by Cara Hoffman
“Would we still be able to eat?” the chinchilla asked.
“Yes,” Bernard said. “But—”
“It sounds fine,” the chinchilla said. “Goodbye, Bernard. Goodbye, Ivy. I’m going to go see what I can buy with my credit card.”
9
Dinner in a Forest of Stars
Bernard and Ivy watched the chinchilla walk down the street, waving her hand in the air, trying to hail another cab.
The Dormouse and his new friend turned and headed north, keeping an eye out for members of the Pork Pie Gang. They passed a congregation of pigeons who had gathered to talk on the steps of a church; some sightseeing squirrels carrying binoculars; two young rats just leaving a dance lesson carrying their ballet shoes over their shoulders; and a starling painting the word starling on a parked van.
On the northeast corner of the street, there was a wrought iron fence protecting a little garden of trees and flower beds. Bernard and Ivy were about to turn the corner when they were startled by a whistle from above.
Bernard looked up, then gave a sharp cry of relief. Sitting in the branches of a sycamore tree in the little corner garden was a cat with a toothpick in his mouth.
“Mittens!” Bernard shouted.
“Bernard!” shouted the cat, breaking into a big grin. “Buddy, you okay? I seen them pickle eaters grab you on the train, so I got off at the next stop. I been looking all over for you!”
Mittens jumped down from the tree, landing gracefully in front of Bernard and Ivy.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, politely shaking Ivy’s hand. “Name’s Mittens.”
“I’m Ivy,” Ivy said.
“We’re okay,” Bernard said. “We managed to escape. But the Pork Pie Gang . . . It’s worse than you think!”
Bernard and Ivy told Mittens about the terrible song and their narrow escape from the Pork Pie Gang Place.
“This ain’t good,” said Mittens. “You ain’t the only ones they’ve been playing their crummy songs for. I been hearing stories around the bodega for weeks now.”
“What we need,” said Ivy, “is a coherent strategy, or at the very least a good escape plan.”
Mittens looked at Ivy. He said, “This lizard is smart, Bernard.”
“And she’s good at picking locks,” Bernard said. Ivy winked at the cat.
“All right,” said Mittens. “We gotta get up to the diner so you can tell the queen what happened. If there’s a whatchamacallit—a strategy—she’ll have it.”
At the mention of the queen, Bernard felt a little shock of fear. If this queen was like the one he had known back home, she would surely be able to rid New York of the Pork Pie Gang. He just hoped she wasn’t the kind who also wanted to rid New York of lizards and mice.
As the three friends talked, a squirrel holding a blue-and-white paper cup peered at them over the top of a garbage can on the corner.
“Mittens,” the squirrel called out. “Hey, Mittens. Mittens. Mittens. Mittens.”
“Oh, hey, Johnny,” Mittens said, looking up at the squirrel.
“Mittens,” Johnny said, as though he was still trying to get the cat’s attention. His black eyes were shining brightly and his paws were shaking. Mittens’s ear twitched as he looked at the cup the squirrel was holding.
“Johnny, are you drinking coffee?” he asked the squirrel.
“Yeah, but Mittens—” the squirrel said.
“Yeah, but nothin’,” said Mittens. He slapped the cup from the squirrel’s paw. “You know you ain’t supposed to be drinking that stuff.”
“Okay, but, Mittens,” the squirrel said, scrambling nervously down the side of the trash bin with quick jerky strides. “Lissen, I’m tryna tell ya. The Midtown Mice been stealing Ms. Zhang’s pistachios outta the basement of the bodega again. She’s asking where you are. Said she’s gonna hire another cat if you don’t get down there right away.”
“The Midtown Mice? Are you kidding me?” said Mittens. “After all I done for those rascals? Lissen, Bernard, Ivy. I gotta get down to Ms. Zhang’s. Meet you at the Empire Diner, soon as I can.”
“But—” Bernard said.
