Authors: Richard Scrimger
My dad and I did stay in a hotel, and order room service, and it was not uncool. We got to a baseball game the night before I came home, and I went to the bathroom by myself in the fourth inning. And I took my time. When I got back to my seat, Dad was looking a bit anxious. I smiled.
He went with me to the airport, and let me pick a souvenir gift. It was an easy choice. Sleek, black, palm-sized, with four functions including speed dial.
I survived the plane trip back to Toronto. Mom met me at the Toronto airport, and made me write my dad a card to thank him for an exciting vacation. He hasn’t written back yet.
School starts next week. Grade eight – am I ready? My new teacher is Mr. Reynolds, an old man who wears zippered cardigans and yells all the time. I used to be frightened of him. Now I don’t know. His gray hair is natural. And he doesn’t wear cologne.
I talk to Frieda fairly often. Having my own cell phone makes a difference. Apparently Mrs. Miller has quit the Tutankhamen Society and Sally has turned the sarcophagus into her own doghouse. Frieda talks about Sally all the time, but doesn’t mention Norbert. I wonder if he’s still there. I’d call him up if I knew the number.
Frieda’s got another operation scheduled in Toronto around Christmastime. Maybe we’ll get together. Last week she sent me an article from
magazine. The author, Dr. Malchus, is described as a noted expert in the field of Egyptology, currently awaiting trial. The article is titled: “The Truth about the Great Pyramids.” I haven’t read it yet.
I got a postcard from Bird in today’s mail. He’s having a wonderful time, and feels right at home where he is. I don’t know where that is, exactly. There’s no stamp or postmark on the card. The picture on the front is of a little baby sleeping on its mother’s stomach.
The Nose from Jupiter
I started to sneeze. I sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. Finally, about twenty sneezes later, I stopped. I couldn’t feel anything. I sniffed a few times, experimentally. Still no feeling.
Fine. I must have dislodged the … whatever it was. I went back to the lawn mower. That’s when I heard the voice.
Here we are at last
, it said.
I looked over my shoulder to see who was talking, but somehow I knew there wasn’t anyone there. The squeaky voice was coming from inside me. Inside my nose.
Ah, this is nice. Say, this is a great place you’ve got here.
“Hello,” I said. “Who are you?”
Living room, bedroom, kitchen, back room. And a garage, of course. Very nice indeed. I think I’m going to be happy here
“What are you talking about?” I said.
If you could see the place I was living on Jupiter, this … this is luxury. Just like the commercials you people send out. This is the life. Ah
“That’s my nose you’re talking about,” I said. “Isn’t it?”
You tell me. I’m a stranger here myself
A high and squeaky voice, coming from inside my nose.
Copyright © 2000 by Richard Scrimger
Published in Canada by Tundra Books,
75 Sherbourne Street, Toronto, Ontario M5A 2P9
Published in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern New York,
P.O. Box 1030, Pittsburgh, New York 12901
Library of Congress Control Number: 00-131578
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Scrimger, Richard, 1957-
A nose for adventure
PS8587.C745N674 2000 jC813′.54 C00-930680-3
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.