Silenced!: The 1969 Journal of Malcolm Moorie

by Bill Doyle

  Jackie must have seen my surprised reaction. She said, “Everyone wants to go on the field trip. Kids take these challenges very seriously.”

  It still sounded pretty silly to me. “What’s the big deal? Where does the field trip go?”

  “The Condor Sanctuary!” she announced. With that, she turned and rushed off. “Good luck, Mal!” she called, looking back over her shoulder.

  THE CONDOR SANCTUARY!

  Suddenly, this silly game seemed very important. I wanted to visit the sanctuary more than any other spot on the planet. And this class could be my ticket there. Time to get cracking.

  A chubby, blonde-haired girl was darting up and down the edge of the stream. In a panicked voice that would’ve made chicken little proud, she kept shouting, “We’re running out of time! we’re running out of time!”

  KIM

  “Kim, chill out!” Conrad’s voice called from the woods. I couldn’t see him, but he was in there somewhere, keeping an eye on us. “You’ve still got forty-five minutes. You can do this.”

  His words seemed to calm kim, and she joined a few other kids who were tossing stones at the wooden fish.

  Jackie yelled, “I wouldn’t do that! You’re going to knock it in the water, and then you’ll need a fishing pole to get it out!” She slapped her hand over her mouth—as if to keep herself from giving something away. But it was too late. The wheels clicked in my brain.

  A FISHING POLE!

  That’s it!

  Conrad had given us a huge clue. He had shaped the piece of wood for a reason.

  He was telling us, Go fish.

  Great-Grandma Fitz had given me fishing tackle—but that was back in my room. I’d have to work with what nature provided to make my own line. Jackie must have decided the same thing. She was pulling at dead vines that snaked up the trunk of a tree. Her plan was probably to make a rope out of them to Lasso the fish, but the thin strands kept snapping in her hands.

  Hmmm…what could I use? I knew from my reading that milkweed plants would be ideal. Their stems have strong fibers that can be woven into tough ropes, nets, clothes—and fishing line. I scanned the area, but there wasn’t a single milkweed in sight!

  A solution popped into my head. Another plant might provide an even stronger fiber, but it was much trickier to handle. Dangerous even.

  If I could just find a bunch of—

  There! Over by the trail that had brought us to the stream. A gopher must have dug up a patch of stinging nettles. They lay on their side, slightly dried by the sun.

  I wrapped my handkerchief around my hand and picked up the plants very carefully, avoiding contact with the tiny hairs that lined the stems and leaves like sharp needles. I took my find over to a nearby flat rock. Using my digging stick, I pounded the stems against the hard surface until they splintered.

  “Twenty-Five Minutes Left!” Kim screeched. I glanced up to see what the others were doing.

  Kyle was rolling a large rock toward the water as if he might use it as a stepping-stone to reach the fish on the island. It’d never work. The rock was too small and would sink beneath the surface of the deep stream.

  But Jackie looked like she was on to something. She had kept a few longer pieces of the vine. Now she was using them to tie dead branches together to make a pole. It was a good idea, and soon she’d have a pole long enough to reach out to the island.

  HURRY! I’VE GOT TO HURRY! I thought.

  But instead, I forced myself to take a breath and slow down. If I were to rush now, I could jab myself with the nettles—and then things would get really ugly. I peeled away the outer layers of the stems and removed the woody fiber inside. They came free in long strands.

  I WOVE THE STINGING NETTLES TOGETHER.

  I took two pieces of the fiber at a time and started twisting them together. Then I took a third piece and twisted it into the ends of the first two, and so on.

  Ten minutes later, I had woven a line from the strands that was about 10 feet long—enough to reach the fish. But I couldn’t just toss one end of my line at the fish. It would slide right off.

  I needed a hook.

  Dr and owl.

  I scanned the line of trees. Aha! There was a nest in one of the middle branches of a 30-foot-high oak. The thick, woven branches of the nest told me I was on the right track. An owl lived there. I rushed over to the base of the tree and scrabbled through the story dirt. It took only seconds to spot the pellets.

