胖哥住在微美克村。和其他微美克人一样，他也是用木头 做的。他们都是木匠伊莱造的。胖哥偶尔会做一些傻事，这一点也和其他微美克人一样——好比说，收集盒子和球。
大家都有盒子，但是当一个名叫塔克的微美克人买了一个新盒子后，村子里就大乱了。因为他的盒子是“新”的。
塔克好爱他的新盒子。他觉得他的盒子是全村最好的。新盒子有非常亮丽的颜色，这是塔克特别骄傲的一点——实在太骄傲了。他拿着新盒子在大街小巷不断地炫耀。
他走在街上时，会这样问村子里的人：“你看过我的盒子吗？”
“你想摸摸看吗？”
塔克直直地走向胖哥，用嘲笑的口气说：“你难道不想要有个新盒子吗？“
胖哥觉得塔克的盒子很漂亮。于是他开始希望有个新盒子。
塔克继续炫耀他的新盒子。他觉得自己比其他微美克人都厉害，因为他有个新盒子。
一个叫尼普的微美克人可不这样想。他说：“我的盒子和塔克的一样好。”他在另一个街头向其他微美克人展示他的盒子。尼普的盒子不新，但是比塔克的大一点、亮丽一点——光是这样，塔克就受不了了。
塔克一句话也不说，还给尼普一个生气的眼神。他想到了一个办法。塔克去一间店里，买了一颗球。现在他的东西可比尼普“多”了。他有一个盒子和一颗球呢。
尼普皱着眉头看看塔克的球。他还有更好的办法——他买两颗球。尼普满脸笑容，捧着两颗球和一个盒子，向塔克得意扬扬地说：“现在，我的东西比你多了。”
不过，在这之前，塔克已经先到店里又买了一个盒子。于是，尼普又跑去再买了一颗球。然后，塔克再买一颗球。然后，尼普又买了一个盒子。
球、盒子、球、盒子⋯⋯塔克、尼普，尼普、塔克⋯他们就这样一直买个不停。
必须有人让这场混乱马上停止。事实上，这就是村长想做的事。“你们两个真是笨。”他对尼普和塔克说，“干吗呀！谁管你们哪个人的玩具比较多呢？”
“你在嫉妒，”他们回答，“因为你一个玩具也没有。”
“嫉妒？你们吗？哈！”一溜烟儿，村长已经到店里买了一堆盒子和玩具了。
其他微美克人也加入了这场混战。屠夫、面包师傅、木匠、街头的医生、街尾的牙医，没过多久，所有的微美克人都想变成那个拥有最多盒子和球的人。
有的盒子很大，有的颜色鲜艳。有的球很重，有的很轻。高大的人抱了一堆，瘦小的人也抱了一堆，所有的人都抱了一堆。每个人心里都只有一个想法：好的微美克人玩具多，不怎么好的微美克人玩具少之又少。
如果这时候，有一个微美克人，捧着一叠高过头顶的球和盒子，走过微美克村中心，大家一定会停下来，说：“看，那里有一个好微美克人。”但是如果这时候，有个微美克人只拿一颗球或一个盒子走过去，其他人就会摇摇头，小声地说：“可怜的人喔。可怜喔，可怜的人喔！”
胖哥当然不想被别人说成是可怜的人。他决定要努力收集盒子和球，能有多少就收集多少。他搜遍整个柜子，找到一颗小球。然后，从口袋里掏出全部的钱，那些刚好够他买一个小盒子。
“我知道要怎么做了，”他说：“把书卖掉，多换些钱，就可以多买一点盒子和球了。”
胖哥真的这样做了。他买了一个蓝绿色的盒子，上边漆有白云的图案。但是他还想要更多。“我熬夜工作，就可以多赚一些钱。”他对自己说。所以他也这样做了，并且买了一颗球。而且，因为熬夜工作，不再需要床了，他决定，“我把床卖掉好了。”他也真的这样做了——好再多买两颗球。
不久，胖哥有了一大堆玩具。但是，其他的微美克人有更多。有些人手里抱的盒子和球多到他们都走不动了。他们会说：“喔，实在很难再找到地方可以放我的球和盒子呢！”他们看起来好像在抱怨，其实是在炫耀。
胖哥想要跟这些微美克人一样，所以他卖掉更多的东西，花更多的时间工作。他的眼睛因为睡眠不足而疲累，他的手臂因为抱很多的玩具而酸痛。他记不得上次坐下来休息是什么时候了。最糟糕的是，他的朋友也想不起他最后一次和他们玩，是什么时候了。
“我们很久没有看到你了。”他的朋友露西亚说。
“你为什么不再来玩了？”他的死党普林问。
并不是所有人都在乎盒子和球。胖哥的朋友就不是这样。但是比起有没有朋友，胖哥比较在乎的是有没有盒子和球。
“我还有工作要做。”他会这样跟他们说。他的朋友只好叹口气。
胖哥不在乎。他只在乎那些有盒子和球的朋友会怎么想。但是，不管他做什么，他买的东西就是不够引起他们的注意。
最后，他想到一个办法，“把房子卖掉好了。”
“你疯啦！”露西亚说。
“那你要住哪儿呢？”普林问他。
