Masterpiece (6 page)

“I’m sorry,” Marvin said. “I didn’t mean for anyone to worry. I was in James’s room, up on his desk. That’s why you didn’t see me, Papa.”

“But, darling, whatever were you doing there?” Mama
asked anxiously. “James isn’t allowed to eat in his room, you know that. There wouldn’t have been any food.”

“No, I wasn’t looking for food.” Marvin hesitated, scanning the ring of puzzled faces. Even his cousin Billy, the wild one who’d lost a leg surfing in the garbage disposal, had never gone missing for an entire night. In the beetles’ world, that inevitably spelled doom. There were too many things that could go wrong.

“Then what, Marvin?” Papa asked. “What were you doing?”

“I—” Marvin didn’t know how to explain it. The wonder of the drawing seemed too new to him, too fragile to share with his family. He took a deep breath. “I wanted to do something for James, because his birthday party was so awful. You know how he got that ink set from his dad? Well, it was on the desk, with the cap off.”

“Don’t tell me you fell in!” Mama gasped.

“No! No, Mama.”

The family waited.

“I dipped my front legs in the ink and drew a picture for him.”

The room fell silent. Marvin looked from his mother to his father.

“A
picture
?” Papa asked. “What kind of picture?”

“The scene outside his window,” Marvin mumbled, studying the floor. “The building across the street, with the tree and the streetlamp. Just a tiny picture of it.”

“But, Marvin,” Mama said softly. “You could have been caught. And now . . . the picture . . . well, what will
James think? Is it even big enough for him to see it? And if it is, who will he think drew such a thing? He’s too old to believe in fairies.”

Marvin paused. “He knows I did it.”

“WHAT?” The cry came in unison from the assembled relatives, their faces frozen in horror.

Marvin hurriedly explained what had happened. “But James won’t tell anyone. I know he won’t. He wouldn’t do anything to get me in trouble.”

Mama shook her head. “Marvin, I know you like James—we all do—but he’s a HUMAN. He has no loyalty to our kind. Humans can’t be trusted.”

Papa turned to Uncle Albert. “We’ll have to get the drawing. That’s the only answer.”

“No, Papa, you can’t!” Marvin cried. “It was a present for James. I made it for him. And Mr. and Mrs. Pompaday have seen it now. They think he was the one who drew it. You should have seen how happy that made him! You can’t just take it away.”

“Marvin,” his father said sternly. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation.”

His grandmother nodded. “I know you meant well, dear boy, but that drawing endangers all of us.”

Marvin turned desperately to his mother, but her response was firm. “James can’t keep it, darling, especially now that he knows you’re responsible.”

There was a murmur of assent from the relatives.

“You’ll have to get it back.”

“Go now, while they’re at church.”

“Paper’s heavy. You’ll need a few extra legs.”

Marvin looked around the room in utter dejection.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Miserably, he led a small posse of beetles—consisting of his parents, Uncle Albert, Uncle Ted, and Elaine—out of the cupboard and through the quiet apartment in the direction of James’s room.

When the six beetles finally reached the desktop, the picture was right where James had left it, resting at an angle atop the scattered sheets of newspaper. Marvin felt his heart leap wildly at the sight of it. His parents stopped dead in their tracks.

“
Marvin
,” Mama said, her voice hushed.

Papa’s jaw dropped. “Son, you
made
this?”

Elaine crawled eagerly across the paper, gushing praise. “Marvin, it’s beautiful! The lines are so little and neat. It looks exactly like what’s outside! And you drew it in the dark too. I’d like to see a human try that. They can’t see for beans at night.”

“It’s stunning, my boy,” Uncle Albert agreed. “There’s no other word for it.”

Uncle Ted clapped Mama on the back. “Marvin’s an artist! We’ve got a real artist in the family! Do you remember Jeannie’s murals, the ones she made with toothpaste? She wasn’t nearly this good.”

Marvin glowed with pride.

Mama stroked his shell. “It’s a marvelous picture, darling. Just marvelous . . . so beautiful and true. I can’t
imagine how you did it. No wonder James was pleased. What a gift!”

Papa studied the drawing regretfully. “And what a shame we have to take it away.”

Just then they heard the front door unlatch and a commotion in the foyer, punctuated by William’s trademark bellow.

“Oh! The Pompadays are home from church!” Mama cried. “Quick, try to lift it.”

The beetles surrounded the paper, one at each end, two on the long sides, and wedged their shells under the edges. They could hear James’s sneakered feet thudding down the hall.

