by Avi
"What did you write about?"
"Transformation: 'How I, Once a Boy, Became a Cat.' Though the whole class liked it and Mr. Oliver admitted it was fun, he said I have to do the whole thing again. Make it real. But every word of it was true!" Disgusted, Charley threw his paper onto his desk.
Tom scratched himself beneath the chin. "You could write about that time you caught a mouse."
"Oh sure. As if he'd believe that," said Charley, and he went off in a huff.
Tom, reminding himself that he wanted to talk to Charley about going through the transformation process again, was just about to slip back into a nap when something Charley had said floated through his mind. What was it? Oh yes ... did Charley say that the subject he had written about was,"How I, Once a Boy, Became a Cat"?
Surely what Charley meant to say was the other way around—that is, "How I, Once a Cat, Became a Boy." Or was he writing about how he, Tom, became a cat?
It was too confusing. Tom yawned and shut his eyes again. But he could not sleep. What Charley had said bothered him.
At last he got up and looked around for Charley, but the boy had gone out. Back in his room, Tom noticed that the paper Charley had written was lying on the desk.
He read it. It was just what Charley had said: a report about a boy who had turned into a cat. This boy, so Charley had written, wished to become a cat and sleep all the time. That was familiar enough. In fact, as Tom went through it, the whole story was his own experience. However, in Charley's story, the boy's name was Charley and the cat's name was Felix.
Why, Tom wondered, would Charley have everything the same, except the names?
"Hey, Charley," Tom said that night as Charley sat at the desk working on his new essay. "I read your essay."
Charley glanced around. He seemed surprised. "That's not like you."
"You left it out."
"Whatever. Did you ... like it?"
"It was fine," said Tom. "It was pretty accurate, too. Except for two things."
"What's that?"
"You changed the names around. You called the boy Charley and the cat Felix."
"Oh, right," said Charley, turning back to his work.
"How come you did that?" Tom asked.
"It was supposed to be true," Charley muttered.
Tom frowned. "I don't follow."
Charley turned around to gaze at Tom evenly. "I guess there's no harm in telling you now."
"Telling what now?"
"Well, before I introduced myself to you and you took me in, I was once a boy, and my name was Charles."
"You were?"
"See, I was bored with my life—so bored, I began thinking that things would be better if I were a cat. As it turned out, I met a cat. Or rather, this cat introduced himself to me. His name was Felix. Felix knew about one of these neighborhood wizard-cats. Sound familiar? You can guess the rest."
As Charley was telling this story, Tom felt increasingly troubled. "Charley," he said, "are you telling me—as you sit at my desk, wearing my clothes, doing my homework, looking like me—that at one time you were a boy and then became a cat? But then you decided you didn't want to be a cat and so became me instead?"
"You've got it."
"But ... but why didn't you and that Felix just change back to what you were?"
"Felix didn't want to be a cat again."
"He didn't?"
"Nope."
"Charley, are you saying you found me and tricked me into—"
Tom interrupted, "It was what you wanted, too."
"But that's outrageous!" cried Tom. "Anyway," he said, "I've had enough of sleeping. I want to change back."
"Sorry," Charley said. "Too late for that."
Tom, who was becoming increasingly upset, stared at Charley. "What do you mean?"
"I prefer being a boy again. This is a great place and your family is nice." So saying, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
At first Tom was too astounded to do anything. Then he leaped off the bed and headed right for the door, only to remember that he had to get a person to open it for him. He called to Charley, but it was not Charley who came. It was his mother.
"Want to go out?" she asked, reaching down and chucking Tom under the chin.
"Of course I want to go out," Tom said in a rather irritated way. But when he spoke, all his mother heard was caterwauling.
"Isn't it cute the way cats talk," she said as she scooped him up and set him gently but firmly out the front door. "Now go play."
An indignant Tom looked up and down the street. It was all very different since he had become a cat. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to sort out the many scents. Then he began to go toward what he hoped would be an audience with Maggie.
