The Invisible Girl

by Laura Ruby

  “Where did he get them?” said Gurl. “There must be a hundred cats in here.”

  “Do you think they’re friendly?” said Bug.

  “They don’t look mean,” Gurl said as a small black cat mewled and wound itself around her legs. On the wall a large skeleton was mounted. It might have been human, except for the large wings.

  “Check this out,” Bug said. He peered at a hand standing upright on the lab table and jumped back as it began to gesture frantically.

  “Don’t touch anyfing,” the pile of clothing babbled.

  Gurl followed the sound of the voice. “Sir? Hello?” She turned to Bug. “Bug, this guy has grass on his head.”

  The pile of clothes sat up, most of them falling away to reveal a housedress. “It’s not hrass,” he said. “It’s my gair.”

  “Whew!” said Gurl, waving her hand in front of her nose. “He’s been drinking. A lot.”

  “You think?” said Bug, pointing at the massive collection of beer cans displayed on shelving all around the apartment.

  The drunken man, small and wrinkled and old, said, “I don’t drink beer. I drink wine. An’ I hafn’t drunk much. Juss a little.” He wavered and would have fallen back down again if Gurl hadn’t held him up.

  “Are you sure this is the guy?” she asked.

  “I’m sure,” said Bug. He started picking up papers and moving aside cats. “There’s got to be a coffee pot around here somewhere. He needs to sober up.” He searched until he found a hot plate hidden underneath a houseplant, a kettle in the kitchen and a jar of instant coffee in a file cabinet marked “Pharmaceuticals”. After boiling up some water, he filled an empty beaker with hot coffee. He and Gurl took turns helping the little old man sip it.

  Many, many cups later, the little man was able to sit up by himself. “This coffee tastes like dirt,” he said. Over the lip of the beaker, he scowled at his guests. “What are you?”

  “My name’s Bug and this is Gurl.”

  “I didn’t ask who you are, I asked what you are,” said the man. He reached into the pocket of his housedress and pulled out a striped kitten. “Hold this,” he said, thrusting the kitten at Bug. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small mirror, which he held in front of Gurl. “Look!”

  “OK, I’m looking.”

  “Do you see yourself?”

  “Yes,” she said, briefly wondering if this was a trick question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “What about you?” he said, holding the mirror up for Bug.

  “Let’s see. Big eyes, big nose, big mouth. Yep, that’s me,” said Bug.

  The old man nodded and slipped the mirror back in his pocket. “At least you’re not vampires.”

  Bug laughed. “We’re not vampires,” he said. “We’re werewolves.”

  The man frowned. “There are no such things as werewolves. Wherever did you get such a silly idea?”

  Bug glanced at Gurl. “I was just joking.”

  “Joking!” said the little man. He struggled to his feet. “That’s why I stopped dealing with people years ago. They’re always joking.” He took the kitten from Bug’s arms. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. I have no time for jokes. And put that down!”

  Bug, who had idly picked up a letter opener, said, “OK, OK. It’s no big deal.”

  The man put the kitten on the floor and snatched the opener from Bug’s hand. “No big deal? This is an air slicer. One slip and you’ll put a tear in the fabric of space-time and all the stuffing will fall out!”

  Bug gaped. “Space is made of fabric?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you I had no time for jokes?” said the man.

  “We’re sorry,” said Gurl, elbowing Bug in the ribs. “We won’t touch any more of your things. We just want to ask you some questions. We were hoping you could help us.”

  “Help you?” said the man. “How?”

  “Well,” said Bug. “I can’t fly.”

  The little man blinked at him. “Of course you can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean what do I mean?” said the man. “Is this another joke?”

  “No,” said Bug. “I really can’t fly.”

  “No one can fly,” said the little man. “Unless of course you were a vampire and we just proved that you weren’t. If you were, you wouldn’t have been able to see your reflection at all. Anyway, vampires can only fly when they’re in bat form. You don’t have a bat form, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, what are you bothering me for?”

  “But I could fly yesterday,” said Bug. “Lots of people can.”

