by David Fulk
The volcano book turned out to be pretty interesting, though. Within the bright red covers were all kinds of colorful photos and drawings. Pretty soon it had him totally absorbed, and not thinking at all about his quarry discoveries.
After about ten minutes of reading, he heard a faint bump and looked over at the shelf to see that one of the stones anchoring the egg-shaped thing had slipped, and the big object had come loose. Martin carefully picked it up and looked it over. Somehow it felt lighter than before—he figured it was because the grit had been cleaned from it and the ice had melted. He certainly didn’t want it rolling off the shelf again, so he grabbed a couple more stones and slid them underneath it.
—
Martin’s dad usually came home late in the days before the Trout Palace opened for the season, but today he was reasonably early, so the Tinkers sat down for a nice, quiet dinner together. But when his parents got into a boring discussion about money, Martin didn’t have anything to contribute; anyway, he kept thinking about how strange and scary it would be if a volcano suddenly blew open underneath Menominee Springs. Finally, he excused himself early and went back out to the barn.
He knocked out his homework in short order, then went back to the volcano book. He figured he would read for a while and then go back up to the house and watch a little TV before bed, but he got so caught up in all the stuff about vents and fissures and lava domes that before he knew it, it was ten o’clock.
He might have kept at it even longer if it weren’t for something very odd that grabbed his attention: once again, a thunk came from the shelf.
The oval thing had shifted again.
What the…?
He stood up and, eyes fixed on his prize object, warily stepped over for a closer look. He lifted it off the shelf and looked it over carefully. Why would it keep shifting out of place like that? It wasn’t slippery. It wasn’t lopsided. It wasn’t especially heavy. He shook it, sniffed it, raised it to his ear. No answers to the mystery. Just coincidence, apparently.
He carefully placed it back on the shelf and grabbed a few more stones from his collection, pushing them underneath the oval thing on all sides. He checked and double-checked it to be absolutely certain there were no loose spots this time. When he was sure it was rock solid, he took a slow step backward.
Satisfied it would be okay now, he headed back to his chair to resume his reading. And the instant he sat down—clunk!
Martin let out a gasp and his gaze shot back over to the shelf. The egg thing had shifted again!
What on earth is going on? His muscles taut, his heart thumping, he took two tiny steps back over to the shelf and slowly reached for the object. He couldn’t quite bring himself to touch it, as though he might get an electric shock. When his fingers were hovering just over the surface…
Reep reep deedy bip!
The sound made him nearly jump out of his skin. He knew instantly who was calling and why, but it was a minor distraction considering what was going on (or not) on that shelf. His eyes never left the oval stone as he picked up the phone and put it to his ear.
“Hi.”
“What are you still doing down there?” Martin could tell from his dad’s sharp tone that he meant business.
“I’m just…um…”
“It’s after ten. Get up here and get to bed.”
“Okay…uh…five minutes?”
“Now.”
“Please? I just have this—”
“I’m looking out the window, Martin. If I don’t see your butt running across the yard in ten seconds, I’m gonna lock that barn up for good.”
“Okay, but let me just—”
“One…”
“Wait, can I—”
“Two…”
“Okay. Coming.”
Martin gathered his books and scooted out of there—though on the way, his eyes stayed fixed on that shelf as though drawn by magnetic force. He turned out the light only at the last possible instant before shutting the door.
Back at the house, he went through his usual bedtime routine, except tonight he was finished in half the usual time—teeth brushed, in his pj’s, and ready for the sack in eight minutes flat. His mom, who was always at his bedside with a goodnight kiss, couldn’t help but notice his speeded-up pace.
“You okay, pumpkin-puss?” she said as he buried himself under the covers.
“Sure.”
“You seem a little…I don’t know, twitchy?”
“I’m fine.”
“Everything’s okay at school?”
“Uh-huh.”
She studied him, looking just a bit concerned. He squeezed out an innocent smile. It wasn’t the most convincing smile he’d ever come up with, but it was enough to persuade her to let it go. “Okay. G’night, squash blos— G’night, sweetheart.”
“ ’Night.”
She gave him a kiss and left the room, turning off the light on her way out. Finally, he thought.
Martin listened closely for the sounds of his parents getting ready to turn in—the footsteps in the hall, the whispering voices, the water running in the bathroom. When he heard the clunk of their bedroom door closing, he jumped out of bed and scurried to the door to take a peek down the hall. Just a few seconds later, the sliver of light escaping from underneath their door blinked out.
Martin quickly slipped on his shoes, tiptoed down the stairs, and shot out the back door without even bothering to put on a jacket, even though the night was a bit chilly.
In no time at all he was back inside the barn, eyes fixed on that oval thing. It was right where it had been fifteen minutes before. He slowly walked over, reached up, and tapped it lightly with one finger, though he wasn’t really sure what the point of that was. He leaned in close and put his ear right up next to it, and then, without stopping to think why, talked to it.
“Hello…hello…this is your captain speaking…. All ostriches report to the quarterdeck immediately—”
All of a sudden—the thing wobbled. Martin let out a gasp and jumped back, his eyes like saucers. It wobbled again.
