“Routines are miserable, Chinese food is miserable, and hotel rooms are even worse,” Tina complained.
They were in Albuquerque, New Mexico; at least the twins thought it was Albuquerque. All cities were beginning to look alike to them, all the train stations, all the hotels, and all the people. Even their classmates looked alike, for Tina and Tony never stayed in one school long enough to make friends.
“You know, Tony, sometimes I wonder just who, and what, I am. So I look at you to see who, and what, you are. And you know what I see?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just a miserable orphan. We’re still orphans, Tony, except now we’re traveling orphans.”
“Don’t worry, once we find Noel. . . .”
“Sometimes I think we’ll never find Noel. Sometimes I think that when we’re in New Mexico, he’s in New Hampshire; and when we’re in New Hampshire, he’s in New Jersey. And sometimes I think Mrs. Carillon isn’t very smart.”
“She’s smarter than you,” Tony said. “Since when do you know anything about horses—or speak Chinese?”
“If her Chinese is so good how come she broke out in hives again?”
“Maybe it’s chicken pox.” 17
“Well, I still think we’re smarter, especially since we’re two and she’s only one. And you know what else?”
Tony was too busy examining his arm for red bumps to answer.
“I think she’s wrong about city hall and St. Paul’s. And she’s wrong about the ‘New’ states, too.”
“Wrong?” It had never occurred to Tony that Mrs. Carillon might be wrong.
“That’s right, wrong!” Tina repeated. “What’s more, I think we can find a better solution. All we have to do is decide what we want, then get the glub-blubs to fit.”
“What’s that got to do with finding Noel?”
“Nothing, but we’re not finding him this way, either,” Tina replied. “As Mrs. Carillon always says: ‘Many search, but few know what they seek.’ ”
“She also says: ‘He who seeketh findeth,’” Tony said.
“Well, I know what I seeketh!”
Glub-blubs
“All right, so maybe I don’t know what I seeketh,” Tina admitted. An hour had passed and her paper headed “What I Want to Do and Where” was still blank. The only thing she could think of was what she didn’t want to do: she didn’t want to travel any more.
Tony had been working on the glub-blubs for some time. He handed Tina his list of ideas:
C blub all = See carnivals
See the animal
See cannibals
Tina shook her head. “Mrs. Carillon will insist on: ‘See carnival in New Brockton, Alabama; see carnival in Nutrioso, Arizona’; and we’d be traveling alphabetically again.”
“How about ‘See the animal. . .’”
“Same miserable problem.”
“Let me finish!” Tony insisted. “See the animal in the New York Zoo!”
“New York Zoo?” Tina had to think that one over. She loved zoos, and Noel did like animals—horses, anyway ; but they could never convince Mrs. Carillon to return to New York City.
Tony was more concerned with convincing his sister. “We’d have to stay a long, long time in New York City. It would take us years to face-watch eight million people.”
“Four million,” Tina argued. “We don’t have to look at women. Or children, either, so that makes two million.”
“All right, so two million,” Tony agreed, knowing that he had made his point.
Tina had to admit that two million men meant years of searching; but she couldn’t believe Mrs. Carillon would return to New York City just to “See the animal.” What animal? Tina studied the glub-blubs once more.
Noel glub C blub all. . .I glub new. . . .
“Tony,” she said excitedly. “What if Noel went under water in the middle of a word? What if he went under in the middle of ‘C—all’?”
“C—all?” repeated Tony. “See-all, see-all? SEAL!”
At that moment the door opened.
“Mrs. Carillon! Mrs. Carillon!”
Mrs. Carillon, surprised by the unexpected greeting, dropped three autobiographies and the American Racing Manual on her sore feet.
“Mrs. Carillon, we have to pack right away. Next stop: The seals in the New York Zoo.”
Next Stop. . .
Mrs. Carillon liked zoos, too; but not enough to return to New York City. On the other hand, she debated, the twins might be right about “C blub all = seals.” And the most important thing was to find Noel.
