by Lois Lowry
“I thought he should have a nice glass of wine with his dinner,” she explained.
“Especially since he’s wearing a bow tie. It’s a pretty fancy occasion for him.”
“Yeah, and he’s old enough for wine,” Malcolm said. “I think he’s probably like a hundred.”
“Maybe a hundred and ten,” Nicholas said.
They all stood back and admired the scene. Bruno went to the table and sniffed.
“Oh, no!” Keiko said in an alarmed voice.
“What? There aren’t any crumbs because there’s no real food,” Beanie reassured her.
“But Napoleon is—” Keiko hesitated. “I don’t want to say it in front of Bruno,” she whispered.
“What?”
“He’s bones,” Keiko said in a very nervous voice.
All of the children looked startled. Even Mrs. Pidgeon cringed a little. “Oh dear,” she said. “Mr. Furillo? What do you think?”
“Nah,” Mr. Furillo reassured them. “I wouldn’t trust him if you put real food on that dish. Like pizza, or a burger. If you turned your back he’d grab it. Remember that time a first-grader dropped his hot dog?”
“Jason. He’s that kid with curly hair. I remember that. Bruno ate it in one gulp and Jason cried,” Malcolm said. The other children nodded. They all remembered it. Jason had cried loudly.
“But look at him. He sniffed around, but nothing smelled good to him. He’ll be okay. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Mr. Furillo said.
“I guess Bruno didn’t find that humerus!” Gooney Bird said.
“Huh?” Mr. Furillo looked puzzled.
“Nothing. It’s just a joke.”
“Here come the signs!” Mrs. Pidgeon announced. Tyrone and Felicia Ann appeared with Mrs. Clancy, who had brought her tape dispenser.
The second grade went to work. In a very short time, all of the signs were taped neatly in place.
On the door to the multipurpose room, one read:
COME SEE NAPOLEON
DIGEST HIS DINNER!
On one side of the table where Napoleon was sitting, a sign read:
WHEN NAPOLEON CHEWS,
HIS FOOD GETS MIXED WITH SALIVA.
IT TURNS INTO MOOSH SO HE CAN SWALLOW IT.
“Once I gave one of my triplets a chicken nugget but he didn’t know how to chew it, and he choked,” Malcolm said. “So my mom grabbed him and turned him upside down and thumped on his back, and the chicken flew out onto the floor, and he was okay.”
“What did your mom do to you?” Chelsea asked.
“Well, she said she felt like turning me upside down and thumping on me, but she didn’t.”
“You learned a good lesson,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “No more chicken until they’re older, right?”
Malcolm nodded. “Only moosh. That’s all they eat. Plus Cheerios.”
The second sign read:
THE MOOSHED FOOD GOES
DOWN HIS ESOPHAGUS . . .
They taped that one to the other side of the table, and below it they taped the third sign:
. . . INTO HIS STOMACH. THERE IT GETS MOOSHED AROUND MORE. AND IT GOES NEXT TO . . . FOLLOW THE ARROW—>
“This part is so cool!” Ben said.
“I don’t think so,” Keiko replied, making a face. “I don’t like this part.”
The arrow on the sign pointed toward the wall of windows. On the floor below the windows, Mr. Furillo had carefully laid a long green garden hose. It extended from the corner of the room all the way along the side wall, halfway to the kitchen entrance. In the spring he would use it to water the shrubbery beside the front steps of the school. But now, in March, he didn’t need the hose. It had been rolled up in his utility room until today.
On the windowsill above the hose, they taped the fourth sign:
NAPOLEON’S SMALL INTESTINE.
IT IS 20 FEET LONG.
INSIDE HIM, IT IS ALL CURLED UP
LIKE A SNAKE.
“I wish we didn’t say the snake part,” Keiko murmured.
Gooney Bird tried to make her feel better. “It’s just like a garden snake,” she told Keiko. “Harmless. Not a cobra or anything.”
But Keiko still looked nervous. She felt her own abdomen with one hand.
