“Ah, sorry about that. I was asleep and didn’t know what was happening. I heard about it when she woke me up. A misunderstanding. Yes, she can be rather—ah—difficult. She gets lonely, and that lends itself to insecurity and meanness. When she isn’t feeling her nerves, she’s—” He looked over.
“Yes?” asked Emma.
“Not that bad,” said Merlin.
Susan shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the pleasantries to be over. Finally she got impatient. “Merlin,” she said, “we came because I have a question. Can I ask you my question?”
“You just did,” said Merlin.
“Uh, no. I mean another one,” said Susan. “About the magic.” She continued quickly so that the wizard wouldn’t have a chance to say no. “I was just wondering why things aren’t wrapping up for us.”
“Wrapping up?” asked Merlin.
“Yes. In books, the magic wraps itself up, fixes things, especially for kids.”
“Ah, I see what you’re driving at.” The wizard smiled.
Susan went on. “That hasn’t happened for us. We used the magic, and found this dog.” Susan pointed to Bernice, still sitting, soggy, in the wagon. “But now we have nowhere to put her. We can’t keep her, and the grown-up who was watching her gave her back to us, so what I want to know is why we still have this problem. Why isn’t the magic taking care of her, wrapping up the loose ends for us?”
“Ah,” said Merlin, crouching down to help Bernice from the wagon. He patted her head and said, “This is a very good question. I have two answers for you.”
“Two?” asked Susan.
“The first is that the magic doesn’t do anything for you. Fate can only take you so far; the rest is up to you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Henry.
“I mean that in life, magic or not, there are a certain number of things you’re sure to encounter,” explained the wizard.
“Like the visions we saw?” asked Roy.
“Precisely like that,” said Merlin. “But as I explained before, what you do with them and where they’ll take you is not predetermined. You must think of life as a hallway filled with different doors. You are sure to see all the doors, but what happens to you at each turn depends on which door you open. Each door you open leads to a new hallway, and in each hallway, you’ll find more doors. Again and again … to infinity. Infinite doors and infinite futures. Magic can transport you to a door, and a vision can give you a taste of what you’ll find behind it, but you still have to make choices. Nothing is ever completely fixed.”
“But what does all that have to do with Bernice?” asked Emma, her arm around the dog’s neck.
“Well, you opened a door and found Bernice, right? You had a choice, and you chose to bring her home with you.” He looked at Roy. “You accepted that responsibility when you rescued her, didn’t you? You could have just as easily left her behind—”
“Hey! How do you know that?” asked Roy.
“I know most things,” said Merlin.
“So what now?” asked Henry.
“Now you have to open another door. You have to seek the correct solution. Ask for help.”
“But we did,” said Susan. “We did ask for help. We asked Lily.”
“Sometimes you have to try more than one door before you find what you seek,” said Merlin.
“But how do we find the right door?” asked Roy, puzzled. “How do we figure it out?” He looked down at Bernice and wrinkled his forehead.
“Sometimes you can’t figure things out so clearly,” said Merlin. “Sometimes you just have to try a few doors, make a mistake or two.”
Roy didn’t like that idea.
Susan started to say something, but she shut her mouth. Then she opened it again. Then she closed it.
Merlin looked down at her and finished wiping his face clean. “Go on, Susan,” he said softly. “Go ahead and try the door.”
“Wait!” said Susan. “You said there were two things. What’s the second?”
“Ah, the second,” said Merlin. “The second is that in any story—bear in mind that we are all living out stories—the solution tends to come right at the end, where it belongs. Things don’t wrap up midway through a tale. That’s just bad narrative. No book can resolve in its own middle.”
Susan chewed on this for a minute. Then she said slowly, “So, if we opened the right door, asked the right person to take Bernice, and that person said yes and things were fixed, then the story of Bernice might be over?”
“That particular story, yes,” said Merlin. “But then another story would begin. There are often sequels in life.”
Susan considered this. “And certain, ah—other stories connected to Bernice, they might be over too?”
“You never can tell,” said Merlin gently. “Everything is connected.”
“Hmmmm.” Susan eyed Merlin suspiciously.
Merlin eyed her back, but there was a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “Care to try me?” he asked.
“I’m thinking,” said Susan.
“Well, that’s good news,” said Merlin. “You’ve learned something, anyway.”
Bored with the length of the conversation, the others drifted off to see the unicorn.
“Okay,” said Susan, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
Merlin rubbed his hands together and waited.
“I wonder if,” Susan said, “maybe you’d like to take care of—”
“Yes?” Merlin asked. “Take care of—”
“Bernice!” blurted out Susan. “Would you like Bernice?”
Merlin grinned, as though he’d just won a game of checkers. “I have,” he said, “always been partial to large dogs.”
Susan let out a sigh, but whether it was a sigh of relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. She handed Merlin the leash.