  On the lab table, The Hand flew through a cavalcade of gestures: I told you so.

  The little man stared first at The Hand and then at Bug. “Lots of people can fly, you say? When did this happen?”

  “Only about 150 years ago.”

  “People? Flying?” said the little man. “Oh, my. I thought it was the honey wine. I thought I was just seeing things.” He grabbed the beaker of coffee. “So that’s why they were floating around so oddly,” he murmured to himself. “Or at least one of them was.”

  “Who?” said Gurl.

  “My other visitors,” the little man said. “You two aren’t the only ones who’ve decided to break into my house in the last century, you know. I’m suddenly quite popular.” He sipped the coffee and grimaced.

  “Did you say ‘century’?” Gurl asked.

  The little man stared at Gurl as if seeing her for the first time. “Who are you?”

  “Me?” squeaked Gurl. “I’m nobody.”

  “Nobody?” said the man. “No. Body.” I told you that, too, said The Hand. You never listen to me.

  “Why does that hand thing keep moving around like that?” said Bug.

  “It has an itch,” The Professor said. “This…er…flying problem isn’t the only reason why you came to see me.”

  “No,” said Bug. “We also wanted to ask you about something else.”

  “Yes,” said the little man. “Of course you do.” He sighed. “Perhaps you should sit down. There’s a couch under those cats over there.”

  So that Gurl and Bug could sit, the cats moved obligingly, contenting themselves to curl up on the children’s laps.

  “Well now. Gurl, is it? You can call me The Professor. I apologise for not realising it was you. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You have?” said Gurl.

  “Of course I have. A lot of people have.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Gurl.

  “You’re very special,” The Professor said. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out already. When did you start to fade?”

  He really does know everything, thought Gurl. “A little more than a month ago,” she said.

  “Something happened to scare you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you seemed to blend in with your surroundings?”

  “Yes.”

  The Professor looked very pleased with himself. “That’s just the timetable I had presumed. There are a few instances of invisibility as babies and toddlers that occur mostly when someone happens to be looking for them. Difficult to say why that is. And of course it’s murder on the parents. But most Walls don’t start truly vanishing until they’re about twelve or thirteen.”

  “Walls?”

  “That’s what you are,” The Professor told her. “A Wall. Because of the way you, and other people like you, can blend into the walls as if you were a part of them.”

  “I didn’t know that there was anyone else like me!” said Gurl.

  “There were others in the past and there should be more in the future. But in your own time, you are entirely unique. According to legend—and to my calculations—there is only one Wall born every hundred years or so. As a matter of fact, you seem to be the first Wall in over 150 years. It’s a rather rare and curious phenomenon really.”

  “I wonder how rare champi
on Wings are,” said Bug.

  “Most people believe that Walls are just a myth,” continued The Professor as if Bug hadn’t spoken. “Like vampires and other creatures they would rather not have to face.”

  “But why?” Gurl asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are Walls born every hundred years? Why are they born at all?”

  “There used to be more of them,” The Professor said. “And it used to be that they made no secret of their abilities. But people don’t trust what they can’t see. They don’t like the idea that someone could be watching them, overhearing all their dirty secrets and observing all their dirty tricks. Many of the witches hanged or burned in the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries wereWalls—that is, they were hanged and burned when people could find them. After that, Walls began to keep their talents to themselves. It’s a dangerous talent to have.” The Professor rubbed his drink-reddened eyes. “As for your other question, why Walls are born, well, that’s like asking why there are people with a clubfoot or cleft palate, or tigers that are white and not orange. It’s a genetic anomaly. A trick of nature.”

  “Heh,” said Bug. “You’re a trick of nature.”

  Gurl scowled in response.

  “Speaking of tigers, where’s the cat?” asked The Professor.

  “What?” said Gurl.

  “The cat. I figured that she went to look for you and when Laverna wants something, she gets it. She’s a crafty one. Did you know that her name means ‘goddess of minor criminals’?”

  Gurl and Bug glanced at each other.

  “Well?” said the man.

