For a job as big as celebrating the Centennial of the Founding of the Veggie House, Mayor Archibald had decided to pull out the big guns — confetti cannons, a colorful parade with a best-float contest, fireworks, prizes, speeches, and an award ceremony. To add the cherry to this patriotic sundae, he called the League of Veggies — the city's band of mysterious superheroes — to his office to discuss utilizing them in the festivities. The six stupendous supers stood in formation in front of his desk: Larry-Boy, their fearless cucumber leader with amazing plungers in his helmet; SuperMato, his second-in-command; the prodigious youngsters, Junior Jetpack and Night Pony; the well-meaning, ever loyal JimmyBoy, and their latest recruit, Motato.
Archibald held up an old portrait of a stern-looking zucchini, evidently a relative of Ichabeezer.
"The town's founders left their overcrowded grocery stores," he recited dramatically, "loaded their wives and children into U-Haul covered wagons, and, after an arduous journey, finally reached this House. They chased off the dust bunnies, converted the Furniture into homes, and here we are, basking in the rays of their accomplishments."
The League promised to do their best and help wherever they were needed.
"Excellent!" Archibald smiled. "Petunia will give you your schedules."
Petunia Rhubarb, the mayor's assistant and campaign manager, was happy to work alongside the League, and she shyly asked for a hand with one of her assignments. She owned a flower shop in the downtown area of the Living Room and would be donating many floral arrangements that would be distributed during the various ceremonies. She needed some help, however, with finishing the project and making sure no one tried to steal the flowers, like last year.
"To be fair," Motato spoke up, matter-of-factly, "last year, I hated the lot of you, so it seemed like a good idea to steal the flowers and genetically alter them into monsters to destroy LarryBoy. No offense," he added, turning to his former opponent.
The cucumber chuckled good-naturedly. "Man, it's actually kinda funny to remember all that stuff now that you're not trying to take over the planet."
Motato at once volunteered to help Petunia, wanting to make amends for his prior villainy. After the meeting concluded, he followed the young rhubarb into the elevator at the side of the Fireplace Mantle where city hall sat.
"Always happy to help my friends," Motato declared with a sincere smile when she thanked him.
In appearance, Motato had altered very little in the past few months. His long, trimmed mustache, the so-called appurtenance of supervillainy, remained above his lip. The green-and-blue striped suit with the wide collar and a pendant of the letter M (which he had once regarded as imposing regalia befitting a cruel dictator) continued to be his everyday clothing. Even so, one had only to look at his mismatched eyes and wide smile to see an internal change had overtaken him. A happy light seemed to radiate from his face, so much so that even his serrated teeth no longer frightened small children when he gave a delighted laugh.
They reached the courtyard across the street from city hall, where busy veggies strung up colorful pennants crisscrossed over the green Carpet, fragrant wreaths of flowers on doors, and patriotic signs in shop windows. Some paused to wave at Motato, looking in awe at their hero, and Motato straightened himself with an air of happy dignity.
"Carry on, good citizens!" he called.
"Okay!" answered one of the carrots.
Petunia grinned at Motato, stepping back to let him into her house. "You're making a lot of friends now, huh?"
"Yes, isn't it fantastic?" He laughed, feeling like a kid invited to a birthday party at an amusement park. (Motato liked birthdays now.) "I do believe I could get used to it."
"And you'll have plenty of chances to make more friends at the festival," she pointed out, leading the way up the spiral steps to her conservatory which doubled as her shop.
Motato waited to the side while Petunia assembled the supplies for the wreaths, and he perused a nearby shelf, which she had loaded with her favorite flowers and a few framed photographs.
One picture in particular caught his attention. It showed Petunia and Madame Blueberry standing on either side of an enormous radish, almost as large as LarryBoy. Leafy hair hung over his red forehead beneath a blue mortarboard hat, and a long, thin tail peeked out from beneath his blue graduation gown.
Motato felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, but he did not — could not — tear his glum eyes from the happy photo. He almost did not hear Petunia come over to him, curious to see what had captured his attention.
"Oh, that's a photo of Randall receiving his GED," Petunia smiled. "He worked so hard to earn it."
Again, Motato scanned the smiling features of the large radish. The big eyes had an intelligent, kind, almost puppy-like look which would have made Motato scowl in his villain days, but now the reformed potato nodded to himself with understanding.
