Double Fudge (12 page)

"You're Uncle Feather," Mini said, pointing at Fudge.

"No, I'm Fudge!"

"No, you're not!" Fudge told him. "You're Farley but we call you Mini."

"No,
he's
Farley," Mini said, pointing to me.

"No,
he's
Pete!" Fudge said.

"Who's Pete?" Mini asked.

"I give up!" Fudge shouted in frustration.

"No, I give up," Mini said, laughing.

"You're a Turkey Brain!" Fudge shouted at him.

"Gobble gobble," Tootsie said as she toddled past Fudge's room.

It rained all weekend. Not that the Howies minded, because by Saturday morning they were hooked on TV. I'm not sure how it happened. It could be that on Friday night when Dad checked the Weather Channel, Eudora was intrigued. "Why look at that, Howie! Isn't that fascinating? You can follow the weather all over the country. They even show the Hawaiian Islands." For the next two hours she and Howie watched the Weather Channel.

159

Then Howie got hold of the remote control and that was it. Talk about turning into vegetables! It was amazing. For all I know they pulled an all-nighter. I got up once to pee and could still see the flickering lights coming from the living room. I think they were watching reruns of
I Love Lucy.
They were laughing their heads off as if they'd never seen anything like it. I realized then, they probably hadn't.

Mom had to go to work on Saturday morning and Dad had his usual list of errands. But because of the heavy rain he didn't want to take Fudge or Tootsie with him. I knew what was coming. "Peter, I won't be gone more than an hour. I've put Tootsie in for a nap. So if you can just keep an eye on Fudge ..."

"Don't worry, Tubby," Eudora said, yawning. "I'll keep an eye on the little ones." Cousin Howie was surfing from Saturday morning cartoons, to the Weather Channel, to CNN Headline News, to a rerun of an Oprah special.

I went to check on Fudge. He was on the floor of his room, building a Lego rocket. Mini was back on the step stool keeping watch over Uncle Feather. "Nice bird," I heard him say.

As soon as Dad left, Turtle started barking at the door. That's what he does when he has to go out.

160

I should have walked him when I first got up, but walking Turtle in the rain isn't exactly fun. I figured the Howies have three kids and another on the way. They could manage without me for fifteen minutes.

I pulled on my rain jacket and grabbed an umbrella. The second we were in the elevator, Turtle knew it was raining out. Don't ask me how he knows, but he always does. He can smell it, I guess. He hates rain. When we reached the lobby I had to pull him toward the door. When we got to the door, he whimpered. When I tugged on his leash, he lay down and rolled onto his back, trying to get me to feel sorry for him. He'll do anything not to set foot on wet pavement.

Henry watched, shaking his head. "How's the bird?" he asked.

"The same."

"Still not talking?"

"Not a word."

I crouched down beside Turtle and talked to him very softly. "Look, you have to do your thing, like it or not. It's not good for you to hold it in for so long." He turned his head, pretending not to hear me.

Olivia Osterman offered a doggie treat. "Thanks,"

I said.

"He could be rebelling against his name," she said. "If he had a proper name like George or Rufus ..."

"It's the rain," I told her. Turtle sat up and ate his treat.

161

I suppose I should have saved it for
after
he did his thing, as a reward. I held the umbrella over his head as I urged him outside. He cowered next to the building. "Okay. Fine. You want to do it here, go ahead, but we're not going back inside until it's done."

For the longest time, he just stood there. Finally, when he realized I wasn't going to change my mind, he did it, without taking two steps away from the building. I scooped it into a baggie and threw the baggie in the trash basket. As soon as he was back inside, he shook himself off, spraying water everywhere, especially on me. All the way up in the elevator, he looked at me like I was beyond stupid for making him go out in the rain.

The minute I opened the door to our apartment, I was hit in the face by a flying Nerf Ball. Everybody was racing around, screaming--Eudora in her nightgown, Cousin Howie in his pajamas, Fudge, Mini, even Tootsie. "What's going on?" I yelled. They were carrying on like it was the end of the world. Turtle took one look and ran, probably to hide under my bed.

I caught Fudge as he raced by. "Pete ..." he cried, "Mini let Uncle Feather out of his cage, and Uncle Feather's going crazy."

"He's not supposed to have free time unless Mom or Dad are home."

162

"I know that."

"So where is he?" I asked, just as Uncle Feather zoomed through the living room, dropping poop like miniature bombs.
Pow!
A direct hit on Cousin Howie's head.
Pow!
There goes the sofa.
Pow pow pow!
He hit the bookcase, the lamp, and the coffee table.

My first thought was,
Mom's not going to be happy about this.
But then I thought,
Never mind the furniture... we have to protect Uncle Feather.
I started shouting orders. "Fudge, shut all the doors except to your room. Eudora, pull down the shades... fast! Cousin Howie, we need to get the mirrors covered."