“Sorry, Bernard, I ain’t the kind of cat who misses a day of work.”
And with that, Mittens slipped into the crowd with quick, elegant strides, until all they could see was the tip of his tail.
“I’ve got a feeling we might be on our own,” Ivy said.
“Hey,” the squirrel called to them. “Can you spare a dollah for a cup of coffee?”
Ivy and Bernard hurried on in the direction of the subway. The entrance was near a little park. Business mice and business rats sat on benches reading the newspaper, occasionally looking at their watches, but no one was coming or going on the stairs to the subway. Instead a sign was taped to the entrance saying there were no trains running that afternoon because a track was being repaired.
“We’ll have to walk to Chelsea,” said Bernard.
“I’ll lead the way,” Ivy said.
Even though he was hungry, and frightened of the Pork Pie Gang, the idea of walking through the city made him feel strong and alive in a way he had never felt back in the garden. It was strange, he thought. New York must be an enchanted place.
When Ivy and Bernard reached the sewer grate at the corner of Houston and Second Avenue, they noticed a small crowd had gathered. They pushed their way through and Bernard saw that there was another chalk circle drawn on the ground. Once again, a troupe of cockroaches scuttled out into the middle of the circle and began to dance. Tap-tap-tapping their hearts out. In the center of the circle was the bug from the subway—wearing a top hat.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, rats and mice, sparrows and pigeons,” he said. “We’d like to perform a little song for you from our musical The Girl from the Silverware Drawer. We’ve been working on this show for quite some time now. And here to sing for you is the Girl from the Silverware Drawer herself, Skippy Waterburg!”
The little crowd jostled to get a better look at Skippy.
She was tall and elegant, with long antennae and soulful dark eyes. Skippy began clapping her hands in time with the tap dancers. Then she ran and twirled and skidded into the center of the circle, where she began to sing in a low, melodic voice.
The city is mine!
Every crevice and every crack
Every crumb, every snack
Every half-eaten flan is part of my plan
The city is mine, it’s mine
Out of the lamplight and into shadows
Singing on street corners, talking to sparrows
Dancing at midnight and drinking espressos
The city is mine, it’s mine
Basements and rooftops and high water towers
Sidewalks and streetlamps and bouquets of flowers
Out on the pavement for hours and hours
The city is mine, it’s mine
The food here is divine
Pho and masala, a slice for a dollah
dim sum and sushi, a pineapple smoothie
The city is mine, it’s mine
The bridges and trains, the sun and the rains
The barges and parks and each dog that barks
All of it sings like a song in my heart
The city is mine, it’s mine!
Skippy glided gracefully, using her wings to flit about, and then, landing on only two feet, she took a deep bow, her antennae touching the sidewalk. She was marvelous.
“Brava!” cried the bugs in the crowd.
“Brava!” cried the pigeons and starlings.
“Encore!” called a group of young rats.
A crow hopped down from a street sign, carrying a tiny fur coat in its beak, and gave it to Skippy, who slipped it over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” Skippy said graciously.
“Thank you, everyone!” shouted the bandleader. “Let’s hear it for Skippy! You can catch us again later today beneath the hot dog vendor in Washington Square Park! And toni
ght we’re playing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum. Tell your friends!”
Then he gave a shrill whistle and the band began packing up their instruments. All of them—the horn section, the drummer, the bass player, the bandleader, and Skippy—slipped down into the darkness of the sewer grate and disappeared.
Just as quickly as the crowd had formed, it vanished, animals all heading in different directions, going about their day.
The bright light of afternoon was beginning to fade to a clear pale blue, and the sun shone orange in the west. It made the buildings gleam and set down a shimmering path of light and shadow along the grid of streets. The windows twinkled with the lights from people’s homes—so many different people, doing so many different things. Reading or cooking or painting or talking, thinking or kissing or dancing or sleeping. It was beautiful. A whole village full of people cozy in one tall building—alone and together, looking out into their speeding city at dusk.
