by Lois Lowry
“What was it, Gooney Bird?”
“Gluteus maximus. It’s Latin,” Gooney Bird said.
“We could put that on his butt sign.”
“Or,” Gooney Bird pointed out, “we could say Napoleon’s derrière. That’s French for ‘butt.’”
“But then Mrs. Gooch would say we were being un-American. She thinks everything is un-American,” Chelsea said.
“Like what?” Malcolm asked. He found a wastebasket in the corner of the gym and tossed the crumpled sign into it.
“Spaghetti,” Chelsea said.
“Spaghetti? That’s everybody’s favorite! How can it be un-American?”
Chelsea shrugged. “It’s Italian. And also: french fries. She thinks we shouldn’t eat french fries because they’re French.”
“So she’d really object to derrière,” Mrs. Pidgeon said with a sigh. “And by the way, the real reason we shouldn’t eat french fries is because they’re very greasy.”
Malcolm looked worried. “What about hot dogs? Are they American?”
“German,” Mrs. Pidgeon told him. “Frankfurters. They originated in Germany.
“I think ketchup is American, though,” she added.
“You know what?” Beanie said. “We could have told all about that when we did Napoleon’s digestive system. We could have said that he eats French food and German food—”
“And Italian food—” Barry added.
“And Japanese food—” Keiko said.
“And ketchup—” Malcolm said.
“Yes! Because all of us have the same kind of insides,” Gooney Bird said. “It doesn’t matter what country we come from.”
“We’re all alike,” Felicia Ann said in her small voice, with a tiny smile.
“Speaking of Napoleon,” Mrs. Pidgeon pointed out, “it’s time to move him to his next location. Roll his stand over here. Barry and Nicholas, can you take his sneakers off very carefully? And, Ben, put the basketball over there in the corner with the others. We’ll have to dress him in a new outfit and make some new signs for . . . Who remembers?”
Everyone did. “Respiratory System!” they shouted.
They rolled Napoleon back to the second grade classroom and began to prepare him for his next demonstration. On Monday the skeleton would be going outside for the first time.
The lion part of March—the very cold and blustery part—was ending. It was a little warmer, though there was still some old snow on the ground. Very small buds had appeared on some of the bushes. They could tell that spring was coming. Tricia said that she had seen a robin.
But it was still chilly. They wrapped a warm scarf around Napoleon’s neck and pulled a knitted blue hat over his skull.
“He should have gloves,” Felicia Ann suggested. But they all looked at his long bony hands and agreed that it would be too difficult to fit gloves on him.
“Anyway, he wouldn’t be able to hold his cigarette if he has gloves on,” Nicholas pointed out.
“No!” the other children shouted. They had been arguing with Nicholas all day. Nicholas thought it would be a good idea to explain the respiratory system by showing Napoleon smoking.
“See, he goes outside to have a cigarette. My dad does that at work,” Nicholas said. “He stands out on the sidewalk and smokes. Then we can make signs saying how the smoke goes in Napoleon’s lungs and makes them all black and yucky, so he shouldn’t do it.”
“Nicholas,” Mrs. Pidgeon had said, “we’ve already had a complaint because we gave him a wineglass—”
“And because we talked about his butt,” Malcolm reminded everyone.
“Right,” Mrs. Pidgeon continued. “So we are not going to give Napoleon a cigarette! No way. Instead we are going to demonstrate how healthy it is for him to be outside breathing in the fresh spring air.”
“But what can we give him to hold? He had a basketball for Muscular System. He had a fork for Digestive System. And he had a book for Brain.”
“I know!” Tricia said. “He can have my inhaler. He can have asthma!”
“I don’t think so, Tricia,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “You might need it, sweetie.”
“I know!” Gooney Bird said suddenly. She lifted the top of her desk, rummaged around, and brought something out. “Here!” she said. “Left over from a birthday party I went to!”
“Balloons!” the second-graders said. “Napoleon can blow up a balloon!”
“With his lungs!” Tyrone said. “Cool!”