I ran for the closet where Mom keeps the old sheets, but tripped over Mini on the way. He was chasing Uncle Feather, arms outstretched, little hands in the air as if he could catch a bird bare-handed. "Nice bird... nice bird ..."

Tootsie followed Mini, calling, "Peep... peep... birdie!"

I made it to the closet and tossed Fudge a sheet. "Take that to Cousin Howie." Instead, Fudge threw the sheet over his head and kept running, like a Halloween ghost.

You could hear the thud when Uncle Feather crashed. He crashed into the kitchen window and fell, lifeless, to the floor. "My bird!" Fudge cried.

163

Suddenly, it was absolutely silent in the apartment.

"Don't touch him," Cousin Howie said. "I've been trained to handle situations like this. Everybody stay calm. Fudge, get a blanket. We need to keep him warm."

Fudge came back, dragging the queen-size blanket off Mom and Dad's bed.

"Something smaller," Cousin Howie told him.

"A towel," I said. "Get a clean towel... the small kind."

"And a box, please," Cousin Howie said.

I ran into my room, dumped my baseball cards on my bed, then tore back to the kitchen with the box. "We don't want to cause any harm," Cousin Howie said. "He has to be lifted very carefully." Uncle Feather looked so small lying in the box.

"Peter," Cousin Howie said, "do you know the vet's number?"

Mom keeps the emergency number for the twenty-four-hour-a-day animal hospital on the refrigerator. I picked up the phone and dialed. I don't think I did a very good job of explaining the situation. I managed to get out key words
-Myna bird. Crashed. Window.
I asked if there was a pet ambulance. The voice at the other end said we should bring him in ourselves.

"We'll take the van," Cousin Howie said, throwing

164

a rain poncho over his pajamas. "Eudora, stay here with the children. Peter, you come with me. I'll need a navigator who knows this city."

"Don't forget the van keys," Eudora said, tossing them to Cousin Howie.

"What about me?" Fudge asked. "He's my bird."

"Get your raincoat," I told him. "And hurry."

The heavy rain made it hard to see, but the van was equipped with flashing red lights, so at least people could see us. I called out directions as Cousin Howie drove. "Across Sixty-fifth Street through the park ... to the East Side... stay on Sixty-fifth until we hit York Avenue. It's on Sixty-second between York and the FDR Drive ..."

Fudge stroked Uncle Feather all the way to the animal hospital. "He's going to be okay, right, Pete?"

"I hope so."

"He has to be okay."

"I know what you mean."

"He can't die, right?"

"I just don't know, Fudge."

"You have to know. You're the big brother."

I choked up when he said that and moved closer to him. "Please don't die, Uncle Feather," he whispered. But Uncle Feather just lay there.

Cousin Howie dropped us off in front of the animal hospital. I carried Uncle Feather's box inside my rain jacket.

165

Fudge clung to my sleeve. The rain was still pouring down. So were Fudge's tears.

"Let's have a look," the vet said once we were inside the examining room. He unwrapped the towel. Uncle Feather looked up at him. "Well, look at that," the vet said, as if he was surprised to find a myna bird.

"His name is Uncle Feather," Fudge said.

"Hello, Uncle Feather," the vet said.

"Bonjour, stupid."

At first I thought it was Fudge, imitating Uncle Feather's voice again. But when I heard it the second time, I was looking right at Fudge, and his lips never moved. The third time there was no doubt.
"Bonjour, stupid... stupid... stupid
..."

The vet laughed and said,
"Bonjour
to you, too!"

166

I reached Dad on his cell phone and he met us at the animal hospital. When he got there, Howie said, "Well, Tubby... your boys handled this very well. Peter showed he can think fast in an emergency situation, and Fudge was calm and helpful."

167

Dad hugged Fudge and me. "I'm very proud of my boys, Howie."

"You must be doing something right," Howie said. "Although I can't imagine what it is."

When we got back home, the apartment was neat and clean, not a sign of bird poop anywhere. Eudora was dressed and making sandwiches for lunch, Tootsie was napping, and Mini was parked in front of the tube. "And I don't want to hear one word about it, Howie!" Eudora said. "He's watching the Discovery Channel."

"Discovery Channel?" Howie said. "Well, at least that sounds educational."

"Yes, it is," Eudora said. "I'm sure our little Farley will learn a lot. And in case you were wondering, I've given Flora and Fauna permission to spend another night at the Tubmans'."

"Well," Cousin Howie said. "I can see you're feeling perky today."

"Yes, I am," Eudora said. "Very perky!"

We put Uncle Feather back in his cage and gave him some pear. He seemed confused at first, but not too confused to eat. "You're a lucky bird," Howie told him.

