The Stories Huey Tells

by Ann Cameron

  “There’re more tracks out here! HUGE ones!”

  We all went running to see.

  “They look big enough to be elephant tracks!” Gloria said.

  My mom said, “What I don’t understand is why all these animals are coming to our house. Do you have any ideas, Huey?”

  Everybody looked at me. I had to say something.

  “It’s really strange!” I said.

  I am a tracker and a scout. I am strong and I am silent. I know many things. But I keep them to myself.

  I looked up. The sky was blue, perfectly blue. I wanted to know why.

  I went down to my dad’s workshop in the basement. He was working on Julian’s bicycle.

  “Why—” I began.

  “Can it wait a minute, Huey?” my dad said. “I’m trying to figure this blamed thing out.”

  I went upstairs to the den. My mom was sitting at the desk.

  “Mom, why is the sky—” I began.

  “Oh, Huey!” my mom said. “I was adding numbers in my head for income tax, and now I have to start all over again!”

  I went outside. Julian and Gloria were kneeling on the lawn, working on a new, improved zebra trap.

  “Julian,” I said, “why—”

  “Look at this!” Julian interrupted. “We have the carrot partway under a rock. A rope is partway under the rock too. When the zebra picks up the carrot, he’ll move the rock and loosen the rope. That will make the cage door fall shut—and we’ll catch him!”

  “What if the zebra is too smart?” I asked.

  “What do you know about zebras?” Julian asked.

  “A real zebra would kick that cage to pieces!” I said.

  I went back into the house and dived onto the couch. I didn’t want to know about the sky anymore.

  It’s not blue all the time, anyhow, I thought. Most of the time it isn’t. So who cares?

  I stared at the living room wall. It had some interesting things on it—things from Africa my mom had hung up there—a straw hat from Ghana, with green and yellow designs in it; and a cloak from Mali with bright blue and orange and white stripes; and a walking stick from we’re not sure exactly where, with the head of a lion carved on it.

  I kept staring at the things. The things kept staring back at me—especially the lion’s head on the walking stick. Pretty soon I realized something. I wanted to go to Africa. I wanted to see where the wild zebras are. If I lived in Africa, I would be happy.

  I went into the kitchen and made three peanut butter sandwiches. I put them in a plastic bag and put the plastic bag in my backpack. Then I went back into the living room. I stood on a chair and got the hat, the cloak, and the walking stick off their hooks.

  I put the hat on my head. It was too big, so I put the cloak over my head first, and then the hat on top of it. That way, it fit just fine. I tried holding the walking stick. It felt just right.

  I went out the door. I passed right by Julian and Gloria. They were working so hard on the trap that they didn’t even see me.

  I went down the street. The hat was good. It kept the sun out of my eyes. The cloak was good too. It felt warm. And the walking stick was the best of all. It seemed to want to go places without my even moving it.

  Once someone had carried it all over Africa. He had leaned on it when he was tired. He had used it to cross rivers. When he needed to, he had used it as a weapon.

  Right where my hand held it, it was smooth and shiny. The African hand that used to hold it had polished it for me. If I held on to it and didn’t let go, it would show me the way to Africa.

  I walked eight blocks. I got to the mall where the gas station is. I know the man who works at the gas station. His name is George. I asked him the way to Africa. He pointed.

  “It’s east of here,” he said. “But be careful of the traffic.”

  I walked the way he pointed—toward where the sun was coming from. I used my stick to climb the hill above the gas station. I know the man who works on people’s lawns up there. His name is Oscar. He was planting tulips.

  ’That’s a nice stick you’ve got. Nice hat and cape too,” Oscar said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Do you happen to know the way to Africa?”

  Oscar pointed.

  “It’s west of here,” he said. He was pointing me right back where I came from!

  “George at the gas station just told me it’s east,” I said.

  “You can get there going east too,” Oscar agreed.

  I kept going the way I had been going.

  My legs were getting tired. I saw a woman sweeping her steps. I’ve seen her lots, but I don’t know her name. She looks old and wise. She looked like she should know the way to Africa.

  “It’s south of here,” she said. And she pointed. “South and east. Or, south and west. You could do north too—but that would mean crossing the polar icecap.”

  “Everybody keeps telling me a different way to Africa!” I said. “Somebody is telling me lies!”

  “No,” the woman said. “No, they’re not. Look!” she said, and held her arms out in front of her, wide and curved.

  “The world is round, like a ball,” she said, “so there’s more than one way to anywhere.”

  She drew paths in the air with her finger. She explained everything so well that I could imagine all the seas and mountains I would cross, and all the rounding I would do to get to Africa.

  I thanked her.

  “Good luck,” she said. “The shortest way is about six thousand miles.”

  I turned south. My feet hurt a little, but I was happy. Because the whole world is connected. So even if it was a long way, I couldn’t miss Africa. Even if I made a few mistakes, someday I would get there.

  Big clouds formed in the sky. They looked like the walls and towers of the ancient palaces in Africa. They made me glad I was going there.

