by Paul Zindel
MissApplebaumbeamedatus.Thensheturnedquicklytotheleftandmoved
onward into a room filled with armor and weapons from the days of knights, serfs, and iron maidens. This exhibit was scary because there was a tableau of eight stuffed horses and knights charging right at us. I mean, they weren’t moving, but they looked like they were ready to make us into shish kebabs.
Everything in this room was marked with a date around 1500 and there was armortofitmen,women,children,dogs,dwarfs,corpulentrulers,andanorexic
jesters.Inseveralhugelightedglasscaseswereallsortsofweaponsforpeople
tokilleachotherwith.Therewerespikedballsonchains,ornatepointedswords, andsharpshiningarrows.Icouldjustimaginehowmuchbloodhadbeenspilled
allovertheplace,or,asIsaywhenIseeatrulygrotesquehorrormovie,“There wasalotofsauceon that pizza.”
Miss Applebaum lingered in this room, and I was afraid she might feel this waswherethemuseumwantedustobetoday.Zeldalookedcompletelyterrified
bynow.
MissApplebaumcheckedourfaces.
“Themuseumdoesn’twantusheretoday,”shesaid.
Miss Applebaum sparked suddenly, and rushed us through a huge archway into what turned out to be the beginning of the ancient Egypt area. This first roomwashalfthesizeofafootballfieldandithadtheTempleofDendurinit
and a reflection pool. It was really incredible, with a slanting ceiling made completelyoftintedglass.Alargesignannouncedthatthetemplehadoriginally
stoodinNubiaandthatithadbeenbuiltasthetombfortwoancientteenagers
whohaddrownedintheNile.Theplacereallygavemethecreeps,andIcould
seeZeldawasn’tthrilledbyiteither.
“Can’t you feel the vibrations?” Miss Applebaum asked. She sniffed like a bloodhound.“Thisiswhereweshouldbe.Thisiswherethemuseumwantsusto
be.”
“Just here? ”Iasked.
“Here in ancient Egypt,” she clarified. “In the Egyptian wing.” She moved forwardtopeerintothepond,andZeldapulledmeaside.
“She’spuffingagain,”Zeldawhispered.
Ididn’tanswerherbecauseIwasafraidourvoiceswouldechooffthetemple.
IjustsignaledhertoshutupandwestrolledslowlytoMissApplebaum’sside.
“Shouldwesitdownawhile?”Isuggested,indicatingalong,polishedbench.
“No,” Miss Applebaum puffed. “There’s too much I have to show you, to
teachyou.”
“Maybeweshouldrestfirst,”Zeldaurged.
This time, Miss Applebaum just looked at Zelda for a second and then
marchedonward.“Thisway,”shecried,pickingupspeed.Shehungaleftatthe
TempleofDendurintoahugecorridorfilledwithalotofotheroldstufffrom
ancient Egypt. Here, it was suddenly cool and refreshing, with a lot of little machines on the walls making graph charts of the temperature and humidity.
And there were sarcophagi and mummies all over the place. Also, there were hugeblackmarblestatuesofscaryantiqueEgyptiangods.
“Yes.”MissApplebaumnodded,becomingverycalm.“Weshouldbe here.”
ZeldaandIlookedateachother.
Ithinkwebothknewthatthemomentwassooncomingwhenwe’dhaveto
tellMissApplebaumwhatwehadtotellher.Itjustwasn’trightforhernotto
know and not to have time to prepare. A person just shouldn’t have to go throughwhatshe’dhavetogothroughwithnoonetotalktoaboutit.Nobody
couldeverwantanyonetobethatalone.
No.Noone.
“Yes, the spirit of the museum wants us here today,” Miss Applebaum said, her eyes shooting glances around the place like laser beams. “I have so many thingstoteachyou.Therearemysterieshere!Wonderstheydon’teventellyou
aboutonthelightedsignsorwalkingtours.TheancientEgyptianswerethefirst
people on earth to have bowling alleys,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that
extraordinary?Andtheytrainedbaboonstowaitontheirtables!Yes,baboons!