“Look at the next sign!” Tyrone said excitedly. “Look! I made it rhyme!”
Sure enough. The next sign, on the next windowsill, said:
NUTRITIOUS STUFF GOES TO HIS BLOOD
AND SWIMS AROUND LIKE IN A FLOOD.
“Good rhyming, Tyrone!” Gooney Bird said.
“I could do a whole rap about the human body! I could teach you guys the moves!” Tyrone closed his eyes and moved his feet. “The brain, and the blood, and the bones, and the . . .”
“Not now, Tyrone.” Mrs. Pidgeon put her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe on the playground, later. Let’s look at the last sign now. You and Felicia Ann did such a good job!”
The final Digestive System sign was taped to the leg of Napoleon’s chair.
THE LEFTOVERS GO TO HIS LARGE INTESTINE.
IT IS NOT AS LONG AS THE SMALL.
USELESS STUFF STAYS THERE
UNTIL NAPOLEON GOES TO THE BATHROOM AND GETS RID OF IT.
“Or until it ends up in your diapers! And stinks!” Malcolm said loudly. “Did I tell you about the time that—”
“Shhh. Yes, you have told us many times, Malcolm. Your poor mom has to change a lot of diapers.” Mrs. Pidgeon put her hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You’ve done a great job, everyone! The other grades are going to learn a lot about the digestive system from Napoleon because of your hard work. Let’s go now and let him enjoy his dinner in peace.”
“Bye, Napoleon! Have a nice dinner!” the second-graders called as they filed out of the multipurpose room.
“Keep an eye on Bruno, Mr. Furillo,” Goony Bird reminded the custodian.
“I will! I won’t let him find that humerus!” Mr. Furillo chuckled. “I just got it,” he said.
7
After a week of fine dining it was time for Napoleon to move again. But the second grade was having an argument.
“But it would be very educational!” Barry said.
“No!” wailed Keiko.
“And it would be funny!” Malcolm added.
“No!” said Felicia Ann and Beanie together.
They had been making their plans that day, at lunch in the multipurpose room. Gooney Bird had brought a small plastic container filled with marinated artichoke hearts, which she had passed around for each child to have a taste. “Not bad,” they decided. She had brought, as well, a fresh artichoke, which she showed them. It was a strange-looking vegetable, and some of the children said “Ouch!” when they pricked their fingers on the sharp tips of its leaves.
When they were finished examining the artichoke, they placed it on Napoleon’s plate. All of the classes had visited him and read the informational signs. Even Veronica Gooch had come, with her third grade class. But Mrs. Gooch had called the school this time to complain about the wineglass. It was un-American, she said, like something the French might do. So they had taken the wineglass away and given Napoleon a coffee cup instead.
But it was time now, they agreed, for Napoleon to move on. While they cleaned up their lunch remains, the second-graders talked about where he should go. It was then that Malcolm, returning from the bathroom, announced his idea: that Napoleon should be moved to the boys’ room.
“We can sit him on the toilet!” Malcolm said excitedly. “In a stall! And when people come into the bathroom, they’ll see skeleton feet under the door!”
All of the boys loved the idea.
“It’s part of digestion, right, Mrs. Pidgeon? After the leftovers are in the large intestine, then—”
“Well, yes,” she replied, “but—”
“It’s gross!” Chelsea said loudly.
The other girls all agreed. None of them liked Malcolm’s plan. The argument went on and on. It continued back in the classroom.
&
nbsp; “I could make a whole rap about it! Hey, Napoleon, he da man; he be sittin on da . . .”
Tyrone was wiggling at his desk.
Mrs. Pidgeon interrupted him. “No,” she said, firmly. “We are not sitting Napoleon on the toilet. And that’s that. It might be educational. And it might be funny. But it would be sexist.”
“Sexist? What does that mean?” Nicholas asked.
“It means not fair to one of the sexes.”
“Huh?”
“For example, what if only women were allowed to be president of the United States? And no men allowed?”
