The Anybodies (13 page)

“
FINISH YOUR BREAKFAST QUICKLY, DEAR
! Quickly! I knew this day would come,” Mrs. Appleplum was chirping in the kitchen. “Oh, my,” she said. “I just knew it. Hurry, hurry!”

Fern was eating toast with marmalade, which reminded her of a bear who lived in England named Paddington, a British bear whom she used to read about when she was a bit younger. She'd actually planned on canceling her lesson with Mrs. Appleplum today. She wanted to go back upstairs to relieve the Bone, who'd been trying to decode the diary all night while she slept. She wanted to switch places with him. He looked awful, bleary-eyed and bedraggled. “What is
it?” Fern asked. “Is it Mr. Haiserblaitherness? Has he done something?”

“Done something?” Mrs. Appleplum looked at her, perplexed. “No, I don't think so. Do you think he's broken something in his room? He'll have to pay for that, you know.”

“No, I was just asking…”

“Mr. Haiserblaitherness is fine, as far as I know. I untied him this morning. He looked well-rested. But I do wonder if your father's lisp isn't contagious, because Mr. Haiserblaitherness sure had a strange
sin his words.”

“Well, I've never caught the lisp,” Fern said, although she knew very well why Mr. Haiserblaitherness was still a bit hissy. She'd been thinking about him this morning. Those envelopes were on her mind. What was he writing? Why did he keep them even after addressing and stamping them? Why didn't he just mail them?

Mrs. Appleplum went on, “In any case, the point is—are you done eating?”

Fern nodded.

“The point is—Come on. Come on.” She held on to Fern's arm and walked her briskly to the back door. “We have a problem.”

Fern opened the screen door and stared at the backyard. Straight ahead beside the giant peach tree was a line of creatures. She recognized some—furry-footed hobbits and the redheaded fairy still wearing the pansy,
now slightly wilted, clipped to her belt. There was also a scowling rat, perhaps the same one who'd stuck his tongue out at her, and two rabbits—one nervous older rabbit and the other younger, more casual, almost cool, if a rabbit can be cool. Fern recognized them from the front yard, where she'd once seen them chatting together. And there was one squirrel who was—squirrelly.

(Here, let me interrupt, if you'd be so kind, to say…if you think I had trouble writing about the fairy, you can imagine that I'm going to struggle with the hobbits, and, well, the talking animals will be my downfall. I don't like talking animals, as a rule. Not that I would be rude to a talking animal if I came across one. I wouldn't, of course! But luckily I've never had that kind of awkward encounter. I suppose Aesop started the trend—well, there was that serpent who talked to Eve in the garden—but why did the trend have to persist? Generation after generation with their talking animals! It's ridiculous. I wish I didn't have to be a party to it. And yet, I'm handcuffed to the story here. And, sorry to say, in this story there are some talking animals. It's not my fault. It's the fault of the people who wrote the other books in the first place. I guess this is what I'm saying: if you are deeply offended by talking animals, I completely understand.

Fern, unlike me, was fine with talking animals. Some people are. And so…)

“What do they want?” Fern asked.

“They want you!” “Why me?” Fern asked. “They need help, Ida. And you're the only one who can help them.”

Fern was worried. She remembered the mean fairy from the night before. She was a little afraid of her. “How?”

Mrs. Appleplum steered her toward them. “Smile,” she said. “It'll make them more at ease.”

Fern smiled. The line of creatures shuffled and tittered anxiously.

“How can I help them?” Fern asked.

“The books,” Mrs. Appleplum said through her teeth, smiling.

“The books.”

The fairy started first. “I've organized this uprising! There are things we need! And some of us want to go back! She's got to help us. It's not our fault we're here!”

“Now, now, let's remain civilized,” said the nervous rabbit in a genteel
British accent. “Don't make her angry.” Fern could see that he was fiddling with a gold watch on a chain, somewhat like the one the Bone used for hypnosis, but this one was much, much smaller.

The rat paced. “Just get on with it!”

The squirrel blinked and flicked its tail.

The hobbits looked skittish and a little sheepish. One said, “We only want what's simple. We have but simple needs. And only if it isn't any trouble. We don't want to trouble you.”

