Bernard Pepperlin Read online

  It seemed that suddenly the place was full of people rushing past. Men and women and children of all sizes and shapes and colors. Bernard had seen people and places like this only in books. He climbed on top of Mittens’s head to get a better view. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of a girl with blond hair. She was walking fast beside her mother, wearing a blue dress.

  “Look, there she is,” he said. “I knew she must have been from a magical place.”

  “There who is?” Mittens asked.

  But then the girl turned and he saw it wasn’t her at all.

  “No one,” said Bernard forlornly. “Never mind. Why are they all rushing so fast?”

  “This is New York,” Mittens said. “People got places to be. Even I got places to be. I gotta get up to the Empire Diner before the lunch rush. But first I gotta go to my morning job.”

  “How many jobs do you have?”

  “A bunch,” said Mittens. “I wake up before the sun to go fishing, head over to my morning job at the diner, then spend the rest of the day working in a bodega.”

  “What’s a bodega?”

  “It’s a human word that means ‘warehouse.’ But it ain’t really a warehouse. It’s more like a grocery store.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “I make sure nobody’s snacking on the merchandise.”

  “Why do you have so many jobs?”

  “Like I told you, this is New York. You gotta hustle to stay ahead.”

  Mittens turned from the pier and walked across a great road, then took a smaller side street directly into the majestic forest of buildings. The place smelled amazing: sooty like chimneys and sweet like pastry or pipe smoke, bitter like buried roots and fragrant like the scent of flowery tea. There were many shops with awnings and, beneath them, piles and piles of vegetables and fruit and strange-looking fish laid out upon beds of ice.

  Mittens stopped in front of a fish market and set down his bucket, waiting until a fat orange cat with soulful blue eyes came out and nodded at them. The orange cat was wearing a stained rubber apron. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear and carried a tiny notebook. This cat was all business; he pulled some paper out of his apron pocket and handed it to Mittens, then picked up the bucket of fish and went back into the shop.

  Trucks parked by the curb, the drivers unloading crates of oranges, bananas, and chestnuts. They unloaded ginger and long green beans and oddly shaped red fruits that Bernard had never seen before. As they walked along he saw buckets of eels and small blue crabs, and shops full of tiny pies, enormous cookies, and pastries as round as a rubber ball covered with sesame seeds. The smells of the strange, delicious food filled the air and suddenly Bernard was struck with a deep pain in his belly.

  “I think I might be sick,” he told Mittens. “My stomach feels strange.”

  The cat laughed. “I think you might be hungry,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be at the diner soon. They’ll give us breakfast there.”

  At the word breakfast, Bernard wrapped his arms around himself. His stomach made a sound like a wild animal inside him needed to be fed. Somehow, he was happy to feel the strange ache again. It’s better to feel than not to feel, he told himself.

  They walked past a fruit stand and the cat’s paw flashed out. In an instant he had swiped up a chunk of the strange red fruit they had seen earlier. Mittens handed it to Bernard. On the inside it was white and pulpy.

  “This is dragon fruit,” the cat said. “Eat up. It will tide you over.”

  Bernard crunched into the fruit. It was sweet and mild and juicy like a pear. He soon devoured it all and felt wide awake and even hungrier.

  “What do you do at the diner?” Bernard asked.

  “I work for the queen,” said Mittens.

  “There’s a queen of New York?” Bernard said.

  “Of course,” Mittens said. “Say, where do you come from anyway?”

  “It’s a bit hard to explain,” said Bernard.

  “Try me,” said Mittens.

  Bernard told Mittens the story of the garden. He told him about the Hatter and the March Hare. He told him there was a queen where he came from too and that she was no one you would go to for help. She dressed all in red and was always calling for someone to be punished.

  Mittens listened, his face growing serious and his tail twitching.

  “That’s some story,” the cat said. “You’re a brave mouse, Bernard.”

  “I try to be,” said Bernard.

  “This Hatter sounds like a real lunatic,” said Mittens.

  “He wasn’t always,” said Bernard. “He made hats for a living, using a powerful kind of glue that made you dizzy. He breathed in too many fumes from the glue, and it made him behave terribly.”

  “Yeah, well, glue or no glue—no one should be shoving you into a teapot. That just ain’t right.”

  Atop Mittens’s shoulder, Bernard marveled at the sights on the crowded narrow street. Soon the food markets gave way to shops filled with clothing, pots and pans, and toys, all in bright colors and patterns. But when they turned a corner he crouched lower on the cat’s shoulder, trying to make himself invisible.

  There, slouching against a crate full of green mechanical frogs, stood a scruffy, shaggy creature in a short-brimmed hat with a feather sticking out of its band. Bernard had seen drawings in books of people wearing such things. There was no mistaking it.

  It was a pork pie hat.

  The creature wearing it had narrow eyes and a smug expression on its face. He could see what Mittens meant. For one, Bernard couldn’t tell exactly what sort of animal it was—it might have been a large rat or small stray dog, or even a weasel who had seen better days. At its feet was a black case that looked like it was made for a tiny guitar. Mittens hissed under his breath as they walked past, but the creature didn’t seem scared at all.

