Kate DiCamillo - Flora & Ulysses

He ran.

And Flora Buckman, holding her possibly concussed squirrel, ran with him.

Flora and George Buckman ran because the Blixen Arms was owned and managed by a man named Mr. Klaus, who was in possession of an enormous, angry orange cat also named Mr. Klaus. The cat Mr. Klaus prowled the hallways of the Blixen Arms, peeing on the residents’ doors and vomiting in the stairwells.

Mr. Klaus was also notorious for hiding in the green gloom of the hallways and waiting until some unlucky person stepped out of the door of his or her apartment (or into the main entrance of the Blixen Arms or down into the basement laundry room) and then pouncing on the person’s ankles, biting and scratching and growling — and sometimes (weirdly enough) purring.

Flora’s father’s ankles were deeply scarred.

“The cat can smell your fear!” Flora shouted as she ran. “It’s a scientific fact.”

She had read about fear in TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! “Fear smells,” said TERRIBLE THINGS! “And the smell of fear further incites the predator.”

Ahead of her, her father laughed his hearty and seemingly endless laugh.

If Flora had more time, she would have said, “For the love of Pete, what’s so funny?”

But she didn’t have time.

There was a squirrel to save.

Flora stood and stared at the sign on apartment 267. It was made of fake wood and engraved with white letters that spelled out the words RESIDING WITHIN: THE DR.’S MEESCHAM!

What was the apostrophe doing there? Did the doctor own the Meescham? And what was it with exclamation marks? Did people not know what they were for?

Surprise, anger, joy — that’s what exclamation marks were for. They had nothing to do with who resided where.

But at this particular moment, the exclamation mark seemed entirely appropriate. It was terribly exciting that a doctor (who didn’t know how to use apostrophes) lived in apartment 267.

“What are you staring at?” said her father. He was putting his key into the door of apartment 271, and he was laughing softly.

“A doctor lives here,” said Flora.

“Dr. Meescham,” said her father.

“I’m going to see if he can help with Ulysses,” said Flora.

“Excellent idea,” said her father. He opened the door of his apartment. He looked to the left and then to the right. “Keep your eyes open for Mr. Klaus!” he said. “I’ll join you in a bit!”

He slammed the door just as Flora raised her hand to knock on Dr. Meescham’s door.

But she didn’t get the chance to knock.

The door swung open of its own accord. An old lady stood there smiling, her dentures glowing white in the perpetual green twilight of the hallway. Someone inside the apartment was screaming. No, someone was singing. It was opera. Opera music.

“At last,” said the old lady. “I’m so glad to see your face.”

Flora turned and looked behind her.

“I am speaking to you, little flower.”

“Me?” said Flora.

“Yes, you. Little flower. Flora Belle. Beloved of your father, Mr. George Buckman. Come in, little flower. Come in.”

“Actually,” said Flora, “I’m looking for a doctor. I have a medical emergency.”

“Of course, of course,” said the old woman. “We are, all of us, medical emergencies! You must come in now. I have been waiting for so long.”

She reached out and yanked Flora over the threshold of 267 and into the apartment.

The Criminal Element had a lot to say about entering the home of a stranger. They suggested that you do so at your own risk, and that if you did make the (questionable) decision to enter the home of someone you didn’t know, a door to the outside world should be left open at all times to facilitate a quick escape.

The old lady slammed the door shut.

The opera music was very loud now.

Flora looked down at the hand that was on her arm. It was spotted and wrinkled.

Beloved? thought Flora. Me?

He woke with a single, giant watery eye staring at him.

He blinked. His head hurt. The gigantic eye was mesmerizing and beautiful. It was like staring at a small planet, a whole sad and lonely world.

Ulysses found it hard to look away.

He stared at the eye, and the eye stared back.

Was he dead? Had he been hit over the head with a shovel?

He could hear someone singing. He knew he should be afraid, but he didn’t feel afraid. So much had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours that somewhere along the way, he had stopped worrying. Everything had become interesting, as opposed to worrisome.

If he was dead, well, that was interesting, too.

“My eyesight is not what it was,” said a voice. “When I was a girl in Blundermeecen, I could read the sign before anyone else even saw the sign. Not that it helped me, seeing things clearly. Sometimes, it is safer not to see. In Blundermeecen, the words on the sign were often not the truth. And I ask you: What good does it do you to read the words of a lie? But that is a different story. I will tell that story later. I find this magnifying glass to be of great assistance. Yes. Yes. I see him. He is very much alive.”

“I know he’s alive,” said another voice. “I can tell that.”

Flora! Flora was here with him. How comforting.

“Hmmm, yes. I see. He is a squirrel.”

“For the love of Pete!” said Flora. “I know he’s a squirrel.”

“He is missing much fur,” said the voice.

“What kind of doctor are you?” said Flora.

The voices in the room kept singing. They were full of sadness and love and desperation. The voice belonging to the giant eye hummed along with them.

Ulysses tried to get to his feet.

A gentle hand pushed him back.

“I am the Dr. Meescham who is the doctor of philosophy,” said the voice. “My husband, the other Dr. Meescham, was the medical doctor. But he has passed away. This is a euphemism, of course. I mean to say that he is dead. He is departed from this world. He is elsewhere and singing with the angels. Ha, there is another euphemism: singing with the angels. I ask you, why is it so hard to stay away from the euphemisms? They creep in, always, and attempt to make the difficult things more pleasing. So. Let me try again. He is dead, the other Dr. Meescham, the medical one. And I hope that he is somewhere singing. Perhaps singing something from Mozart. But who knows where he is and what he is doing?”

“For the love of Pete!” said Flora again. “I need a medical doctor. Ulysses might have a concussion.”

“Shhh, shhh, calm, calm. Why are you so agitated? There is no need to worry. You are worried about what? You will tell me what happened that makes you think concussion.”

“He hit a door,” said Flora. “With his head.”

“Hmmm, yes. This could give a concussion. When I was a girl in Blundermeecen, people were often getting concussions — gifts from the trolls, you understand.”

“Gifts from the trolls?” said Flora. “What are you talking about? Look at him. Does he look like he has a concussion?”

The gigantic eye of Dr. Meescham came closer, much closer. It studied him. The beautiful voices sang. Dr. Meescham hummed. Ulysses felt strangely peaceful. If he spent the rest of his life being stared at by a giant eye and hummed over, things could be worse.