Harriet the Spy (9 page)

“Yes.”

“Then. It was then that he asked me.” Ole Golly smiled at her.

“Well… well, what did it feel like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what does it
feel
like to have somebody ask you?” Harriet was getting very impatient.

Ole Golly looked toward the window, folding something absently. “It feels… it feels—you jump all over inside… you… as though doors were opening all over the world.… It’s bigger, somehow, the world.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Harriet sensibly. She sat down with a plop on the bed.

“Well, nonetheless, that’s what you feel. Feeling never makes any sense anyway, Harriet; you should know that by now,” Ole Golly said pleasantly.

“Maybe—” Harriet knew as she said it that it was a baby thing to say but she couldn’t help it—“maybe there’s a lot of things I don’t know.”

Ole Golly didn’t even look at her, which was reassuring for some reason. “Nonsense. You know quite enough. Quite enough for yourself and a great deal more than some people.”

Harriet lolled back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. “Will Mr. Waldenstein be working right around the corner?” she asked casually.

“No. We have decided to visit his mother and father in Montreal. Then if we like it there, we might make our home there.”

“MON-TREE-AAALLLL?” screamed Harriet. “Where’s that?”

“Harriet, don’t take on so. It’s unbecoming. Besides, you know perfectly well it’s in Canada. I remember when you found it out.”

“I know. But I won’t see you then.” Harriet sat up.

“You’ve no need to see me. You don’t need a nurse now. When you’re big and you sell your first book, I’ll come into the bookstore and get a signed copy. How ’bout that?” Ole Golly gave her old smile.

“Wow! You mean you’ll ask for my autograph?”

“I guess you could put it that way. Anyway, I’ll look you up sometime when you’re grown, just to see what you made of yourself, because I’ll be curious. Now help me carry this stuff downstairs.”

Harriet jumped up and picked up things. “Are you going to be happy with Mr. Waldenstein?”

“Yes. Very. Don’t forget that little bag over there.” And Ole Golly went through the door.

“Is it fun being married?” Harriet continued as they went down the steps.

“How should I know? I’ve never been married. However, I doubt if it’s
all
fun. Nothing ever is, you know.”

“Well, are you going to have a lot of children?”

“And love them better than you? No, never. I’m probably going to work a little more until he gets a little more money, so I’ll be a nurse to someone, but there’s only one Harriet, remember that,” and Ole Golly opened the front door.

“Well… well,” said Harriet helplessly.

“You better get to work, you’ve missed a whole afternoon with your notebook.” Ole Golly was looking up and down the street for a cab. She seemed to be in a hurry.

Harriet threw herself up on Ole Golly’s neck, and putting both arms around, hugged with all her might.

“Good-by, Harriet the Spy,” whispered Ole Golly into Harriet’s neck. Harriet felt tears start in her eyes. Ole Golly put her down sternly. “None of that. Tears won’t bring me back. Remember that. Tears never bring anything back. Life is a struggle and a good spy gets in there and fights. Remember that. No nonsense.” And with that she picked up her bags and was down the steps. A cab pulled up and Ole Golly was gone before Harriet could say a word. She thought, though, as she remembered Ole Golly leaning down toward the bags, that she had seen one tear fall.

That night as she got ready for bed alone, after having taken her bath alone, she wrote in her notebook:

I FEEL ALL THE SAME THINGS WHEN I DO THINGS ALONE AS WHEN OLE GOLLY WAS HERE. THE BATH FEELS HOT, THE BED FEELS SOFT, BUT I FEEL THERE’S A FUNNY LITTLE HOLE IN ME THAT WASN’T THERE BEFORE, LIKE A SPLINTER IN YOUR FINGER, BUT THIS IS SOMEWHERE ABOVE MY STOMACH.

She turned out the light and went immediately to sleep, without even reading.

T
he next afternoon Harriet didn’t get home until five o’clock. She had purposely stayed away all day, first following her spy route, then playing Monopoly with Janie and Sport. The game had made her irritable because she hated to sit still for that long. Janie and Sport loved it. Janie had all sorts of systems worked out for winning, and Sport was so passionate about money that they were kept continually interested, but Harriet couldn’t keep her mind on it.

