by Elise Broach
Mama nodded. “Yes, yes, of course, you must be starving. Here, sit down and eat something. It’s been a long day, for all of us.”
So the three beetles gathered around the rectangular pink eraser that served as their kitchen table, and Mama heaped it with foil platters of hearty digestibles: tiny steaming broccoli florets from the Pompadays’ supper, two cubes of cheddar from William’s lunch, crispy brown chicken skin, a lemon rind, a crushed potato chip, and a cherry Life Savers for dessert. Marvin hungrily devoured every morsel, and between mouthfuls haltingly relayed the story of Dürer, the missing Virtue drawings, his own effort to copy Fortitude, and Christina’s plan to stage a theft from the museum.
His parents were so astonished they stopped eating halfway through the meal and just listened. When Marvin was finished, Papa shook his head. “Well, that is amazing. Faking the theft of their own picture, huh?”
“Not the real picture, though,” Marvin said. “My copy of it.”
Mama smiled at him. “I’m sure it was lovely, Marvin. I wish I could have seen it! But humans lead such complicated lives, don’t they? Why would people steal something they couldn’t sell or even hang on their own wall?”
Marvin hesitated. He understood that, somehow. “Maybe just to have it. Because it’s so beautiful . . . then you could look at it whenever you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t think it makes sense,” Mama said. “And it’s wrong.”
“Humans are masters at making their own trouble,” Papa agreed.
“I’m just glad you’re home safe, Marvin. It’s time to put all this behind you.”
Marvin hesitated. “I can’t, Mama.”
“What do you mean?”
“Christina Balcony, the woman at the museum, needs James to make another copy of Fortitude. A really good one . . . which means he needs me.”
“To do another drawing?” Mama shook her head vigorously. “Darling, no! You simply can’t. It’s too risky.”
“Your mother’s right, Marvin,” Papa chimed in. “The family didn’t like this from the beginning. We wanted you to get rid of your drawing altogether, remember? You can’t get more involved. It’s dangerous for everyone.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Marvin. I know you want to help James,” his mother said gently. “You tried your best. But it’s time to let the humans work this out on their own.”
“Mama, please,” Marvin protested. “You don’t understand. James can’t do the drawing himself. He’s counting on me.”
Mama took Marvin’s leg firmly and led him toward the bedroom. “What I understand is that this has gone on long enough. It’s an elaborate deceit, that’s what it is. For a good purpose or not, it’s still wrong. Don’t you remember the saying, ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive’?”
Marvin rolled his eyes. “Mama, that’s a spider saying.”
“It applies just as well here. You’re helping James to mislead people. You’ve been missing twice overnight, under circumstances that could have gotten you badly hurt or even killed. Enough, darling. It’s time for bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted after your adventure at the museum.”
“But, Mama—”
“Good night, Marvin. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She nestled him in his cotton-ball bed, kissed his shell, and left the room.
Marvin lay on his side, wide awake, staring at the wall. Today was Monday. James was supposed to return to the museum after school on Wednesday to do the new drawing. He thought of the boy hovering over the blank page, with no idea what to do. How could Marvin abandon him? This was the very heart of friendship, Marvin thought—your willingness to help each other in a jam, to take a friend’s problems as your very own.
Marvin sighed. He had to think of something before Wednesday afternoon, or James would be in big trouble.
In the Solarium
Marvin slept late the next morning, exhausted from the events of the last few days. When he finally awoke, his mother was at his bedside, smiling.
“Marvin, Papa and I thought of a nice outing for you today, something to take your mind off things. Edith, Albert, and Elaine are going to join us for a picnic in the solarium. We haven’t been there in weeks, and it will lift your spirits, darling. The maids are coming at nine, though, so you have to get ready now.”