It took a while, but at last Tom found the abandoned building. Once again he went into the basement, then to the long, dimly lit hallway, passing through the multitude of cats. The large tiger cat sat in front of the doorway at the end of the hall.
"What can we do for you?" asked the large cat.
Tom said, "A transformation."
"With whom?"
"With the one I was transformed from."
"Is he here?"
"Well, no."
"Then forget it. Anyway, Maggie's out."
"Where?"
"Hey, pal, she has her own life."
"But..."
"Beat it, tomcat," snarled the large cat, and he hissed. Tom backed away and made his way home.
That night Tom had it out with Charley.
"The point is," Tom said hotly, "you weren't being honest with me. In your paper you said you were a boy."
"I was."
"Then you became a cat, and now you're a boy again."
"All true."
"Now you say you have no desire to change back."
"I'm being honest, dude," said Charley. "Come on, you wanted to sleep all day, didn't you? Just lay about."
"I know. But that's more boring than staying awake."
"Hey, Tom, you made a deal. If you don't like it, go find another kid who is as bored with things as you were. Believe me, there are plenty of them. A lot of the cats at Maggie's used to be kids who were bored with their lives."
"Is that true?"
"Half the kids in your class used to be cats!"
Tom was shocked. "They were?"
"Trust me," said Charley. "You know the story:
Kids get bored. Want to sleep all day instead of going to school. Bingo! Kids become cats. Cats become kids. They're the lively ones, always raising their hands."
"But I want to be a human," Tom cried. "Not some cat!"
"Go find a kid to exchange with you. Now please, leave me in peace. I have to write this essay."
"But..."
Suddenly, Charley picked Tom up, and despite Tom's howl of protest, put him out of the room.
Tom slipped from the house through an open window. It was quite late, and the moon was large in the sky. He went around to the backyard, climbed the fence, and sniffed. The air was full of pungent smells. The only one he found interesting was the scent of his own home. It made his heart ache. Lifting his head, he let out a long piercing howl of misery. Then another.
A window opened. A voice growled, "Shut up, cat! I'm trying to sleep!"
A mournful Tom slunk out of the yard and onto the street. A thousand distinct odors wafted through the air, a tapestry of smells too complex for Tom to untangle.
He wandered on, paying little attention to where he was going, up and down streets, through alleys, along back fences.
Tom had been walking for about an hour when he heard spitting and hissing. He stopped and listened. It was a catfight. He looked to see where it was coming from, spied an alley, and trotted over.
At the far end of the alley were two cats. One was a sleek brown Siamese, the other a gray cat. The gray one had been forced back against the fence by the Siamese.
"Help!" cried the gray cat. "Help!"
&nb
sp; Hardly thinking of what he was doing, Tom let out a howl and dashed down the alley. The Siamese turned to confront him. Tom leaped over him and came down beside the gray cat. Tom hissed, showed his fangs, and raised a claw-extended paw.
The Siamese, confronted by two cats, backed off, turned, and fled.
"He's gone," Tom said, panting to catch his breath.
"Thank you," the gray cat replied.
Tom turned and looked at this other cat for the first time. "Hey, you're Maggie, the wizard-cat!" he cried.
"Do I know you?" said Maggie.
"My name is Tom. You transformed me from a boy. The cat was named Charley."
"I'm sorry. I can't remember. These transformations come by the litter. After a while all you people look alike."
"We do?"
"A certain blandness. No show of emotion. As if you can't bother. So, sorry, I don't remember you. But I'm ever so grateful. If I can return the favor ..."
"Oh, but you can," Tom said eagerly.
"How's that?"
"Transform me back."
"To what you were?"
"Right."
"How does the other one—the one I transformed you with—feel?"
"I don't think he wants to switch."
"I'm afraid that's what usually happens. It makes retransformation nearly impossible."
"But you can do it, can't you?"
"Oh sure, but the point is, you have to get the two heads side by side. If one doesn't want to, and that one is a human, it isn't easy."
"I can arrange it!" Tom cried.
"How?"
"Follow me."
Tom led the way back to his own house. They reached it by two in the morning. Finding the window through which Tom had got out still open, they crawled inside.
