The Amazing Flight of Darius Frobisher (3 page)

Darius went upstairs to get his small suitcase. In it he had stuffed his most comfortable clothes and four books. Two were his favorite adventure books, which he had read many times. The third was the old book he had chosen the night before, the one containing small maps of every part of the world. The last was
Bullfinch’s Mythology
, a book about monsters, gods, and heroes from some other time. His father had read it to him once long ago, although Darius had never read it himself. He didn’t remember the stories as much as he remembered his father’s voice.

Darius would have liked to pack more books, but he knew he couldn’t take everything. He desperately hoped that if he only took one bag there would be room in the trunk of the car for one more thing: the bike his father had given him.

As Darius lugged the suitcase down the stairs, it bumped
against every step as if it were trying to stay where it thought it belonged.

Figby led everyone outside and put the suitcase in the trunk of the car. Darius hesitated a moment, then dashed into the garage to get his bicycle. When he wheeled it out, Figby, Migby, and Zarnoff all frowned.

“No bicycles,” said Figby.

“I have to take my bicycle,” said Darius. “My father gave it to me.”

“No room,” said Migby.

“But it’s the only thing I own that I care about,” Darius moaned.

“You poor dear,” said Zarnoff. “You can get another one … sometime … maybe.”

“Please!” begged Miss Hastings. “You can’t take a bike away from a child who has no parents!”

Figby, Migby, and Zarnoff looked at Miss Hastings like she had just landed in an alien spaceship.

“It’s just a bicycle!” they all said at the same time.

But a bicycle is not just a bicycle when your father gave it to you and then disappeared in a hot air balloon. It is a sad thing that these three grown-ups were too dull and blind to see that. I wish I could change them, but I can only tell this story the way it happened.

And what happened next was that Darius put his bike back in the garage and walked over to give Miss Hastings a hug. All his life, Miss Hastings had been bigger than he was, but as he wrapped his arms around her, he thought she seemed very small. She was crying. After they pulled away from each other, Miss Hastings reached back and undid the clasp of the chain
that held the silver wings. She held it out to Darius. “I want you to have this,” she said, blinking the tears from her eyes.

“No,” said Darius, “I can’t. It’s yours.”

“It’s so you’ll remember me.”

“I’ll always remember you!” said Darius.

Miss Hastings put the necklace in his hand and closed his fingers over it.

Darius slid the silver charm into his pocket, then kissed Miss Hastings on the cheek and gave her another tight hug.

“Ahem,” said Figby.

“Ahem,” said Migby.

“I’m sorry, but we’re late,” said Katrina Zarnoff, pulling Darius away. “It’s not good for this poor boy to stay any longer.”

“I’ll write,” called Miss Hastings.

Darius waved one last time before Katrina Zarnoff pushed him into the backseat of the shiny black car. As they drove away, Darius pressed his face against the car window and watched Miss Hastings grow smaller and smaller. When the car turned the corner, the housekeeper and the house disappeared entirely.

“What will happen to her?” he asked.

“She can take care of herself,” said Katrina Zarnoff.

“You’re wrong,” said Darius. “She needs me. And I need her.”

But no one answered, and the car drove on, leaving nearly everything Darius loved behind.

Ahead, unfortunately, was Aunt Inga.

3
Hello, Aunt Inga

N
ow it is time to say a word or two about Aunt Inga, even though it is an extremely unpleasant task.

Aunt Inga lived by herself in a town half a day away by car. Darius had been to her house a few times when he was very young. He didn’t remember much about the visits except the disagreeable smell of boiled cabbage. Darius had never seen boiled cabbage in the house, which made him wonder if it weren’t Aunt Inga who smelled that way.

The raw truth is that Aunt Inga was a miserable person. She made herself miserable and she made other people miserable, too. In Aunt Inga’s mind, nothing was ever right, everything was always wrong, and things were only going to get worse. Her favorite saying—although she didn’t know it—was, “I just knew that was going to happen.” Aunt Inga always expected the worst, and she was never surprised when bad things occurred.