On Monday afternoon, Mrs. Pidgeon and the children put on their own jackets. Napoleon was already dressed. Tyrone and Felicia Ann carried the signs they had made, and a roll of tape. Carefully, quietly, they wheeled the skeleton down the hall and through the back door of the school. They had decided to arrange Napoleon on the back steps so that no one would see them. They could invite the other classes to come group by group in the morning to learn about the respiratory system. Mr. Leroy had promised to announce it on the intercom after the Pledge of Allegiance.
Malcolm and Barry each blew up one of Gooney Bird’s balloons as they walked. When they were situated outside, with Napoleon seated comfortably on the back steps, they placed one balloon in his left hand, and the other between his teeth, as if he were blowing air into it.
The first sign was taped to the stair railing behind Napoleon.
NAPOLEON IS OUTSIDE
TO ENJOY THE FRESH AIR.
IT IS GOOD FOR HIM.
On the step next to his left foot, they taped the second.
HE BREATHES AIR INTO HIS LUNGS.
THEN HE BREATHES IT OUT,
OR HE USES IT TO BLOW UP A BALLOON,
OR TO TALK OR SING.
“I can hold my breath for forty-seven seconds,” Ben announced. “My cousin timed me in my uncle’s swimming pool.”
“You have good, strong lungs,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “Everybody? Breathe in and you can feel your chest move. Then hold your breath for a few seconds before you blow it out.”
All of the children took a deep breath. Everyone but Ben blew it out again. Ben held his breath until his face turned bright pink, then let it out with a whoosh.
“Good,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “You all have great lungs. No smokers. I can tell.”
Beside Napoleon’s arm, they taped a third sign.
NAPOLEON DOES NOT SMOKE.
HE TAKES GOOD CARE OF HIS LUNGS.
“Now for the really informational one,” Gooney Bird said, holding up the last sign. “Where shall I put it?”
“How about right on his chest? You could tape it to his ribs,” Barry suggested.
Gooney Bird nodded. She leaned down and attached the last sign to Napoleon’s ribs.
WHEN HE BREATHES,
THE AIR GOES DOWN HIS WINDPIPE
AND INTO HIS LUNGS.
THEN HIS BLOOD TAKES OXYGEN
TO ALL OF HIS BODY.
WITHOUT OXYGEN NAPOLEON WOULD
DIE.
“He’s already dead,” Chelsea pointed out. “He’s a skeleton.”
“Well,” Gooney Bird said, “you know what? He seems alive to me. I feel as if he’s a friend. Good old Napoleon!” She patted his arm.
Malcolm grinned. “I find that—”
“Don’t you dare say it, Malcolm!” Mrs. Pidgeon warned.
Malcolm clamped his hand over his mouth. All of the children watched him. After a moment he slowly removed his hand. “Sorry,” he said. “I almost couldn’t control myself.”
“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “Let’s have a few good deep breaths of fresh air.”
Together the second-graders stood on the back steps of the school next to Napoleon. They breathed in and out. The March air was still cool enough that they could see little puffs of steam as the warm air left their lungs.
“Now how about a whistle?” Gooney Bird suggested. “That uses our lungs.” She put two fingers to her mouth and gave a shrill whistle.
“Or a hum?” suggested Keiko. “Hmmmmm . . .”
“A scream?” said Chelsea. She took a deep breath and gave a loud scream. Everyone jumped.
“A whisper!” Felicia Ann suggested. All of the children smiled.
“Whisper whisper whisper,” they said in low voices.
“A groan!” said Ben, and he groaned.
“A grunt!” Beanie said, and she grunted like a pig.
“A gasp!” Nicholas suggested.
“A sigh!” Tyrone sighed loudly.
Finally Mrs. Pidgeon said, “A song. Let’s use our lungs and sing a song for Napoleon before we go in to do our math.”
“I know just the one!” Gooney Bird started the song. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine—” she sang.
All of the children joined in. They sang the entire song while they stood beside Napoleon, who sat on the steps, grinning, with a blue balloon in his mouth and a yellow one in his left hand.
They changed one word. “Please don’t take my skeleton away,” they sang.
But someone did. The next morning, the back steps of Watertower Elementary School were empty. Napoleon was gone.
