Scurvy Goonda (2 page)

The porch was perhaps the house’s most striking feature, a long platform made from a mélange of exotic wood planks that had probably cost a fortune a century and a half ago. According to family lore, the wife of the whaling captain who’d built the house had liked to sit on the porch and wait for her husband’s boat to return. Once in a while, Ted liked to sit out there too. The view was lovely, and sometimes he could see the backs of humpback whales as they glided by.

But now, back in the kitchen, Debbie was pleading with her son.

“The night manager told us he saw you ranting in the meat aisle,” Debbie said. She had a small glob of chocolate stuck to her cheek, though they hadn’t eaten anything containing chocolate for breakfast.

“I was
not
ranting,” said Ted.

“This has come up before,” said Debbie. “You remember the time you stole that boat in Falmouth Harbor, and you told the cops that it wasn’t your idea?”

“Because it
wasn’t.”

“You ran a Jolly Roger up its mast,” said his mother.

“No, I
didn’t.”

“It was SCURVY,” said Adeline. Ted smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Sweetheart,” said Debbie. “This Scurvy, he doesn’t exist. Scurvy is just your brother’s imaginary friend.”

“Abstract companion,” Ted mumbled.

“What’d you say?” said Debbie.

“Nothing, Ma,” sighed Ted. “Never mind. I didn’t say anything.”

“He said ABSTRACT COMPANION,” explained Adeline. “Imaginary friends don’t CALL themselves imaginary friends, because they know they are not imaginary. They call themselves abstract companions because they’re more than our friends and they’re around all the time. Tell Mom what you told me, Ted!”

“Er,” said Ted, “sometimes, they’re not really friends with the kids they’re assigned to. The word ‘companion’ works better. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“But Scurvy loves Ted,” said Adeline. “That’s why he has stuck around for so long!”

“Okay, Adeline,” said Ted.

“They call themselves ab-coms for short!” said Adeline. “Don’t they, Ted?”

“Um,” said Ted.

Debbie stared at Ted. “What sort of nonsense are you telling your sister?”

“Just… it’s just what I’ve learned.”

“Well, you have completely lost your mind, and now you’re turning Adeline into a batty little madwoman.”

“Whatever you think,” said Ted.

“Scurvy DOES exist,” insisted Adeline. “He plays with my Eric.”

Eric the Planda was Adeline’s abstract companion, whom she described as an enormous panda that walked on his hind legs and had a bonsai tree growing out of the top of his head. Because of the plant, Adeline called Eric a “planda.”

“All we want you to do is have a little chat with a professional,” said Debbie.

“I don’t want to.”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE CRAZY,” said Grandma Rose. “AND IF YOU ASK ME, YOU COULD USE A WHOLE NEW HEAD.”

“Mom, tell Grandma that I’m not going to get a new head.”

“Your grandma knows that. She’s just trying to be helpful.”

“MAKE HIM LOOK LIKE MARLON BRANDO IF HE GETS A NEW HEAD!”

“Ted, I went to a therapist when your father left. It helped me a lot to have somebody to talk to. I just think—”

“I have to go to bed,” said Ted, getting up from the breakfast table, which for him was actually the dinner table, given that he’d just worked a full night shift.

“It isn’t natural for a kid to sleep through his summer,” said Debbie.

“LOTS OF THINGS AIN’T NATURAL ABOUT THAT BOY,” said Grandma Rose.

“He’s great! You leave him alone!” yelled Adeline, and ran after Ted.

Outside, standing on the porch, Scurvy Goonda looked at a dolphin frolicking and splashing, and wondered what it would taste like with a side of hash browns.

No matter how tight Ted shut the curtains, light snuck in and bounced off his bedroom mirror, painting golden strips across his body. He was stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling, which was covered with little glow-in-the-dark stars that his dad had given him when he was small.

As he always did, Scurvy lay in the bed next to Ted, breathing heavily, his face bright red. Scurvy didn’t like the summer heat. Ted used to make him take off his boots before climbing under the covers, but Scurvy’s feet were so shocking to look at—bent toes and explosive bunions, toenails the length of Ted’s fingers—that Ted soon begged Scurvy to keep his boots on. This meant that whatever sludge Scurvy had been tramping through all day got smeared all over the bed.