Bernard had been in New York for just one day, but already he felt like he’d learned more than he had in one hundred years in the garden.
“Do you think we can make it to Chelsea before dark?” Bernard said.
“No,” said Ivy. “It’s north of here—over by the other river. It will take some time.”
Ivy shivered as she talked and Bernard noticed that she was moving very slowly.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Ivy smiled a little, then shook her head. “No, Bernard. You see, lizards are cold-blooded. We need heat from the outside to live. My aquarium had a heater in it and I didn’t know New York could get this cold in the evening.”
“I had no idea!” Bernard said. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“It’s easy to forget when the sun is out and you’re busy escaping from weasels,” said Ivy.
“Did you always live in the aquarium?”
“No,” said Ivy. “When I was young I lived in Louisiana. That’s where I was hoping to go when I left the aquarium.”
“Here,” Bernard said to Ivy. “Climb up around my neck. Let my fur keep you warm.”
Ivy walked up Bernard and wound herself around him like a scarf. Resting her head on top of his like a cap. He could feel her cold skin against him and he walked fast—hoping they could find somewhere warm before it was too late.
The streets of New York City were crowded with people, and with all kinds of creatures, headed out for dinner. Many of them sat at little tables right on the sidewalk, eating and drinking. The air was full of wonderful smells—not wonderful like the smells of Mittens’s neighborhood, but the distinct smell of melting cheese and baking bread and delicious soup and herbs. Bernard’s stomach growled and his mouth began watering. He also smelled pastry. A sugary buttery chocolaty smell that seemed to be coming out of a vent at the back of a restaurant.
The two friends stopped outside a tall window to look in. The place was dim and crowded, lit with tiny Christmas lights, and the people inside had big lovely meals placed before them.
Bernard followed his nose to the back of the building. A woman in an apron stood outside holding a cup like the one Johnny the Squirrel had been drinking from. She had long brown hair and beautiful pictures of mermaids and fish and ocean waves drawn on her arms. Directly behind her were three large garbage bins. Bernard could smell the food in the bins.
“Well, hello,” the woman said.
Bernard looked around to see who she was talking to.
“Hello, little mouse,” she said, and started laughing. “Oh my goodness! What are you doing with that lizard?”
“Hello,” Bernard said. Happy to have found a person who could talk with them. “My friend is cold, and we’re quite hungry.”
The woman didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to know he was talking to her at all. She just kept laughing, then she crouched down in front of him and took out one of the rectangles all the people seemed to carry and pointed it at him—just like the people on the subway had.
“Amazing,” the woman muttered. Then she tossed her coffee cup in the garbage bin and went back inside the restaurant.
Ivy had warmed up a bit, but both of them were growing hungry and tired.
“I’m going to see what else is in that bin,” Ivy said, unwinding herself from around his neck and walking slowly up the side of a garbage can. “Keep a lookout.”
Bernard kept watch and listened as Ivy clunked around inside the garbage can.
A few minutes later her head popped up from the top of the bin. She was holding a small white container.
He knew what was inside even before she slid down the side of the garbage can and popped it open. It was half a wheel of Camembert cheese and the heel of a baguette.
Bernard whooped for joy at their good luck. The two sat by the back door, listening to the sound of conversation and music coming from the restaurant as they had a feast of bread and cheese.
By the time they were finished, the night sky was dark as could be and the lights from the buildings glowed all around them like they were standing in a garden of stars.
Bernard’s wishes had come true. He had made new friends; he had lived a whole day, hour by hour—from morning to sunset. He had eaten more than toast and tea, watched tap dancers, ridden a train underground, escaped from gangsters, and walked through a city, without falling asleep once. But now he was very tired—and worried about Ivy, who stood frozen like a statue.
Suddenly he heard a scrabbling, scratching noise coming from inside the garbage bin.
“Oh no,” whispered Ivy. “They’ve found us.”