"Randee was a lot smarter than even I gave him credit for," Motato commented, feeling a surge of fatherly pride.
"He prefers 'Randall' these days, actually," Petunia corrected politely.
"Right. Force of habit," Motato replied with a sheepish twitch of his mustache. "A name like 'Radish of Awfulness, No-goodness, Doing badness, and Engaging in Evilness' doesn't exactly suit a good guy, now does it?"
Randee had been Motato's most advanced work in bioengineering. At the time, Motato had intended him to be a super weapon, but he hadn't counted on his creation having free will. Randee had completely rejected evil — and Motato — because he loved his new friends too much to let harm fall on them.
Motato had similarly disowned his monster, downright terrified to be on the receiving end of Randee's raw power, but ever since his redemption, Motato's thoughts had turned more and more to his young creature.
The closest thing I'll probably have to a child of my own, he had considered, more than once.
Motato quietly returned the photo to the shelf.
"I'm glad he did escape my influence," he admitted. "He saw the light, years before I did."
Petunia gave him a sympathetic and encouraging grin. "Now that you're good, maybe you should go visit him? He's attending college in the big Orange House next door."
Motato twitched his mustache again.
"Does he… know I changed my ways?"
Petunia suddenly turned to one of her flower pots, adjusting it.
"I mentioned it in an email."
"And…?"
"He hasn't responded yet," she said simply, but she did not meet his eyes. "Then again, Randall has a lot of classes this semester, so he might have forgotten to reply."
"Ah."
He quickly changed the subject.
Outside her blue teapot house on the side of the Kitchen Island, Madame Blueberry carefully clipped the lush hedges which marked the border of her narrow front yard. Just as she coaxed the corners into an even shape, a hum of wind and wheels rose from the direction of the Kitchen Door. Madame Blueberry looked up to see a long bus heading down the street. To her surprise, it hissed to a stop right in front of her house. Through the bus windows she caught a glimpse of something red moving toward the front. Soon, the bus rolled gently forward, and all that was left was a grinning radish with a suitcase crossing the street towards her.
Madame Blueberry laid her clippers on the grass and bolted forward, feeling a rush of motherly warmth.
"Randall!" she cried. "You dear thing, what are you doing here?"
"Surprise!" he cried in his sweet-tempered, gravelly voice. He caught her up as she neared and pulled her into a bear hug.
Grabbing his suitcase, Madame Blueberry ushered her friend into her house and into the kitchen, promptly locating the kettle to make tea. The large radish felt like a legitimate member of Madame Blueberry's family, and she easily went into hostess mode to accommodate him.
"Tell me everything!" she grinned, laying a plate of cookies in front of him. "What's been happening since your last letter, dear?"
Randall often spoke in short, careful sentences, but now words bubbled from his smiling lips.
"I've made lots more friends, and I'm still playing the piano, and on amateur night at this cafe I get to perform, and people like me!"
"How delightful!"
"And I wanted to take German II, but it was canceled due to not having enough students sign up. Then I started using Triolingo to help me learn until I can try again next semester. Das geht!" he demonstrated, like a little kid showing his mother his latest fingering-painting masterpiece.
"Wonderful, dear!" Madame Blueberry praised. "Why, you're becoming a well-rounded vegetable day by day!"
"Thanks to you and Petunia, Madame," he answered, beaming.
"Our pleasure," Madame Blueberry declared. "Oh, speaking of Petunia, instead of having tea, why don't we go collect her and grab some lunch? She'll be delighted to see you."
Randall brightened further, looking like a kid brother who couldn't wait to reunite with his older sister.
"That will be most wonderful, Madame!"
Great progress had been made on the wreaths. Petunia hummed in her pretty way while she worked, and Motato harmonized with her, forming a pretty nice duet. Motato had just attached a royal-blue ribbon to his current wreath of red and white roses when the store bell jingled, signaling the front door had opened. Voices arose below, familiar but muffled, and veggie footfalls climbed the spiral steps. Madame Blueberry appeared first. She took a few steps in, scanning the conservatory.
"Oh, there you are, Petunia! And there's Mr. Mot—" she stopped short, drawing back. "Oh, dear…"
"What's wrong?" Motato asked, concerned.