胖哥不知道，但是他不在乎。他一心只想着用那些钱买盒子和球。所以他卖掉了房子。接着买了一个又一个、一个又一个的盒子，还有一颗又一颗、一颗又一颗的球。他抱着许多玩具，连前面的路都看不到了。他手中的东西远远高过他的头。
但是胖哥不在乎。那么，万一他的手痛了呢？万一他看不到路，撞到了墙壁呢？万一他没有朋友了呢？他有盒子和球啊，而且只要经过微美克人身边，他们就会转过身，说：“哇，他一定是个好微美克人。”胖哥听到了他们这样说，虽然看不到他们，但是他心里好高兴，想着：“嗯，我是一个好微美克人呢。”
但是有一个人改变了规则。那是村长太太。她对自己拥有的盒子和球十分得意。她不只有很多盒子和球，而且她的盒子和球都很特别。她都到最别致的店买，这些店都有很有趣的店名，所以她的盒子上都会有这些店的名字，每个人都看得到。她想要成为最好的微美克人。
有一天，村长太太想到一个点子。“我不只要最多，我还要成为最高。”所以，她爬上盒子顶端，大叫：“所有的人，看看我！”
所有有盒子和球的人都立刻想超越她。有个人爬上了喷水池，另一个人爬上了阳台，然后还有人爬上了屋顶。最先发现山顶的是村长。
在微美克村后面有一座微美克山。“我要爬上山顶。”村长大叫，希望能第一个到达。所有的微美克人都开始比赛谁有的东西最多，谁爬得最高。于是，微美克人带着盒子和球，往山上跑。
这是一场很疯狂、很疯狂的竞赛。因为这些木头人看不到前面的方向，大家都互相撞来撞去。因为他们都累坏了，所以个个跌得四脚朝天。山路很窄，有些人还跌到路旁。但是他们还是继续跑。
垫后的是胖哥。爬坡对他来说很辛苦，比其他人都辛苦。毕竟，他才当了一会儿“好微美克人”，还不习惯带这么多的盒子和球。但是胖哥的意志很坚决。所以他继续迈开他的木头脚，一步又一步地往前走。但是因为看不到路，他不知道他正走在山路旁。
也因为看不到前面，所以，胖哥不知道自己已经偏离了山路。他只知道，才那么一下子，身边就都没有人了。“我一定领先了其他人！”他暗自想。胖哥继续往上走，边走边想：
“我一定快到山顶了！我真是一个好微美克人啊！我一定是所有人中爬得最高的！”
就在这时候，胖哥的脚绊到一样东西，身体扭了一下，手上的东西开始左摇右晃、东倒西歪。他想办法保持平衡——一下往后仰，一下又往前倾，就是无法停下来。他就快跌倒了。然而，他不知道，他当时正走在通往木匠伊莱家的山路上。他是被伊莱家门廊前的阶梯绊倒的。他就这样连滚带翻地摔进了伊莱工作室的前门。
当胖哥发现他所在的地方时，他觉得很不好意思。好一会儿，他都不敢抬起头，一直趴在地上，躲在散落一地的盒子和球堆当中。一颗球滚过地板，在伊莱的工作台边停下。就在这时候，木匠转过身来。
“胖哥。”伊莱的声音很沉稳、很慈祥。
胖哥还是不敢动。他感觉到自己的木头脸都红了起来。
“看来你好像带了好多东西啊。”
胖哥有气无力地从地上爬起来，但是他的头还是垂得低低的。
他小声地说：“这些是我的盒子和球。”
“你玩盒子和球吗？”伊莱问。
胖哥摇摇头。
“那你喜欢盒子和球喽？”
“我喜欢它们带给我的感觉。”
“它们带给你什么感觉？”
“让我觉得我很重要。”胖哥回答。他的声音还是很小。
“嗯，”伊莱说，“所以你和其他微美克人的想法一样，以为拥有的越多越好，也会越快乐。”
“是吧。”
“过来这里，胖哥，我带你看一样东西。”
胖哥这才抬起头，看看伊莱。他看见这位创造微美克人的木匠并没有生气，才敢松口气，放心地跟着伊莱走向窗边。
“看看他们。”伊莱说。
胖哥从窗户望出去，看见那一大群微美克人还在爬山。他们跌跌撞撞的，互相打来打去，甚至还用手肘推撞别人，好取得领先。
“他们看起来快乐吗？”伊莱问。
胖哥摇摇头。
“他们很重要吗？”
“一点儿也不。”胖哥说。他注意到村长和村长太太。村长倒在地上，嘴里咬着一颗球，他的太太则踩在他的背上，头上顶着一个盒子。
“你想，我创造微美克人是要他们这样吗？”伊莱问。
“不是。”
胖哥感觉有一只大手放在他的肩膀上。
“你知道你的盒子和球让你付出了多少代价吗？”
“我的书和床，还有我的钱和房子。”
“我的小朋友，可不只有这些啊。”
胖哥试着去想，他还卖掉了什么东西。
伊莱继续说：“它们让你失去了快乐。你一直不快乐，不是吗？“
胖哥停顿了一下，说：“对呀。”