10
A Close Call
A pointed, whiskered face stared over the edge of the garbage can. And then the animal leapt down to the alleyway, landing with a thump in front of them.
Bernard and Ivy found themselves staring into the face of a very large rat. His fur was sleek and he was dressed all in black and wore black boots. His eyes gleamed, reflecting the light from the streetlamps.
They didn’t have time to run before the rat was upon them. He scooped up the lizard and shoved her into the pocket of his trousers. Bernard could see the fear in her big gold eyes.
“Stop!” said Bernard.
“Hush,” the rat said. “Keep quiet.” He pressed his back against the side of the building and motioned for Bernard to do the same. They kept completely still, the rat holding his finger to his lips. And then Bernard saw them: shadows slinking along the street in the lamplight. The feathered hats were unmistakable. And the figures were carrying ukulele cases. Bernard could even hear the singer muttering zooba zooba zooba zooba zay under her breath—like she was repeating a terrible incantation.
Then two members of the gang stopped near the alleyway. They pointed their noses in Bernard’s direction and raised their heads to sniff the air. It was Gary and the singer whose terrible screeching voice had made them so miserable.
The rat raised his hand for Bernard to keep still, and they all held their breath. Waiting.
“What is it?” Gary asked the singer.
“Rats,” she said. “Probably out hunting. It smells like a whole kingdom of them.”
Gary squinted down the alleyway. “I don’t see anything.”
“And that lizard,” the singer said, and shuddered. “I can smell her too, the one who unlocked the door.”
Bernard stayed completely still—not daring to breathe.
They sniffed at the air for another minute, baring their terrible straight teeth.
“Don’t worry,” Gary said. “Soon they’ll have nowhere to hide. And the city will be ours.”
Then the weasels moved on, their shadows growing longer as they headed north, into the night. Bernard exhaled.
“Follow me,” the rat said. “I don’t have time to explain.” But Bernard had no intention of letting another animal capture them.
“No!” he said. “Let go of my friend!”
“Not a chance,” said the rat. “I’m not leaving this lizard out her
e to freeze.” And with that he ducked quickly into a hole at the back of the restaurant.
Bernard chased after him. The smells of pastry and chocolate wafted from somewhere deep in the building. The hole led to a tunnel. Unlike the one he had traveled in that morning with Sophie and Mittens, this tunnel was warm and dry, and it was lined with small flickering candles. It was big enough for a cat or a small dog to travel through comfortably.
“Stop!” Bernard called after them, but the rat only ran faster, and soon, as if by magic, he disappeared altogether.
Before he could wonder what happened, Bernard felt the floor give way beneath his feet and found himself tumbling down a long metal chute. He whizzed along surrounded by darkness until he finally landed with a plop on an old feather bed.
When he looked up he saw that he was in a grand hall. The entire room was lit by candles and lanterns. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a long wooden table cluttered with maps and papers, some of them spilling off onto the floor. From beyond the great hall, Bernard heard the sounds of creatures talking in many different accents.
The rat turned and looked down at Bernard. He was bigger than them, and stronger, and had teeth that looked like they could gnaw through a metal drainpipe. But Bernard could also see that the rat hadn’t hurt Ivy, who stood warming herself in front of the crackling fire in the fireplace. The room smelled of comfort; not just woodsmoke and books and candle wax but the earthy smell familiar to all burrowing animals, one that called to them, promising shelter.
The rat turned and looked down at Bernard; he smiled, showing his long sharp teeth.
“Welcome to the underground,” he said.
11
An Underground Library
“You can’t keep us here,” Ivy said. The heat of the fire had given her back her strength, and she was ready to fight. But even as she said it, Bernard could see something in her that wanted to stay. He watched her eyes as she marveled at the number of books that surrounded them.
“You’re right,” said the rat. “I can’t keep you here. I couldn’t do something against another animal’s wishes. If you want to leave, that hole over there leads into a bakery, and from there you can take your chances again out on the street. No one is making you stay.”