Theyusedketchupasmedicine!Andwhatwasmostfantasticisthattheyhadno
fearofdeath.Theywerecertaintherewasanafterlife.Theywereentombedwith
all the supplies they’d need for the next life. Everything they did before they diedwasajoyfulpreparation!”
Atthatverymomentachillranthroughme.Ifeltsomethingveryfrightening
andverywonderfulabouteverythingMissApplebaumhaddonewithZeldaand
mefromthefirstday,whenwebroughtherthebegonia.Withussheseemedto
havebegunherown“joyfulpreparation.”
Miss Applebaum began to stroll through the exhibit pointing out one weird thingaftertheother.
“Oh,seetheseminiatureboatsandtinyclaypeople!Lookatthetinybutcher
shop.Theteensybakeryandweavingroom.TheEgyptiansbelievedthesesmall
effigieswouldcomealive,toservethemafterdeath.Oh,Zelda!Henry!Doyou
knowwhytheycallmummiesmummies?”
“No,”Zeldasaid,hervoicecracking.
“No,”Isaidsoftly.
“Oh,it’swonderful! Mum! Mumwastheirformofwaxputoverthebandages to make the body waterproof. They knew so much about death. They were
exhilaratedaboutdying.Theyworkedouttheentirebrilliantprocessofmakinga
mummy. First, they’d soak the body in salt water. Then they’d take out the brains through the nose! They’d remove the liver and heart with the skill of a surgeon! And they’d save the organs in beautiful clay urns that were buried alongwiththebody.Thedeadweregivengoldfortheirtombs.Preciousrings.
Toys for dead children! Amulets! They mummified everyone! Kings! Queens!
Cats!Dogs!Eventeachers!Ofcourse,noteveryonegotaprivatepyramid.”She
smiled. “But there was a place for everyone, even if it was only a hole in a limestonecliff.”
Miss Applebaum led us onward through a labyrinth of exhibits. She pointed
leftandright.Shecouldn’tpointfastenough.“Lookatthemummifiedrats!Jars ofeyepaint!Sandals!Earrings!Robes!Food!Figuresoftheirgods!”
MissApplebaum’sthoughtsseemedtobecomingtoofastnow,asthoughout
of control. She even began to puff and then practically gasp for air as she continued to force words out of herself. Zelda and I were frightened now, especially when she turned from the exhibits and kept puffing out facts while staringrightatus.Wetriedtointerrupther,toslowherdown,butwecouldn’t.
Suddenly, she rushed into a final exhibit room filled with tablets covered with ancientwriting.
“Oh, see the hieroglyphics!” she exclaimed. “See the ancient writing of the Egyptians!Thesecretsoftheirlivesanddeathsthatnoonecouldunderstandfor
centuries!DoyouunderstandwhatI’msaying?Doyou?”
ZeldaandIcouldn’tspeak.Wewantedtoreachoutandtouchher.Wewanted
tofindtheperfectwordstoletherknowwewerehurtinginsideandjustdidn’t
know how to express how much we cared about her. Secrets of death were all aroundus,frightening,powerful,silent.
Suddenly,MissApplebaumwentsilent,too.
Shestaredatsomething.
Amomentlater,shemovedtositonabenchinfrontofahugecircularstone.
<
br /> Thegiantstonewasaboutsixfeetindiameterandafootthick,andasignsaid
the stone was on loan from another museum. Zelda and I knew it had to be a veryspecialstonebecausetheyhaditlighteduplikeamonstrousdiamond.And
it had strange scribblings all over it. It quieted Miss Applebaum’s breathing.
Zeldasignaledmethatperhapsthiswasprobablyasgoodatimeasanytotalkto
Miss Applebaum. We walked around so that we faced her this time. She kept staringatthestone.
“ThisistheRosettaStone,”MissApplebaumsaid.“IknownowtheRosetta
Stoneiswhywearetrulyhere.”
“MissApplebaum,”Istarted,“wehavesomethingwehavetotellyou....”
Shestilldidn’tlookatus.
“This stone was the key to everything,” she said softly. “It is the stone that taughtustoreadhieroglyphics.Thewritingsonittranslatedallthemysteriesthe Egyptians had written down for those who would come after them. For those whowouldliveafterthem.”
