knapsack yelled back, pulling a small handgun from his boot. "Yes it is!" the bus driver yelled back, grabbing the gun. "Get off this bus," he said evenly. Eagerly Knapsack left. As he was getting out the door he turned to a kid in a T shirt singing, "You are going, we will stay," and gave a final "shut-u-u-p" to him. The bus driver shut the door on his head, and as he tumbled outside, shut the door quickly.
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He flopped headfirst into the snow. Several people on the bus continued to watch his plight as he rolled end over end spilling several contents of his pack, including: a frayed cord, colored pieces of fabric, empty cardboard boxes, a shoehorn, scattered pieces of a puzzle, and three unidentifiable objects wrapped in newspaper. Knapsack sat in the snow motionless as the bus pulled back onto the interstate. Yet a mere thirty yards down the road it pulled back over on the shoulder because a pretty young college girl asked the driver about the three things wrapped in newspaper. "I'll find out!" he assured her. He jumped outside and ran toward sitting knapsack. "It's OK, you can get back on," he reassured him, continuing to walk over near the spilt items. He bent over and picked up the mysterious objects, smiling calmly at Knapsack. "I'm just gonna shake them, it's cool." He then turned and ran back to the bus. "You stay OFF this bus," he warned. The boy nodded OK and picked up the rest of his belongings. As the bus pulled away for the last time he thought an evil thought and smiled wickedly. He fantasized about yelling "shutup" at mega-decibels, shattering glass and bursting eardrums for miles. Knapsack's thoughts cartwheeled into anger. "He will pay for his theft. I swear upon this burden!" He put two praying hands on the pack.
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He prayed for the eventual return of his goods - three ceramic mugs (a cat, a sailor, and a witch face). He didn't care about them much really and forgot about them almost immediately. What he did care about was bringing down the evil ones. "The evil society," he thought, "an organized group of evil masterminds who intend to throw the proverbial monkey wrench! They have a name . . . yet I don't know it!" He strongly felt that the bus driver was in deep with them. He laughed unmercifully at the mere thought of revenge. "But for now," he jested, fitting his pack, "I am just a beast of burden bearing the pack like a weight of indifference on my straining back, neck, and shoulders." So saying he flanked to the right and marched down the hill and towards the darkened forest in the middle of nowhere.
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