When she got to the top of the steps she stood still a minute, quietly. The house was completely silent. Her mother was out and her father wasn’t home from work yet. The kitchen was so far away she couldn’t hear the cook. She stood very still, listening.

It hadn’t been this way when Ole Golly lived there. That was one thing about Ole Golly, thought Harriet; even if she didn’t say anything, you were aware of her. She made herself felt in the house. Harriet looked toward Ole Golly’s room. It stood vacant, silent, its yellow door open. Harriet walked toward it. Standing on the threshold, she looked into the neat emptiness. It had been almost this neat when Ole Golly was in it, but there had been flowers. Ole Golly had always managed to have a sprig of something alive in the room. There had been the big flowered quilt too, that Harriet bounced in. Ole Golly took the quilt, Harriet thought to herself.

She turned and ran into her room. For a minute she thought she would cry. Then she went into her little bathroom and washed her face. She thought to herself that there was no good in crying. Ole Golly wasn’t coming back. Crying wouldn’t bring her back.

She sat down to read. How I love to read, she thought. The whole world gets bigger just the way Ole Golly said it was when Mr. Waldenstein proposed. She felt a twinge in her stomach. Phooey on Mr. Waldenstein, she thought; why did he take her away? Am I going to cry anyway?

The front door slammed with a bang and Harriet knew her father was home. He always came home with a bang the same way Harriet did. She rushed out now, banging the door to her room behind her, and thumped down the steps, jumping on each one as hard as she could, then running until she ran smack into her father.

“Hey, there!” He stood there laughing and tall, his horn-rimmed glasses fallen over to one side from the force of the impact. He grabbed her and swung her up into the air. “Hey, you’re getting too much for your old man!” Harriet scrambled down, laughing, and he set her on her feet. “How much do you weigh now?”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fat lady, you tell ’em, fat lady.” He was putting down his briefcase and taking off his jacket. “Where’s your mother?”

“Bridge,” Harriet said in a disgusted way.

“Bridge. What a bore. How can she play that fink game so much? And those finks she plays with!” He muttered away to himself. Harriet loved to hear him jabber on like this. She knew he wasn’t talking to her, so it was fun to listen.

“Whatcha do today, Daddy?”

“Finked around with a lot of pictures.”

“Got any movie-star pictures for me?”

“Harriet M. Welsch, I have no movie-star pictures for you today. If I have one good thing to thank the Lord for today, it is that I did not have to gaze upon the jowls of an aging movie star. Anyway, those finks have given me such a low budget I doubt that I’ll ever see another movie star.”

Today was Monday, Harriet suddenly remembered. Ole Golly had once said to her, “Don’t mess with anybody on a Monday. It’s a bad, bad day.”

Mr. Welsch wandered into the library, newspaper in hand. “How about a little quiet now, Harriet?”

“Who’s saying anything?” She was, after all, just standing there.

“I have the distinct feeling that I can hear you thinking. Now run along until Mommy comes back.”

Uh-oh, thought Harriet, this is a very bad Monday indeed. He walked over to the bar and began to mix a martini. Harriet tiptoed away. She suddenly remembered that she had a little homework to do, so she went back up to her room. She thought that she had better do it before her favorite program came on at seven-thirty. Her favorite program was the early movie. She didn’t like any of the kids’ programs. She never seemed to understand the point of them. They seemed so dumb. Janie looked at all of them and laughed her head off, but they left Harriet cold. Janie also naturally watched all the science ones, taking notes the whole time. Sport watched the sports news and the cooking programs, taking down recipes that might make his father eat.

Harriet sat down at her desk and pulled out her school notebook. There was an assignment she had to do for math. She hated math. She hated math with every bone in her body. She spent so much time hating it that she never had time to do it. She didn’t understand it at all, not a word. She didn’t even understand anyone who did understand it. She always looked at them suspiciously. Did they have some part of the brain that she didn’t have? Was there a big hole missing in her head where all the math should be? She took out her own notebook and wrote:

EITHER WE EACH HAVE A BRAIN AND THEY ALL LOOK ALIKE OR WE EACH HAVE A SPECIAL BRAIN THAT LOOKS LIKE THE INSIDE OF EACH OF OUR HEADS. I WONDER IF THE INSIDE LOOKS LIKE THE OUTSIDE. I WONDER IF SOME BRAINS, FOR INSTANCE IN PEOPLE WHO HAVE LONGER NOSES, I WONDER IF THOSE PEOPLE HAVE A LONGER NOSE PART TO THE BRAIN. I HAVE A VERY SHORT NOSE. MAYBE THAT’S WHERE THE MATH SHOULD BE.

