Leon and the Spitting Image

by Allen Kurzweil

  Miss Hagmeyer heard the remark. “Bondage, Mr. Zeisel? So you think you’re my slave?”

  “No, Miss Hagmeyer,” Leon replied. Just the opposite, he thought to himself.

  Miss Hagmeyer lowered the book. “You went from two s.p.i. to eleven. From the bottom of the class to the top. From apprentice to master. From making a lumpy, lifeless snake to an animile with perfect seams. Don’t you think that was worth a bit of bondage?”

  “I guess,” said Leon.

  “Perhaps you will be better convinced after you have examined the Hagmeyer Codex.” The first thing that caught Leon’s eye, after he lifted the cover of the binder, was a photo.

  Who is Artemis? Leon wondered. Where is Petra?

  Leon made a mental note to check the map in his room. Then he flipped ahead until he found one of his animiles.

  Leon was still staring at the terry cloth towel snake when he felt the tap of the instructional needle on his shoulder.

  “Time to let the others take a gander, Mr. Zeisel,” Miss Hagmeyer said. “And since I’ve broken with protocol by beginning at Z, we’ll work backward. Take the binder to Mr. Warchowski.” She looked over at Thomas. “When you’re done, pass it along.”

  Before obeying Miss Hagmeyer’s directive, Leon scanned the statistics that accompanied the picture.

  “Paramaribo!” Leon cried. “That’s the capital of Suriname!”

  “I am very impressed by your command of geography, Mr. Zeisel, but that is not what we are studying at present.” Miss Hagmeyer closed the binder. “Take this over to Mr. Warchowski and return to your seat.”

  As the binder passed from student to student, Miss Hagmeyer explained its significance. “Stitches of Virtue, or SOV—contrary to what Masters Zeisel and Dhabanandana seem to think—is not a commercial venture. It is an enterprise based on the medieval principle of caritas—a term you can find in the glossary of the Reader.”

  There was a fluttering sound at the front of the room.

  “Got it,” Antoinette chirped. “Caritas, or charity. The word dates from 1137. Says here it means ‘benevolence for the poor.’ ”

  “Thank you, Miss Brede, for that speedy elaboration. Now if I might continue. I send your handmade toys to orphaned tots all over the world.”

  “SOV is a charity?” P.W. cried out.

  “That is correct,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “A charity—and a crusade.”

  Murmurs filled the room.

  P.W. exchanged puzzled glances with Leon and Lily-Matisse. They’d been dead wrong about Miss Hagmeyer. She had no Grinchy scheme to sell their animiles. She was giving them away.

  “How did you get all the pictures?” Thomas asked.

  “I include a disposable camera with every shipment,” said Miss Hagmeyer.

  Lily-Matisse raised her hand. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

  “Simply put, the Hagmeyer Codex is reserved for the eyes of masters. None of you was ready to see it. None of you was a member of the guild.”

  Antoinette held up her wolfhound and said, “Now that we are, can you tell us where you’ll be sending our master pieces?”

  “Ah,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “That raises an important matter. Masters must decide the fate of their work for themselves. You may deposit your final animiles in the finished bin or, if you choose, you may keep them.”

  Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. The news floored everyone, Leon most of all.

  He could keep his master piece. He could keep his master piece! HE COULD KEEP HIS MASTER PIECE! It suddenly felt as if Miss Hagmeyer had spun him in the air seven times.

  “However,” she continued, dragging Leon back to Earth, “I must point out that though all of you are masters, you are also fourth graders—fourth graders about to receive final reports. I earnestly hope I can document the spirit of caritas in each and every assessment I send home.” She eyed the finished bin. “I trust you will make the right choice.”

  Leon felt trapped. He could keep the master piece and guarantee himself yet another negative report. Or he could deposit the master piece in the finished bin and kiss his magic powers good-bye.

  He didn’t know what to do, but one thing was certain. If he did have to part company with the doll, he would give it a worthy send-off.

  “Right,” said Miss Hagmeyer. “When I call your names, approach. The choice you face is simple. You can embrace the virtue of charity or give in to the sin of greed.”

