by Tom Birdseye
Celina’s scream split the air. “NO, YOU’LL KILL IT!”
Pellinore cowered. Patrick stopped in mid-swing. “I thought you wanted me to get it off.”
She took a deep breath. “I do, but I don’t want you to hurt it. It’s our Questing Beast.”
Patrick lowered the stick and sat back in the sand. “Our Questing Beast?” he said, trying to figure out just how it was that a person with a lizard biting her nose could be concerned about Questing Beasts. Maybe he hadn’t heard her right. “You don’t want me to hit it because you want to pretend it’s a Questing Beast?”
“Yes,” Celina said, “we need a Questing Beast.” She looked at him, then at the lizard, which was so close it made her go cross-eyed. Patrick couldn’t help but giggle.
Celina frowned. “It’s not funny,” she said, but then giggled, too. Pellinore barked and wagged his tail.
Patrick stifled his laughter, got up, and began to look around the wash again, calling over his shoulder. “OK, we need something to pry its jaws loose.” He poked at a pile of flood debris.
Celina giggled again. “You know, I just realized that this doesn’t hurt! It scared me at first, that’s all. I’ve got a lizard biting my nose, and it really doesn’t hurt!”
“Good,” Patrick said, still looking, “because there’s nothing here that will work to get it off.” Celina was laughing now. “Wow! Wait until I tell my mom and dad about this!”
“You could wear it home for dinner,” Patrick quipped, still looking for something to pry with. Then he had an idea. “I know!” he said, and before Celina could ask any more questions, he pulled her up and dragged her toward the bicycle—running across the arroyo with a chuckwalla attached to her nose.
By the time they got to the stoplight at the corner of Mesa Avenue and Verde Road, Celina was using her predicament like a practical joke. She waved at a woman in a red sports car, pointed to the chuckwalla, and yelled, “What will they think of next?” The woman stared with her mouth hanging open. Celina waved and pedaled off behind Patrick, then burst into laughter.
They wheeled into the parking lot of Lupita’s Mexican Café. Patrick jumped off his bike and ran back to help Celina off hers. She was coasting to an awkward stop, one hand on the handlebars, the other on the chuckwalla.
“Did you see the look on that lady’s face?” she wanted to know, still laughing.
Patrick smiled as he took her by the arm and led her toward the café. “Yep.” He reached for the door handle. “Paulette works here. She’ll help us get the chuckwalla off.”
Celina jerked him back so hard, he almost fell down. “Paulette is your mom, right?”
Patrick recovered his balance and nodded. “Yeah, so what?”
A look of panic appeared in Celina’s eyes. “I don’t want to meet your mother for the first time with a lizard on my nose.”
Patrick thought she was still joking. He laughed and waved her off. “Don’t worry,” he said, turning toward the restaurant door again, “she’ll think it’s funny, too.”
“No!” Celina said, her voice rising quickly toward a screech. She lowered it, but her eyes remained fierce with emotion. “I don’t want her to see me like this. I’d be too embarrassed. I’d feel stupid!”
Patrick stared. He had begun to think Celina was perfect, could do no wrong, always knew the right thing to say—to anybody. Her parents were professors. She lived in a house full of books. She spoke two languages, had lived in Spain, could read The Sword in the Stone as if she were born with it in her mouth. And yet, here she was …
“OK,” Patrick said, ushering Celina to the back of the restaurant. “I’ll sneak a spoon from the silverware tray.” He sat her down by the service-entrance door. “Just leave it to me. Everything is under control.”
Chapter 10
Eeeeee!
Patrick couldn’t get the spoon far enough into the lizard’s mouth to get any leverage. And despite everything, Celina continued to insist that he not be too forceful. “You might hurt the Questing Beast!”
A butter knife did no better. Celina wouldn’t allow the use of the blade, even though Patrick kept assuring her that it wasn’t sharp.
Celina nixed the fork, too, before Patrick even got out the door with it. She’d been stabbed with one once by her two-year old cousin, it seemed. “And it really hurt! The lizard doesn’t.”