At the far end of the Pompadays’ apartment was a small, bright, glassed-in sunporch filled with flowering plants. It was the beetles’ only regular experience of nature, and it was especially appealing in winter, when the exotic greenery and sweet-smelling blossoms offered respite from the cold gray days unfolding beyond the apartment windows. Since it was too far for an easy day trip, the beetles usually waited till Tuesdays when the maids came, catching a ride on the underside of the vacuum-cleaner canister. The maids were in the regular habit of cleaning the kitchen first and then the solarium, because they both sported tile floors that required a particular vacuum attachment.
Usually the prospect of a day in the solarium would have thrilled Marvin, since it was a veritable amusement park for young beetles. But today it just seemed a distraction from more important pursuits. “Okay,” he said glumly, still thinking about James and the drawing.
“Oh, Marvin, please! Cheer up. It will be fun. Have a bite of breakfast quickly—bacon this morning! James must have missed the trash can when he scraped his plate—and we’ll get going. Look . . . Elaine is here already.”
His mother returned to the kitchen, and Marvin rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes as his cousin poked her head around the doorway.
“Marvin! I can’t believe you went to the museum without me! It sounds fantastic. Well, scary, of course. I mean, VERY scary, what with you getting swatted by that woman and everything. Good thing she didn’t squash you flat. What if she mistook you for a mosquito? Ka-POW! You’d be dead meat right now.”
Marvin frowned at her. “I know.”
“I wish I’d been with you! You know how I’m dying to see the world. I never get to leave this old place. Borrrrring.”
Marvin felt a vague twinge of sympathy. It was certainly a good thing to be safe, but it could be tedious in its way too. You always wondered what you were missing. A little danger was worth it just to mix things up, to add some surprise to life. A little danger, he thought.
Marvin bolted down his breakfast, and then he, Elaine, Aunt Edith, Uncle Albert, Mama, and Papa all made their way out of the cupboard to their preferred waiting spot for a vacuum-cleaner ride: the underlip of the dishwasher. Hidden from view, they stood patiently until the maids had finished vacuuming the kitchen floor. As soon as the two women turned to collect their cleaning supplies, the six beetles dashed toward the vacuum-cleaner canister, scrambled up one dusty wheel, and dove for cover under its hard metal belly. Between them, Papa and Uncle Albert awkwardly balanced the picnic hamper, which was fashioned from the fingertip of a yellow rubber glove. It was bulging with food, tied shut with a bit of twine.
One of the maids gave the vacuum cleaner a tug, and it scooted easily across the kitchen floor, through the hallway, and across the living-room rug to the solarium. There, she paused to unlatch the French doors, then dragged the canister over the door saddle and bumped it onto the terra-cotta tile. This was the roughest part of the journey, and inevitably one of the beetles nearly fell off. Today it was Mama, who had released her grip on the canister momentarily to tighten the hamper’s twine. “My dear, hold on!” Papa bellowed, grabbing the edge of her shell at the last minute.
And so they all made it safely to the solarium. They dropped off the canister and hid beneath it until they were sure the maids were distracted, and then darted across the floor. It was always a challenge to keep the picnic hamper out of sight during this part of the trip. Even though it was tiny by human standards, its bright yellow color attracted attention. Quickly, Mama and Aunt Edith led the way up the leg of one of the plant stands—a staggered series of shelves framed in ornate wrought-iron scrollwork, laden with flo
wering plants.
As soon as they reached the top, Elaine scurried off, pulling Marvin with her. “We’re going exploring,” she yelled.
“Meet us in the herb garden for lunch,” Mama called after them. “We’ll have a nice oregano salad with our picnic. Around noon, okay?”
“Okay, Mama,” Marvin answered, diving under a lavender mum with Elaine.
The solarium was full of diverting entertainment for Marvin and Elaine. Elaine liked to start at the box of geraniums, where Mrs. Pompaday kept her metal gardening spade. The spade was usually leaning against the wall, tilted at the perfect angle to be used as a slide. Today, they climbed up the wall to where its wooden handle rested, delicately reached across and secured footing there, then shinnied down to the metal trough.