“We won’t need that here,” said Merlin. He undid the dog’s collar, and Bernice gratefully gave the wizard’s newly shaven cheek a big lick. Then she bounded off, truly free for the first time in her entire life, to steal the unicorn’s food. Her limp was completely gone.
Across the yard, the others saw what was happening and ran back to where Susan and Merlin stood together.
“Merlin’s going to keep her,” said Susan. “Is that okay, Emma?”
“Oh, Bernice,” said Emma sadly, watching the dog romp. “I’ll miss you so much.”
“We all will.” Roy nodded.
“She’s a good old dog,” said Henry.
“Merlin,” asked Susan, speaking more quietly than before. “Can I ask you something else?”
The wizard gazed kindly down at her, and this time didn’t tease and say “You just did.” His voice was gentle when he asked, “What is it, Susan?”
“How did you learn to be … you?”
“What else could I ever be?” said Merlin.
“No, I mean, you live in a weird shack all by yourself, and you’re kind of, um, filthy?”
“Yes, that’s true,” said the wizard.
“Plus you’re alone a lot, and there’s nobody else like you in the world to keep you company, but you seem so happy.”
“I can only be what I am,” said Merlin. “And I’m happy, I suppose, because I don’t try to be anything else. I know myself. Do you see?”
“I guess so,” said Susan.
“You can’t expect to be other than you are,” said the wizard. “It’s a lot of work to pretend. Just like your magic wall has to remain a wall, and can only turn into other walls, people have to remain who they are. They can change the way they look, their outsides, maybe, but the essence of who they are never changes. Walls, people, even beasts. Why, look at Jeffrey! He can only be Jeffrey. You think he had it easy with the other foals in the pasture, living with an elephant tusk protruding from his head? Of course he didn’t, but he decided that instead of being a weird-looking horse, he’d be a unicorn. He invented himself.”
“What do you mean, invented?” asked Henry.
“You mean he was the very first unicorn?”
“I mean that he was, and remains, the only unicorn,” said Merlin. “The only one that ever was. I found him about a thousand years ago, or last month, depending on how you’re counting time. He’s a freak of nature, Jeffrey is, but a nice one. Every story you’ve ever heard about a unicorn was based on Jeffrey! He’s where the legend came from. An accident of a horse and a full moon, or that’s my best guess. Every unicorn tale since has sprung from his story, just as every myth springs from something real.”
“Oh my,” said Emma. This was a lot to think about.
“And now,” said Merlin, whistling the dog to his side, “that Bernice is here, I think it’s time for us to go.”
“Where are you going?” asked Susan.
“Not me, my dear, we,” said Merlin, waving his hands in the air. “As you’ve clearly surmised, things are wrapping up.”
And then, though none of them had been touching the wall, suddenly they were back in their field, at home, in Iowa. Merlin and Bernice were there too, standing in the shadow of the wall. The rain was gone, but a few gray clouds remained.
“It’s time,” said Merlin, “to say goodbye to your wall. You’ve reached the last chapter of this particular story.”
“Aw, no,” said Henry. “No way. Finders, keepers. It’s ours.”
Merlin shook his head.
“Will anything magic ever happen again?” asked Emma.
“Of course,” said the wizard. “Magic happens every day.”
“No, she means to us,” said Roy.
Merlin looked down at Roy thoughtfully, his gaze sincere and wise. The wizard inclined his head just the slightest bit, but instead of raising his eyes, he cocked his head to one side and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking deeply (or maybe just resting his lids).
The kids held their breath until Merlin opened his eyes and answered.
“I think,” he said, “you will discover that once you have found magic, or rather, once magic has found you, it is not unlikely that you will stumble upon magic again. Because now you have learned to see the magic.”
“You mean there’s more magic?” asked Roy. “Other kinds of magic around?”
“It is everywhere, magic,” said Merlin. “Always, and in the commonest places. Only most people don’t know what they’re looking for.”
For no reason that any of them could see, Bernice barked sharply.
“Will we always know how to see it?” asked Susan, more quietly than usual. “Even when we get … older?”
Merlin sighed. “Some outgrow magic,” he said sadly, “it’s true, but some people never lose it. They keep it with them always, and it becomes a part of who they are. You can usually tell a person who has kept it with them. They’re a little—different.” As he said this, a few wildflower petals fell from his cloak and landed on the ground. They were purple, almost exactly the color of Lily’s front porch.
“Enough chitchat! No reason to delay the inevitable,” said Merlin. “THE END!” As he spoke these two final words, he patted the wall, struck it firmly with the flat of his hand.
And then the wall, the huge wall, began to tumble. The kids gasped at the movement of the stones and their strange descent. They drifted, slowly and lightly, as though the wall were made of feathers. As the stones fell, they seemed to flatten and become two-dimensional. They fluttered like sheets of paper to the ground. When they hit the grass, they disappeared like snowflakes. They were there one second and gone the next.