Patrick was sure a pair of serving tongs would do the trick. “But they don’t,” he said moments later through clenched teeth.
Pellinore, who had actually been very good up until then, started to whine. Patrick took a deep breath and turned to go back into the café to see what else he could find—only to look up and see Paulette standing in the doorway. “Oh, hi!” he said, moving quickly to block her view of Celina.
“What are you doing here?” Paulette said, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She looked tired, but her question wasn’t an irritated one. She smiled when she looked at her son. “I thought you were coming for lunch. We’re just now getting the last of the breakfast mess cleaned up and—” Then she noticed Celina. She peered around Patrick to get a better look. “Who’s that with you?”
“Oh, that’s …” Patrick hesitated. “That’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend!” Paulette beamed. “Well, please introduce me!” And before Patrick could say anything to prepare his mother, she stepped around him and looked down at Celina.
“Eeeeee!” Paulette’s scream pierced the air. She stepped back, then leaned forward, a look of pure horror on her face. “What? … How? … Oh, no!”
Celina turned beet red and looked as if she might start crying. But within two seconds Paulette recovered from her shock and began to laugh. It wasn’t a mean laugh, the kind that would make a person feel like they’re being made fun of, but wonderfully high and gentle, contagious.
Patrick began to laugh almost as soon as Paulette did. Pellinore wagged his tail. Celina stared at Paulette and Patrick for a moment. Then she let out a giggle, and so it went—all three of them laughing and laughing by the service-entrance door.
However, there was still a certain chuckwalla attached to Celina’s nose. Despite how funny it looked, and despite Celina’s assurances that it really didn’t hurt, everyone agreed that it had to come off.
So Paulette and Patrick set about the job together, trying other kitchen tools, giggling as they worked.
But the Questing Beast simply wouldn’t let go.
Paulette went for reinforcements, then more reinforcements: Jean the waiter, Carlos the cook, Billy the dishwasher, even Lupita, the café owner. They all reacted in the same way—shock, disbelief, then laughter. They all had advice.
“Blow in its face. Somewhere I heard lizards don’t like wind.”
“Wait until it gets hungry. Gotta open the mouth to eat, right?”
“Tell it a joke, Carlos. It’ll let go when it laughs.”
“How about we call a tow truck?”
“Lupita could sing. That would scare it off.”
“Hush, you two, before I roll you up in a burrito grande. Paulette, have you tried tickling this lizard under the chin?”
Lots of advice, but none of it helpful. The Questing Beast still wouldn’t let go.
It was Patrick who finally came up with the solution—water.
“I don’t get it,” said Paulette.
Neither did anyone else.
“Huh?”
“¿Qué, mi amigo! Agua?”
“Water? How water?”
Patrick just smiled, went inside again, and hauled a sloshing bucket of water out. Everyone watched as he set it down in front of Celina. “Lower the lizard in,” he instructed her. “All the way in, including your nose. Breathe through your mouth.”
Lupita slapped Patrick on the back so hard he almost fell over. “Of course! ¡Sí! Hold that rascal under the water until it needs air and has to let go! ¡Bueno!” She grinned at Paulette. “You’ve got one smart boy here!”
&nb
sp; Paulette beamed. “That’s what I keep trying to tell him.”
Patrick beamed, too. At that moment he felt smart, and brave. He motioned Celina toward the bucket. “Go on, I think this will really work.”
Celina looked at the lizard, then at Patrick. “Won’t it drown?”
Billy the dishwasher shook his head. “Naw. Patrick’s onto something. Give it a try.”
“Yeah, give it a try,” everyone chorused.
Celina looked to Patrick for reassurance. He nodded. “It’ll work.”
“Well, OK.” She took a deep breath, hesitated, took in even more air, and then carefully lowered the Questing Beast into the bucket.
Patrick and the staff at Lupita’s Mexican Café gathered around Celina and the bucket like a football team in a huddle. All held their breath. All waited … and waited … and waited. Celina took a breath through her mouth. Everyone else did, too. Then the chuckwalla needed more air and let go. Celina fell back, free at last.