  “They think they run this city,” Mittens told Bernard once they had walked farther down the street. “But don’t let them fool you. The people who really run the city are underground.”

  When Mittens and Bernard reached the end of the block, the cat stopped in front of a small door. He knocked three times. After a long moment the door opened and an ancient rat poked her head out. Her eyes were shiny and alert, and her face was wrinkled. She sniffed at Bernard and smiled, showing her sharp gray teeth.

  “Good morning, Mittens,” she said. “I see you’ve caught yourself a nice little snack for later.”

  5

  A Dance Underground

  Bernard’s blood went cold in his veins and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Then Mittens and the old rat began laughing, which made it even worse. Tears welled in Bernard’s eyes, and he began trembling.

  “Sophie!” Mittens said. “You know I ain’t that kind of cat. I could never eat a mouse.”

  “Mittens the mouse hunter. The only bodega cat in the city who could never eat a mouse,” she said. “But maybe someday.”

  “Maybe never,” Mittens said. “Why do I gotta keep telling everybody I’m a pescatarian? Lissen, you want to eat mice, be my guest, but—”

  At this Bernard let out a little shriek and Mittens put his paw on his small shoulder to comfort him. “Oh, sorry, Bernard. Not you, not you.”

  “No, he’s right,” Sophie said. “Not you. You’ve got a special spark. And any friend of Mittens is a friend of mine.”

  She stepped aside, letting them into a long dark passage that seemed to run beneath the building.

  It was cool and damp inside the passage. At one point Bernard could see light coming in through a grate above their heads. The place smelled like cinders, and even though they were underground, he thought he heard the faint sound of a train whistle.

  Sophie squinted at him. She sniffed him again and this time she said, “What brought you to the city?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” said Bernard. “I think . . . I think I just couldn’t sit any longer in the garden. There was no one like me to talk to. There was no time.”

/>   Sophie and Mittens exchanged a serious look.

  “Whaddaya mean there was no time?” Mittens asked.

  “There was no time,” he said again. “The Hatter’s song was so terrible it stopped time. It was the same day every day. No one different ever came to the garden. It was the same loud voices and the same stories and the same food. There was no one else for me to talk to.”

  “Have you told him?” Sophie asked Mittens.

  “I ain’t said a thing,” Mittens said.

  “Told me what?” Bernard asked.

  “All in good time,” Sophie said, a twinkle in her eye. “Come on, the queen will be waiting.”

  Mittens and Bernard followed the wise old rat through a narrow tunnel underground. It wound through several twists and turns like a maze and Bernard felt quite lost. Just when he was beginning to think it had no end, he saw a light in the distance and heard a booming voice say, “Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” Then the narrow tunnel opened into a vast cavernous room made of steel and concrete.

  An enormous silver train ran through the center of it on tracks that disappeared into the distance. The air was stuffier in the great cavernous room than the air outside, and the whole place was filled with people rushing by or milling about impatiently, reading books and newspapers, or peering into glowing metal rectangles they held in their hands. Bernard had never seen anything like it in his life. Animals moved among the people unnoticed, or maybe noticed but unbothered. Groups of mice dressed in gray flannel suits and holding briefcases rushed past; swallows hopped along the platform or perched on the girders that crossed the high ceiling and spoke in their clipped melodic voices to one another; rats wearing hard hats, yellow vests, and muddy work boots sat waiting for the train, snacking on sunflower seeds. It was like a whole city underground.

  “Are these the people who really run the city?” Bernard asked.

  Mittens laughed. “No. They’re underground, all right—but these are just people going to work.”

  In the middle of the station, someone had drawn a circle with chalk, and a group of bugs had gathered there. They were wearing shiny black shoes that clicked when they walked, bow ties, and white gloves. Another group of bugs sat just outside the circle in little folding chairs, musical instruments in hand. One of the bugs in the band began pounding out a beat on the drums, bump bump bump buh buh buh buh-bump.

  Three more stood up and began playing their trombones.

  The bugs were the color of a penny and shaped like ginger candy, and their long antennae seemed to bounce along with the beat. A couple of them shuffled their wings and resettled them before picking up clarinets and beginning to play.

  “Oh boy,” Sophie said. “I love these guys.”

  The tallest of the bugs took off his top hat and set it on the ground at the edge of the circle. He raised his little cane in the air. “Hit it!” he cried.

  Suddenly the entire horn section began to blare out a melody. Bernard’s fur stood on end—the loud sound echoed in the big station, and though he was deep underground, the music made him feel like he was standing in the bright sun.

  Five bugs scuttled into the chalk circle and started to dance, tap-tap-tapping out their own kind of music with their fancy shoes.

  “Who are they?” Bernard asked Mittens. “What are they doing?”

  “They,” said the cat, “are cockroaches, and that is tap dancing. You never seen it before? Boy, Bernard, you been missing out.”