As great-aunts go, she wasn’t terribly old, but her face was withered and worn. She wore her hair pulled up on top of her head, so her large ears stuck out like two cauliflowers.

So many things irritated her that it was hard to know what Aunt Inga
did
like. The only thing she didn’t complain about was a special brand of little sandwich sugar cookies that came
packed in a small white bag. She especially liked the chocolate filling in the middle. Every afternoon she sat in her overstuffed armchair and watched television while she ate cookies and drank tea. Her guests, on the rare occasions when she had any, had to fend for themselves.

Why was Aunt Inga so unpleasant?

I don’t know.

Her niece, Darius’s mother, hadn’t been like that at all. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s true. Even in the same family, people can be very different. Maybe, in your family, you are wonderful and perfect, while your brother or sister is the complete opposite. It’s a strange world.

This all explains why Darius got more and more depressed as Figby, Migby, and Zarnoff’s sleek black car carried him closer to his destination.

When they arrived at Aunt Inga’s that afternoon, she was standing on the porch in a boldly flowered pink-and-green housecoat.

Katrina Zarnoff got out of the car and said in a cheery voice, “You must be Darius’s Aunt Inga.”

“I’m afraid so,” Aunt Inga said with a frown.

Darius climbed out of the car. Aunt Inga shook her head as she looked at him. Her thin eyebrows, drawn on with a brown pencil, creased and uncreased. “Going to eat me out of house and home,” she muttered.

“We will send you a check every month for expenses.”

“You think this is just about money?” Aunt Inga groused. “Money’s not enough to make up for all the trouble this will be.”

“No, of course not,” said Katrina Zarnoff.

“Of course not. I never planned on having any children. Didn’t want them. What use do I have for children? Don’t you think I have enough problems already? Don’t you think I have enough on my plate?”

No one responded to her. There were no right answers. Figby, Migby, and Zarnoff handed over Darius and his suitcase as quickly as possible and made their getaway.

“Good luck, Darius,” Katrina Zarnoff chirped as she backed the car out of the driveway.

“Good luck, Darius,” Aunt Inga mimicked in a nasty tone.
“I’m
the one who needs good luck, and I haven’t had any yet. Not one ounce of it.” She looked Darius up and down disapprovingly. “Well, what am I going to do with you now?”

Darius had left home hours ago. It was now midafternoon and he hadn’t had lunch. His stomach was grumbling and growling.

“Do you think I could have a little lunch?” he asked politely. “We didn’t eat on the trip.”

“I knew it! I just knew it!” Aunt Inga groaned, throwing her arms up in the air. “Hasn’t been here five minutes and wants to eat me out of house and home. Well, you’ll have to wait for dinner. I can’t be preparing you food every half hour. I just won’t do it.”

Darius tried to explain. “I just wanted a little something—”

“I know what you wanted,” Aunt Inga interrupted, shaking her bony finger in Darius’s face. “You wanted to turn my whole life upside down, and you’re going to do it one little snack at a time. Well, nosiree Bob. You’ll just have to wait and eat at suppertime like a normal human being, not like some spoiled little child.”

“I’m not spoiled,” said Darius.

“Oh no? Not spoiled? Of course not! Father running around the planet, bringing you whatever you please. A servant to entertain you whenever you want. Not spoiled? No, spoiled rotten is what you really are! But that’s all going to end here and now. I can’t help that your parents are both gone. But I can help straighten some things out, and you’re about to learn that life is not just about you. Nosiree Bob, I don’t have time to wait on you hand and foot all day.”

Darius stood there, thinking things couldn’t get a whole lot worse.

And just at that moment, Aunt Inga looked up and smiled.

Darius turned to see what she was smiling at. A very large woman as big as a tank was trundling across the street. Riding in circles around her, slouched over a bicycle much too small for him, was a teenage boy. He wore a sour expression on his face.

“Hello, Gertrude,” said Aunt Inga. She grabbed Darius by the arm and held him out in front of her. “Do you see what I mean?”

