The Case of the Elevator Duck

by Polly Berrien Berends

  We sit on the edge of the bathtub together and watch Easter. When he walks, his orange feet make this ridiculous slapping sound on the bottom of the tub. He already seems like part of the family. Mama likes him, too. I can see that she feels terrible. I hug her.

  “It’s all right, Mama,” I tell her. “I understand.”

  But I don’t understand. I mean, I don’t see why it’s anybody else’s business if you want to have a duck in your apartment—or an anteater—or anything. Just so long as it’s in your apartment and doesn’t bother anyone else.

  5

  Hatching a Plan

  I do not argue with Mama about the three days getting cut short. By now I think I am a lousy detective and I don’t see what good an extra day will do anyway.

  All afternoon I wear my feather around the project. Nobody notices me except Dennis Herter, who says, “Still playing cowboys and Indians, hey? Man, you are something else!”

  I don’t even try to defend myself.

  Evening comes and I still don’t have any new ideas about how to find Easter’s owner. Mama and I are really down at supper.

  After supper I say that I think I will go and take my bath now. This is a mistake. Mama knows right away how awful I am feeling if I do such a weird thing as taking a bath without being told.

  While I am in the bath Easter walks up and down the edge of the tub, slapping his feet. I invite him to come in for a swim, but this only seems to upset him. He walks back and forth, quacking and nodding his head up and down. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t like warm water. Still I get the idea he sort of knows he’s supposed to swim, but that he doesn’t know how. If I could keep him, I would teach him to swim.

  At bedtime it really hits me. Tomorrow morning it’s The End for Easter. Here I am supposed to be some great detective and I haven’t done anything. I figure the least I can do is to use my head a little.

  On a real case, a robbery for example, I would try to think like a thief. But this is no robbery. It is not even a ducknapping. Easter is not stolen. Easter is lost. All right then, I will think like a duck and see where that gets me.

  This is easier said than done. I do not know anything about ducks, and Easter is the only duck I know.

  Then I remember from school that wild ducks migrate. They fly hundreds and hundreds of miles to the same place every winter. They can do that because they have an amazing sense of direction.

  Easter is not a wild duck. Easter is a domesticated duck, like from a farm. And he is a city duck at that—a duck that probably doesn’t even know how to swim. Even if domesticated ducks are supposed to have a good sense of direction like wild ducks, the chances are that Easter hasn’t learned how to use his. But it’s an idea. It’s a long shot, but there isn’t much time left. A long shot is better than no shot at all.

  I do not tell Mama my plan because I do not want to get her hopes up for nothing. Also I do not want her to say no. I just kiss her good-night. Then I go to the bathroom and say good-night to Easter. I say it loud so Mama can hear. But then I whisper, “See you later,” to Easter.

  Before getting into bed I slip this old hand mirror into my bathrobe pocket. Then I take my ball of pieces of string down from the closet shelf. It is a good thing I save string because I am going to need it for my plan. I put the string under my pillow, set the alarm clock for 1:00 A.M., and climb into bed.

  I am not at all sleepy, but that is all right because I still have a few details to think out. Basically my plan is to see if Easter can find his own way home. I know this sounds crazy, but it is the only thing I can think of left to try.

  At 11:00 Mama comes in and kisses me on the cheek. After that I fall asleep for a while. Then suddenly I wake up. I have trained myself to wake up when the alarm gives this little click just before it goes off. I push the button down just in time. I am wide awake and the alarm has not sounded.

  I put on my slippers and my bathrobe. Then I take the string from under my pillow and go to the bathroom. I do not know if Easter has been asleep or not, but when I open the door his shiny little eyes are wide open. He looks very with it. I think this is a good sign.

  “Keep quiet,” I tell him. But I do not worry because by this time I trust him to be quiet when quietness is important. I tiptoe to the front door carrying Easter and my ball of pieces of string. I take the apartment key from the magnetic hook on the door. Then I let myself out into the hall.

  6

  Sitting Ducks

  I have to admit that I am a little afraid. Partly it’s that I have never been out this late before in my life. Partly it is because I do not know what in the world I will do if I meet someone. But it’s a choice between this and The End. So I do not hesitate.

  I go straight to the elevator and push the Up button. I stand with my back against the wall next to the elevator. The elevator comes and the doors open. I hold out my hand mirror and look at it to see into the elevator. Luckily it is empty. I step quickly inside and push 25.

  At 25 we get off. I carry Easter to the end of the hall and push open the door to the fire stairs. There I put him down and tie the string to one of his orange legs.