Madame Blueberry looked helplessly from Motato to the person mounting the stairs behind her, but it was too late to stop the inevitable. A huge radish reached the landing. His excited face shone, and he opened his mouth when he saw Petunia, but at once his gaze shifted, falling on the potato across the work table from her. He stiffened in alarm.
Motato's mismatched eyes bulged. He hopped off his chair and took a tiny step forward.
"Randee?" he cried. "Is that really you?"
The shock disappeared from the radish's face, and his large eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Mo… ta… to!"
Mayor Archibald had kept LarryBoy and SuperMato at city hall, wanting to go over various details of the opening ceremonies. The mayor showed them colorful maps and had precise details about who should stand where, and when was the best time for LarryBoy to say a few words to the crowd, and could the League of Veggies perhaps encourage constituents in a not-so-obvious-but-not-too-subtle way to vote for Archibald Asparagus in the next election?
LarryBoy did his best to scribble notes (he could usually focus better when he was in costume), but as Archibald started outlining the flight plans for LarryBoy and Junior Jetpack's "air tattoo" (which was apparently Archie talk for "air show where LarryBoy got to do cool moves with his jetpack"), the cucumber's ears picked up a sudden, rather familiar sound.
"Is somebody screaming?" LarryBoy asked, lowering his legal pad.
"Oh, dear!" Archibald cried in alarm.
As one, LarryBoy and SuperMato zipped to the edge of the mantle, scanning the cityscape of the Living Room. The sensors on LarryBoy's yellow visor blinked like a Christmas tree, at last spotting sporadic movements across the street in the courtyard. The visor enhanced the image like a telescope, and LarryBoy spotted two bulky figures dashing in and out of shops and under the Coffee Table.
LarryBoy gasped, recognizing the one in obvious distress.
"Motato's being chased by a giant radish!"
SuperMato bolted upright. "We gotta help him!"
LarryBoy at once ignited his jet pack and grabbed his buddy's invisible hand without even a goodbye nod to the mayor (but of course, Archie understood the necessity of their departure, because he was cool like that).
Zooming toward their distressed comrade, LarryBoy's visor locked onto Motato, who fled at a speed to put a gazelle to shame, but the red blur behind him gave no quarter, not caring if he barreled into traffic. A string of pennants trailed behind the enraged vegetable, tangled with damaged flowers and other debris from the once pristine courtyard. Worker veggies leapt out of the radish's unrelenting warpath. Poor Motato's screams echoed across the veggie buildings and giant Furniture.
"Stop! Stop, I say! Oh, why didn't I install a self-destruct button on him— no, no, no! I didn't mean it like that! Look, Randee, I'm a hero now—AUGH! Help! Mommy!"
"Wait, did he just say 'Randee'?" SuperMato cried over the roar of the wind whistling around them. "As in Randall?"
"Randall?" LarryBoy repeated in disbelief. "You mean Motato's monster who Petunia and Madame B. sent off to college?"
As if in response, two desperate, feminine voices joined in the cacophony of the chase. A round, blue figure and a tall, red-headed green one helplessly tried to catch the radish's attention. They were not fast enough to pursue their friend and had to settle for shouting from the sidewalk in front of Petunia's shop.
"Randall, no! Motato wasn't hurting Petunia! He was helping her!"
"Stop, Randall, please! Motato's not a villain anymore!"
"Gentlemen don't jump into a blind rage and attack superheroes! It's just rude!"
Horror dawned on SuperMato's masked face, "Oh, we gotta help Motato before Randall does something he'll regret!"
"On it!"
LarryBoy swooped them closer, just in time for Motato to burst out of the ice-cream store.
"Stop! I'm good now!" he wailed, attempting to flee toward the white gazebo. "Just let me explain!"
He had hardly uttered this plea when the lumbering figure of Randall cannoned into the courtyard. Normally, the big guy was quiet and friendly, the model of a rehabilitated vegetable, but the guttural snarls issuing from his wide mouth made him sound like a frenzied animal. Motato had originally created Randall as a Frankenstein-like weapon to take out LarryBoy, but now it seemed that once again Randall's murderous impulses were directed toward his creator.
LarryBoy and SuperMato touched ground and immediately sprang into action.
As Motato passed him, SuperMato leapt between the potato and Randall, hunkering himself down like a linebacker. LarryBoy, meanwhile, shot one suction cup at Randall's back, striking the radish square between his shoulders — and at the same time he shot the suction cup at the high side of the Coffee Table.