Maggie looked about. "Nice place you got here," she muttered.
"Shh," Tom whispered. He led the way to his room, and by standing up on his hind legs—Maggie helped—they were able to push the door open.
Charley, head upon a pillow, lay fast asleep on the bed.
"Now listen carefully," Tom said to Maggie, "I'll get on the pillow right next to him and put my head near his. Give me a minute. Then, you jump on and do what you normally do. Just make the transformation."
Maggie giggled. "Someone's going to be surprised."
"That's Charley's problem. He tricked me into this."
"That's what you all say," said Maggie.
Tom leaped onto the bed and padded to his own pillow. Once there he lay down, tucked his paws under his chest, and nestled his head right next to Charley's.
Within moments Maggie followed. "Ready?" she whispered.
"Ready," Tom replied.
"Here goes," Maggie warned.
Tom closed his eyes and waited for the tap on his forehead. When nothing happened he opened his eyes and found himself staring right into the face of a gray cat.
Puzzled, Tom called, "Maggie?"
"The name's Charley," the cat said.
"Charley?" Tom cried, and looked down at himself. He was just the way he had been moments before—a cat. In a panic he turned. There, asleep, was a person who looked exactly like he had looked. As for the second cat, it looked just like Maggie.
"Hey," Charley—now Maggie—growled, "what's going on? How come I'm a cat again?"
"I'm afraid ... Maggie did it," said Tom.
"Maggie? The wizard-cat?"
"I think so. She did the transformation on herself and you. She's become... us."
One week later, Tom—who had spent all his time prowling the streets—suddenly stopped. He was in a park not far from a bench. Sitting on the bench was a girl. She was not doing anything in particular, justsitting. Now and again she swung a leg back and forth. Then she yawned, looked at her watch, and yawned again.
Tom watched her for about fifteen minutes. In all that time the girl continued to just sit there, a slight frown on her face. She looked bored.
Tom went forward and sat down in front of the girl.
"What's happening?" he said.
The girl looked down at him. After a moment she said, "Nothing."
"Doing anything?" asked Tom.
"Nothing to do," the girl replied.
"Bored?"
"Always."
Tom got up, stretched, and then rubbed himself against the girl's leg. "You sound like my kind of friend," he said.
Babette the Beautiful
IN THE LAND OF SOLANDIA, it was a queen, not a king, who ruled. Some years ago it was Queen Isabelle—not King Alfredo—who was the reigning monarch. Hardly a surprise then that Isabelle wished to give birth to a girl so that her daughter might become the next queen. That said, the queen felt strongly that any daughter of hers must be very beautiful because she believed only beautiful girls could be happy.
The truth is, Queen Isabelle thought about having a beautiful daughter all the time. If you asked—and even if you did not ask—the queen could—and would—tell you what this hoped-for daughter would look like. What's more, the queen could—and would—describe this daughter's beauty in great detail for hours at a time. She even knew her name: Babette. The queen chose the name because she wanted her daughter—when she became queen—to be known as—Babette the Beautiful.
Unfortunately, there was no child. And time was passing.
One day a lady-in-waiting told Queen Isabelle about an old woman who had recently arrived in the city. The woman's name was Esmeralda. Esmeralda—so the lady-in-waiting claimed—had powers to enable women to bear exactly the kind of child they desired.
When the queen expressed interest in this Esmeralda, the lady-in-waiting told the queen where the old woman lived.
Disguising herself—and telling no one where she was going—Queen Isabelle made her way to a dark alley in the oldest part of the old city. There she knocked on an ancient door. The door was opened by a little old woman with a twisted body. Her face was ugly, her hair sparse and gray. Her hands were gnarled, and ribboned with veins. Upon her frail shoulders lay a tattered blue-and-green shawl.
The queen, shocked by the woman's appearance, stepped back from the door. "I think I have made a mistake," she said, and turned to leave.
Before the queen could go three steps, the old woman cried: "Stay, Queen! I am Esmeralda, the only person who can help you to have the beautiful daughter you desire!"