Mini laughed. "Bird talks."

168

Cousin Howie held Mini in his arms so he could see inside the cage. "You understand, don't you, that you can't let the bird out again?"

Mini didn't say anything.

"If you don't understand," Howie said, "you can't come into Fudge's room to watch his bird."

Mini still didn't say anything, but he licked the side of Cousin Howie's face.

"Good," Howie said. "I'm glad you understand."

That's it?
I thought.
He thinks he can trust Mini just because Mini licked his face?

Fudge said, "One time in Maine I let Uncle Feather out of his cage when it wasn't free time ..."

"Then you understand the temptation, don't you, Fudge?" Cousin Howie said. "And you don't blame our little Farley for what happened."

"He shouldn't have done it," Fudge said.

"You're right," Cousin Howie said. "Farley shouldn't have done it. But he's learned his lesson and he's never going to do it again. Isn't that right, Farley?"

"Lucky bird," Mini said.

"Lucky bird... lucky lucky
..."

"Uh... Cousin Howie" I said, "maybe we should have a rule that Mini can only watch Uncle Feather when someone's watching
him."

"Ordinarily I'd say that makes sense," Cousin Howie said. "But in this case it's not necessary."

169

"Mini's not even four years old," I said, in case Cousin Howie needed reminding.

"No matter," Cousin Howie said. "He understands."

I could see there was no point in arguing with Cousin Howie.

After lunch Fudge pulled me aside and said, "Let's play a game, Pete. How about Spit?"

"No, thanks." It was a mistake for Sheila to teach him to play that card game. He thinks, instead of calling out the word
spit,
when he's out of cards, he's actually supposed to do it. He taught Richie Potter to play and they wound up having a spitting contest. It was disgusting.

"Okay," Fudge said, "then how about Mono-Poly?"

"It's not Mono-Poly," I told him. "It's Monopoly. And you need more than two players to have a good game. Besides, you steal from the bank."

"Come on, Pete ... I won't steal." He gave me his best-little-boy-in-the-world look.

"You promise?" I asked.

"I promise."

I gave in, figuring if ever he deserved a reward for good behavior this was it. Besides, I knew the game would be over in less than an hour. Playing Monopoly with Fudge is like playing basketball with your dog.

170

He really doesn't get it. His only interest is in owning Boardwalk and Park Place.

"I'll buy that," he said when he landed on Park Place today. He already owned Boardwalk but it was mortgaged. "Plus, I'll buy two hotels."

"You can't build houses or hotels until you pay off the mortgage," I told him. "Anyway, you don't have enough money to buy anything."

"Oh yes I do." He pulled a wad of Fudge Bucks from his pocket.

"We only use Monopoly money when we're playing Monopoly."

"Okay... then I'll just make a quick stop at the ATM."

"There is no ATM in Monopoly."

"Well, there should be!" he argued.

"But there isn't," I told him.

"Fine. I'll use my credit card."

"What credit card?"

"The one Grandma gave me."

"Grandma gave you a credit card?"

He pulled it out of his other pocket and waved it around. "Too bad she didn't give one to you, Pete."

"Let me see that." I grabbed it out of his hand. "This card is ten years out of date," I said. "Grandma should have thrown it away a long time ago."

"I don't care!" Fudge said.

171

"Well, I do. And even if it was still good you couldn't use it for Monopoly. This is a game, not real life." I took my turn and landed on Pennsylvania Railroad. I already owned it.

Then it was Fudge's turn. As he shook the dice, he started to sing.
"Oh ... money, money, money, I love money, money, money
..." He threw the dice. Double fours. He moved eight spaces and landed on Community Chest. He picked up a card. "Second prize in a beauty contest, Pete." He held out his hand. "Ten bucks, please." Then he threw the dice again.

When Mom got home from work, Eudora had a big pot of chili simmering on the stove and the table in the alcove set for dinner. Mom looked surprised and pleased. Eudora said, "It's the least we could do. You've been so generous to us. And with the accident and all ..."

"Accident?" Mom asked, and the expression on her face changed. "What accident?"

"Oh, Anne," Eudora said, "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew ..."

"Knew what?" Mom said, growing more worried. "Is everyone all right?"

Fudge tore across the room and jumped into Mom's arms. "It's Uncle Feather, Mom! He broke his wing. He has to wear a splint for six weeks.

172

I helped Pete and Cousin Howie take him to the animal hospital. Did you know there's no ambulance for birds?"

"Wing?" Mom said. "But how ..."

Dad came into the room and put his arm around Mom. "Uncle Feather's going to be all right," he told her.

"But...

"It's a long story, honey," Fudge said, doing a perfect imitation of Dad.

Before Dad had the chance to fill her in on what happened, the doorbell rang. "I wonder who that could be?" Mom asked.

