by Avi
Upon reaching the attic, Poppy was disappointed to find it was as crowded as the rest of the house. Even so, she found her old can exactly where it had been and not looking very much different. She gave it a hard rap. It sounded as solid as ever. Heart swelling, she was just about to climb in when a sleepy young mouse, roused by the sound of Poppy’s steps, popped up out of the chimney.
“Oh!” cried a startled Poppy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
“That’s all right,” said the sleepy mouse. “Who are you? Did you want me?”
“No . . . it’s just . . . I . . . this used to be my own room.”
The young mouse grew wide-eyed. “But—you’re Poppy, aren’t you?”
Poppy nodded.
“Was this your space?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” said the mouse, jumping up. “It was empty. But if you’d like—”
“No, no, that’s all right,” said Poppy, backing away in haste. “It’s not mine anymore. It’s yours.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m . . . honored to have it,” called the young mouse as Poppy hurried away.
Feeling annoyed to have found the young mouse in her old room, but even more annoyed that she was annoyed, a tear coursed down Poppy’s cheek. “Silly mouse!” she scolded herself. “It’s not your room! You left it a long time ago!” She sniffed, wiped the tear away, and then began to giggle. “Poppy, decide who you are!”
The main room was teeming with chattering mice. To escape the noise and chaos, Poppy went out to the back steps. It was just as crowded, but when the mice saw the newcomer was Poppy, they shyly withdrew. Poppy made no protest.
It was twilight. From the top of the back steps, Poppy could just see the edge of Dimwood Forest, like a distant curtain. Above it a half moon was rising. Thoughts of Rye and the children bedding down around the snag for the night filled her; she missed them terribly. Yet here she was at Gray House, quite convinced nothing could be done to save it.
“I wondered if you’d be out here,” came a voice.
Poppy turned. It was her cousin Basil. “Can I join you?” he asked.
“Please,” said Poppy. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“Brought you some seeds,” he said, offering Poppy a double paw of wheat berries.
“Thank you. I haven’t eaten all day.”
For a while the two sat side by side in silence, nibbling the seeds.
“Basil,” said Poppy after a while, “have you noticed? When you’re young, you don’t want to be young. Then, when you’re older, you don’t want to be old. But I guess it doesn’t matter what we want: we’re always getting older.”
“Oh my,” said Basil, “you are low.”
“A bit.”
Neither of them spoke for a while, until Poppy said, “Thank you.”
“For what? I haven’t said anything.”
“Exactly,” said Poppy. “Among the many things I’ve learned to love about Dimwood are its silent moments. Silence fills me. I don’t know how I ever lived here. It’s so crowded. And noisy.”
“Gray House certainly isn’t quiet,” agreed Basil. “With so many living here, there really is no privacy. Some of us think it might not be so bad if this old house did come down. We need a change. Problem is, no one knows how to bring it about.”
“Basil,” said Poppy, “everybody seems to think I can come up with a way to deal with the bulldozer.”
“You can’t, can you?”
“I doubt it,” said Poppy.
“We better do something before it happens,” said Basil. “I don’t think we have much time.”
“Basil,” said Poppy after a while, “why do you think our families are so hard?”
“Can’t say.”
“Maybe,” said Poppy, “it’s because they seem easy. It’s like in the forest, where there are these game trails. It’s much easier to follow one than to make a path of your own—but they don’t always take you where you want to go, and after a while they vanish. And there you are . . . on your own anyway.”
The two cousins spent most of the night talking quietly, catching up on family gossip: sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, children, and spouses as well as shared friends. And when Basil finally left her, there were affectionate promises of more visits.
Finally a tired Poppy slept quite comfortably on the back steps. She didn’t wake until she heard Lilly’s voice cry, “Poppy! A human has just arrived! He’s heading for the bulldozer!”
CHAPTER 26
The Derrida Deconstruction Co.
POPPY JUMPED UP. With Lilly by her side, she rushed through the deserted house. The porch was filled with mice peering through the lopsided pales of the porch fence. Others were on the steps, so densely packed, a few tumbled to the ground below. The squeaking and squealing was high pitched and shrill. All were staring in one direction, toward the old tar road. Poppy squeezed through and looked for herself. There, parked on the road, was a battered green pickup truck. But on the side door was a boldly lettered sign:
THE DERRIDA
DECONSTRUCTION CO.
AMPERVILLE
A man sat in the cab, staring at Gray House. As Poppy watched, he stepped out. He was a large man, with a large stomach, gray hair, and a withered face. He was wearing tan overalls, heavy work boots, and a peaked cap with the word Amps on it. For a while the man simply stood by his truck and gazed at Gray House. Then, after exchanging his cap for a yellow safety helmet and giving a hitch to his overalls, he walked slowly toward the bulldozer.
“He’s going to knock the house down!” cried one of the mice.
