Felix Takes the Stage (4 page)

E
dith had somewhat of a love-hate relationship with the word “settle.” She liked to settle, she liked the feeling of being settled. But usually a horrible period of unsettlement came first. She had to admit that she had settled in the philharmonic hall for quite a long time. Her children had all hatched and spent their whole lives there. So she should not complain. By Julep's age, she and her family had moved half a dozen times.

She had seen more E-Men than she cared to remember. Her dear old aunt Tessie had finally said, “No more!” She squatted down in the deepest corner of her web and refused to budge. And she had, of course, been killed by the poison gas that jetted out of the white tanks the E-Men wore on their backs.

Edith's entire childhood had been lived on high alert. Her father seemed to thrive on this sort of excitement. Edith thought her mother did, too, until her father died. That was when her mother had begun talking about the Place Where Time Has Stopped. It wasn't just a place that promised peace and quiet and no fear of E-Men. It was also a place where brown recluses were never whispered about by other spiders.

Mrs. Uxbridge's remarks had cut deep. Her words brought back every bit of teasing Edith had endured as a child. She remembered in particular a period of time in an old barn in New England. There had been a lovely woodpile where her family had fetched up. All sorts of other spiders had strung their webs throughout the barn — orb weavers, sheet web weavers, jumping spiders, even leucauge spiders, a spider of stunning beauty, as dazzling as an Easter egg. In this barn, a young leucauge spider named Barbie led a group of girls that operated like some sort of horrid children's militia. They called themselves “spiderniks,” and their mission was to bully any newcomer, especially if that newcomer was a brown recluse. When Edith's mother complained, all Barbie's mother said was, “Rites of passage — it will teach her to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what — cruelty? Mercy me, they call
us
deadly, but you, madam, are raising a little tyrant with Barbie.”

Yes, Edith knew too well that the taunting words of other spiders could be as toxic as the chemicals in the E-Men's tanks. Such words could break your spirit. She had vowed she would never expose her own children to such viciousness. She would be the most reclusive of all recluses.

Although the shop was filled with spiders, the model ship would provide them with some isolation from the general spider population. Not only that, but this ship would offer a wonderful history lesson. The USS
Constitution
had distinguished itself in the War of 1812. Edith could not believe the lengths to which the model builders had gone to copy the original vessel. There were tiny, plush, red velvet cushions on the settees that edged the handsomely paneled captain's quarters. A navigation desk the size of a postage stamp had a set of navigation tools all made to scale: a tiny sextant used for measuring the angle of the sun or a star from the horizon, a ruler, a divider for measuring distances on a chart, and the chart itself. Hanging on the wall above the desk were even two miniature gleaming cutlasses.

Edith decided that first she would spin a web just over the settee, where a lovely set of fanlight windows curved so the captain could look out at the wake of his ship. She suspended herself mid-weaving to peer out and imagine an ocean with rolling waves cut by frothy foam from a ship under sail. Suddenly, a luminous green light flowed in through the windows.

“Oh, Fatty, isn't this cabin lovely!”

Fat Cat had hopped up onto the table where the ship model was perched and was peering through the stern windows.

“Yes. And although I have never had children, I do believe mothers need a little alone time,” he said.

“Indeed!”

But just as Edith wove the last strand of her web, a voice piped up.

“Mom!”

“Felix! I thought you wanted to sleep topside, in the rigging.”

“My leg hurts.”

“It can't hurt.” Jo Bell swung in on a thread of silk that she quickly anchored to one of the tassels on the plush pillows.

“What do you mean ‘it can't hurt'?” Felix huffed.

“Your leg, in case you have forgotten, is back at the philharmonic!”

“Phantom pain,” Fatty offered from the stern.

“You mean like a ghost?” Julep asked, crawling down from a hatch over the navigation table.

“And what are you doing here, Julep?” Edith asked.

“I didn't want to sleep up there all by myself.”

“Not too near those cutlasses, Felix,” Edith cautioned. Although they were only models, they looked quite sharp.

“Julep, I thought you wanted to sleep in the lookout place, the crow's nest, at the top of the mast!” Jo Bell said. “Julep made this big deal about sleeping in it. And actually I was the one who had dibsed it.”

“You did not!” Julep shot back.

“Did, too.”

“Did not!”

“Did, too!”

“Did not!”

“Children! Children! Quit this squabbling,” Edith commanded. “And, Felix, get that line you just floated
away
from the cutlasses.” Then she muttered to herself, “So much for peace and quiet!”

The flashing lights of an ambulance swept through the storefront window. The family fell silent.

After a frozen minute, Jo Bell said, “They must be taking the Maestro away now.”

“I hope he lives,” Felix said with a sob threatening to burst like a small thundercloud. “He was so … so …”

“Gifted,” Fatty finished the thought.

But Edith was not thinking about the Maestro at all. She was listening to the slow grind of the fire truck's gears as it turned around. Its siren was replaced by the shrill
waaaaa!
of an ambulance. The fire alarm was false, Edith thought, but how soon would the medics discover the
real
alarm — those tiny pale drops of blue, the blood of a spider, on the Maestro's cuff?