  My idea is to take him to each floor and see if he recognizes any apartment. I do not dare to take the elevator. Even in the middle of the night there are always people coming and going in our building. One of these people is the housing policeman, and I sure don’t want to meet him—not in my pajamas in the middle of the night with a duck on a string! This is why I have decided to use the fire stairs. I will lead Easter down the stairs. I will open the door to each floor and see if he seems at home anywhere.

  I unroll a lot of string and open the door to the 25th floor. Easter only tips his head to one side and looks up at me in that cute way of his. Either 25 is not where he lives or else he doesn’t know how to use his sense of direction. I wish I knew which. It is a long way to the lobby.

  But I am not going to give up yet. I start down the stairs toward the next floor. Easter follows. For a duck he is pretty good at going down stairs. His orange legs are not long enough to reach the steps one foot at a time. So he jumps with both feet at once and lands on each step with a loud double slap.

  He does not show any interest in the 24th floor. Or in the next. Or in the next. On the way to 21 I get the idea that he is tired. I can tell because he keeps sitting down on about every third step. So from now on I carry him and only put him down when I open the door to each floor.

  He is not at all excited by either of the next two floors. When I put him down on 19 and open the door, I think he recognizes something. He takes a few steps and then stops. I think maybe this is it! But after that nothing more happens and pretty soon I pick him up again. Then I see that he has only made a mess on the floor.

  “Thanks, pal,” I say. I am really grateful that he didn’t make his mess between floors—in my arms, I mean.

  I am just starting down to the next floor when I see that I am about to make a big mistake. I thought nobody ever used the fire stairs, especially this high up in our building. After all, they are only there in case of fire. But from the landing on 19 I can see this man and woman hugging each other on the landing of 18.

  There is nothing to do but sit down and wait. Good old Easter falls asleep in my lap. I am so tired that I could sleep too, except that it is freezing cold in the stairway. I sit there shivering for a long time.

  I begin to have serious doubts about my plan. I feel almost sure that we have already passed Easter’s floor and that he just doesn’t know how to use his sense of direction. It has taken at least 45 minutes to go six floors. There are still eighteen to go. And it doesn’t look as if the man and woman on 18 are ever going to stop hugging each other and go home.

  I am just thinking of quitting and going home myself when the door on 18 opens. I hear this voice say, “All right, you two. Break it up.”

  I peek through the railing to see who it is. It is the housing policeman. I am glad because now the man and woman go in
side. But I am very nervous because I did not know before that the housing policeman checked the stairway. Next time he checks he will probably catch me and Easter.

  But I decide to go on. I wake up Easter and carry him down to 18. I peek through the window, but the man and woman and the policeman have gone. I open the door. 18 is not Easter’s floor. Neither is 17. And neither is 16.

  On the next floor I make a big decision. I am cold and I am tired. I do not know if Easter will recognize his floor even if we come to it. So I decide that if nothing happens by the time we get to my floor—12—I will give up and go home.

  Nothing happens on 15 or 14. By the time we reach 13, I have lost all hope. I am nearly in tears and I am hugging Easter almost to death. All the same I put him down on 13 and open the door.

  What do you know about that! He walks right in. He is walking straight down the hall of the 13th floor, slapping his great big silly orange feet! As fast as I can I unroll my ball of pieces of string.

  Easter stops in front of 13B and quacks. 13B is way at the other end of the hall. I cannot be at all sure that this is where he lives, but at this point I have nothing to lose. Neither does Easter.

  So I tiptoe down the hall and cut the string from Easter’s leg. I ring the doorbell of 13B hard, three times. Then as fast as I can I run back to the stairway.

  I peek through the window. Nothing happens. I am just about to give up hope when the door of 13B opens. I could faint when I see who is at the door! It is that quiet kid with the sad eyes that I’ve been seeing everywhere. Only now he is talking about a mile a minute. His eyes are sparkling like crazy and he is hugging Easter and sort of laughing and crying all at once.

  “So long, Easter,” I whisper. Then I rush down the stairs to the 12th floor and let myself into 12H. I think I must be really tired because for some reason I am crying, too.

  7

  Just Ducky

  As usual at 8:15 A.M. I step into the Up elevator for my morning run. The elevator is empty going up and it is the same as always going down—the crowding, the pushing, the grunting. Today there is no man with a stinking cigar. There is this lady with garlic breath. I think garlic breath is worse than the cigar.

  But I am feeling good. I am glad about Easter and I am glad to be back on the job. Maybe now I’ll pick up a more routine case—a–mugging or something. Today I feel I could handle anything. But maybe I’ll just hunt up Dennis Herter and shoot a few baskets for a change.

  Everyone except me gets off at the main floor. I step up out of sight by the self-service buttons as usual. No one sees me. The doors close and I head home for breakfast.