“MissApplebaum,weneedtotellyousomething,”Zeldasaid,sittingnextto
heronthebench.
“Yes,MissApplebaum,”Isaid,sittingontheothersideofher.
“Iknow,mysweetchildren!”MissApplebaumsmiled,lookingatourfaces.
“Youdo?”Iaskedinsurprise.
“Yes,”MissApplebaumsaid.“Whydoyouthinkwecametothisroomtoday
—tothisstone?Youare my oneswhowillcarryonwhatwe’veseenanddone together, just as these mysteries were written here for others who came after.”
Shereachedonehandoutandheldmyhand.Withtheotherhand,shegrasped
oneofZelda’s.
Wesatforaverylongtime.
ThethreeofusholdinghandsinfrontoftheRosettaStone.
10
MissApplebaumsatholdingourhandsforaverylongtime.Finallyshe
spoke.
“Well, we must go home for tea now,” she said cordially, and then released ourhands.
“Yes,”wesaid.“Wemust.”
AndIsupposethiswaspreciselythepointatwhichHenryandIknewthings
had gone so far now, there would be no turning back. Also, we both felt there would really be no one to talk to about what was happening to us with Miss Applebaum. Henry certainly wouldn’t try to explain anything to his parents.
And, to me, what had happened with Miss Applebaum was somehow a sort of secret trust I would not feel comfortable discussing with even my own mother andfather.Thingslikethathappensometimestokids.Somethingsoprivateand
strange happens to them that it has to be worked out without going to any grown-ups. I think it has to do with the way Nature designs kids so that they become different from their parents. Besides, I knew what was happening was something I had to explain first to myself. It was too personal and weird, and whatpsychologistsandanthropologistsmightcalltaboo.Evenmymotherwould
have things to say about Henry and me holding hands with our teacher. She’d haveverypracticalandcompassionatethingstosay,buttherewasnowayshe
could really understand. There were no words I could find to express my own feelingsaboutwhathadhappened;norcouldIlistentohowshefeltaboutit.It
would be only Henry and me who would truly know about this day, and the shockingeventsthatfollowed.
HenryandIwantedtotakeMissApplebaumhomefromthemuseuminataxi,
but she insisted on strolling back through the park. Her breathing had gotten a littlebetter,butHenryandIstoppedtoadmiretheparkateverychancewecould so she could rest. We didn’t get to Miss Applebaum’s apartment until almost three in the afternoon. Miss Applebaum immediately started making tea in the kitchen, while Henry and I sat slightly stunned on the wicker sofa. Behind us, the Ferris wheel of plants turned slowly, lifting the dozens of gloxinias and begoniasandAfricanvioletsuptothelastraysofsunlight.
“Sheknowswhatshehastoknow,”Isaid.
“She’sknownallalong,”Henryadded.
“Shedoesn’tseemscared.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe she isn’t dying?” Henry asked.
“Maybethat’swhyshe’stakingeverythingsowell.Sheknewwhatwewanted
totellher,butshedidn’tstartcryingorcollapseoranything.”
“Maybe,”Isaid,“shefeelsthewaytheEgyptiansdid.That’swhyshetookus
theretoday.Sheknewwhatwewantedtosay.”
“Howcanshemaketea?”Iwonderedaloud.“Shouldn’twejustleave?”
“Wehavetomakesureeverythingpossibleisdoneforher,”Henrysaid.
“Whatmorecanwedo?”Iwantedtoknow,leaningmyheadforwardtostopa
philodendronleaffromrubbingagainstmyrightear.
“We’vegottogethertothebestdoctorwecan.”
“How?Doyoumindtellingme how?”
“Time for chamomile! Time for chamomile!” Miss Applebaum wheezed,
carrying in a tray loaded with a heavy ceramic teapot, cups, cream, sugar, and Oreocookiesonit.Shewaspuffingagainandlookedverypale.
“Youknow,thisDr.Obitcheck...”Henrystarted,asIhelpedsetupthecups
onthestainlesssteelcoffeetable.