  Kyle had given up on his rock-rolling plan. He was now watching me as I snatched up one of the dinner-roll shaped pellets and broke it open.

  “Hey, pal, I don’t think you’ll find the fish in there!” he called to me, and his hyena laughter filled the clearing. I ignored him.

  THE BONES OF SMALL CREATURES LIKE RODENTS OR BIRDS MAKE GOOD HOOKS WHEN YOU’RE IN A PINCH.

  Brown gunk from the pellet fell to the ground. I used my finger to pull apart the fur and feathers of the small animals that the owl had eaten. This wasn’t what I wanted—I had my heart set on the bones.

  I picked up a second pellet and snapped it in half. Once again, I sifted through the contents—and eureka! Tiny bones were everywhere. It looked like the owl had recently gobbled up two little rodents.

  Plucking out a rodent hipbone, I inspected it quickly. Perfect. I grabbed my line and tied one end around the middle of the bone. My fishing line was complete!

  Only then did Kyle seem to get what I was doing. “You’re not going to win!” he cried, darting over to a patch of stinging nettles that were still rooted firmly in the ground. He started yanking on them with his bare hands.

  “Kyle, stop!” I shouted. But he just kept pulling. I imagined a sizzling sound as the stinging hairs sank into Kyle’s skin and broke off.

  Putting my line on the ground, I rushed over to him. “Knock it off,” I said. But I was too late. His eyes widening with painful surprise, he dropped the plants. Immediately, Kyle started scratching his wrists and arms.

  Glaring at me, he shouted, “Look what you made me do!” Tiny, angry bumps were spreading up his arms. “Why didn’t this happen to you?”

  “I avoided touching the stinging hairs. That’s how the plant protects itself. They’re like tiny needles full of acid.”

  Kyle’s eyes almost popped out his head. “Acid? Like battery acid?”

  “No, not that strong. Some baking soda would counteract the effects of the nettles.”

  “Oh, let me just reach into my pocket and grab a handful of baking soda!” he shouted sarcastically. “Where’s our teacher? He should be here, not wandering the woods on his stupid secret projects! Wait until I tell my Aunt Asyla about this. He’ll be looking for a job!”

  While Kyle ranted, I thought about the problem. His skin was reacting to the acid. I knew from chemistry class that we needed a base to stop the effects of the acid. Once again, I looked around for a certain plant.

  And once again, I came up empty. I couldn’t spot any curled dock. Where else could we find a good base? Then it hit me. The answer was right on the tip of my tongue. Literally. “We do have something we could use to make you better,” I told Kyle.

  “What?” he said, sounding desperate and wary at the same time.

  I took a breath, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer. “Spit.”

  “Spit?” Kyle repeated, dumbfounded.

  I shrugged. “Human saliva is a kind of base.”

  “You mean you want to spit on me?”

  “Well, kind of.” Then realizing there were no maybes about it, I said, “Yes. It’ll work against the effects of the nettles.”

  “You’re nuts!” Kyle sounded panicked. “I can just run back to school.”

  I shook my head. “you need to do something fast, or it’s going to get worse.”

  “I can do it…I can use my own…” Kyle tried spitting into his hand. But only a few scant drops came out. “My mouth is too dry!”

  I hadn’t realized it but a few kids had gathered around us. Jackie wa
s one of them. She held her finished pole which was about 12 feet long. “You need spit?” she asked with a wicked smile. “I’ll be glad to help.”

  Kyle’s face turned as red is his arms. He took a step toward me. “Listen, if you think knowing Judge Pinkerton makes you special—”

  My temper flared. “Listen, Kyle. I’m just trying to help you—”

  “Very generous, Mal, but not necessary.” I looked up to see Conrad striding our way. He took a quick look at Kyle’s arm and removed a small bag from his backpack. “I’ve got baking soda right here. Come over to the water with me, Kyle. Let’s get you cleaned up, man.”

  Kyle pulled back. “But if I get wet, I’ll lose!”