  Then it happens. I get this feeling again. I know that I am not alone. Slowly I turn my head to one side and look out of the corner of my eye. I am right. I am not alone. Easter is in there with me.

  I am boiling mad. I love Easter. I care about what happens to him. I have gone to a whole lot of trouble to get him back to his owner. It burns me up that that sad-eyed kid has let Easter get lost in the elevator again, the very next day after he has come home.

  I push the 13 button. The elevator stops at 12, but I do not get off. I get off at 13 and go straight to 13B and ring the buzzer. I keep ringing and ringing until this girl answers. I am just about to give her a piece of my mind when she begins giving me a piece of hers. Too much!

  I am speechless at this. I stand there holding Easter while this girl actually bawls me out for bringing him home!

  She speaks with a Spanish accent. She tells me to get “thees dawk out of here.” She says it belongs to her little brother. He got it for Easter last spring when they were still living in a tenement.

  She says they finally got a chance to move into the projects. They have only been in America a year. Her parents do not speak any English. They do not understand about No Pets of Any Sort in the lease. The Inspector tells them to get rid of the duck. But they do not understand. They do not get rid of the duck. So the Inspector makes it very clear. If the duck does not go, they will be thrown out of the projects.

  Her little brother is very sad. He is shy. He does not speak any English. The duck is his only friend in America. He is heartbroken that he must send his duck away. He does not have any idea of how to find a new home for his duck. So he puts it on the elevator. He figures everyone rides the elevator. He hopes someone who will love the duck will take him home.

  All this time I am listening. I am not angry anymore, but this girl is still furious.

  “Two days ago,” she said, “he come home a little bit happy. He say this nice boy take his duck home. He is sad still, but he feel glad because his duck have a good home. And then you bring him back! Why? So this morning my little brother can cry some more and put his duck on the elevator again? What’s the matter with you? You want to break a little boy’s heart?”

  What can I say? I say, “Please let me explain.”

  But she will not listen. She says she must take her little brother to the Day Care Center now. He is putting on his coat this very minute. She pushes me away from the door. She says to go away quickly because she does not want her little brother to see his duck again.

  So I go. What else can I do? I hide Easter under my sweater and get onto the elevator. I push 12 and start trying to think up what I will tell Mama.

  Then I get this idea. I think I am going to go crazy from having so many ideas.

  Once again I do not get off at 12. I go all the way back to the main floor. I walk straight through the lobby and out the front door with Easter under my sweater. At this point I am so mad that I don’t much care who sees me with Easter.

  I walk around to the back of the building and push open the door marked Day Care Center. I walk into the office and say that I want to see the head teacher.

  This lady behind the desk says she is the teacher and would I care to sit down. I shut the door and start sounding off. I am not much of a talker except when I am mad. Now I am plenty mad. I tell her the whole story.

  By the time the girl from 13B gets to the Center with her little brother, everything is all set and I am waiting in the playroom with the teacher.

  The teacher asks the girl to wait a minute. She sits down and looks at me in this kind of surprised way. When all the other kids get there, the teacher calls the sad-eyed kid to her side. She whispers to him and points at me. By the time she stops talking, he is smiling and nodding like crazy.

  She sends the kid over to me. I take Easter out from under my sweater and give him to the kid. Before I can stop him, he gives me this huge wet kiss.

  The teacher tells the rest of the class that Julio, the sad-eyed kid, is going to share his duck with all the children at the Day Care Center. Easter will be a Day Care duck and Julio will be in charge of him.

  Pretty soon I leave. The kid is still smiling and trying to talk to the other children, who are all crowding around him. He is going to have lots of friends now, and Easter has a good safe home at last.

  I am just heading back up to 12H for breakfast when this girl steps into the elevator with me. She is not angry anymore. She is blushing.

  “My name is Rita,” she says. “I am sorry—”

  “Skip it,” I tell her. “I understand.”

  About the Author

  POLLY BERRIEN BERENDS says, “When I was a child, I liked books that made me laugh and books that made me feel I could be anything I wanted to be.” So when she decided to write about kids in the crowded city, she wanted to make the book funny. Right away the idea of a duck in an elevator popped into her head. “Yeah, I thought, that would be pretty funny!” Mrs. Berends has written other children’s stories and also a book for adults, Whole Child, Whole Parent. She lives with her husband and two sons in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York.

  About the Illustrator

  DIANE WORFOLK ALLISON studied art and literature at Macalester College and later became a Montessori teacher. She lives in Brookline, Massachusetts, with her husband and two children. Besides illustrating children’s boo
ks, she teaches art to elementary school children as part of the Massachusetts artist-in-residence program.

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