“Who are the Commanders of All Nuclei?” Fleabrain asked, and the crowd burst into laughter once again.
“Oh, my, what a question!” sang a blood cell, floating to the front of the stadium as the apparently designated “spokescell.” “All right, enough frivolity, everyone. ‘They’ are the deepest level beneath us, in the Great Beyond Below. The Life Force, the Very Nature of Things, even smaller and more powerful than we. ‘They’ will be monitoring and guiding our discussion as it transpires. ‘They’ have asked us to pronounce judgment after evaluating the situation.”
“What situation?” Fleabrain asked.
The group roared with laughter once again. It was not unpleasant, Fleabrain decided, finding himself to be so effortlessly witty.
“Quiet, quiet!” shouted a furious bacterium. “Let’s be serious! The situation of you, Fleabrain, you little mutation. What you are, what you’ve been, what you’ve done, and whether you will be or do whatever, ever again!”
“Oh,” said Fleabrain.
“Come on, it’s not as bad as that!” yelled a group of tightly coiled cells from the higher-up seats.
“Oh, yeah?” responded the bacterium, to the applause of a few of his cronies.
“Now, now,” admonished the blood cell, “let us proceed, using proper decorum and procedure, one flaw at a time.”
And so the discussion began.
Fleabrain had been arrogant, sometimes selfish, often envious.
He had bragged, flaunting his great knowledge.
He was not a good listener.
He had lied and shammed.
His ancestors had helped carry and spread disease. (This last point was mightily argued down by the majority for its prejudice. Fleabrain was but one lone flea, not to be held responsible for the past actions of others.)
Most of the arguments were not a surprise to Fleabrain. He shivered in humiliation and with much regret.
At this point, a Y-shaped creature bounced to the front of the stadium. “May I have the floor? We are not being entirely fair here.” She extended her long arms sympathetically toward Fleabrain.
“Proceed, Aunty Boddy,” said the spokecell.
“I have vital work to do in the bloodstream, fighting off infections, but I came to this meeting to ensure that the Council consider the flea’s good qualities,” she said.
“Let us all enumerate them!” shouted the audience.
The crowd called out a few of Fleabrain’s positives:
He was an entertaining conversationalist.
He was appreciative of and kind to his host.
He was well-bred and well-read.
He was full of fun.
He was flawed, but he meant no harm.
And always, a ceaseless advocate for the power of the small.
Then, suddenly, from the Great Beyond Below, came a rushing, whispery monotone, a million voices from everywhere, speaking as a group, phrases tumbling one after another like leaves on a windy day. Fleabrain presumed these were the Commanders of All Nuclei, weighing in. The stadium immediately fell silent.
and
he has loved
yes, he has loved
yes
“Right!” shouted Fleabrain, almost weeping with gratitude. He waved a tibia defiantly. “I have loved! Doesn’t that count for a lot?” His pumping mechanism soared with hope.
Yes, he had loved, the members of the Council agreed.
“But selfishly,” said a nerve cell, pointing an accusing finger–like dendrite, “with not a shred of agape!”
“No agape! No agape! No agape!” the bacteria jeered, and to Fleabrain’s dismay, a few in the crowd picked up the chant. “No agape! No agape! No agape!”
Fleabrain lay prostrate before them all, unable to move, paralyzed by shame.
It was true. For once in his life Fleabrain wished he didn’t know what he knew. But he knew very well what agape meant in this context. Francine had known, too. Fleabrain hadn’t had any agape, or very much at all, where Francine was concerned.
Agape. From the Greek: /ægpi:/[1] or /ga;per/; Classical Greek: , agápē; Modern Greek: IPA: []
Selfless love.
He had loved Franny mostly to feel less lonely, wanting her all to himself. He hadn’t been entirely considerate of Francine’s need to grow, to discover Wonders on her own.
Fleabrain sobbed. His instincts told him what he had to do, in order to truly love his Francine. He knew, but, oh, how he wished he didn’t! How he wished for the bliss of ignorance!
And now, proclaimed the Commanders of All Nuclei,
council do
do
do
your duty
Fleabrain shivered uncontrollably while the vast crowd buzzed quietly, discussing and voting upon the situation; i.e., himself.
Finally the portly blood cell announced, “We are ready to deliver our verdict, Fleabrain. Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”
“The bad news,” he whispered. Anyway, he already knew what it was.
“The bad news,” continued the spokescell, “is the end of your personal relationship with Franny. For her own good.”
“Does it really have to be?” cried Fleabrain, knowing full well that it did. His powerful instincts had been correct.
yes
yes
yes
hissed the Commanders of All Nuclei, but not unkindly.
“I can’t let her go,” whispered Fleabrain. His heart mechanism felt as if it was breaking into a million tiny shards.
you can
you can
“She doesn’t want to talk to me again, anyway,” said Fleabrain. “She doesn’t need me anymore.”
wrong
as you will see
you will see
The spokescell continued. “You must say good-bye to Franny (and please call her Franny, not Francine, as does everyone else in her world) with just three written words. You have been entirely too verbose and abstruse in your dealings with her.”
