by Judy Blume
“Egduf?” I said. “What kind of name is that?”
“Shush . . .” Fudge said. Then he whispered again. “It’s Fudge spelled backwards.”
“Oh yeah . . . Fudge spelled backwards. Very clever.”
“What about the Muriel part?” Mom asked.
“That’s how you get your code name,” Fudge explained. “You spell your first name backwards, and use your grandma’s first name for your last name.”
“Suppose you have more than one grandma?” I asked.
“Peter . . .” Dad said, “let’s not make this more complicated than it already is.”
“Yeah . . . okay,” I said. “But I don’t get the point of this secret code name.”
“It’s in case someone tries to steal me, Pete!”
“Steal you?” I asked. Who’d want to steal him?
“Yeah, Pete. Like some stranger comes up and says, Your mom’s in the hospital and I’m supposed to take you to see her.”
Mom said, “I never want you to go anywhere with a stranger, no matter what.”
“I know,” Fudge said. “I don’t talk to strangers, I don’t get into cars with strangers, and I don’t help strangers find their puppies. So there!”
“That’s exactly right,” Mom told him. She took a long drink of water.
“But just in case,” Fudge said, “it’s good to have a code name. So if a stranger does come up to me and says, Please help me find my puppy, I can say, What’s my code name? And if he doesn’t know it, I don’t go with him.”
That got Mom really upset. “Fudge, listen carefully . . .” she said. “It doesn’t matter what a stranger says. It doesn’t matter if the stranger is a man or a woman or a teenager. If a stranger tries to talk to you, you shout, I don’t talk to strangers! Then you run as fast as you can until you find someone you can trust—a policeman or a teacher or a . . . a . . .”
“Dog?” Fudge asked.
“Woof woof,” Tootsie said.
“Not a dog!” Mom told him. “How could a dog help you?”
“That was a joke, Mom,” Fudge said.
Mom turned to Dad. “I think I’d better have a talk with William and find out what this is all about.”
“It’s about Stranger Danger, Mom,” Fudge said. “I already told you that.”
* * *
A few days before Halloween the elevator in our building was converted to self-service. We’ve known for months it was going to happen. On the inside, the elevator still looks the same, with a mirrored wall and an upholstered bench. But now, instead of Henry running it, all you have to do is push a button to get to the floor you want. Henry says he’s looking forward to his new job as super of our building.
The best thing about the new elevator is the tiny video camera. It’s supposed to be for security—or Stranger Danger—as Fudge says. This way, nobody can get into our elevator without Henry knowing about it. He can watch what’s happening on a monitor in our lobby. Anyone else who’s interested can watch, too. At first everyone in the building stopped to have a look.
There’s Mrs. Tubman putting on her lipstick.
Isn’t that Mr. Perez tying his running shoes?
Ohhhh, the Reillys are kissing.
Hey, Gina Golden is adjusting her underwear!
It was like Candid Camera. Soon everyone wised up to the fact that they could be seen on the monitor. After that, the Reillys held hands but didn’t kiss, and most people stopped checking themselves out in the mirror. Except Fudge. The minute he realized he could be seen on video, he started jumping up and down, waving his arms, and making stupid faces, usually with his tongue hanging out.
Henry called a meeting just for the kids in the building, especially since Halloween is coming. The trick-or-treat sign-up sheet is already posted in the elevator. That’s one great thing about living in a high-rise in New York. You never have to leave your building to go trick-or-treating. Not that I’ll be trick-or-treating anymore. No. My trick-or-treat days are over. Makes me feel funny to think I’m too old for trick-or-treating. Reminds me of how I felt when I had my first double-digit birthday. Ten, I kept saying to myself. I’ll be in double digits for the rest of my life—unless I live to be over one hundred. Yeah. That’d be cool—to get into triple-digit birthdays. Olivia Osterman might make it. If she does, and I ever get another dog, I’ll name him George or Rufus, in her honor.
