Fudge-A-Mania (3 page)

28

The kitchen and the living room are really one big room, with a stone fireplace in the center. Buzzy Senior was having breakfast with Grandma. They'd really hit it off last night. At supper they'd laughed so hard you'd have thought they were old friends.

At the same time, Grandma was trying to feed Tootsie oatmeal. But Tootsie likes to feed herself so she grabbed the spoon out of Grandma's hand and wound up with a blob of oatmeal in her hair.

"Pee," Tootsie said, when she spotted me. "You have to go potty?" Grandma asked, as if Tootsie is toilet trained, which she definitely is not.

"She's trying to say
Pete,"
Fudge explained. He was at the table counting Cheerios. He counts out exactly two hundred before he starts to eat. It takes forever because half the time he gets his numbers mixed up. Mom says it's just another phase and he'll get over it. He better or he'll never make it to school on time.

29

Then Sheila waltzed in wearing a fuzzy pink robe and bunny slippers. You'd think she'd be embarrassed to be seen that way but I guess nothing embarrasses the Cootie Queen. When Jimmy finds out he has to see
her
first thing in the morning he'll be on the next plane back to New York.

Sheila opened all the windows in the living room on her way to the table.

"What are you doing, Sheila?" Grandma said. "You're freezing us out."

"I can't
stand
the smell," Sheila said.

"It's a Maine smell," Buzzy Senior said. "It's the dampness and the mildew."

"Doggie-do is more like it!" Sheila said.

"Maybe
your
dog goes inside but my dog doesn't!" I told her.

"Close the windows, Sheila, please..."

Grandma said. "The baby could catch a chill."

Sheila muttered to herself but she closed the windows. When she got to the one in front of Uncle Feather's cage she peered inside and said, "Where's your bird, Fudge?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean... Uncle Feather's not in his cage," Sheila said.

I looked over at Fudge but he kept counting his Cheerios. "Eighty-two... eighty-three..."

30

"His bird is gone?" I asked.

"Yes," Sheila said. "Gone... as in
not present...
as in
disappeared from view..."

I jumped up from the table and ran over to Uncle Feather's cage. Sheila was right. Uncle Feather was definitely
not present.

I looked back at Fudge, who kept counting his Cheerios. "Eighty-four, eighty-five..."

"Where's Uncle Feather?" I asked him.

"Someplace nice," he said. "Eighty-six..."

"What does that mean?" I said.

"I'm trying to count!"

"I'm waiting for an answer," I told him. So was everyone else.

Finally Fudge looked up from his Cheerios. "He was bored. He wanted to come out of his cage."

"You let him out of his cage?" I couldn't believe this.

"Just for a little while." He started counting again. "Fifty-two, fifty-three..."

"Go get him!" I said.

"First I'll have my cereal."

"Oh no you won't," I told him. "First you'll get your bird."

"Grandma..." Fudge said in his best little-boy voice.

But Grandma didn't fall for it. "Go and get your bird, Fudge. Your cereal will wait."

31

Buzzy Senior and Grandma exchanged a long look as Fudge ran out of the room and headed up the stairs on the Tubmans' side of the house. Then they laughed. But I didn't see anything funny. I sat down and buttered a piece of toast.

In a couple of minutes Fudge was back. "He's not there."

"Not where?" I asked.

"Not where I left him."

"Where did you leave him?"

"I can't tell... but he's not there anymore. And the window's open."

I looked over at Sheila.

"Well, how was I supposed to know his bird wasn't in its cage?" she said.

"You opened the windows everywhere?" I asked.

"Well, yes... because of the smell."

I shoved my chair back from the table.

"Let's not panic," Sheila said, sounding exactly like her father. "Let's think this through in a logical way."

"I've thought it through," I told her. I grabbed my rain jacket from the hook near the front door. "Come on," I called to Fudge.

"Search and Rescue," Buzzy Senior said. "That's the spirit." He raised his coffee cup to toast us.

I helped Fudge into his new yellow slicker.

32

It's so long it hangs down to the ground, making him look like a little old man with no feet. I stuck the matching hat on his head.

"Be careful boys," Grandma called. "It's very foggy out there."

"Wait!" Sheila said. "I'll get dressed and come with you."

"Forget it," I told her.

"You're making a big mistake," she said. "Because
I'm
the one who noticed the empty cage."

"Yeah... and
you're
the one who opened all the windows!" I pushed Fudge out the door and let it slam behind me.

Outside the fog was so thick you couldn't even see the cars parked in our driveway. It was like standing inside a big white cloud.

"Where do birds go when it's foggy?" Fudge asked.

"If they're smart they stay home!"

We walked along a path through the woods, calling to Uncle Feather.
"Where are you, stupid?"
We used all his favorite expressions but he didn't answer. There was no sound except for the foghorn in the distance.

"Uncle Feather's just playing a game... right?" Fudge asked.

"Let's hope."

33

The path led us down to the water. There were a couple of houses overlooking the harbor. But it was too foggy to see any of the boats.