“Yes,”MissApplebaumsaid,“Ijustcalledhim.Whatabouthim?”
“Youcalledhim?”Henrygasped.
“Yes.He’scomingovernowfromWeehawkentogivemeatreatment.”She
noticedtheexpressiononourfaces.
“He’s really a very nice man,” Miss Applebaum said. She pushed aside
severalfernfrondsandtookanoldblackmetalboxoutofasecretarydesk.The
boxwasaboutafootlong,eightincheswide,andsixincheshigh.Sheplacedit
rightinfrontofus.“Maybeyouneed this,”shesaid.
“Oh,”Isaid.
“Thankyou,”Henrysaid.
“Itusedtohaveakey,butnowitdoesn’tlock,”MissApplebaumpuffed.She
tookacupofteaandheadedoutoftheroom.
“Whereareyougoing?”Iasked.
“I want to finish making up your exam before Dr. Obitcheck arrives,” Miss
Applebaumsaid.
“Exam?”Henryqueried.
“Justateensyone.”Shesmiled,andthendisappearedintoherbedroom.We
heardatypewriterstartclickingaway.
Henry and I sat sipping our tea and staring at the black box. Then we each nibbledonanOreocookie.
“Whatshouldwedowith it?”Iasked.
“Openit,”Henrysaid.
“Idon’tthinkweshould.”
“Ofcourseweshould!”
Henry put the box on his lap and pressed a small worn silver button on the front of it. The top sprang open to reveal a lot of old envelopes and musty papers.Mostofthecontentslookedlikeverypersonaldocuments,andIfeltas
thoughwehadviolatedatomb.
“Justcloseitbackup,”Isuggested.
“Shesaidwemightneedit,”Henryremindedme.Inasecondhetookthetop
half of the papers and plopped them on my lap while he started going through thebottomhalf.
“Idon’tthinkweshould,”Istressed.
“Well,I do.”
Henrystartedspeed-readinghishalfofthepapers,announcingeverythinghe
cameacross.“MissApplebaum’sbirthcertificate.Hergrammarschooldip
loma
from P.S. 26. Her high school diploma from a school in the Bronx. Her New PaltzStateTeacher’sCollegediploma.Reportcards.Perfectattendanceawards.
Aphotoofsomeoldcouple,probablyherparents...”
IwashorrifiedasHenryevenstartedreadingsomeofthepersonalletters,but
he insisted I shut up and examine my half. My pile had her NYC Board of Educationteachinglicense,photos—completewithcaptionswrittenonthebacks
—ofMissApplebaumwhenshewasanakedbabyonafluffyrugandwhenshe
wasfiveyearsoldridingapony.Therewerephotosofherwithwhatlookedlike
allsortsofrelatives—hergrandparents,andgray-hairedpeoplewhoappearedto
be from Europe. There was a picture of a shaggy collie, a handsome man in a policeuniform,andMissApplebaumasayoungladyinaraccooncoat.There
were letters from her mother and father. Her parents’ death certificates and
canceled checks for perpetual care of their graves. Some old relative’s
naturalization papers. These were memories of a lifetime! They came pouring divorce.”
“I’llneverforgetthatyoufoundmemyfirstjob.”
“Youweresowonderful.”
“Ithinkofyouoften.”
“RememberwhenIwantedtorunaway.”
“RememberwhenIwassolonely.”
“RememberwhenIwantedtokillmyself.”
Henry finished going through his half and reached over and took the rest of mypile.
“TheyreallylovedTheShocker,”Henrysaid.
“Yes,” I agreed, as I opened a flat Leatherette folder. I glanced through the papers inside. They appeared to be newer and very important. It took me a moment, but I finally realized I was looking at Miss Applebaum's health plan and her medical insurance I.D. cards. One booklet was actually a reference directoryofallthedoctorsinManhattancoveredbyherinsurance.
“Henry, look,” I said, giving them to him. He had barely skimmed the
materialsbeforeweheardMissApplebaumcomingbackdownthehall.Henry
kept the Leatherette folder, but we quickly put everything else back into the blackbox.