At the kids’ meeting, Henry reminded us the video-cam is for our security, not our entertainment, and he looked directly at Fudge. He demonstrated how to use the DOOR OPEN and the DOOR CLOSE buttons. He asked us to close our eyes and feel the numbers and symbols on the buttons. They were all in braille so people who are blind, like Mr. Willard, can use the elevator on his own. Henry said anyone who pushes buttons just for fun will lose elevator privileges. He showed us how we could talk to him and he could talk to us in case there’s an incident.
“What’s an incident?” Fudge asked.
“Anything that’s not supposed to happen in the elevator,” Henry said.
“What’s not supposed to happen?”
“Let me put it this way, Fudge . . . the only thing that’s supposed to happen is you push the button for the floor you want, the elevator takes you there, and you get out. Same as when I was running the elevator for you.”
Then he tested all the kids under twelve. If you passed Henry’s test, you were allowed to use the elevator on your own. If you didn’t, too bad. You’d have to take it again. Fudge passed on his first try.
* * *
“Does Mini have a code name?” Fudge asked Eudora. We were in the elevator on Saturday morning. Eudora was on her way to the park with Fudge and Mini. I was meeting Jimmy at the subway station. He was coming up to spend the day with me.
“What kind of code name?” Eudora asked Fudge.
“You know . . .” Fudge said, “a code name. So nobody can steal him.”
“Steal him?” Eudora asked.
“Yes.”
“Farley knows he’s not supposed to talk to strangers,” Eudora said. Only Eudora and Howie still call Mini Farley.
“Yeah, but does he know if a stranger asks him to help find a puppy, he should run the other way, yell as loud as he can, and tell a good grown-up?”
Eudora grabbed Mini’s hand. “Right now I don’t let him out of my sight when we’re on the street.” She was quiet for a minute, then she asked Fudge if he had a code name.
Fudge nodded. “A secret code name that only the family knows. You want to hear it?”
“Well, yes . . . I guess since I’m family I should know.”
“It’s Egduf Muriel,” Fudge whispered.
“What an unusual name,” Eudora said. “Isn’t that an unusual name, Farley?”
“Egduf,” Mini said.
“Shush . . .” Fudge warned him. “Never say it out loud.”
“Egduf,” Mini whispered.
“That’s better,” Fudge said. “In case you want to know what it means, it’s ‘Fudge’ spelled backwards.”
Eudora was quiet for a minute, then she said, “Yelraf.”
“What?” Fudge asked.
“Yelraf,” Eudora repeated. “That’s ‘Farley’ spelled backwards.”
“Now he needs a last name. Do you have a mother?” he asked Eudora.
“I did, but she died a few years ago. Her name was Rose.”
“You got that, Mini?” Fudge said. “Your code name is Yelraf Rose, but it’s a secret so don’t tell anyone.”
“I think Mini’s too young to get it,” I told Fudge.
“You’re never too young for a code name, Pete. And never too old either. You better start working on yours if you’re going to take the subway by yourself.”
“Thanks for the advice, Fudge.”
“Better safe than sorry! That’s what Grandma always says.”
Not that I’d admit it to Fudge, but all his talk about code names got me thinking maybe I should have one, too. Hmmm . . . let’s see. I spelled my name backwards in my head. Retep. Then I threw in my middle name spelled backwards just to make it more interesting. Nerraw. Then I added Grandma’s name. Muriel. That made me Retep Nerraw Muriel. Good name. But who should I tell? Not Fudge—he’d broadcast it to the world. Jimmy? I don’t think so. He might laugh. I still couldn’t figure out how having a code name would help if I met up with trouble on the subway or anyplace else.
* * *
As soon as the Howies were settled in the Chens’ apartment, Eudora invited us down to dinner.
“Do I have to go?” I asked Mom.
“Yes.”
“Can’t you tell them I have a stomachache or something?”
“No.”
“Can I go home the second I’m done eating? Because I have a lot of homework.”