“它们还让你失去了朋友。最重要的，它们让你失去了信任。你不相信我会让你快乐，反倒是相信这些盒子和球。”
胖哥看着地上那堆玩具。一瞬间，它们似乎变得不那么有价值了。
“我好像把事情搞砸了。”
“没关系，”伊莱回答他，“你还是很特别的。”
胖哥垂下头，微笑了一下。
“你很特别，不是因为你有什么，而是因为你的身份。你是我的孩子，我很爱你。不要忘记这一点，小朋友。”
“我不会的。”胖哥笑着说。他停顿了一下，又问伊莱：“伊莱？”
“什么事？”
“那这些盒子和球该怎么办？”
“或许你可以把它们送给真正需要的人。”
胖哥本来转身要离开，但是他又停了下来。
“伊莱？”
“什么事呢？”
“我没地方可睡觉了。”
伊莱微微笑，说：“那么你今晚想要睡这里吗？”
“当然想啊，我好累。”
就这样，那天晚上，胖哥睡在一个用木屑堆成的床上。他睡得很香甜。能够在创造他的人家里休息，让他觉得很幸福。
Punchinello lived in Wemmicksville. Just like other Wemmicks, he was made of wood. Just like the other Wemmicks, he was carved by Eli, the Wemmick-maker.
And just like the other Wemmicks, he sometimes did silly things. Like the time he began collecting boxes and balls.
Things started getting crazy when a Wemmick named Tuck bought a new box. Others had boxes, but Tuck's was a new box.
Tuck loved his new box. He thought it was the best box in the village. It was brightly colored, and he was proud of it too proud perhaps. He strutted up and down the street showing off his box.
"Have you seen my new box?" he would ask the Wemmicks he passed on the street.
"Would you like to touch my new box?"
Tuck marched right up to Punchinello: "Don't you wish you had a new box?" he teased Punchinello thought Tuck's box was beautiful, and he began to wish for a box of his own.
Tuck kept showing off his box, thinking he was better than the other Wemmicks just because he had a new box.
Nip, another Wemmick, disagreed. "My box is just as good as Tuck's," he said, as he showed off his box to Wemmicks on the other side of the street. Nip's box was not new, but it was a bit bigger and a bit brighter and bit more than Tuck could take.
Tuck got very quiet and gave Nip a mad look. Then he had an idea. He stepped into a store and bought a ball. Now he had more things than Nip. He had a box and a ball.