Randall did not seem to notice either hero, dead set on catching his creator. He barreled forward, causing LarryBoy's cords to go taut. The hero rose in the air from the force, and he jerked his head in time to start the reeling process on his helmet, but Randall kept plowing on.
SuperMato was ready, catching Randall at the front and pushing the radish back. With the combined work of the heroes, Randall was forced to slow, but he struggled like a cat at a vet's office. With Randall somewhat stationary, Petunia and Madame Blueberry were at last able to rush over and grab their friend on either side.
"There, there," Madame Blueberry soothed him. "Deep breaths, dear."
"Randall, we're safe," Petunia pleaded. "Motato doesn't hurt people anymore. Honest!"
"Easy, buddy," SuperMato joined in. "That's right. Think happy thoughts. Tea cups and dinner parties with Madame B. and Petunia."
Bit by bit, Randall's frenzy seemed to come under control, but he continued to pant and snort like a leashed dog trying to nab a squirrel.
"Motato can't hurt Randall's friends," he growled. "Randall keep Petunia and Madame safe forever."
"He wouldn't dream of it, Randall," Petunia answered cheerfully, giving him a sisterly squeeze. "Motato rescues people now. He even destroyed his villain's lair because he wanted to turn his life around."
"He's completely repented of his old life," Madame Blueberry chimed in. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, dear."
Randall grew a little more still, seeming to return from whatever place his blind rage had sent him. He remained tense, but after a few moments, SuperMato checked his face, then nodded to LarryBoy.
LarryBoy expertly snapped his head, causing both suction cups to release. He ignited his jetpack mid-drop and zoomed over to the gazebo, where Motato continued to cower, watching Randall through the white balusters of the railing.
"Motato has been helping Petunia get ready for the centennial festival," LarryBoy told him. "Everything's okay. Don't worry, buddy."
He motioned for his potato friend to emerge from his hiding spot. Motato hesitated before he took a few creeping hops. His mismatched eyes remained glued on his rigid creation.
"Heeey, there, Randee—I mean, Randall. Randall. Long time no see."
With a forced, friendly laugh, he dared to take a few more steps forward, but Randall's long nose flared, bringing his creator to a quick halt. Motato gulped, smiling weakly.
"Never thought we'd meet again on the same side, eh, son? But your papa potato is on the straight and narrow now. I even fight alongside LarryBoy. Wild, huh?"
"It's true," LarryBoy supplied. "He's a great hero now. And a great friend."
"Heh, heh, thank you" — with a slight nod to LarryBoy, before he leveled his gaze with Randall again. "Since you're back in town, why don't I treat you to some ice cream, and we'll catch up? My father used to take me to get ice cream when I was a small fry…"
He gave Randall a hopeful look.
Randall averted his eyes in disgust and shrugged off the other vegetables holding him, taking a few steps back.
"Randall?" Petunia watched him carefully.
His long nose jerked with another animalistic snort. For a heartbeat it looked like he would charge at Motato again, but then he spun and stormed off.
Hours later, no one could find Randall. The League of Veggies, along with Madame Blueberry and Petunia, had divided into search parties, scouring the Air Vents, the dusty Curtains on the giant Windows, the veggie village that laid upstairs in the Attic, and just about every feasible corner of the House, inside and out. A few of the radishes who had switched sides with Motato helped with the search, but even his network of former spies had not yielded results.
"We'll find him, Moe," LarryBoy assured him as they searched through the downtown park for the fifth time. "Randall wouldn't leave the House without saying goodbye to Petunia and Madame B."
Motato did not reply, scanning the trees and green Carpet where benign veggies frollicked. No one looked at him in fear or repulsion these days. Some veggies even waved at him with their baseball gloves or toys. It had taken Motato several months to get used to such cordiality.
"They all trust me now, don't they?" he observed aloud, "But how many veggies do I still need to apologize to?"
SuperMato gave him a compassionate look. "Whatever the number, I know you'll make amends where you can. You've come a long way already, pal."
Motato heaved a sigh, trudging over to the shallow pond. The Ceiling Fan whirled nonchalantly in the darkened reflection, sending a pleasant breeze over downtown. The trees and buildings looked picturesque and peaceful, a stark contrast to the gloomy, mustached face which stared back at Motato. He picked a pebble and dropped it into the pond, upsetting the image with concentric ripples.