“Just a minute, children. I'll be right back.” Edith used Julep's dragline to hoist herself on deck, then scuttled up the rigging to the crow's nest. Although the USS
Constitution
was on a table toward the back of the store, she had a clear view from her perch. Edith didn't have to wait long before she spotted the flash of the white truck and the blurred letters on its side.
L.A. CHEMICAL.
She felt a shiver pass through every hair on each of her eight legs.
They're always so discreet,
she thought with contempt.
They never advertise what they really do. Fearful of causing a panic, no doubt.
For what was more shameful than an infestation, particularly in a temple of art! And now the E-Men were arriving at the philharmonic hall with their poisons. Forget that fund-raising gala next week! They wouldn't be able to raise a penny for ages.
All because of us!
she thought mournfully.

The words rattled through her, right down to her spinnerets.

F
elix felt awful, and it wasn't just his leg. He was haunted by his mom's words. “Felix's only crime was that he showed himself.” He knew she didn't really think he was a criminal, but it still hurt. His mother was smart. There was no denying it. But if only she were more artistic. His mom always said that brown recluses were misunderstood. But Felix was misunderstood by his own mother! And there was a crime he was guilty of — causing his family to have to move. They were unsettled! A condition that Edith loathed with all her eight legs, six eyes, and every fiber of her body.

But while Felix was worrying about his mother, Edith was worrying about her son. He had been so quiet since he had arrived in her cabin. And she sensed that it was more than just his leg. She had caught him looking back at the orb weaver's web. He was one little knotted-up wad of silk.

“How about I tell you children a story?”

“Oh, yes!” they all cried, even Felix.

“Yes, Mom, tell us a story, please! I know it would make my leg feel better,” Felix begged.

“Your late leg, which now resides in the philharmonic hall,” Jo Bell said.

“Stop it, Jo Bell. Stop it this instant!” Edith snapped. Spiders cannot really snarl. Not exactly. But if they want to add an edge to their communications, they can send fierce vibrations through their webs. The children all shut up. A cross fire of glances shot among all three sets of eyes.

After several silent seconds, Felix ventured to speak. “A story would be nice, Mom.”

Then Julep, in a very tiny voice, said, “Maybe the one about the Place Where Time Has Stopped?”

“Oh, yes, I like that story,” Fatty said. He was still perched on the table behind the aft cabin windows. The light from his eyes enveloped them all in a lovely green glow.

“All right, gather round, children.” She paused. Edith never stayed angry for long. “Here, Felix, tuck in next to me, and Jo Bell, there's a nice pocket in the starboard corner for you and one to port for Julep.”

“What's port? What's starboard?” Julep asked.

“Sailors' terms for left and right on a ship. Port is the left side when facing the front of a boat, starboard the right,” Edith explained. “As long as we are on a ship, we might as well use the correct language.”

Edith folded her fangs neatly and settled herself into the center of her lopsided web. Then she began speaking in that slow, reflective voice that the children called her webtime story voice. It was as if the voice traveled back through a dim, dusty web of time, the gauzy blue mists of “the so long ago.” Human children might call these old stories fairy tales or legends or folktales. It was a time when stories that one wanted so desperately to believe really happened — just like the Place Where Time Has Stopped.

“There is a place far, far away. Some say it is a grand mansion, some say it is a small cabin in the woods, some say it is across an ocean — but I don't think that's so.” And Edith's three children would always repeat silently to themselves those last six words, for they gave them hope. “Nonetheless —” Edith's voice would now quicken. “There is a place where it is said that time has stopped.

“What does that mean, that time has stopped? Does it mean that there is only summer or only winter? That there is only one moment, which has been frozen into forever-ness? That is not what's most important about this place. For in this place, spiders are not feared. We are considered no more deadly than a daisy, less annoying than a mosquito. And we can live in peace and harmony. The E word is never mentioned.

“According to legend, the place was discovered by a wandering hobo spider, a funnel weaver who had escaped the great extermination. Hobo spiders are also feared because of their venom. But we are decidedly more toxic. The hobo spiders arrived in this country, in the Pacific Northwest, long after we did.”

She cast a glance toward the snobby orb weaver Oliphant Uxbridge. “But I am not going to get into a my-ancestors-came-earlier-than-yours-did competition. It doesn't matter where you came from or how long ago. It doesn't matter who you are in life but, rather, what you do. Remember that, children.” Edith paused, and each one of her six eyes gleamed as she looked at her three children.

But it does matter,
thought Felix.
Nobody likes us, just because of our venom.
The argument started again inside his head. But now was not the time. He wanted to hear this webtime story.

“In any case, this hobo spider was unfairly blamed for a lot of ‘attacks' on humans. The bites were not fatal, and the hobo spider was not at fault. Nonetheless, the word was out and a wide extermination was launched to rid three states of these hobo spiders — Oregon, Washington, and Idaho. Only a few spiders survived. And there was one who was said to have left the Northwest for a place far, far away. Some say he caught a ride on a freighter to Japan. Others claim that he went north, into the Arctic with the ice spiders.”

“It would stop time if he was frozen,” Felix offered.

“The spider traveled alone, nameless, anonymous. You see, this hobo's bite had been mistaken for our bite, a brown recluse bite. He wanted nothing to do with any spiders after that. He sought solitude.”

“Does that mean he doesn't like us?” Julep asked mournfully.

“It only means that he likes being alone better than keeping company,” Edith answered. “As the story goes, the hobo's bites in the Place Where Time Has Stopped made the humans there even stronger and less fearful of all spiders. It is said that venom runs in their blood.”

“Did he bite them on purpose or accidentally?” Felix asked.

“I don't know,” Edith said softly. “I simply do not know.”

“Is this story really true, Mom?” Julep asked.

“I don't know,” she said again. “But even if it isn't true, it's so lovely to think about. So peaceful. So … so … settled.”