The queen looked back at the woman. "How do you know who I am and what I wish?" she said.
"Because," said Esmeralda, "my powers are mirrors that reflect your desires."
"But how can you, who are so ugly," said the queen, "help me to have a beautiful daughter?"
Though she heard the insult, Esmeralda said only, "You must trust me."
Queen Isabelle laughed. "Do you really expect me to trust someone who is as hideous as you?"
Esmeralda's eyes gleamed with anger. "My queen, I have a large mirror which I will place between us. You can talk to me but only look upon yourself."
Though the queen was torn between wanting the daughter of her dreams and being revolted by Esmeralda's appearance, her desire proved stronger. "Very well," she said. "I shall allow you to help me." She stepped inside the hovel.
Esmeralda placed a large mirror in the center of her small jumbled room. This mirror was door-like—taller than it was wide. With a surface that fairly sparkled, it was framed by intricately carved wood—carvings of animals, birds, and flowers, crafted so well they seemed to be alive.
Esmeralda sat on one side of this mirror; Isabelle sat on the other, so that the queen gazed only at her own image. Though she had always thought herself beautiful, the mirror's image made her a picture of perfection. This pleased her greatly and she began to relax.
"Very well, my queen," Esmeralda called out from behind the mirror. "Tell me about this daughter you desire."
"My daughter Babette," began Isabelle, "must be the most beautiful girl in Solandia. She must be a child without so much as one blemish or irregularity."
"Why must she be so beautiful?"
"Why," said the queen, "the whole world knows that only the beautiful are happy."
"Ah then," said Esmeralda, "you wish her to be ... what is the word?"
"Flawless," the queen said.
"Very well," said Esmeralda. "My powers can reflect that."
"Then use them," Queen Isabelle commanded.
"So be it!" cried Esmeralda. Then the old hag placed one hand on the top of the mirror, and the other hand on the bottom. She began to squeeze. Instead of shattering, the mirror collapsed into a glassy lump. Esmeralda compressed this lump until it became smaller and smaller. When it became perfectly round, and no bigger than the tip of her small finger, she turned it inside out with her thumbs until it became invisible. She then placed this invisible pill in Queen Isabelle's hands.
"Swallow that," said Esmeralda, "and you shall have a daughter who will appear flawless."
Queen Isabelle hesitated. But when she recalled that the invisible pill was made from the mirror—which had made her look so beautiful—she swallowed it down. She waited for something to happen. When nothing did, she became annoyed. "I suppose you now wish me to pay you for something I cannot see?"
"My queen," Esmeralda replied with a bow deep enough to hide the glint in her eye, "who am I to ask anything from such a beautiful and gracious queen? Let me be content in thinking that I've been able to make you happy by helping you have a ... flawless daughter."
Pleased by such a show of humility, Queen Isabelle flung a halfpenny at the woman's feet and hastened away.
But as the queen went on, she grew uneasy about this Esmeralda and what had transpired. Perhaps the ugly woman had been insincere in her parting words. Perhaps she would talk about the queen's secret visit. Perhaps she would mock her. Who knew what claims the woman might make?
By the time the queen had returned to her palace, she had decided it would be better to banish Esmeralda to the far reaches of the country—the Northern Forest. It was done immediately, but secretly. Not even King Alfredo or the Prime Minister knew about it.
It was not very much later that, with great joy, Queen Isabelle announced she was going to have a baby. The baby was a girl. At least, Queen Isabelle had no doubt the baby was a girl. The moment the child was born, the hardworking and distracted midwife automatically wrapped the baby up in a sweet-smelling blanket, then handed the precious bundle to her mother, the queen. Eagerly wishing to look upon the infant's perfections, the queen pulled aside the blankets and peeked at the baby's face. For a brief moment—a very, very brief moment—Queen Isabelle saw nothing. However, it was impossible for the queen to believe she had given birth to an invisible child. After all, the bundle had a lusty voice. It smelled like a baby. It wiggled and wriggled just like a baby. Certainly she had the appetite of a baby. In addition—there could be no denying it—the child had not a single noticeable blemish!