Banana-Pie’s Banana Pie
by
De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)
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You don’t find seeds in a banana very often. Almost NEVER, in fact. That was what had young Banana-Pie looking at the fruit in his hoof in a very puzzled way. He had nearly cracked a tooth on the hard kernel. Careful checking had revealed six of the strange seeds hidden in this one slightly reddish fruit.
It was a good tasting banana, too. Carefully separating another fruit from the unusually red colored hand of bananas, Banana-Pie checked it carefully. More of the strange seeds. By the end of his testing, he had twenty four of the seeds and a pile of very tasty mushed banana goo.
That, he was pretty sure that knew exactly what to do with.
The kitchen of his apartment filled with flour dust and tasty smells as he made a pie shell and filled it with a banana custard. He topped it with a meringue sprinkled with sweetned coconut flakes and toasted it in a hot oven until the meringue peaks were just browned. Perfect.
He set about tidying up his apartment kitchen while the pie cooled. He reflected that all of those years working in the kitchen of the Trottingham Orphanage had not been wasted. He knew far more about cooking than most ponies his age. It was already standing him in good stead.
A thunderous pounding began on the apartment door. Out in the hall a loud voice shouted, “Open up there, Orphan Boy! I smells something powerful good and I gonna have my due! You doesn’t open it, I gonna buck it open! You knows I will too!”
Banana-Pie did know. That voice was Mortimer, the building supervisor’s nephew and a bully. He had broken the door to steal food before. This time …
Banana-Pie strolled over to a brand new cork board with some job hunting appointments, leads and other suggestions from friends. He opened a BIG box of large Caltrop brand hoof-tacks and scattered them across the carpet between the front door and the kitchen. Just in time, too.
The first hard slam of hind hooves hitting the door made a splintering crash. Banana-Pie called out, “Better stay out, Mortimer! I just spilled something and don’t want you to step in it!”
A second hard crash of splintering door and shattering security chain was accompanied by Mortimer’s sarcastic yell of, “You gonna have my hoof-prints to clean up too!”
A huge, ugly brown draft pony charged past the ruined door.
Mortimer’s squall of pain and the resounding crash as he hit the floor was music to Banana-Pie’s ears. He said without sympathy, “Trying to run and lift all four feet off the floor at the same time doesn’t work very well, Mortimer.”
Mortimer squalled, “You done assault me! I is in yer place! That make me a guest and you done hurt me! What the heck did you go and do to my hooves and side? It hurts like I been stabbed!”
Archly, Banana-Pie replied, “I told you to stay out because I spilled something. Not my fault that you charged right into the mess. It was my new cork-board tacks that I spilled.” As he was speaking, Banana-Pie leaned against the wall. The long unrepaired emergency call button cover fell off, like it had many times before. Turning to look at the building supervisor who had just come to the door, his shoulder “accidentally” pressed the button. The alarm began to clang.
The supervisor snapped, “What is the idea of that, Orphan boy? Don’t you know that you will be bothering the police ponies for nothing!
“Mortimer! Quit laying there, get that snack of Orphan Boy’s and bring it to my office. I’m hungry too!”
Suddenly the Supervisor realized that he was not alone. The alarm had filled the hall with the other residents of the building. Worse, those ponies had all heard him tell Mortimer to swipe food from a tenant.
Turning to the hall full of ponies, he said, “Ain’t what it sound like! Orphan Boy there, done invite us to take that there goodie he done bake up and then he done hurt my nephew somehow when he was coming in to get what was our due!”
A soft but authoritative voice from the shadows behind him asked reasonably, “How did he give you the invitation? The door was deadbolted and chain locked.”
The supervisor did not even look back to see who was talking. He snapped, “Can’t you smell it? Orphan Boy, there done made something smell powerful good. A smell like that is invitation enough!
“'sides that, he gotta pay fer damage done by his guests! That’s in the lease! That door gonna set him back fifty bits! See, Mortimer’s INSIDE the apartment. That make him a guest!”
The reasonable voice pointed out, “Dead bolts and security chains are meant to keep ponies out. The door was broken from the outside of the apartment. Mortimer was NOT a guest when he broke the door.
“The scent of cooking is not an invitation to enter and take food, either. This is a Criminal Forced Entry.”
The supervisor finally looked back enough to see that the hall was crowded between him and the office, too. He snapped, “You can just shut it! Ain’t no crime here! You says it again, and I gonna EVICT you! Got it?”
The calm but authoritative voice said, “Got it. Felony Witness Tampering. Sands, that broken door look familiar? Do you have the Sweet Sundries break-in evidence flier?”
