The Mavin’s New Tiles
A play on a tale by Hans Christian Andersen (1805-75)
adapted by Gary Moss, Laguna Woods, California 2009
Many years ago there lived a Mavin who was so exceedingly fond of fine new tiles that he spent vast sums of money on protiles. To him tiles meant more than anything else in the world. He took no interest in his wife, nor did he care to go to the theatre, or to drive about in his LA CAR, unless it was to shop for new tiles. He had different colored tiles for every single hour of the day.
In the great city where he lived life was gay and strangers were always coming and going. Everyone knew about the Mavin’s passion for tiles.
Now one fine day two swindlers, calling themselves newbies, arrived. They declared that they could make the most magnificent tiles that one could imagine; tiles of most beautiful colours and elaborate thicknesses. Not only was the material so beautiful, but the tiles made from it had the special power of being invisible to everyone who was too stupid, not to know the 2s or the ‘satine’ stem.
“What a splendid idea,” thought the Mavin. “What useful tiles to have. If I had such a set of tiles I could know at once which of my opponents is stupid or unfit to play me on my equipment.”
So the mavin gave the newbies large sums of money and the two die makers set up their casts in the cafe at BORDERS. They demanded the finest plastics and they pretended to work at their molding machines. But they put nothing into the molds. The casts stood empty. Instead, the plastics they stuffed into their bags. So they sat pretending to mold, and continued to work at the empty cast till late into the night. Night after night they went home with their money and their bags full of the finest plastics. Day after day they pretended to work.
Now the scrabble mavin was eager to know how many of the tiles were finished, and would have loved to see for himself. He was, however, somewhat uneasy. “Suppose,” he thought secretly, “suppose I am unable to see the tiles. That would mean I am either stupid or unfit. That cannot be,” he thought, but all the same he decided to send for his faithful friend, Podunk, to go and see. “He will best be able to see how the tiles look. He is far from stupid and splendid at this game.”
So the faithful old friend went into the hall where the two molders sat beside the empty casts pretending to work with all their might.
The mavin’s friend opened his eyes wide. “Upon my life!” he thought. “I see nothing at all, nothing.” But he did not say so.
The two swindlers begged him to come nearer and asked him how he liked it. “Are not the colors exquisite, and see how intricate are the patterns,” they said. The poor old Podunk stared and stared. Still he could see nothing, for there was nothing. But he did not dare to say he saw nothing. “Nobody must find out,”‘ thought he. “I must never confess that I could not see the stuff.”
“Well,” said one of the rascals. “You do not say whether it pleases you.”
“Oh, it is beautiful-most excellent, to be sure. Such a beautiful design, such exquisite colors. I shall tell the mavin how enchanted) I am with the tiles.”
“We are very glad to hear that,” said the smelterers, and they started to describe the colors and patterns in great detail. Podenk listened very carefully so that he could repeat the description to the mavin. They also demanded more money and more gold resins, saying that they needed it to finish the tiles. But, of course, they put all they were given into their bags and pockets and kept on working at their empty molds.
Soon after this the mavin sent another decorator to see how the men were ,getting on and to ask whether the tiles would soon be ready. Exactly the same happened with him as with Podunk. He stood and stared, but as there was nothing to be seen, he could see nothing.
“Is not the material beautiful?” said the newbies, and again they talked of ‘the patterns and the exquisite colors. “Stupid I certainly am not,” thought the decorator. “Then I must be unfit for my post. But nobody shall know that I could not see the tiles.” Then he praised the tiles he did not see and declared that he was delighted with the colors and the marvelous patterns.
To the mavin he said when he returned, “The tiles the smelters are preparing is truly magnificent.”
Everybody in the city had heard of the secret tiles and were talking about the splendid material.
And now the mavin was curious to see the costly stuff for himself while it was still within the molds. Accompanied by a number of tournament winners, among whom were Podunk and the decorator who had already been before, the mavin went to the smelters. There they sat in front of the empty molds, casting more diligently than ever, yet without a single tile within the molds.
“Are not the tiles magnificent?” said Podunk and the decorator. “See here, the splendid pattern, the glorious colors.” Each pointed to the empty mold. Each thought that the other could see the tiles.
“What can this mean?” said the mavin to himself. “This is terrible. Am I so stupid? Am I not fit to be a mavin? This is disastrous,” he thought. But aloud he said, “Oh, the tiles are perfectly wonderful. They have a splendid pattern and such charming colors.” And he nodded his approval and smiled appreciatively and stared at the empty molds. He would not, he could not, admit he saw nothing, when others had praised the material so highly. And all his friends looked and looked at the empty molds. Not one of them saw anything there at all. Nevertheless, they all said, “Oh, the tiles are magnificent.”
They advised the mavin to have some new tiles made from this splendid material to play with in the NASPA national tournament in Dayton, Ohio.
“Magnificent.” “Excellent.” “Exquisite,” went from mouth to mouth and everyone was pleased. Each of the newbies was given a decoration to wear in his button-hole, identifying them as winners of the “Noble Mold Prize”.
The rascals sat up all that night and worked, burning more than sixteen candles, so that everyone could see how busy they were making the set of tiles ready for the tournament. Each of them had a great big pair of tampers and they tamped the nothingness, pretending to mold the tiles fashion them with their expertise.
There was great excitement in the grand ballroom and the mavins tiles were the talk of the ‘The Last Word.’ At last the newbies declared that the tiles were ready. Then the mavin, with the most senior champion of the NSA, came to the newbies. Each of the swindlers lifted up an arm as if he were holding something. “Here are tiles,” said one. “The whole set are as light as a spider’s web. Why, you might almost feel as if you have nothing in your hand, but that is just the beauty of it.”
“Magnificent,” cried the other players, but they could see nothing at all. Indeed there was nothing to be seen.
“Now if the mavin would graciously consent to take his old tile out of tile bag,” said the newbies, “we could put the new ones into the bag.” So the mavin laid aside his old tiles and the swindlers pretended to help him piece by piece into the the tile bag.
The mavin turned his hand from side to side in the tile bag as if admiring his new tiles.
“How well they feel. What gorgeous colors!” they all said.
“I am quite ready,” announced the mavin, and he looked into the bag.
And so the mavin set off to the tournament room. It was a great success. All the people standing by and at the windows cheered and cried, “Oh, how splendid are the mavin’s new tiles. What magnificent colors! No one dared to admit that he couldn’t see anything, for who would want it to be known that he was either stupid or unfit for his post?
None of the mavins tiles had ever met with such success.
But among the crowds a little child suddenly gasped out, “But his bag is empty.” And the people began to whisper to one another what the child had said. “He hasn’t got any tiles.” “There’s a little child saying he hasn’t got any tiles.” Till everyone was saying, “But he hasn’t got any tiles.” The mavin himself had the uncomfortable feeling that what they were whispering was only too true.
So he drew from the nothingness in his tile bag and played a phoney that the most knowledgeable of knowers could never challenge.