Lexi's Tale (7 page)

I jumped down from the tree quickly. But he wasn't in danger. Instead, he was shouting because he had something to show me.

“Look what I found on the ground near one of the park benches,” he said excitedly.

He was holding a damp newspaper. I looked down and saw a picture of Stefan.

“Listen,” PeeWee said, and he began reading to me from the newspaper.

Troubles Are Over for Mr. Trouble

Stefan Klopot, a Polish tourist who arrived in this country a week ago, lost his wallet, his luggage, and most important of all, the address of his relatives in New York City. Speaking no English did not make his situation any easier. He remembered only two things: that his New York cousins had written to him that they lived near a park, and that the number 9 was an important part of their address. Somehow Mr. Klopot managed to make his way to Central Park. Then he walked uptown from 59th Street passing 69th, 79th, 89th, 99th, and finally 109th Street. Of course, he did not find his family
.

What Mr. Klopot, whose name in Polish means
trouble,
did find was someone else's wallet containing several hundred dollars. This
other wallet had been lost or stolen five months ago from Michael Ryan, who was also a tourist in the city. At the time, Mr. Ryan notified the police of his missing wallet and departed from New Your for his hometown of Clive, Iowa, a sadder and poorer man
.

At first the police were suspicious about how Mr. Klopot came to possess Mr. Ryan's wallet. A Polish translator was called in and he reported that Stefan Klopot claimed that the well-stuffed billfold was thrown to him out of a tree by a squirrel. Police believe that Mr. Klopot, who was suffering from heat, dehydration, and starvation after several days in the park, probably hallucinated and has confused the actual finding of the wallet with the hours he spent observing the park's squirrels
.

In any event, all's well that ends well.
Michael Ryan's wallet with its full contents has been returned to him in Iowa, and the grateful Mr. Ryan has sent a portion of the money back as a reward for Mr. Klopot. Even more important, Mr. Klopot has been reunited with his concerned relatives, who live at 439 East 9th Street near Tompkins Square Park. “We thought he must have changed his plans,” said his cousins Irena and Eva. “We waited for his phone call and it never came. Since he has no phone back home in Poland, we couldn't call him to check. We are so delighted to have him with us at last.”

As for Mr. Klopot, he seems not to be any the worse for his days of living in Central Park. Through the translator he repeated several times how happy he was to be here. “America is a wonderful place,” Mr. Klopot said. “Friendly
people and friendly animals. Especially the squirrels. You have wonderful squirrels in your country.”

When the friendly people at St. Stefan's Church in lower Manhattan heard the story of Mr. Klopot's losses from his cousins, who are church members, they collected money for the man so he could replace his lost clothing and buy a few souvenirs to take back to Poland with him when he returns home next week
.

Mr. Klopot has spent the past two rainy days visiting city landmarks such as the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and Radio City Music Hall. He also insisted on trips to several pet shops in the city. “We did not know that our cousin loved animals so much,” said Irena. “But we are happy to take him wherever he wants to go.”

Of course PeeWee and I were delighted that all was well with Stefan Klopot.

“I've never heard of Polish,” said PeeWee as we discussed what he had read in the newspaper. “It explains a lot.”

It certainly did. It explained why we couldn't understand any of the words our human friend tried to say to us. And it explained why he was living in the park. We were both thankful that he was no longer homeless and that he didn't need to be in a jail cell in order to keep dry and fed.

“It says he's going back home to Poland,” said PeeWee sadly. “I'll miss him.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I'll miss him too. He smelled good. You could tell he was a fine human. But after all, you still have me. I smell good myself,” I reminded PeeWee.

“You know I treasure your friendship,” PeeWee replied. “But you spend so much time up in the air with all the other squirrels. Mr. Klopot was down here on the ground with me.” He sighed.

“I'll try and spend more time on the ground,” I offered. But even as I said it, I knew it was an empty promise. Leaping and soaring are part of a squirrel's day. There was no way I could spend as much time on the ground as PeeWee would wish for.

“Come, watch me practice,” I suggested to my guinea pig friend. “Don't forget—tonight is the Squirrel Circus!”

That day of the full strawberry moon was a beautiful one. The sun shone brightly, and the leaves and grass seemed greener than ever. The entire park looked beautiful, as if the rains of the preceding two days had washed it clean.

I practiced my tricks and then took a long nap. It was a good way to make time pass more quickly. When I woke, it was already
getting dark. By the time the clock chimed ten, the full moon was high in the sky and there was a grand sprinkling of stars, like acorns under an oak tree. All around, the ground was covered with squirrels. And not only were squirrels on the ground. Hundreds were sitting on nearby tree limbs. Old Uncle Ninety-nine stood on a high branch so everyone could see him.

“Hurray for summer!” he shouted to us all. It was a reminder that not every season was filled with the comfort and plenty of the present time.

“Hurray for summer!” we called back to him. The sound was overwhelming, like a thousand nuts falling onto the ground at once.

“Hurray for squirrels!” Uncle Ninety-nine shouted.

“Hurray for squirrels!” we echoed, and again the racket from so many voices filled the air.

“Let the races begin,” he proclaimed.

Of all the activities, running is the simplest, and so this event was for the youngest squirrels. Several dozen youngsters who had been born in recent months lined up in front of a huge sycamore tree. When they were all in a row, Uncle Ninety-nine shouted out, “One nut, two fleas, three squirrels, go!”

At once the young squirrels were off. We all cheered for our nearest relatives. I had my eye on little Seventeen, but I admit that in the crush of racing squirrels, I lost sight of him. It didn't really matter. There's never a winner for the races. Every squirrel is declared a champion. It makes them all feel happy and proud to be a squirrel.

Next came tree climbing. Only a dozen squirrels at a time performed. But the first to reach the top of the tree from each group eventually competed with one another.

There were many other activities that night, too: catch the squirrel, hide-the-nut & find-the-nut, tree leaping, and as a grand finale: balancing. That event was performed both on tree branches and along the phone lines which were at the edges of the park. In addition to leaping, this is the category where I am a star. All the squirrels raced to a street at the eastern border of the park, and I prepared to show them what I had taught myself to do.

I scampered to the top of the telephone pole and stood still for a moment before I began my performance. I looked down at the hundreds of squirrels who were watching. PeeWee was down
there too, although I couldn't spot him. The street lamps cast more shadows than light. I could also see human couples walking down below and even a few dedicated joggers still doing their runs. None of them looked up and so none of them knew what they were missing.

I raised a paw to wave to my relatives below. Although I'd practiced all morning, I still felt nervous. I wasn't afraid of falling, since I still had so many lives left. But it would be very embarrassing to fail in front of so many of my relatives. I knew that this year I hadn't practiced as much as last. Lately, I'd spent more time on the ground with PeeWee. But then I thought to myself, what were the few minutes of glory that I was hoping for compared to the days of pleasure I'd gained by knowing
PeeWee? Whatever happened on the high wire, PeeWee would still be my friend.

With that thought in my head, I started racing across the wire. Along my route I made any number of single somersaults. And finally I took a breath and ended with a flourish. I performed a daring triple somersault.

I landed safely on the wire without slipping. From below I could hear the thunderous roar from my family. I had made it! Few squirrels have ever been capable of doing a triple.

Back on the ground I was congratulated by many squirrels for my acrobatic feat. I was proud, but I was hungry too.

“When do we eat?” I called out to Uncle Ninety-nine.

“In a moment,” he said, and he began counting out again: “One nut, two fleas, three squirrels, go!”

At once every squirrel raced off to the trees where the feast was stored. When I had a nut in each cheek, I went searching for PeeWee. He was not among the squirrels circling the storage trees. I finally discovered him outside his tree hole. I was in for a big surprise.

Standing next to PeeWee was another guinea pig! In the light cast by the moon I could see that she was very beautiful, with a golden brown coat and dark black eyes. Where did this creature come from?

PeeWee introduced me at once. “This is Plush,” he said. “Stefan Klopot brought her here.”

“Stefan Klopot! Was he in the park tonight?” I asked in amazement, disappointed that I'd missed him.

“Yes, Stefan Klopot sat down on the bench and watched the whole circus. He applauded when you did your somersaults. And Plush and I watched you too,” PeeWee added.

I looked at Plush. Stefan Klopot had given PeeWee the one thing that I never could. He had brought him a companion of his own species.

“I'm frightened,” whispered Plush. “I was living in a cage. And now I'm here. What am I going to do?”