Nip frowned at Tuck's ball. Nip could do better than that. He bought two balls. With a smile on his face, two balls and a box in his hands, he marched over to Tuck and smirked, "Now I have more than you!"
Before he knew it, Tuck was in the store buying another box. Then Nip ran to buy another ball. Then Tuck bought a ball, and Nip bought a box.
Ball. Box. Ball. Box.
Tuck. Nip. Nip. Tuck. On and on it went. Someone could have stopped the whole mess right there. In fact, that's what the mayor tried to do. "You two are being silly," he said to Nip and Tuck. "Why, who cares who has the most toys?"
"You're just jealous," they replied, "because you don't have any."
"Jealous? Of you? Ha!"
But within a few moments the mayor was in the store buying an armful of boxes and balls.
Other Wemmicks began to join in. The butcher. The baker. The cabinetmaker. The doctor from up the street and the dentist from down the street. Before long every Wemmick wanted to be the one with the most balls and boxes.
Some boxes were big, and some were bright. Some balls were heavy, and some were light. Tall people carried them. Small people carried them. Everybody carried them. And everybody thought the same thought: Good Wemmicks have a lot. Not-so-good Wemmicks have little.
When a Wemmick walked down the center of Wemmicksville with a stack of balls and boxes higher than his head, the people stopped. "Now there goes a good Wemmick," they would say. But when a Wemmick passed by with only one ball or one box, the others would shake their heads and think, maybe even whisper, "Poor Wemmick. Poor, poor Wemmick."
Of course, Punchinello didn't want to be called a poor Wemmick, so he decided to get as many boxes and balls as he could. He searched through his closet and found one little ball. He dug into his pocket and found enough money for one small box. "I know what I'll do," he declared. "I'll sell my books to get more money to buy more boxes and balls."
So he did. He bought a blue and green box with clouds painted on the sides. But still he wanted more. "T'll work nights to get extra money," he told himself. So he did, and bought a ball.
And since he was working nights, he didn't need his bed, so he decided, "T'll sell my bed." And he did just that to buy two more balls.
Soon Punchinello had an armful. But other Wemmicks had more. Some of them had so many boxes and balls, they actually had trouble walking. "It's hard keeping up with all my balls and boxes," they would say, acting like they were complaining, but really they were bragging.
Punchinello wanted to be like these Wemmicks, so he sold more stuff, and he worked more hours. His eyes were tired from not getting any sleep. His arms were tired from carrying toys. He couldn't remember when he last sat down to rest. And, worst of all, his friends couldn't remember when Punchinello last came to play.
"We haven't seen you for a long time," his friend Lucia said to him one day.
"Why don't you come and play again?" asked his buddy Splint.
Not everyone cared about boxes and balls. Punchinello's friends didn't. But Punchinello cared more about having boxes and balls than he cared about having friends.
"T've got work to do," he would tell them. And his friends would sigh. Punchinello didn't care. He only cared what the other box-and-ball people thought. And no matter what he did, he couldn't buy enough things to get their attention.
Finally he had an idea. "I will sell my house," he decided.
"That's crazy," cried Lucia.
"Where will you live?" asked Splint.
Punchinello didn't know, but he didn't care. All he could think about was the boxes and balls he would have with all that money. So he sold his house. He bought boxes and boxes and boxes and balls and balls and more balls. He carried so many toys, he couldn't see where he was going. His stack went way above his head.
But he didn't mind. So what if his arms ached? So what if he kept walking into walls?
So what if he had no friends? He had boxes and balls, and when he passed Wemmicks, they would turn and say, "Wow, he must be a good Wemmick." Punchinello heard them. He couldn't see them, but he heard them, and he felt good. I'm a good Wemmick, he thought.
But then somebody changed the rules. It was the mayor's wife. She was very proud of her boxes and balls. She not only had a lot of them, but she also had special kinds of them.
She bought them at the fanciest stores with funny names and left the names on the boxes so everyone would see them. She wanted to be the best Wemmick.
One day she had an idea. "Not only will I have the most, but I will go the highest." So she climbed on top of one of her boxes and shouted, "Look at me, everybody!" Immediately all of the box-and-ball people tried to outdo her. One climbed on a fountain, another on a balcony, and then another onto a roof. It was the mayor who spotted the mountain, however.
