Authors: Ellen Raskin

Figgs & Phantoms (17 page)

BOOK: Figgs & Phantoms

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Sissie kissed Mona again and ran off to telephone their relatives the good news. Mona noticed someone else in the room, sitting in a chair against the wall, a paperback book in his hand. Above him hung a tilted sign.

Newt was holding her hand again. She looked up into his tired face and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A week passed, a quiet week of waking and sleeping and growing stronger. Each time Mona woke her father was there, holding her hand. And Fido was there, reading.

Mona smiled at her father and sat up in bed.

“Guess what day this is, princess,” he said excitedly.

Mona had no idea of the day or the month.

“It's Founders' Day!” Sissie announced, bursting into the room. She hastily propped up the pillows behind Mona, who was sinking back into the bed. “And I have a big surprise for you. The parade has been rerouted so it will pass right under your window.”

Mona groaned a feeble protest.

“Same old Mona,” Fido said, as the door flew open. Romulus and Remus, in identical uniforms, jogged in.

“We are the very model of a modern Major-General,

We've information vegetable, animal, and mineral....”

“Just a little preview of what's to come,” Romulus said, giving his niece a warm hug. Remus was still singing:

“I'm very well acquainted, too,
with matters mathematical.
I understand equations,
both the simple and quadratical....”

“Oof!” The mathematical twin was knocked to the floor by a howling Great Dane.

“Mona, poochy,” Kadota pounced on Mona and gave her a big wet kiss on her cheek, followed by nine Kanines with extended paws. Mona shook hands, and looked around the room. “Gracie Jo's getting dressed for the parade,” Kadota explained, but that was not who Mona was looking for.

“Where's Uncle Truman?”

“He's been in an accident, princess,” Newt explained, “but he's doing just fine: just two broken legs and a smashed elbow. He's in traction in the room under this one; that's how come your mother was allowed to tap-dance by your bed.”

Mona now understood why the welcome-home sign was so crudely drawn. He must have made it in his hospital bed with one hand. “What kind of accident?”

Kadota explained. “Truman tied himself into such a tight knot that he rolled down the stairs. He couldn't call for help because his mouth was in his armpit. He had the crazy notion that he could find you in Capri and bring you home.”

“What's so crazy about that?” Remus asked, brushing dog hairs from his major-general's uniform. “I thought the same myself. I divided and divided trying to reach zero, trying to reach you in Capri, Mona. My last fraction was so long I had to tape two rolls of toilet paper together to write it down.”

“Were you really in Capri, Mona?” Fido asked.

Caprichos, Mona thought and wondered as Sissie shoved chattering people and yelping dogs out of the room. “Let's go, everybody; we've only got fifteen minutes before the parade begins. Come on, Newt honey.”

Newt was still sitting at her bedside, holding his daughter's hand. “I'll stay here with Mona,” he said.

Sissie stood alone at the door, staring back at the tender father-daughter scene. Mona looked up and saw the confused expression on her mother's face, an expression of hurt surprise, perhaps even jealousy.

“Go ahead, Newt,” Mona said. “I'll be all right.”

“But someone's got to stay with you, princess.”

“I'll stay,” Fido said.

2. FIDO'S DISEASE

F
IDO STILL WORE his hangdog expression, but something was different about him. Mona didn't know what.

“Mona., I've got to ask you about....” Fido's question was interrupted by Dr. Davenport.

“You look a bit pale, young lady,” the doctor observed, feeling her pulse.

“Too much excitement,” Mona tried to say around the thermometer in her mouth.

“Fine. You're doing just fine,” he pronounced, completing his hasty checkup. “I want you to sit by that window and watch the parade; it will cheer you up. Best medicine there is, a parade. Got to run now and help my wife Sophie paste flowers on the big float. I'll look in on you later this evening. And I'll see you tomorrow, Fido, for another shot.”

Fido blushed as the doctor scurried out of the room.

“I knew it, I knew it,” Mona cried in disgust. “You get out of my room this minute, Fido Figg II, and take your venereal disease with you.”

“It's not that, Mona, really it isn't,” Fido protested. “It's justâjust allergy shots.”

Mona, about to sneer at the lame excuse, suddenly recognized the change in Fido: his nose wasn't running anymore. “What are you allergic to?” she asked dubiously.

“I can't tell you. I don't want anybody to know, especially my folks. Besides, you'll laugh.”

“Try me,” Mona challenged.

Fido hung his head and stuttered out his sad confession. “I'm allergic to d-d-dogs.”

“Dogs!” Mona exclaimed, but she didn't laugh. Fido looked too pitiful for ridicule. “I won't tell anybody, I promise,” Mona said.

Fido nodded gratefully, but something other than the absurd irony of his affliction seemed to be gnawing at him. “Mona, I've got to ask you something,” he said hoarsely. “Mona, were you really in Capri?”

Mona remained silent, unwilling to reveal her secret, even to her troubled cousin. Besides, she was not sure there was a Caprichos; it could have been a feverish delusion, or a dream.
Her
dream.

“Please tell me, Mona,” he begged pathetically. “I don't want to go there, but I've got to know. Did Uncle Florence want to go to Capri, orâor was he killed by the paint fumes?” Fido clutched the bedstead and seemed about to collapse under the burden of his terrible guilt.

“I was there, Fido,” Mona said. “I was in Capri with Uncle Florence. And I've never seen him so happy. Phoebe was there, too. And just before I left, Uncle Florence said I must remember to thank you for his wonderful birthday present.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Mona said firmly. “Now go and join the parade.”

Fido yelped with joy, ran out of the door, ran in again to kiss her on the forehead, ran out again, and ran in once more with another question. “Mona, how much does a first edition of
Lord Jim
cost?”

“One hundred dollars. But I'll let you have it for seventy-five, in installments.” Mona smiled as her first customer ran out the door to join the marchers. Then slowly she climbed down from the bed. She was going to watch the parade.

3. PARADE WATCHING

F
IGGS!” hissed Mrs. Lumpholtz.

Mona stood motionless in the middle of the room, her shoulders rigid. She almost wished she were back in the jungle with the creeping, crawling snakes.

“Mona Lisa Newton, you're a Figg through and through. Just look at you running around in bare feet, and your being so sick. Here, take this!” Mrs. Lumpholtz handed Mona a wrapped shoebox.

A drum ruffled; a sour trumpet heralded the start of the Founders' Day parade.

“Open it up, for heaven's sakes. I made them for poor Florence, but he won't be needing them anymore, God rest his kind soul. Here, let me help you.” Alma Lumpholtz led the trembling patient to the window seat and unwrapped her gift. What Mona had once thought a bomb was a pair of crocheted slippers.

“See, a perfect fit,” Mrs. Lumpholtz said, placing them on Mona's cold feet.