Boy's Best Friend (12 page)

“I think Charlotte likes you,” George said to Lester as they walked toward the bike rack after school.

“You do?” said Lester.

“She thinks you're nice,” said George. “That means she likes you.”

“Maybe I should invite her to my birthday party,” said Lester. His birthday was a few weeks off.

“Why not?” said George. He and Lester hopped onto their bikes and sped off together, parting ways at Plum and Prune streets.

*   *   *

When Lester got home, Bill Gates had been waiting for 15 minutes.

“Atta boy,” said Lester, ruffling Bill Gates's fur. Bill Gates followed Lester up to his room and Lester filled in his logbook. Then he opened his notebook and doodled a birthday cake.

“I'm going to start making a list of whom I'm inviting to my birthday,” he said to Bill Gates. “Of course you can come. And George, and Vivien.” Then he added Charlotte's name. Beside it he did a quick doodle of Adam and Eve.

*   *   *

Meanwhile, when George arrived home, Bart was waiting on the porch steps.

“Thirteen minutes,” said Mrs. Masson, who was putting the finishing touches on a birthday cake.

“Lester's birthday is coming up,” said George. “We can make him a cake.”

“Or a pie,” said Vivien, who was licking a beater. “He loves pies.”

“I've never heard of a birthday pie,” said George.

“We can invent one,” said Vivien.

George went to his room and filled in his logbook. Then he opened the drawer where he kept his T-shirts. Beneath the neat piles was the boomerang that Kyra had given him before leaving. George had tried throwing it, but he'd never gotten it to come back.

George slipped the boomerang into his belt. “Come on, Bart,” he said, heading for the yard. He flung the boomerang into the air, and when it didn't return, Bart fetched it and dropped it at George's feet. George threw it again and again, with Bart retrieving it each time, until finally it seemed to pause in midair, fall backward, then spin around, landing at his feet.

“Hey,” cried George. “I did it.”

That evening Kyra texted him. “We're coming the beginning of July for a visit.”

 

24

On Thursday something unexpected happened. Ms. Clover let George and Lester out of school fifteen minutes before the bell rang so they could see if their dogs knew they were coming home early.

Both boys hopped on their bikes and sped home as fast as they could.

Lester pulled into the driveway and started up the walkway. Bill Gates was waiting at the gate.

“What are you doing home so early?” said Lester's mother. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel great,” said Lester. “Ms. Clover let us out early.” Lester nuzzled Bill Gates's fur, “And you knew, didn't you?” he said.

“He's been there 5 minutes,” said Lester's mother. It had taken Lester 10 minutes to bike home.

Lester filled in his logbook. Then he went into the yard and picked up a ball. “Fetch,” he cried, tossing it to Bill Gates.

Just then a yelp came from the neighboring yard. “What was that?” said Lester. He peeked between the hedges and there was Mrs. Robarts racing out of the toolshed. And Mr. Robarts was following. They disappeared into the house.

Lester stayed glued to the hedges until things quieted down.

*   *   *

When George got home at 2:56, Bart was on the steps waiting.

“What are you doing here?” said Zac, who was parking his bike in the garage. “Did you get kicked out of school?”

“I got out early to test Bart,” said George. “It's part of my experiment.”

“I'd like an experiment like that,” said Zac.

“Bart's been waiting 7 minutes,” said George's mother, who was loading cakes into her pastry van.

George petted Bart, then went off to fill in his logbook.

When he went back downstairs he found Vivien lying on the floor reading a book aloud. George took out his homework and joined her.

“It's about dogs,” said Vivien. “It says dogs are man's best friend—”

George interrupted her. “It should say ‘person's' best friend. In the old days ‘man' meant everyone.”

“What does it mean in the new days?” asked Vivien.

“It means grownup guy.”

“Oh,” said Vivien. “Like you.”

“Sort of,” said George, smiling to himself.

“I think it should say boy's best friend,” said Vivien, laughing.

 

25

On Friday Vivien was supposed to meet George outside the entrance of school. But she wasn't there. George looked around for Madeleine.