Behind the village of the Wemmicks was Wemmicks' Peak. "I'm going to the top of the mountain," he shouted, hoping to get there first. The race was on to see which Wemmick would have the most and climb the highest. Wemmicks loaded with boxes and balls began running up the mountain.
It was a crazy, crazy race. Since the wooden people couldn't see where they were
going, they bumped into each other. Since they were exhausted, they fell over their own feet. Since the trail was narrow, some fell down the side of it. But they kept going.
Bringing up the rear was Punchinello. He was having a hard climb, harder than the rest. After all, he'd only been a "good Wemmick" for a short time. He wasn't used to carrying so many boxes and balls. But he was determined. He kept putting one little wooden foot ahead of the other. But since he couldn't see, he didn't know he was on the side of the trail.
And since he couldn't see, he didn't know that he had left the trail. All he knew was that all of a sudden he was all alone. "I must be ahead of everyone else! " he thought to himself.
And so he kept climbing up and up and up. "I must be very near the top. I'm such a good Wemmick; I'll be the highest with the most."
About that time Punchinello's foot caught the edge of something. He tried to keep his balance his toys swayed to the right and then to the left. He leaned back, then forward, but he couldn't stop. He was going to fall. He didn't know, however, that he had walked up the trail to Eli's house. He tripped on the step of the porch and tumbled through the front door of Eli's workshop.
When Punchinello realized where he was, he was embarrassed. For a long time he stayed facedown on the floor, surrounded by his boxes and balls. One of the balls rolled across the floor and stopped at Eli's workbench. That's when the woodcarver turned around.
"Punchinello." Eli's voice was calm and deep and kind .
The Wemmick still didn't move. He could feel his wooden face turning red.
"Looks like you've been carrying a big load."
The weary Wemmick climbed to his knees but kept his head low.
"These are my boxes and balls," he said quietly.
"Do you play with the boxes and balls?" asked Eli.
Punchinello shook his head
"Do you like boxes and balls?"
"I like the way they make me feel."
"And how do they make you feel?"
"Important," Punchinello answered, still with a small voice.
"Hmmm," Eli observed, "so you've been thinking like the other Wemmicks. You've
been thinking that the more you have, the better you are, and the happier you'll be."
"I suppose so."
"Come here, Punchinello. I want to show you something."
Punchinello lifted his wooden head and looked at Eli for the first time. He was relieved to see that the Wemmick-maker wasn't angry. Punchinello followed Eli over to the window.
"Look at them," Eli said.
Punchinello looked out the window at the swarm of Wemmicks still climbing the mountain. They were tumbling, stumbling, fighting each other, even elbowing each other to get ahead.
"Do they look happy?" Eli asked
Punchinello just shook his head.
"Do they look important?"
"Not at all," Punchinello said, noticing the mayor and his wife.
The mayor was on the ground, and she was stepping on his back. She had a box on her head, and he had a ball in his mouth.
"Do you think I created Wemmicks to act that way?" asked Eli.
"No."
Punchinello felt a big hand on his shoulder. "Do you know how much your boxes and balls cost you?"
"My books and bed. My money and my house."
"My little friend, they cost you much more than that."
Punchinello was trying to remember what else he had sold when Eli continued, "They cost you happiness. You haven't been happy, have you?"
Punchinello paused. "No."
"They cost you friends. And most of all, they cost you trust. You didn't trust me to make you happy. You trusted these boxes and balls."
Punchinello looked at the pile of toys. All of a sudden they didn't seem so valuable.
"I kind of messed up."
"That's okay," Eli replied. "You're still special."
Punchinello ducked his head and smiled.
"You're special—not because of what you have. You're special because of who you are.
You are mine. I love you. Don't forget that, little friend."
"I won't." Punchinello smiled. Then he paused and asked, "Eli?"
"Yes."
"What should I do with these boxes and balls?"
"Perhaps you should give them to someone who really needs them."
Punchinello turned to leave, but stopped again. "Eli?"
"Yes?"
"I don't have a place to sleep."
Eli smiled and offered, "Would you like to sleep here tonight?"
"I sure would. I'm very tired."
And so that night Punchinello slept on a bed of wood shavings. He slept well. It felt good to be in the house of his maker.