by Ellen Raskin
“Mr. Kunkel took care of everything,” Tony explained. “He arranged bail and made Bloomingdale’s drop the case. And he’s not a football player. Mr. Kunkel hurt his head helping Mrs. Carillon.”
It was somewhat of an exaggeration, but it calmed down Mr. Banks.
“Why doesn’t everybody sit down and relax for a few minutes,” Mrs. Carillon suggested, having gotten possession of the newspaper at last.
“August Kunkel, now I remember,” Mr. Banks said. “Your father was foreman at the factory until the tragedy. A good man, your father. He worked hard to make Mrs. Carillon’s Pomato Soup the success it is today.”
“Are you Mr. Kunkel’s trustee, too?” Tony asked.
“No, of course not. Mr. Kunkel’s father didn’t have any money. He didn’t own the business, you know; he just worked for it.”
“There was a little insurance m-m-money,” Augie Kunkel explained. “I went to live with my m-m-maiden aunt.”
“If Mr. Kunkel’s father worked so hard for the business, he should have owned part of it, too,” Tony said.
“Young man, you know nothing about business,” Mr. Banks said uneasily. “What do they teach you at that school, anyway? Socialism?”
“No, the Spanish Inquisition,” answered Tony, who had decided it was a bad thing after witnessing Mr. Banks’ earlier performance.
The subject of school reminded Tina of another problem. “Mr. Kunkel, what is the name of a boy and girl who are Siamese twins?”
“That’s impossible,” said Mr. Banks. “Siamese twins are either two boys or two girls.”
“I asked Mr. Kunkel,” Tina said, trying not to show her annoyance. “What if there were such a thing, Mr. Kunkel, what would you call it?”
“You can’t have a name for something that doesn’t exist,” Mr. Banks insisted. “Just what are they teaching you at that school?”
“Mr. Kunkel?” Tina tried again in desperation.
“I g-g-guess I would call it a medical phenomenon,” Augie Kunkel said, to Tina’s satisfaction.
Mrs. Carillon looked up from the newspapers. “Good heavens, what do I smell?”
“I thought it was fish,” Mr. Banks said, “but now I think it’s pot roast.”
“Oh, Mrs. Baker,” Mrs. Carillon called to the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you we’re not eating home.”
“And waste all that good food!” Mr. Banks was off on one of his “extravagance” lectures again. The celebrants beat a hasty retreat to the door, leaving him with an audience of one, the annoyed Mrs. Baker.
7* Noel__C__all/I__new....
An Armenian Dinner25
“Kouzou kezartma, yaprak dolma. . .” Augie Kunkel and Tony chanted names of Armenian dishes in time to the bouzouki music, and Mrs. Carillon contributed a finger-snapping accompaniment.
Tina toyed with her stuffed grape leaves.
“Tina, dear, aren’t you hungry?” Mrs. Carillon asked.
“She’s probably feeling sorry for the perfume thief,” Tony suggested, but Augie Kunkel knew the real reason for her discomfort.
“Why don’t we start working on the glub-blubs,” he said, handing her a pen and paper.
Tina soon forgot that everyone in the restaurant was staring at their noisy party, and especially at Mr. Kunkel, who wore his football helmet throughout dinner. She carefully wrote out Noel’s last message:
Noel glub C blub all. . .I glub new. . . .
All of a sudden their table was the quietest one in the restaurant. Mrs. Carillon and the twins studied Mr. Kunkel study the glub-blubs. At one point he said, “Hmmm,” and the three of them held their breath; but he was silent again for another ten minutes.
“We have so little to go on,” he said finally. “We do know that Noel had a nice word sense, for ‘Noel’ is ‘Leon’ spelled backward.”
Mrs. Carillon was invisibly lettering “Leon” and “Noel” on the tablecloth with her fingernail to see if they really were the same backward as forward. “Pardon?”
“I said, just four questions,” Augie Kunkel repeated. “First, are you sure you called out ‘Leon’ instead of ‘Noel’?”
“I think so,” said Mrs. Carillon.
“I know so,” said Tina.
“All right, then,” Augie Kunkel said, “we will presume that: the first word is ‘Noel.’ 26
‘Next question: Are you sure there was no sound between ‘all’ and ‘I’?”
“Quite sure. Leon, I mean Noel, went under water there without so much as a blub.”
“Good, then we will presume that: the message has two parts.
“Third question: Was ‘new’ the end of the message?”
“I don’t know. It was the last sound I heard before I was hit on the head.”
Augie Kunkel nodded sympathetically. “I know how that can feel. It does make it more difficult, though, not knowing how many words, if any, follow ‘new’; but at least we can write the message in a simpler form.”
Noel__C__all/I__new....
“That does look easier,” Tina remarked.
“One more question,” Augie Kunkel said. “Would you say that Noel used precise language?”
“Precise? I think so,” Mrs. Carillon replied. “Would you like to hear the other messages?”
“If they are not too personal.”
“The first message said, ‘Hi.’ ”
“That certainly is precise.”
Mrs. Carillon recited all of Noel’s messages, including the hotel note.
Augie Kunkel beamed. “Wonderful. You have given me a very important clue.”