Everyone cheered. “Yay!” Pellinore danced around the circle, barking.
Patrick quickly fished the chuckwalla out of the bucket and held it up. “All right!” he yelled. There was no more room on his face for a bigger grin. Everyone was clapping and slapping him on the back. Lupita, Paulette’s boss, had said he was smart. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt this good in his entire life.
And to top it all off, Lupita motioned with her arms and said, “Now, come on inside. We’ll take a look at this poor girl’s nose to be sure it’s still in one piece, and I’ll treat you both to an ice-cream sundae—on the house, no charge!” She grinned. “That is, if you leave that rascally lizard out here in a box.”
Chapter 11
Merlyn’s Magic
Patrick and Celina brought the Questing Beast back to The Kingdom and gave it an honored cage to live in (an old aquarium Celina fished out of her closet).
“Let’s decorate his castle,” Celina suggested. The row of teeth marks across the top of her nose had already started to fade. “I’ll do a coat of arms to put on the front.”
Patrick made spires, which he taped to the cage corners. He drew flags that looked as though they were flapping in the wind, and stuck them in the spire tops with toothpicks.
“I wish I could draw like that,” Celina said. “Could you do a picture of the Questing Beast?”
Patrick ended up doing six. The two friends worked on his cardboard castle, too, adding several turrets and a front gatehouse Celina said was called a barbican. They played chess, although it seemed that Patrick won more and more of the time. The matchup was getting uneven.
Pellinore took to sitting motionless by the Questing Beast’s cage, staring intently, only to let out a whine and fidget uncontrollably if the chuckwalla so much as moved its tail. Patrick thought this was particularly funny. Some days he would spend as much time watching Pellinore as Pellinore spent watching the Questing Beast.
Celina checked out several books from the library on reptiles of the desert and read aloud the chuckwalla’s habits. “‘It likes rocky areas, particularly around creosote bushes [like where we found it]. It eats palo verde leaves, and ironwood leaves, and wolfberry leaves. [What’s wolfberry?] And it gets its water from its food.’ Wow! It doesn’t need to drink!”
But most of the time in The Kingdom was spent with Celina continuing to read from The Sword in the Stone. The story was getting better and better. Kay and Wart were on a quest with Robin Hood and Little John and Maid Marian to rescue Dog Boy, old man Wat, and Friar Tuck before they were enchanted by fairies. It was very exciting. Patrick and Celina couldn’t wait to find out what would happen next.
Still, Patrick made Celina begin each day with those first lines that had captured him: “There was a clearing in the forest, a wide sward of moonlit grass, and the white rays shone full upon the tree trunks on the opposite side.…” Her voice danced over the words. The knight, “standing still, and silent and unearthly,” would appear in his mind as soon as she began. The details of that wonderful world within the book became as clear to him as as the knight’s lance, “outlined against the velvet sky.” He was there when she read. He could feel the story as much as hear it.
And there was that main character, Wart. Patrick grew positive that T. H. White had really been thinking of him, Patrick Lowe, when he had written about Wart. Two kids, just trying to get along in a world that wasn’t as fair as it should be. Patrick and Wart. Wart and Patrick. Two kids, trying to feel OK. Patrick would beg for Celina to go on reading about Wart and complained when she had to quit and go home for dinner. It was just like the old days before he started school, when Paulette had more time and energy to read him stories, when books were something that held no demands. Celina never asked him to even touch The Sword in the Stone, much less read to her. With her it was fun, just simple fun.
Before long Celina had Patrick drawing all of the characters in the story. “Now listen to this description of Wart, then draw what you see in your mind.”
“How about cutouts for all of them?” Patrick offered when he had finished Merlyn the wizard.
Celina grinned. “Oooo, great! You draw, and I’ll cut them out.”
Soon the shelves of The Kingdom were lined with the entire cast of The Sword in the Stone. When a particularly great scene in the book was reached—like in chapter 12, during the battle with the monstrous wyverns and griffins—Celina would stop, and the two of them would talk about what they thought might happen next, which character would do what, how they would finish that scene if they were T. H. White. Then Celina would read on. They would laugh and give each other high fives if they guessed the next turn of the story right, or marvel at T. H. White’s skill if he was able to surprise them.