She always says that instead of just opening the door and finding out for herself. While she was wondering, I went to the door, looked through the peephole, and caught a glimpse of Jimmy and his father. "Hey," I said, opening the door. "This is a surprise."

"It's supposed to be," Jimmy said. Then he helped Frank Fargo carry in a huge, flat package wrapped in brown paper.

"For you," Mr. Fargo said, presenting it to Mom.

"For me?" Mom asked.

"Well, actually, for the whole family," Mr. Fargo said.

"What could it be?" Mom asked.

"See for yourself," Mr. Fargo told her.

173

"Come on, Mom," I said, helping her tear off the brown wrapping paper.

"Oh, Frank ..." Mom got all choked up when she saw what was inside. It was one of the paintings from his
show--Baby Feet
Blueberry--the original painting Tootsie walked across. "We can't accept such a ..."

Mr. Fargo didn't wait for her to finish. "Think of it this way, Anne," he said. "Without Tootsie, there wouldn't have been any show."

"That's just what Dad says!" Fudge told Mr. Fargo.

Dad turned red and laughed. "It's fabulous, Frank ... and more than generous."

"It would look perfect over our living-room sofa," Mom said. "We've been saving for a piece of art, but with money being so tight these days ..."

"What's
tight
money?" Fudge asked.

"Never mind," Mom said.

"Come on, Mom. If it's about money I have to know."

"Tight
means there's not a lot to spend," Mom explained, softly.

"Or it could mean somebody's really cheap," I told him. "Like a
tightwad."

"Thank you, Peter," Mom said and from her tone I knew I should stay out of this. "But we're talking about a money situation here, not how a person
feels
about spending it."

174

"I love it when we talk about money," Fudge said. "What's a
wad?"

"This is hopeless," Mom said.

"I can see that," Mr. Fargo answered. "So let's skip the chitchat and hang the painting."

Dad helped Mr. Fargo center
Baby Feet Blueberry
over the sofa while Mom eyed it. "A little higher ... no, that's too high ... about an inch lower ... yes, that's it!"

Then we all stood back to admire the painting. Eudora said, "Why, it looks as if it was meant to hang in that very spot."

Cousin Howie said, "Is it my eyes or are those swirls of color moving?"

"They're supposed to look as if they're moving," Mr. Fargo said.

"Well, I'll be ..." Howie said.

Then Fudge told Jimmy about Uncle Feather's accident, and the three of us went to Fudge's room to check him out. Mini was standing on the step stool, watching over him. "Nice bird," Mini said. "Lucky bird."

"Nice bird
..." Uncle Feather repeated.
"Lucky ... lucky
..."

"He's talking again?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah," I said.

175

"Just like that?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Nobody knows."

"Nobody knows ... nobody knows
..."

"I know," Mini said.

I looked at him. "You know what?"

"Why the bird can talk."

"Who told you?" I asked.

"The bird," Mini said.

"The bird told you why he was talking again?" I said. Mini nodded.

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"Can't tell," Mini said.

"Why not?"

"Promised."

"Promised
who?"

"The bird!" Mini said. Then he laughed like crazy, sounding exactly the way Fudge did when he was that age. He was even starting to look like Fudge. How come I never noticed that before?

Fudge collected a stack of paintings from one of his shelves. He carried them into the living room and presented them to Mr. Fargo.
"Dog Feet Red, Dog Feet Blue, Dog Feet Green, and Dog Feet Purple."

176

Mr. Fargo paid careful attention to each of Fudge's paintings. "These are very good," he said. "They show a lot of promise."

I moved closer to check them out and what did I see? Paw prints. Every single painting was covered with paw prints! "Wait a minute," I said to Fudge. "How did you get..."

Fudge laughed. "It was so easy, Pete. Turtle liked walking across my paintings."

"You used
my
dog for your paintings?"

"You want to buy one, Pete? They're for sale. Three zeros for each one."

"You know how much three zeros adds up to?"

"Yeah, Pete," Fudge said. "More than two zeros!"

Jimmy invited me to go to supper and a movie with him and his father. I jumped at the chance to get out of the apartment. "Maybe you can spend the night, too?" Jimmy asked.

"Yes!" I told him, before I even checked with Mom and Dad. I knew they'd let me go. I knew they'd think by then I deserved a break.

The next morning, Giraffe Neck was at the Fargos' loft with Vinny. She made us french toast for breakfast. "Wait 'til you taste it," Jimmy said. "It's the world's best. Right, Vinny?"

177

Vinny barked but this time he didn't retreat. He even let me pet him.

Sunday night, on the way home, Jimmy told me his dad and Giraffe Neck are getting married on Valentine's Day. "And you have to be there," he said, "because I'm best man and I don't know anything about being best man."