“That wouldn’t be fair! I want to be president when I grow up!” Barry said huffily.
“I might, also,” Gooney Bird commented. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’d like to be king,” Malcolm said.
“Good luck with that, Malcolm,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “Anyway: males and females are considered equal in this country. They have equal opportunities.”
“So? What’s wrong with our plan for Napoleon? What’s sexist?” Ben asked. Then he thought for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “I get it.”
The other boys all got it too. “Oh,” they said, one after another. “No girls would get to see him.”
“Yeah,” Barry said, in a disappointed voice. “It wouldn’t be fair. We need to think of something fair.”
“And,” Gooney Bird pointed out, “it should demonstrate another body system. We did his brain. And we did digestion. Remember what we learned about next?” She lifted one arm.
Today she was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse and a man’s necktie. She bent her arm and posed like a strongman.
“I find that humerus,” Felicia Ann said, and giggled. The other children groaned.
“Muscles!” they all called.
“Right. Let’s do his muscular system next. Doesn’t that make sense, Mrs. Pidgeon?”
“It does!” the teacher agreed. “And of course we know where we should take him to demonstrate his muscles!”
“The gym!”
“Right. We’ll move him there at the end of the school day, so he’ll surprise everyone in the morning. Let’s review what we know about muscles so that we can plan to make our signs. Who wants to tell me where our muscles are located, and what they do? Ben?”
“They’re all over our skeleton, and they make our bones move,” Ben said.
“Tendons attach them to our bones,” Nicholas added.
“And they’re stretchy, and rubbery!” Tricia said. “Like this!” She was holding a wide rubber band in both hands. She stretched it until her hands were far apart. “Ouch!” she said when the band snapped back.
“Right,” Mrs. Pidgeon said. “Very stretchy. And they work in pairs. One muscle pulls and the other relaxes. So I can bend my arm, and then I can unbend it.” She held up her arm and all the children imitated her. Together they bent and unbent their arms. “Tighten, relax. Tighten, relax.
“And please,” she added, “I don’t want to hear a single person say that they find this humerus!”
Malcolm began to whisper it, but everyone said, “Shhh.” They were all tired of the humerus joke.
“Oh, no!” Barry said suddenly. He groaned, and put his head into his hands. Everyone was startled. They all looked at Barry. “I may throw up!” he wailed.
Mrs. Pidgeon rushed the large wastebasket to Barry’s side. “Do you want to go to the nurse’s office? What’s wrong?”
After a moment Barry looked up. “My grandma and grandpa came to visit us this weekend,” he said, “and we all went out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. My grandpa said we could have whatever we wanted. And he paid.”
“Well, that’s nice,” Felicia Ann said. “I would get spaghetti.”
“I’d get a cheeseburger,” Tyrone said.
“Lobster!” Chelsea announced. “It’s very expensive!”
“I think I’d have caviar,” Gooney Bird announced. “I have never once had caviar. And I would wear a fur hat.”
Barry looked stricken. He took a deep breath. Then he moaned, “I ate muscles.”
“Yuck!” the second-graders responded. “You ate muscles?”
He nodded. “They were stretchy and rubbery,” he told them. “And remember we learned that it takes up to three days for food to go through your digestive system? It was just Saturday night that I ate muscles.”
Everyone fell silent. They were murmuring, “Saturday, Sunday, Monday . . .”
“Dude,” Tyrone said in an ominous voice, “you may still have some muscles in there.”
Mrs. Pidgeon was laughing. “Barry, Barry, Barry,” she said. “Look! Lift your head and look at the chalkboard!”
In big letters she wrote: MUSCLES. Then, beside it, she wrote: MUSSELS.
“Two different things! Sound the same, spelled differently,” Mrs. Pidgeon explained.
“We’ll learn more about mussels when we get to the ‘Creatures of the Sea’ chapter in our science book.”
“Oh,” said Barry, brightening. “Good. Actually, I liked them quite a bit.”
