Squiggle (5 page)

 

12

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

Then, “Oh, you poor dear!” Mrs. Sponge said. “Jay, take her into the family room and give her something to eat! Make her comfortable. What were you thinking, you ugly baboon, putting her in your backpack?”

“Well I . . . I had to get her past . . . I mean. . . . Now this isn't fair at all. . . .” but nobody was listening.

Mrs. Sponge gently took Squiggle into her hands, carried her into a nearby room, and set her on a chair. Of course the chair was too big for a monkey, but it was nicely padded and felt comfortable. Her legs dangled over the edge. Just in front of her was a coffee table (covered in books) and on the opposite side of the table were several more chairs, where Dr. Sponge and Toby sat down.

“What would you like to eat?” Mrs. Sponge said politely, bending down toward Squiggle.

“I . . . I don't know. I wish I did,” she added. Poor Squiggle was faint with hunger.

In the meantime, Toby chattered, “Daddy, can I talk to her? Can I ask her what it feels like being a monkey? Is she a thousand years old, and that's why she's all shriveled up and looks like a monkey? Will I get that way if I eat all my vegetables and live a thousand years? How did you find her?”

Finally, Squiggle had to repeat her story to the entire family. They sat very quietly so that they could hear her whispery voice. Partway through the story an octopus oozed across the floor, up Toby's leg, and into his lap. He petted the rubbery sac of its head. Even the octopus stared at Squiggle, while it twined a tentacle affectionately around Toby's arm.

When Squiggle was done with the story, Dr. Sponge explained his idea of letting her taste his leaf collection. “Not all of it, of course,” he said. “I mean, hum, well, they are valuable. If you could smell them and decide which kind of leaf you'd like to eat, then we could—”

“Oh, bosh,” said Mrs. Sponge. “Sniffing that old dried peppery collection? Don't even bother! I'd better go to the grocery store right now and bring back as many different kinds of leaves as I can. Fresh ones. Let's see. . . . Toby, in the meantime you could scour the neighborhood and pick a collection of tree leaves and. . . .”

As she was talking she took out a hat from a closet and settled it on her head. It was an ugly old-fashioned hat, decorated with plastic holly. Along with her whiskers and raccoon slippers, it made her look extremely bizarre; but she never left the house without it. She thought it was very beautiful.

“Hold on,” Dr. Sponge said, jumping up out of his chair. “What are you staring at? Squiggle, what do you see?”

“Um, nothing,” Squiggle said, looking very embarrassed.

“Out with it!” Dr. Sponge boomed. “I think I know anyway, but say it, go on, say it!”

“It's just that. . . .” She hesitated. “It's just that, Mrs. Sponge, your hat looks delicious.”

“My WHAT?” Mrs. Sponge said. She was aghast. “You mean you want to eat my HAT?”

“Oh no, Mrs. Sponge. I don't at all. I only meant that the leaves look delicious.”

“But they're plastic. They're not real. And nobody's touching my special hat!”

“Ha, but it makes perfect sense,” Dr. Sponge said, bounding across the room and making a grab at his wife's hat. “She is a synthetic monkey, and she eats synthetic leaves. What an amazing discovery! Off with it! Give it here!”

“Never!”

“Now!”

“Back off!”

They scrambled for the hat, and the octopus got so frightened by the noise that it oozed under the coffee table and hid. Finally the hat flew off and landed on the other side of the room.

“Jay, you are a pest!” Mrs. Sponge said, in a rage. “I will donate one leaf from my hat, just to see if the poor girl can eat it. If she can, then I'll buy five pounds of plastic plants if you want. But I will not destroy my good hat!”

A moment later, Squiggle had one little plastic holly leaf served to her on a coffee plate. She picked it up in her paw and sniffed it, then nibbled it, then crammed it into her mouth and gobbled it down.

Dr. Sponge shouted out, “It worked!” His wife laughed and clapped her hands, while Toboggan danced around the coffee table shouting, “Hooray! Hooray!” The octopus wisely stayed under the table. It didn't want its tentacles to get stepped on.