  “The cat did find me, but Mrs Terwiliger took her,” Gurl said.

  “Who’s Mrs Terwiliger?”

  “The matron of Hope House for the Homeless and Hopeless.”

  “Hope House?” said the little man. “An orphanage? You’re orphans?”

  Bug and Gurl nodded.

  “I had no idea things had gotten so…complicated,” said The Professor, looking, Gurl thought, a bit queasy. “This Mrs Terwiliger. She isn’t a vampire, is she?”

  “Define ‘vampire’,” said Bug.

  “I don’t think so,” said Gurl.

  “That’s something at least,” The Professor said. “Who’s she working for?”

  “Herself,” Gurl told him. “She’s making me steal for her.”

  “What?” said The Professor. “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No!” said Gurl. “We sneaked out.”

  “Hmmm,” said The Professor. “Sneaking. You’ll have to do more of that. I’m glad you came here. So I could warn you.”

  “You could have warned me sooner,” said Gurl. “It would have been helpful.”

  “If I had told you all these things two years ago, before you learned what you were capable of, would you have believed me?”

  “If it were me,” said Bug, “I would have thought you were nuts.” He poked at The Answer Hand and The Hand swatted him.

  “Why didn’t you call the number on the flyers?” The Professor was saying. “I had them posted all over the city.”

  “Uh…” said Gurl, blushing.

  “No matter,” said The Professor. “You need to find a good hiding place.”

  “Hide? Where?”

  The Professor shrugged. “Anywhere. Keep low, stay invisible and you won’t have any trouble.”

  “Stay invisible for how long?” Gurl asked.

  “For as long as it takes.”

  “For as long as what takes?” Bug said.

  The Professor tugged at a blade of grass on his head. “Listen to me. Some very scary men are out there looking for you.”

  “What kind of scary men?”

  “Very scary,” said The Professor, shuddering. “They already found us once.”

  “Us?” said Gurl.

  “You can’t let them find you. If they do, they will force you to do things for them.”

  “What kinds of things?” said Gurl.

  “What do you think?” said The Professor. “Unpleasant and criminal things. Isn’t it better to stay invisible than do unpleasant things for criminal people? Yes, it is.” He stood up and began removing the cats from the children’s laps. “So the two of you better be on your way.”

  “But what about Noodle?” said Gurl as The Professor pulled her to her feet and started shoving her towards the door.

  “Noodle?”

  “The cat.”

  “Oh, well, she can take care of herself, don’t you worry. Cats are extraordinarily resourceful.” As if to prove his point, one of the cats sauntered by with a ham sandwich clamped in his mouth.

  “What about me?” Bug said.

  The Professor stared. “What about you?”

  “You know, flying? I’d like to fly.”

  “Young man, I’m sure it will pain you to hear this, but no one was meant to fly. That people are doing it is just an accident, no more.”

  “What do you mean, it’s just an accident?” said Bug angrily. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you’d really like to fly, get yourself bitten by a vampire. They’re all over the place.” The Professor reached into his pocket and pulled out another kitten. “Hold this,” he told Gurl. He dug around some more and found what he was looking for. “Take this subway pass. Go uptown, far away from here. Cross over on to the mainland and keep going. I hear Maine is nice this time of year.”

  “Professor,” said Gurl. “I don’t know how to take the subway. Not many people do, except when it’s cold.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um…have I mentioned all the flying?” said Bug, disgusted.

  “Yes. Be that as it may, I’m sure the subway’s still faster. I can’t imagine that most people can fly very high, very fast or very well, can they?” At Bug’s expression, he said, “Right. In addition to being faster, the subway is safer too.”

  At this, The Answer Hand began gesticulating frantically. Safer compared to what?

  The Professor scowled at The Hand. “As long as you don’t leave the subway car. Don’t leave the subway car and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s good to be sure,” said Bug.

  “Professor, this isn’t even a real pass.” Gurl held up the white and blue card he had given her. “Park Place,” it said, “Rent $35.” “I think this is from a Monopoly game, see?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I fixed it so it will work.” He took the kitten back from Gurl’s arms. “You’re not safe here. Leave the apartment and walk up to Fourteenth Street. The station is right there. Take the pass and go.”

