BUT WILL YOU RETURN?
“I’m just spending the afternoon with my father, William Spiver,” she said. “It’s not like I’m heading off to the South Pole.”
TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! had done an extensive piece on what to do if you were stranded at the South Pole. Their advice could be summed up in three simple words: “Eat seal blubber.”
It was astonishing, really, what people could live through. Flora felt cheered up all of a sudden, just thinking about eating seal blubber and doing impossible things, surviving when the odds were against her and her squirrel.
They would figure out a way to outwit the arch-nemesis! They would triumph over the shovel and the sack! And they would triumph together, like Dolores and Incandesto!
“I’m glad,” said William Spiver. “I’m glad that you’re not going to the South Pole, Flora Belle.”
Flora’s father cleared his throat. “George Buckman,” he said. “How do you do?”
“It was nice to meet you, sir,” said William Spiver.
“Remember those words,” said Tootie.
“‘Flare up like flame,’” said Flora’s father.
“I was speaking to the squirrel,” said Tootie.
“Of course,” said Flora’s father. “My apologies. The squirrel.”
“I will see you again,” said William Spiver.
“Beware the arch-nemesis,” said Flora.
“I will see you again,” said William Spiver.
“We’re off to fight evil,” said Flora as her father backed the car out of the driveway.
William Spiver waved at the car. “I will see you again!”
He seemed so stuck on the idea of seeing her again that Flora didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was waving in the wrong direction.
Flora’s father was a careful driver. He kept his left hand at ten o’clock on the steering wheel and his right hand at two. He never took his eyes off the road. He did not go fast.
“Speed,” her father often said. “That is what will kill you, that and taking your eyes off the road. Never, ever take your eyes off the road.”
“Pop,” said Flora, “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” said her father. He kept his eyes on the road. “About what?”
“That sack. And that shovel.”
“What sack?” said her father. “What shovel?”
It occurred to Flora that her father would make an excellent spy. He never really answered questions. Instead, when asked a question, he simply responded with a nifty sidestep or a question of his own.
For instance, when her parents were getting their divorce, Flora had a conversation with her father that went something like this:
FLORA: Are you and Mom getting divorced?
FLORA’S FATHER: Who says we’re getting divorced?
FLORA: Mom.
FLORA’S FATHER: Is that what she said?
FLORA: That’s what she said.
FLORA’S FATHER: I wonder why she said that.
And then he started to cry.
Spies probably didn’t cry. But still.
“There’s a sack and a shovel in the trunk of the car, Pop,” said Flora.
“Is there?” said her father.
“I saw you put them in there.”
“It’s true. I did put a sack and a shovel in the trunk of the car.”
The Criminal Element said that it was a good idea to engage in relentless, open-ended questioning. “If you question with enough ferocity, people are sometimes surprised into answering questions that they do not intend to answer. When in doubt, question. Question more. Question faster.”
“Why?” said Flora.
“I intend to dig a hole,” said her father.
“For what?” said Flora.
“A thing that I am going to bury.”
“What thing are you going to bury?”
“A sack!”
“Why are you burying a sack?”
“Because your mother asked me to.”
“Why did she ask you to bury a sack?”
Her father tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He stared straight ahead. “Why did she ask me to bury a sack? Why did she ask me to bury a sack? That’s a good one. Hey, I know! Do you want to get something to eat?”
“What?” said Flora.
“How about some lunch?” said her father.
“For the love of Pete!” said Flora.
“Or some breakfast? How about we stop and eat a meal, any meal?”
Flora sighed.
The Criminal Element advised “stalling, delaying, and obfuscation of every possible sort” when it came to dealing with a criminal.
Her father wasn’t a criminal. Not exactly. But he had been enlisted in the service of villainy — basically, he was in cahoots with an arch-nemesis. So maybe it would be good to stall, to delay the inevitable showdown, by going into a restaurant.
Besides, the squirrel was hungry, and he would need to be strong for the battle ahead.
“Okay,” said Flora. “Okay. Sure. Let’s eat.”
Okay. Sure. Let’s eat.
What wonderful words those are, thought Ulysses.
Let’s eat.
Talk about poetry.
The squirrel was happy.
He was happy because he was with Flora.
He was happy because he had the words from Tootie’s poem flowing through his head and heart.
He was happy because he was going to be fed soon.
And he was happy because he was, well, happy.
He climbed out of the shoe box and put his front paws on the door and his nose out the open window.
He was a squirrel riding in a car on a summer day with someone he loved. His whiskers and nose were in the breeze.
And there were so many smells!
Overflowing trash cans, just-cut grass, sun-warmed patches of pavement, the loamy richness of dirt, earthworms (loamy-smelling, too; often difficult to distinguish from the smell of dirt), dog, more dog, dog again (Oh, dogs! Small dogs, large dogs, foolish dogs; the torturing of dogs was the one reliable pleasure of a squirrel’s existence), the tang of fertilizer, a faint whiff of birdseed, something baking, the hidden hint of nuttiness (pecan, acorn), the small, apologetic, don’t-mind-me odor of mouse, and the ruthless stench of cat. (Cats were terrible; cats were never to be trusted. Never.)
The world in all its smelly glory, in all its treachery and joy and nuttiness, washed over Ulysses, ran through him, filled him. He could smell everything. He could even smell the blue of the sky.
He wanted to capture it. He wanted to write it down. He wanted to tell Flora. He turned and looked at her.
“Keep your eyes open for malfeasance,” she said to him.
Ulysses nodded.
The words from Tootie’s poem sounded in his head. “‘Flare up like flame’!”
Yes, he thought. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll flare up like flame, and I’ll write it all down.
You’ll have to leave the squirrel in the car,” said Flora’s father as he pulled into the parking lot of the Giant Do-Nut.
“No,” said Flora. “It’s too hot.”
“I’ll leave the windows down,” said her father.
“Someone will steal him.”
“You think someone would steal him?” Her father sounded doubtful, but hopeful. “Who would steal a squirrel?”
“A criminal,” said Flora.
The Criminal Element spoke often, and passionately, about the nefarious activities that every human being is capable of. Not only did it insist that the human heart was dark beyond all reckoning; it also likened the heart to a river. And further, it said, “If we are not careful, that river can carry us along in its hidden currents of want and anger and need, and transform each of us into the very criminal we fear.”