The Somebodies Read online

  Ubuleen strode forward and waved. Fern could see Lucess standing behind her. Ubuleen was stroking the fur of her coat, which was not live raccoons now at all, just a fur coat.

  “Please come and hear her speak later today in the amphitheater, the largest Anybodies amphitheater known to Anybodies worldwide, where guests buy tickets to the grand imagination! Enjoy your stay at Willy Fattler’s Underground Hotel,” he bellowed. And then he added in an urgent whisper, as if he couldn’t stop himself even though he wanted to, “Now offering day spa specials at a special rate, perfect for a weekend getaway.”

  What did that have to do with anything? Fern had to talk to him, but he was surrounded by Anybodies in Triple S blazers. Even as she tried to push her way through the crowd, Fattler backed away from the railing, took Ubuleen by the arm, and they disappeared through a pair of tall mirrored doors. Just then the fluorescent tubing overhead flickered into a sagging, rusty lamp. The food swelled into pots of all things meaty and beany.

  “We’ve got to follow Fattler,” Fern said.

  Fern turned to Howard. “Watch out for the—” Fern grabbed Howard’s arm, and they jumped together as the metallic tiles flapped and changed into worn wood.

  The woman giving Barbie doll haircuts morphed into a player piano with a loud, warped, tinkling sound. The paintings repainted themselves into portraits of horses and stern-faced outlaws. The folks at the check-in counter became surly. The women clerks wore old-fashioned dresses and the men ten-gallon hats. They slapped down old keys, telling guests that they weren’t allowed to shoot on the premises. Two of the flying monkeys, dressed in dusty vests and worn denim, started a brawl, and the concierge had to break it up. The concierge threw out a rabble-rousing monkey through the saloon doors that had replaced the revolving doors.

  Fattler was escorting Ubuleen and Lucess from the lobby. A man in saggy pants, wearing a holster with pistols in it, was breaking up the crowd for them. “Walk this way, Ubuleen, Lucess!”

  The people around Fern were whispering about Ubuleen. “It’s her!”

  Howard looked down at what he was holding: a tin cup of something beany. “I don’t really like beans,” he said.

  Howard pulled out one of his bottles of Correct-O-Cure and sprayed the cupful of beans. The spray stunk like burnt plastic.

  “What are you doing?” Fern asked. “We need to get to Fattler!”

  “Trying to get these beans to turn back into chocolate. That’s what, of course!”

  “It’s a scam,” Fern said. “Let’s go!”

  “Don’t be like that, Fern.” He shook the bottle again and sprayed, coughing because of the burnt plastic stink. The beans stayed beans.

  Fern shrugged. “Give up,” she said.

  Howard sighed heavily, shoving the half-empty bottle back into his pocket with the other minibottle. “You know, everyone has to have faith in something!”

  “Let’s go,” she said, rushing past a few beaming Somebodies. “We’ve got to keep Fattler in sight! We have to warn him!” Howard wasn’t budging. Fern grabbed his arm. “Come on,” she said, but he was frozen to the spot.

  Howard had made his own discovery. His face had gone slack. He could barely speak. He tugged on Fern’s sleeve. “Dorathea,” he said, “and the Bone!” Howard pointed to the other side of the lobby. The Bone had flyers in his hands. Fern could see that the flyers had Howard’s and Fern’s pictures on them—their awful school pictures. Does everyone have to use those? Fern thought.

  She and Howard ducked behind a clump of tourists. Two police officers stood near Dorathea and the Bone. They, too, had flyers in their hands. Dorathea and the Bone, looking shaky and lost themselves, talked to the officers for a moment, and then, refusing the help of a flying monkey, they carried their old lumpy suitcases into the crowd, straight toward where Howard and Fern were hiding.

  “We’ve been found out!” Howard said. “They’ll take us back! We’ll end up in military academy! Court orders!”

  Fern grabbed Howard and pulled him quickly into the thick of the crowd that was shuffling through the lobby, which was changing yet again. They cruised around very low tables of steaming tea and a Kabuki dancer heading away from the front desk, where the female attendants were now wearing shiny kimonos and stiff arrangements of black hair. The two pushed to the other side, but not without getting tangled up. Fern fell in such a way that the jars in her pockets went crashing to the floor. The jars broke and the little eggs rolled in all different directions. The apple, too, spun off across the floor.

