Fleabrain Loves Franny (15 page)

“This girl has a beautiful
embouchure
,” Professor Doctor Gutman had told her parents. “She has been working hard in bringing her teeth and lips and tongue into excellent alignment with the mouthpiece. No easy feat, I tell you.”

Franny was proud of her
embouchure
. She wished her legs would be as cooperative after practice as her teeth and lips and tongue were.

But Nurse Olivegarten and Min were right about one thing. She wasn't a bucker-upper about her condition. It would be hard for her to pretend to be joyful, even for a camera. It wasn't only the polio anymore, really. Sometimes Franny felt like a girl from another planet, lost in the mysteries of outer space. Even if that girl could move all her limbs while she floated around up there, it wouldn't make a bit of difference if she felt alone in the dark.

Thank goodness for Fleabrain. Dear, dear Fleabrain!

On Wednesday evening, almost every porch light on Shady
Avenue was bright, a signal to the Mothers' March that dimes could be collected at those homes. Aunt Pauline telephoned to borrow a bulb.

“No marchers have reached our block yet. I'll bring a lightbulb right over,” Franny's mother said. “Then let's march together.”

Franny watched with Min from the living room window. Their mother scurried across the street, wearing her heavy duffel coat against the bitter cold.

Soon a group of Mothers' Marchers rounded the corner. Franny's mother and Aunt Pauline joined them. The marchers were singing like Christmas carolers, but they were singing the same exuberant tune, over and over. The tune was that of a song from Franny's favorite movie,
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! It's off to work we go!” sang the dwarfs. The marchers' words were different.

“Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! We'll fight that polio! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! We'll fight that polio!” they sang.

The honks of car horns greeting the marchers became a happy accompaniment to their song. The marchers swarmed down the street, ringing doorbells, waving at their Squirrel Hill neighbors. Fathers marched, and children, too, who were excited to be outside after dark. They ran beside their parents like trick-or-treaters, wearing heavy snowsuits instead of costumes.

“Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! We'll fight that polio! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! We'll fight that polio!”

Franny's father opened their front door, with Franny in her
wheelchair, and Min behind him. He gave one of the marchers several special March of Dimes cardboard booklets, their slots filled up with dimes. Franny peeked from behind his legs.

There was Teresa and Rose Goodly, and the A through C Solomon siblings. Other kids she knew were calling her name from across the street. Franny searched for Walter Walter in the small crowd but couldn't find him.

Someone yelled, “It's Franny Katzenback!” Others joined in: “Franny! Hey, Franny! Franny!”

People began to clap, their gloves and mittens making muted thumps. They were clapping for her—Franny! Franny looked up at her father and saw tears in his eyes. She stretched her mouth into a big smile. She didn't want her father to cry. Franny understood a little better then how a poster child must feel, relieved to know that others understood the difficulty of it all. She was grateful to the newspapers and the March of Dimes for educating the public. But they were clapping for her as if she'd
done
something. All she'd done was get polio.

“We miss you, Franny,” called Teresa.

But which Franny?
Franny wanted to ask.
Which Franny do you miss? Because, actually, I've been here all along. In the flesh
.

The crowd, including Teresa and the others, moved on down the street, singing, “Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! We'll fight that polio!” into the cold night air.

Only Quiet Katy Green and her parents remained on the doorstep.

“So! This is Franny,” said Quiet Katy's dad. He was wearing
a
TONIGHT I AM A MOTHER
sign pinned to his jacket. “Katy talks about you all the time.”

Quiet Katy's cheeks, already pink from the cold, grew pinker. “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Oops, my big mouth again. I'm the loudmouth in the family,” he said. “Katy and Sally are the shy ones. Two peas in a pod.”

“Oh, Carl,” said Quiet Katy's mother, Sally. She put an arm around her daughter and smiled. Quiet Katy and her mother did look very much alike, with their round cheeks and watchful eyes.

