Flora & Ulysses

William Spiver was wearing his dark glasses. There was a Pitzer Pop in his mouth. He was smiling.

He looked exactly like a villain.

That’s what Flora’s brain thought.

But her heart, her treacherous heart, rose up joyfully inside of her at the sight of him. Flora’s heart was actually glad to see William Spiver.

There was so much she wanted to talk to him about: Pascal’s Wager, Dr. Meescham, the other Dr. Meescham, giant squids, giant donuts (and who was dunking them), if he had ever heard of a place called Blundermeecen, if he had ever sat on a horsehair sofa.

But William Spiver was sitting beside Ulysses’s arch-nemesis. Smiling.

Obviously he could not be trusted.

“Flora Belle?” said William Spiver.

“It’s me,” said Flora. “I’m surprised you don’t smell me, William Spiver. Since you can smell everything.”

“I have never claimed to be able to smell everything; however, it is true that right now I am smelling squirrel. And there is another odor. It is something sweet, some scent redolent of school lunchrooms on rainy Thursdays. What is it? Jelly. Yes, grape jelly. I smell squirrel and grape jelly.”

“Squirrel?” said Flora’s mother. She turned away from the typewriter. She looked at Flora. “Squirrel!” she said. “What in the world are you doing back here with that squirrel? I told your father —”

“This malfeasance must be stopped!” shouted Flora.

Her mother, hands still poised over the keys of the typewriter, stared at Flora with her mouth open.

William Spiver, for once, was silent.

On Flora’s shoulder, the squirrel trembled.

Flora slowly raised her left arm. She pointed at her mother. She said, “What did you tell my father to do to the squirrel?”

Her mother cleared her throat. “I told your father —”

But the sentence remained unfinished, the truth unuttered, because the kitchen door suddenly swung open to reveal Flora’s father.

“George Buckman,” he said to the room at large. “How do you do?”

He walked into the kitchen. He stood beside Flora.

“George, what in the world?” said Flora’s mother. “You look like you’ve been in a battle.”

“I am fine, just fine. I was saved by the squirrel.”

“What?” said Flora’s mother.

“I was attacked by Mr. Klaus. He landed on my head. And —”

“This is fascinating,” said William Spiver. “But may I interrupt for a moment?”

“Absolutely.”

“Who is Mr. Klaus?”

“Mr. Klaus is a landlord and also a cat. A large cat. Usually he attacks ankles. This time it was the head. My head. It was a very surprising attack. I wasn’t prepared.”

“And?” said William Spiver.

“Oh, yes. And. And Mr. Klaus bit my ear. And there was a lot of pain. And the squirrel rescued me.”

“Have. You. Lost. Your. Mind?” said Flora’s mother.

“I don’t think so,” said Flora’s father. He smiled hopefully.

“Can’t you handle the smallest task? I asked you to take care of the squirrel situation.”

Flora felt a wave of anger roll through her. “Quit speaking euphemistically,” she said. “Quit calling it ‘the squirrel situation.’ You asked him to kill. You asked him to murder my squirrel!”

Ulysses let out a chirp of agreement.

And then the kitchen became as silent as the tomb.