  “But—” said Gurl.

  “Go, go, go,” said The Professor.

  “Yeah, yeah, we know,” said Bug. “Find your fortunes elsewhere. Shoo.”

  After the two children were rightly and properly shooed from his apartment, The Professor emptied the contents of the beaker into the sink, rinsed it and filled it with more of his homemade honey wine. His obligation fulfilled, he could drink himself into oblivion in peace.

  Except that oblivion—especially oblivion induced by honey wine—is never peaceful. You keep drinking and drinking and soon you find yourself stumbling around, slurring stupidly and waking up with a pounding headache. The Professor didn’t need any more headaches, as he’d already had plenty of them in the last decade. Gangsters threatening him, snotty boys demanding to fly. It was ridiculous. All he ever wanted to do was read and think and fiddle with things in his workshop. He wanted nothing to do with people. People were greedy. People were messy. People unzipped their faces.

  Enough, he thought. The girl had been warned, end of story, finis. The Professor idly poked at several unmarked coffee cans sitting on a side table, trying to remember what he’d put inside them. He opened one and a mechanical bumblebee the size of a grape darted from it. “The queen lives! She lives!” buzzed the bee, who then flew pell-mell at the nearest window. She slammed into it and fell to the sill with a metalli
c clank. “Ouch,” the bee chirruped. “The queen says ‘ouch’.”

  “Ouch,” agreed The Professor.

  You should be ashamed of yourself, signed The Answer Hand. You barely told them anything. You just sent them out into the cruel world to fend for themselves. They’re only children. You didn’t even tell her where she belongs!

  “What are you talking about? You heard the girl; she’s an orphan. She doesn’t belong anywhere.”

  Yes, she does, The Answer Hand replied. And if you’d only take me out of that stupid drawer once in a while, if you’d only asked me, I could have told you.

  “So you keep reminding me. I don’t want to get involved.”

  You are involved. You are completely and utterly involved. If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened. You have a chance to correct it once and for all, but instead you just get drunk on honey wine and invent wonky stuff that no one will ever use.

  “I don’t invent wonky stuff! And I am not involved,” said The Professor.

  Hogwash.

  “Oh, what do you know?” Everything. I’m The Answer Hand.

  “You’re a pain in the butt. I wish that guy from Okinawa had never put you up for sale on eBay. I wish I’d been outbid.”

  Well! The Answer Hand said. I wash my hand of you!

  The Hand went silent, but its argument rattled The Professor. What if, The Professor supposed, at least some of the mess could be attributed to The Professor himself? If not for his inventions, his calculations and his maps—not to mention his tendency to poke his nose where it didn’t belong—perhaps no one would have found The Wall in the first place, no one would be looking for her now, and thus The Professor wouldn’t be forced to drink honey wine in an effort to forget about it all. And if that were true, if The Professor had played some small role in this…this…this situation, well then, sending The Wall and that irksome boy off with a warning wasn’t quite enough to absolve him, was it? As a matter of fact, it was likely that instead of keeping them safe, he had sent them to their doom, just as The Answer Hand was trying to tell him.

  And then, of course, there was the matter of the pen. Oh! The pen! He didn’t like to think of it out there, taking the foolish dictates of foolish men and twisting them to its own ends. This is why he drank: to forget. Not that he’d ever, ever admit it to The Answer Hand, but the pen was definitely wonky. The wonkiest thing he ever invented, in fact. And while it was the wonkiest thing The Professor had invented, it was also, he suspected, the most powerful thing he had ever invented. If only The Wall, the last one, had never come to him for help all those many years ago. If only he hadn’t refused her. If only he hadn’t gone out for some fresh air to escape her begging. If only he hadn’t stumbled on to Mulberry Street and got himself robbed by all those dirty gangsters. If only The Wall hadn’t followed him. If only he’d thought to bring more cats for protection. If only if only if only.