She slammed her notebook and tried to get back to the math. The numbers swam in front of her. She looked over at a large picture of Ole Golly, in which teeth figured prominently.

She looked up as her mother came to the door.

“How are you, darling? Are you working?”

“No, studying.”

“What are you studying?”

“Math.” Harriet made a terrible face.

Mrs. Welsch came into the room and leaned over Harriet’s chair. “What fun, darling. That was always my favorite subject in school.”

Well, there you are, thought Harriet. Ole Golly wouldn’t have said that. Ole Golly always said, “Math is for them that only want to count everything. It’s them that wants to know
what
they’re counting that matter.” And that was it all right. If only those little marks meant something besides just funny little marks on a piece of paper.

“Why, here, baby—this is simple. Let me show you.”

Harriet squirmed. They could show and show and show and show, but it would never make a bit of difference.

Mrs. Welsch pulled a chair over and sat down happily. She soon became absorbed in the problem before her and forgot Harriet altogether. Harriet watched her working. When she was sure her mother was absorbed, she took out her own notebook and began to write:

MY MOTHER HAS BROWN EYES AND BROWN HAIR. HER HANDS WIGGLE AROUND A LOT. SHE FROWNS WHEN SHE LOOKS AT THINGS CLOSE. MY DADDY HAS BROWN EYES TOO BUT HE HAS BLACK HAIR. I DIDN’T KNOW SHE LIKED MATH. IF I HAD EVER KNOWN SHE LIKED MATH I WOULD HAVE FELT VERY FUNNY. I JUST CAN’T STAND MATH.

Harriet’s mother looked up with a smile. “There,” she said triumphantly. “Do you understand that now?”

Harriet nodded. Better that way. Maybe she wouldn’t go into it.

“Well, wash your hands, then, and come down to supper.”

“Can I eat with you?”

“Yes, darling. We’re having an early supper tonight. Harry’s beat and I’ve just about had it.”

“Had what?”

“Had it. Had it—It’s an expression. It just means tired.” She went down the steps.

Harriet wrote in her notebook:

HAD IT. THINK ABOUT THAT.

That night when she went to bed she read half the night because no one thought to take the flashlight away as Ole Golly had always done. They’d let me read all night, she thought finally; and when she put out the flashlight, closed the book, and put them on the night table, she felt sad and lost.

Harriet awoke the next morning with the feeling that she had been dreaming about Ole Golly all night. She picked up her notebook without even getting out of bed.

I WONDER IF WHEN YOU DREAM ABOUT SOMEBODY THEY DREAM ABOUT YOU.

She lay there a moment thinking about that. Then she suddenly remembered that today was the day for parts to be chosen for the Christmas pageant. She wanted to be on time because otherwise she would get a rotten part. Last year she had been late and had ended up being one of the sheep.

Even though she hurried she still went through the same routine she went through every morning. She loved routine so much that Ole Golly had always had to watch her to see that she didn’t put on the same clothes as the day before. They always seemed to Harriet to fit better after she had worn them for a while.

As soon as she was dressed she bounced down the steps into the dining room, where her mother sent her back upstairs immediately to wash her face. How could she remember all these things, she wondered. Ole Golly always remembered everything. After breakfast she took a few cursory notes—comments on the weather, the cook, her father’s choice of tie, etc.—then got her books and walked to school. She took a few more notes as she watched people pouring into the school. Everyone always sidled up to her and asked, “What are you writing in that notebook?” Harriet would just smile slyly. It drove them crazy.

Harriet always did her work swiftly and in a very routine way, signing everything Harriet M. Welsch with a big flourish. She loved to write her name. She loved to write anything for that matter. Today she was about to write her name at the top of the page when she remembered again that today was the day for discussion on the Christmas pageant.