Syllable Counting
“I gave you a clue?”
“Indeed you did, Mrs. Carillon, a most important clue: Noel never used a word longer than two syllables. Do you understand what a help that is in solving the glub-blubs?” he asked the twins.
Tony shook his head. “They don’t teach us syllables in school,” he said, glad that it wasn’t Mr. Banks he was telling this to.
“Let me try to explain. A syllable is the smallest unit of sound in a word. It is like a note in music—something you hear. You don’t even have to know how to spell in order to count syllables; just say the word out loud, and you will hear them.
“Now, some words have only one syllable, like the word ‘seek,’ and the word ‘seal.’
“Some words have two syllables, like ‘ce-dar.’
“Some words have three syllables, like ‘sea-son-al.’ Is that clear?”
The twins nodded. They thought Augie Kunkel must be the smartest man in the world. So did Mrs. Carillon. She also thought he was rather good-looking in his football helmet; and that he must be quite fond of them, for he wasn’t stuttering anymore.
“Since we know that Noel never used a word longer than two syllables in any of his other messages, we can presume that the same applies here. The message contains only one-syllable or two-syllable words.”
The Three Unknowns
“Unfortunately, there are three things we don’t know,” Augie Kunkel continued.
“Remember, we are dealing with a spoken message, not a written one. Therefore:
We don’t know how the sounds are spelled.
“For example: ‘new’ can be spelled nine different ways in one- and two-syllable words, and still sound the same.
If ‘new’ is a word:
new
knew
gnu
If ‘new’ is part of a word:
neu (neutral)
new (newsboy)
noe (canoe)
noo (noodle)
nou (nougat)
nu (nude)
nui (nuisance).”
“I saw a gnu in the zoo the other day,” Mrs. Carillon said.
“A fascinating creature, the gnu.”
“Please, Mr. Kunkel, go on about what we don’t know,” Tony pleaded.
“Mrs. Carillon heard sounds, not one-syllable words, or even complete syllables. Therefore:
We don’t kn
ow where most words begin or end.
“For example: There are five possibilities for the ‘C’ sound:
‘C__’: the beginning of a word (season)
‘__C’: the end of a word (fancy)
‘C’: an initial (C.)
‘C’: one word (see, sea)
‘C’: part of a one-syllable word (seek).”
“Lastly, we can’t be sure that ‘new’ is the final word or even part of the final word. Therefore:
We don’t know where the message ends.”
The Chart
“This is getting too complicated” Tony complained. He was beginning to wish that Mr. Kunkel wasn’t quite so smart after all.
“I think this will make it easier.” Augie Kunkel took another piece of paper from his pocket. “First let’s write the message once again and number the syllables we are looking for.”
Noel__C__all
“That’s all?” Tony said hopefully. “Just seven syllables?”
“Perhaps, but there may be several more after ‘new.’ ” Augie Kunkel drew lines on the paper dividing it into columns which he headed and numbered. He wrote down some words, then handed the paper to Tony.
“You27 can begin by copying this chart on a large sheet of ruled paper. All the possible combinations of syllables are here, and I’ve suggested a few words for a start. Once you and Tina have added as many words as you can, we will cut the lists apart, matching them up (1-2-3-4-5-6-7-?) without repeating any numbers, to see if we can arrange them into some meaningful order.”
“Can’t we solve the glub-blubs without lists?” Tina asked.
“Certainly, as long as you follow these three rules, for the time being at least.
I__ new. . . .
1. Each sound is one syllable or part of one syllable.
2. No word is longer than two syllables.”
A waiter cleared his throat. They looked around, surprised to see they were the only diners left.
Augie Kunkel quickly paid the bill and escorted Mrs. Carillon and the twins home.
“And don’t forget,” he said as he left them at their door, “the most important rule of all:
3. The message must make sense.”
Tony’s List
Let’s divide up the lists,” Tony said after a sleepless night. ”I’ll take ‘C’ and you can have ‘__C.’”
“Thanks a lot, you gave me the hardest one,” Tina complained. “Just for that you can do the chart by yourself. I have my own plans.”
“All right, you can have the ‘C’ list,” Tony said. The school bell drowned out Tina’s reply. The twins raced to their classroom, sat down at their desks, and began to write.
Tony wrote: “__C.”
Tina wrote: “Tony and I are a medical phenomenon!” She passed the note to Jordan Pinckney, who read it, shrugged, and tore it into little pieces.
Tina was furious with Jordan Pinckney. By the end of the day she was mad at the whole miserable world.
“You’d better pay more attention in class, Tony,” she said, taking her anger out on the only person around, “or you’re going to be kept back.”
“Greasy,” Tony replied.
During the next few days Tony added “juicy, icy, spicy” to the “__C” list, and then he was stuck.
“Tina, you’ve got to help me. I’ve only got four words, so far; and Mr. Kunkel is coming over on Saturday.”
“Don’t worry,” Tina said. “I’ve already solved the glub-blubs.”
“Solved it?”
“That’s right. You see, I’ve been working according to rule 3: The message must make sense. Well, the only thing that makes sense is that Noel is dead. In fact, he knew he was dying when he said:
See you at my funeral. I’ve got pneumonia.”