Mrs. Sponge put on her hat again (minus the one leaf, but no more or less hideous than it had been to begin with) and hurried out to the store. She was back in ten minutes, and Lobelia had a wonderful lunch of plastic geraniums with a bit of plastic fern for dessert and a bottle cap full of water. She felt so much better, and so much happier, and so grateful to these hairy Sponges, that she wanted to cry. But monkeys don't cry, so instead she sat with her paws in her lap and smiled at them.

“Now,” said Dr. Sponge, bringing his fist down onto the coffee table so that all the books jumped in the air. “Now that we're all here together, let's decide what to do with Squiggle.”

 

13

Everyone began to talk at the same time. Dr. Sponge, who was about to go on a voyage in a week, thought that Squiggle should accompany him. She would be the perfect assistant. She could climb up trees and get specimens for him.

Toby thought she should stay home and keep him company.

Mrs. Sponge was certain that the little girl should return to her parents as soon as possible.

They shouted at each other over the table for a few minutes, and then finally turned to Squiggle to find out what she thought.

“I think,” said Squiggle, miserably, “that my parents might not want me back. Now that I think about it, I wasn't very nice to them. And they seem to be afraid of monkeys.”

“Hooray!” Dr. Sponge cried out, then clapped his meaty hand over his mouth. “I mean,” he said, “that's very sad. But if you can't go home, you'll want to come to the amazing Pacific island of Buttok Buttok. Obviously. Let me fill you in on the—”

“Jay!” his wife said. “Let the girl talk!”

“I think,” Squiggle said, “that I better not decide anything right now. I'm just so very, very tired. . . .”

Right away, all three Sponges jumped to their feet and apologized. Toby asked if Squiggle could share his room (he thought it would be fun to have a monkey stay with him) and Mr. and Mrs. Sponge said it was okay.

As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, with Squiggle riding on his shoulder, Toby said, “You can sleep in the cat bed. There aren't any cats in it. I made it in case we ever got one, but Mom doesn't want one and Dad said the octopus won't like cats. Do you like cats? I sure hope you get to stay with us. You can be like my sister, only you're a monkey and we can play with the octopus together. He's lots of fun. I'm teaching him to read and write, but he's a little slow. I have an eyeball collection. What's it like being a monkey? I sure wish I was one. You're lucky. If I was a monkey, Dad would let me go on expeditions with him, so I could climb trees and get specimens for him. He says I can't go until I'm done with school, and that's not for years and years. . . .”

The cat bed was a painted wooden crate set against the wall and lined with clean terry-cloth towels. Squiggle curled up in it, and was so tired that she fell asleep in the middle of Toby's chattering.

She dreamt that the Lesser Spotted Pickfloo had reappeared and turned her into a little girl again. She was still hairy all over, but didn't mind because she was so happy to be back in her familiar size and shape. She ran home to tell her parents and promise never to throw anything at them again—but on the way home, she woke up.

It was the middle of the night. She could hear Toby breathing quietly in the bed across the room. She checked herself all over in the moonlight, but she was still a monkey.

 

14

Squiggle lived with the Sponges for a week. She had a wonderful time. All the Sponges were nice to her. They seemed to like her, and although that may sound ordinary to you, it was new to Squiggle. Nobody had ever liked her before. When they set the table for dinner, they always put out a plate full of delicious plastic leaves for Squiggle. She got to sit on the tabletop because she was so small. After dinner, when they sat around the family room in the evening, reading or talking (or arguing), they always gave Squiggle a chair with lots of pillows on it and included her in their conversations, and were polite enough to be quiet while they listened to what she had to say. She was so surprised at being treated in this way that very soon she began to love the Sponges.

They had a TV but Squiggle never watched it. She had too many other things to do. In the morning, after breakfast, she would gallop downstairs to Dr. Sponge's big study in the basement. While he worked at his desk, planning out the voyage, Squiggle would look at the maps pinned up on the walls or read through books on strange foreign animals. The room was full of exotic books with titles like,
The Mobility of the Hippopotamus Ear
,
The Feeding Habits of the Carnivorous Squang Doodle
, and
Is the Pterodactyl Really Extinct?
Now that Squiggle was an exotic animal herself, she liked to read about other strange animals and their habits.

