Kate DiCamillo - Flora & Ulysses

She did not want to talk to Tootie. And she definitely did not want to talk to William Spiver. She didn’t want to see herself reflected in his dark glasses. She had her own thoughts about the random and confusing nature of the universe. She didn’t need his, too.

Also, she was in a hurry. There was a murder to stop, a superhero to mentor, villains to vanquish, darkness to eradicate. She couldn’t waste time trading stupid thoughts with William Spiver.

“Flora Belle,” shouted William Spiver, almost as if he were reading her mind. “I’ve had some interesting thoughts.” He ran toward the car and fell into the bushes. “Great-Aunt Tootie,” he shouted, “I need your assistance.”

“What in the world is going on?” said her father. He slammed on the brakes.

“It’s just a temporarily blind boy,” said Flora. “And Mrs. Tickham from next door. She’s his aunt. His great-aunt. Never mind. It doesn’t make any difference. Keep going.”

But it was too late. Tootie had helped William Spiver out of the bushes, and the two of them were walking toward the car.

William Spiver was smiling.

“Hello,” her father called out to them. “I’m George Buckman. How do you do?”

Flora’s father introduced himself to everyone all the time, even if the person was someone he had already met. It was an annoying and extremely persistent habit.

“Hello, sir,” said William Spiver. “I am William Spiver. I would like to speak to your daughter, Flora Belle.”

“I don’t have time to talk to you right now, William Spiver,” said Flora.

“Great-Aunt Tootie, can you assist me? Will you take me to Flora’s side of the vehicle?”

“Please excuse me while I escort this extremely disturbed and neurotic child to the other side of the car,” said Tootie.

“Certainly, certainly,” said Flora’s father. And then he said to absolutely no one, “George Buckman. How do you do?”

Flora sighed. She looked down at Ulysses. Considering the human beings she was surrounded by, believing in a squirrel seemed like an increasingly reasonable plan of action.

“I wanted to apologize,” said William Spiver, who was now standing beside her window.

“For what?” said Flora.

“It wasn’t the worst poetry I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh,” said Flora.

“Also, I’m sorry that I wouldn’t take my glasses off when you asked me to.”

“Take them off now, then,” said Flora.

“I can’t,” said William Spiver. “They’ve been glued to my head by evil forces beyond my control.”

“You lie,” said Flora.

“Yes. No. I don’t. I do. I’m engaging in hyperbole. It seems as if the glasses have been glued to my head.” He lowered his voice. “Actually, I’m afraid that if I take my glasses off, the whole world will unravel.”

“That’s stupid,” said Flora. “There are bigger things to worry about.”

“For instance?”

Flora realized that she was going to say something to William Spiver that she hadn’t intended to say; the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Do you know what an arch-nemesis is?” she whispered.

“Of course I do,” William Spiver whispered back.

“Right,” said Flora. “Well, Ulysses has got one. It’s my mother.”

William Spiver’s eyebrows rose up above his dark glasses. Flora was pleased to note that he looked properly surprised and shocked.

“Speaking of Ulysses,” said Tootie, “I have some poetry that I would like to recite to him.”

“Are you sure that now is the time for a poetry recitation?” said William Spiver.

Ulysses sat up straighter in his Bootsie Boots shoe box. He looked at Tootie. He nodded.

“I was moved by your poetry,” said Tootie to the squirrel.

Ulysses puffed out his chest.

“And I have some poetry that I would like to recite to you in honor of the recent, um, transformations in your life.” Tootie put a hand on her chest. “This is Rilke,” she said. “‘You, sent out beyond your recall, / go to the limits of your longing. / Embody me. / Flare up like flame / and make big shadows I can move in.’”

Ulysses stared up at Tootie, his eyes bright.

“‘Flare up like flame’!” said Flora’s father from the front seat. “That is moving, yes. That is quite lovely, flaring up like flame. Thank you so much. We have to be on our way now.”

“But will you return?” said William Spiver.

Flora looked up and saw William Spiver’s words hanging in the air above him like a small, tattered flag.

BUT WILL YOU RETURN?

“I’m just spending the afternoon with my father, William Spiver,” she said. “It’s not like I’m heading off to the South Pole.”

TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! had done an extensive piece on what to do if you were stranded at the South Pole. Their advice could be summed up in three simple words: “Eat seal blubber.”

It was astonishing, really, what people could live through. Flora felt cheered up all of a sudden, just thinking about eating seal blubber and doing impossible things, surviving when the odds were against her and her squirrel.

They would figure out a way to outwit the arch-nemesis! They would triumph over the shovel and the sack! And they would triumph together, like Dolores and Incandesto!

“I’m glad,” said William Spiver. “I’m glad that you’re not going to the South Pole, Flora Belle.”

Flora’s father cleared his throat. “George Buckman,” he said. “How do you do?”

“It was nice to meet you, sir,” said William Spiver.

“Remember those words,” said Tootie.

“‘Flare up like flame,’” said Flora’s father.

“I was speaking to the squirrel,” said Tootie.

“Of course,” said Flora’s father. “My apologies. The squirrel.”

“I will see you again,” said William Spiver.

“Beware the arch-nemesis,” said Flora.

“I will see you again,” said William Spiver.

“We’re off to fight evil,” said Flora as her father backed the car out of the driveway.

William Spiver waved at the car. “I will see you again!”

He seemed so stuck on the idea of seeing her again that Flora didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was waving in the wrong direction.

Flora’s father was a careful driver. He kept his left hand at ten o’clock on the steering wheel and his right hand at two. He never took his eyes off the road. He did not go fast.

“Speed,” her father often said. “That is what will kill you, that and taking your eyes off the road. Never, ever take your eyes off the road.”

“Pop,” said Flora, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” said her father. He kept his eyes on the road. “About what?”

“That sack. And that shovel.”

“What sack?” said her father. “What shovel?”

It occurred to Flora that her father would make an excellent spy. He never really answered questions. Instead, when asked a question, he simply responded with a nifty sidestep or a question of his own.

For instance, when her parents were getting their divorce, Flora had a conversation with her father that went something like this:

FLORA: Are you and Mom getting divorced?

FLORA’S FATHER: Who says we’re getting divorced?

FLORA: Mom.

FLORA’S FATHER: Is that what she said?

FLORA: That’s what she said.