“Wait, just wait,” Fern said. “Are you all angry because you're not in your books?”

The fairy said, “I want to go back!” But the others shook their heads. The nervous rabbit raised his hand. “I may like to go back, perhaps.” But the younger rabbit nudged him in the ribs, and said to Fern, “No, he don't.”

They decided to go one at a time. The hobbits, it turned out, much preferred living here in Mrs. Appleplum's front yard. It was safer and quieter than the book they'd come from, and they could enjoy their routines, their small comforts. It was just that they missed some of their favorite ale and tea and pipe weed.

Mrs. Appleplum had already compiled the books Fern would need.
The Hobbit
was the first book in the pile. Fern concentrated and shook, and sure enough she got a nice barrel of ale and a few canisters of tea. “Are you sure you need the pipe weed? Is it really good for you?” she asked.

They shuffled their furry feet. “Not especially,” one admitted with a little cough.

“This is fine,” another said. “Thank you so very much. We aren't worthy of this much goodness.” And another, “How can we repay you? We must repay you! Thank you so kindly!”

The chubby hobbits started rolling their barrel to their underground homes in the front yard. They were very spirited. “We should taste it, don't you think?”

“At this hour of the day?”

“We shouldn't drink it. We should simply taste it to see if it's made it through well enough.”

“I suppose we could.” And the other nodded, and soon they'd gotten cups and were sipping the ale, tast
ing and tasting to make sure it hadn't soured.

The young rabbit introduced himself as Peter and he was wearing his blue jacket, but it was a mess—grass-stained elbows, the brass buttons all popped loose. “He wants to get rid of his watch,” Peter told Fern, pointing with a jerk of his head to the older rabbit. “He wants it to go back in the book.”

“You see,” said the older rabbit. “I'm always afraid I'm late, terribly late, for something quite important. And Peter has really taught me that I must calm myself and have adventures.”

“Do you agree with him?” Fern asked.

“I do, but I'm frightened.”

“Well, the problem is that I can't put things back in books. I can only get them out.”

The redheaded fairy erupted. “Well, what good are you then?” And she started to stomp off.

But then Mrs. Appleplum whispered, “Actually, you
can
put things back. I just haven't shown you how to yet. It's quite easy.” Fern remembered then that when Mrs. Appleplum's foot had started to come out of the book, she did jiggle it back in as fast as she could.

“Wait! Wait!” Fern yelled to the fairy. “I can try!”

So the redheaded fairy slouched back to the group.

“Let me start with the gold watch,” Fern said.

The old rabbit handed Fern the watch hesitantly.

“Are you sure?”

“He's sure,” Peter said.

Mrs. Appleplum placed the gold watch on top of the open pages of
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
. “Concentrate,” she said. “Jiggle softly.” And sure enough, like sifting sand, the gold watch disappeared into the book.

“Did it work? Did it work?” the fairy asked.

“Yes, yes, it did,” announced Mrs. Appleplum.

“What do you want?” Fern asked the rat.

“My name is Templeton.”

“Oh, I know you!” Fern said. “I'm named…,” but she stopped herself just in time. She didn't want to bring up the girl named Fern in
Charlotte's Web
, which Mrs. Appleplum had on top of the pile now. She corrected herself and said, “I'm named Ida Bibb.”

“Great. Fine. I'd rather not say it to the whole group, okay?”

“Okay,” Fern said, and she bent down so he could whisper.

“I miss, you know, folks in the book.”

“You mean Wilbur?”

“Shhh.” His eyes darted around. “Well, maybe.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Keep it down, would you?” Templeton said, then he added loudly, “It's just that they need me in that darn book! I'm very important. Everything will fall apart without me!”

“Okay, okay.” Fern let Templeton climb up on the book. She jiggled and he started to sink in. He gave a sharp nod for a good-bye. But as soon as he was gone, his rump reappeared. He was pushed back out. “Let me in!” Fern could hear him shouting. “Come on! Let me back in!” Finally, after a bit of a struggle, he was securely in the book. Fern shut it quickly.

That left the fairy and the squirrel. The fairy said, “I want to go back. You see, I love it there. It's a wonderful place.”

“Let's try,” Fern said.

