As she ran, Gran rose up in the buggy—rose up and then climbed down and went to meet her, striding with long, strong steps. They came together and Gran seized the blossom. Color seemed to flood from it up into her face. And as she stood there, tears running down her cheeks, the breeze came up and whispered once more: True to yo-o-o-ou.
Later, as the buggy rolled away, Gran said briskly to her son, “We may have to lay a new floor, George, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. And the chimney can be built back up with the same old bricks.”
“I can do a lot of the work myself,” he said. “We’ll rest up at home for a day or two and then bring everybody back and get started. I need a vacation, anyway. Exercise. Do you know I haven’t been swimming in years?”
“I know,” said Gran. “You’re white as a clam.”
As their talk went on, Jenny sat looking backward at the battered house dropping away behind them. And then she saw a short, dark figure standing on the beach. He was looking after them, and on an impulse Jenny lifted an arm and waved. He stood motionless, and then he turned and walked away down the beach, but his step seemed lighter to her, now, than it had before. As he disappeared, the sea flashed its wide green smile and answered her wave with a careless toss of foam. She leaned far out of the buggy and shouted to it, “We’re coming back!” And then she settled herself in her seat and put a hand into the pocket of her pinafore. There was sand in the pocket, and she chased it around the thready inside seam with her fingertips, humming under her breath.
The buggy topped the rise and rolled on under a stand of trees, and after a while came to a fence along the road, behind which a few cows were grazing peacefully. There was a boy at work in the grass, picking up the litter of twigs and small branches scattered by the vanished storm, and as the buggy passed him, he straightened and stared at Jenny with wide-eyed admiration. She ignored him, holding her chin high, and said to herself, “That’s silly.” But she retied the ribbon that held back her hair, settling its bow more carefully, and smiled all the way to Springfield.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
When I was a preschooler, I wanted to be a pirate, and then when I started school, I wanted to be a librarian. But in the fourth grade, I got my copy of Alice in Wonderland / Alice Through the Looking-Glass and decided once and for all that I wanted to be an illustrator of stories for children.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
I didn’t even think about writing. My husband wrote the story for the first book. But then he didn’t want to do it anymore, so I had to start writing my own stories. After all, you can’t make pictures for stories unless you have stories to make pictures for.
What’s your first childhood memory?
I have a lot of preschool memories, all from when we lived in a little town just south of Columbus, Ohio. I kind of remember sitting in a high chair. And when I was a little older, I remember seeing Jack Frost looking in through the kitchen window. That was pretty surprising.
What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?
I don’t remember any. I’m probably just suppressing them all.
What’s your favorite childhood memory?
I think I liked best the times when my sister and I would curl up next to our mother while she read aloud to us.
As a young person, who did you look up to most?
No question: my mother.
What was your worst subject in school?
Arithmetic. I think you call it math now.
What was your best subject in school?
Art. And after that, English.
What was your first job?
It was when I was a teenager. I worked in what we called the College Shop in a big downtown Cleveland (Ohio) department store called Higbee’s. But after that, I mostly worked in the pricing department of a washing machine factory.
How did you celebrate publishing your first book?
I don’t think I did anything special. By that time, I was beginning to get over my absolute astonishment at having found my editor in the first place. That was the most wonderful moment of all.
Where do you write your books?
I think about them for a long time before I actually start putting words on paper, and I think about them all over the place. Then, when I’m ready, I work at my computer in my workroom. But before, I always wrote them out longhand, sitting on my sofa in the living room. I wrote on a big tablet, and then I typed everything, paragraph by paragraph, on my typewriter, making changes as I went along.
Where do you find inspiration for your writing?
I mostly write about all the unanswered questions I still have from when I was in elementary school.
Which of your characters is most like you?
The main characters in all of my long stories are like me, but I think Winnie Foster, in Tuck Everlasting, is most like me.
When you finish a book, who reads it first?
Always my editor, Michael di Capua. His opinion is the most important one.
Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Neither one, really. I’m mostly a middle-of-the-day person.
What’s your idea of the best meal ever?
One that someone else cooked. And it has to have something chocolate for dessert.
Which do you like better: cats or dogs?
Cats to look at and to watch, but dogs to own.
What do you value most in your friends?
Good talk and plenty of laughing.
Where do you go for peace and quiet?
Now that my children are grown and gone into lives of their own, I have plenty of peace and quiet just sitting around the house.
What makes you laugh out loud?
Words. My father was very funny with words, and I grew up laughing at the things he said.
What’s your favorite song?
Too many to mention, but most of them are from the ’30s and ’40s, when songs were to sing, not to shout and wiggle to.
Who is your favorite fictional character?
No question: Alice from Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking-Glass.
What are you most afraid of?
I have a fear that is very common when we are little, and I seem to have hung on to it: the fear of being abandoned.
What time of year do you like best?
May is my favorite month.
What is your favorite TV show?
I don’t watch many shows anymore—just CNN News and old movies.
If you were stranded on a desert island, who would you want for company?
My husband, Sam.
If you could travel in time, where would you go?
Back to Middletown, Ohio, to Lincoln School on Central Avenue, to live through fifth grade again. And again and again.
What’s the best advice you have ever received about writing?
No one single thing. Too many good things to list.
What do you want readers to remember about your books?
The questions without answers.
What would you do if you ever stopped writing?
Spend all my time doing word puzzles and games, and practicing the good old songs on my piano.
What do you like best about yourself?
That I can draw, and play the good old songs on my piano.
What is your worst habit?
Always expecting things to be perfect.
What is your best habit?
Trying to make things as perfect as I can.
What do you consider to be your greatest accomplishment?
Right now, it’s a picture for a new book that hasn’t even been published yet. It’s a picture of a man in a washtub, floating on the ocean in a rainstorm. I’m really proud of that picture.
Where in the world do you feel most at home?
That’s a hard question. My family moved away from Middletown, Ohio (see the question/answer about time travel), when I was in the middle of sixth grade,
and we never went back. Even after all these years, though, Middletown is the place I think of when I think about “home.” I’ve lived in a lot of different places, though, and liked them all, so I don’t feel sorry for myself. It’s just that the word “home” has its own kind of special meaning.
What do you wish you could do better?
Everything. Cook, write, play the piano, everything.
What would your readers be most surprised to learn about you?
Maybe that I believe that writing books is a long way from being important. The most important thing anyone can do is be a teacher. As for those of us who write books, I often think we should all stop for fifty years. There are so many wonderful books to read, and not enough time to get around to all of them. But we writers just keep cranking them out. All we can hope for is that readers will find at least a little time for them, anyway.
Books by Natalie Babbitt
Dick Foote and the Shark
Phoebe’s Revolt
The Search for Delicious
Kneeknock Rise
The Something
Goody Hall
The Devil’s Storybook
Tuck Everlasting
The Eyes of the Amaryllis
Herbert Rowbarge
The Devil’s Other Storybook
Nellie: A Cat on Her Own
Bub, or The Very Best Thing
Ouch!
Elsie Times Eight
An Imprint of Holtzbrinck Publishers
THE EYES OF THE AMARYLLIS. Copyright © 1977 by Natalie Babbitt. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Square Fish, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Square Fish and the Square Fish logo are trademarks of Holtzbrinck Publishers, LLC and are used by Farrar, Straus and Giroux under license from Holtzbrinck Publishers, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 77-11862
ISBN3: 978-0-312-37008-4
Originally published in the United States by Farrar, Straus and Giroux
First Square Fish Edition: September 2007
www.squarefishbooks.com
The Eyes of the Amaryllis Page 8