“You could hardly have looked at two million men the last time you were there,” Tony argued.
“I’ll have to think about it for a few days,” she said.
“New York City doesn’t have just one zoo,” Tina argued, facts in hand, “it has four zoos and an aquarium.”
“I’m still thinking,” Mrs. Carillon replied; but the next day she heaved a deep sigh and packed their bags.
“Look!” Tony followed Tina’s pointing finger out of the front window of the taxi. The skyline of Manhattan soared high above the horizon. Tony gasped and Tina clutched Mrs. Carillon’s coat sleeve. There, somewhere among the tall buildings that scraped the sky, they were going to settle down.
The thought of settling down suddenly made the huge city seem less frightening. The twins had never been to New York City before, but somehow, in some way, it seemed like home. They laughed with delight; and Mrs. Carillon managed a weak smile in return.
“Home” was a hotel room.
Mrs. Carillon spent afternoons feeding fish to the seals18 in the Central Park Zoo, and the twins joined her on Saturday trips, once to the Bronx Zoo and once to the Aquarium. Otherwise, the routine was exactly the same: City Hall, St. Paul’s, Chinese restaurants, etc. etc.... exactly the same.
One morning at breakfast, only two weeks after their arrival, Mrs. Carillon told the twins of her new plans.
“Tiny,” she began. Lately she had fallen into the habit of addressing the twins by that one name. It was easier than saying “Tina and Tony” and better than saying “Tona and Teeny,” which she sometimes did.
“Tiny, I think we’ve made a mistake. You may have been right about ‘seals,’ but February is a bad time for zoo-going in New York. We’d all be much happier in the South this time of the year. It just so happens that I heard about a zoo in New Orleans. I’ll pack the bags while you’re in school, and we’ll leave right after dinner.
“Next stop,” she announced happily, “the Audubon Park Zoo and Odenheimer Aquarium!”
Unhappy St. Valentine’s Day19
“Miserable, miserable,” Tina muttered, scuffing her shoes along the sidewalk.
“Happy St. Valentine’s Day,” said Tony, the cheerer-upper.
Tina hadn’t forgotten what day it was. She had bought a valentine for Jordan Pinckney, the boy who sat in front of her, and one for Tony.
The class was especially restless, for the handing out of valentines had been saved until the end of the school day. At last the teacher picked an envelope out of the large box on her desk.
“Rosemary Neuberger.”
Rosemary Neuberger, the prettiest girl in the class, swished up the aisle and claimed her valentine.
Name after name was called. Tina peeked over Jordan Pinckney’s shoulder each time he opened an envelope to see if it was the valentine she had sent. The eighth one was hers; he didn’t even turn around.
“Tony Carillon,” the teacher called.
Tony pretended he wasn’t the least bit interested in this silly ritual. He knew the card was from his sister.
More names and finally, “Tina Carillon.”
Tina opened the large envelope slowly and carefully, hoping against hope that it was from Jordan Pinckney. The orange construction paper, neatly lettered “To My Valentime” and decorated with red cut-out hearts and a lace paper border, was signed “Tony.”
Their names were not called again. Ro
semary Neuberger’s desk was piled high with twenty-five valentines; others had at least ten. Tina felt that everyone was staring at her one card and one envelope. Tony slipped her his valentine to add to her meager stack.
“What long faces!” Mrs. Carillon, still packing, hadn’t noticed that the twins were late returning from school. She laid a purple-flowered swimsuit into an open suitcase. “Nobody would guess to look at you two that. . . .”
“We want to go back to the orphanage,” Tina blurted out. Her trembling chin forecast tears.
“The orphanage, Teeny?” Mrs. Carillon asked, eyes wide with surprise. “But why?”
The answer was a loud, escaped sob.
Mrs. Carillon turned to Tony, who was staring at his shoes. “Tona?”
“At least we had friends in the orphanage,” Tony explained, “but we travel so much now that. . .” He bit his lip, unable to continue.