“Three words?” Fleabrain was aghast at the group’s rigidity, not to mention its lack of literary sensibility. What could be said in a mere three words?
“Just three,” continued the spokescell, “in the style of Charlotte. She was a brilliant spinner of few words, and a genius at distilling friendship down to its most important elements.”
“Does all this mean I will never see Franny again?” asked Fleabrain.
The audience erupted into laughter, which went on and on for several minutes. Just as the laughter died down to a trickle, a snort or a giggle would start it all up again.
Finally the blood cell pulled herself together. “My dear flea. You must never, never, never say never!” And the crowd began laughing all over again.
Silence, all
we bring
we bring
the good news,
now now
spoke the Commanders of All Nuclei.
A sudden hush fell over the multitudes, a silence so deep and powerful, Fleabrain could hardly breathe.
Fleabrain, the Commanders continued,
Franny must stay in her world, not yours
we demand you let her go
go
go
having faith that you will do so
but we promise
promise
promise
you will remember your friendship forever
as will she
and your memories will assuage your loneliness
and inspire your writing
and bring happiness to you both
and you yourself will be remembered as
one of the
truest friends in history and fiction
who arrives when he is needed
and takes his leave when he is not
and is thus now deemed
deemed
deemed
SOME FLEA.
The words of the Commanders of All Nuclei enveloped Fleabrain like
a warm, downy coverlet. He felt peaceful and sated and much larger somehow, as if he’d just supped on a blood feast after a long, hard day.
He, a little orphan flea, usually so reviled, felt beloved.
“SOME FLEA! SOME FLEA!” intoned the crowd of microscopic beings before him.
The blood spokescell stepped forward. “Of course, you will receive no plaque!” The audience tittered at the pun. “But know that we are all aware of your specialness. Let’s give him a big hand, folks.”
The crowd applauded, using their various tendrils and extensions. Some of them bumped one another in a joyous, celebratory way. Others divided into other congratulatory cells, who joined the acclamation, as well.
“Do you have a speech to make, sir?” asked the blood cell.
Fleabrain shook his head, even though he understood that some sort of literate, gracious statement was often required on such an occasion. “Thank you, but I’m afraid words fail me at the moment” was all he could mumble in a choked-up voice. For what could one say when one was both happy and miserable at the same time?
Very well, Fleabrain
once you were merely clever
now you are wise
and now
now
this meeting is
The voices of the Commanders of All Nuclei faded slowly into the Great Beyond Below.
adjourned.
Fleabrain could already feel the FB Saliva #3 potion beginning to wear off, as his body, if not his spirits, enlarged. A large group of Aunty Boddies swarmed past him, alerted to a possible digestive disturbance in Alf’s large intestine. The remaining cells, stimulated by the night’s celebrations, decided to participate in a rousing sing-along of popular tunes.
Three little words
Eight little letters
they sang.
I L-O-V-E Y-O-U? Were those to be his three words for Franny? But Fleabrain’s instincts told him the cells were taunting him, challenging him to think beyond the obvious.
An Envelope Like Many Others
It was a rainy day, but it wasn’t dreary.
The rain fell in torrents, splashing against Franny’s slightly open window and drizzling onto the sill. There was nothing much to see—cars slowly inching by, an occasional colorful umbrella, a blurred figure huddled beneath it.
Franny loved the fragrance of a rainy day, the sidewalk’s wet concrete, the yard’s rosebush, more alive than ever. She could be a weather girl on KDKA, just by announcing the smells and sounds from her own bedroom window! Smells and sounds gave so much information.
October. The crackle of burning leaves, the air crisp but not cold, with an applelike smell. Fifty-five degrees.
February. Hushed crunch of tires on snowy streets, the odor of a cigarette burning in the cold, clear air. Twenty degrees.
May. Birds, of course. Warm breeze, smelling of gasoline. People laughing. Over sixty degrees.
She could be a weather girl, that’s how well she knew the world from her bedroom window on Shady Avenue. She didn’t even need to look. She didn’t even need to go outside. She could smell, hear, and imagine it all. And soon she wouldn’t need to imagine it anymore! She would be out there herself, in all types of weather.
She wouldn’t have to imagine her school desk anymore, either, with its scrawled-on surface. Rob Loves Carol. U.S.A. Forever. Her fifth-grade desk would have different scrawls, of course. And on the wall, a portrait of the new president, Dwight D. Eisenhower, the flag in the corner of the room, the tall windows that needed a long pole to open them, and the dancing cursive letters above the blackboard. The scraping chairs and clanging bells and shouts and chatter of her friends. She wouldn’t have to imagine or remember anymore. She would be there, right there, with everyone else!
Back in school. Back in school.
And she wouldn’t have to think about her bedroom much, the little bedroom she knew so well, every inch memorized from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. The “Cheer up!” dracaena plant. The braided rug. Her matching oak furniture, every scratch and water stain. The little bookcase with her favorite books.
Alf.
Dear, dear Fleabrain.
No, she wouldn’t have to think about her bedroom. All she’d have to do was spend time in it after school, at night, and, every now and then, on weekends and rainy days.