“How shall we dress Napoleon for the gym?” Keiko asked. They had already removed his Digestive System outfit, the bow tie and the bib.
“Baseball cap!” called Malcolm. “Yankees!”
“Red Sox!” Ben said loudly. He was wearing a red shirt that said BIG PAPI on the back.
Mrs. Pidgeon, aware that a serious argument was about to develop, quickly went to the piano and played the opening chords to a song the whole class knew. “Take me out to the ball game,” the children began to sing. “Take me out with the croooowd . . .”
They were still singing bits and pieces of the song at the end of the school day when they wheeled Napoleon into the gym, but by then they had agreed that a gym was not a place for baseball. Carefully they lifted the skeleton from his stand and sat him on the floor leaning against the bottom row of the bleachers with a basketball wedged between his knees. On his bony feet were an enormous pair of bright green sneakers that they had borrowed from Mr. Goldman, the boys’ gym teacher. And around his skull, across his forehead, was a sweatband.
Napoleon looked as if he was waiting for the coach to send him into the game.
The sign that Tyrone and Felicia Ann had made for the door of the gym read:
COME SEE NAPOLEON’S MUSCULAR
SYSTEM! IT IS AMAZING!
Taped to the bleacher seat beside Napoleon, another sign read:
HE HAS MORE THAN 600 MUSCLES!
THEY WORK IN PAIRS.
THEY MAKE HIS BONES MOVE.
A sign beside one of his green sneakers read:
HE HAS 26 BONES IN EACH FOOT! AND 27 IN EACH HAND!
BUT THEY WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO MOVE WITHOUT HIS MUSCLES.
There was one more sign taped beside Napoleon’s hip. It had an arrow pointing to Napoleon’s behind. It read:
HE EXERCISES A LOT
SO HIS MUSCLES ARE STRONG.
HIS LARGEST MUSCLE IS IN
HIS BUTT.
Mrs. Pidgeon looked at that sign and frowned.
“I wonder if anyone might object to that one,” she said.
“But it’s true, Mrs. Pidgeon,” Felicia Ann pointed out. “We read it in our science book.”
“But the science book didn’t use the word butt,” the teacher said. “Anybody remember what it said instead? I wish I’d brought the book with me.”
“Maybe it said bottom,” Keiko suggested.
“Or backside,” Malcolm said. “But that’s not very scientific.”
“Gooney Bird?” Mrs. Pidgeon asked. “You’re the one with the photographic memory. What did the book say?”
Gooney Bird was able to remember things by seeing them in her mind as if she were looking at a photograph. With her eyes closed, she took several deep breaths in and out. Then she reopened her eyes and said, “It just showed the big muscle and told its official name. Gluteus maximus. There was an arrow pointing to it and the label said it was the biggest
muscle but it didn’t say the name of the body part it was pointing to.
“Of course,” she added, “it was pointing to the butt.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pidgeon after a moment. “Let’s leave it.”
“Good!” Tyrone said. “Because I was already making up a rap. And it goes: Hey, Napoleon, you know what? Your biggest muscle be right in your butt!” He placed his hands on his own behind and wiggled his hips.
“We could do a whole show! We could do a show with raps about body parts! We could sell tickets! I bet we could make a lot of money!” Malcolm was dancing with excitement. “And it could be called, ah, The Body Show! Or maybe—”
“I know! I know!” Chelsea called. We could call it—”
She was interrupted by the ringing of a bell and the intercom announcement that it was time to line up for school buses.
“Yikes! We’d better go get our coats!” Barry said.
The second-graders waved to Napoleon, smiling toothy grins at him, and hurried from the gym.
8
Unfortunately Mrs. Pidgeon’s prediction had come true. By the time Napoleon had been in the gym for several days, Mrs. Gooch had telephoned Mr. Leroy six times to complain about what she called a “bad word.” She meant butt.
On Thursday the second-graders crumpled up the sign that told about the largest muscle and threw it away.
“We could make another sign that says the name of that big muscle,” Tricia suggested.