Pleasing the Ghost (5 page)

O
n Monday after school I dashed home, where Bo leaped on me, plastering my clothes with sloppy drools. My mother was still at work. “Come on, Bo,” I said. “Let's get Uncle Arvie.”

I was relieved to find Uncle Arvie awake. He was sitting on my desk holding a picture of his wife. “Pin sweel Heartfoot,” Uncle Arvie sighed.

Through the window I saw Billy Baker riding his bike across the park, toward the spot where we had agreed to meet. “Uncle Arvie, I have a favor to ask,” I said.

“A please?”

“Yes. I want you to show Billy Baker that you know how to fly.”

“Pin mailer!” Uncle Arvie shouted, flapping his arms.

“Not yet.” I led Uncle Arvie downstairs and across the street to where Billy Baker sat on his bike, his arms crossed over his chest. “So let's see him fly,” he said. “I don't have all day, you know.”

“Pin mailer?” Uncle Arvie said.

“What's he talking about?” Billy asked. “What's a
pin mailer
?”

“You'll see,” I said. “Uncle Arvie, go ahead. Show him. Fly!”

Uncle Arvie straightened his cowboy hat and stretched his arms. He flapped them once, twice, three times.
“Foomf!”
he said. Again he flapped his arms, this time faster. Once, twice, three times.
“Foomf!”

Billy said, “Oh man, oh man.
I
could fly better than
that
!”

“Wait,” I said. “Sometimes it takes a while for him to warm up.”

Billy looked at his watch. “Like I said, I don't have all day. He'd better hurry.”

Uncle Arvie tried again. He wiggled and wobbled his arms. He flapped them up and down and waved them all around. He turned in circles.
“Foomf! Foomf!”
he grunted.

Nothing happened.

“Stupid geezer,” Billy said. “Stupid dog. Stupid kid.” He was trying to sound mad, but I had the feeling he was disappointed—as if he really wanted to see Uncle Arvie fly, as if he really wanted Uncle Arvie to be a ghost. He circled us on his bike. “Man, are you gonna be sorry,” he said, and he rode off.

Uncle Arvie frowned. “Nod mailer.” He looked pitiful.

Across the street my mother was getting off the bus. “Hi!” she called. “How was your day?”

“Terrible, just terrible.”

“That bad? Well, come on in and tell me about it.”

From the kitchen we heard a crash and a thud upstairs. In my bedroom we discovered the shattered window and, on the floor, a rock. Pieces of glass covered the carpet.

“Oh!” my mother said, looking out the window. “Who would do such a nasty thing?”

“Beany bud booger,” Uncle Arvie said.

I wanted to tell her who had done it, but if I did, she might call Billy's parents. Then he'd
never
go away. “Maybe it was an accident,” I said.

“Let's hope so,” she said, but she didn't seem convinced.

O
n Tuesday we returned to Aunt Julia's house. She was just coming home from work and must have stopped for groceries on the way home, because she was loaded down with bags.

“Thanks,” she said as I took the bags from her. “I wasn't sure you'd really come today. I thought you might forget.”

She put her groceries away and sank onto the sofa. “I'm a little tired,” she said. “I hope you don't mind if I put my feet up and take a little nap while you putter around in the attic?”

Uncle Arvie gazed at his wife. “Pin lalley, pin sweel, pin Heartfoot.”

In the attic I hurriedly pulled the painting from its hiding place. “It feels dry to me. How does it look?”

Uncle Arvie stepped back and studied the painting. “Bunny room needle a Heartfoot! Feather bunny room!”

“You like it?”

“Feather, feather bunny room!”

“Don't you need to sign it or something?” I asked.

Uncle Arvie held up his hands. “Nod fraggle—”

“Oh right,” I said. “I guess I could sign it for you, but then it would have to dry again.” I smoothed out the brown paper that had originally covered the canvas. “Let's write something on the paper instead.” I held my hand over the paper as Uncle Arvie guided me.
Pin Heartfoot
, we wrote.

“I'll just finish cleaning up, and then I'll give it to her, okay? That's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? Give it to her?”

“Yin, riggle!” Uncle Arvie was really excited.

I finished stacking furniture and boxes against the wall, swept the room, and dropped a plastic garbage bag through the attic opening. Carefully, I eased the painting down through the hatch.

Aunt Julia was dozing on the sofa. I patted her arm. “Aunt Julia?”

“Oh!” she said. “Goodness, I was in dreamland! Are you finished already?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I found something. I thought maybe it was for you. I didn't mean to be nosy. When I moved a suitcase, I heard this clunking sound, and just thought I'd look. This was inside. See? It says
Pin Heartfoot
on it.”

Aunt Julia sat up quickly and put her hands to her mouth. “What on earth—?” She ran her fingers lightly over the words
Pin Heartfoot
. “It's from Arvie.”

Uncle Arvie sat beside her on the sofa.

“You haven't seen it before?” I asked.

“No, I haven't. What can it be?” She turned the package over and unsealed the edges of the paper.

Beside her, Uncle Arvie was grinning, and Bo thumped his tail.

Aunt Julia pulled the paper away and held the canvas in front of her. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said. “It's our honeymoon. There's that beautiful lake, and look, there we are in the boat. That's me, and that's—oh, that's my Arvie.”