"We'll start here," I told Fudge, stopping in front of an old white house with black shutters. We climbed the steps to the front porch.

I'll talk," Fudge said. "He's my bird."

"Okay... but don't waste a lot of time." I rang the bell.

A woman about Grandma's age came to the door. "Have you seen Uncle Feather?" Fudge asked, getting right to the point.

"Uncle who?" she said.

"Uncle Feather," Fudge repeated.

"Why, no... at least I don't think so... but come in out of that fog and tell me all about him." We followed her to the kitchen. "You can call me Mrs. A," she told us. "My husband and I live here all year round. Where are you boys staying?"

"Through the woods," Fudge said. "We have a swing."

"Oh, yes... I've noticed a whole gang at that house."

"There's Mommy and Daddy and Tootsie and Grandma," Fudge said, ticking off names on his fingers. "And Buzzy Senior, Sheila, Libby, Mr. and Mrs. Tubman... and Turtle, Jake,

34

Uncle Feather... and me and my brother, Pete. This is Pete," he said, pointing at me. "He's not supposed to talk."

Mrs. A looked at me. "That sore throat is going around," she said. "I had it myself last week. What you need is some hot tea with lemon and honey."

Before I had the chance to explain that my throat wasn't sore, Fudge made himself comfortable at the kitchen table. "Something smells good," he said.

Mrs. A set out a plate of cinnamon buns. "Fresh from the oven," she told him. "And I'll bet you could use a nice hot cup of cocoa, too."

"I could," Fudge said. "I didn't have any breakfast."

"Why, that's terrible," Mrs. A said. "On a morning like this you need a big, hot breakfast."

I tugged at the sleeve of Fudge's slicker, reminding him that we didn't have time to waste if we were going to find Uncle Feather. But he ignored me.

Mrs. A poured Fudge a cup of cocoa. Then she poured me a cup of tea. She stirred in a spoon of honey and squeezed in the juice from a lemon wedge. "That should fix your sore throat," she said. I didn't tell her that when I'm sick I like Mo's Herb Tea. Or that Fudge's cocoa

35

smelled so good I could feel my mouth watering. There are times when it's better not to say anything. Mrs. A joined us at the table. She helped herself to a cinnamon bun. "I can't resist them," she explained with a guilty look on her face. "This is good cocoa," Fudge said, slurping it with a spoon. "Thank you," Mrs. A said. "Mitzi says my cocoa's the best." "Who's Mitzi?" Fudge asked. "My granddaughter. She's five." "I'm five, too," Fudge said. "Well, you'll have to come by and meet her. She'll be here tomorrow." "Okay," Fudge said. "I'm getting married soon but I can still have friends... right?" "That's right," Mrs. A said. "Everybody needs friends." She didn't ask Fudge about getting married. Instead she watched, fascinated, as he unwound his cinnamon bun and picked out all the raisins. He piled them up in the corner of his plate. Finally Mrs. A said, "I certainly hope your uncle's not out sailing in this weather." "I hope not, too," Fudge said. "Because he doesn't know how to sail." "Oh dear."

36

"He's not even supposed to go outside."

"This sounds serious," she said. "Have you called the police?"

"Not yet," Fudge said. "We called the Search and Rescue team."

"Are they coming soon?" she asked him.

"They're already here," he told her.

"That's a relief," she said. "What does your uncle look like... in case I see someone who fits his description?"

"He's mostly black with yellow feet and a yellow nose," Fudge said, stuffing the last of the cinnamon bun into his mouth.

Mrs. A seemed surprised by Fudge's description. I could tell she was thinking hard. Then her face lit up and she waved her hands around. "Oh... I get it. Your uncle's a scuba diver."

"Does Uncle Feather know how to dive?" Fudge asked me.

"I'm not sure," I said, getting up from the table, "but we've really got to go if we're going to find him."

When we got to the front door, Mrs. A took me aside and whispered, "Is your uncle all right... upstairs?" She tapped the side of her head in case I didn't get her point.

"Hard to say," I whispered back. Then I shoved Fudge out the front door. "Thanks for the snack."

37

"Come back tomorrow," Mrs. A called.

"Okay," Fudge said.

As soon as we were away from the house, I grabbed Fudge by the arm. "Why didn't you tell her Uncle Feather's a bird?"

"She knows that!" Fudge said.

"How does she know?"

"Everybody knows Uncle Feather's a bird."

"No... she thinks he's your
uncle."

"My
uncle,"
Fudge said, laughing. "That's really stupid!"

"Right. That's why you should have told her. She thinks there's this guy running around in a black wet suit with yellow flippers and a yellow face mask this guy who's a little weird upstairs..." I tapped the side of my head the way Mrs. A had. "And that he's your uncle."

"Come on, Pete!"

"That's what she thinks. She doesn't know Uncle Feather's a myna bird because you didn't tell her. You have to give the facts. You have to say,
My myna bird is missing. He's mostly black with yellow feet and a yellow bill.
Not
nose,"
I told him. "People have noses. Birds have bills. Get it?"