There was a stampede to leave the porch.
“No! Wait!” cried Poppy. “Let’s see what he does.”
Breathless, the mice watched as the man went up to the bulldozer. He walked around it once, twice, occasionally tapping the treads with a boot. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“He’s going to start it!” screamed a mouse.
“Be patient!” urged Poppy.
A few of the mice edged off the porch, but most stayed where they were.
A sleepy Junior appeared. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“Come over here by me and watch,” said Poppy.
The man in the bulldozer reached under the levers and seemed to turn something. There was a great roaring sound as the engine started. Black fumes bellowed from the exhaust pipe.
“Now!” Poppy commanded. “Off the porch! Empty the house! Leave your possessions. Just go!”
There was no holding the mice back. With a crescendo of terrified shrieking, they poured down the steps and tried to get away. Some of the mice were agile enough to leap from the porch. A few, pushed in the rush, fell. Happily none was hurt or trampled. Lungwort, supported on one side by Lilly and on the other side by Sweet Cicely, came, too, with Lilly calling, “Please make way for Lungwort! Let Lungwort through! Please!”
Poppy, with Junior by her side, remained where she was.
“Hey, Mama,” Junior said, “don’t you think we better move, too?”
“We’ve got a little time,” said Poppy. “I can see what’s happening better from here.”
Junior glanced at his mother. Her calmness was a surprise to him. “You do like taking chances, don’t you?” he said.
As the man continued to fuss over the machine, the great blade lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped.
“What’s he doing?” Junior whispered.
“Shhh!”
With the blade up and more levers pushed, the motor roared louder than ever. Next moment the bulldozer jolted forward. The mice before the house began to flee.
The machine rumbled forward a few yards, turning first one way, then another, until it was aimed right at Gray House. Then, abruptly, it halted, blade up. The engine stilled. The man in the cab lifted himself out of the seat and stepped down to the ground. He began to walk toward the house.<
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“I don’t get it,” said Junior.
“Just watch,” said Poppy. “But if he gets any closer, be ready to run.”
A few yards from the house, the man stopped to survey the old structure, then continued on to the porch.
“Over here!” hissed Poppy. She ran to one side of the porch and hid behind a broken flowerpot. Junior stayed close.
The man stepped onto the porch, removed his yellow helmet, and scratched his head. He looked through the main door into the house and sniffed. Making a sour face, he kicked the doorframe and gazed about. On the porch he shook the old rail, causing it to fall off.
Slowly the man walked back to his truck. He took one final look at the house, exchanged his helmet for his peaked cap, and then climbed into the truck cab. In moments he drove off.
The mice watched in deep silence.
“I don’t get it,” Junior whispered. “What did he do all that for?”
“I’m not sure,” said Poppy, “Testing the machine, perhaps. I think he was deciding how best to knock the house down.”
“When’s he going to do that?”
“Soon, I suppose,” said Poppy.
“I hate him,” said Junior.
“Why?”
“It’s our house, isn’t it? Not his.”
Poppy looked at him. “Our house?”
“What’s wrong with saying that?” demanded Junior.
“I thought you hated it.”
“I never said that.”
The mice began to emerge from their hiding places and return to the house. Jabbering nervously to one another, they endlessly repeated what they had just seen, talking about what might happen next.
“Come on,” Poppy said to Junior. “I’d like to look over the machine. Maybe we’ll get some ideas. And I need to ask you a few things.”
CHAPTER 27
Learning Some Things
JUNIOR, CURIOUS ABOUT THE BULLDOZER, followed Poppy down the steps. The other mice, seeing the serious look on her face, said nothing, only made way so she could pass through.
“How did you get along with your grandfather?” Poppy said to Junior as they went along.
“He’s wicked cool,” said Junior.
“He is?”
“Yeah. When he was my age, he did all these crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“He took this trip on a boat. And there was that time he joined up with traveling performing mice. He used to be an actor. How come you never told me about that stuff?”
“I didn’t know about it,” said Poppy.
“Why didn’t he like my papa’s brother—you know, Uncle Ragweed?”
“Ragweed often questioned things my father said.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t believe that just because my father said something, it was automatically true.”
“What if I did that?”
Poppy stopped. “Junior, where’s Mephitis? I feel responsible for him.”
“Mama, you know what your problem is?”
Poppy sighed. “What?”
“You’re a mama all the time. Why don’t you just be yourself?”
“Just tell me about your friend.”
“I think he got nervous about meeting the family. I told him they would be nice, but he wanted me to come first. He’s waiting for me out in the orchard. Hey! Guess what I found out? His parents died.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I only just found out.”
“Just?”
“Ma, he’s my freaking best friend! You don’t ask best friends personal stuff like that.”
Poppy sighed. “Junior, how did you even get to be friends with Mephitis?”
Junior shrugged. “I don’t know. Met him in the forest. He was all alone. Didn’t have nobody, so I just thought . . . I don’t know.”