  Conrad placed his hands on Kyle’s shoulders. “You already lost. You were going to uproot and kill those living plants to win the challenge. You know better than that.” Conrad turned to the other students. “The rest of you gorillas, keep at it. There’s a fish out on that rock worth fifteen points—and you’ve still got two minutes!”

  Everyone started rushing about again. Hefting her completed pole, Jackie met my eyes. “I’m going to enjoy seeing those condors!” she said and sprinted toward the stream.

  I grabbed my line and ran after her. By the time I got to the edge of the stream, Conrad was already kneeling there with Kyle. Telling him to stretch his arms over the water, Conrad started splashing Kyle, who whined nonstop about the near-freezing water.

  Next to them, Jackie had extended her pole out toward the island. But she was having a tough time keeping the wobbly thing balanced.

  Getting a feel for the weight of my line, I swung the hooked end back and forth a few times. Then after taking aim, I tossed the hook toward the fish. It whizzed through the air right past Jackie’s pole, which wavered near the island. I held my breath—

  PLUNK!

  I missed. My hook landed in the water. “Yes!” I heard Jackie cry. She quickly added. “Sorry! Just my competitive side taking over.”

  Conrad, who was sprinkling Kyle with baking powder, said without looking up, “Thirty seconds!”

  This was it, I thought as I pulled my hook quickly back to the bank. This was my last chance to nab the fish. By now, the kids were standing around Jackie and me, waiting to see who would win. Feeling jumpy, I fumbled with the line.

  “I’ve almost got it!” Jackie shouted. And it was true. The end of her pole was about to slip through the small rope loop on the fish.

  I gave the end of the line one or two swings and then released it. It sailed through the air and—

  CLINK!

  The kids cheered, and Conrad looked up at me, smiling.

  I had hooked the fish!

  Tugging on the line, I pulled the fish off the island just as Jackie’s pole swept down toward it. The fish plopped in the water with a small splash.

  “Curses!” Jackie cried in mock anguish, dropping her pole to the ground. “My plot has been foiled!” This got a few of the kids laughing. She was being a good sport.

  I GOT IT!

  I reeled in the fish until it was at my feet. Careful not to get wet, I reached down and picked it up. The others cheered even louder.

  “Take a bow!” Jackie shouted.

  Just then something caught my eye, distracting me. It was a small nest drifting down along the current of the stream. As it bobbed along the gentle current, I could see brilliant feathers almost sparkling inside. Without thinking about it, I set the fish and my line down on the bank and stepped into the stream.

  Plucking up the nest, I saw a bird with bright patches of red and orange. It was lying on its side, perfectly still.

  “Oh,” I said, looking down at it. The bird was dead.

  Conrad had finished with Kyle and was gazing over my shoulder into the nest. He let out a long breath and started to say something—

  “Mal got wet!” Kyle squealed in delight and did a little jig on the grass. “He doesn’t win!” I glanced down at my pant legs. They were dark with water from when I had stepped into the stream.

  Kyle’s dance was now punctuated by joyful giggling. Man, oh man, this guy was a piece of work. I kept thinking, write before you leap… write before you leap. But I didn’t see a pen and paper, and my I felt my temper rising. I took a step toward Kyle—

  Conrad moved between us. “Kyle’s right, man.” He told me and raised his voice so Kyle could hear him. “Kind of annoying, but right.” Then like a judge pronouncing a verdict, he said, “Mal, you broke the rule and went into the stream. You don’t get the points.” He must have seen how this stung because he continued in a softer tone, “I don’t think you’ll have a problem making up the points later.”

  This made me feel better. Then my mind turned back to the nest in my hands.

  “Okay, gorillas!” Conrad called. “Get ready to pack it up and head back to school. I want this area returned to just the way it looked when we got here.”

  “I should put this back in the stream,” I said, thinking out loud.

  Conrad put his hand on my back and stopped me. “No!” he whispered harshly.

  A dead bird is part of the outdoors, and I figured someone like Conrad would know that. “What?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we let nature take care of its own?”

  “Good instinct, and I’d agree with you, normally,” Conrad said in a low voice so the others couldn’t hear. “But… I’m not sure nature killed this bird.”

