Anastasia, Ask Your Analyst (12 page)

"You really are getting pretty good at reading and writing, Sam," said Anastasia feebly. "And typing," she added.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" asked Mrs. Krupnik very grimly.

Sam was sucking his thumb vigorously.

"Well," Anastasia started, "in a way I guess it does."

"What do you mean: 'in a way'? Are there, or are there not, eleven gerbils?"

"Ah, yeah," said Anastasia, "there are."

"AND ARE THERE ELEVEN GERBILS RUNNING AROUND IN THIS HOUSE?"

"No," said Anastasia. "Definitely not. Not any more at least. We caught them."

"But they were. They
were
loose in this house, and you didn't tell me."

"That is correct," said Anastasia.

"I want them out of this house. Immediately. No arguments. No deals."

"Mom, I've been trying to figure out a way to get rid of them, something the Humane Society wouldn't arrest me for."

Sam took his thumb out of his mouth. He looked up. "I know a way," he said.

"Name it," said his mother.

Sam smiled happily. "We can send Nicky Coletti a lovely present," he said.

"This is terrible," said Mrs. Krupnik. "This is an absolutely malevolent, malicious, terrible thing to do. Hand me the Scotch tape, Anastasia."

She sealed the last corner of the wrapping paper over the gerbil cage.

"Here's the card," Anastasia said. They taped the getwell card to the top of the wrapped cage.

"All set, Dad," she said.

Dr. Krupnik lifted the cage and started out the door to the car. "I wouldn't do a rotten thing like this," he announced, "if that kid hadn't torn a page out of my first edition of Hemingway."

"Good-bye, gerbils," called Sam through the door as his father drove away.

"I hope they're happy in their new home," said Mrs. Krupnik. "Their raised ranch, with your wall-to-wall."

"Mrs. Coletti can deodorize it with your Avon florals," said Anastasia. "Because I have to admit you were right, Mom: gerbils
do
smell."

"I feel terribly guilty," said Mrs. Krupnik. "I really am afflicted with guilt."

"If you want," suggested Anastasia, "I can provide you with a psychiatrist to help you deal with that."

"Freud?" asked her mother.

"He doesn't mind if you call him Sigmund."

"I thought you were still using him."

"I was, till just now. But my problems all seem to be gone. The gerbils are gone, and they were a big problem. And I don't hate you and Dad anymore. I think my hormones are gone."

"But what about your Science Project?" asked her mother.

Anastasia sighed. "It was for extra-credit, anyway. I've decided not to do one."

"Sweetie, you could use the extra-credit in Science. You got a C in Science on your last report card," her mother pointed out.

Anastasia thought about it. She didn't mind her C in Science, really. But she knew her parents did. Suddenly, now that her parents had stopped being weird, she wanted to please them. And there did seem to be a solution, though she didn't like it much.

"Mom," she said with a sigh, "I have three weeks. If you helped me, I could probably do a big poster showing the life cycle of the frog."

"Sure. I could help you do that."

"But do you think the kids in my class would laugh? And if they
did
laugh, do you think I'd be mature enough not to mind?"

Her mother smiled and shrugged and shook her head. "Anastasia," she said, "why don't you ask your analyst?"