“Have you seen Vivien?” he asked.

“She went that way,” said Madeleine. “She was following Lester.”

George started off in the direction of Lester's house. As he neared the hedges, he could see Vivien's bright yellow sneakers poking out from beneath the foliage.

“Vivien,” cried George. She turned around.

“What are you doing here?” said George. “You were supposed to meet me.”

Vivien crawled out from beneath the hedges. “Lester dropped his hat and I wanted to give it back to him,” she said.

“So why haven't you?” said George.

“I did,” said Vivien.

“Then what are you still doing here?” asked George. He crouched down and looked through the hedges. “You're spying on Lester.”

Vivien shook her head. “No,” she said. “I'm spying on his neighbor. The criminal lady.”

“We don't know if she's a criminal,” said George.

“I've never met a criminal,” said Vivien.

“I don't think you're missing anything,” said George, tugging on Vivien's ankles.

“I think she eats dog biscuits,” said Vivien.

“Why do you think that?” asked George.

“I saw her in the garden with some on her tea plate,” said Vivien.

“Are you sure?” asked George, trying not to smile.

“Yes, I'm sure,” said Vivien. “And she looked guilty.”

“How do you mean, ‘guilty'?” asked George.

“Like this,” said Vivien, raising her eyebrows and screwing her mouth into a tiny O.

George took Vivien by the arm. “Come on,” he said.

When they got home, Bart wasn't at the top of the stairs. He was asleep on the floor at the foot of George's bed. It was only the second time in nearly three weeks that he hadn't been waiting.

George's mother was planting pansies in the garden. “Bart's been restless all day. I think he knew there was work to be done. I could have used him to dig some holes, but he's decided to nap.”

“I'll help dig,” said Vivien. She loved to get down in the dirt.

“Change your clothes first,” said Mrs. Masson.

George went up to his room. “Hey, big guy,” he said to Bart. “You feeling okay?”

Vivien poked her head through the doorway. She'd put on her overalls and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

“Don't worry,” she said to George. “It's just an experiment. That's what you said. Besides Bart knows when you're coming most of the time.”

George sat down to record the day's results in his logbook. Vivien tiptoed toward him and peeked over his shoulder.

“Do you think scientists ever cheat?” she said.

“Why are you asking?” said George.

Vivien shrugged. “I don't know,” she said. “It just seems like it would be easy.”

“I don't know,” said George.

“But what do you think?” asked Vivien.

George shrugged. Vivien had asked what he thought. And he couldn't answer. How could that be? He was thinking all the time.

“Probably not on purpose,” said George at last. But he wasn't really sure. If wanting the results to come out a certain way was cheating, then maybe they did cheat. Maybe he was cheating. Maybe it couldn't be helped. It was part of being human.

“Do you want me to plant you a pansy, George?” asked Vivien.

“Sure,” said George.

“I'm going to plant one for Dad and Zac and Bart,” Vivien continued. “And Lester, and Bill Gates.”

“Good,” said George. “Then there'll be a lot of flowers.” The thought made him happy.

Dear Dr. Sheldrake,

Do scientists ever cheat when they do experiments? Do you think wanting an experiment to turn out in a certain way is cheating? I guess it would be hard to know if a scientist was cheating or not.

Yours truly,

George Masson

Dear George,

Scientists are people like everybody else. Some people cheat in school or in business and some don't. Some politicians tell lies and others are honest. Scientists are like that too. Some of them cheat and sometimes they're found out. Years ago there was a case of a brilliant young scientist who kept making impressive discoveries. He published articles in important scientific journals, and even won three prestigious awards. But other people couldn't seem to get his experiments to work for them. As it turned out, he'd been making up a lot of his results. When he was found out, he lost his job and the papers he had published were all retracted by the journals, which means they told people not to believe them anymore.