  The procession began, as usual, with Antoinette, who did what was expected and donated her wolfhound to Stitches of Virtue. Leon watched and waited. After four of five students had relinquished their master pieces in similar fashion, he stood up and said, “I can’t believe you would plan a surprise like that, Miss Hagmeyer.”

  While everyone stared, Leon winked at P.W. But P.W. didn’t get the cue.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Miss Hagmeyer, perplexed by the outburst.

  Leon repeated himself, this time more forcefully. “I said, I can’t believe you would PLAN A surprise like that!”

  All at once, P.W. understood. Plan A! The scheme to unite Miss Hagmeyer and Lumpkin—and a pair of really old panty hose. He tapped his pocket to let Leon know he was set.

  “Thank you for sharing your shock with the class, Mr. Zeisel. Now please sit down.”

  Leon took his seat and prepared for Plan A. It required four discrete steps. Miss Hagmeyer had to:

  Reach down and pick up a pair of panty hose.

  Stretch open the waistband of said panty hose.

  Raise said panty hose in the air.

  Thrust said panty hose, in a swift downward motion, over Lumpkin’s head.

  After that, Leon figured, things could take care of themselves.

  When Miss Hagmeyer said, “Lumpkin, Henry,” Leon reached for his doll, careful to avoid direct contact. (The last thing he needed was another accidental hugging.)

  As Lumpkin lumbered forward, Leon gave the signal. P.W. withdrew the panty hose and tossed them on the floor. The hose landed some four feet from Miss Hagmeyer’s boots.

  Perfect! Leon told himself.

  “So, Mr. Lumpkin, have you decided to join the crusade or—”

  Before Miss Hagmeyer could finish her sentence, Leon bent the doll at the waist and extended one of its arms toward the floor. Miss Hagmeyer fell into a trance and reached for the panty hose.

  So far, so good, Leon told himself.

  Lumpkin watched with growing concern (while the rest of the class watched with growing excitement) as Miss Hagmeyer straightened up, stretched open the waistband of the hose, and raised her arms until the hose hovered less than a foot from Lumpkin’s head.

  Only step four—the thrust—remained.

  Leon lined up the shot and, with the arms of the doll perfectly positioned, executed the swift downward motion….

  All of a sudden Miss Hagmeyer began making odd, jerky motions—motions completely unrelated to Leon’s fluent dollwork.

  The panty-hose plan had clearly hit a snag.

  Leon repeated step four, but Miss Hagmeyer kept jerking about, refusing to crown Lumpkin with the brown-gray hose.

  When the class started tittering, Leon had no choice but to suspend his dollwork and free Miss Hagmeyer from her trance. As soon as he did, she completed her unfinished sentence, unaware of the bizarre interlude.

  “—will you be keeping your pit bull?”

  “I’ll join the crusade,” said Lumpkin timidly.

  Lily-Matisse and P.W. looked at Leon, desperate to know what had gone wrong. All he could do was give them a confounded shrug.

  P.W. made a pouring motion. Leon understood instantly. He reached into his desk and grabbed the spit bottle, reapplied some of the solution to the site of the original splotch, and hastily revived his dollwork.

  It was no use. Miss Hagmeyer refused to attack. It was as if Lumpkin was protected by some invisible force field.

  Leon watched helplessly as the bully slam-dunked his pit bull into the finished bin.
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  “Hank the Tank for two!” Lumpkin yelled before lurching back to his desk.

  While Miss Hagmeyer continued the roll call, Leon struggled to diagnose the reason for the failure. It wasn’t a distance issue. The master piece was definitely in range. Nor did the sight-line present problems. Leon was sure he had a clear, direct shot. And the supplemental spit should have taken care of any potential signal weakness.

  So what was it? What?

  Leon slumped in his chair. Why, he wondered despairingly, does something always go wrong when I’m using the doll against Lumpkin?

  He recalled having the exact same difficulty in the lunchroom. Twice he had tried to get Miss Hagmeyer to launch cottage cheese at Lumpkin. Both times, inexplicably, the cottage cheese had veered off course.

  Suddenly Leon understood why the master piece wasn’t working properly. Why it had messed up in the lunchroom. Why it had messed up now.

  It hadn’t attacked because it couldn’t attack. Plan A and Plan B (and every other anti-Lumpkin plan from C to Z) were doomed to failure.