“Come inside to warm up for a bit,” said Mr. Katzenback.

Before Franny knew it, the adults were sitting down for tea, Min had excused herself, and Franny and Quiet Katy were alone in Franny's bedroom. Alf followed them in.

Quiet Katy looked around. “What a nice room!” she said. “I love your braided rug. I've got the same ballerina alarm clock! And you play the clarinet. I'm taking music lessons, too! My parents said I could choose any instrument, any instrument at all. I chose the trombone! Oh, you've got a dog! Lucky, lucky you! My parents won't let me get one because my father has allergies, even though he's allergic to cats, but he doesn't want to take a chance, in case he's allergic to dogs, too, and then it would be too late, because we'd all love that dog and wouldn't want to return it. Let me see your books. Oh, I've read a lot of them! Didn't you love
Little House in the Big Woods
and
The Secret Garden
? Wasn't
Little Women
wonderful? I thought I'd read the entire Bobbsey Twins series, but you have some I haven't even read yet!”

Franny realized Quiet Katy wasn't actually that shy or quiet.

“Oh, what's this?” cried Quiet Katy, or just plain Katy at that
moment. She held up Sparky's Finest. “Is this a brooch? It's really nice.”

“It's a bottle cap,” said Franny. “One of my favorites.”

“It's unusual for a bottle cap.” Katy waved Sparky's Finest around the room. “Look how it catches the light!”

Franny caught a quick flash of Fleabrain's “face,” on Alf's tail, looking alarmed. Franny was alarmed, as well. “Careful, please. Don't drop it.”

“Oh, of course,” said Katy respectfully. She gently laid Sparky's Finest on Franny's dresser again.

“I could lend you some Bobbsey Twins books, the ones you haven't read,” said Franny. “And any other books you want to borrow.”

“Oh, good! Thank you!” Katy chose a few books from the bookshelf. “I'll take really, really good care of these; don't you worry. I'm not the type who folds down the corners of her pages, so you don't have to worry about that. Sometimes I do snack while I read, but I promise I won't do that, either. But if I do snack, I'll make sure I'm really, really careful. I'll use lots of napkins. I'll shake out any crumbs. And if I do any permanent damage, I promise I'll replace your book. But, as I said, don't worry. I'll be really careful.”

Katy stopped to take a breath. “Franny, I'm really, really glad we got a chance to spend time in a one-to-one situation. I always feel much better in a one-to-one situation. Shyness is an affliction of mine and my mother's. Oh, I guess I shouldn't say ‘affliction.' I'm really sorry. I didn't mean—”

“I'm glad we got a chance to spend time, too,” said Franny.

Franny wheeled over to her bedside, because there was one more
book to lend Katy, the one she always kept on her night table. “Here's something else for you,” she said. “My very favorite.”

Katy examined the cover. “A book about a spider and a pig?”

“It's recently published,” said Franny. “You'll love it.”

Proud Pittsburgh

Dr. Engel, Who Thought He Knew Everything

F
ranny knew the face of her pediatrician, Dr. Harris Engel, very well. She'd spent time with it, up close, during every examination, all her life. Dr. Engel's breath smelled like peppermint and cigars. He had two deep lines in his broad forehead, lines that seemed deeper every time Franny saw him. As he loomed over her, Franny could even count the nose hairs growing from Dr. Engel's nostrils. His cheeks were chubby and tanned, even though it was February. That's because Dr. and Mrs. Engel had recently returned from Florida.

“Say ‘ah,' ” said Dr. Engel, holding down Franny's tongue with a wooden stick.

“Ah,” said Franny. She counted the nose hairs. Three hairs this visit—two hanging from the left nostril and one from the right.

“Throat looks normal,” he said. “Now for your ears.” He leaned over and poked Franny's ears with his ear-examining contraption.

“Did you have a nice vacation, Doctor?” asked Mrs. Katzenback.

“Mmm,” said Dr. Engel.