Dr. Sponge was always writing lists of the things he wanted to bring, like rope nets, and malaria medicine, and an extra pair of underpants, and a supply of chocolate. He would scribble more and more quickly, while his red beard and hair bounced and shook violently, and then suddenly he would jump to his feet, wave his stubby arms, and shout, “Squig, think of the fun we'll have! Ha! Don't tell the old lady. She thinks you're staying here with her. But of course you'll come with me on the voyage!”

Mrs. Sponge was an accountant for a brick-making company. She knew all about numbers and didn't like anything messy or disorganized. Maybe that was why she clipped and combed her whiskers so carefully every morning. She was a very kind person though, as you could tell by the expression in her eyes. One day she took Squiggle in a canvas handbag to the Squagg's house.

“I'm sure,” Mrs. Sponge said, “if I explain to them exactly what happened, they'll understand.”

Squiggle crouched in the bottom of the bag. Would her parents ever believe that their daughter had been turned into a monkey? And even if they did believe it, would they want her back? Maybe they would scream and throw things at her again? Her little synthetic monkey stomach began to twist and turn in anxiety.

When they got to the Squagg's house, they found a sign posted in the front yard that said “For Sale.” Nobody was home. The house was locked up and dark. Mrs. Sponge banged on the door for a long time, but nobody opened it.

Although Squiggle had been dreading meeting her parents again, she found it even more awful to find them gone. It made her feel lonely and abandoned.

“Don't worry, Dear,” Mrs. Sponge said on the way back home, “you're one of us now. We'll be your family.”

Later that day, Mrs. Sponge picked up the telephone and called around, trying to find out where the Squaggs had gone. But she could not find out anything. Finally she gave up and said, “The poor girl will have to stay with us.”

Dr. Sponge shouted, “That's what I said all along. And a good thing you couldn't track down those horrible parents of hers.”

“Well,” Mrs. Sponge admitted, “it is nice to have a sweet little girl monkey in the family.”

Squiggle overheard this conversation from another room, and it made her feel very strange. “I guess I'm Squiggle Sponge for the rest of my life,” she thought. It seemed like a good thing. Her life was better than it had ever been. But deep down, she knew that something was wrong. She didn't really believe that her parents were such terrible people; maybe she had been a terrible daughter? What she really wanted was another chance to be a girl again. A real, nine-year-old girl. She looked down at her hands, but all she saw were two little monkey paws.

 

15

Because it was summer vacation, Toby was home all day and so he had lots of time to spend with Squiggle. First they tried to teach the octopus to read and write. The octopus didn't have a name; he was simply ‘the octopus.'

“He won't come when you call,” Toby said, “so it doesn't matter. Maybe he has a name in octopus language, but I don't know what it is.”

They decided to teach him with an alphabet primer, and found one that began like this: “A is for Abalone. B is for Bluefish. C is for Clam.” And so on. All of these animals are sea animals. It was a primer for the children of sea captains, so they thought it would be a good primer for an octopus. But the octopus took one look at the appetizing pictures, and ate the book. After that, they gave up trying to teach him.

Sometimes they went outside and explored the neighborhood. They always did this in the same way: Squiggle would hide in a paper bag with holes cut in it. Toby would put the bag in the wire basket on the front of his bicycle. Then he would ride around the neighborhood, ringing his bell now and then for style. Squiggle loved the feeling of movement and the sight of the crowded street zooming past. It was all new to her.

(Lobelia had owned a bicycle, of course. Her parents had bought her one. But she had never learned how to ride it.)

Sometimes they rode to the park, and if nobody was around to see, Toby would open the paper bag and Squiggle would jump out. He and Squiggle liked to climb the huge oaks and maples together. Squiggle was rather better at climbing. She would get into the very top branches and catch butterflies. Then she would put them gently inside her mouth to hold them, and climb back down to show Toby. (I don't recommend this method of holding a butterfly. It worked for Squiggle because she was a synthetic monkey and didn't have any saliva, so the butterflies' wings didn't dissolve in her mouth.) After looking closely at each new butterfly and trying to understand the pattern on its wings, they would always let the little insect fly away unharmed.