“Holy mama,” he half whispered.
It wobbled a third time, and this time it didn’t stop. Martin swallowed hard and moved in a bit closer as it kept on rocking back and forth, twitching and shaking as though a volcano were about to blow up underneath it. Then…
Crack!
A jagged split shot across the surface. The object was shaking even harder than before. Brimming with excitement and curiosity, Martin reached up and took hold of the restless stone with both hands. He moved it slowly over to his workbench, where he could get a better look at the little drama unfolding in front of him. But before he could lay it there gently, there was another loud crack! He flinched and let go, dropping it on the tabletop—and splitting it completely open. The pieces of shell dropped away, and there it was, the eager being making its first appearance in the outside world…
A baby lizard.
“Wow!” Martin heard himself exclaim as the little creature slowly opened its eyes for the first time. It flopped around on the table, trying to get some sort of foothold, then looked straight up at Martin, blinked once, and let out a raspy squeak.
“Wow,” he said again. As the newborn kept trying to get its footing, he couldn’t help noticing that this was no ordinary-looking lizard. For one thing, it was bigger than any baby lizard he knew of—a good foot and a half long from head to tail. For another, its front legs were much smaller than its hind legs—too small to be useful for much of anything, it seemed. It was a grayish-brown color, and its head was too big for the rest of its body.
Obviously, the poor thing was deformed. In an odd way, Martin could relate.
The lizard finally managed to get itself into a somewhat upright position on its hind legs and gave a couple more squeaks, gazing at Martin with begging eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.
“Hello there.”
Squeak.
“What do you want?”
“You want your mama, right?”
Squeak.
“I’m sorry, she’s not here.”
Squeak.
“No, really.”
Squeak squeak.
Martin felt like he had to do something, but he wasn’t sure what.
“Do you want me to—”
Squeak squeak.
“Okay. Okay. Hold on.”
He reached down and slowly, gently scooped the lizard up in his hands. He brought it up close to his face, and right away it nibbled at his chin, like an affectionate puppy. Martin couldn’t help giggling.
“I’m not your mama, you know.”
A few weeks before, Mr. Eckhart had talked to the class about how a lot of baby animals bond to the first living thing they see; it’s called imprinting. Martin wasn’t sure he liked the idea of a lizard thinking he was its mother, but it looked like that was what he was going to get.
He locked gazes with the lizard, and the little thing just kept squeaking at him.
“What is it you want?”
Squeak.
“Are you hungry?”
Squeak.
“Yeah? What do you like to eat?”
Squeak squeak.
He looked around, then grabbed an empty cardboard box from the floor and put it on the workbench. “I’ll go look for something. Wait here.”
He lowered the lizard into the box, which the little thing did not appreciate one bit. It squeaked and thrashed around as Martin backed away.
“Just for a minute. I’m coming back. Really. Just wait.”
He didn’t know how long he could watch the creature’s distress, so he forced himself to turn away and hurry out the door.
Martin sprinted across the yard to the house, not even thinking of what might happen if his parents caught him up and running around. He slipped through the back door into the darkened kitchen and made a beeline for the refrigerator. He swung the door open and stood in the bright light that flooded out into the room, scanning the bottles and jars and packages, hoping something would jump out and shout “Lizard food!”
But the food was not in a talkative mood, so Martin made his best guess and scooped up a loaf of bread, a head of lettuce, an apple, a jar of raspberry preserves, and a chunk of sharp Wisconsin cheddar. In grabbing the cheese from the back of the shelf, he managed to bang his elbow on a bracket, and before he could remember that he needed to keep it down, a loud noise escaped from his mouth.
“Ouch!”
It wouldn’t have stung quite so much if he hadn’t taken a direct hit on the cut he’d gotten when he fell through the rocks at the quarry. There was some fresh blood on there now, but Martin was less concerned about that than he was about getting caught by you-know-who. He held his breath, listening for the dreaded footsteps upstairs; but when they didn’t come, he exhaled and quietly slipped back outside with his armload of lizard treats.
In the barn, he found the little lizard right where he had left it. Seeing Martin, it twitched and squeaked excitedly.
“See? I told you I’d come back.” He dumped his stash of goodies on the table and peeled off a small piece of lettuce, holding it up over the box tantalizingly. “Look what I’ve got…nice and green. Lizards love leafy stuff, right?”
The lizard squeaked and did its best to take the lettuce, though its footing was still a work in progress. Martin lowered the leaf enough for the creature to grab it in its oversize mouth.
He watched as the little reptile chomped and chewed on the leaf—but it wouldn’t swallow. Finally, it spat out the lettuce altogether and squeaked insistently at Martin.
“No greens, eh?”
Squeak squeak!
“Okay, then. I know what you want.”
He picked up a knife from the shelf and cut a small piece of apple.
“Mmmm, apple. All sweet and delicious.” He held the piece out, his own mouth opening wide in sympathy with the lizard’s gaping jaws. The little beast yanked the apple out of Martin’s hand and it fell to the bottom of the box, where the creature could get a good sniff before digging in. But after a couple of whiffs, it was clear that there would be no digging; the lizard turned away and went right back to its squeaking and squawking, seeming even more worked up than before.
