Figgs & Phantoms (7 page)

“Where did this come from?” The only catalogues Florence received were for sales of colorplate books, but he was soon studying these listings with intense fascination.

“Two Conrads, first editions,” he remarked. “And ‘Heart of Darkness' is one of my favorite stories.”

“Can we go, Uncle Florence? Please?”

“Go where?”

“To the auction, tomorrow, in Middletown?”

“Go all the way to Middletown? How? I can phone in a bid; I don't have to attend the sale.”

Mona looked out of the bus window expectantly. “But it's better to be there, if you want a good price. Besides, I've never ever been to an auction.” Mona was playing her part well, but it wasn't enough. Florence remained unconvinced.

She changed her tack. “I was hoping we could start a Conrad collection, what with these two books and the two on Bargain's top shelf. I really want to
read
the books, all of them; and it would be so much nicer to read them in the first editions like you did.”

Florence laughed. “I'm not that old. But if you want to read the Conrads, if you really want to read them, well, maybe....”

“Yes, really, really,” Mona promised. Her plea was interrupted by the expected knock on the bus door.

“Anybody want to buy a dog?”

Kadota squeezed into the bus and plopped down, overlapping two seats, a mangy mutt cradled in his arms. Its coat was so matted and dusty that Mona thought it might be a large rat, but she reached over and shook its paw anyway.

Florence looked puzzled; his brother seldom visited the bus.

“Just passing by,” Kadota explained. “Had to look in on Sophie Davenport's goat. Terrible case of indigestion. The poor nanny ate two teapots; the Chelsea wasn't so bad, but the pewter nearly did the critter in.”

Mona was impressed with Kadota's wild fib.

“By the way,” he continued, “I'm driving to Middletown tomorrow; got a cow there that's ready to drop. Want to come along for the ride, Flo? You too, Mona.”

“What an amazing coincidence,” Mona exclaimed, clapping her hands in feigned surprise. She was overplaying her role, but she didn't have the stage experience Kadota had. “We were just talking about spending the day in Middletown, weren't we, Uncle Florence?”

“Well, as a matter-of-fact,” Florence began, but his brother had already risen and was heading for the door, the mongrel asleep in his arms.

“I'll pick you up tomorrow morning in Acorn Alley. We can talk about it some more at the twins'. It's Capri night, you know.”

Mona had forgotten, but she didn't grumble her usual protest. Her plan was working too well to complain about the silly family ritual.

H
AVE YOU GOT great-grandfather's diary, Flo?” Sissie asked as she bounced into the front seat of the Edsel. Caprification was a ceremony, and Sissie took charge of all ceremonies.

“Right here,” Florence said, patting the worn diary on his lap.

Sissie turned toward the back seat to make sure.

Mona climbed in next to her uncle and slammed the door hard. “Let's go,” she said, impatient to get the evening over with.

Newt started the car. It spluttered and bucked, and at last they were on their way.

“The strangest thing happened to me today,” he said. “I was jogging down Hemlock with a sack of pai....”

Mona cleared her throat loudly.

“... a sack of paper plates,” he corrected himself.

“Paper plates?” Sissie mused aloud. “Oh, I know, you're going to string them up around the lot to keep the birds from dirtying the cars.”

There was a moment's silence while Newt, Mona, and Florence considered the function of car-lot decorations. Sissie's idea did seem strangely plausible.

“Anyway,” Newt went on, “would you believe that somebody stole Ebenezer Bargain's mail?”

“Who would do such an awful thing to that sweet old man?” Sissie asked.

Mona shrugged in wide-eyed innocence and surprise.

“It was just a mistake,” Florence said. “Old Eb is getting absentminded; the mail was on his desk all along.”

“How did you know that?” Mona asked, now really surprised. She had thought her uncle dealt with Bargain only on Giant Days.

Florence appeared uncomfortable with the question. “I can't remember who told me. By the way, was your Figg-Newton giant composition a success in school?”

Mona went pale. She had completely forgotten about her finished composition. She had taken it with her when she had left the house in the morning; she had returned with only the auction catalogue. Over and over again, Mona retraced the day's activities, but to no avail. There was only one place it could be. She had thrown her composition, along with the mail and newspapers, onto the top of old man Bargain's desk!

“Are you all right, Mona?” Florence felt her forehead for a fever. Mona nodded unconvincingly.

“Maybe I'm catching your virus,” she said.

“Oh, by the way, Flo,” Newt said into the rearview mirror, “Alma Lumpholtz came by the lot with a package for you. She wouldn't leave it; said she wanted to give it to you in person.”

“It's probably a bomb,” Mona said. Newt and Sissie laughed, but she had not meant to be clever.

“Okay, gang, everybody out,” Newt said cheerfully as the car suddenly stalled ten blocks from the house of the three Figgs. “Must be the spark plugs.”

Truman greeted the latecomers at the door of the rambling house.

“Got stuck with another lemon, Newt?”

The greeting had been repeated so often over the years it seemed to be part of the ritual.

 

★
“That Truman Figg!” the people of Pineapple said. “He's not a double-jointed idiot; he's a triple-jointed idiot. No place too high or snug he can't get to, but he just might paint your windows and wash your signs. Once at Sophie and Doc Davenports' he signed his name on all the windows and painted the washer. He may be a real fancy letterer, but what can Flabby Benckendorf do with a ten-foot sign that reads ‘Benckendrug's Dorfs'? There ought to be a law against naming idiots after presidents of the U.S.A.”

 

The Figg troupe, minus the Kanines, was gathered and waiting in the parlor. Fido winked at Mona, who nodded, indicating all was in order for tomorrow's bus-painting.

Singing and tapping, Sissie entered the room and bowed to imagined applause.

“Everybody ready?” she asked.

Ignoring Remus' remark that they had been ready for half an hour, she directed the congregation into a circle in the middle of the floor. “Now, all sit down,” she commanded. “Come on, Mona.”

Draped in an easy chair, Mona glumly refused to participate.

“I'll just watch.”

“Don't be such a pill, Mona,” Fido said. He crossed his feet and lowered himself into the lotus position without using his hands. He was blowing his nose.

Romulus and Remus flopped down together, hand in hand.

Florence sat down almost imperceptibly, having the least way to go. His gasp of surprised pain was drowned out by the loud grunt Kadota emitted as he squatted and bounced on the carpet.

His wife, Gracie Jo, family outsider, knelt down beside him on a cushion.

Newt, always confused about which leg folded over which, was arranged by Sissie.

“Leave room for Truman,” she ordered. The floor-sitters sidled, rocked, and knocked into one another as they moved in both directions to make space for the missing brother.

“Here I come,” Truman shouted, cartwheeling down the hall. He bounded into the room with two handsprings, leaped up into a one-and-a-half twist, and landed cross-legged on the floor between the twins. He was greeted with shouts and applause.

Caprification was about to begin.

The believers closed their eyes. Florence, the eldest, smiled gratefully at the unbelievers, then reverently opened the old diary and read:

“Capri!” the Figg family shouted in unison. Florence handed the diary to the next eldest brother, and Kadota read:

“Capri!” everyone shouted. Now the book should have passed to the next eldest, but no one knew which twin was born first. Together Romulus and Remus recited their father's entry from memory: