Swine Not? (12 page)
A Pilot to the Rescue
RUMPY
T
HE FOLLOWING
week was not a good one for me. After Royal T’s party, the boiler-repair brigade returned to the roof. The family went back to their respective busy lives, and I went back to the couch. At first, I was just cranky, but then I got depressed. It wasn’t the workers who were weighing on me; it was my own failures. They were piling up like dirty laundry. I had failed to keep out of the way, I had failed as a loving pet, and, most of all, I had failed to find my brother. I decided it was time to quit endlessly sniffing the wind for traces of Lukie. And it was time to quit hiding. I was coming out of the closet, and I was going home to Tennessee. I needed a break.
I decided to have one last walk around the roof. Frankly, I didn’t care who saw me, or if I got caught. I was done hiding. Heck, if they found out a pig had been living for weeks on end in one of the most elegant hotels in New York, it would surely become a hot story or even a front-page headline in the tabloids, with a photograph of me being led out the revolving door in hoof-cuffs. Lukie would be bound to see that, and the more I thought about getting caught, the more I liked the idea — but then what would happen to Ellie and the twins?
I regained my senses and decided to remain hidden, but I was still taking a break. All I needed was one last look at the way out of town, and then I would hit the streets and head south. Sure, it was a crazy idea, but I had heard stories about dogs that had walked across the country after being left behind at a rest stop on the interstate. If a dumb dog could walk halfway across the country, a pig could get to Tennessee. I would just smell my way back to Vertigo.
I carried my Lukieball with me to the front door of the fish tank and left it there. I was done with it. I couldn’t believe that the men working on the boiler did not see me as I walked outside into the freezing wind. If the Butcher happened to show his twisted face, I would attack him, viciously sink my teeth into his skinny butt, and leave them there until uniformed men stormed the roof, pried my jaws apart, tied me down, and threw me into a transport van. It would dump me far away, where I’d be left in exile or made into sausages.
But that didn’t happen. Although I almost wanted to get caught and release my anger on somebody, nobody saw me, even as I climbed up on that scary icy ledge to get my bearings. The wind howled, and I shivered.
As usual, the street was filled with strangers. They were trapped inside this loveless city, but not me. Not anymore.
Suddenly I slid. Now I was much too close to the edge. That was when I heard the voice. “Don’t jump,” it said, and I struggled to keep my balance.
“W
HOA DERE
, sweetheart,” a crisp voice snapped from nowhere. “Jumping could be hazardous to your health, not to mention dat of the poisens you might squash like pancakes down dere. We can’t let you do dat.”
Two pigeons dropped from the air above and landed right beside me. In an official tone, the first one said, “Not often dat we see your kind up here, ma’am. We’re the Pigilantes. You know about us, right?”
They were the pigeons, my pigeons — that squadron I had chased and wanted to meet for so long! I was surrounded by my pigeons! I was so happy to see them.
“Lady, like I told ya already, we can’t let you do dis.”
“Do what?” I asked. I was shivering as I tried to get a foothold.
“Jump,” the pigeon replied.
Despite the cold, I began snorting and laughing. I guffawed so hard I almost slipped off the ledge. “I’m not trying to kill myself. I’m trying to find my brother.”
“Looked like you were about ta break da law, so you got some ’splainin’ ta do. Anyways, we got ya blocked in . . . for your own protection.”
It was true — four more pigeons hovered in the air just below, blocking my view with their feathers. I had to admit they were impressive, with their matching wings and aviator helmets. They looked very informed and sure of themselves — comforting, too, since I was stuck on the ledge.
I told them everything. I explained how I used to be so popular back in Vertigo, and now I was just an outcast city pet. How nobody had warned me that I wouldn’t be welcome in New York, and how ashamed I had been of having to hide. I described how my very own humans had gotten new lives and how I had failed to find Lukie, my lost brother. Just saying his name made me suddenly start sobbing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.
The Pigilantes shook their heads and looked away politely, waiting until I got a grip on myself. One hovered nearby, extending his wing to divert the flow of my tears from the ledge to keep my precarious footing dry. Then the squadron leader landed gingerly on the gutter, inches from my face.
“Captain Frostbite, at your service,” he said, introducing himself by his call sign. He went on to explain that, like me, he was not from Manhattan originally but had learned to live here. He had been carrying a message from Greenland and had been blown off course by a winter storm. He had come to like the city and the duty he performed. “New York is a big and sometimes frightening place, ma’am. And I don’t want ya ta take dis da wrong way, but you’re not da only pig in town. Dere’s three or four we know of dat keep outta sight. And dere’s one exactly like you. We fly over dat pig every now and den. Maybe he’s your bruddah.”
Frostbite’s words made my heart jump. I longed to see his eyes, to know if he was serious, but my footing was too shaky for me to spin around. All I could do was try to keep my balance.
Half the squadron immediately landed around my feet and began pecking and pushing the ice off the ledge. The remaining pigeons stayed near my head and directed my feet in reverse until my hind legs found stability. I was so grateful, but I didn’t know what to say. There was a pig who looked just like me in New York City!
Once I was safe and had caught my breath, Captain Frostbite continued his story. “Mind you, nobody suspects dat your look-alike is a pig. He’s out dere every day in da middle of tings, in one locale or anodder. But he dresses for da job, so to speak. Seeing from above, we always know it’s him. But doze people ’round him don’t have a clue — he’s a cool cucumber, dis guy. Dey smile and nod when he passes, and he nods right back. Tirty minutes ago, we buzzed him at da zoo.”
An excitable gray pigeon broke in. “Yeah, when da polar bears get all laddered up about da heat, dat pig, he chills ’em right out. Den da seals, dey love ta tell him jokes, so when dey see him comin’, dey start wid da stories, and he’s laughin’, and dey’re clappin’, and . . .”
Frostbite broke in, waving him off to the side. “We been keepin’ an eye on ya since ya got here. It ain’t hard, since ya live in dat fish tank dere.”
“But I thought all the birds had gone south?” I said.
“No, not us.” Frostbite laughed. “We’re just hard to see against da gray sky. We ain’t snow boids. We are always on duty. Speakin’ a which, it’s my duty to ’splain da rules here. Let’s start wid fallin’ objects. See, ma’am, dey are a hazard for us boids — and for da walkers and drivers and city morale. Where ya lived before, dere probably wasn’t deez skyscrapers, but here, we’re on patrol 24-7, just keepin’ da airspace clear. So stay back from da ledges, and we’ll tell ya more tomorrow. We got lotsa weenies to roast up here, but . . .”
Captain Frostbite saw the horrified look of the other Pigilantes and realized the offense he had just uttered. He stuttered for a few seconds, but then he regained his composure as any good commander would. It was simply the way flyboys talk, and besides, I was too happy with the news about Lukie to take anything these birds did or said as an insult. “Excuse me, ma’am. I sincerely apologize for dat weenie ting.”
“Apology accepted,” I said immediately.
The captain continued, “I just wanted ya ta know dat me and da fellas here will discuss da matter at hand, and findin’ your bruddah will be a priority patrol for dis squadron. Right, fellas?”
All the Pigilantes nodded their heads in agreement.
The captain continued, “I would suggest that maybe yuz postpone dat trip ta Tennessee for a while and continue ta dwell in your present surroundings. You kin use dat telloscope of yours to better advantage now dat ya have air reconnaissance along.”
“You saw that?” I asked, interrupting the captain.
“Sista, we got a boid’s-eye view of everyting dat happens in dis city. Anywayz, while you and doze kids figger a way ta get ya back on da street, we will find your bruddah.”
Then he saluted me and signaled the other Pigilantes. His army launched from the ledge in unison and circled over our heads.
“Ma’am, we got a pig ta find. Ciao for now.” With that, Captain Frostbite catapulted into the sky and took up his position at the head of the Pigilante squadron.
I watched their air show until they were out of sight, and the sun broke through a ribbon of clouds to the east. At last, my days were getting brighter — much brighter.
I
T WAS RAINING
the next day, but I was one upbeat pig. I had a head full of new ideas, but before I could begin putting them to work, I trotted into the kitchen and actually had an early breakfast with the family. Everyone noticed the new bounce in my step, and Ellie even made me a fresh-fruit salad with pineapples that had just arrived from Hawaii — hula-hula!
Something to Fit the Occasion
BARLEY
T
HE LAST WEEK
of October began with two big news items.
First, the boiler was fixed, so the workmen left the roof. This meant we could resume Rumpy’s walks outside. Royal T and her entourage had packed up their protective tunnel and security team and moved on to another town, but after our last close call, Maple and I weren’t ready quite yet to resume the room-service-table missions to the park.
The second big announcement came from Maple and involved the big school dance on Halloween night. The grand prize for the best costume was tickets to the House of Wu Fall Fashion Show and lunch with Karen Wu. Needless to say, all of Maple’s attention was on that costume, and she had no time for much else.
As for Mom, high season in Manhattan was in full swing, and Flutbein’s was booked solid for months. Of course Boucher was taking all the credit, as he had done during Royal T’s self-imposed isolation; for a week, it turned out, she’d been sitting in her room ordering Mom’s pastries while she watched her boyfriend play hockey. The Hunchback from Hackensack’s behavior never seemed to bother Mom like it did us kids. She always believed that one day her good work in the kitchen would produce its own just dessert.
And if all that wasn’t enough activity, another blip on my radar screen was that the Red Bulls were playing D.C. United for the Eastern Conference Championship the day before the costume contest. I had e-mailed Dad, reminding him of his promise to take me, but I hadn’t heard from him. Just to be sure, I had a backup plan. I had made friends with one of the trainers at the Red Bulls Academy, and he had promised me two tickets if I would help him get a reservation for his mother at Flutbein’s. Mom worked out some kind of trade-off with the maître d’. That was kind of how New York worked, and I liked it.
With all that going on, we still had to take care of Rumpy. When she wasn’t working on her costume, Maple had pulled together a Plan B to get Rumpy back to the park.
“Rumpy. Wake up. We have something to show you,” Maple whispered in her ear. Rumpy twitched as if she were having a nightmare.
“No, no, no,” I said. “No more room-service tables, Rumpy.”
Her eyes popped open; she stretched her short legs and wiggled her head, which was her sign to snuggle. Maple and I surrounded her on the couch.
“We figured with it being Halloween week in New York, everybody is probably going to start showing up in all kinds of outfits. This would be the week to spruce up that sheepdog look,” Maple said. “Come on, Rumpy. Come see what I’ve got to show you,” she coaxed.
Rumpy rolled off the couch and followed us to Maple’s room.
“Ta-da!” we exclaimed together. It was Maple’s finest sewing accomplishment yet. She had redone the dog costume. It was so real that it almost looked alive, sitting on the bed. I could tell Rumpy was pleased.
“When we get home from school, we will have a fitting, and by the weekend, you should be free to roam the park again,” Maple said.
We kissed her on the snout and headed off to school, talking about our costumes. As always, Maple kept her outfit a secret, but this year, I had a little costume idea of my own.