Ted had thought about asking Scurvy to find another place to sleep, but he knew a secret—Scurvy was afraid of the dark. “If ya knew tha things that I’ve seen in tha dark, ya’d be afraid too,” the pirate had once said. Ted figured that because Scurvy was so brave when it came to everything else, whatever he had seen must have been
really
alarming.

This morning, Ted and Scurvy were looking each other straight in the eye, faces six inches apart. Ted saw the grease in Scurvy’s mustache and took in the smell of his breath. Scurvy frequently helped himself to the family liquor cabinet. Luckily,
Debbie and Grandma Rose always blamed each other for the missing booze, which allowed Scurvy to drink his fill. Tonight it smelled like he’d sampled the coconut-flavored rum. Scurvy loved all fruit-flavored cocktails.

“Roll over, Scurvy,” said Ted. “It’s too hard to sleep when you’re staring at me.”

“I like sleepin’ on me left side,” said Scurvy.

“Well, I like sleeping on my right side, and it’s my bed, so I say you roll over.”

“If ya want, we could sleep tha ol’ head to toe. That way we could both sleep on tha side that we want, but we won’t have tah look at each other.”

Ted thought about this.

“But that would mean that I would have to smell what comes up out of your boots,” said Ted. “Do you know what that smells like?”

“Smells like adventure, I reckon,” said Scurvy.

Abruptly, Ted’s door squeaked open, and Adeline peeked her little head inside the room.

“You awake, Ted?” she said.

“Come on in, Addie.”

Adeline walked in, dragging her blanket behind her. She only carried the blanket, a relic of her baby days, when she was upset.

“What’s wrong?” said Ted.

Adeline turned her head to her left, and Ted knew that she was looking at Eric. The planda always walked on her left.

“Is it something to do with Eric?” Ted said.

Adeline nodded.

“Tell me about it,” said Ted.

“He’s worried,” said Adeline.

“How can you tell he’s worried?”

“His fur.”

Ted turned to Scurvy. “Could you take a look for me?”

“But I’m comfy in tha bed.”

“C’mon, Scurv. This is important.”

Adeline watched Scurvy heave himself off the mattress—she’d always been able to see Scurvy, for some reason. She talked a lot about all the ab-coms she could see, and there were times Ted wondered if she maybe could see everybody’s abstract companions.

Ted sat up on the bed and watched Scurvy conducting his examination.

“Is he okay?” Adeline asked.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Scurvy.

Being a planda, Eric always had black rings around his eyes, but today he looked downright exhausted. Even his bonsai was drooping.

“Strange, this,” said Scurvy, poking a bare pink spot on the planda’s belly. Eric recoiled. “It seems his baldish areas are a wee sensitive.”

Eric tucked his head. He didn’t like being the center of attention.

“What do you think we should do about it, Scurvy?” asked Addie.

“Not tah worry, m’lady! Yer planda is just a touch stressed! Probably worried about how he’ll look in his bathing suit this summer!”

Adeline laughed.

“Ya know I won’t let anything happen tah him,” said
Scurvy. “If this is more than just a case of nerves, I will sail every ocean on Earth tah find him a cure fer his malady!”

“Thanks, Scurvy,” said Adeline. Eric nodded gratefully.

As Adeline walked out of the room, holding Eric’s hand, Scurvy saw more bald spots on his back and behind his legs. Dead bonsai leaves fell to the ground behind him.

“This isn’t good at all, Teddy-boy. Somethin’s brewin’,” said Scurvy. But then he saw that Ted was already fast asleep.

Scurvy knew that Eric’s fur was falling out because he was nervous, which made Scurvy nervous too. He reached under the mattress and pulled out a small envelope adorned with a silver seal blaring a portentous inscription:

From the office of
THE PRESIDENT OF MIDDLEMOST

The envelope had been delivered more than a week ago, brought in the middle of the night by an unseen courier and left inside Scurvy’s boot.

Scurvy pulled a letter out of the envelope. The corners of the paper were bent and the sheet was dark with his fingerprints. Here’s what it said:

ATTENTION
ALL ABSTRACT COMPANIONS!

THIS IS YOUR CALL TO ARMS!

ALL AB-COMS are to report back to
Middle most within SIXTY DAYS or be
considered DESERTERS by the presidential
army! The humans are planning to
EXTERMINATE us! Return to Middlemost
before a grisly fate befalls you!

All check-ins will take place at Ab-Com City.
Do not tell anybody that you are leaving! We
have spies everywhere and we will know if
you are betraying your own kind!

The time is now! The future is ours!
Defend yourself and defend your real friends!
Onward!