The fairy climbed up onto the opened pages of
The Complete Guide to Fairies
. “Wait,” she said, handing Fern the barrettes and starting to unclip the pansy. “Here, these are yours. The Borrowers gave them to me.”

“You can keep them,” Fern told her. “They were never really me, if you know what I mean.”

“Thank you,” the fairy said. “If this works, if you pull this off, you can shake this book anytime and you'll have a whole army of fairies to help you. That's a promise.”

“Thanks,” Fern said, and she concentrated very hard. (She was still afraid of a nasty ankle bite.) She jiggled, and the fairy disappeared.

“One left,” Mrs. Appleplum said. “Now what book are you from?” she asked the squirrel.

The squirrel was glancing around at the house and
up the tree and at the hobbits who, quite unlike themselves, had gotten so joyously carried away, they were singing a pub song about a woman named Adeline. One belched and excused himself profusely, and then another farted, terribly embarrassed. Fern could smell the cheesy air from where she stood downwind.

“What do you want?” Fern asked the squirrel. “Do you want something?”

But the squirrel didn't really want anything. As it turned out, he was just a regular squirrel. And thank goodness for that! I really needed just a regular squirrel! He blinked his eyes and dashed off.

JUST THEN, THE BONE STUCK HIS HEAD OUT THE
back door.

“Ida! Meet me at the car! We've got to head out! We've got a…a…an errand to run!” He looked at Mrs. Appleplum. “Encsssyclopediasss! Jusst a quick jaunt.”

Mrs. Appleplum looked at Fern. “Thank you for helping. You're very good, you know.”

“Thanks,” said Fern, and then she nearly reached out and grabbed Mrs. Appleplum. She could feel her arms almost rise up and hug her. Fern remembered the kiss Mrs. Appleplum had planted on her cheek. Fern wanted
to hug her, but would Mrs. Appleplum hug her back? Fern couldn't be sure, and so she didn't. She resisted. Instead, she ran off, bounding past the tipsy hobbits, who thanked her again with a small chorus of proper cheer, and around the house into the Bone's wheezing car.

The Bone drove the wobbly car down the long driveway, the diary jostling on the seat between them.

“Where are we going?” Fern asked.

“Howard!” the Bone said. “Howard is the key. It struck me, Fern. This diary is a pattern. And patterns can be mathematic equations. The diary has words and numbers like algebra. Howard will be able to crack this code, I tell you.”

Howard! Of course, why hadn't Fern thought of him? Howard was at the Drudgers'. “Are you taking me back to Tamed Hedge Road?”

The Bone nodded. “Where else?”

What would she think of her house now that she'd been through so very much? She went through the dates in her head. Math camp would be over with. That was good. And vacation at Lost Lake wouldn't start for a while yet. Would the Drudgers have missed her? Had she missed them?

While they drove, Fern told the Bone about the hobbits, the rabbits, Templeton and the squirrel. “Do you ever think we'll need an army of fairies?”

“You never can tell.”

“I almost hugged Mrs. Appleplum,” Fern said.

“You didn't tell her that you're her granddaughter, did you?”

“No,” Fern said. “Of course not.” What she didn't say was that she really wanted to, that she was dying to tell her.

“Good,” the Bone said. “Keep your eyes peeled for butterflies. I've asked the Great Realdo to help us out. And, well, that's the form he likes to take with me.”

Fern kept watch. They passed an old gas station. It was boarded up, but through its dusty windows, Fern could see that it was packed with old stuff—furniture and dusty junk. The old pumps looked familiar, and Fern remembered the background of the photograph of her mother, swaying, maybe dancing.

They drove on until Fern knew the streets, the familiar turns. There was a certain well-worn comfort. She closed her eyes as the car got closer to Tamed Hedge Road. There was no denying the gravitational pull toward her old house. The pause at the stop sign. The dip in the intersection. The clunk of the manhole cover. The Bone bumped the car over the curb and into the driveway. Her body knew its way there so well. Had this been home all along and she just hadn't been able to recognize it? Maybe! Wouldn't that be a simple fix. Fern opened her eyes, and there they were…the cream house with cream shutters on Tamed Hedge Road. Fern
felt a familiar tightening in her chest. She narrowed her eyes; it was an instinct. She patted down the front fluff of her wild hair.
No, Fern thought, this isn't home. This is the Drudgers' home, not mine.

Now, I'm sure you haven't been thinking too much about Howard's vacation with the Drudgers, but I can tell you it's been an unusual one. First of all, no matter how happily ordinary Howard is, no matter how much he admired and craved the Drudgers' dullness, he was brought up by the Bone. And there's no avoiding the fact that the Bone had influenced him. The Bone had made him a little adventurous…just a little tiny bit. So this is what happened: Howard became very good friends with Milton Beige, the chubby beige boy with the ball-tipped nose whom Fern was supposed to marry one day. While doing math problems for fun, Howard told Milton a secret. It slipped out. Hypnosis. Milton goaded Howard into proving it. “I don't believe you!” he said. So Howard decided to make it clear. Howard wasn't a great hypnotist. Keep that in mind. He was taught by the Bone, who was in a fragile state and not very confident in his own skills. So…

It only took a second for Fern to notice that something was wrong at the Drudger household. The grass was much too long. The boxy front hedge had a few wild branches shooting up from it. There was grass
growing in the sidewalk cracks, and the racket of crickets, which she'd never heard before from her yard, was noisy.

Fern jumped out of the car. She raced to the front door.

“What is it, Fern? What's wrong?” the Bone asked. To his untrained eye, things seemed just fine.

“It's all wrong!” Fern told him.

She twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. She pounded on the door and buzzed the bell, one long buzz. Then she stopped and listened. She heard weird noises, screeching? Did she hear screeching?

“Who is it?” asked a voice that Fern didn't recognize.

“It's me. Ida. No, Fern, Fern…” She nearly said Fern Drudger, but she then thought,
No, Bone. By this
point, Fern didn't know what to say. “Just let me in!” she said. “This is my house!”

“Oh. Well, this is Milton Beige, and I'm unable to open the door at this moment. I…I just can't right now. Why don't you come back later?”

“Open up, Milton!” Fern said.

The Bone was standing next to her now. “Open the door. I'm here, too. Tell Howard that it's the Bone.”

The door unlocked, and Milton's round nose and big beige cheeks appeared. “Come in, quick,” he said.

Howard, his face flushed, was standing behind
Milton. “Hello,” he said with a sigh.

Fern and the Bone were hustled inside. The house was a wreck. The ceiling light in the hall entranceway was gone. In its place was a splotch of broken plaster and a handful of wires.

“We can explain,” said Milton, his voice high with nerves. “See, we got a little bored—”

“I made a mistake,” Howard said. “It's all my fault.”

“See, I didn't know it until I met Howard, but I've been bored all my life!” Milton broke in. “But, see…”

“No,” Fern said. “I don't see! What happened?” Frustrated, she pushed past Howard and Milton and ran from room to room. The closet doors were thrown open and coats and scarves were strewn everywhere. Mr. Drudger's work umbrella was popped open and hanging from the ceiling fan slowly revolving in the kitchen. There were muddy footprints, small like a dog's footprints, all over the beige carpeting. Banana peels splayed on the coffee table. The Drudgers' painting of their living room in their living room was completely crooked. And still there were screechy noises coming from upstairs. And padding. And thumping.

“What's happened here, Howard?” the Bone asked.

“I made a mistake. I wanted to impress Milton. I wanted to prove I could do it. And Milton had a gold watch from his grandfather. I showed it to the Drudgers. I rocked it back and forth and their eyes
latched on so easily. I wanted them to be fun! I wanted them to have fun!”

Milton broke in, “Honestly, sir, for all the bad stuff that's happened here, I can honestly say that I
have
had fun. And the Drudgers, sir,
are
more fun.”

Fern was charging up the stairs now. She followed the noises until she came to her parents' bedroom. The door was closed. She paused, and Howard charged to the door, blocking it with his body. “Look, Fern, they were so dull I had to do something. I had to at least try!”

“Let me see, Howard, for myself,” Fern said.