  I got to the park where Julian and Gloria and I go sometimes. I went through the park to a big log we like to play on. I sat down.

  Right in front of me was a tree. A dog stuck his head out from behind it and looked at me.

  He was little and thin, with brown eyes and a tail that curved like a question mark. He had a cut on one of his ears.

  I called him.

  “Here, boy!” I said.

  He perked up his ears as far as they would perk, but he didn’t come closer.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I said.

  He sat down. He looked like he was wondering if he should believe me.

  My backpack was under my cloak. I took it off and got out my sandwiches. I held one out to the dog and said, “Food, boy!” but he still wouldn’t come.

  “I’ll call you ’Spunky’” I told him. “You’re hungry—but you still won’t come just because a stranger calls you. That’s being spunky.”

  He looked like he understood.

  I put the sandwich on the ground halfway between us. Spunky walked up to it. He ate it in a gulp and stood and looked at me.

  I finished my own sandwich.

  “Do you want to go to Africa, Spunky?” I asked.

  His body looked like he was saying no. His eyes looked like yes.

  “Come on, then,” I said. I got up and started walking again. Spunky followed me, not too close behind.

  It was beautiful and peaceful in the park. By the river, lots of yellow flowers were growing. I decided to pick some for my mother. She couldn’t help it that she couldn’t add when someone talked to her. Probably only a genius could do that.

  Then I remembered I was going to Africa. I couldn’t take her any flowers if I was going to Africa. I sat down to think. I took out my last sandwich. I ate half and threw half to Spunky He caught it in his mouth.

  “We’re going to Africa,” I said. “But we don’t need to go right away. We can go later. When we’re older. When I have hiking boots.”

  I picked some of the flowers for my mother. I found a special stone to show my dad and Gloria. And Julian, maybe.

 
“Spunky,” I asked, “do you want to come with me to my house?”

  Spunky cocked his head as if he was deciding something. Then he followed me.

  When we got close to home, I could hear voices calling me. My mom’s, my dad’s, Julian’s, Gloria’s. In the distance I could hear Gloria’s mom and dad too, calling “HUUU-EY! HUUU-EY!”

  Spunky looked at me and sat down by the driveway. I walked closer to the house. My mom had her back to me. She was shading her eyes from the sun and looking into the hedge.

  “Come out, Huey!” she shouted. ’This is not a joke!” She sounded worried.

  I came up behind her.

  “Here I am!” I said. I handed her my flowers.

  She didn’t even look at them, she just held them upside down with the stems squeezed tight in her hands.

  “Huey!” she said. “Where were you? You know you’re not supposed to go anywhere unless you tell us first!”

  “You were busy and Dad was busy,” I said.

  “We are never that busy!” my mom said. “We need to know where you are.”

  I saw my dad down the street. He saw me and waved to Gloria and her mom and dad. They all came running up, out of breath and upset-looking.

  “Huey!” my dad said. “Do you know how long you were away?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was going to Africa, but I decided I didn’t need to go right now. So I’m back.”

  “Huey,” my dad said. “You must never do this again. Most people are nice, but some aren’t. You could be in a dangerous place and not know it. A bad person could just reach out and grab you and that could be the end of you. No trip to Africa. Not even a trip home.”

  “I didn’t go close to anyone,” I said. “If anybody had tried to grab me, I would have run and screamed.”

  My dad stood over me and held me by the shoulders. “Next time you ask before you go somewhere!” he roared.

  “Yes, sir!” I said.

  Spunky barked. He was watching Dad and me. He had his two front feet on our lawn and his two back feet in the street. He looked like he was worried about what Dad would do to me.

  “That’s Spunky,” I said. “He’s my friend. I met him in the park and he came back with me. I don’t think he has a home.”

  “And you want him to live with us?” my mom said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Everybody looked at Spunky “He looks to be abandoned,” Gloria’s dad said. “Skinny No collar.”

  “Can we keep him?” Julian said.

  My mom and dad looked at each other.

  “We’ll have to call the animal shelter first,” Mom said. “We have to make sure no one lost him.”

  “I’ll call” I said.

  Julian stayed out on the lawn with Spunky so he wouldn’t go away. The rest of us went into the house and I called. Nobody had lost a dog that looked like Spunky.

  “If nobody shows up to claim him, you can keep him,” Dad said. “But if you ever go off without telling us, he’s going to the animal shelter. And he won’t be coming back.”

  “I’ll remember,” I said. “I won’t go anyplace without telling you.”

  So that’s the way it was. We persuaded Spunky to come in the house and eat. And he stayed.

  My mom put eggs in his food, and his coat got shiny. And now he trusts us. He’s my dog and Julian’s and partly Gloria’s too. But mostly, he’s mine. I’m the one who found him. I’m the one who named him.

  When I feel bad, I can tell him things I can’t even tell Gloria. When I’m sad, he puts his head on my arm and licks my hand. He makes a little moan in his throat and shows by his eyes that he understands.

  The cloak and the hat and the walking stick are back on the wall. I’m glad they went on a trip with me. Things like to be used.