The Kingdom began to overflow with books. Celina brought in big volumes on the Middle Ages—”My dad let me borrow them!”—and read to Patrick about the knight’s code of conduct, how they were to behave. The books called it “the code of chivalry,” and listed the qualities a knight was supposed to have: truthfulness, loyalty, humility, generosity, joyful courage, and the will to fight for what was right.
Patrick loved it. Nowhere did the code say anything about reading, and the young Wart in The Sword in the Stone had trouble with books, too. The more Patrick learned, the more he imagined himself as part of it all. He was indeed the great White Knight—truthful, loyal, humble, generous, courageous, and always willing to fight for what was right. Celina insisted she’d be Merlyn the wizard if she were alive back then. “Even if he is a man. I’d be the one to work the magic.”
And it seemed to Patrick that she was doing just that. Life had taken on a magical quality since Celina had come. Even school was going better. Mrs. Romero had asked him to draw a bird for the class newspaper and exclaimed over it in front of everybody when he was done. And with the weather finally cooling down, Mrs. Nagle didn’t seem so irritable, even though the maintenance department still hadn’t sent anyone to fix her air conditioner. She’d patted him on the back just the other day and said, “I like the way you’re working so hard.”
Patrick had smiled and said, “Thanks.” Because he was working hard. For some reason, reading The Sword in the Stone at home with Celina made doing worksheets and drills for Mrs. Nagle seem easier.
Yeah, things were good, even Andy’s moods. Maybe Andy’s dad being in jail wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “Pass the ball to Patrick!” he often yelled during soccer games, and picked Patrick first when choosing his team. Patrick liked that feeling and wanted everything to go on the way it was, forever. Slowly, he began to believe that it would.
Then Mrs. Romero made an announcement.
Chapter 12
Wetback
It was a Monday morning, right after lunch count, when Mrs. Romero stood in front of the class with a big smile on her face and said, “There will be a school chess club starting next week. It will meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays in this classroom during lunch recess, and I will supervise it. Chess
is a wonderful game. Please join in the fun if you know how to play or want to learn.”
Celina leaned across the aisle toward Patrick, eyes shining with excitement, and whispered, “You’ve got to join! You’re the best!”
Patrick shook his head. Playing alone or with Celina was one thing. Playing at school around a bunch of kids was another. He’d never been in a chess club. He shook his head even harder. No. No way.
“But you’re so good,” Celina insisted. “I haven’t been able to beat you for the last ten games. You could be school champion!”
Patrick acted as though he didn’t hear, rummaging around in his desk. Where was that good drawing pencil?
Celina sighed, and let it go … until the next day.
She and Patrick were walking down the hall together when Andy and Travis Macintosh came out of the boy’s bathroom. Andy had a black eye. Someone in class had whispered earlier that his dad had gotten out of jail just that morning, immediately gotten drunk, and then hit Andy. No one knew for sure, and no one was asking Andy. It had been obvious from the moment he walked in the classroom that he was in a bad mood.
“Got a boyfriend, huh, Celina?” Andy said. “I guess you love Patrick.”
“Just ignore him,” Patrick whispered as they walked past.
Andy turned to Travis. “But how could anybody love a wetback?”
Celina whirled around with fire in her eyes, her fists clenched. “Don’t call me that! I’m just as much an American as you are!”
Patrick touched her elbow. “Forget it,” he said. He kept his voice calm, even though he didn’t feel that way inside. “Just ignore him.” He steered Celina away.
Although he wasn’t always successful at it, Patrick had had plenty of experience at practicing what he preached. He was able to ignore Andy’s continued insults all day, even on the soccer field. For Celina, though, it was a constant battle, especially after Andy announced that he was signing up for the chess club himself. “I’m the best in the whole school,” he sneered at her. “I guess I have to sign up, huh, wetback?”