by Ellen Raskin
Leon’s fourteenth card with the fourteenth message had arrived.
Nineteen-year-old Mrs. Carillon locked the last suitcase and studied herself once more in the full-length mirror. She was singing one of Leon’s messages at the top of her lungs, because she was happy, and because it hurt Miss Anna Oglethorpe’s sensitive ears.
“Grown a moustache—it’s red, red, red....” 7
Every December 9th Leon had written her a message inside identical wedding anniversary cards decorated with violets. Mrs. Carillon knew every word of the fourteen messages by heart; still, she wondered what her husband looked like as a grown man. Would she recognize him?
“No problem,” she thought as she pinned a stray black curl in place. “Leon, I mean Noel, is sure to recognize me.” She appeared taller than her five feet in her purple high-heeled shoes; but she had to admit that she still looked something like a dumpling. Besides, she was wearing a purple-flowered dress....
A car horn honked. Mr. Banks had arrived to drive her to the station.
Mrs. Carillon grabbed her bags stuffed with purple-flowered resort clothes and ran down the stairs.
“Good-by soup! Good-by house!” she shouted.
“And good-by, forever, Miss Anna Oglethorpe!”
Leon’s Fourteen Messages8
1. Hi! Leon
2. I am fine. How are you? Leon
3. I hate school. I’m the smallest one here. Leon.
4. Got to wear glasses because I can’t see the blackboard. Leon.
5. My best friend is called Pinky. Leon
6. I’m writing the story of my life. You are in it. Leon
7. I’m going to wear a black tie to mourn my folks from now on and always. Leon
8. Who wrote that awful soup song? I can’t stand it! I hate the song as much as I hate the soup. In fact, I hate all soup—except won ton. Leon (I hate my name, too!)
9. Pinky taught me how to ride a horse—it’s great fun, except the stable only has slow nags. I think I’ll get a horse of my own. Noel (That’s my new name. It’s much more genteel, don’t you think?)
10. Help! Mr. Banks won’t let me buy a horse. Try and make him change his mind. Noel
11. Found a great job. Tell tight-wad Banks to keep his old riding boots—I don’t need handouts. Noel
12. Grown a moustache. It’s red! Noel
13. Shaved off my moustache. Noel
14. Meet me at the Seaside Hotel, Palm Beach, this Friday. Noel
Leon? Noel!
No one in the lobby of the Seaside Hotel recognized her, or her purple-flowered dress. She announced herself to the desk clerk and was handed a key to room 1164. No one was in the room.
Mrs. Carillon wondered whether today was Friday; then she saw the note in the familiar handwriting propped up on the desk.
Put on a bathing suit and meet me at the dock.
Noel
No one seemed to recognize her, or her purple-flowered swimsuit. She jostled through the throng of vacationers looking for—no, not a black tie, no one wore neckties with bathing trunks—glasses, perhaps, and a red. . . . Suddenly, she saw him.
“Leon, I mean Noel!” Mrs. Carillon shrieked and threw her arms around a skinny man with brown hair, red moustache, and sunglasses. The little man struggled desperately to free himself from her tight embrace.
She didn’t realize her mistake until a pretty blonde woman hissed, “Seymour, what are you doing?” and yanked him out of her arms. Mrs. Carillon watched the couple hasten away. She was too confused and embarrassed to feel someone tapping her on the shoulder.
“Mrs. Carillon?” And another tap.
Mrs. Carillon spun around. A tall, clean-shaven man with brown hair and sunglasses smiled down at her.
“Leon?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Noel,” he replied.
The Last Message9
It was an awkward moment, not at all the way she had dreamed it would be. Fourteen years had passed; they had grown up into strangers.
“We still have time for a sail,” Noel said at last. “Let’s go! ”
Mrs. Carillon studied her handsome husband as he guided the sailboat out of the bay. “I never would have recognized you,” she said.
Noel turned to her and smiled.
She smiled.
They sat there and smiled.
They didn’t move; the boat didn’t move. It hung suspended on the crest of a monstrous wave. It teetered. It crashed into the thrashing sea, smashed.
Mrs. Carillon somersaulted into the wild water, rose to the surface, climbed onto the broken hull, and looked about her.
“Leon, Leon!” she shouted at the bobbing head a few yards away. The head went under; the head came up; the head went under; the head came up.
“Leon!” she cried.
And he answered:
“Noel glub C blub all. . .I glub new. . . .” 10
Mrs. Carillon didn’t know what hit her, or what happened next. Two days later she woke up in a hospital with an aching head.
“How’s Leon—Noel?” were her first words.
“Leon Noel?” repeated the nurse. “You must mean the man who was rescued with you. Just a cut on the elbow. We patched him up right away and let him go.”
Mrs. Carillon returned to the hotel, but Noel was no longer registered there. The only message was a check-room stub for her luggage. She finally found a bellhop who remembered delivering a plane ticket to a man of her description.
“A ticket to New York, I think.”
A Pain in the Arm
Cafifi, Carigan, Carillon Furs, Carillon Records, Carin . . . No Noel Carillon was listed in the New York City telephone book, and “Information” never heard of him.