Like a regular girl.
If it was raining, her parents could drive her to school. If the weather was fine, Katy and Walter Walter would be with her as she rolled her wheelchair. They’d make that special seat for her, hands over wrists, to carry her up the stairs at school, then go down again to fetch her chair. Such good friends! She would wear her braces and, yes, her clodhopper shoes. And even walk her stilted walk for very short distances.
But only if she had to.
And sometimes, she just knew, she and her wheelchair would pop a wheelie in the halls!
Back in school. Back in school.
Franny pushed herself to her desk to look over the mimeographed sheet Mrs. Nelson had given her to prepare for the spring General Info Bee.
What is the second longest river in the world?
In what country were the first ancient Olympics held?
Where is Stonehenge?
What are the three branches of American government?
What percentage of Earth is made up of water?
Easy! Easy-peasy!
Even if she missed some answers, who cared, really? Everyone else would be missing some, too.
She heard a soft knock at her bedroom door.
“It’s all right, Mom,” said Franny. “Come on in.”
Her mother came into the room, carrying the day’s mail and a chicken sandwich for Franny. She sat down on Franny’s bed, leafing through the letters and bills.
Mrs. Katzenback opened a cream-colored envelope and drew out a single sheet of matching stationery. “No,” she said.
“What is it, Mom?” asked Franny, her mouth full of sandwich. “A big bill?”
It was an envelope like many others, official and boring-looking.
“Franny.” The envelope fell from her mother’s hand and fluttered to the floor. “Franny,” she repeated, reaching out to hold her daughter close.
Franny looked down at the cream-colored stationery in her mother’s hand. She recognized Creswell School’s letterhead, an old-fashioned purple crest with a cheerful green ribbon of Latin words inside of it. Crescente luce. That meant “light ever increasing,” she’d been told back in second grade. Franny used to think that crescente luce had to do with the day getting brighter toward morning recess and lunch. But everybody knew that Pittsburgh skies, compared to other skies, got much sootier as the day went on!
Understanding the phrase’s true meaning was beyond the capabilities of second-grade Franny.
Fifth-grade Franny now understood that crescente luce meant the increase of wisdom. That same purple crest with its ribbon of Latin words had always been stamped at the top of Franny’s report cards, which were sprinkled all over with A’s and the very occasional B. To Franny, the crest meant happiness, pride, and wisdom. All the happy, proud wisdom of the whole wide world, ever increasing, and all of it Franny’s for the taking.
But not this time.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Katzenback,
It has come to my attention that Mrs. Penelope Nelson has invited your daughter, Francine Katzenback, a polio victim, to return to her classroom before our school closes its doors for the summer break. Mrs. Nelson praises your daughter’s ability to keep up with the rest of her classmates with regard to her studies. I am sure you are very proud of her.
Be that as it may, I must apologize for Mrs. Nelson, who does not understand the situation, due to her relative inexperience as a teacher. I’m afraid the school cannot accommodate your daughter. No wheelchair is allowed on the school property, especially considering the many stairs inside and uneven walkways outdoors. In addition, the presence of a wheelchair and other accoutrements of Francine’s
handicap would be a distraction to the other students, a hardship for your daughter, and a liability for the school.
We are fortunate to have the excellent Memorial Home for Crippled Children right here in Squirrel Hill, a much better choice for Francine next year. There, she will find others in similar circumstances. There, her wheelchair would not be an obstacle. I would urge you to investigate that institution as best befitting your daughter’s needs.
Sincerely,
A. L. Woolcott
Principal, Creswell School
No Wheelchair
NO WHEELchair
NO wheelCHAIR
The words in the letter were magnified by Franny’s tears. When the tears splashed on top of the principal’s splendid handwriting, the words swam in a crooked, taunting line down the page.
NO
WHEEL
CHAIR
And even when her mother gently took the letter and hid it in the pocket of her dress, Franny could still hear them in her mind: No Wheelchair …
Later, her parents brought supper to her bedroom. Her father carried the plate of food and a tall glass of milk. Her mother placed a wooden tray with fold-out legs across Franny’s knees as she sat on Franny’s bed.
Macaroni and stewed tomatoes, a sprightly sprig of parsley on the side to make it look fancy.
“I’m not sick,” said Franny.
“Of course you’re not,” said her father. “But you should eat.”
“I’m too unhappy to eat,” she said. She wondered if she’d ever feel like eating again. “I don’t want to go to the Memorial Home for Crippled Children, Mama.”
Usually she called her mother Mom. But “Mama” just popped out.
“It’s a nice school, Franny,” said her mother. “And it’s time for you to leave your room.”
The Home was nice, Franny remembered. She used to speed by it on her bike. It was on Shady Avenue, but in a fancier part of the neighborhood, right near the Tree of Life Synagogue. The school building wasn’t very tall; there weren’t a lot of stairs to worry about. There were flowers in front, and the walkways were smooth. In the play area she sometimes saw children playing together in wheelchairs or on crutches, many wearing leg braces.
Fleabrain Loves Franny Page 16