Fudge-A-Mania (5 page)

"This is Fudge Feather," she said. "And this is his big brother..." She put her finger to her mouth and paused.

"Peter," I said, helping her out. I don't know why people can always remember Fudge's name but not mine.

"Yes," Mrs. A said. "Peter Feather."

51

"Feather is a funny name," Mitzi said.

"Actually, it's Hatcher," I told her, setting the record straight.

"But I thought your uncle's name is
Feather,"
Mrs. A said.

"It is," Fudge told her.

"His
first
name is Feather," I explained, before things got any more confused.
"Feather
Hatcher.
Uncle
Feather Hatcher."

"Oh..." Mrs. A said, laughing. "I get it now. So you're the
Hatcher
boys... not the
Feather
boys." "That's right," I told her.

"I like
Feather
better," Mitzi said. "And Fudge isn't a name... it's a candy."

"It's a name too," Fudge told her. "Right, Pete?"

"That's right," I said.

"Doesn't he have another name?" Mitzi asked me. "A
real
name?"

"It's Farley," Fudge said. He stuck out his chin, daring her to say anything more.

"Farley?" Mitzi said, opening her eyes really wide. "That's a
real
name?"

"Yes!" Fudge said.

"Grandma..." Mitzi said, "is Farley a name?"

"It's a beautiful name," Mrs. A said.

52

"There was once a handsome movie star named Farley Granger..." She closed her eyes and kind of sighed. Then she went into the house to get us a snack. Sheila went with her.

As soon as they were gone Mitzi got shy. She looked at the floor of the porch. Then she looked at the ceiling. She socked her fist into her baseball glove to make the pocket deeper. But she didn't say a word.

Fudge watched her and hummed a little tune. He didn't have anything to say either.

I decided it was up to me to get things going between them. So I said, "That's a good-looking baseball glove."

"I call it my
mit
t-sy," she said, hugging it to her chest. "Big gave it to me."

"Who's Big?" Fudge asked.

"My grandpa," Mitzi said. "Big Apfel."

"Big who?" I asked, sure I'd misunderstood her.

"Big Apfel," she said again.

I couldn't believe this! I kneeled beside her and spoke very slowly. "Are you telling us your grandfather is
Big Apfel,
the baseball player?"

Mitzi nodded.

"I have his baseball card," I said. "I know his stats by heart!"

"You want to play in his game?" Mitzi asked.

"His game?" I said.

53

She nodded again. "We play every Sunday."

"Are you saying that anyone who wants to play ball with Big Apfel, can?"

"You have to pass the over-under test first."

"What's the over-under test?"

"You have to be
over
four and
under
a hundred and four."

"And that's it?" I asked.

"That's it," she said.

"
Is it the best news of the century?" Fudge asked.

"
It could be!" I told him, as I
ya-hooed
again.

In a minute all three of us were jumping up and down and
ya-h
ooing all over the porch.

That's when the Perfect Baby-Sitter appeared, holding a pitcher of juice.
"I'm
gone for five minutes," she said. "Five minutes and look at you... carrying on like a bunch of monkeys!"

"But, honey," Fudge said, "it's the best news of the century!"

"What's
the best news of the century?" Sheila asked.

"Who knows?" Fudge said. "I don't even know what a century is!"

54

I ran all the way home. As soon as I got there I called Jimmy Fargo. I'm not supposed to make long-distance calls without permission. But this was definitely a special occasion.

I was still trying to catch my breath when Jimmy answered. "Are you sitting or standing?" I asked.

"Standing."

"Well, sit down."

"Okay..." he said. "I'm sitting."

"Where?" I asked.

"What's the difference?"

"I want to imagine how you look when I tell you the news.''

"I'm sitting on the floor in the kitchen," Jimmy said. "With my back against the refrigerator."

"Okay... I've got the picture."

"So what's the story?" Jimmy asked.

"You're never going to believe who our neighbor is up here." I paused for a second and took a deep breath. Then I dropped the news. "Big Apfel."

Jimmy didn't say anything.

"You fainted, right?" I said.

"No."

"But you're speechless..."

"No,"

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you," Jimmy said. "But I don't get it.

55

Did you say Big Apple is your neighbor or what?"

"I said
Big Apfel!
Boston Red Sox. The greatest center fielder of all time."

"Ty Cobb was the greatest center fielder of all time... or maybe Willie Mays."

