Kate DiCamillo: Flora & Ulysses

“Great,” said William Spiver. “We’re lost. Not that we knew where we were going to begin with.”

“We’ll have to walk,” said Tootie.

“Obviously,” said William Spiver, “but walk where?”

They were in the woods.

He could tell by the smell of pine resin in the trees and the sound of pine needles crunching underfoot. Also, there was the powerful, extremely pervasive scent of raccoon. Raccoons owned the night, and raccoons were truly terrifying creatures — more brutal even than cats.

“This will do,” said Flora’s mother. She stopped. She put the sack down on the ground. And then she opened it and shone a bright light on Ulysses. He clutched his poem to his chest. He stared into the light as bravely as he could.

“Give me that,” said Flora’s mother.

She pulled the paper out of his paws. She threw it to the ground. Would she never tire of flinging his words away?

“This is the end of the road, Mr. Squirrel,” she said. She put the flashlight on the ground. She picked up a shovel, the shovel.

He heard Flora’s voice saying, Remember who you are.

The squirrel turned and sniffed his tail.

He thought about when Flora had shown him the picture of Alfred T. Slipper in his janitor uniform, and how Alfred had been transformed into the bright light that was Incandesto. The words from the poem that Tootie had recited rose up inside of him.

You can navigate by the North Star. Supposedly.

Moss grows on the north side of trees. Or so they say.

If you are lost in the woods, you should stay where you are and someone will come and find you. Maybe.

These were the things that Flora had learned about being lost from reading TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! Not that any of it was particularly relevant here. They weren’t lost in the woods. They were lost in the universe. Which, according to William Spiver, was expanding. How comforting.

“Ulysses!” shouted Tootie.

“Ulysses!” shouted Flora.

“It’s pointless,” said William Spiver.

Flora was carrying Mary Ann, and William Spiver was holding on to Tootie’s shoulder. Flora hated to agree with William Spiver, but pointless seemed like an increasingly appropriate word. Her arms ached from carrying the little shepherdess. Her feet hurt. Her heart hurt.

“Let’s see,” said Tootie, peering into the darkness. “That’s Bricknell Road up there. So we’re not truly lost.”

“I wish I could see,” said William Spiver in a sad voice.

“You can see,” said Tootie.

“Great-Aunt Tootie,” said William Spiver, “I am loath, as always, to point out the obvious, but I will do it here and now for the sake of clarity. You are not me. You do not exist behind my traumatized eyeballs. I am telling the truth, my truth. I cannot see.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, William,” said Tootie. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Why did she send me away, then?” said William Spiver. His voice shook.

“You know why she sent you away.”

“I do?”

“You can’t just push somebody’s truck into a lake,” said Tootie.

“It was a pond,” said William Spiver, “a very small pond. More of a sinkhole, actually.”

“You cannot totally submerge somebody’s vehicle in a body of water,” said Tootie in a very loud voice, “and expect that there aren’t going to be severe consequences.”

“I did it in a fit of anger,” said William Spiver. “I admitted almost immediately that it was a very unfortunate decision.”

Tootie shook her head.

“You pushed a truck into a lake?” said Flora. “How did you do that?”

“I released the parking brake, and I put the truck in drive, and I —”

“That’s enough,” said Tootie. “We don’t need a how-to-push-a-truck-into-a-lake lecture.”

“Sinkhole,” said William Spiver. “It was really a sinkhole.”

“Wow,” said Flora. “Why did you do it?”

“I was exacting my revenge upon Tyrone,” said William Spiver. “My name is William. William. William Spiver. Not Billy. I was Billy one time too many. I cracked. I pushed Tyrone’s truck into the sinkhole, and when my mother found out, she was incandescent with rage. I looked upon her rage, and you know what happened then. I was blinded by disbelief and sorrow.” He shook his head. “I’m her son. But she made me leave. She sent me away.”

Even in the darkness, Flora could see the tears crawling out from underneath William Spiver’s dark glasses.

“I want to be called William Spiver,” he said. “I want to go home.”

Flora felt her heart lurch inside of her.

I want to go home.

It was another one of William Spiver’s sad, beautiful sentences.

But will you return?

I came looking for you.

I want to go home.

Flora realized that she wanted to go home, too. She wanted things to be the way they were, before she was banished.

She put Mary Ann down on the ground.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

“What?” said William Spiver.

“Give me your hand,” said Flora again.

“My hand? Why?”

Flora reached out and grabbed hold of William Spiver’s hand, and he held on to her. It was as if he were drowning and she were standing on solid ground. According to TERRIBLE THINGS!, drowning people were desperate, out of their minds with fear. In their panic, they could pull you, the rescuer, under, if you weren’t careful.

So Flora held on tightly to William Spiver.

And he held on tightly back.

It was just like her dream. She was holding William Spiver’s hand, and he was holding hers.

“Well, if you two are going to walk around holding hands,” said Tootie, “I suppose I’ll have to be the one who carries this monstrosity of a lamp.” She picked up Mary Ann.

Above them, the stars were brilliant, shining brighter than Flora had ever seen them shine.

“I wish my father were here,” said William Spiver. He wiped at the tears on his face with his free hand.

An image of Flora’s father — hands in his pockets, hat on his head, smiling and saying, “Holy bagumba!” in the voice of Dolores — rose up in Flora’s mind.

Her father.

She loved him. She wanted to see his face.

“I know where we should go,” said Flora.

A squirrel flies in,” said Dr. Meescham. “This I did not expect at all. It is what I love about life, that things happen which I do not expect. When I was a girl in Blundermeecen, we left the window open for this very reason, even in the winter. We did it because we believed something wonderful might make its way to us through the open window. Did wonderful things find us? Sometimes yes, sometimes no. But tonight it has happened! Something wonderful!” Dr. Meescham clapped her hands. “A window has been left open. A squirrel flies in the window. The heart of an old woman rejoices!”