  Master pieces only worked on their spitting images.

  Once Leon realized that the Hagmeyer doll would never neutralize Lumpkin, he had an easier time accepting the possibility of giving it away and avoiding a negative home report. After all, fourth grade was almost over. The doll wouldn’t be of much use once he entered fifth grade.

  It was at the moment that Miss Hagmeyer was saying “Warchowski, Thomas,” that the idea popped into Leon’s head. Actually, “popped” is the wrong word. It smacked into his brain like a medieval battering ram. Whoomp!

  Shaking with excitement, Leon glanced at the padlocked supply cabinet. He had to gain access. But how? Leon briefly considered using his master piece to make Miss Hagmeyer open the doors. He nixed that idea. Even if he succeeded in guiding Miss Hagmeyer to the back of the room, he didn’t think he could get her to insert her key into the lock. And even if he could do that, everyone would see him, since his desk and the cabinet were right next to each other.

  No. He had to come up with another way to get the stuff he needed.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The Crusade Continues

  Zeisel, Leon,” Miss Hagmeyer said.

  Leon pouched his doll and walked to the front of the room.

  I can do this, he told himself.

  He approached his teacher.

  “So what does the newly minted master wish to do with his master piece?” Miss Hagmeyer asked. “Is he keeping it for himself, or will he be embracing the spirit of caritas?”

  I can do this, he repeated.

  “Well?” Miss Hagmeyer pressed. “Are you depositing your master piece in the finished bin?”

  “No,” said Leon firmly.

  The room fell silent.

  Leon could see the muscles in Miss Hagmeyer’s face, pinched under normal circumstances, draw in even tighter. But before she said a word, Leon held out his pouch and pushed from the bottom. The head of the master piece popped up like a jack-in-the-box.

  The full-size Miss Hagmeyer first glowered at the mini-Miss Hagmeyer, and then she glowered at Leon.

  “Mr. Zeisel,” she said. “A place for everything and—”

  “—everything in its place,” Leon said. “I know. Which is why I’d like you to have my master piece.”

  Miss Hagmeyer jerked backward, as if yanked by an invisible thread.

  “What?” she gasped.

  The proper response is “excuse me,” Leon said to himself before repeating his offer. “I want you to have my master piece.”

  Whispers spread through the classroom as Miss Hagmeyer plucked her likeness from Leon’s pouch. No one could believe he was giving his animile to Miss Hagmeyer—not after all the trouble she had caused him.

  But it was Miss Hagmeyer herself who was the most flabbergasted. “Are you p-p-positive?” she stammered.

  “Yup.”

  Miss Hagmeyer suddenly leaned over and gave Leon a hug. For a moment, he thought he had accidentally reactivated the doll. But he hadn’t. He wasn’t touching the master piece. This hugging was entirely voluntary!

  Oooooooohs again filled the room.

  After Leon broke free, he noticed that Miss Hagmeyer’s eyes were sparkling the way they had the time she did sizzlers in the playground. She daubed a tear from her cheek with her wimple and said, “Thank you, Leon, I will cherish her.”

  This is it. It’s now or never, Leon told himself.

  “Miss Hagmeyer?” he said.

  “Yes?” she sniffled.

  “I was wondering…. Would it be okay if I made another animile?”

  “Another animile?” Miss Hagmeyer’s mouth curved into a shape that resembled a smile.

  “To carry on the crusade,” Leon said.

  A few students starting hissing. It wasn’t like Leon to suck up.

  “Quiet!” Miss Hagmeyer snapped.

  “The thing is,” said Leon, “I’ll need a few supplies.”

  “Of course,” said Miss Hagmeyer.

  Leon pointed at the countinghouse tally. “That yarn would come in handy.”

  “The yarn?” said Miss Hagmeyer.

  “It’s just the right color,” said Leon.

  Miss Hagmeyer handed him the snagglers. “Help yourself.”

  Leon walked over to the chart, snipped off the yarn, and tucked it into his pouch. “And actually,” he said when he returned the snagglers, “there are a few other things I could use, too.” He glanced at the supply cabinet.

  Miss Hagmeyer pressed the brass key into his hand. “You take whatever you need.”