Mrs. Carillon phoned the furriers. No one there knew anyone named Carillon; no one could even remember how the company got its name.
She phoned the record store. The owner, a Mr. Spitz, said he had chosen the name “Carillon” because it sounded so musical.
She phoned Mr. Banks. No, he had no idea where Noel could be. Why doesn’t she come back home and wait for him there?
Back to bony Miss Anna Oglethorpe? Never!
Mrs. Carillon didn’t know what to do next. Confused and frightened, she knelt in the airport phone booth and prayed that Noel would come for her.
Noel didn’t come.
She prayed and prayed some more, and still Noel didn’t come.
Then she remembered what her father always said: “Nobody gets nothing for nothing.” She would give anything to find Noel; but what did she have to give?
She would give her half of the Pomato Soup fortune to charity, if only Noel would come for her. Her ten-room house. Her purple-flowered clothes. Her dimples. Her right arm . . . and then the phone rang.
She jumped up and a hot, searing pain shot through her right arm. “Leon, Noel?” she shouted into the mouthpiece.
“Hello, Max’s Delicatessen?
“Two corned beef sandwiches, lean, and don’t forget the pickles,” said the dangling receiver as Mrs. Carillon hobbled, stiff-kneed, away from the phone booth. Tears streamed down her cheeks and nose and off her chin; but her right arm didn’t hurt anymore.
3* Mrs. Carillon’s Lists and Letters
A Letter to Mr. Banks
Dear Mr. Banks:
Here I am, still in New York City. I am not coming home. I have made up my mind that the important thing is to find Noel. You see, I have a feeling that he is suffering from amnesia, or even worse. Whatever the trouble is, I just know he needs me; and I need him very much.
Please let me know if you hear from him—right away!
You will notice the hotel’s name and address on this stationery. This is where to send me some money to get by on. Don’t pay any attention to the telephone number.11 I will be in and out of my room so much that I won’t be here when you call.
A very Merry Christmas to you,
Mrs. Carillon
Bulletin Sent to the Bureau of Missing Persons,
the F.B.I., and the U.S. Post Office
MISSING
Noel Carillon, alias Leon Carillon
Age: 21
Height: About 6ʹ2ʺ. Weight: Thin. Eyes: Nearsighted.
Sometimes has red moustache; always has brown hair.
Wears black neckties except with bathing trunks.
Handsome. Genteel. Can stand on his head.
Likes horses and won ton soup.
(Owns half of a soup. Does not own a horse.)
May be in company of man called Pinky.
Occupation: Yes.
The Meaning of the Glub-blubs
Message:
Noel glub C blub all. . .I glub new. . . .
1. Noel = Noel. (I must have called him “Leon.”)
2. C blub all. . . .
ball
call
fall
gall
hall—(a good possibility! City Hall?)
mall
Paul—(St. Paul’s?)
shawl
tall
wall
3. I glub new. . . . = in New York City
Solution:
Noel. City Hall (or St. Paul’s) in New York City12
Mrs. Carillon’s Plan of Search
1. CITY HALL: Watch the people who work there and about. Check voting lists; licenses (drivers’ and dog).
2. ST. PAUL’S: Six churches in New York City with that name, including Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran, and Roman Catholic. Try one each Sunday.
3. WON TON SOUP: Eat in Chinese restaurants only. (List of 78 names and addresses attached.)
4. HORSES: Read Racing Form and The Morning Telegraph every day. Make special note of horse buyers. Also, see all new cowboy movies.
5. STORY OF MY LIFE: Ask librarian for autobiographies of writers using pen names.
6. ALSO: Send missing person bulletin to all hotels, opticians, optometrists, ophthalmologists, and riding stables in New York City.
7. JUST IN CASE: Wear purple-flowered clothes.
Another Letter to Mr. Banks
Dear Mr. Banks:
Sorry about those doctors’ bills. I had to go through all sorts of tests, but you will be happy to hear it was nothing serious—just an allergic reaction* to too much soy sauce.
You’re right, it’s nearly a year since I began my search; but I can’t agree with you, Mr. Banks, when you say that Noel must be dead or he’d have asked for money by now. I still think my idea of amnesia is closer to the truth. And the reason I haven’t found him is this: Noel is not in New York City. He just isn’t the type of person to live here (even if he doesn’t know who he is)—it’s much too big and lonely.
So, you see, I am not about to come home. I am going to New Brockton, Alabama, instead.