"Sometimes, I thought about seeking him out and apologizing, but I never worked up the nerve to face him. I did a lot of things to make him evil enough to destroy LarryBoy. …No offense," he added, turning to the cucumber.
"Water under the bridge, buddy," his friend smiled.
Yet LarryBoy's understanding expression drenched Motato with even more guilt. Trying to banish the heartless memories, Motato plunked another pebble into the water.
"But I wouldn't blame anyone if they didn't forgive me," Motato went on. "Randall of all people is in the right if he wants to toss me from an Attic Window. Nothing can erase what I did."
"Except Jesus," LarryBoy pointed out.
Motato sighed, shaking his head without looking at him. "Easy for you to say that, friend, but you don't know what I did. I can't even bear to repeat it."
The distorted red-and-yellow image of SuperMato joined Motato's garble reflection.
"Motato," the tomato said kindly, "have you ever heard of the wicked king, Manasseh, in the Bible?"
"Can't say I have," Motato admitted. "I'm not familiar with most of the Old Testament stuff. …Or most of the New Testament stuff for that matter."
Although he now enjoyed Bob's weekly Bible study, Motato had come from a long, long line of supervillains, and Scripture had hardly been a priority in his family. Motato had not even known biblical accounts like David and Goliath or Noah's Flood or even the six days of Creation until he started hanging out with the League.
SuperMato picked up a few pebbles and handed them to Motato.
"After the Israelites had divided into two kingdoms," SuperMato began, "there were a few good kings, but many were downright evil."
"Did they build giant robots in order to rob banks?" LarryBoy asked with a frown.
"Worse," SuperMato said sadly. "They did stuff we can't mention in a kid's show."
"What about a fanfic based on a kid's show?" LarryBoy returned.
"Well, that's different, since mostly adults read fanfics," SuperMato conceded. He turned back to the gloomy potato. "Anyway, Motato, a lot of these Hebrew kings had rejected God in order to follow idols."
"So?" Motato said with a shrug. "You told me the original Greek Christians left their idols behind to follow Jesus, but you didn't mention child-friendly ratings then."
SuperMato grew grave. "Those Old Testament kings weren't just lighting candles to false gods and trying to live peaceful lives. One of the ways they were worshiping involved child sacrifice."
LarryBoy started. "What."
Motato's bushy eyebrows shot up. "What."
SuperMato nodded. "Back in the days of Moses, God told the Hebrews not to offer up their children as sacrifices to Molech, but a number of Israel's kings made their children 'pass through the fire' — which means they burnt their children in brutal, torturous rituals. They refused to repent, and the people as a whole killed prophets who told them God didn't like what they were doing."
Motato stared, flabbergasted. "That's in the Bible?"
"People are always surprised when I bring this stuff up," SuperMato said wryly, "but the Bible faithfully records historical people, and many historical people did downright evil things. And one of the most wicked kings during this era was Manasseh."
"How wicked?"
"So much so that he caused his subjects to sin worse than the pagans who were already doing child sacrifice."
LarryBoy looked greener than normal. Motato knitted his brunet brow.
"Well, I can honestly say I never went that far when I was a super-villy-an," he contemplated.
"But why would anyone hurt a kid?" LarryBoy cried. He was fond of children and deeply protective of them.
"They believed the false gods would bless them if they did," SuperMato replied, shaking his head. "They gave their children to silent statues in exchange for wealth and good harvests, things to further their own lives, instead of trusting the true God to bless them, like He promised to do if they obeyed Him. Historical texts say that during child sacrifices to Molech, priests would play drums and other musical instruments in order to mask the babies' screams as they burned."
LarryBoy shuddered, blinking back a hint of tears. "I wish superheroes existed back then. I would've saved the babies."
Motato's frown deepened. "I bet Manasseh got his just dessert, m'yeah?"
"That's where it gets interesting," said SuperMato, hopping over to climb onto the nearby park bench. He raised himself up, looking rather like a prophet. "God warned Manasseh to repent, but he refused to change his ways. Then God sent judgment in the form of the Assyrians, who conquered them" — and here he hopped off the bench and landed hard, as though he were stomping an enormous insect — "and Manasseh was carried away to Babylon."