“You first,” Elaine announced. She never liked to go until she’d been reassured that there were no unpleasant surprises at the bottom, where the tip of the spade disappeared into the crumbly earth. Once, the spade had been propped against the base of a geranium, and Elaine, not noticing, had whooshed down the slide directly into the woody stalk, hitting it head-on and almost knocking herself out.
Marvin climbed into position, gripping the edge of the spade with his two hind legs. “Here I go . . .” he said.
He let go of the metal and shot down the spade like a bullet.
“Whooooooooooooooo,” he yelled, whizzing through space, the geraniums a blur of orange and green at the periphery of his vision.
“Pick up your legs, you’ll go faster,” Elaine called after him.
Just before he hit bottom, Marvin launched himself off the spade and into the air, sailing over the soil and landing in one of the geranium blooms.
“That was awesome!” Elaine cried delightedly. “My turn—watch this!”
She flipped onto her back and, with legs waving gaily in the air, soared down the slide even faster than Marvin had . . . although, he noted, she had insufficient leverage to fly off the bottom, so she crashed instead, thudding into the earthen hollow at the base of the spade.
“Good one,” he called approvingly.
“Let’s do a train,” Elaine suggested.
They climbed to the top of the spade and linked themselves, with Marvin’s hind legs grasping Elaine’s front ones, and off they went, faster than fast with their double weight propelling them down the slide.
They spent most of the morning coming up with variations on this theme: the double-decker (one on top of the other), the spinning teacup (both sitting upright, with all six legs linked), the double belly flop (side by side, front legs touching, launching off the top of the spade into midair). Finally, they sunk into the soft earth, thoroughly exhausted.
“Is it lunchtime yet?” Elaine wanted to know. “I’m starving.”
“Me too,” Marvin replied. “But look at the clock.”
The blue and green wall clock, decorated with a ceramic relief of morning glories, hung on the opposite wall between the large windows. Marvin could see that its vine-ensconced hands exactly divided the face. The beetles had worked out the basics of telling time from long observation of the big clock on the kitchen wall—it was handy to keep track of Pompaday mealtimes. While Marvin couldn’t identify numbers, he knew that the clock’s hands would both be pointing straight up at noon.
“We have a little while longer,” he told Elaine.
“Hmmm,” said Elaine. “I know! Let’s see what the turtle is up to.” She gave Marvin a challenging look. Technically, they were not supposed to go anywhere near the turtle aquarium, as Elaine knew full well. Both Mama and Aunt Edith deemed it entirely too dangerous.
Marvin hesitated. As long as they stayed outside the glass, what harm could there be? The turtle was sluggish and indifferent to visitors anyway, unlikely to notice them.
“Okay,” Marvin said.
“Really?” Elaine squealed in delight. “I was sure you’d say no. I think you’re getting braver, Marvin.”
She thumped his shell approvingly and scuttled across the geranium bed, along the wrought-iron shelf, then down one leg of the plant stand to the floor. Marvin followed her, glancing around to make sure the maids were gone. It never took them long to clean the solarium, but they always left the French doors open for a while to air the room out. Mrs. Pompaday would close them in the evening, when the beetles had long since returned home. On rare occasions, Mama and Papa organized a camping trip, and the whole family stayed overnight. But the grown-ups were always careful to watch the human comings and goings, because, as Papa noted, the last thing they needed was for the Pompadays to spy a beetle and decide to wage a wholesale fumigation campaign in this pleasant vacation spot. That might ruin it for good.
“The coast is clear,” Marvin told her.
“Go behind the table,” Elaine urged. “So our parents won’t see us.”
Marvin led the way behind the large wooden table where the turtle aquarium rested in the center, surrounded by small flowerpots of orchids and violets. He climbed up the plaster wall, over the lip of the table, and along the polished surface to the glass corner of the aquarium. The tank was half-filled with murky green water. It had a large flat rock on one side—with a shallow plastic food bowl in the middle of it—where the turtle climbed out to sun himself when he wasn’t swimming. He was rarely swimming, it seemed to Marvin, and today, true to form, he was hunched impassively on the edge of the rock, next to the food bowl.