“There’s no time,” Papa hissed. “We can’t do it.”

“Hurry, everyone, under the piggy bank and down the wall,” Uncle Ted ordered.

“What—are we just going to leave Marvin’s picture?” Elaine protested. “After all this, we’re not taking it with us?”

“Elaine, hush,” Uncle Albert scolded. “James will be here in one second.”

The beetles dashed for cover just as James came racing into the room. They clustered for a moment beneath the piggy bank, then Uncle Ted climbed from the desk to the grooved wainscoting and started down the wall, leading the way.

Marvin hung back in the shadow of the piggy bank. “Papa,” he whispered, “can I stay for a little while? I want to see what he’ll do with the drawing.”

His father hesitated, poised between the wooden edge of the desk and the wall. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, son.”

“But he might move it, and that way I’ll know where it is.”

Papa frowned, considering. “I suppose that would be helpful.” His eyes followed the retreating line of beetles,
already halfway down the wall. “All right,” he decided. “But you need to keep yourself hidden this time, Marvin. Do you understand? And we’ll expect you home by dinner.”

“Oh, I will be, Papa!” Marvin promised. “That’s hours and hours away.”

C
autiously, Marvin crawled over to his preferred spying place behind the desk lamp, watching James the whole time. James was leaning over the drawing, studying it, his face transfixed in a smile. Suddenly, he looked up. He peered around the top of the desk.

“Hey, little guy,” he said softly.

Marvin stiffened. He’d thought he was well hidden behind the lamp’s brass base, but James’s voice suggested otherwise. Remembering Papa’s warning, he flattened himself and slid partway under the lamp.

James kept talking, his voice calm. “Little guy, that’s what I’ll call you . . . because you are a really little guy.” He hesitated. “Unless you’re a girl.”

WHAT?
Marvin recoiled in alarm, despite his determination to keep still.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you,” James said. He continued to study Marvin. “I don’t think you’re a girl. I think you’re a boy, like me.”

Marvin felt a flicker of relief, but stayed frozen at the edge of the lamp.

“You probably can’t even understand me, huh? That’s okay. My dad is coming in a few minutes. I can’t wait to show him your picture! It’s the most amazing thing.”

Marvin watched James lean his elbows on the desk, settling his face in his hands. “But everyone thinks I did it. That’s the only problem. And I don’t know how to tell them.”

James’s serious gray eyes tracked over to the lamp and stayed there. Marvin cringed.

“They’ll never believe you did it, anyway. So what’s the point of telling them?”

No point
, Marvin wanted to say.
Don’t bother, especially since the drawing won’t even be here tomorrow. Best to forget all this
. He gazed at the tiny picture mournfully.

From the hall they heard a loud thump on the door, and Mrs. Pompaday’s muted greeting. A minute later, Karl Terik and Mrs. Pompaday appeared in the doorway.

“James! James, show your father your drawing. Look at this, Karl. You’ll be shocked, I tell you. Look how tiny and elegant it is. Oh, I can’t wait to show it to the Mortons. And Sandra Ortiz, at the gallery.”

Karl grinned at James and strode over to the desk, wearing a patient expression, as if preparing to compliment the picture no matter what he really thought. But
when he saw Marvin’s drawing, his eyes widened. He rubbed his beard, staring at it.

“May I?” he asked James, reaching for the paper.

James blushed. “Sure, Dad.”

Marvin inched forward to watch Karl’s reaction.

“James,” his father said slowly.

“What did I tell you?” Mrs. Pompaday clapped her hands. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Karl walked to the window, lifting the drawing to the light. “How did you do this?”

James swallowed. “I just did it. You know, copied what was outside.”

His father brought the page close to his face, scrutinizing it, then held it at arm’s length. “The lines are so delicate. And steady. I wouldn’t have thought you could make a line this thin with the pen I gave you.”

James didn’t say anything.

Karl shook his head. “It looks . . . well, it’s ridiculous to say it, but it could be a Dürer.”

Marvin and James both stared at him, not understanding. Karl was still lost in thought, tilting the drawing at different angles. “I mean it. It’s that good.”

Mrs. Pompaday glowed. “Oh, yes! Exactly. A Dürer.”

“What’s that?” James asked. “What’s a dürer?”

“Albrecht Dürer,” Karl explained. “The German Renaissance artist. Painter, engraver, did lots of pen-and-ink drawings, even a few miniatures like this, a long, long time ago. The detail in this is unbelievable, James. I can’t get over it.”