She pushed Howard out of the way and opened the door. And there they were. Mr. and Mrs. Drudger…they were still dressed like themselves, khakis, button-downs. But Mrs. Drudger was jumping on the bed and Mr. Drudger was hanging on the doorknob of the closet. They were both squat and waddling, their chins out, their lips pursing and unpursing. They were ooh-oohing and hee-heeing. Mrs. Drudger's hair was wild and somewhat matted. Mr. Drudger was unshaven.

The Bone said, “Yep, I've seen this kind of thing before. Our system isn't perfect. It has…”

“Some kinks!” Fern said. “I'd say it has some kinks!”

Milton was standing in the hallway too, breathless from having bounded up the stairs. He wasn't used to such exercise. “Aren't they magnificent creatures?”

“You are a menace,” Fern said. “How could you two
do this? It's completely unfair. How long have they been like this, Howard? How long?”

Milton walked into the bedroom. He pulled some grapes out of his pockets, and the Drudgers waddled over to him. They plucked the grapes from his dimpled
hand and popped them into their mouths.

“A week, I guess. I tried to get in touch, but you all weren't home. Have you moved?”

“Just for a little bit,” the Bone said.

“And you didn't tell me?” Howard looked hurt.

“We aren't far,” the Bone said. “We're trying to get the book. We're getting closer. It's why we're here.” The Bone handed Howard the diary. “We found this, but we need it decoded, and I thought if anyone could do it, you could.”

Howard eyed the diary. “I can try, I guess,” he said.

Fern was still in shock. She was watching Mr. and Mrs. Drudger eat grapes and pick at Milton's hair. “We should try to get them back, shouldn't we?” Fern questioned. But then she really looked at them. They were all cuddled up, talking to each other in a low monkey chatter. They appeared so loving now, as one sniffed the other's head. “Shouldn't we?”

“I love them like this!” Milton smiled. “Let them be happy a little while longer. Just a little! You don't understand,” he said. “This is a beautiful thing, I tell you.”

The Bone shrugged.

Howard said, “I've tried. They just won't look at me long enough to really settle into dehypnosis. It's like they know and they don't want to. It'll wear off.”

Milton said, “We bought a monkey costume. Howard is going to take Mr. Drudger to the bank and
get him to cash some checks. I think folks will think he's being funny, you know, annoyingly in character. But they've got to let him take the money out.”

“Sounds like a clever plan. And you know I love clever plans. But are you okay?” the Bone asked Howard. “Really?”

“It is actually kind of fun. I sort of like taking care of them. And, you know, it's good for Milton. Look at him.”

Milton was climbing on the bed now, jumping with them. Fern smiled. “Well, I guess it's good for them all, somehow.”

Howard opened the diary. “This might take a while,” he said. “It might be a tough code to crack.”

“You can do it!” Fern said.

“I'll try,” Howard said.

He walked them downstairs to the front door.

“Did they get fired from Beige & Beige?” Fern asked.

“No, Milton told me to call in some personal vacation time. You know they had a lot of unused vacation days!”

“I know,” Fern said. She wandered away from the Bone and Howard into the living room. She walked to the painting of the living room and moved it so that it hung straight. She could hear the Bone saying “Here's my phone number. Call us as soon as you think you've
got it,” and Howard saying that he would, as soon as he could.

Howard and the Bone didn't hug. The Bone didn't do that kind of thing. While they shook hands, Fern shut her eyes and slowly lifted her hand to the painting. Then she tried to glide her fingers into the painting, thinking to herself,
No, it isn't possible. It couldn't be. Not here.
Her fingers were stopped. They bounced off the canvas. Then she heard the monkey noises overhead, and she tried again, thinking this time that it
was
possible, that anything was possible, really, that things weren't what they seemed to be. And this time her fingers did slip into the painting. Fern patted the fuzz of the beige carpeting, a replica of the beige carpeting she was standing on at that very moment. Fern was astonished that she'd had this power all along and had never known it. Feeling jittery, she pulled her hand out of the painting and walked quickly back to Howard and the Bone.

“I'm proud of you, son,” the Bone said. “You're part my boy, even though you're a Drudger. You know that?”

Just then there was loud screeching from upstairs, the Drudgers howling like monkeys. “There's no denying it,” Howard said. “No denying it.”