Uncle Arvie's lip quivered.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

She sniffled. “Oh yes. Oh yes, I do.” She stared at the painting. “I bet this was supposed to be my birthday present. I bet he hid it in the attic, and then— Oh, my Arvie.”

Uncle Arvie leaned over and kissed her cheek, and immediately she put her hand to her face. “Oh! I can almost
feel
him here with us right now.” She sniffed the air. “Do you know—I can almost
smell
him here!” She laughed. “I bet you think I'm crazy, don't you?”

“No,” I said. “Not a bit.”

W
hen we returned home after giving the painting to Aunt Julia, my mother was taping a second piece of cardboard over the window. “Another rock,” she explained, nodding at the glass on the carpet. “I've had enough of this. I'm going to find out who's doing such horrible things.”

Later I said to Uncle Arvie, “We've got to do something about Billy. He doesn't seem to care if he gets caught—which makes me think he's got something worse up his sleeve.”

“Pin mailer,” Uncle Arvie suggested.

“If only you could fly when I really
need
you to fly.”

Uncle Arvie yawned. “Stamp!” He lay down across my desk. Within minutes he was snoring.

That night I stretched out on my bed and looked at the cloudy sky. I closed my eyes and imagined a clear sky with a single bright star, and on it I wished for my pepperoni.

I was awakened early the next morning by Uncle Arvie. “Good carpet, Dinosaur! Good carpet! Three please?”

There was a third favor to do for Uncle Arvie. “I've got school today,” I said. “So it will have to be when I get home. What's the third please?”

“Dunder trampolink. Dunder boodled trampolink a gressapip.”

“Hold on a minute!”

Uncle Arvie got down on his knees and scratched at the carpet. “Dunder,” he said. “Dunder, dunder, dunder.”

“You want me to clean the carpet?”

“Nod!” He pawed at the floor.

“You want me to dig something?”

“Yin! Yin! Dinosaur dunder!”

“Why? Where?”

“Trampolink boodled. A gressapip.” Uncle Arvie pretended to dig in the carpet. Suddenly he stopped and stared down at the carpet. “Trampolink!” he shouted. “Boodled trampolink!”

“I don't know what you're talking about, and I'm late for school.”

“Nod dunder?”

“Okay, okay, I'll dig for you, I guess. But I have no idea what I'm digging for or where I'll be digging. Can you explain to me after school?”

“Yin! Dinosaur dunder! Dinosaur dunder!”

At school that day, Billy Baker grabbed me in the hall. “That'll teach you to tell your stupid stories about stupid ghosts.”

“Let go,” I said, struggling against Billy's strong grip. “You wouldn't be so brave if your father knew about those rocks—”

“Oh yeah?” he said. “My father's
dead
. So there.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, dead. Now admit it: The geezer is not a ghost. The geezer is a geezer.”

I struggled. “He
is
a ghost.”

I was going to tell him that
my
father was dead, too, but he socked me hard on the arm. “Man oh man. Don't you ever learn? You'd better be in the park today at four o'clock. The geezer better fly then, or you won't have a single window left in your house. Got it?”

“I can't be there at four—I've got to dunder—I've got something to do.” Billy squeezed my arm. “But I'll be there at six,” I said.

Billy breathed in my face. “Yeah? Six? Okay, six o'clock, stupid.”

All day long I prayed that Uncle Arvie would be able to fly that night at six o'clock, and all day long I wondered why Billy could see my ghost, but no one else could. Did it have anything to do with
foodle a doodle
? That's what Uncle Arvie had said when I asked why
I
could see ghosts: “Dinosaur foodle a doodle.” Did Billy also
foodle a doodle
, whatever that meant?

After school, Uncle Arvie and Bo were waiting for me at the door of my house. “Dunder!” Uncle Arvie said.

So down the road we went. I hoped it wouldn't take too long, and that we'd be finished by six o'clock. I wasn't surprised to discover that we were headed for Aunt Julia's house again, but I was surprised to see, as we neared the house, someone leaving a box on the front steps.

Uncle Arvie clenched his fists when he recognized Colin.

“I was just leaving this for Julia,” Colin said. “She's not home.”

“I know,” I said. “I'm going to—to weed the garden for her.”

Uncle Arvie crept slowly up to Colin.

“Will you tell her I left this for her?” Colin said. “It's another box of chocolates. I'm sure
these
aren't smashed. I can't imagine what happened to those others. And I can't imagine why I keep getting stung by wasps when I'm here.” He looked around quickly. “Do you see any?”

“Any what?” I said.

“Any wasps?”

“Well—” I said, as Uncle Arvie reached for Colin's arm. “As a matter of fact—”

“Ow! Hey! Ow!” Colin shouted, slapping at his arm. He ran down the walk and dived into his car.

“Beany, beany bud booger,” Uncle Arvie said, kicking the chocolates into the bushes and heading for the garage.

While Uncle Arvie rummaged in the garage, I examined the old rusty bicycle I'd seen earlier, when we'd been looking for Uncle Arvie's painting. It had loads of gears, a racing seat, and at least a dozen small pouches and compartments fitted here and there. But it was also rusty, the tires were flat, the chain hung loose, one pedal was missing, and the handlebars were bent.

“Dinosaur!” Uncle Arvie called. He had found a spade, which apparently was what he had been looking for. He motioned for me to bring the spade, and out to the back garden he marched. He walked slowly around, scratching his head. “Gressapip,” he said, waving his arm across the bushes and flowers.

“Garden?”