  The crowd was so thick that people kept on marching. Clumps of Somebodies were everywhere she looked. Fern had no time to pick up all the egglike souls and the shards of glass. She grabbed the apple just as the crowd was dragging her and Howard along in a strong current. Dorathea and the Bone were closing in. Fern jumped up, grabbing Howard’s arm on the way. They ran forward and found themselves shoved into a revolving door that kicked them out onto the sidewalk, into the city beneath the city itself.

  3

  A TRANSFORMATION

  FROM THE GLASS ELEVATOR, THE CITY BENEATH the city had looked like it was made of the things that a city is normally made of: cement, tar, stone, brick, scaffolding, movie-poster paste, and a fine coating of unidentifiable grit. But when Fern and Howard actually made their way along the sidewalks, they noticed that the materials of the city beneath the city were softer, stretchier, squishier. For example, when Fern and Howard saw the giant billboard with their pictures on it and the word MISSING printed over their heads, and they dipped into an alley and leaned against the building’s brickish wall, the wall wasn’t stiff. In fact, it mushed around them. The city had the squishiness of a fat bottom in spandex.

  Did Fern and Howard have a lot of time to contemplate the fat-bottom-in-spandex character of the city, or its sky of dirt that sometimes crumbled a bit in one area or another, causing people to pop open umbrellas? No, they did not. The flyers were posted on telephone poles, on the sides of cabs. Teenagers on corners were passing them out to people on the street who’d glance, and sometimes shake their heads—Poor dears!—before shoving the flyers in their pockets.

  “Where are we going to go?” Howard asked.

  “I don’t know,” Fern said, but then she realized that she kind of did. She’d pretty much memorized the foldout map in The Art of Being Anybody. She thought of all the places she’d seen in the map: Melvin’s Laundromat and Dry Cleaner’s, China Star Restaurant, Bing Chubb’s Ballpark, Hyun’s Dollar Fiesta, Jubber’s Pork Rind Juke Joint, and Blessed Holy Trinity Catholic Church and Bingo Hall. Could they hide in any of those spots and not be recognized?

  “We’ll be spotted. We need to transform if we’re going to be able to get close to Fattler. We can only go around if we’re in disguise.” (Now, this is something I understand completely, dressed as I am at this very moment as a failed investment banker.)

  “Oh, no!” Howard said. “I’m no good at transformations! I can’t do it!”

  “I don’t know if I can either. I’ve only done it once before.”

  “But it was a good one,” Howard said. “I mean, a grizzly bear!”

  “I’m going to try to transform,” Fern said. “I’m going to give it a whirl. And…” She looked up and saw a large trash bin. Sitting next to it was a beaten newspaper. “You’ll just have to hide behind the newspaper until we can find a real disguise for you.”

  She ran to the newspaper, grabbed it and gave it to Howard.

  “Okay,” Howard said.

  Fern tried to remember how she’d felt the first time she’d transformed something. Every Anybody knew that the world was in constant flux, always changing. Fern had to concentrate on that. She had to capture that feeling within her. It seemed easier having been in Willy Fattler’s Underground Hotel, where everything was always changing shape. Fern loved it, but it made her feel a bit lost, too. If everything was changing all the time, was there anything she could truly count on? She needed something loyal.
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br />   It was that moment, when her mind hit on the word “loyal,” that Fern felt her teeth lengthen and her tongue grow longer and thinner. Her body went squat. Her legs and arms shrunk. She looked down at her feet—paws, furry paws. All her clothes had turned into fur. The apple—a disguise for The Art of Being Anybody—plopped on the ground and rolled to a stop.

  She was a short, brown mutt. She looked up at Howard.

  He smiled and patted her head. “I always wanted a dog,” he said, grabbing the apple.

  Fern barked, meaning, I’m not your pet, Howard! I’m still Fern! And I have a plan. She trotted down the alley.

  “Where are you going, doggie? Cute little doggie!”

  Fern turned around and growled.

  “Okay, okay!” Howard said. “I’m coming!”