“You can go home as soon as the table is cleared,” Mom said. “As long as you’re polite about it.”
“I’ll be very polite. You wouldn’t believe how polite I can be when I want to be polite. I’ll be so polite . . .”
“Okay, Peter,” Mom said. “I get your point.”
At the dinner table, the talk turned to Halloween. Fudge said, “Mini can trick-or-treat with me.”
“We’re taking him,” Flora said. “We’ve always been curious about . . .”
“Halloween,” Fauna said.
“What’s all this talk about Halloween?” Howie asked. “You know how I feel about candy.”
“We don’t care about the . . .” Fauna began.
“Candy,” Flora said. “We’re interested in the cultural . . .”
“Event,” Fauna said. “We want to . . .”
“Observe,” Flora said, “as part of our . . .”
“Studies,” Fauna said.
Mom told Cousin Howie how safe it is to trick-or-treat in our building. “We know all the neighbors.”
Eudora said, “It might be educational for them to experience Halloween one time, Howie.”
Cousin Howie drummed his fingers on the table. His eyebrows crept together. After a while he said, “All right, but just this one time. And no candy. Candy will rot your teeth.”
“You don’t have to worry about candy, Daddy,” the Natural Beauties said together.
I was beginning to see how this worked. Cousin Howie said No to everything. The Natural Beauties begged and pleaded. Eudora was usually on their side. She had to present the case very carefully to Howie. But in the end, the Natural Beauties almost always got their way.
“What’s Mini going to be for Halloween?” Fudge asked.
“He’s going to be a . . .” Flora began.
“Tiger,” Fauna said.
Mini growled.
“Or maybe a . . .” Flora began again.
“Lion,” Fauna said.
Mini growled, louder this time.
“I know,” Flora said. “He wants to be a . . .”
“Manatee,” Fauna guessed, sure she got it right this time.
“No!” Mini shouted, surprising everyone. “Egduf.”
“Egduf?” Flora said. “What’s an egduf?”
“It’s me!” Fudge told them. “Mini wants to be me for Halloween.”
“You?” the Natural Beauties said at the same time.
“Yes,” Fudge told them. “Yelraf Rose wants to be Egduf Muriel.”
“Does anybody know what’s going on here?” Howie asked.
“I do,” Eudora said. “And it makes perfect sense.”
* * *
On Halloween night the Natural Beauties brought Mini up to our apartment. Fudge was already dressed as a miser in a white shirt, a pair of red suspenders, and his money tie from the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. He carried his pouch of shredded money in one hand, and in the other, his trick-or-treat bag.
Mom had another white shirt ready for Mini, along with a second pair of red suspenders. Since there was only one money tie, Mom let Fudge decorate an old green tie of Dad’s. He drew dollar signs with wings all over it. Mom plunked a men’s hat on each of their heads. Then she snapped photos of the two of them—the miser and his double.
The doorbell rang. It was Melissa Beth Miller, from downstairs. She was carrying her cat in a basket. Fuzzball was wearing a pointy black hat. “He’s my wizard,” she said. “And I’m Hermione from . . .”
“Don’t say it out loud!” Fudge shouted.
“Don’t worry,” Melissa said. “I never say his name out loud.”
“Whose name?” Flora asked.
“Never mind,” I told them. This was all getting to be too much for me.
“Okay, Pete . . . let’s go!” Fudge said.
“Go?” I asked.
“Yeah. You’re taking me and Melissa.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you’re going with Flora and Fauna.”
“No, they’re taking Mini.”
“We couldn’t possibly be responsible for more than one child,” Fauna said.
“Because we’ll be busy taking notes for our report on the cultural event,” Flora told me.
“Daddy says we each have to write three pages,” Fauna said.
“Single spaced,” Flora added, in case I still didn’t get it.
“Okay . . . okay,” I said. “Let’s just go and get this over with.”