One day they were on Toby's bicycle, weaving around the pedestrians on the sidewalk, enjoying the afternoon sun, when suddenly Toby stopped. His breaks squealed and the paper bag almost flew out of the basket.

“Sorry!” Toby said. “Wait till you see this, Squig!” He leaped off the bicycle, ran to a nearby brick wall and ripped something off of it. He stuffed the torn paper into his jeans pocket and then rode away again. Squiggle couldn't talk to him very well from inside her bag so she had to wait to find out what he had discovered.

Pretty soon he rode between two close buildings, took a hard turn to the right, and stopped. Squiggle jumped out of the bag. They were in one of their special hiding places, a cement alley behind a department store. The cement was cracked and bushes and little trees had grown out of the cracks, forming a snug and secret den. They sat under the bushes and Toby pulled the torn piece of paper out of his pocket.

“This is too good!” he said. “Squig, you have all the luck. You're famous now, too!”

He spread the paper out on the ground. It was a poster that had been taped up at the corners. It read, “Wanted! Escaped Gorilla, considered extremely dangerous.” Then, in smaller print at the bottom, it said, “Has committed nine robberies and three murders in the past week. DO NOT TRY TO APPREHEND THIS PERSON. CALL 911.”

In the middle of the poster was a black and white picture of King Kong climbing up the Empire State Building.

“Isn't it wonderful?” Toby said, laughing and hugging himself in delight. “It's just too good! And here you are with me, and nobody knows it!”

Squiggle didn't think it was wonderful. She was shocked to find out that she had been blamed for so many horrible crimes. It frightened her. “But Toby, I think I saw that nasty police officer prowling around yesterday, while we were out riding near the harbor. I can't go anywhere without getting arrested!”

“You don't need to go anywhere,” he said. “You'll stay with me forever, and nobody will ever find out.”

“But I can't do that,” she said. “Toby, I can't stay.”

Right away, Toby looked surprised and hurt. “What do you mean?” he said. “You can't leave us now!”

Squiggle said, “Oh, Toby, I want to stay, but I can't. Don't you see? I . . . I . . . oh bother. I didn't mean to tell you this at all. It's a secret, Toby. I . . . I have to go to Paris!”

“You have to go
where?”
Toby said, beginning to get interested.

“I told you how I got to be a monkey. Mr. LeFuzz, who turned me into a monkey, lives on the top of the Eiffel Tower. That's why I have to go to Paris. I want to find him and see if he can turn me back into a girl.”

Toby stared at her in astonishment. “You want to be a kid again? I wish
I
was a monkey; I'd trade places with you, any day! But, well, if you want to be a kid again, then of course you have to try.”

For a little while the two were quiet, thinking. Then Toby said, “But will it work? I mean, do you think Mr. What's-his-name can turn you back into a girl?”

“I'm not sure,” Squiggle said. “But what else can I try?”

Then after another pause Toby said, “Won't you fall off? If you get turned into a person all of a sudden, and you're hanging on top of the Eiffel Tower? People are a lot heavier than monkeys.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Squiggle admitted. “I'll have to be careful.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“That's the hard part. I guess I can ask your dad if—”

“Don't ask him! Don't you know? You can't tell my parents. My dad wants you for his voyage, and my mom wants to keep you as a monkey daughter. She thinks she has to protect you, you know, and she'll never let you go away to Paris, any more than she'd let me ride my bicycle on the roof. If they found out about this plan of yours, they'd watch you double close and you'd have no chance at all.”

“But this is terrible!” Squiggle said. “I mean, your parents are wonderfully nice to me, but I have to get away. Toby, I really have to. What do I do?”

Toby scratched his nose thoughtfully. “I have an idea,” he said.

He and Squiggle stayed under the bushes for an hour, whispering and conspiring and concocting a plan. Every now and then Toby would start laughing and say, “He's just exactly the person! He's a terrible villain, but he's just right for the part!”