I don't think wanting something to happen is cheating. If I want to win a game, it's not cheating. In fact, if I played Monopoly or baseball and I didn't want to win, I probably wouldn't. So wanting something to happen isn't cheating. It gives you a motive for doing it. But making up results is cheating and that's wrong in science, as it is in ordinary life. With your experiments with Bart, what you find out is only interesting if people can believe what you say. If you were making it up, that wouldn't be science. In fact, it would be anti-science because you would be deceiving people to try to make them believe things that are false. So it's important to be honest in science, like in everything else. And if you are not honest, when people find out they won't trust you or your work anymore.

Best wishes,

Rupert Sheldrake

 

26

On Saturday morning, Mr. Masson was up with the birds. “Who wants to take the sailboat down to the shore with me?” he asked. Each spring, the Massons anchored the boat to a wooden dock at the end of the marsh, where it stayed until fall.

“I can't,” said Vivien. She was staring at three tiny cacti she had planted in a clay pot. “I'm watching the cacti grow.”

“You can't see anything,” said Zac, who was about to go on a bike ride. “They grow too slowly. Can you watch your hand grow, or your fingers?” Zac didn't wait for Vivien to answer. “No,” he told her. “Because it happens too slowly.”

George stretched out his hand in front of him. There seemed to be so much happening there, his pulse, the blood flowing. But no, he couldn't see it growing. George had never thought about the things you didn't see because they happened so slowly. But come to think of it, they were all around him. Like his starting to like Lester. It was so slow he'd barely noticed it happening. But it had. Lester had become his friend.

“I'll go,” said George, helping to mount the sailboat onto its trolley. Bart barked. He wanted to go too.

They followed the path in back of the house, the one that ripened with spring visitors until it became a well-worn trail. George walked alongside his father, one hand on the trolley. When they got to the shore, they released the boat into the water. It bounced and settled comfortably into its new surroundings. George felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him as they moored it to the dock. Kyra had loved bobbing on the water, pointing out the wildlife.

George and his father started back across the marsh. They crossed a wooden bridge over a stream that flowed into the sea. Beneath them, the alewives had started their journey from the salty currents to spawn in the fresh water. George stopped to watch. He knew that many of the fish would never make it back. Instead, they would end up beached on the sand flats, prey to the gulls and seabirds, who stood watch. He couldn't understand why they threw themselves so willingly into what must be certain death. Maybe it was instinct, like Rupert Sheldrake said, the same thing that made the caterpillars return year after year.

George looked at his father. “Why do you think they do that when there's a good chance they'll die?” he asked.

Mr. Masson was thoughtful. “I suppose it's because they have a faith in the way of things. In the way of life.”

George nodded. Maybe instinct was that too, a faith in the way of things. They continued on in silence. For a moment, George thought that he could feel his hand growing. Maybe it wasn't his hand, but all of him. Then he felt his father's hand on the back of his neck.

George thought how he always wanted to know the hows and whys of everything. That's one of the reasons he loved science. But maybe sometimes you couldn't know why. Or maybe the why was changing. George thought about the caterpillars. Maybe they weren't that smart. But maybe they had a faith in the way of things too.

 

27

On Sunday, Lester and Bill Gates joined George and Bart on the mudflats where the marsh joined into the sea. Lester was growing accustomed to the squishy ground under his feet. Each time he walked there it was like blazing a trail in his mind that made it more familiar and, therefore, more comfortable.

Bill Gates ran ahead in search of Bart, who was poking his nose into the sand, searching for clams and crabs. Bart's ears perked up as Bill Gates approached, and the two dogs circled each other playfully until the cry of a bird sent them frolicking across the cordgrass. The marsh was teeming with new life—hummingbirds and bees, eider ducks, ospreys, crabs, and freshwater clams. Less than a month ago, it had been barren.

George put his fingers to his lips and whistled. A bird whistled back. “Hey, why do you think they call people birdbrains?” George asked. “That means you're dumb, but birds aren't dumb.” He thought how the birds abandoned the marsh at the first sign of a freeze and returned with the spring thaw, how the swallows dipped and dived in unison as though they were one, how Alabaster the pigeon knew to return to the loft. “Birdbrain” was a compliment as far as George could tell.