Figgs & Phantoms (8 page)

“Capri!” Truman fell forward onto his palms, stood on his head, somersaulted into the air, and landed squarely on his feet.

The Rite of Caprification was over.

“Somebody give me a hand,” Kadota pleaded. Newt and Fido tugged the grunting veterinarian to his feet as, one by one, the members of the family rose from the floor and stretched their cramped muscles. The skeptics went to the kitchen to prepare refreshments, leaving the believers to debate the whereabouts of Capri.

Sissie and Newt were not tempted by the unworldly kingdom. “We like it right here with the sweet fruit,” they always said. Kadota and Gracie Jo were also unbelievers, ever since Romulus, returning from a disastrous dogsled trek through Lapland, told them that no Kanines were allowed in anyone's Capri.

Mona remained in the parlor. Although she deeply resented the clannish heresy that set the Figgs apart from the people of Pineapple, she didn't want to miss a word Uncle Florence might have to say. Besides, she was holding down the most comfortable chair in the house.

Romulus began the debate by announcing that he was certain of finding Capri on his forthcoming trip to Niagara Falls. His brothers scoffed.

Of course millions of people had been there already, he conceded, but they had not looked where he was going to look: under the falls.

Fido laughed out loud, picturing the faces of the honeymooners when Romulus led them under the falls. He was banished to the kitchen to join the other doubting Thomases.

“Places, bah,” said Remus, who believed Capri lay in numbers. He had spent the past five years dividing the number I. “Once I get to zero, I'll be in Capri.”

Again the brothers scoffed. He could divide i an infinite number of times, but it would still be impossible to reach zero.

“Of course it's impossible—here,” he explained. “That's why, when I reach zero, I'll know that I'm in Capri. Romulus wouldn't even recognize Capri if he found it.”

The twins glared at each other.

 

★
“Capri,” the people of Pineapple said. “Why don't those Ask Me Anything twins go already and leave us in peace? Poor Alma Lumpholtz went on one of Romulus' South American tours and spent the whole two weeks hacking her way through the jungle. Only folks she met were some naked natives who didn't even speak English. Not that Remus can speak English, not when he's excited. Ran up and down Hemlock once, screaming 6-9-18-5, 6-9-18-5. By the time Harriet Kluttz; figured out that the numbers stood for letters of the alphabet, her beauty parlor had burned to the ground.”

 

Now Florence spoke. Mona listened intently.

“Books. All man has ever known or dreamed of can be found in books,” he said. Then he doubled over, coughing and choking. He waved off Truman's offer of a slap on the back.

“I want to go to Capri with you,” Mona said, alarmed.

Florence didn't answer. He sat breathless and spent, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Please, please take me with you, Uncle Florence,” Mona cried.

“Come on, princess,” Newt said, returning with a tray of cookies. “You know it's not for real.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Newton Newton?” Truman Figg spluttered. “Just because you aren't looking doesn't mean it's not there. Why, I myself am on the verge of finding Capri. Ever hear of a Moebius band? Take a strip of paper, twist it once and stick the ends together, and what do you have? One side that goes on forever. Infinity. All I have to do is twist my body into a Moebius band and I'll be in Capri. I've just about worked it out, except for one elbow.”

“Show me, Uncle Truman,” Fido begged, carrying in a pitcher of lemonade.

“Not tonight, Fido,” Truman replied. “I'm not quite ready for Capri. I still have to finish painting a sign. It's going to read: HARRIET KLUTTZ, HAIR SETS & CUTS. Only $3.95 for a beautiful you (including shampoo).”

U
NCLE FLORENCE isn't here yet,” Mona announced when Kadota drove up to the Acorn Alley house the next morning.

“Where is he?” Kadota asked. “I just dropped Fido off at the car lot and I didn't see him there.”

“Oh, no,” Mona wailed, leaping into the car. “Fido will spoil everything. Uncle Florence is probably still asleep in the bus. Hurry.”

Kadota screeched into the lot as Florence was scampering out of his Very Private Office.

“Sorry, I overslept,” he apologized, settling into the front seat. “Good thing you sent Fido to wake me. I thought it was one of your dogs scratching at the bus until I looked out the window. I can't imagine why he ran away when he saw me.”

Kadota backed the car out of the lot so swiftly he nearly ran down a woman with a package the size of a shoebox under her arm.

“Figgs!” hissed Mrs. Lumpholtz.

Florence spent the long drive explaining the difficulties of completing a Joseph Conrad collection to Mona. “Many of the first editions are still easy enough to find. Even his first book,
Almayer's Folly
, is obtainable, though it is expensive. But the true 1913 edition of
Chance
is rare, very rare.”

“Why do you need first editions when you can read a book in paperback?” Kadota asked.

“Why do you collect dogs?” Mona replied. Kadota remained silent for the rest of the trip, trying to think of an answer.

Florence continued. “The impossible book to find is the original
The Nigger of the Narcissus.”

Mona gasped.

“The British printed only seven, for copyright purposes. The Americans then published what is now considered the first edition, under the title
Children of the Sea
.
”

“That's much better,” Mona said.

“I don't agree,” Florence replied, “but read the book, even in paperback if you have to; then decide for yourself.” (Read, Mona, read, he thought to himself. Find friends in books when I am gone.)

“Here we are,” Kadota announced. “And if my eyes don't deceive me, the sign is another one of Truman Figg's misspelled masterpieces.”

There was still time to examine the books before the sale began. The Conrads were in fine condition. Mona counted the pages of advertisements at the back of the books to make certain the first editions were complete.

“Look at this, Mona.” Florence was studying a colorplate book of butterflies. “See how the colors change subtly from lavender to purple to violet?”

Mona glanced hastily at the engraving, then surveyed the shelves of books to be auctioned. “Can we bid on other books if they are good buys?”

Florence sighed. “Let's just concentrate on the Conrads, and you can do the bidding.”

Delighted, Mona rushed to the front row to save two seats. She wanted to be sure of being seen by the auctioneer.

“Number 34,” the auctioneer called out. “Clemens.
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Who'll start the bidding at a hundred dollars? I have a hundred. One-ten. One-twenty....”

Mona had been twisting around to locate bidders on the earlier lots; now she sat forward, biting her lips, eyes fixed on the auctioneer, afraid of missing her opportunity.

“Sold, at one hundred and seventy-five dollars to the gentleman in the third row.”

One more number to go.

“Number 35. Coleridge.
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
. I have a bid for twenty-five. Thirty, thirty-five. Fifty. Do I hear fifty-five? Sold, at fifty dollars, to the lady standing in the rear.

“Number 36. Conrad.
The Secret Agent.
I have a bid of twenty-five. Thirty in the fifth row, forty in the rear, forty-five, fifty, sixty dollars is bid by the gentleman in the seventh row, seventy in the rear. Do I hear seventy-five?”

Mona's mouth was too dry to speak. Florence, arms folded, calmly waited for her to enter the bidding.

“Going at seventy, going, going....”

“Seventy-five,” Mona gasped, waving her catalogue in the air. The auctioneer looked at Florence, who nodded his approval.

“I have a bid of seventy-five dollars in the first row. Anyone say eighty?”

The seconds passed like hours as the auctioneer scanned the silent audience.

“Sold at seventy-five dollars to the young lady.”

An auction-room assistant approached Florence for a deposit, blocking Mona's view.

“Number 74. Conrad.
Youth
. I have forty dollars, anyone say forty-five?”