“That's nice,” said Franny's mother, although to Franny it wasn't clear whether Dr. Engel meant yes or no.

Dr. Engel never seemed to like talking about personal matters. She actually knew very little about him, except that there was a Mrs. Engel and they went to Florida the first two weeks of every single February. It was hard to imagine Dr. Engel lying on a beach in bathing trunks, baring his large stomach. Franny had never seen him in anything except his white coat and crisply pressed long pants.

“We wanted to make an earlier appointment, but your nurse reminded us that you were vacationing,” said Mr. Katzenback.

“Turn this way, dear.” Dr. Engel poked Franny's other ear. “Was there an urgent need? You certainly could have made an appointment with Dr. Unger while I was gone.”

“No, it wasn't urgent,” said Mr. Katzenback. “We were, as I believe I told your nurse, worried about Franny's lack of greater progress in terms of moving her legs.”

“Oh, but she
has
made progress!” said Franny's mother. “We are thrilled that she has moved her feet since we last saw you! And she does walk short distances with her braces, even without the crutches. Show the doctor, Franny.”

Her father eased Franny out of her wheelchair, helping her stand upright. Franny leaned hard on one braced leg, then pushed her opposite hip forward so that her other braced leg swung out stiffly. She reversed the process with the other leg, clinging to her father's arm, continuing to walk this way to the doctor's big desk, then back again to her chair, into which she sank with relief.

“We are wondering if you would write a note to the authorities
at Creswell School, describing her progress with her braces and crutches, and allaying any fears they might have of contagion,” said Mr. Katzenback.

“Of course, of course,” said Dr. Engel, adding to the notes on his clipboard.

“But she will improve even more and walk normally again, won't she, Doctor?” asked Franny's father.

“Mmm,” said Dr. Engel.

“We also have some concerns about her eyes,” said Mrs. Katzenback.

“Her eyes?” asked the doctor.

Franny squirmed in her wheelchair. “Oh, Mom. I told you. I was just pretending.”

“That may be, but we thought a quick eye exam would set our fears to rest. Franny has been fitting a glass bottle cap inside her eyeglasses to correct her vision, Doctor.”

“I wasn't
correcting
anything,” Franny said. “I just wanted to pretend I was wearing a monocle, like people used to do in olden times.”

“Honey, it seems you've pretended more than once. All of us have noticed you wearing the bottle cap several times in the past few weeks,” said her mother.

“Just a quick exam, Doctor,” said Mr. Katzenback, “as long as we're here. And, if necessary, we'll take her to her ophthalmologist for a stronger eyeglass prescription.”

Still wearing her glasses, Franny rattled off the letters on the eye chart, first covering her right eye and then her left, starting with the
giant
E
and proceeding all the way down to the almost-invisibles. “E, F, P, T, O, Z, L, P, E, D, P, E, C, F, D, E, D …”

“Excellent,” said Dr. Engel. “Her vision with her current prescription seems fine, Sam.”

“See? I told you,” said Franny.

“I just don't understand—”

Dr. Engel interrupted Mrs. Katzenback. He turned his back on Franny and put an arm on one shoulder of each of her parents. “Muriel. Sam,” he said in a low voice. Dr. Engel paused, then gave a deep sigh. “I don't have to tell you what your daughter has endured. Is
still
enduring. I don't have to tell you how her life has changed and that she is extremely lonely. Surely you understand how an active imagination can add a little pleasure to her life.”

“Of course we do, Doctor,” said Franny's father.

Franny's eyes smarted with tears.

You were not supposed to punch a doctor in the nose. Actually, you were not supposed to punch
anyone
in the nose if you were brought up to be a good citizen, except maybe in certain situations. The only times Franny had seen noses punched were in cartoons and movies. But if she had the nerve, which she didn't, and if she could reach his nose from her wheelchair, which she couldn't, this was certainly a real-life nose-punching situation.