The Mysterious Disappearence of Leon (5 page)

Tony had been working on the
glub-blubs
for some time. He handed Tina his list of ideas:

C
blub
all = See carnivals

See the animal
See cannibals

Tina shook her head. “Mrs. Carillon will insist on: ‘See carnival in New Brockton, Alabama; see carnival in Nutrioso, Arizona’; and we’d be traveling alphabetically again.”

“How about ‘See the animal. . .’”

“Same miserable problem.”

“Let me finish!” Tony insisted. “See the animal in the New York Zoo!”

“New York Zoo?” Tina had to think that one over. She loved zoos, and Noel did like animals—horses, anyway ; but they could never convince Mrs. Carillon to return to New York City.

Tony was more concerned with convincing his sister. “We’d have to stay a long, long time in New York City. It would take us years to face-watch eight million people.”

“Four million,” Tina argued. “We don’t have to look at women. Or children, either, so that makes two million.”

“All right, so two million,” Tony agreed, knowing that he had made his point.

Tina had to admit that two million men meant years of searching; but she couldn’t believe Mrs. Carillon would return to New York City just to “See the animal.” What animal? Tina studied the
glub-blubs
once more.

Noel
glub
C
blub
all. . .I
glub
new. . . .

“Tony,” she said excitedly. “What if Noel went under water in the middle of a word? What if he went under in the middle of ‘C—all’?”

“C—all?” repeated Tony. “See-all, see-all? SEAL!”

At that moment the door opened.

“Mrs. Carillon! Mrs. Carillon!”

Mrs. Carillon, surprised by the unexpected greeting, dropped three autobiographies and the
American Racing Manual
on her sore feet.

“Mrs. Carillon, we have to pack right away. Next stop: The seals in the New York Zoo.”

Next Stop. . .

Mrs. Carillon liked zoos, too; but not enough to return to New York City. On the other hand, she debated, the twins might be right about “C
blub
all = seals.” And the most important thing was to find Noel.

“You could hardly have looked at two million men the last time you were there,” Tony argued.

“I’ll have to think about it for a few days,” she said.

“New York City doesn’t have just
one
zoo,” Tina argued, facts in hand, “it has four zoos and an aquarium.”

“I’m still thinking,” Mrs. Carillon replied; but the next day she heaved a deep sigh and packed their bags.

“Look!” Tony followed Tina’s pointing finger out of the front window of the taxi. The skyline of Manhattan soared high above the horizon. Tony gasped and Tina clutched Mrs. Carillon’s coat sleeve. There, somewhere among the tall buildings that scraped the sky, they were going to settle down.

The thought of settling down suddenly made the huge city seem less frightening. The twins had never been to New York City before, but somehow, in some way, it seemed like home. They laughed with delight; and Mrs. Carillon managed a weak smile in return.

“Home” was a hotel room.

Mrs. Carillon spent afternoons feeding fish to the seals
¹⁸
in the Central Park Zoo, and the twins joined her on Saturday trips, once to the Bronx Zoo and once to the Aquarium. Otherwise, the routine was exactly the same: City Hall, St. Paul’s, Chinese restaurants, etc. etc.... exactly the same.

One morning at breakfast, only two weeks after their arrival, Mrs. Carillon told the twins of her new plans.

“Tiny,” she began. Lately she had fallen into the habit of addressing the twins by that one name. It was easier than saying “Tina and Tony” and better than saying “Tona and Teeny,” which she sometimes did.

“Tiny, I think we’ve made a mistake. You may have been right about ‘seals,’ but February is a bad time for zoo-going in New York. We’d all be much happier in the South this time of the year. It just so happens that I heard about a zoo in New Orleans. I’ll pack the bags while you’re in school, and we’ll leave right after dinner.

“Next stop,” she announced happily, “the Audubon Park Zoo and Odenheimer Aquarium!”

Unhappy St. Valentine’s Day
¹⁹

“Miserable, miserable,” Tina muttered, scuffing her shoes along the sidewalk.

“Happy St. Valentine’s Day,” said Tony, the cheerer-upper.

Tina hadn’t forgotten what day it was. She had bought a valentine for Jordan Pinckney, the boy who sat in front of her, and one for Tony.

The class was especially restless, for the handing out of valentines had been saved until the end of the school day. At last the teacher picked an envelope out of the large box on her desk.

“Rosemary Neuberger.”

