Figgs & Phantoms by Ellen Raskin Read Free Book Online Page B

done; they wept for things unsaid, undone. They wept, each in his own way, privately and in one another’s arms. Kadota’s dogs howled every night for a week, then were silent. And the Figgs and the Newtons ran out of tears.
    â€œFlorence is in Capri,” they agreed, and resumed their living, filling their loss with memories.
    Not Mona. Her tears were still unshed.
    Newt stared out of his office window at the spring-green bus, remembering Flo, worrying about Mona. Mona had gone to bed the day Florence died, and she was still there, jealously guarding her loneliness. She barely ate, and she hardly spoke. She rejected everyone as she felt Florence had rejected her. She even rejected her cat, Noodles, who finally ran away in wounded pride.
    Newt was startled out of his concern by a figure emerging from the bus’s shadow. He called out, but Fido ran off when he heard his name.

    Sissie shook her head dejectedly when Newt walked in the door. The furniture was in place; the playbills hung plumb. His wife had not given a dancing lesson since Florence’s death for fear of disturbing Mona. She had even put Band-Aids over her metal taps.
    Newt tiptoed up the stairs, followed by the even quieter Sissie. He had brought Mona flowers for a week until he had denuded Mrs. Davenport’s garden. He had brought candy, a weaving set, bookends. Now he carried a hatbox. Newt rapped lightly on the bedroom door and waited for the response he knew would not come. He looked forlornly at Sissie.
    â€œYour father’s home, Mona,” she announced cheerfully as she opened the door.
    Mona turned her face to the wall.
    â€œI brought you a present, princess,” Newt said, placing a box at the foot of the bed.
    â€œMy, my, I wonder what it could be,” Sissie said, lifting the lid.
    Mona sat up slowly, her face pale and impassive. A cat peered out of the box and blinked at her. It was Noodles.
    â€œGracie Jo found him, and....”
    Mona sank down into bed and buried her face in the pillow. Noodles sprang out of the box, ran out of the room and out of the friendless house.
    Unexpectedly, Mona spoke.
    â€œWas Phoebe at the funeral?” she asked in a flat voice.
    Sissie and Newt stared at each other. The funeral had taken place weeks ago, and they had been too enveloped in their own grief at the time to have noticed who was present.
    â€œThere were so many people there, princess,” Newt said hesitantly. “Your Uncle Florence was a much-loved man.
    â€œWas Phoebe there?” Mona repeated.
    â€œWe don’t know, honey,” Sissie replied. “It would have been hard to see Phoebe; she’s only four-feet four-inches tall, you know.”
    Mona pulled the blanket over her head.
    Newt tried to reach his daughter again. He spoke of the book business and the heap of unanswered mail. He told her about his latest trade, a black Cadillac for a sky-blue Studebaker. Mona didn’t even groan.
    Shoulders hunched, Newt left the room.
    â€œListen to me, Mona,” Sissie said. “It’s time you came out of your funk and realized there are other people in this world with feelings. I want to see you downstairs at dinner in ten minutes, do you hear?” Sissie tore the tapes off her taps and danced noisily down the stairs, hoping a new approach would have some effect.
    It didn’t. Mona remained in bed, wrapped in grief and self-pity, for another week.

    It was neither gifts nor threats that roused Mona from her bed; it was Fido. Newt found him stalking the bus again and convinced him to speak to Mona.
    â€œMaybe if she talks to someone close to her own age,” he suggested, noticing that Fido looked almost as gloomy as his gloomy daughter.
    Fido no longer smiled; he no longer laughed. He didn’t even leer. Even Mona noticed his hangdog expression. She sat up in bed and spoke to him.
    â€œYou’re a fink, Fido Figg,” she said. “I know they made you come to talk to