  At the end of the alley, she stopped, turned, and pawed at Howard’s trousers. He picked her up and used the beaten newspaper to cover his face.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  Fern wasn’t sure. She barked, meaning, Just hurry! Something will come to me. Fern sat as upright as possible in his arms. When they came to an intersection, Howard started to go straight. Fern growled. He turned left. She gave a happy bark. Howard blew past a young man handing out MISSING flyers and then past a group of tourist Somebodies posing for a picture.

  They rushed up one street and down another, trying to dodge the people handing out flyers. Strangely enough, Fern was enjoying herself. She loved the bustle of the city beneath the city. She loved zipping past the places she’d only imagined. She loved the way the city seemed to be creating itself just for her, corner after surprising new corner. She lost track of time. How long had they been winding down the streets?

  Howard wasn’t enjoying himself. He kept saying things like “Where are we going?” “I’m exhausted.” “You’re heavier than I thought you’d be.” “This isn’t helping! We need a low-risk option. A plan!”

  Why couldn’t Howard just have fun? Dogs had fun. Howard was sometimes very Drudgerly. She thought of Howard as a future accountant, how he always knew exactly how much money he had in his wallet at all times. His wallet! Fern had forgotten about that. She didn’t have any money, but Howard did. They could buy a disguise. Fern knew just the spot.

  Fern yipped.

  “What is it?” Howard asked. “Do you have a plan finally?”

  She yipped again, and directed him with more yipping.

  Hyun’s Dollar Fiesta was a ways off, but Howard had more zip now that he knew he had a destination. Finally they found themselves in front of the window. It was filled with everything you could imagine: plungers, marbles, hairnets, plastic toy chipmunks, colored nylons, zippers, compasses, small moose statues, tins of chopped liver, tins of rubber cement, tins of cotton balls, tins of tin, and banana-scented candles.

  “Here?” Howard asked.

  She nodded.

  In they went.

  4

  HYUN’S DOLLAR FIESTA

  HOWARD CARRIED FERN, ALL PRICKED EARS AND pink panting tongue, to the back of the store. They passed a sign posted on the door that read NO DOGS ALLOWED, just under yet another one of those MISSING flyers. Howard didn’t like to break rules. It made him uncomfortable. The place was crowded, however, and no one seemed to notice the boy carrying the dog. Also, it should be noted, there’s a singleness of focus at bargain stores that cannot be fully explained by scientists. But it’s been theorized that if Americans could shift their singleness of focus from dollar items at bargain stores to the energy crisis, it would be solved by now. (I’m guilty of this myself. I have to remind myself to breathe in those places.)

  Fern felt her tail wagging behind her. It was a strange feeling, this thing swinging around. She pointed her wet dog nose at a pair of sunglasses on a spinning rack. Howard said “excuse me” to a few shoppers and tried them on. They looked good enough.

  She pointed her nose at a winter cap. Howard said “excuse me” to some kids, picked it up from a pile and put it on his head. All good.

  She pointed her nose at a fake ponytail.

  “No,” Howard said. “That’s where I draw the line!”

  Fern growled.

  “Shhh!” Howard said. “We’ll be found out!”

  She growled again, a little louder.

  Howard said excuse me to a teenager, grabbed the fake ponytail and clipped it to the hair at the nape of his neck. “Okay?” he muttered angrily. “Happy now?”

  Then there was a voice right behind him. “You talk dog?” the voice said in a heavy Korean accent.

  Howard and Fern turned around to see Hyun himself. He was ancient, probably over a hundred years old. He was thin, and in response to the decision that faces all elderly men (Should I wear my pants above my stomach or below?) he went with above—just below his armpits—using a tightly cinched belt to keep the pants from dropping. He had white hair and intense eyes. He wore a Hyun’s Dollar Fiesta T-shirt with a pin on his chest that read HELLO MY NAME IS HYUN.

  “Um,” Howard said. “No, I don’t talk dog. Not fluently.”

  Hyun shook his head, as if this wasn’t really what he’d meant. “No dogs in Hyun’s Dolla’ Fiesta. It Hyun rule.”

  “Sorry,” Howard said.

  “You pay all that at cash register.” Hyun said each word with emphasis.

  “I will. I’m on my way there now,” Howard said, passing by.

  Someone interrupted. “Where are your stuffed reptiles?”