May I wish you and yours a happy Thanksgiving,
Mrs. Carillon
Possible Solutions of “New. . . .” 13
Noel. City Hall (or St. Paul’s) in:
New Brockton, Alabama
Nutrioso, Arizona
Newport, Arkansas
Newport Beach, California
New Raymer, Colorado
New Britain, Connecticut
New Haven, Connecticut
New London, Connecticut
Newark, Delaware
Newberry, Florida
Newington, Georgia
New Meadows, Idaho
New Lenox, Illinois
New Albany, Indiana
New Hampton, Iowa
New Cambria, Kansas
Newport, Kentucky
New Iberia, Louisiana
New Orleans, Louisiana
New Vineyard, Maine
New London, Maryland
New Market, Maryland
Newton, Massachusetts
New Buffalo, Michigan
New Ulm, Minnesota
Newhebron, Mississippi
New Franklin, Missouri
Newman Grove, Nebraska
New Year Lake, Nevada
Newport, New Hampshire
Newark, New Jersey
New Brunswick, New Jersey
Newkirk, New Mexico
Newburgh, New York
New Rochelle, New York
Newton, North Carolina
New Leipzig, North Dakota
Newark, Ohio
Newkirk, Oklahoma
New Bridge, Oregon
New Castle, Pennsylvania
Newport, Rhode Island
Newry, South Carolina
New Underwood, South Dakota
New Tazewell, Tennessee
Newgulf, Texas
New Harmony, Utah
Newfane, Vermont
Newport News, Virginia
Newport, Washington
Newburg, West Virginia
New Glarus, Wisconsin
New Holstein, Wisconsin
New Haven, Wyoming 14
4* Missing: One Husband. Found: Two Twins
Twenty Years Later
“ ,” Mrs. Carillon said as she left the restaurant, fortune cookie in hand. She had learned to speak some Chinese over the past twenty years, had become an expert on city halls, St. Pauls’, race horses, autobiographies, cowboy movies, and the geography of the United States; but she still had not found Noel.15
The people of Newport News stared as she strolled down the street, an image out of an old movie. No one but Mrs. Carillon wore curls piled high on top of the head, or long, flowered dresses, or teetering high heels. Even purple was out of style.
Mrs. Carillon sat down on a bench opposite City Hall, carefully broke open the cookie, and extracted the narrow strip of paper.
Many search, but few know what they seek.
She was so intent on reading her fortune that she didn’t notice the dark-haired twins standing before her.
“Weren’t you bitten by a werewolf on the early show yesterday?” the boy asked. Mrs. Carillon was so startled she almost fell off the bench.
“I’m Tony and this is my sister Tina. You are a movie star, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just Mrs. Carillon.”
“Like the soup?” Tina asked.
Mrs. Carillon nodded.
“That’s about all we ever have to eat at that miserable orphanage, Mrs. Carillon’s miserable Pomato Soup.”
“It makes me sneeze,” Tony added.
“If you have a soup named after you, you must be rich and famous,” Tina guessed.
“I’d rather have an ice cream named after me,” said Tony.
“I had no choice,” replied Mrs. Carillon, delighted to be talking to someone other than waiters and hotel clerks. “Besides, I’m not at all famous, just rich. And I’m an orphan, too.”
Tina felt little sympathy for a rich, grown-up orphan. “We’re twin orphans, which is worse, because we’ve each lost a mother and father. And nobody wants to adopt two children at once, especially eleven-year-olds going on twelve.”
“You poor things!” Mrs. Carillon was deeply moved.
To Tina things were either miserable or getting worse, especially when she found a sympathetic ear.
“Even more miserable, next year they separate the boys from the girls and we won’t even have each other.”
This unhappy news was more than Mrs. Carillon could bear. She uttered a loud sob, and twenty years of tears flooded forth. The people of Newport News stared even harder.
“We’d better go find our class,” Tony said, taking his sister by the hand.
“Don’t go,” cried Mrs. Carillon. “Don’t ever go!”
The Traveling Carillons
“Next stop: Newport, Washington,” announced Mrs. Carillon, who was now not only looking for her husband, but the father of her children. She had had no trouble adopting the twins once she had persuaded Mr. Banks to give the orphanage a large donation.
Tina and Tony were delighted with their funny new mother and her promises of cowboy movies and eating in Chinese restaurants across the United States. They couldn’t wait to join in the s
earch for Noel and solve the mystery of the missing husband.
They searched and searched. Tina’s assignment: black ties; Tony’s: red moustaches; Mrs. Carillon’s: glasses.
“Next stop: Newburg, West Virginia,” she announced two months later. And six weeks after that: “Next stop: New Glarus, Wisconsin.” Then: “Next stop: New Holstein, Wisconsin.”
“I’ve been thinking about ‘I glub new. . . ,’ ” Mrs. Carillon said in New Haven, Wyoming, the last stop on her list. “And what I’ve decided is that ‘glub’ must be a city and ‘new’ the state:
“City Hall (or St. Paul’s) in glub New Hampshire.”
Concord, New Hampshire; Manchester, Nashua,16 Portsmouth ... the routine was always the same. Mrs. Carillon rented a hotel suite, enrolled the twins in public school, and haunted the corridors of City Hall. Together they searched through seas of faces: on the street, on television, in buses and trains and cowboy films. Most towns didn’t have a St. Paul’s; several didn’t have a Chinese restaurant ; and none of them had a Noel Carillon.
Wrong!
It was Thursday, and Mrs. Carillon would be late. According to routine she would spend the afternoon in the beauty parlor having her graying hair dyed black, then stop off at the library before returning to the hotel.