  The world is a lot, lot bigger than I ever knew. And sometimes, I know, it can be dangerous. But it’s beautiful too. And someday I will go to Africa.

  P.S.

  Julian hadn’t found any more tracks. He really, really wanted to see a zebra or an elephant. He got the idea that if we had a tree house, we could stay out of sight and watch for wild animals from above. So my dad helped us make a tree house in the pine tree in front of the house. It has a big platform, big enough for all of us—Julian and me and Gloria—to lie on. It has steps up the trunk that you can climb to get to it. And it has a special rope ladder you can climb too.

  One day Julian figured out how to get Spunky up there by putting him in a basket that we hauled up with a rope and a pulley. I think Spunky liked being with us, even though he thought it was a long way off the ground.

  Once we got him up in the tree house, Julian started wondering.

  “Maybe it’s because of Spunky that the animals don’t come around anymore,” he said. “Maybe they smell him and are scared of him.”

  I wasn’t going to say anything. I am a tracker and a traveler and a scout. I am silent. But I couldn’t stand to be silent anymore.

  “Julian,” I said, “I was the raccoon. I was the zebra. I was the elephant.”

  And I explained it all.

  Julian got very angry.

  “Why did you do that to me?” he said.

  “Because of the way you treat me,” I said. “You treat me like I’m little and can’t do anything. I decided to show what I can do.”

  “It was a great trick!” Gloria said. “Huey isn’t a little kid. And Julian, you deserved it.”

  Julian still looked mad. “You aren’t a little kid,” Julian said. “You’re smart. But don’t do that to me again!”

  “If you don’t treat me bad, I won’t trick you,” I said.

  Since then, Julian and I are friends. He even showed me everything in the tracking book, and read long parts to me—parts about the habits of animals, like how they like to come to water holes at dusk.

  The three of us read that together, and it gave us the idea of making a water hole under the tree house. We put a big tub of water down there and a smaller, shallow one. We fill them with fresh water every afternoon. Then we go up into the tree house to watch for animals.

  So far some birds have come and taken big, splashy baths in the shallow tub. Gloria’s mom says if she helps out at home, Gloria can take some binoculars up to the tree house so we can see the birds even closer. My dad says he’ll get us a book and an audiotape so we can identify different kinds of birds—and get them to come to us by copying their songs. He said he met a man once who had studied birds his whole life. He knew how to call hundreds of different birds that way. He would just make one or two calls, and out of nowhere, dozens of birds would come flying to him. Maybe one day we can do it.

  My dad says if anybody finds wild animals around here, it’ll be us.

  I think he’s right.

  About the Author

  Ann Cameron is the bestselling author of many popular books for children, including The Stories Julian Tells, More Stories Julian Tells, and The Stories Huey Tells. Her other books include Julian, Dream Doctor; Julian, Secret Agent; Julian’s Glorious Summer; and The Most Beautiful Place in the World. Ms. Cameron lives in Guatemala.

  You can visit Ann Cameron’s Web site at www.childrensbestbooks.com.

  Don’t miss the next book about Huey!

  More Stories Huey Tells

  The top of the ladder looked a long way down. I thought of saying I wouldn’t go down—but if I did, they’d all think I was scared.

  Julian told me not to look at the bottom of the mine, just to lie on the ground and dangle my legs down toward the ladder and they’d let me down. I let myself off the edge of the mine and the rope pulled tight. I heard Spunky start whining and barking and Julian telling him to be quiet. But it was only a few seconds before I felt my feet on the ladder, and I climbed down it to the bottom of the mine.

  Do you like funny stories? You may also want to read…

  MIAMI

  Sees It Through

  by Patricia & Fredrick McKissack

 
Then I hear Miss Spraggins saying, “What about you, Michael Andrew? Do you understand?”

  “No, Ma’am,” I say. Now, I’m meaning, No. please don’t call me Michael Andrew, but she’s thinking I’m saying, No, I don’t understand.

  Miss Spraggins is not with me on this. “I see,” she says. “So you’re a smarty-mouth. Then see if you can understand this. Michael Andrew, you have detention.”

  “What? But—”

  “Not another word, young sir.”

  Who’s ever heard of getting detention on the first day of school? I’ve got a sinking feeling—fourth grade is busted!

  Do you like stories with magic in them? Try reading

  by Mordicai Gerstein

  artin got closer and saw the fox’s ear twitch at a gnat. He got closer still and could see every gleaming hair in the fox’s gold-orange coat. And when Martin was close enough to touch the fox’s tail with a broomstick (if he’d had one), a stream crossed the path and the fox stopped. Martin, taken by surprise, almost tripped over the fox’s tail.

  The fox turned and saw Martin. It didn’t run. The fox stood in the path and looked directly into Martin’s eyes.

  Martin remembered Aunt Zavella’s warning about looking into the eyes of a fox. It’s probably, he thought, just some Old Country superstition. What could possibly happen?

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1995 by Ann Cameron

  Illustrations copyright © 1995 by Roberta Smith

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, in 1995.