The Mighty Miss Malone
Read The Mighty Miss Malone Online
Authors: Christopher Paul Curtis
Also by Christopher Paul Curtis
Mr. Chickee’s Messy Mission
Mr. Chickee’s Funny Money
Bucking the Sarge
Bud, Not Buddy
The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2012 by Christopher Paul Curtis
Jacket art copyright © 2012 by Eva Kolenko
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Wendy Lamb Books, an imprint of
Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Wendy Lamb Books and the colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Lyrics from “Oh, No! Joe! Don’t You Kill That Boy!” and “More or Less Resigned to Crying over Angela” copyright © Sleepy LaBone. Used by permission of the author.
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eISBN: 978-0-375-89736-8
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v3.1
In memory of three of my heroes:
my uncle
,
George Taylor
.
Tuskegee Airman. Congressional Gold Medal winner
.
Hero. 1914–2008
.
My friend
Harrison Edward Patrick. Hero. 1949–2010
.
And
my brother
,
Herman David Curtis. Hero. 1957–2011
.
DEDICATION
There is a small archipelago off the eastern coast of Africa whose name escapes me at the moment. The name isn’t the important part; the important part is the group of people who have inhabited these islands for millennia and developed a unique and thriving culture. Unfortunately, I can’t recall what these people are called either, but once again that’s not really important.
What is important is the language these kind, peaceful people have developed. Linguists have noted that unlike other languages, which have developed out of practical necessity, this language is based on the description of emotions. The one word in this language that I want to focus on is the word for a Pavlovian type of behavior found in humans in which one action inevitably causes the same reaction. That word is
aharuf
, and it is translated as meaning the process by which the sight or thought of a particular person, place or object triggers an instantaneous lowering of the
gnar
(a concept most like blood pressure), a sharp rise in the
Qarlo
(most closely related to our understanding of endorphins) and an unavoidable beaming grin like that of the upper-paradise squink (a horselike quadruped very similar to the common American jackass).
After a long journey, I have found my
aharuf
, two people whom I cannot think about without splitting my face in a joyous smile. No matter what is going on around me, all I have to do is bring them to mind and I’m transported to a better place. They are my wife, Habon, and my daughter, Ayaan.
This book is dedicated to Habon and Ayaan in, as Miss Malone might say,
internal
, undying gratitude for bringing me joy and guaranteeing that at the end of each day my cheeks will be sore from far too much smiling.
“…
Gang Aft A-Gley
…”
Late May 1936
Gary, Indiana
Journey to Wonderful
“Once upon a time …”
If I could get away with it, that’s how I’d begin every essay I write.
Those are the four best words to use when you start telling about yourself because anything that begins that way always,
always
finishes with another four words, “… they lived happily everafter.”
And that’s a good ending for any story.
I shut my dictionary and thesaurus and went back over my essay for the last time.
The best teacher in the world, Mrs. Karen Needham, had given us a assignment to write about our families. I knew, just like always, she was going to love mine. She’d only asked for two pages but this was our last essay for the year, so I wrote six.
Once upon a time … in Gary, Indiana, lived a family of three very special, very happy and uniquely talented people. I am the fourth member of that family and much too modest to include myself in such a grandiose description of their exalted number. But many people say I am of the same ilk and for that I remain internally grateful
.
My mother, Mrs. Margaret “Peggy” Sutphen Malone, was born here in Gary, Indiana. She is willowy and radiant and spell-blindingly beautiful. She is also very intelligent. She has a great job cleaning for the Carsdale family. Yes, that Carsdale family! The family whose patriarch is the president of the Gary Citizens’ Bank
.
Her most endearing trait is that she is the glue holding this family together
.
“Deza?”
I jumped and my pencil flew out of my hand.
When I’m writing or reading a book, everything else around me disappears. Father says it’s because I’ve settled into what I’m doing, the same way my brother Jimmie does when he’s singing.
“
Jimmie
! I told you not to sneak up on me like that when I’m writing!”
He handed me the pencil. “I couldn’t help it, sis, you were so far gone. What’re you writing?”
“My last essay for Mrs. Needham.”