“But what does this all mean?” said Tootie.
“Why does it have to mean something?” said William Spiver. “The universe is a random place.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, William,” said Tootie.
Flora felt something well up inside of her. What was it? Pride in the squirrel? Annoyance at William Spiver? Wonder? Hope?
Suddenly, she remembered the words that appeared over Alfred T. Slipper’s head when he was submerged in the vat of Incandesto!
“Do you doubt him?” said Flora.
“Of course I doubt him!” said William Spiver.
“Do not,” said Flora.
“Why?” said William Spiver.
She stared at him.
“Take off your glasses,” she said. “I want to see your eyes.”
“No,” said William Spiver.
“Take them off.”
“I won’t.”
“Children,” said Tootie. “Please.”
Who was William Spiver really?
Yes, yes, he was the great-nephew of Tootie Tickham suddenly (suspiciously) come to stay the summer. But who was he really? What if he was some kind of comic-book character himself? What if he was a villain whose powers were depleted as soon as the light of the world hit his eyes?
Incandesto was forever being attacked by his arch-nemesis, the Darkness of 10,000 Hands.
Every superhero had an arch-nemesis.
What if Ulysses’s arch-nemesis was William Spiver?
“The truth must be known!” said Flora. She stepped forward. She reached out her hand to remove William Spiver’s glasses.
And then she heard her name. “Floooooorrrrrrraaaaaaa Belllllllle, your father is here!”
“Flora Belle,” said William Spiver in a gentle voice.
Ulysses was still sitting on his hind legs. His ears were pricked. He looked back and forth between Flora and William Spiver.
“We have to go,” said Flora.
“Wait,” said William Spiver.
Flora picked Ulysses up by the scruff of his neck. She put him under her pajama top.
“Will I ever see you again?” said William Spiver.
“The universe is a random place, William Spiver,” said Flora. “Who can say whether we will meet again or not?”
Her father was standing on the top step in front of the open door. He was wearing a dark suit and a tie and a hat with a brim, even though it was Saturday and summertime.
Flora’s father was an accountant at the firm Flinton, Flosston, and Frick.
Flora wasn’t sure, but she thought it was possible that her father was the world’s loneliest man. He didn’t even have Incandesto and Dolores to keep him company anymore.
“Hi, Pop,” she said.
“Flora,” said her father. He smiled at her, and then he sighed.
“I’m not ready yet.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” said her father. He sighed again. “I’ll wait.”
He walked with Flora into the living room. He sat down on the couch. He took off his hat and balanced it on his knee.
“Are you in the house now, George?” Flora’s mother shouted from the kitchen. “Is Flora with you?”
“I am inside!” shouted Flora’s father. “Flora is with me!”
The clack-clack-clack of the typewriter echoed through the house. Silverware rattled. And then there was silence.
“What are you doing, George?” her mother shouted.
“I am sitting on the couch, Phyllis. I am waiting for my daughter!” Flora’s father moved his hat from his left knee to his right knee and then back to his left knee again.
Ulysses shifted underneath Flora’s pajamas.
“What are you two going to do today?” Flora’s mother shouted.
“I don’t know, Phyllis!”
“I can hear you perfectly well, George,” said Flora’s mother as she came into the living room. “You don’t need to shout. Flora, what have you got under your pajama top?”
“Nothing,” said Flora.
“Is it that squirrel?”
“No,” said Flora.
“What squirrel?” said Flora’s father.
“Don’t lie to me,” said her mother.
“Okay,” said Flora. “It’s the squirrel. I’m keeping him.”
“I knew it. I knew you were hiding something. Listen to me: that squirrel is diseased. You are engaging in dangerous behavior.”
Flora turned away.
She had a superhero under her pajamas. She didn’t have to listen to her mother, or anybody else for that matter. A new day was dawning, a girl-with-a-superhero kind of day. “I’m going to go change now,” she said.
“This will not work, Flora Belle,” said her mother. “That squirrel is not staying.”
“What squirrel?” said Flora’s father again.
Flora went halfway up the stairs, and then she stopped. She stood on the landing. The Criminal Element suggested that anyone truly invested in fighting crime, in besting criminals, should learn to listen carefully. “All words at all times, true or false, whispered or shouted, are clues to the workings of the human heart. Listen. You must, if you care to understand anything at all, become a Giant Ear.”
This was what The Criminal Element suggested.
And this was what Flora intended to do.
She pulled Ulysses out from underneath her pajama top.
“Sit on my shoulder,” she whispered to him.
Ulysses climbed up on her shoulder.
“Listen,” she said.
He nodded.
Flora felt brave and capable, standing there on the landing with her squirrel on her shoulder.
“Do not hope,” she whispered. “Instead, observe.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She held herself absolutely still. She became a Giant Ear.
And what Flora the Giant Ear heard was astonishing.
George,” said Flora’s mother, “we have a problem. Your daughter has become emotionally attached to a diseased squirrel.”
“How’s that?” said Flora’s father.
“There’s a squirrel,” said her mother, speaking more slowly now, as if she were pointing at each word as she said it.
“There’s a squirrel,” repeated her father.
“The squirrel is not well.”
“There’s an unwell squirrel.”
“There’s a sack in the garage. And a shovel.”
“Okay,” said Flora’s father. “There’s a sack and a shovel. In the garage.”
At this point, there was a very long silence.
“I need you to put the squirrel out of its misery,” said Flora’s mother.
“How’s that?” said her father.
“For the love of Pete, George!” shouted her mother. “Put the squirrel in the sack, and then hit him over the head with the shovel.”
Flora’s father gasped.
Flora gasped, too. She was surprised at herself. The ladies in her mother’s romance novels put their hands on their bosoms and gasped. But Flora was not a gasper. She was a cynic.
Flora’s father said, “I don’t understand.”
Flora’s mother cleared her throat. She uttered the blood-soaked words again. She said them louder. She said them more slowly. “You put the squirrel in the sack, George. You hit the squirrel over the head with the shovel.” She paused. “And then,” she said, “you use the shovel to bury the squirrel.”
“Put the squirrel in a sack? Hit the squirrel over the head with a shovel?” said Flora’s father in a squeaky, despairing voice. “Oh, Phyllis. Oh, Phyllis, no.”
“Yes,” said Flora’s mother. “It’s the humane thing to do.”
Flora understood that she had made a mistake in thinking that William Spiver was anybody important.
Everything was coming into sharp and terrifying focus; the story was starting to make sense: Ulysses was a superhero (probably), and Phyllis Buckman was his arch-nemesis (definitely).