  “Stuff reptile! Aisle four!” Hyun shouted, and Howard thought that was the end of it. He headed for the cashier.

  “Wait!” Hyun said.

  Howard stopped and turned slowly, wincing behind his sunglasses.

  “I know dog,” Hyun said.

  “You know how to speak dog?” Howard asked.

  “No!” Hyun said. He walked toward Howard, his bad knee buckling.

  Someone interrupted. “Where are your singing erasers?”

  “Singing eraser! Aisle three!” Hyun shouted. Then he whispered to Howard, “I know dog. This dog. This Fern dog.”

  Howard glanced around.

  “Follow me,” Hyun said. Howard followed anxiously. Fern started to shake. Was Hyun going to turn them in? He seemed like the type, frankly, with his Hyun rule and his tight belt. He walked back to the door at the end of aisle two amid a barrage of questions:

  “Where are your hermit crab condos?”

  “Hermit crab condo! Aisle nine!”

  “Where are your poodle hammocks?”

  “Poodle hammock! With hermit crab condo!”

  “Where are your nitroglycerin tablets?”

  Nitroglycerin tablets! Mrs. Fluggery? Fern’s and Howard’s heads whipped around. No, no, it was another old lady with large hair and a penchant for nitroglycerin tablets. It was just a coincidence. (Sometimes there are coincidences in life!)

  “Nitroglycerin tablet! Aisle seven!”

  Hyun’s office in the back of the store was tiny, so tiny that he could have sold offices that size on aisle three. Hyun sat down in his very small chair pulled up to his very small desk. “You disgrace to Anybodies,” Hyun said to Howard. “You shame Anybodies.” He shook his head slowly, the skin at his neck wagging. “Sunglasses. Hat. Fake hair.” Fern had to admit that Hyun was right. Howard was Howard.

  “Are you going to turn us in?” Howard asked.

  “Turn you in? Ha! No. You two important to history. I just help history along. I play my part.” He stared at Howard. “I don’t want turn you in. I want turn you into something else!”

  Fern barked. She wanted to know how Hyun knew that they were part of history. Did he know about the Blue Queen? Did he know that she was going to do battle?

  He smiled at her. “I know much. I know history. I so old I am history!” (This is one of the advantages that old people have. It’s what makes them sly when you don’t expect it!) “You need have respect for where you are—this city beneath the city! We are Anybodies, and you got to respect the art.”
Hyun took out a big watch on a long chain. He told Howard to look at it while he swung it back and forth.

  “What do you want to turn me into?” Howard asked.

  “This will be temporary. It only last short time. To make choice, I rely on inspiration!”

  Howard didn’t like the idea of inspiration, Fern knew. She sat on his lap as he jiggled his knees, and she watched his eyes move back and forth. “Couldn’t we just try edible fake teeth?”

  Hyun tsked. “Edible fake teeth!”

  “Don’t make me something embarrassing!” Howard said.

  “Okay, boy. Okay!”

  Hyun’s voice vibrated in his throat. He held a low note. Howard’s eyes glazed over slowly, and then he became a little taller, more portly. He grew a trim moustache, and a monocle and a tweed suit with a matching cap. Suddenly he was holding a leash connected to a collar around Fern’s neck.

  “What am I then?” Howard said in a deep voice with a British accent.

  “You from a place where they don’t want to be embarrassed,” Hyun said. “You are prominent member of British society. You use Fern dog for fox hunts.”

  “Blast it!” Howard said, standing up, fiddling with his moustache. “Am I to go about in this getup? Seriously?”

  “Use it quickly. It not last long.”

  “I hope that’s a promise!” Howard said.

  Fern had the feeling they were done here. She gave a little pull on her leash. Howard said quietly, “Thank you, sir! Cheerio!” And he groaned at his own accent.

  There was a knock at the door, and a voice. “Where are your glow-in-the-dark toilet seats?”

  “Glow-in-dark toilet seat!” Hyun shouted through the door. “Aisle fi’!”

  And then he said to Fern and Howard in a relaxed voice with no hint of a Korean accent at all: “Hey, look, I know you’re hiding from the authorities, and I just want to tell you this: don’t get too deep into transformation. That’s the mistake all those Anybodies make. I mean, you’ve really got to be yourself in this life. You have to rely on something deep inside.”