"Serves him right," Motato muttered, before he squinted at SuperMato. "But how does this relate to me and Randall?"
"It's what happened afterwards that matters," SuperMato said, raising his blue-eyed gaze. "While in captivity, Manasseh genuinely began seeking God and asked for help. God in His mercy heard him and brought him back to Jerusalem. Then Manasseh began taking away the old idols and altars where he used to worship, and he repaired the altar in God's temple. He completely repented of his old ways."
"Kinda like you, Motato," LarryBoy pointed out. "You destroyed your villain's lair when you decided to become good."
Motato looked away. "But… even if God forgave Manasseh, that doesn't mean Randall will forgive me."
"Yes, he might not be ready today," SuperMato agreed, "but you can trust God to bring healing eventually. Keep being the superhero you're supposed to be, and maybe Randall will see you've genuinely changed."
Motato tossed one last pebble into the pond. His stomach dropped whenever he remembered the fury on Randall's snarling face, and Motato had only himself to blame. Could reconciliation ever be reached?
"If only," he sighed, hanging his head. "If only…"
Petunia had grabbed her delivery truck, and with Madame Blueberry in the passenger seat, they searched every inch of the Kitchen floor that they could reach, went outside to hunt through the Backyard and Front Yard, then returned to the Kitchen, all without spotting anything that resembled a large radish. After a few hours, they settled on circling the Kitchen Island several times, scanning the Counter, Dish Washer, Oven, and Cabinets.
"You know, Randall's pretty smart," Petunia said suddenly as they drove down Madame Blueberry's street. "If I were him, I'd wait and hide in a place that's already been checked a few times."
Madame Blueberry nodded slowly. "And also hard to reach, so that nobody looks there too often."
Petunia leaned forward, checking through the windshield, then put on her blinker. "There!"
She drove them over to the Kitchen's Breakfast Nook, where a giant Table and teal Chairs sat beside huge Bay Windows. The Chair legs were thick and smooth, and the two women had to hold on carefully. After what felt like fifteen minutes, they reached the plateau-like seat, then climbed up the backrest to climb onto the wooden tabletop.
On the other side of the Table, facing the Windows, Randall sat like a hunched-over statue. As the women approached, he looked over his shoulder. His big eyes regarded them warily.
"Did you come to tell me I have to forgive Motato?"
"We came to see if you were alright," Madame Blueberry answered, drawing up to him.
"We weren't sure if you got lost or hurt," Petunia added gently, taking his other side.
Randall squinted at them, then dropped his head, mumbling, "Sorry."
"We're just glad you're safe, dear," Madame Blueberry smiled, giving him a hug.
Randall shifted his shoulders, staring at the green yard outside the Windows.
"Is Motato looking for me?" he asked gruffly.
"Sure," said Petunia, "and LarryBoy and the rest of the League. They all want you to be safe."
Randall made a face and said nothing. Petunia sat beside him, swinging her leg over the edge of the Table, and Madame Blueberry shuffled a little closer to Randall. They watched big, sheep-like clouds scud across the sunny vista, but Randall seemed worlds away.
At last, he asked, "Is Motato going to the festival?"
"Archie wants the whole League to be there," Petunia replied.
He looked down at the Floor. "Do I have to go too?"
"We live in a big House," Madame Blueberry answered. "You probably won't run into him too much."
Randall grimaced. He glanced between them, puffed out his cheeks, exhaled, clicked his tongue, then closed his eyes.
"Why don't you just say it already?" he asked.
"Say what?" Petunia asked mildly.
He pulled a face as if swallowing a bucket of horseradish. "That I have to forgive Motato."
The women exchanged glances.
"What did your instructors at college say about forgiveness?" Petunia returned.
He slumped.
"We learned about the parable with the servant who owed the king a lot of money. The king forgave him, and when the servant met a guy who owed him less money, the servant threw him in prison. When the king learned what happened, he got angry and punished the servant for being unmerciful." He exhaled again. "Jesus warned that if we don't forgive others, then God the Father won't forgive us."
"Sounds like you don't need us to tell you anything then," Madame Blueberry answered evenly. "You know what you need to do."
"I know, but I just… can't." He squeezed his large eyes shut. "It hurts too much."
Petunia leaned against him like a big sister. "Do you need to talk about it?"