  This really got my attention. “Then who did?”

  The concern in my voice seemed to press a button in Conrad. “Come on. We’d better get back to school.”

  Conrad turned away, but not before I got a good look at his eyes. And it had been like gazing into a kind of reflection.

  In his eyes, I saw the same uneasiness I had felt last night.

  I knew something was wrong in the wilderness.

  ETHEL TRYING TO GET MY ATTENTION

  September 23, 1969

  7:20 pm

  I’ve only been at walsington for a day, so I was preparing to sit by myself in the cafeteria. I didn’t really know anyone but Kyle, and I figured the two of us had spent too much time together already.

  The dining room had dark wooden walls and stained glass windows. Kind of like a fancy library, only without books. Rather than long cafeteria tables, there were smaller circular tables where about eight kids could sit.

  After picking up my food, I carried my tray through the laughing, shouting crowds of kids. Feeling like a loser, I headed for an empty table tucked away in the corner where I’d left a stack of books on my way in.

  It’ll be fine sitting alone, I told myself, reaching for one of the books, NATURAL CAUSES OF DEATH IN NATURE. I’d get a chance to do some quick reading on the types of diseases that might have killed that bird I found today.

  I’d tried to talk to Conrad about the bird after class, but for some reason, he’d clammed up. “Everything’s groovy, man. Not to worry,” he said.

  Every detective instinct in my body told me something was going on.

  I was about to stick a fork into the goop on my plate when a girl across the room suddenly leaped to her feet. She was wearing an orange argyle jumpsuit. I recognized her as Ethel from Ecology. Her short dark curls bounced like springs as she jumped up and down and waved her arms.

  For a split second, I thought she might be having some kind of allergic reaction to the brown, oozing food.

  When she continued to wave frantically, I pointed at myself and mouthed, “Me?”

  She bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Yes, you! who else? Get over here!” Her shouts startled a freckled boy at a nearby table, and milk trickled out of his nose.

  “Sorry!” I heard her tell the boy as I walked over to her. She stuck out one large hand and pumped my arm up and down. “Gimme some skin, Mal, my pal!”

  “How’s it going, Ethel?” I asked.

  “Don’t call me Ethel!” she cried in horror, as if I’d just called her a slimy tree sloth.

  “Isn’t that you
r name?” I said.

  MODENBEAM

  Her face turned sour. “Some teachers call me than. But I changed my name a long time ago. Call me Moonbeam. I’m totally in touch with the cosmos.”

  I nodded. “Moonbeam. I dig that. How do your folks feel about you changing your name?”

  She shrugged in an exaggerated way. “They’re professors at Stanford University—so they love it! Here, sit down!” she commanded in a loud but friendly tone. We both sat. “How’re you liking Walsy so far?” she asked. “I heard about gym class.”

  I cringed, flooded by the memory of my day. After Ecology, I had Music, English, and then P.E. I had been thinking about the possible problem with the wilderness so hard, I walked into the girls’ locker room by mistake. Luckily, it was empty at the time, and I ran out when I realized where I was. But the girls waiting to go in spotted me, and the news had spread quickly.

  Moonbeam must have seen how even the memory embarrassed me. “Don’t worry about it, Mal, my Pal. People will forget about it… in a year or two,” she said with a huge grin. “So you ready to protest?”

  “What—?” I started to say, when she cried, “Here’s a fellow protestor now!”

  A kid with dark, slicked-back hair sauntered over to our table. With his white pants and a yellow sweater draped over his shoulders, he looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht. Moonbeam made introductions. “Mal, this is Harvey. Harvey, meet Mal.”

  HARVEY

  Harvey smiled, showing perfect teeth, and said, “How do you do?”

  I’d never seen someone my age wearing an ascot. But somehow, the blue silk scarf wrapped around his neck didn’t come off as snooty.

  Taking a seat, Harvey said, “Harvey is very glad to meet you! Harvey was very impressed with your work today in class.”

  I blinked and looked at Moonbeam, who just shook her head. Once again, I was confused. Wasn’t HE Harvey? Why was he referring to himself like that?