The Phantom Tollbooth

"There were at least a thousand musicians ranged in a great arc before them. To the left and right were the violins and cellos, whose bows moved in great waves, and behind them in numberless profusion the piccolos, flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, and tubas were all playing at once. At the very rear, so far away that they could hardly be seen, were the percussion instruments, and lastly, in a long line up one side of a steep slope, were the solemn bass fiddles.

On a high podium in front stood the conductor, a tall, gaunt man with dark deep-set eyes and a thin mouth placed carelessly between his long pointed nose and his long pointed chin. He used no baton, but conducted with large, sweeping movements which seemed to start at his toes and work slowly up through his body and along his slender arms and end finally at the tips of his graceful fingers.

'I don't hear any music,' said Milo.

'That's right,' said Alec; 'you don't listen to this concert--you watch it. Now, pay attention,'

As the conductor waved his arms, he molded the air like handfuls of soft clay, and the musicians carefully followed his every direction.

'What are they playing?' asked Tock, looking up inquisitively at Alec.

'The sunset, of course. They play it every evening, about this time.'

'They do?' said Milo quizzically.

'Naturally,' answered Alec; 'and they also play morning, noon, and night. Why there wouldn't be any color in the world unless they played it. Each instrument plays a different one,' he explained, 'and depending, of course, on what season it is and how the weather's to be, the conductor chooses his score and directs the day.

The last colors slowly faded from the western sky, and, as they did, one by one the instruments stopped, until only the bass fiddles, in their somber slow movement, were left to play the night and a single set of silver bells brightened the constellations. The conductor let his arms fall limply at his sides and stood quite still as darkness claimed the forest.

'That was a very beautiful sunset,' said Milo.

'It should be,' was the reply; 'we've been practicing since the world began.' And, reaching down, the speaker picked Milo off the ground and set him on the music stand. 'I am Chroma the Great,' he continued, gesturing broadly with his hands, 'conductor of color, maestro of piment, and director of the entire spectrum. Now I really must get some sleep.' Chroma yawned. 'Be a good fellow and watch my orchestra till morning, will you? And be sure to wake me at 5:23 for the sunrise. Good night, good night, good night.'

.........

One by one, the hours passed, and at exactly 5:22 Milo carefully opened one eye and, in a moment, the other. Everything was still purple, dark blue, and black, yet scarcely a minute remained to the long, quiet night.

'I must wake Chroma for the sunrise,' he said softly. Then he suddenly wondered what it would be like to lead the orchestra and to color the whole world himself.

And so, as everyone slept peacefully on, Milo stood on tiptoes, raised his arms slowly in front of him, and made the slightest movement possible with the index finger of his right hand. It was now 5:23 AM.

As if understanding his signal perfectly, a single piccolo played a single note and off in the east a solitary shaft of cool lemon light flicked across the sky. Milo smiled happily and then cautiously crooked his finger again. This time two more piccolos and a flute joined in and three more rays of light danced lightly into view. Then with both hands he made a great circular sweep in the air and watched with delight as all the musicians began to play at once.

The cellos made the hills glow red, and the leaves and grass were tipped with a soft pale green as the violins began their song. Only the bass fiddles rested as the entire orchestra washed the forest in color.

Milo was overjoyed because they were all playing for him, and just the way they should."

-The Phantom Tollbooth
by Norton Juster