9
Everyone stood very still and stared at the step where they had left Napoleon, as if he might magically reappear. But there was no sign of him. Mrs. Pidgeon looked horrified.
Felicia Ann, Keiko, Beanie, and Malcolm all began to cry. Then Tyrone shoved Malcolm and called him a crybaby. Malcolm punched Tyrone in the arm and Tyrone began to cry.
“Call 911!” shouted Barry.
“Get Mr. Leroy!” shouted Chelsea.
All of the children yelled out suggestions until finally Mrs. Pidgeon, who still looked shocked, raised her arms and ordered them to quiet down. Gradually the noise subsided, though Malcolm stealthily kicked Tyrone in the ankle. Mrs. Pidgeon separated the boys. “Children,” she said, “we have a serious problem and we must decide how to handle it. Of course we’ll notify the principal.
“But first,” she suggested, “everyone look around. Could Napoleon be someplace in the playground? Maybe someone moved him as a joke.”
The children shaded their eyes against the bright sunlight and scanned the playground.
Nothing. No skeleton. Just the empty playground, a few trees with some very early buds, and a blue car driving slowly past, toward the stop sign at the corner. Keiko began to cry again, quietly. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket.
“My blue hat is gone too!” Nicholas wailed.
After a moment Gooney Bird climbed to the top of the steps and looked down to where all the dismayed second-graders were standing.
“Everyone!” she called out. “We have a crime to solve, and if it’s okay with you, I’m going to appoint myself head detective, because Napoleon belongs to my Uncle Walter and I’m sort of responsible for him.”
“Yeah, you might have to pay for him!” Barry said.
“I bet he cost about a thousand dollars!” Chelsea added.
“We could have a bake sale,” Malcolm suggested.
“Children, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “Let’s concentrate on finding Napoleon. Does everyone agree that Gooney Bird should be head detective? We’ll vote. All in favor, say aye.”
“AYE!” the second-graders shouted.
“Thank you.” Gooney Bird adjusted her hat. Today she was wearing a jester’s cap with bells on it. “I’m kind of sorry I’m wearing my jester’s cap today, because there isn’t anything funny about this situation. If I’d known we would have a mystery to solve, I would have worn my Sherlock Holmes hat.
“But,” she added, “that’s the thing about mysteries. They take you by surprise.”
“A bad surprise,” Malcolm said in a gloomy voice.
“Yes,” Gooney Bird agreed. “This is a bad surprise. But we’re going to investigate in an orderly way. First we’re going to check on the obvious suspect. Barry?”
“Me?” Barry said. “Why am I a suspect?”
“No, no, you’re not. I’m sorry. I meant that I was appointing you to a task,” Gooney Bird said. “I want you to go into the school and find Mr. Furillo.”
“Mr. Furillo? Is he the suspect?” Mrs. Pidgeon asked. “Why on earth—?”
“Not him. His dog. Bruno. Barry, I want you to check on Bruno’s whereabouts. Where was he when the crime was committed?”
Keiko sniffled and wiped her nose again. “Why is Bruno a suspect?” she whimpered. “We all love Bruno!”
“Well,” Gooney Bird said in a serious voice. “Bruno is a . . . what?”
“Dog,” the children all replied.
“And we all know that Bruno is always hungry, correct?”
“Correct!” the children replied.
“And dogs like to eat—what?”
There was a silence. “Dog food?” Malcolm suggested in a hesitant voice.
But the children shook their heads. They knew what Gooney Bird meant. “Bones,” they said.
“And even though Mr. Furillo said that Bruno wouldn’t be at all interested in Napoleon, still, Napoleon is . . . what?”
“Bones.” The voices were very somber.
Mrs. Pidgeon cleared her throat. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Maybe Bruno found that, ah, humerus.”
Everyone was silent.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Pidgeon murmured apologetically.
Then Barry said loudly, “Okay. I’m on the case. I’ll find Mr. Furillo.” He dashed up the steps and entered the school building.
“While Barry’s gone,” Gooney Bird announced, “we must all be looking carefully for clues. I’m sorry we don’t have magnifying glasses. But search carefully.”
