Masterpiece (14 page)

Marvin hesitated. He understood that, somehow. “Maybe just to have it. Because it’s so beautiful . . . then you could look at it whenever you wanted.”

“Well, I don’t think it makes sense,” Mama said. “And it’s wrong.”

“Humans are masters at making their own trouble,” Papa agreed.

“I’m just glad you’re home safe, Marvin. It’s time to put all this behind you.”

Marvin hesitated. “I can’t, Mama.”

“What do you mean?”

“Christina Balcony, the woman at the museum, needs James to make another copy of
Fortitude
. A really good one . . . which means he needs me.”

“To do another drawing?” Mama shook her head vigorously. “Darling, no! You simply can’t. It’s too risky.”

“Your mother’s right, Marvin,” Papa chimed in. “The family didn’t like this from the beginning. We wanted you to get rid of your drawing altogether, remember? You can’t get more involved. It’s dangerous for everyone.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Marvin. I know you want to help James,” his mother said gently. “You tried your best. But it’s time to let the humans work this out on their own.”

“Mama, please,” Marvin protested. “You don’t understand. James can’t do the drawing himself. He’s counting on me.”

Mama took Marvin’s leg firmly and led him toward the bedroom. “What I understand is that this has gone on long enough. It’s an elaborate deceit, that’s what it is. For a good purpose or not, it’s still wrong. Don’t you remember the saying, ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive’?”

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Mama, that’s a
spider
saying.”

“It applies just as well here. You’re helping James to mislead people. You’ve been missing twice overnight, under circumstances that could have gotten you badly hurt or even killed. Enough, darling. It’s time for bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted after your adventure at the museum.”

“But, Mama—”

“Good night, Marvin. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She nestled him in his cotton-ball bed, kissed his shell, and left the room.

Marvin lay on his side, wide awake, staring at the wall. Today was Monday. James was supposed to return to the museum after school on Wednesday to do the new drawing. He thought of the boy hovering over the
blank page, with no idea what to do. How could Marvin abandon him? This was the very heart of friendship, Marvin thought—your willingness to help each other in a jam, to take a friend’s problems as your very own.

Marvin sighed. He had to think of something before Wednesday afternoon, or James would be in big trouble.

M
arvin slept late the next morning, exhausted from the events of the last few days. When he finally awoke, his mother was at his bedside, smiling.

“Marvin, Papa and I thought of a nice outing for you today, something to take your mind off things. Edith, Albert, and Elaine are going to join us for a picnic in the solarium. We haven’t been there in weeks, and it will lift your spirits, darling. The maids are coming at nine, though, so you have to get ready now.”

At the far end of the Pompadays’ apartment was a small, bright, glassed-in sunporch filled with flowering plants. It was the beetles’ only regular experience of nature, and it was especially appealing in winter, when the exotic greenery and sweet-smelling blossoms offered respite from the cold gray days unfolding beyond the apartment windows. Since it was too far for an easy day trip, the beetles usually waited till Tuesdays when the maids came, catching a ride on the underside
of the vacuum-cleaner canister. The maids were in the regular habit of cleaning the kitchen first and then the solarium, because they both sported tile floors that required a particular vacuum attachment.

Usually the prospect of a day in the solarium would have thrilled Marvin, since it was a veritable amusement park for young beetles. But today it just seemed a distraction from more important pursuits. “Okay,” he said glumly, still thinking about James and the drawing.

“Oh, Marvin, please! Cheer up. It will be fun. Have a bite of breakfast quickly—bacon this morning! James must have missed the trash can when he scraped his plate—and we’ll get going. Look . . . Elaine is here already.”

His mother returned to the kitchen, and Marvin rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as his cousin poked her head around the doorway.

“Marvin! I can’t believe you went to the museum without me! It sounds fantastic. Well, scary, of course. I mean, VERY scary, what with you getting swatted by that woman and everything. Good thing she didn’t squash you flat. What if she mistook you for a mosquito? Ka-POW! You’d be dead meat right now.”

Marvin frowned at her. “I know.”

“I wish I’d been with you! You know how I’m dying to see the world. I never get to leave this old place. Borrrrring.”

Marvin felt a vague twinge of sympathy. It was certainly a good thing to be safe, but it could be tedious in
its way too. You always wondered what you were missing. A little danger was worth it just to mix things up, to add some surprise to life.
A little
danger, he thought.

Marvin bolted down his breakfast, and then he, Elaine, Aunt Edith, Uncle Albert, Mama, and Papa all made their way out of the cupboard to their preferred waiting spot for a vacuum-cleaner ride: the underlip of the dishwasher. Hidden from view, they stood patiently until the maids had finished vacuuming the kitchen floor. As soon as the two women turned to collect their cleaning supplies, the six beetles dashed toward the vacuum-cleaner canister, scrambled up one dusty wheel, and dove for cover under its hard metal belly. Between them, Papa and Uncle Albert awkwardly balanced the picnic hamper, which was fashioned from the fingertip of a yellow rubber glove. It was bulging with food, tied shut with a bit of twine.

One of the maids gave the vacuum cleaner a tug, and it scooted easily across the kitchen floor, through the hallway, and across the living-room rug to the solarium. There, she paused to unlatch the French doors, then dragged the canister over the door saddle and bumped it onto the terra-cotta tile. This was the roughest part of the journey, and inevitably one of the beetles nearly fell off. Today it was Mama, who had released her grip on the canister momentarily to tighten the hamper’s twine. “My dear, hold on!” Papa bellowed, grabbing the edge of her shell at the last minute.

And so they all made it safely to the solarium. They
dropped off the canister and hid beneath it until they were sure the maids were distracted, and then darted across the floor. It was always a challenge to keep the picnic hamper out of sight during this part of the trip. Even though it was tiny by human standards, its bright yellow color attracted attention. Quickly, Mama and Aunt Edith led the way up the leg of one of the plant stands—a staggered series of shelves framed in ornate wrought-iron scrollwork, laden with flowering plants.

As soon as they reached the top, Elaine scurried off, pulling Marvin with her. “We’re going exploring,” she yelled.

“Meet us in the herb garden for lunch,” Mama called after them. “We’ll have a nice oregano salad with our picnic. Around noon, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” Marvin answered, diving under a lavender mum with Elaine.

The solarium was full of diverting entertainment for Marvin and Elaine. Elaine liked to start at the box of geraniums, where Mrs. Pompaday kept her metal gardening spade. The spade was usually leaning against the wall, tilted at the perfect angle to be used as a slide. Today, they climbed up the wall to where its wooden handle rested, delicately reached across and secured footing there, then shinnied down to the metal trough.

“You first,” Elaine announced. She never liked to go until she’d been reassured that there were no unpleasant surprises at the bottom, where the tip of the spade disappeared into the crumbly earth. Once, the spade had been propped against the base of a geranium, and Elaine, not noticing, had whooshed down the slide directly into the woody stalk, hitting it head-on and almost knocking herself out.

Marvin climbed into position, gripping the edge of the spade with his two hind legs. “Here I go . . .” he said.

He let go of the metal and shot down the spade like a bullet.

“
Whooooooooooooooo
,” he yelled, whizzing through space, the geraniums a blur of orange and green at the periphery of his vision.

“Pick up your legs, you’ll go faster,” Elaine called after him.

Just before he hit bottom, Marvin launched himself off the spade and into the air, sailing over the soil and landing in one of the geranium blooms.

“That was awesome!” Elaine cried delightedly. “My turn—watch this!”