He shook his head. "I don't want to really think about it either."
"Then we can just sit here with you, if you want, dear," Madame Blueberry offered.
He jerked a solemn nod. They sat for another stretch in silence, listening to the ticking of the giant rooster Clock on the Kitchen Wall and the hum of the Air-conditioning Vent cooling the House.
Again, it was Randall who broke the silence.
"Why does God want me to forgive Motato?" he muttered. "Why do we have to forgive really mean people?"
His friends did not answer right away. Madame Blueberry gave him a kind look.
"Why does God want to forgive us?"
"Because He loves us," he sighed, "and He's merciful."
"And He's also just," Petunia pointed out. "Just like an earthly judge, God has to punish sin. Otherwise, He'd be guilty of injustice."
"So, we'd either have to be punished," Randall said resignedly, "or Someone has to take the punishment for us, which Jesus did for everyone."
"Yep."
Randall sighed. "But what does that have to do with me forgiving Motato?"
Madame Blueberry drew back slightly, studying him. Her eyes were loving, with no hint of judgment.
"What do you think forgiveness means, dear?" she asked.
Randall twisted his face into a stubborn expression.
"Letting them off the hook," he growled. "Pretending what the other person did was okay, pretending they didn't hurt you, letting them walk all over you."
"Is that how the Bible describes forgiveness?"
Randall shrugged. Madame Blueberry gave him another hug.
"The Bible tells us we have to love our enemies, but it never said we have to like our enemies, or to trust them blindly," she said soothingly. "If you don't want a relationship with Motato, that's fine. You can forgive him from a distance. It's better than living in a trap of perpetual bitterness."
"Do I have to love him?"
"It's God's love working through you," Madame Blueberry clarified. "Trying to forgive a big offense with natural, mortal love is like a fly trying to stop an avalanche."
Randall's mouth warped, and he lowered his gaze to stare at the Floor below.
Petunia leaned forward in order to peer into his round face. "In the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant, what did the debts represent?"
"Sin," Randall answered, not looking at her.
"And what did the punishment represent?"
He drooped further. "Going to hell, punishment for sin, stuff like that."
"But how did the king originally forgive the debt?"
"He pardoned the servant and said he didn't have to pay."
Madame Blueberry nodded. "That's how God forgives us. Because Jesus took our sins on Himself, we can stand before the Father as though we never sinned."
"And when we forgive others," Petunia put in, "we're not saying, 'What you did is okay.' It's more like saying, 'That was not okay, and will never be okay, but I choose to pardon you.' If a criminal broke the law, you can bring him to justice in the earthly sense, by taking him to jail and making him serve time, but on a spiritual level, you can forgive him simultaneously, because you know you need forgiveness too."
"Because we all did something to put Jesus on the Cross," Madame Blueberry concluded. "We can't say 'Well, God's blood is strong enough to wash away my sin, but not the other guy's.'"
Randall seemed to mull that over. He did not speak much after that, but he agreed to go with them back to Madame Blueberry's house. He sat gazing out the small window while they had tea. Both of his friends respected his silence, and they graciously chatted about things that did not relate to either the festival or Motato.
It was such a relief when the news came that Randall had been found, but Motato knew he should keep his distance. He went home early, fed Clampy, and, when his lobster had had his fill, he sat with his cute crustacean on his lap, gazing out his window. From where his trailer sat in the corner of the Living Room, he could just make out the egg-shaped dome of Petunia's shop. Motato wondered if Randall would be spending the night at her house or Madame Blueberry's.
He sighed, then raised his gaze. He hesitated, twitching his mustache, and said, "I'm still new to this whole 'praying' thing, you know, but… even if Randall never wants to have anything to do with me, please look out for him. Let him heal. …Amen, I guess?"
The day of the festival dawned with promises of a pleasant time. The sun shone brightly through the Windows while the Air Vents kept the House at a comfortable temperature. Downtown had a kaleidoscope of pennants over striped booths, and many veggies wore bright colors, ready to party. The aromas of funnel cake, popcorn, and corndogs drew crowds, and the midway games echoed with pings and chirps from machines that distributed tickets for prizes.
Motato stuck close to the League, valuing that his friends did not expect him to talk much. He paused to take photos with a few of his fans, but otherwise, he just drifted along with the other superheroes. While watching a live band, his phone chimed with a reminder to go help Petunia set up like he had promised earlier, and he made his way over to the courtyard.
She greeted him with a smile — no awkward glances — and asked about his day as they retrieved her wreaths from the conservatory.
"As for me, I've been running back and forth, helping Mayor Archibald with last-minute details," she explained as they carried the first load to the ground floor. "No matter how carefully you plan something, you always need to provide a margin for error, don't you?"
They took the flower wreaths out to the big tent by the gazebo, where they would be stored until the award ceremonies started. Petunia, careful about wilting or damage, had held off bringing them over sooner.
They finished the first two trips, and Motato was fixing a wreath with cornflowers and baby's breath, when the tent flap opened, and a large nose poked its way inside.
Motato straightened, a little hopeful, but he deflated once he saw Randall stiffened.
Petunia jumped to his rescue, smiling brightly at the radish. "Do you need something, Randall?"
"I was looking for you," he said gruffly. "We were going to ride the teacups together, remember?"
Petunia nodded. "Okay, just let me finish up here, then we can head over."
He jerked a nod and moved to the side, rigid and staring straight ahead. Motato wisely refrained from looking at him where possible, focusing on the task at hand. They had only a few wreaths left in Petunia's house to bring in when Mayor Archibald rushed inside the tent.
"Ah, Petunia, whatever you're doing, I need you to drop it for the present," he said in a hurry. "There was a misprint on the schedules, and now I have two bands who are supposed to go on in five minutes. Can you keep them calm while I run back to city hall?"
Petunia complied. She cast an apologetic look at Randall.
"Duty calls," she said. "We'll ride the teacups after this gets straightened out, okay?"
Randall jerked a nod. Petunia hurried out, letting the tent flap fall behind her.
Silence as heavy as a blanket of humidity in Miami dropped over the tent. Motato glanced at Randall, but his creation refused to look at him. Motato swallowed a few times. Maybe he should just bring in the last few wreaths and make himself scarce. At least then Randall could breathe easier in his absence.
He took a few steps toward the tent flaps, but something made him pause. He turned to see Randall watching him, but the radish quickly jerked away, hiding his face.
An emptiness settled inside Motato, yet at the same time, an impulse came over him to say something.
With a sigh, he said, "For what it's worth, Randall, I'm sorry. For everything."
Randall glanced at him, then looked away.
Motato dared to continue. "You didn't ask to be created, and you were my responsibility, but I was only thinking of myself. And how much I wanted to use you to get LarryBoy out of the picture. I should have treated you right, and I sincerely apologize."
Again, Randall remained quiet.
Motato cleared his throat and turned away. "Yes… Well… I'm sorry if I bothered you. I just wanted you to know… but I shouldn't ramble. T.T.F.N. then…"
He trudged toward the exit, feeling foolish, but he did not blame Randall for being frosty. He ought to have given the guy his space.
…But then Randall's raspy, almost choking, voice stopped him in his tracks.
"I forgive you, Motato."
Motato swiveled his head, hoping he had heard right.
"You do?"
Randall kept his narrowed eyes on the ground.
"I'm not saying what you did was okay," he said slowly, gruffly, "or that I want us to act like we're best friends. I just want to move on with my life and not be trapped because I'm too bitter. So… I pardon you."
Motato was not sure what to make of his odd phrasing, but he decided not to question it. Randall was clearly struggling to keep his composure, and Motato did not want to belabor the moment — even though a part of him wanted to invite him to grab an ice-cream cone or to play catch in the park or whatever healthy veggie families did these days. He gave Randall a deep, solemn nod, trying not to embarrass him, though he could not keep his pink-and-blue eyes from glowing.
"I'll try not to make you regret it, son."
Randall nodded curtly, then spun away. He hopped through the tent flaps on the opposite end, back into the artificial light of the Living Room.
Motato slumped, exhaling with relief and a surprising giddiness. Although Randall was not ready for reconciliation, Motato did not mind.
"I'll show him I've changed," he vowed to himself. "He'll see his papa potato is good now, and maybe someday he'll trust me. Someday."
THE END
the veggie village that laid upstairs in the Attic — In some outdoor shots, the attic windows are lit. In some episodes (like "The Birthday Thief") we see the door for the attic in the living room. Thus, it's quite possible there are veggies living upstairs that we haven't seen.