The woman looked at Darius and grimaced. “You’re right. He’s not much,” she answered. “He’s not anything at all like my Anthony.” The boy on the bicycle came to a stop beside the woman. She stroked his arm.

“Anthony’s home from military school for the summer,” she purred. “Doesn’t he look wonderful?”

He didn’t look wonderful to Darius. He looked like a mean, pimply, skinny teenage boy hungry to do something horrible to anyone smaller than he was.

“Darius, these are our neighbors, Gertrude Gritbun and her son, Anthony. Say hello to them.”

“Hello,” said Darius.

“He doesn’t look like much to me either, Mother,” Anthony
sneered. Little bubbles of drool formed at the edges of his mouth as he spoke. “I’ve learned so much at military school. I’m sure I could teach him a thing or two this summer.”

“Anthony, that’s a wonderful idea,” Aunt Inga said. She poked Darius in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t you have anything to say to Anthony’s nice offer?”

Darius looked down at the ground. No words would come out of his mouth. Darius was an excellent judge of character—he knew he had been right about Aunt Inga, and he was not impressed with Anthony. What he wanted to say was, “You are both terribly, terribly mean.” But he knew that would not help matters. Instead, he stood there without speaking, staring down at his shoes.

“I just knew it,” Aunt Inga said. “Spoiled and rude, too. Oh, the burdens I have to carry, Gertrude.”

“You poor dear,” said Gertrude Gritbun. “It’s good you’re strong.”

While his mother and Aunt Inga weren’t looking, Anthony rode the front wheel of his bicycle over Darius’s foot.

“Ow,” said Darius. But the two women didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes,” said Aunt Inga, “and it’s the strong that have to suffer. We’ll see if we can’t do something about him, won’t we, Gertrude?”

“We certainly will,” sniffed the stout woman. “Let’s go, Anthony.” As they turned to go, Anthony rode his bicycle over Darius’s foot again and leaned toward him. Darius could smell Anthony’s hot, bad breath as the bigger boy whispered in his ear.

“See you later, worm.”

Anthony whipped his handlebars around and pedaled off. Mrs. Gritbun waddled along after him.

Aunt Inga turned to Darius and spit more angry words at him.
“I just knew it. There Anthony is, trying to make friends, whispering a little welcome to you, and you can’t even respond. I’m embarrassed you’re my relative. Pick up your things and come inside.”

“I want to go home,” said Darius.

“This
is
your home, little Mr. Snootypants,” Aunt Inga snorted.

Darius followed his great-aunt into the house. What first struck Darius about the house was that the walls themselves seemed lonely—they were bare and pale, with no pictures of family, no art, no maps. The house was smaller than it looked from outside, and Darius couldn’t imagine where he was going to sleep. Certainly, he hoped, not in the same room with Aunt Inga.

He shouldn’t have worried.

Aunt Inga led him through the living room, which was completely taken up with a couch, an overstuffed chair, a small coffee table, and a large television set. The TV was on, filling the room with the sounds of a commercial about floor wax. A half-empty bag of the cookies Aunt Inga liked lay on the table. Darius followed her into the kitchen and down a few steps that led to the back door. He wondered if she was leading him outside. But then she turned and unlocked a side door that opened to a dark stairway.

“You’ll have to sleep down there,” Inga said. “I have no other room for you.”

“In the basement?” Darius asked.

“I just knew it!” she said. “Here’s a boy who doesn’t have a home, and I offer him mine, but it’s not good enough for him. Maybe you’d like me to give up my own bed? Is that what you want?”

“No,” said Darius.

“Well, it doesn’t make much difference what you want,
because you’re lucky to have anything at all. This was not my idea. I didn’t want to take you. ‘There’s no one else!’ they said. And so here I am stuck with an ungrateful nine-year-old boy—”

“I’m eleven,” said Darius.

“Don’t correct me. I don’t care if you’re forty-six. There’s a cot down there for you. At least it’s cool. And if you’re staying here, that’s where you’ll sleep. And I guess you will stay here, because no one else wants you. You can take your things down by yourself. I’m already behind with the million other things I had to do today. And don’t ask for food until suppertime.”