All of the children looked at the ground. Ben poked a twig with his toe.
“No, no,” said the head detective. “Spread out. We must search the steps and the walk and the playground.”
“Is it okay, Mrs. Pidgeon?” Beanie asked. “It’s not recess time.”
Mrs. Pidgeon nodded. She looked at her watch. “It’s actually spelling time. But for now this is more important. Start searching for clues.”
The children began to wander the playground with their heads bent.
“Milky Way wrapper!” Malcolm called. “All crumpled up and very old!”
“Probably not a clue,” Gooney Bird decided.
“Dirty mitten!” Chelsea called. “Looks like it was frozen and just melted recently!” She held up a soggy red object.
“Hey, is that mine? I lost a mitten at recess last month!” Nicholas ran over to take a look. “No,” he said. “Kindergarten size.”
“Broken pencil!”
“Dog poop!”
“Plastic toy from McDonald’s!”
“Bubblegum wrapper!”
All of the children were finding things. They brought their findings, all but the dog poop, to Head Detective Gooney Bird, and she decided that none of them was a clue. Looking at each object, she shook her head. The bells on her jester’s hat rang again and again.
Barry reemerged from the back door of the school with Mr. Furillo by his side. Behind them, Bruno ambled down the steps. His tail was still bandaged but he wagged it slightly. Mr. Furillo looked worried.
“Bruno’s innocent,” he said. “I’m quite sure. He went home with me last evening and he came to school with me this morning. He hasn’t left my side.”
Barry nodded. “Bruno has a witness,” he said, “and an alibi.”
“Good,” Gooney Bird said. “I didn’t want Bruno to be guilty.”
The children and Mrs. Pidgeon all agreed. Bruno was a much-loved dog.
“But I really wish we could solve the crime.” Gooney Bird sighed. She looked out over the playground. Nothing had changed. Out in the street, for the third time, the same blue car passed slowly again.
“Barry!” Gooney Bird said suddenly. “Write down that car’s license number! It keeps driving past. That’s suspicious!”
Barry always had a Magic Marker in his pocket. Quickly he pulled it out, peered toward the car, and wrote the numbers on
the back of his hand. “What should we do with the number?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. But on TV they always try to get the license number. Could you see who was driving?”
The children shook their heads.
“A woman, I think,” Mrs. Pidgeon said.
“Was she wearing my blue hat?” Nicholas asked.
“I don’t think so, Nicholas. Sorry.” Mrs. Pidgeon put her arm around Malcolm.
“Kids,” she said, “we’d better go back inside. We’ve done everything we can out here. Isn’t that so, Gooney Bird?”
Gooney Bird frowned. She nodded. “I guess so. Here: I’ll throw the useless clues away.” She gathered the broken toys, the soggy mitten, and the scraps of paper that the children had collected. Then, while her classmates climbed the stairs to return to the building, she took the little pile of things to the trash can by the corner of the building. They all stood by the door and watched her. She looked dejected.
But when Gooney Bird lifted the lid of the large can, the look on her face changed. The bells on her jester’s hat jingled as she looked up at the class. “Here’s your hat, Nicholas!” she called. She leaned forward, reached into the can, and held up the knitted hat.
“And the scarf! Whose scarf was this?” Gooney Bird held up the plaid scarf that had been tied around Napoleon’s neck.
“Mine!” Chelsea called. “Yay!”
“Is Napoleon in there, all folded up?” Barry asked.
“Nope. But wait—” Gooney Bird leaned forward, reaching into the big can. “Look!” she called, and held up the two balloons. They had lost some air and begun to deflate.
Standing there while the class watched her, Gooney Bird examined the hat, the scarf, and the two limp balloons. She held them each close to her face with a puzzled look.
Suddenly she grinned and looked up.
“I’ve solved the crime!” she announced loudly. “Now we just have to get Napoleon back!”
10
Back in the classroom, Gooney Bird passed around the hat, the scarf, and the two limp balloons. The objects went from desk to desk. Each child sniffed them. Some of the children made a face. “Yuck,” Malcolm said loudly.