Rosemary Neuberger, the prettiest girl in the class, swished up the aisle and claimed her valentine.

Name after name was called. Tina peeked over Jordan Pinckney’s shoulder each time he opened an envelope to see if it was the valentine she had sent. The eighth one was hers; he didn’t even turn around.

“Tony Carillon,” the teacher called.

Tony pretended he wasn’t the least bit interested in this silly ritual. He knew the card was from his sister.

More names and finally, “Tina Carillon.”

Tina opened the large envelope slowly and carefully, hoping against hope that it was from Jordan Pinckney. The orange construction paper, neatly lettered “To My Valentime” and decorated with red cut-out hearts and a lace paper border, was signed “Tony.”

Their names were not called again. Rosemary Neuberger’s desk was piled high with twenty-five valentines; others had at least ten. Tina felt that everyone was staring at her one card and one envelope. Tony slipped her his valentine to add to her meager stack.

“What long faces!” Mrs. Carillon, still packing, hadn’t noticed that the twins were late returning from school. She laid a purple-flowered swimsuit into an open suitcase. “Nobody would guess to look at you two that. . . .”

“We want to go back to the orphanage,” Tina blurted out. Her trembling chin forecast tears.

“The orphanage, Teeny?” Mrs. Carillon asked, eyes wide with surprise. “But why?”

The answer was a loud, escaped sob.

Mrs. Carillon turned to Tony, who was staring at his shoes. “Tona?”

“At least we had friends in the orphanage,” Tony explained, “but we travel so much now that. . .” He bit his lip, unable to continue.

Mrs. Carillon stepped backward. Slowly, she sat down on the couch, took the crumpled valentines from Tina’s fist, and smoothed them out on her knee; all the while trying to put her muddled thoughts in order.

What had she done wrong? She never poked or slapped like Miss Anna Oglethorpe. On the other hand, what had she done right? If only the twins had told her what they wanted. If only Noel were here.

Noel. The twins. Suddenly, Mrs. Carillon realized that she had two problems, not one; and she knew which was more important. If only it were not too late.

“Tiny?” Mrs. Carillon said warily. “Can I have one more chance?”

Three Italian Dinners and a Horse
²⁰

The twins had never eaten in an Italian restaurant before. Neither had Mrs. Carillon. The
antipasto
tasted so good, they couldn’t decide whether to eat or talk. They ate and saved their plans for the next course.

Between mouthfuls of
ravioli
Tina announced that she wanted to stay in New York and go to the same school.

Between mouthfuls of
saltimbocca
Mrs. Carillon announced that they would buy a three-bedroom apartment and hire a cook. “And no more traveling, no more face-watching, and no more zoos.”

“Watch
glurp
tell
slurp
cow.
.
.”

“You sound just like Noel. What did you say, Tony?”

Tony swallowed his
fettuccine
. “We can still face-watch on television, and go to cowboy movies and the zoo.”

“I never realized how lucky I am,” Mrs. Carillon said, beaming on her generous children.

“Can we have a telephone?” Tina asked, hoping that Jordan Pinckney might call her.

“Oh my, you know how my right arm hurts whenever a phone rings. But there I go, thinking only about myself again. Of course we’ll get a telephone.”

The twins finished their
spumoni
and wiped their smiling mouths.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Mrs. Carillon said.

They returned to their hotel, but not to sleep. They chatted away about their new plans, ordered up hot chocolate, went to bed, tossed and turned, and got up again. It was two o’clock in the morning, and they were still wide awake.

“Maybe somebody should tell a bedtime story,” Tony suggested. He had never heard one.

Neither had Mrs. Carillon, but an expert on horses knows many tales.

“Would you like to hear about Christmas Bells?”

The twins shrugged their shoulders. This was no hour to be choosy.

“Well, as you probably know, all famous race horses have famous parents; but not Christmas Bells. That big black stallion was by a nothing, out of a nothing.”

The twins were confused by Mrs. Carillon’s jargon, but they were too tired to interrupt.

“Christmas Bells was a beautiful horse, but the least bit of exercise left him huffing and puffing. In his first race he not only came in dead last, he walked to the finish line.

“Mr. Hall, his owner, who used to be a famous jockey, was going to sell that lazy horse, when one day he noticed a strange gleam in his eyes. He decided to race Christmas Bells one more time, with he, himself, in the saddle (or ‘him up,’ as they say).”