Free Huckleberry Fiend by Julie Smith

even if it were the first, he would have been thorough. On that occasion, he would have searched to see if there was a key around, in case of fire. And judging from his reactions of the past few seconds, there wasn’t. But now he was functioning again. “Isami’s room,” he mouthed, as a key clicked in the back door lock.
    Without argument, I followed him to teddy bear heaven. It was there or nowhere— a guinea pig couldn’t have wedged itself into Beverly’s closet. Without the slightest hesitation, Booker took the trunk, leaving me no option but the closet. It was probably better that way, I thought. He was smaller, and we might have to spend the night there. Squeezing myself into a corner, the horror of it hit me: Spend the night there! Standing up, trying not to breathe too loud, or sneeze.
    I tried to steel myself. Human beings had gone through worse, though usually only in wartime. I thought of some of the tiny cars I’d slept in on cross-country trips in my student days. I’d been a lot thinner then, but even so, my recollections were of a particularly virulent hell. Oh, well. Maybe I should think of the Warsaw Ghetto.
    Light steps and heavy ones came into the room. “Oh, Looney, Mommy’s bitty kitty. Itty bitty bad kitty, staying out like that.”
    “Ohhh, Isami Wommy’s daddy’s little bad girl, said the Papa Bear.” I practiced deep breathing, mostly to keep my gorge down, but partly to calm myself down— I figured there was about a 90 percent chance Booker was going to rise up screaming, a maverick pair of Isami’s undies perched rakishly on his head.
    Instead, there was only a long pause, with heavy breathing. Then the Papa Bear spoke again. “Wouldn’t Isami Wommy like to get out of these troublesome old clothes?”
    “Papa Bear first.”
    “Isami first.”
    They were speaking in the most nauseating baby voices. But suddenly Isami turned into a human being again. “Catch me!” she said, all full of fun and good cheer. She exited, pursued by a bear. She must have been fast. There was a great trampling and thumping that seemed to go on for hours. I took advantage of the noise to stretch a little. There wasn’t a peep out of the trunk. Finally I whispered: “Booker?”
    Nothing. I figured he’d gone catatonic.
    Then the two merry chasers clattered back into the room. There was a great whumpf and squeak, as Isami jumped on the bed and Booker’s dad jumped on her. Dear God , I thought, please don’t let him say he’s going to eat her all up. But magically, the Papa Bear had metamorphosed into a pirate. “Arrrrh,” he said. “Now the Gypsy girl will do the captain’s bidding.”
    “Noooo!” shrieked Isami. I could hear her struggling.
    “Yes! Yes. Now!”
    “Nooo!”
    “Yes!”
    “No, Jack. I can’t.” She was sobbing. This was for real. They weren’t playing games any longer. Was Booker’s dad going to rape her? Would his only son and the son’s loyal companion have to save the fair damsel? Not a cheering prospect so far as I was concerned, but I thought Booker would rather relish it. What a splendid castrating revenge! He might never burgle again.
    However, now we had neither Papa Bear nor pirate, but concerned swain. “Isami, what is it, darling?”
    “Not here.”
    “But you have to come home sometime. You can’t stay with me forever.”
    “I know. I’ll be fine when we get back from Hawaii— I just need a few days away from here.”
    “Honey, I need to talk to you seriously. Like a psychologist, okay? The longer you stay away from here, the scarier it’ll be to come back. I agree you need a few days away. That’s why I’m taking you, isn’t it? But, please. Let’s stay here tonight.” Big bully! I thought. You just don’t want to be stuck with her. All you ever think about is yourself. If only I were telepathic. Get out of here! Not tonight, Isami Wommy. Pretty please.
    She said: “You really think we should?”
    “It’s best for you, honey. When we