We all took the elevator to the sixteenth floor and started working our way down. At every apartment the Natural Beauties sang a few lines from their collection of New York songs—“East Side, West Side”; “Forty-second Street”; “Give My Regards to Broadway”; “Manhattan.” The neighbors loved it. They tried to shower the Natural Beauties with candy but they politely refused.
On the sixth floor we met up with Olivia Osterman, who was just coming out of her apartment. She was wearing a long red cape. “I’m going to a party,” she said, holding a feathered bird mask in front of her face.
“You look like Uncle Feather, except you’re the wrong color,” Fudge told her.
“I’m a nightingale, not a myna,” Mrs. Osterman said as she pressed the button for the elevator.
The Goldens, who also live on six, opened their door. Mr. and Mrs. Golden and their daughter, Gina, were all wearing fright wigs. “Happy Halloween!” they sang together. They had vampire teeth in their mouths. Mini growled at them. Before the Natural Beauties could get out two notes, the Goldens’ poodle started barking at Fuzzball. Fuzzball leaped out of the basket and ran for his life, straight into the Goldens’ apartment. “Fuzzball, come back here!” Melissa called, chasing him. Mrs. Golden ran after Melissa, and Gina ran after Mrs. Golden. Mr. Golden just stood there in his fright wig and vampire teeth, holding the bowl of candy bars.
“How many?” Fudge asked.
“How many what?” Mr. Golden said.
“Candies,” Fudge said. “How many can I take?”
“How about one?” Mr. Golden said.
“How about two?” Fudge asked.
“Okay,” Mr. Golden said. “Two.”
“Mini doesn’t have a bag,” Fudge told Mr. Golden. “So I’ll also take two for him.”
Mr. Golden said, “Four candy bars is a lot of candy.”
“Not really,” Fudge argued, “because you said I could take two. Besides, Peter and Flora and Fauna aren’t taking any. So it’s a real bargain.” He reached into the bowl again. “But I better take two for Melissa in case she forgets.”
“What are you, an entrepreneur?” Mr. Golden asked.
“No, I’m a miser.” He pointed to Mini. “And he’s my double.”
>
“Egduf,” Mini said.
Mr. Golden just shook his head.
Melissa couldn’t find Fuzzball anywhere in the apartment. Mrs. Golden asked me and the Natural Beauties to help look for him. I don’t know how long it took to find Fuzzball, but I know it was too long. Way too long. Because by the time we found him—on top of a stack of towels in the bathroom closet—Fudge and Mini were nowhere in sight.
“Did you see them leave?” I asked Mr. Golden, who was offering the bowl of candy to another group of kids.
“Who?” Mr. Golden asked.
“The misers,” I told him. When he looked blank I added, “The little kids in the red suspenders.”
“Oh, they left a long time ago.”
“This is bad news,” Flora cried.
“We’re going to be in so much trouble,” Fauna said.
“What’ll we do?” they asked together.
“First we’ll take Melissa home,” I said, taking charge.
“But I’m not done trick-or-treating,” Melissa said.
“Maybe you’re not, but your cat is,” I told her.
“He’s not my cat, he’s my wizard.”
“Either way, it’s time for him to go home.”
I pressed the button for the elevator. Then we waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, I said, “Come on, we’ll take the stairs.”
I led them down the back stairway. We met other groups of trick-or-treaters along the way. One of the fathers said, “Whew . . . these stairs are tough going.”
Another one muttered something about the new elevator.
“Yeah, I know,” I told him. “We waited on six but it never came.”
“Probably all those trick-or-treaters,” he said.
In the lobby a group of neighbors had gathered around the video monitor. “Henry,” I said, “you haven’t by any chance seen . . .”
He pointed to the monitor.
I looked at the screen. But it was so dark you had to look really carefully to see anything. You could just make out somebody sitting on the bench waving a pencil flashlight. Wait a minute . . . was that a bird mask? The light moved and landed on Mini’s face.