Tony shook his head. “Too many syllables.”
“Well, if I were drowning I wouldn’t pay any attention to syllables,” Tina replied.
“Maybe you wouldn’t, but you don’t spell your name backward.”
“Very c-c-clever,” Augie Kunkel said, but Tina could tell from his stutter that he was afraid of hurting her feelings.
“Too many syllables, right, Mr. Kunkel?” Tony said.
“But it does make sense,” Tina insisted.
“Not q-q-quite. You see, if Noel Carillon had pneumonia, the doctors would have kept him in the hospital after patching his elbow.”
“Greasy, juicy, icy, spicy,” Tony said and showed his chart to Augie Kunkel.
“Mercy.”
“What’s wrong?” Tony asked.
“N-n-nothing at all. I was just giving you more words for list 1—2: mercy, saucy, racy, lacy.”
A week passed before Tony added his next word: “Sissy.”
Augie Kunkel offered “Tse-tse fly.” 28
By this time the twins were barely speaking to each other, so Tony worked on the “C” list himself. “Seam, seat, cease,” and one of his Spanish-speaking friends gave him the word for yes—“Si.”
“Excellent,” Augie Kunkel remarked. “Seize, siege, Sikh.”
“Wow!” Tony repeated the word “Sikh” three times. There was no doubt about it; Mr. Kunkel was surely the smartest man who ever lived, and Tony wanted to impress him. Not until he was well into the “C__” list (cedar, seesaw, senior, seashore, seaside) did Tony realize that he was faced with a dilemma.
“What if I come up with the right answer to the glub-blubs?” Tony thought, and shuddered.
The fonder he became of Augie Kunkel, the less he wanted to find Noel Carillon.
Tina’s Plan29
Tina believed in action, not list-making. She didn’t bother telling the syllable-counters about her new solution:
See personalad, Iowa (or Idaho) newspaper.
Every step was planned. Tina realized it would do no good looking up a personal ad placed more than twenty years ago; but someone who knew Noel might still be reading the same paper. She would place her own ads and pay for them with baby-sitting money.
Tina spent an afternoon in the library copying down names, addresses, and advertising rates of newspapers beginning with “Iowa” and “Idaho.” Then she remembered there was something else she wanted to look up.
“Where are your medical books, please?”
The librarian recommended a biography of the doctors Mayo. It didn’t contain the information Tina wanted, but she became so engrossed in the book that she had to be reminded of the late hour.
“Young lady, where have you been?” It was Mr. Banks again. “Mrs. Carillon has been beside herself with worry. And the fish is getting cold.”
“Pork chops,” said Tony.
Tina washed her hands quickly and sat down to dinner. Mr. Banks was explaining why he was moving to New York City.
“This family takes up so much of my time these days that all I do is travel back and forth. By the way, Mrs. Carillon, what are your plans for the summer?”
Tony choked on a piece of meat, and Mrs. Carillon whacked him on the back.
“That’s what comes of gulping down food, young man,” Mr. Banks said after the fuss was over. “I was asking about your summer plans. Not some wild-goose chase, I hope, or some expensive seaside resort?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Mrs. Carillon replied. She couldn’t bring herself to think about leaving her seals.
Tony knew what they were going to do, but he wasn’t going to tell Mr. Banks that they would remain in the city because he had to repeat history in summer school. He quickly changed the subject.
“Mr. Banks, can you think of a word beginning with a ‘C’ sound?”
“C.P.A. That means certified public accountant.”
“What about a word ending in ‘al’?”
“Legal,” answered Mr. Banks.
“How do you spell it?”
“Young man, what do they teach you in that school?”
“How about ‘I’?”
“You should say: ‘How about me?’ What do they teach
... ?”
“What word can you think of with a ‘new’ sound in it?”
Mr. Banks, for once, didn’t mind being interrupted. He enjoyed showing off his quick wit. “Internal Revenue Service,” he answered. “That’s the income tax bureau.”
Tony shook his head over the excess of syllables, but Tina thought Mr. Banks proved his point well. If Noel’s message was about money, then surely he must be dead.
“Another pork chop, Tony?” Mrs. Carillon asked.
“What’s for dessert?”
“Camembert cheese.”
“Another pork chop, please.”
Mrs. Carillon looked at her watch. “Good heavens, I’ve almost missed the racing results.”
“Racing results?” shouted the horrified Mr. Banks. “Have you taken up gambling on top of everything else?”
Mrs. Carillon, transistor radio to her ear, didn’t hear the question. Tina allayed Mr. Banks’ fear.
“She doesn’t gamble. She just loves the horse Christmas Bells and Seymour. . .”
“He won! He won!” Mrs. Carillon turned off the radio, all smiles. “Mark my word, Christmas Bells is a shoo-in to win the Triple Crown.”
Summer in New York
Christmas Bells won the Triple Crown.
The sea lions in Central Park grew so fat their keeper had to eliminate regular feedings.
Tina became the busiest baby-sitter in the building. Although too absorbed in her books to keep a close eye on the accident-prone children, she disinfected their wounds and applied gauze and tape bandages with a near professional skill.