“Really? You don’t want fruit?”
Squeak squeak squeak!
“Okay. Well, this I know you’ll like.”
He opened up the bread package and tore off a tiny piece of crust.
“Everybody likes bread. Open the drawbridge…”
He reached into the box, and the lizard again stretched up and snatched the bread out of his hand greedily. But after three quick chomps, the verdict was the same: ptui!
As the scaly critter launched back into its screechy tantrum, Martin folded his arms on the edge of the box, lips taut, eyes squinting.
“You are a very picky lizard. Didn’t anyone ever tell you beggars can’t be choosers?”
The lizard suddenly lurched up and took a nibble of Martin’s forearm. “There’s not much else I can— Hey!” He had thought the licking and nibbling was just an affectionate nuzzle—until he realized that what it was nibbling on was the fresh blood on the scrape below his elbow.
Martin jerked away.
“What are you doing? You can’t have that!”
The lizard twitched and squeaked. It wanted more.
At this moment, a little black spider, obviously not paying attention to where it was going, dropped down on its invisible silk strand and landed inside the cardboard box. The lizard spotted it right away, and with a ferocious look in its eye that would have been downright scary if it weren’t just a baby, it lunged over and snapped up the unlucky bug, swallowing it in one gulp.
The lightbulb went on instantly in Martin’s head.
“Ahhh, so that’s what you want.”
Squeak squeeeeeeeak!
“Okay, then. Don’t move.”
He grabbed his bug net and a jar and scurried outside. Light from inside the barn spilled out through a small window near the door, where a dozen or so white moths were fluttering around, looking for whatever it is moths look for when they fly into a light. Martin swooped his net, snagging a bunch of them in midair.
Somebody would be dining well tonight.
Martin could tell it was light when he woke up, but he didn’t feel like opening his eyes; he was just too tired. Better to doze off again until the alarm went off. But even in his groggy state, something seemed off.
He felt a tickle on his cheek, and his hand jerked up to scratch it. Then there was a strange clicking sound in his ear, and it wouldn’t stop. Knowing his night of sleep was over, he slowly opened his eyes—and what came into focus was a big reptilian face, just inches from his eyeball.
Squeak.
Martin leaped to his feet, partly from being startled and partly from now realizing he had fallen asleep on the barn floor.
“Oh, no. Oh, no,” he muttered, trying to sort through about a dozen thoughts at once. What time is it? How could I fall asleep on the cold floor? Is anybody else up yet? Yikes, I’m in my pj’s!
The little lizard just looked up at him.
Martin’s mind was a jumble, but one thing he realized was that time was not his friend just now.
“I’ve got to go.”
Squeak.
“I know. Sorry, but I have to. Um…” He looked around, trying to focus his thoughts, and spotted a pile of old bricks against the far wall. He had an idea, and it was going to have to do for now.
Putting himself in high gear, he started bringing the bricks to the corner next to his workbench and building a little rectangular pen against the wall. The pen was about five feet square, and when he had built up the bricks to about a foot high, he scooped up the lizard and put it inside the enclosure.
The creature had been perfectly calm while watching Martin stack the bricks, but when it found itself trapped within the walls, it twitched and squealed l
ike a monkey with its tail caught in a mousetrap.
“I know, but I can’t stay! I have to go to school.”
Squeeeeeak!
“Here…”
There were a few dead moths left over from last night’s feast, and Martin dumped them into the pen.
“I’ll get you more later, I promise.”
Squeak squeeeeeak!
“Be patient, okay?”
He hustled toward the door, then made a quick U-turn, swept up the human-food leftovers from the workbench, and raced out.
When he got to the house, he could see through the window in the kitchen door that sneaking in would not be an option. His mom was rummaging in the fridge—no doubt looking for bread and jelly and apples—while his dad worked on a bowl of cereal at the table.
Martin tried to think of a plan. Maybe if he went around to the front door, he could slip in without being noticed…? But wait. What about the food? Maybe he could just dump it in the woods.
His dad got up from the table and leaned out into the hall. Martin could hear him loud and clear as he called up the stairs.
“Martin! Let’s go, buddy!”
He exchanged a few mumbled words with Mrs. Tinker, then hollered again.
“Martin!” He gave a shrill whistle, his patience clearly running out.
Deciding he’d be better off just to plunge in and hope for the best, Martin popped in the back door. His parents stared at him.
“Hi,” he said, trying to be casual. “I, um…I went out early.”
Dad seemed ready to deliver a few sharp words, but Mom spoke first. “You’re going to be late. Go get dressed. Hurry.”
Figuring the best way to end this conversation was to get upstairs as fast as possible, Martin dumped his armload of food onto the table and scooted into the hall.
“Why did you take those?” Mrs. Tinker said.
“I had a sandwich,” Martin called back as he raced up the stairs.
Before he escaped to his room, he heard his mom mutter, “A lettuce, cheese, and jelly sandwich?”
Mr. Tinker gave a muffled groan.
—