Mrs. Carillon stepped backward. Slowly, she sat down on the couch, took the crumpled valentines from Tina’s fist, and smoothed them out on her knee; all the while trying to put her muddled thoughts in order.
What had she done wrong? She never poked or slapped like Miss Anna Oglethorpe. On the other hand, what had she done right? If only the twins had told her what they wanted. If only Noel were here.
Noel. The twins. Suddenly, Mrs. Carillon realized that she had two problems, not one; and she knew which was more important. If only it were not too late.
“Tiny?” Mrs. Carillon said warily. “Can I have one more chance?”
Three Italian Dinners and a Horse20
The twins had never eaten in an Italian restaurant before. Neither had Mrs. Carillon. The antipasto tasted so good, they couldn’t decide whether to eat or talk. They ate and saved their plans for the next course.
Between mouthfuls of ravioli Tina announced that she wanted to stay in New York and go to the same school.
Between mouthfuls of saltimbocca Mrs. Carillon announced that they would buy a three-bedroom apartment and hire a cook. “And no more traveling, no more face-watching, and no more zoos.”
“Watch glurp tell slurp cow...”
“You sound just like Noel. What did you say, Tony?”
Tony swallowed his fettuccine. “We can still face-watch on television, and go to cowboy movies and the zoo.”
“I never realized how lucky I am,” Mrs. Carillon said, beaming on her generous children.
“Can we have a telephone?” Tina asked, hoping that Jordan Pinckney might call her.
“Oh my, you know how my right arm hurts whenever a phone rings. But there I go, thinking only about myself again. Of course we’ll get a telephone.”
The twins finished their spumoni and wiped their smiling mouths.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Mrs. Carillon said.
They returned to their hotel, but not to sleep. They chatted away about their new plans, ordered up hot chocolate, went to bed, tossed and turned, and got up again. It was two o’clock in the morning, and they were still wide awake.
“Maybe somebody should tell a bedtime story,” Tony suggested. He had never heard one.
Neither had Mrs. Carillon, but an expert on horses knows many tales.
“Would you like to hear about Christmas Bells?”
The twins shrugged their shoulders. This was no hour to be choosy.
“Well, as you probably know, all famous race horses have famous parents; but not Christmas Bells. That big black stallion was by a nothing, out of a nothing.”
The twins were confused by Mrs. Carillon’s jargon, but they were too tired to interrupt.
“Christmas Bells was a beautiful horse, but the least bit of exercise left him huffing and puffing. In his first race he not only came in dead last, he walked to the finish line.
“Mr. Hall, his owner, who used to be a famous jockey, was going to sell that lazy horse, when one day he noticed a strange gleam in his eyes. He decided to race Christmas Bells one more time, with he, himself, in the saddle (or ‘him up,’ as they say).”
Mrs. Carillon was so involved in her story she didn’t notice that the twins had fallen asleep.
“Christmas Bells stepped wearily onto the track. His odds were 50 to 1. His head was bowed low; and it looked as if he might not have the strength to drag himself to the post. His odds went up to 100 to 1.
“They’re off!” shouted Mrs. Carillon, startling the twins out of their peaceful slumber. They looked about, and finding everything all right, closed their eyes again.
“Christmas Bells was the last horse out of the gate. He was twenty lengths back at the first turn, and even more as he neared the far turn. Then, all of a sudden, miracle of miracles, that big black stallion lifted his head, flared his nostrils, and with a fantastic burst of speed, passed horse after horse after horse down the home stretch. And when there was only daylight between him and victory, Christmas Bells broke stride, took two quick little dance steps, turned to look at the people in the stands, then galloped across the finish line.
“He won!” shouted Mrs. Carillon. Tina opened one eye and shut it again.
“And ever since that amazing day, Christmas Bells has won every. . .” Mrs. Carillon yawned and saw that her children were fast asleep. She covered them with blankets and went to bed.
5* Old Friend, New Friends
Settling Down
They found a large Fifth Avenue apartment with a terrace overlooking Central Park, but Mr. Banks said it was too expensive. “You’d have to own General Motors, not just a soup factory, to afford that one.” They moved into a smaller apartment, with no terrace, on Park Avenue.
