The golden grasshopper

A short story by Russell Hoban

The golden grasshopper hung from a black • iron bracket over the door of a bank. He was not made of gold really — he was gilded metal, brass or tin perhaps. But he was remarkably handsome. He was freshly gilded twice a year, and he glittered in the morning sun and shone dimly golden In the evening lamplight on the street.

The local pigeons and sparrows often chatted to him, and they always told him where they had been and where they were going. " There's a great deal to see and do," they said, "and it's quite astonishing that you should hang about here all the time. Isn't it dull for you? "

"I am not one of those who hop from place to place," said the grasshopper. "You have no responsibilities, I suppose, and so you are free to travel. But I have my work to do. I am needed here, and here I stay."

"And just what is your work, if one may ask?" said a sparrow. " There's a great deal more to it than meets the eye," said the grasshopper. " In fact there's so much to it that I myself don't understand the whole of it. I believe that I stand for something."

"Hang for something, you mean," said a pigeon.

"While I hang I stand for something," said the grasshopper. " I am golden and I do not hop. I believe that is what I stand for: this is a place where people keep their gold and it does not hop. So whenever people passing in the street look up and see me they are reminded of that, and put their gold in this bank." By the time the grasshopper had finished speaking the sparrows and the pigeons had flown away, but the grasshopper was well pleased with what he had said even though only he had listened to it–He hung there through the business of the morning, thinking about what he stood for.

Early in the afternoon a man who was passing the bank stopped and looked up at the grasshopper.

"That's right," said the grasshopper to himself. "Now he'll put his gold in my bank. That's as it should be."

The man walked into the bank, and the grasshopper heard him speaking to the cashier at the first window. "Can you tell me," said the man, "anything about that grasshopper over your door?"

"What he stands for, you mean?" said the cashier.

"That's right," said the man.

" I'll ask the manager," said the cashier. "It's, something I've wondered about myself." In a few minutes she came back to the window. " The manager doesn't know," she said. "He doesn't think the grasshopper stands for anything. We've just always had a grasshopper over the doors" "Odd sort of sign for a bank," said the man. " I mean, you know, one expects money to stay where one puts it and grasshoppers to hop."

" Quite," said the cashier. "It's contrary to nature, in a way," said the man. He went out, looked up at the grasshopper once more, and walked off down the street.

" Well! " said the grasshopper to himself. "So much for years of loyal service! I don't stand for anything, don't 1!

I certainly won't stand for that!" He hung there paying no attention to anyone through the afternoon and into the evening. When the clock on the nearby church struck midnight the golden grasshopper shook himself loose from the iron bracket and hopped down to the pavement. Then he hopped off down the quiet street. He came to a public house, and there over the door he saw a golden cockerel standing on the top of the signboard. "What do you stand for?" said the grasshopper. "Beer and ale," said the cockerel.

"What do you stand for?" "I am looking for a position at the moment," said the grasshopper. "There are some things I won't stand for, yoll see." "You can stop here for a while and stand for beer and ale with me if you like," said the cockerel.