  Leon undid the padlock, opened the cabinet doors, and filled his pouch with cloth, panty hose, and glass eyeballs.

  “What are you making?” Thomas asked, gawking from his desk.

  “An animile,” Leon said vaguely.

  “Well, duh. I mean what kind? A gargoyle?”

  “Nastier,” said Leon.

  “Nastier than a gargoyle?” said Thomas approvingly. “A dragon?”

  Leon shook his head. “Nastier,” he said. He closed the doors, replaced the lock, and returned the key.

  “I hope that Leon isn’t the only one making animiles over the summer,” Miss Hagmeyer told the class. “Diligence shouldn’t stop with the end of the school year. After all, spool work can be cool work!”

  Snickers greeted Miss Hagmeyer’s feeble attempt at humor.

  Mr. Hankey stuck his head into the classroom and clanged his bell. “It’s nones, Phyllis.”

  Miss Hagmeyer looked at the wall clock. “It most certainly is not nones, Mr. Hankey.”

  “Well, I was told to get the fourth graders out to the playground. Principal Birdwhistle wants to see ’em.”

  “Is something wrong?” said Miss Hagmeyer over the groans of her students.

  “Not a thing,” the janitor said with a laugh. “Principal Birdwhistle had me set up a dunking pool. She should be sitting down in it right about now.”

  The mood in the classroom suddenly turned boisterous. All eyes locked onto Miss Hagmeyer. “Fine,” she told the class. “Consider yourselves banished.”

  As the students broke for the door, Miss Hagmeyer thwacked her instructional needle against the table. “Stop!”

  Everyone froze.

  “One last thing,” Miss Hagmeyer said. “When you have Principal Birdwhistle in your sights and a bean bag in your hand, make sure you prove to her that your year with the Hag has made your fingers nimble!” And with that she released her students. They galloped toward the playground like tournament steeds.

  On the way, Lily-Matisse and P.W. cut Leon off and demanded an explanation for his curious classroom behavior.

  “Have you gone completely insane?” said P.W. “How could you give her the doll?”

  “It’s no biggie,” said Leon.

  “No biggie?” said Lily-Matisse. “That’s like Merlin saying, ‘Here. Take my wand!’ I had some tumbling moves I wanted you to test out! Now we’ll never
get to see the Hag do a full-twisting double layout dismount!”

  P.W. scoffed. “Who cares about gymnastics? No more doll means no more Hagapult. I could’ve replaced the winch and rubber band. It could’ve been all systems go. We could’ve owned Lumpkin.”

  “No,” said Leon. “We couldn’t have. Not with the Hagmeyer doll. I finally figured out what the problem was. Master pieces can’t attack.”

  “What are you talking about?” said P.W. “What about the food fight?”

  “The food fight was an accident, not an attack. I was aiming at Lumpkin, but signal disturbance sent the cottage cheese off course—twice. And you just saw what happened with the panty hose.”

  “Still,” said Lily-Matisse, “you could have put the master piece in the finished bin like everyone else. Giving it to the Hag was so Antoinettey.”

  “Hey, I needed stuff from the cabinet,” said Leon. “Sucking up seemed like the fastest way to get it.”

  “You should have dollworked the Hag over to the cabinet,” said P.W.

  “I thought about that,” said Leon. “There wasn’t time. And getting her to unlock the door would have been tricky. Besides, everyone would have seen me.”

  They entered the playground. Lily-Matisse shook her head. “I still can’t believe you’re thinking about sewing projects.”

  “Yeah,” said P.W. “We’ve got more important things to deal with.”

  “Such as?” said Leon.

  “Such as a certain toothless curd-turd.”

  “I’m not worried about Lumpkin,” said Leon.

  “You’re not worried about the sidewinders?” said Lily-Matisse.

  “Nope.”

  “Or the dead-arms and noogies?” said P.W.

  “Nope.”

  “Then you’re nuts,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “After all that’s happened today, Lumpkin’s going to pulverize us!” cried P.W. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  “I don’t think so,” Leon said confidently.

  Lily-Matisse gave him a sideways glance. “All right. What gives?”

  “Yeah, Leon. What’s this project of yours?” P.W. demanded.

  “Before I tell, I want the needle pledge.”