Miss Elson came into the room and they all stood up and said, “Good morning, Miss Elson.” Miss Elson bowed and said, “Good morning, children.” Then they all sat down and punched each other.

Sport threw Harriet a note which said:
I hear there’s a dance about pirates. Let’s try and get that one, that is if we have to do it
.

Harriet wrote back a note which said:
We have to do it, they throw you out otherwise
.

Sport wrote back:
I have no Christmas spirit
.

Harriet wrote back:
We’ll have to fake it
.

Miss Elson stood in the middle of the room and called for order. No one paid the slightest bit of attention, so she hit the blackboard with the eraser which sent up a cloud of smoke, making her sneeze and everyone else laugh. Then she grew very stern and stared a long time at a spot somewhere down the middle aisle. That always worked.

“Now, children,” she began when there was silence, “today is the day to plan our Christmas pageant. First, let’s have some ideas from the floor about what we would like to do. I don’t think I need bother explaining what this day means to us. There is only one new child here who might wonder.” The Boy with the Purple Socks looked horribly embarrassed. “And I think I can simplify this by saying that at the Christmas pageant we get a chance to show the parents what we have been learning. Now each one hold up your hand when you have a suggestion.”

Sport’s arm shot up. “What about pirates?”

“Well, that’s a thought. I’ll write that down, Simon, but I think I heard something about the fourth grade being pirates. Next?”

Marion Hawthorne stood up. Harriet and Sport looked at each other with pained expressions. Marion said, “I think, Miss Elson, that we should do a spectacular of the Trojan War. That would show everyone exactly what we have been learning.” She sat down again.

Miss Elson smiled. “That’s a lovely idea, Marion. I shall certainly write that down.” Harriet, Sport, and Janie groaned loudly. Janie stood up. “Miss Elson. Don’t you think there will be certain difficulties about building a Trojan horse, much less getting us all in there?”

“Well, I don’t think we’ll go that far in realism, Janie. This is still open for discussion anyway, so let’s hear the other ideas before we discuss the details. I don’t know how big a spectacular we could have in the time allotted us. Anyway, I think I should remind you that we are not supposed to give a play. The sixth grade is supposed to dance. We are due in the gymnasium in thirty minutes to discuss this dance with Miss Berry, the dance teacher, then be measured for costumes by Miss Dodge. Now you know that once the subject is chosen you all improvise your dances. But this year you will be allowed to choose your subject, whereas always before Miss Berry has chosen it.”

“SOLDIERS,” screamed Sport.

“Now, not out of turn, Simon. I’ll go down the line and each one gets a chance.” Miss Elson then called the role. “Andrews?” she said, and Carrie got up and said that she thought it would be nice to have a dance about Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey. Miss Elson wrote it down. There was a great deal of whispering around the room as people started trying to get their gang to agree on something.

“Gibbs?”

“I think that a dance about the Curies discovering radium would be nice. We could all be particles except me and Sport, and we could be Monsieur and Madame Curie.”

“Hansen?”

Beth Ellen shot a terrified glance at Marion Hawthorne, who had been sending her a barrage of notes. Finally she said softly, “I think we should all be things you eat at Christmas dinner.”

“Hawthorne?”

Marion stood up. “I think that’s an excellent suggestion on Beth Ellen Hansen’s part. I think we should be Christmas dinner too.”

“Hennessey?”

Rachel stood up. “I agree with Marion and Beth Ellen. I think that’s a good idea.”

“Peters?”

Laura Peters was terribly shy, so shy that she smiled at everybody all the time, as though they were about to hit her. “I think that’s a good idea too,” she quavered, and sank gratefully back into her seat.

“Matthews?”

The Boy with the Purple Socks stood up and said in an offhand way, “Why not? I’d just as soon be a Christmas dinner as anything else.”

“Rocque?”

Simon looked at Harriet. She knew what that look meant. She was becoming aware of the same thing. They were surrounded. They should have gotten together and now it was too late. In a minute they would all be assigned to things like giblet gravy. Simon stood up. “I don’t know why we don’t do the Trojan War like Marion Hawthorne said first. I would a whole lot rather be a soldier than some carrots and peas.”