The supervisor turned in rage to the crowd, snapping, “Eviction time! Whoever you is, you got twenty four hours to be gone! Anything left behind is mine! Got it?”
The source of the calm voice stepped out of the shadows of the hallway. A unicorn mare in police uniform. Just behind her was an earth pony somewhat larger than Mortimer. He was in uniform too.
“I hardly think that anyone is going to be evicted from this building, Mr. Supervisor. You are under arrest.
“Sands, what do you think?” The big police pony had a sheet of paper out of his pouch and was comparing pictures on in it to the damage on Banana-Pie’s door.
Sands’ gravely voice replied, “The MO and hoof marks match. See the marks of those three broken iron traction lugs on the left shoe? Only heavy daft shoes and War Horse shoes have those. It matches.”
The mare’s horn bobbed as she nodded. “I thought so. Since they are in plain sight, take a look at Mortimer’s shoes.”
The supervisor said frantically, “This is an unlawful search! Mortimer, tell them to get a warrant and a law pony for you!”
Mortimer gave the supervisor a puzzled look. “Why, Uncle? Momma always said to trust the police and look for them to take me home if I got lost.”
“Drat it, Boy! Them cops going to put you in powerful trouble over this here business! You just shut it!”
Mortimer, refusing to be upset, said, “Maybe the police ponies can take me back to Momma. That is what she said they would do. She said to always trust them.” He held out his hooves to Officer Sands.
“If you want to look at my hooves, Officer, here they are.”
Banana-Pie was listening closely. Reading the Unicorn Mare’s name tag, and he put in, “Sargent Daisythorn? This is my apartment. Something isn’t right here. May speak with Mortimer for a few moments? I think that I know what has happened and, more important, WHY.”
The mare gave him a careful and considering look. “It seems pretty simple to me. A forced entry for the purpose of theft. What more do you think is important?”
Banana-Pie promply replied, “Mortimer’s mental condition. I think that he is at least somewhat simple minded. If so, then whoever told him to break in is the only guilty one.”
The police mare thought that over along with what she had already heard. “You know, that might be the case. He doesn’t seem to be reacting in the usual way for a criminal at all.
“Have you known Mortimer long?”
Banana-Pie sat carefully, to avoid getting tacks in his rump, and replied, “I have known him since I moved here from the Orphanage about six months ago.
“I never thought to put it together before, but we had a few ponies like him at the Orphanage. Some of the other orphan ponies there thought that it was funny to tell them to do bad things. The simple ones would get into trouble because they trusted the ones who told them to do stuff.
“I think that is what is happening here.”
Sargent Daisythorn thought over what she had been hearing and seeing. “You could certainly be right, Mister Banana-Pie. Mortimer will need to be evaluated for his condition before we proceed with him.
“His Uncle is a different matter altogether. We can take him downtown right away. We heard and saw enough to put him away for multiple crimes, including mastermind of the Sweet Sundries Bakery break in.”
She turned to Mortimer again and asked, “Where is your mother, Mortimer? If we can, we will take you to her.”
Mortimer sort of swallowed a big lump in his throat before answering, “I don’t rightly know, Ma'am. We had the Celestia Hills Farm and raise the only bananas around here at all. She get sick and go the the Trottingham General Horsepital.
“I visit her there a bunch of times. Last time I see her, she was really weak. She give me a hug then but I could feel how weak she was.
“They have a thing that look like her in a big box a little later. They said it was her but it wasn’t Mama. I ask for a hug and it didn’t give me no hug. Mama always give me a hug if I ask, so it wasn’t her.” Big tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “I want my Mama back. I want to go back to the farm, and get on with raising our bananas. Can you take me to her, Ma'am? Please?”
Being an orphan himself, Banana-Pie’s heart nearly broke. He offered, “Mortimer, if you can hold still, I will get the tacks out of your hooves. Get up real carefully because there are still tacks on the floor. When you are up, I will get out any stuck to your side.”
Very gently, he asked, “Mortimer, do you play with puzzles?”
The supervisor interrupted, with a curled lip, “Boy’s too stupid to figure out that his mama is dead!”
Banana-Pie looked up in irritation and said, “No sir. He is not. He just needs help to understand what has happened.”
While he and the supervisor were having that exchange, Sargent Daisythorn’s horn was giving a slight yellow glow and her writing kit was busy. She floated the resulting papers over to the supervisor.
“Sir, you wanted warrants? Here they are. That is Judge Cold Mountain’s authorized signature formally signed by remote magical transmission.
“You are under arrest for being the mastermind of the Sweet Sundries break in and multiple felony witness tampering by threat of eviction. You are also charged with masterminding the break in to Mr. Banana-Pie’s apartment and other charges to be presented after reviewing statements from the other tennants.”
The supervisor stood thunderstruck and then tried to struggle. It was no use. A thin line of yellow unicorn magic was holding his hooves to the floor. Sands produced a heavy set of iron fetters and secured the supervisor’s legs. The yellow magic, no longer needed, vanished.
Just then, Motimer asked, “Sargent, Miss? Was Uncle wrong about invitations because of good smell? I smell the bakery invite every time I go by. Uncle he say to go around back and go in that way, so that is what I done.
“We still got two big boxes of the donuts and things. I can give them to you if it will help any. Uncle, he say it was OK and Mama tell me to do what he say last time I see her.”
Sargent Daisythorn’s eyes showed the brightness of unshed tears. Very gently, she said, “Yes, Mortimer, your uncle was wrong about that. Showing us where those donuts are will be a big help.
“I have been asking questions over the police magic net. I am sorry. You can’t go back to the farm. Your uncle sold the land. It was cleared for building a development.”
Mortimer sat and wept. “All my good plantains? My bananas? All gone? What about my banana seeds?”
His uncle snapped, “Bananas don’t have seeds, you simpleton! There was no banana trees anywhere on the danged farm!”
Banana-Pie glanced toward his kitchen.
Mortimer looked up and his lip curled. “Of course there was no trees, Uncle! I tell you a hundred time at least, bananas don’t grow on trees! They is a kind of plantain, not a tree at all! How can you be so dumb as to keep yapping about trees?
“As for the seeds, only Celestia Sunrise bananas got them. They was a blight on South Horse Island wiped out the Celestia Sunrise line. Mama had the only ones left. They only grows a few seeds a year. The plantains growed from the seeds is the hardy ones that can live in this climate. Cuttings don’t do as well.”
Banana-Pie sadly asked, “Mortimer, I had a reason to ask about puzzles. Do you play with them?”
Knitting his brow, Mortimer replied, “I did. I had a real complicated one with over twenty pieces. Mama give it to me.” His brow clouding over with anger, he pointed to his now fettered uncle. “Clumsy hoof, there, he done break one of the pieces and now my puzzle ruined. The picture is bust.”
Banana-Pie said softly, “That happens to ponies too, sometimes. If we get sick or hurt, most times we can get better, like fixing a broken puzzle piece. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, the piece can’t be fixed and the pony can’t be alive any more. It is like a ruined puzzle.
“That is what happened to your Mama. They tried to fix what was wrong with her but they couldn’t. She did not want to leave you, but no pony knows how to fix it when we die. We stop being a pony if that happens.
“You were right that what was left in the big box thing was not your Mama. It was what was left of her. Something broke in her and she stopped being alive. That is what we mean by saying that she died.”
Mortimer bit his lip and tears welled up. At last, he whispered, “Thank you for telling me what happened. Nopony other ever tell me.
“Now, I guess that I got nothing at all. Mama is gone. Our farm and my banana plantains. It is all gone. What can I do now?”
Banana-Pie brightened up and said, “Maybe not, Mortimer. You sound really smart about growing things. How do you know if a banana will have seeds or not?”
Mortimer gave Banana-Pie a long look and replied, “Only a few bananas a year got them. They is a reddish color. We saved them special. But it is no use now. They is all gone.”
Banana-Pie smiled and said, “I think that you need to come into my kitchen, Mortimer. I have something there besides a pie.”
“Ain’t you afraid I’ll take your pie, Mister Banana-Pie?”
“Not now that you know that it is wrong, Mortimer.”
They ambled into Banana-Pie’s kitchen and he said, “Look in my trash there, Mortimer. I bought the last hand of bananas in the store.”
Rummaging the trash, Mortimer exclaimed, “They was red ones! Did you find any seeds?”
Banana-Pie replied companionably, “Twenty four of them. When the police ponies are done with all the things that they need to do, would you like to work with me and teach me to grow them? I know some ponies down in Ponyville that might help us to get some land and start a shop.”
–THE END–
Author's Note
Banana Pie's Banana Pie was written at the request of Ask Banana Pie, on Tumblr, using background information supplied by him.
He wanted an Origin Story for his OC, Banana Pie.
The tale has been popular on my blog and his. I hope that you enjoy it too.