Your Gorgeous Leader,
PRESIDENT PERSEPHONE SKELETON

“Not me leader, ya ain’t,” mumbled Scurvy, folding the letter and placing it back in the envelope. “Not me family. Not me friend. I won’t ever leave me Ted.”

Scurvy hadn’t been to Middlemost in a very, very long time, and he wasn’t going to be “called to arms” just because Persephone—
Persephone
, of all ab-coms—demanded it. His home was right here on lovely Cape Cod. With Ted.

Down a path from Ted’s house, through the woods, and then up a hill was the crest of a sand dune—a big mound of fine, clean dirt. From the top of the dune, Ted could look down over two huge cranberry bogs and the big pond next to them. Bogs always had ponds next to them. To collect the cranberries, the farmers flooded the bogs using pond water, which caused the berries to float to the surface, making them easier to scoop. During the winter, the bogs were flooded to protect the plants from the cold, and when the water froze, Ted would skate on the surface, trying to slice the stray berries stuck in the ice. But now it was summer, and Ted was on top of the dune staring down at Carolina Waltz, who was sitting at its base.

When Ted and Carolina Waltz were in the same third-grade class, she had been the only girl to place a homemade card in his Valentine’s Day mailbox. Ever since then, Ted had longed to be Carolina Waltz’s boyfriend.

Here’s a valentine, Ted
, Carolina had written on that tremendous third-grade day.
I don’t care that you talk to pirates. I like you
.

I like you too, Carolina
, Ted had written back, which to this day was the best moment he’d ever had with a girl.

That is, it was the best moment he’d ever had in
real life
with a girl. But for years, in his mind, he and Carolina had been
together. He saw them together in places around the world: There she was in a white dress, laughing as he steered their gondola through the canals of Venice en route to an art auction at which they hoped to pick up a new painting for their enormous Italian villa.

Che cosa comprare?
Ted asked Carolina, because in this fantasy he spoke a little Italian, and he liked the way it made Carolina giggle.

Oh, Ted, you are my Da Vinci
, said Carolina, twirling her parasol in her gloved hands.
We should buy whatever you want
.

Penso che un Cézanne sia sembrato piacevole
, said Ted, because he knew that Cézanne was Carolina’s favorite. She batted her eyelashes at him.

You’re perfect
, said Carolina.

Siete perfetti
, said Ted, because he thought that Carolina was perfect too.

In his imagination.

In reality, since third grade Carolina had become
mean
. Today she was with two of her girlfriends, talking about guys from school, one of whom was walking toward them.

“Hello, ladies,” said Duke.

“Duke!” shouted Carolina’s friend Shelly LeShoot, who was awful.

Duke’s usual method of beating up Ted started with Duke standing up in the middle of the high school lunchroom and demanding, “HEY, TED, SAY SOMETHING CRAZY!” which would cause hundreds of kids to turn toward wherever Ted was sitting, alone. Most kids believed Ted was nuts, and it frustrated them that he never actually
behaved
in a crazy manner.

And so Duke would continue: “YOU SHOULD SHOW EVERYBODY YOUR WEIRD BIRTHMARK.”

Ted did have a strange birthmark that covered his right forearm. It stretched from his wrist to his elbow and was solid brown aside from three pale circles arranged in a triangle in its center. His mother used to tell him his father had one just like it. Ted had always been self-conscious about it. He never wore short-sleeved shirts, and when he had to change into his gym clothes, he always did so in one of the bathroom stalls.

“MAYBE HE’S SO CRAZY HE FORGOT HOW TO TALK!”

To which Ted would just silently reply,
Yes, Duke. I’m out of my mind. I now communicate via a system of grunts and whistles that you can only understand if you decipher the code I’ve written with my own earwax
.

Invariably, Duke would see Ted rolling his eyes, come storming over to the table, and tell Ted to meet him outside after lunch. So Ted would go outside after lunch, and Duke would beat him up in front of the student body. Duke was a master of the headlock.

“I love your new sneakers, Duke,” said Carolina.

“Stole them from that Foot Locker at the mall,” said Duke.

“That’s so awesome,” said Shelly.

Ted looked over at a rock lying nearby. It was almost perfectly round, about the size of a grapefruit, and it was covered in little shiny specks. It looked heavy, but not heavy enough that Ted couldn’t hurl it from the top of the sand dune, if he were ever compelled to do such a thing.