Mrs. Carillon bought a purple-flowered sofa, purple-flowered chairs, purple-flowered drapes and wallpaper. Her clothes blended in so well with the furniture that the twins had to look twice to be sure she was there.
The twins refused to have purple rooms. “Pink and orange,” Tina insisted. Tony couldn’t decide what color he wanted for his room. “Anything but purple, and not pink and orange, either.” Mrs. Carillon chose red and blue, which looked like purple when she squinted her eyes.
They interviewed dozens of cooks and finally hired Mrs. Baker, a small-boned, thin-lipped woman with mouse-brown hair twisted into a tight bun. She could prepare any dish except soup.
Spring had arrived once again. Mrs. Carillon enjoyed her afternoons feeding the seals21 in the Central Park Zoo. She still looked much the same and dressed the same, but she was beginning to smell of fish.
The twins loved New York and their apartment and Mrs. Baker’s good cooking. And they had made quite a few friends at school, thanks to Tina’s whopping lie.
Tina’s Whopping Lie
One afternoon, soon after they had moved into their apartment, Tina and Tony found themselves among a group of bragging classmates.
Jordan Pickney said his father was a famous actor and had just gotten a big part on a television show.
Rosemary Neuberger said that when she was little she got lost at the circus in Madison Square Garden and had to sleep with the elephants.
Mavis Bensonhurst said her mother spent two thousand dollars a year just for underwear.
“Tina and I are twins,” was all Tony could think to say. He didn’t want anyone to know about the orphanage, or Mrs. Carillon, just yet.
“What’s so special about that? I know lots of twins,” Rosemary Neuberger said in a voice that made Tony want to hide.
Tina hated Rosemary Neuberger. She hated her as much as she liked Jordan Pinckney, and that was a lot.
“I’ll tell you what’s so special about that,” Tina said. “We’re not just ordinary twins. We’re Siamese twins. We were born stuck together and weren’t cut apart until we were three years old.”
“Really?” They were the center of attention now.
“Really!” Tony said proudly.
“Where were you stuck together?” Mavis Bensonhurst wanted to know.
“At our hips.” Tony pointed to the spot. “We were connected at our right h
ips.”
“Both of you, at your right hips?” asked Jordan Pinckney, the one doubter in the group.
Tina immediately recognized Tony’s error. “That’s right. My right hip was joined to Tony’s right hip. When I faced front, he faced back; and when I faced back, he faced front.”
“Then how could you walk?”
“In circles!” Tina said triumphantly.
“Wow!”
Word spread quickly. Everyone wanted a friend who was a Siamese twin.
Same Old Argument
Mr. Banks was waiting in the living room when Mrs. Carillon returned from the zoo. He shook his head and tsk-tsked over a stack of bills.
“Six handmade silk dresses, ten handmade pairs of shoes, and look at this: a case of Burgundy Bash lipsticks made to order. Mrs. Carillon, you are too extravagant, much too extravagant.”
Mrs. Carillon explained that she had gained weight and her old dresses no longer fit; her shoes were walked clean through; and lipsticks don’t last forever. Everything had to be custom-made because the things she wore weren’t manufactured anymore.
“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Banks,” she explained. “If I don’t dress the same as always, Noel might not recognize me.”
Mr. Banks slammed the bills down on the table. “When are you going to come to your senses and give up this ridiculous search?”
Mrs. Carillon, used to Mr. Banks’ frequent outbursts, ignored the question. Instead, she promised not to eat so much of Mrs. Baker’s good cooking.
“Mrs. Carillon, I’ve told you time and again. . .” Tina whispered in Tony’s ear, knowing exactly what the next words would be.
“Mrs. Carillon, I’ve told you time and again,” Mr. Banks shouted, “Noel must be dead, or he’d have asked for money by now. Anyhow, he’s been missing so long that he’s legally dead.”