When it was over, Merlin turned his back on them and looked off into the field. “Keep the key,” he said.
Henry, startled, reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He held it flat on his palm and stared at it. They all did, and while they were looking down, Merlin began to walk away, whistling. Bernice bounded after him, as happy as a dog can be.
“Bernice!” cried Emma. She blew a kiss.
“Will we see you again?” called out Roy. “Ever?”
“Who knows?” the wizard called back over his shoulder. “Besides me, I mean.” He chuckled as he made his way through the field.
They all watched the wizard and the dog grow smaller and smaller. At last Henry said, “I wonder why he’s walking. Why doesn’t he fly or something?”
Roy shrugged. “Maybe he just likes to walk.”
Then, in the distance, Bernice gave a delighted woof, and it was as though a spell was suddenly broken. Henry, Emma, Susan, and Roy looked around and found that the day was, well, there. The sun was peering from behind a cloud, and a faint breeze tickled them with rain. Overhead, a red-winged blackbird darted joyfully, with rapid bursts of fluttering wings. The field was green and lush and it was summertime in Iowa.
“Ha!” shouted Henry. “Last one home makes lunch!”
And they all began to run.
GREAT THANKS—
To the memory of the incomparable Edward Eager.
To the city of Iowa City, the real Quiet Falls.
To my Iowa family, the Pomas. I’m grateful and lucky to have married into such a clan.
To the friends of my Iowa years, who haunted the writing of this book—especially Thisbe Nissen, Sarah Townsend, Sonya Naumann, Annie Crawford, Atom Robinson, Kelly Pardekooper, Patrick Brickell, Dave Olson, Jeff Skinner, Jerry Sorokin, Steve Fugate, Mindy Ash, Margaret Schwartz, Sharone Levy, and Pieta and Constie Brown.
To my Atlanta friends, who made it possible to deliver a manuscript and a baby in the same year—Abbie Gulson, Elizabeth Lenhard, Joanna Davidson, Shenandoah Evans, Noelle York-Simmons, Amy Dingler, Emily Capps, Laurie Watel, Amanda French, and Aimee Goodman. And to Janet McKee, Jordan Ainsley, Emily Martin, Cindy Cahalen, and TeShaye Elder—who took good care of my boys so I could write.
To James Staub, Maria Weidener, Stacy Oborn, and Jacqui Carper, who know me.
To Tina Wexler, my agent, who tells the truth and has the very best laugh.
To my inspired editor, Mallory Loehr, who is not at all mimsy, and puts me at ease.
To Ellice Lee for making the words into an actual object. To LeUyen Pham for her genius and her humor. To Alison Kolani for understanding italics. And to Kate Klimo, Jim Thomas, Whitney Stahlberg, Chelsea Eberly, Elizabeth Daniel, and all the other good folks at Random House, who have managed to disprove every negative stereotype I had about the business of publishing.
To the insane and fabulous women of the poet_moms Listserv, my mirrors. To Jennifer Laughran, who holds her thumbs for me, and Sarah Prineas, who is tricky. To Marc Fitten, who knows that pretend lunch meetings are the best kind. To Summer Laurie and Nicole Geiger, who took a chance.
To my family—Kate Hamill and Steve Gettinger, Steve Snyder and Cheryl Hindes, Henry, Emma, and Roy Snyder, Judy and Gene Goldstein. With great love.
To Paul Kaplan and Nancy Quade, who tuck me in and make no fuss and let me say anything.
To the memory of Ann Dietz. Grandmother, children’s librarian, and exotic bird.
And of course and always—to Chris, Mose, and Lewis Poma. My boys.
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
LAUREL SNYDER spent seven magical years in a town just like Quiet Falls, but then she fell under a spell and was whisked away. She is currently searching hard for a wishing wall to transport her back to the cornfields. While she waits, she contents herself with writing books like Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains and Inside the Slidy Diner, imagining that her house is clean, and chasing after one husband, two little boys, and a very surly cat named Hassle. Any Which Wall is her second novel.
LEUYEN PHAM travels far and wide in search of adventure when she leaves the four walls of her studio. When inside those walls, she relies on her imagination and paintbrush to take her to amazing places. Her magic has made many award-winning books, including the Alvin Ho series, Freckleface Strawberry by Julianne Moore, God’s Dream by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and her very own Big Sister, Little Sister. She lives in magical San Francisco with her wizard
husband, Alex, and their little elf, Leo.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2009 by Laurel Snyder
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by LeUyen Pham
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Random House and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Visit www.laurelsnyder.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Snyder, Laurel.
Any which wall / Laurel Snyder. —1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: In the middle of an Iowa cornfield, four children find a magic wall
that enables them to travel through time and space.
eISBN: 978-0-375-85383-8
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Wishes—Fiction. 3. Space and time—Fiction.
4. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 5. Iowa—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S6851764An 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008022605
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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