Poppy stared at Junior. “Are you saying you became friends to give him a family?”
“Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, what’s the big deal? I like him. You got a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” said a bewildered Poppy. “Not at all.”
They walked on in silence. “Hey, Mama . . .”
“What?”
“You really are famous here.”
“Am I?” Poppy said.
“Yeah. Gramps told me about you.”
“He did?”
“I’m not sure he meant it that way, but actually, you were pretty cool. And lots of mice told me other neat stuff you did.”
Poppy felt a swelling in her heart. “Do you think I’m cool?”
“Well, sure, a long time ago. Before you got old.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s okay. But, all those adventures . . . You really do that stuff?”
“I suppose.”
“How come you never told me?”
“You never asked.”
“Everyone says you’re going to be the head of the family—here.”
“Never,” said Poppy. They had reached the bulldozer. The two stared up at it and breathed in its cold smell of metal mixed with oil.
“It’s huge,” whispered Junior, his nose wiggling and sniffing.
Poppy went to one of the tracks. Reaching high, she pulled herself up and began to climb, her tail dangling.
“Where you going?” called Junior.
“Maybe I can do something to the engine.”
“What’s an engine?” said Junior, following.
“It makes the bulldozer move.”
“Hey,” said Junior, “you do know a lot.”
They reached the top of the treads and ran along them until they reached the cab. With a leap, Poppy jumped onto the cab floor. Junior followed. Once there, Poppy studied the big levers, the pedals, the key dangling from the dashboard. She knew, from watching the man, that each one probably had something to do with making the bulldozer go, but what did what, she had no idea.
“It’s a monster,” said Junior.
“Do you see any way to get into the engine?” said Poppy.
“Nope.”
“Come on,” said a disappointed Poppy. “We better get back to the house.”
“Mama, I need to find Mephitis.”
“What are you going to do about your red fur?”
Junior grinned. “Actually, some of the young mice like it.”
“And the smell?”
“Doesn’t bother them. Gramps didn’t care, either— after a while.”
“Junior,” said Poppy, “you do surprise me.”
“Hey, you surprise me, too.”
“Then we’re even,” said Poppy. “Better go find Mephitis. But Junior, when you come back, try and understand: my family probably doesn’t know any skunks.”
“Catch you later,” said Junior. And with that, he bounded down to the ground and headed toward the Old Orchard. He had not gone far before he paused and looked back. “Mama!”
“What?”
“You may be old, but you’re still pretty cool!”
Poppy watched him go. She shook her head. Just when I think I understand him, she thought, he changes. Like everything else.
She headed back to the house. As she went, she tried to think what she could possibly suggest to the family about the bulldozer and Gray House. The truth was, as she saw it, there was probably nothing they could do. Which meant Gray House was doomed.
CHAPTER 28
Junior and His New Friends
JUNIOR DID NOT GET VERY FAR before two young mice hailed him. “Hey, Poppy’s son!”
Junior stopped. “The name’s Junior, dude.”
“Sorry. My name is Laurel. And this is Pine. You are Poppy’s son, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“You probably don’t remember, but when you first came, I was in that group who met you. That was so cool.”
“Oh, sure,” said Junior, though he did not remember.
“The thing is,” said Pine, “can . . . can we ask you about your color?”
“And the way you smell,” added Laurel.
“It bothering you or something?”
“Oh no! We think it’s fantastic. You wouldn’t believe how dull most mice are around here. Everybody looks and smells just the same.”
“Yeah, well,” said Junior, “where I come from, red is wicked.”
The two mice exchanged quick glances.
“Is that really true?” asked Pine.
“Yeah,” said Junior. “Anyone nasty works it that way. If you’re with it, that is.” Trying to keep from grinning, he said, “We call it ‘Doing the stinky red.’”
“‘Doing the stinky red,’” echoed Laurel, smiling broadly. “Do you think, you know, we could do the stinky red, too?”
“And look like me?” said Junior.
“Didn’t you just say it’s what everybody nasty is doing?”
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s what we want to do, too.”
Junior held up his front paws. The mice slapped them. “Just come with me,” he said, and raced off.
With Junior leading the way, the trio went into the Old Orchard. But when they reached the place where Junior was sure he had left Mephitis, his friend was gone.
“Is something the matter?” asked Pine.
“My friend was supposed to be here.”
“Another mouse?”
“A skunk.”
“Oh wow! Is he red, too?” asked Pine.
“Black. White stripe down his back. Bushy tail. Lays down a stink like nobody’s business.”
“Is that the way you got your smell?” said Laurel.
“Sure.”
“Do you think he would be willing to give us some?” said Pine.
“He’d love it. Mephitis!” Junior called. “You around?”
There was no reply. Junior’s tail thrashed. He stroked his whiskers the way his father did.