“He’s not doing much,” Marvin noted.
“Oh, he never is, is he?” Elaine scoffed. “Boring old thing.” She climbed a few inches up the side of the glass. “Let’s see if we can get his attention.”
“Elaine,” Marvin said, worried. “I don’t think you should do that.”
“Come on, it’s perfectly safe. I’m on the outside.”
“I know, but we’re not even supposed to be over here.” Marvin peered in either direction nervously. If one of the grown-ups saw Elaine climbing the side of the aquarium, there would certainly be a to-do.
“Are you coming?” Elaine asked impatiently.
Marvin sighed. Reluctantly, he climbed a couple of inches up the glass. It was slippery and cool underfoot.
Elaine was several inches above him, waving her legs at the turtle. “Yoo-hoo! Over here, you big lug . . . heads up! Look sharp!”
The turtle didn’t budge.
“Oh, honestly. He’s blind as a bat.” Elaine crawled toward the top edge of the aquarium.
“Elaine, don’t,” Marvin protested. “You’re too close. You’ll fall in.”
“No, I won’t,” Elaine retorted. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter if I did. That turtle is too old and too tired and too dumb to care.”
Marvin climbed a little farther. As he was approaching the middle of the wall, he saw a flash of something—so quick he wasn’t sure he’d seen it—and then thunk! The side of the aquarium shook with a force that threw him to the ground.
Why, that sly old thing, Marvin thought. The turtle must have spotted him after all. He’d lunged at the wall of the tank, not realizing Marvin was on the other side, out of reach, and now thrashed through the water along the wall of the tank, his sleek head moving back and forth.
“Did you see that?” Marvin called to Elaine. He crawled back up the wall of glass. When she didn’t answer, he looked up.
Elaine was nowhere to be seen.
“Elaine!” Marvin shouted. Maybe when the turtle rammed the glass she’d fallen over backward too. He clung to the glass and looked around, scanning the round, furry leaves of the violets, the pale orchid blossoms. “Elaine, where are you?”
Still no response. Marvin, increasingly frantic, climbed farther up the side of the aquarium for a better view. “Elaine!”
Then he saw her. She was floating on her back in the water below, perfectly still, while the turtle dove and surfaced nearby.
Turtle-Beetle Battle
She must have toppled over the edge when the turtle struck the glass.
“Elaine
, don’t move!” Marvin cried to her. “Don’t make any noise! He doesn’t see you yet. I’m coming.”
Thank goodness she was on her back, Marvin thought, because Elaine was definitely not a swimmer. On her back, at least she could float . . . but she couldn’t do anything to save herself. And with the turtle careening through the water like that, it was only a matter of time till he saw her.
Marvin dashed around the rim of the tank, his eyes never leaving his cousin. When he reached the back of the aquarium, he cautiously climbed over the edge and started down the inside wall. He was too high up for the turtle to see him, but he had to make it all the way down the side unnoticed.
Elaine was staring up at Marvin with huge frightened eyes. The turtle glided and dipped through the water, inches away, his long glistening neck thrashing back and forth like a sea monster’s.
Marvin waited till the turtle was facing the front of the tank, then ran quickly down the back wall. The glass was slippery with condensation. As soon as the turtle turned toward him, Marvin froze. Elaine was drifting toward the large rock, and the turtle was now headed that way, stumpy legs churning the water.
Marvin tried to think what to do. The easiest thing would be to crawl onto the rock and pull her out when she floated close enough. But there wasn’t time. The turtle was swimming straight for her.
“Elaine,” he cried, “when I grab your leg, hold tight!”
Taking a deep breath, Marvin dove off the wall directly into the cloudy green water.
Immediately he was submerged. As soon as he opened his eyes he could see the turtle’s massive underbelly above him, his legs thrashing toward Elaine, who was caught in the propulsion, spinning wildly.
Marvin shot up toward Elaine’s black shell, reaching blindly for her leg. He sensed rather than saw the snapping jaws of the turtle just as he yanked Elaine away with him into the depths.