  Many small creatures had gathered at the outskirts of the chalk circle to hear the band and watch the dancers. There was a fat pigeon wearing a seersucker suit and a flamboyant paisley tie, a group of young mice in school uniforms, a Chihuahua dragging a leash behind him, and some moths getting an aerial view of the show. There was a nervous squirrel who had been looking for the exit but was captivated by the dancers and decided to stay; a mouse wearing a grass skirt and sparkly red shoes; and beside him four little sparrows who hopped from foot to foot, staring intently at the bugs with their shining dark eyes. Even some of the rats in hard hats pricked up their ears at the sound of the music.

  The bug who had been wearing a top hat began to sing while three other bugs danced around him, acting out a story. This is what he sang:

  She was smart and she was neat, she often walked on just two feet

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  She slept in a spoon, could carry a tune, and knew how to run when they brought out a broom

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  Oh, how she ran when they turned on the lights

  Back to the darkness to take in the sights

  Dining on cake crumbs and other delights

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  Oh, how she laughed when they stood on their chairs

  Screaming like campers who’d just seen a bear

  She danced round their feet while they pulled out their hair

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  She was brave and she was strong, she ate toothpaste all night long

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  She talked to cats, never thought about the past. She could even survive a nuclear blast!

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  The girl from the silverware drawer

  The moths flew down and dropped their spare change in the top hat and then fluttered off up into the lights. The birds hopped along and dropped some crumbs into the hat, nodding at the performers and cocking their heads in appreciation. All the while people came and went on the big trains, smiling as they went past or not noticing at all.

  The roaches wiped the sweat from their brows. “Thank you, thank you,” they called out to the audience. They threw kisses to the crowd as they packed up their instruments.

  “Thank you, moths and squirrels, cats and mice, birds and rats,” the bandleader said. “Every little bit helps. We’ve been rehearsing our show in subway stations for a whole year, but soon we’re going to make it to Broadway! Today Delancey Street station, tomorrow the world!”

  Suddenly a train rushed in, sending the remaining cockroaches skittering across the platform and nearly sweeping Bernard off his feet. The doors snapped open and what seemed like hundreds of people pushed out of the train and onto the platform.

  “Hurry up,” Sophie called.

  Bernard scurried between many long legs and hard shoes, making his way onto the train. People sat on light blue benches on either side of the aisle. Sophie, Mittens, and Bernard sat in a corner of the train, staring at a sea of shoes and bags and packages. Then the doors snapped shut and the train took off down the tracks, deeper into the tunnel. Bernard looked around to see if the cockroaches had boarded the train, but they were nowhere to be seen. He hummed their beautiful song to himself and wondered where they got such fancy shoes.

  He was feeling happy and content with the speed of the train and the company of his new friends. Then, just as he was about to ask Mittens about the shoes, he caught sight of them—there were four this time—slouching, squinting creatures with pale fur and round bellies, all wearing pork pie hats. One of them was eating a pickle. They looked Bernard up and down, smirking. One of them carried what looked like a tiny guitar case; the three others carried spears. All of them wore knives tucked into their belts.

  Bernard’s heart thumped in his chest.

  “Mittens,” Bernard whispered.

  “Yeah, I see them,” said the cat. “Don’t let them near you. And lissen, if we get separated, go to the Empire Diner. Can you remember that?”

  “The Empire Diner,” Bernard repeated.

  “Dat’s right,” Mittens said. “In Chelsea. If you can’t find us, you go there! The queen will know what to do.”

  6

  Stand Clear of the Closing Doors

  The train lurched forward and Bernard went careening across the car. He bounced off a smooth metal pole and skittered over so
meone’s black leather boot, landing at the feet of the Pork Pie Gang.

  “I see you’re new in town,” said the ugliest creature Bernard had ever seen. Bernard couldn’t for the life of him figure out exactly what this animal was. A dog? A weasel? A big rat? There was no way to know and he was too dazed from being bounced around the subway car to speak.

  “Looks like the cat’s got his tongue.” This time it was the one with the pickle in hand who spoke. He grinned, and his teeth were absolutely, perfectly straight. Bernard had never seen such straight teeth in all his life and there was something terrifying about it.

  Bernard looked through the crowd to see if Mittens and Sophie were nearby, or at the very least to catch their eyes, but they were nowhere to be found. He tried calling out to them, but the only one who seemed to hear was a man standing above him. The man looked down at Bernard and screamed, “Help, it’s a mouse!” The woman sitting next to the man took out one of the metal rectangles and held it in front of Bernard. A flash of light came from the metal rectangle, blinding him.

  The train was slowing to a halt, and through the commotion of people talking and the noise of grinding brakes, Bernard heard the voice of the train conductor on the loudspeaker. “This is Secondavenue, next stop wessfourth. Stand clear of the closing doors.”

  Bernard’s head was starting to clear and his sight was returning. He looked around frantically. Behind him, a wall of legs and feet and shopping bags crowded his vision. The train jumped forward again and Bernard rolled quickly into the nearest gangster, who dodged him by leaping up nimbly and grabbing the seat above him. Bernard smacked into the wall and stuck there with the force of the train’s motion.

  The subway car was slowing down once more.

  “Wrap him up,” Bernard heard one of the gangsters say.

  Then everything went black.