I wasn't going to argue with Jimmy. Instead, I explained that this was a chance for us to play ball with
one
of the greats. I reminded him to bring his glove and his Mets cap to Maine. Then I waited for him to say something. When he didn't I asked, "Are you still there?"

"I strike out a lot," he finally said.

"Who doesn't?"

"Probably Big Apfel."

"We're not talking about the major leagues. We're talking about your basic Sunday ball game."

"Speaking of basic..." Jimmy said, "how's it going with the Queen of Cooties?"

"Uh... I hardly ever see her. She's got a job, baby-sitting."

"That's a relief!" Jimmy said.

I didn't tell him
who
she was baby-sitting.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. I kept thinking about Jimmy and me playing ball on Big Apfel's team. But that reminded me that Jimmy still doesn't know we're sharing a house with the Tubmans.

56

I have to come up with a good excuse--and soon---or I'll never hear the end of it from him.

I tossed and turned, as Fudge babbled in his sleep. I gave him a kick and he rolled over. After a while, I got out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. It's so quiet in the country... and dark. In the city it's never dark. You can always look out your window and see lights. It's never quiet either. You can hear the buzz of traffic even in the middle of the night.

I used the toilet, then flushed. And that's when it came to me... the perfect excuse for sharing a house with the Tubmans!

I flushed again and imagined myself telling Jimmy the long, sad story. I'd say:
See... when we first got to
Maine we moved into this big, old house. It had seven bedrooms and four bathrooms and you could see the ocean from every window. But unfortunately, there was a big problem.

What problem?
Jimmy would ask.

Poison gas,
I'd say.
Poison gas in all the toilets. Green, steamy, gurgling stuff that bubbled up every time we flushed.

Blechhh...
Jimmy would say, making a terrible face.

Dad had to call the Health Inspector,
I'd continue.
She took one look and went
nuts! "This is a disaster!" she cried. "This is a serious environmental disaster!"

57

So then what?
Jimmy would ask, biting his nails.

She condemned the place. Even though she was sorry about ruining our vacation, she had no choice. The police came and boarded up the house. They nailed a sign to the front door:

WARNING! POISON GAS IN TOILETS.

FLUSH AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Wow!
Jimmy would say.
You're lucky you got out alive!

And I'd say:
Yeah... I know.

A brilliant story!
I told myself as I turned out the bathroom light. Jimmy's very big on environmental issues. He's got posters all over his room--
Save
the Whales, Save the Dolphins, Save the Rain Forest. So he'll understand that the Tubmans were just trying to
Save Our Vacation
when they let us share their house.

I went back to my room and got into bed. This time I had no trouble falling asleep.

58

"It must be the weather," I grumbled. Actually, it had nothing to do with the weather, which was as gray and damp as usual. It had to do with my brilliant idea from last night. Somehow, when I woke up this morning my poison-gas story sounded really weird. I wasn't sure Jimmy would buy it. And where would that leave me?

After breakfast I went back to bed. Dad says falling asleep when your body's not tired is a

59

way of avoiding your problems. Maybe he's right. Because when I woke up, an hour later, I still didn't know what to do about Jimmy. I looked out the window. The sun was making an effort to break through the clouds.
Maybe I shouldn't worry yet,
I thought.
A lot can happen in a week.
The Tubmans might decide they've had enough of Maine. They might be gone by the time Jimmy gets here.

I got out my baseball cards and went down to the porch. I was laying them out alphabetically, by players' last names, when Mitzi showed up. I still can't believe Mitzi's grandfather is Big Apfel. I wonder why Mrs. A didn't tell us about him? Unless she's sick of people falling all over themselves when they find out who he is. I suppose I'd feel the same way if Dad were famous.

Mitzi looked at my baseball cards. "That used to be Grandpa!" she said when she spotted Big.

"What do you mean,
used to be?"
I asked. "He's still your grandpa, isn't he?"

"Yes... but he's different now. He has more fat."

"He was probably a lot younger when they took this picture," I said, holding up his card. She nodded.

"Where's Fudge?"

"He's planting a garden with his baby-sitter."

"Where's the garden?"

"Behind the house."

60

"Will you take me?" I started to tell her to go by herself. After all, she'd walked all the way to our house on her own. But she looked at: me with these big eyes. "Sometimes monsters live behind houses," she said. "And I didn't bring my monster spray."

"Monster spray?" I said.

"Grandma makes it for me. It's a secret formula. When you spray the monsters, they melt."

"Sounds like an interesting product."
Dad would have a field day with it,
I thought. He's in advertising. Commercials are his business. I can see it now: