Amlet follows with, “What’s the second kind of monster?”
Appleblossom asks, “What’s an alliance?”
Mama Possum steadies herself. “Now is as good a time as ever to spill the beans.”
Allan looks around. “What beans?”
Amlet gives him a small kick. “It’s a saying, Allan. It means she’s telling us the whole story.”
Allan looks disappointed. “Oh. I like beans. Especially the dark ones that have spicy sauce.”
Suddenly Appleblossom is very, very frightened. Mama Possum wraps her long tail around Appleblossom and pulls her close. “The second category of scary creatures walks on two feet. They smell like dead flowers, salt, and grease. Everything scares them. They are always angry. And they don’t have tails.”
Not having tails seems very sad to the babies. Angie shakes her head. She is dramatic and is acknowledged now as being the best performer of the group. She strikes her signature pose, which is a hand to her forehead, as she wails, “An animal without a tail is so sad.”
At her side Alisa adds, “Maybe that’s why they are angry.”
Whispers of “so sad” and “angry” buzz throughout the group. Mama Possum waits until they’ve quieted down and then continues. “The second monsters are called people. The people cover themselves in layers of cloth because they have very little fur. They scream when they see a night creature. They are noisy and unpredictable. They are dangerous, and not very smart, believe me!”
All of the possum babies stare at their mother. It’s clear they do believe her.
“Now, the people don’t like to share. That is their biggest problem. So they set traps, and they use weapons and poison. They are sneaky and mean. But the good part is that most of the time they don’t climb trees at night. Or go into hedges or dig holes.”
Sighs of relief come from the babies. And they are big sighs.
Mama Possum adds: “The people are awake for part of the night, but they go into their houses and stare at boxes there.”
Appleblossom is confused. “What kind of boxes?”
Mama Possum’s eyes narrow. “The boxes have light and sound, and the people watch these contraptions for hours. Some of the light boxes hang on the walls of the houses. Some are just off the ground. And others are held right in their hands.”
Antonio waves his tail. “I think the light boxes might be telling the monsters what to do.”
Mama Possum looks as if she’s giving this idea some thought, but the discussion is over and no one objects when she says, “We’ve had enough for one night.”
Appleblossom can’t fall asleep after her mother’s Big Talk. The world’s a scary place, and she needs to learn so much to stay safe. She isn’t sure that she’s up to the job. Her acting skills aren’t as advanced as her brothers’ and sisters’. She doesn’t have any special talents like dancing or singing or speaking with an accent. She’s good at smelling night-blooming jasmine, and watching the bats swirl in the dark sky as they circle the streetlight. She’s good at observing the world. Does that count?
In the distance, the sun edges up over the treetops and Appleblossom feels her tail tremble. Her whole family is hidden in a mildewy umbrella that’s on its side in a garden not far from where she now realizes people live. At a distance on one of the paths is a car. It isn’t moving. But that doesn’t make her feel any better.
Appleblossom squeezes her eyes shut and tries to make the bad thoughts go away, when Antonio whispers, “Appleblossom, I’m awake.”
Appleblossom whispers back: “I’m afraid.”
“Me too,” he says.
A few moments later, another voice says, “I’m not afraid, but I can’t sleep either.” It’s Amlet. Appleblossom wonders if he’s just acting brave right now or if he’s being truthful. He’s a very good actor.
Appleblossom doesn’t want to cry; she might wake everyone up. Or worse, she might wake up a monster. “So what do we do?” she asks.
Antonio whispers back to her, “We watch out for each other. I’ll keep my eye on you two. And you do the same.”
Appleblossom’s mouth wobbles into a small smile. “We could snuggle closer.”
Amlet pushes his way in between Antonio and Appleblossom. “Good idea. You two can be lookouts. I’ll handle the middle.” Appleblossom and Antonio are quiet, but they feel better.
And before they know it, all three possums are sound asleep.
Chapter 5
Several nights pass before Mama Possum decides it’s time for more training. While her thirteen little ones chew on a special snack—an eight-inch-long, slimy, salty, yellow-green slug—she gets down to business. “Tonight we learn about the last kind of monster. The worst kind of monster. Our greatest enemy.”
Appleblossom stops eating. “What could be worse than the people and the cars and trucks?”
Mama says, “A group known as the hairies.”
The little possums erupt into an explosion of overlapping voices:
“The hairies?”
“The scaries!”
“Or the maraschino cherries!”
Antonio is the one who brought up the cherries. No one else has any idea what he’s talking about. Mama waits until they quiet down and then explains. “There are many types of hairies.”
Appleblossom looks at her brothers and sisters. “Are we hairies?”
Mama’s eyes get wide. “We are marsupials that have hair! That’s very different.” She exhales and continues.
“Cats are a single category of hairies, but I’m not going to bother with them because you are big enough now to fend them off. The hairies that can ruin our lives are known as dogs.”
The baby possums absorb the word dog. It does have a hard sound to it.
Mama continues. “These creatures are the sworn enemy of all possums, big and small, young and old, weak and strong. Dogs are covered in fur. They have tails and can dig. They move on four feet and they have sharp teeth and they use them. And unlike people, these monsters are not filled with fear. Dogs are highly unpredictable and can appear in the daytime or at night. In a single lunge a dog can rip off your head. That’s what kind of a threat they are.”
Amlet and Angie and Alberta and Ajax and Abdul and Allan and Alphonse and Atticus and Alejandro and Alisa and Augusta and Antonio and Appleblossom hook tails. This is very bad news.
Antonio speaks for the group: “Do dogs make noise? Do we hear them coming?”
Mama Possum looks relieved. “Yes, Antonio. Dogs bark. But you can’t count on that to warn you.” She points to a house in the distance. “There is some good news, though. Dogs are very needy and don’t live by themselves. They have relationships with people. But not all people have dogs. You must learn which houses have dogs. You must avoid those places.”
Appleblossom feels a little bit better. She can tell that Antonio and Amlet do too.
Most of the others bounce back completely. Alejandro hooks his arm through Augusta’s and they twirl around. Augusta squeals, “We find the people without the dogs and we stay away from the cars and the trucks and then the show can begin!”
Mama Possum puts a stop to the dancing. “No! It’s not that simple. Dogs are the worst of the worst. They keep a possum from drifting off to sleep as the sun comes up, because behind every closed gate, the dog could be waiting.”
Appleblossom’s voice isn’t much more than a whisper: “So what do we do?”
For the first time, Mama Possum smiles. “We die.”
The possums exchange looks. What is she talking about? Mama continues. “Dogs like live things much, much, much more than dead things.”
Alphonse raises his tail. “I don’t understand. Are you saying we don’t put up a fight?”
Mama Possum lowers her voice. They all lean in. “That’s right. We do not fight. We do not run. Dogs ar
e always bigger, faster, and stronger than we are. But, as I was saying, if they see a dead thing, they stop. They investigate, but with caution. They do not like dead things.”
Appleblossom’s voice is small. “Why? We eat dead things.”
Mama sighs. “We can’t compare ourselves to them. We are a higher life form. People feed dogs. It’s part of their evil alliance. And there are people and dogs who kill for sport.”
All of the baby possums start talking at once: “Who kills for sport? They’re monsters, all right! They are the most awful of the awful.”
Mama Possum quiets them down by waving her arms in the air. “So now you see why I ask you over and over again to learn to act. This is how we trick them. We act dead. But we aren’t really dead. It’s an art form. It must look real.”
Amlet’s chest puffs out and he bellows in a loud and showy voice, “To be or not to be. That is the question!”
Mama Possum smiles again. “Yes, Amlet! Well done!”
Appleblossom looks down at her feet. She doesn’t practice acting as much as she should. But Mama Possum is reassuring. “Don’t worry, little ones. Part of our fake-dying is out of our control. In the event of a true crisis, instinct takes over and we look stricken because we are stricken.”
Antonio adds, “So fear makes you feel like you really are having a heart attack?”
Mama Possum explains: “When something really, truly scares us, all kinds of things happen. Our lungs slow down. Our arms and legs go limp and then they turn stiff. Our eyes fall shut. And for some of us, our tongues roll out and spit starts bubbling from the corners of our mouths.” A smile spreads across Mama Possum’s face. There’s more good news to share. “The final touch is smell. Dead things stink. That’s just a fact. And to add to the illusion of death, we possums can release a gas. A real stink bomb.”
The possums get all giggly as relief washes over them like a warm dip in a backyard birdbath.
Mama Possum adds: “The stink gas is one of our most important gifts. It tricks dogs and people into thinking that we are yesterday’s news. Dead is dead. Only in our case, dead isn’t dead. Dead is the only way to stay alive.”
Mama Possum raises her arms wide and high and spreads her fingers. “So you see, my beautiful babies, we are the true performers of the animal kingdom. We are the stars!”
Chapter 6
Gland gas.
It’s just that simple. A possum can lift her tail and release foul air, and it gives her a better chance to survive when in danger. Playing dead is one thing. But smelling dead is another. It adds a whole other layer to a possum performance. The gland gas is a special effect. And a special effect can enhance even a very dull act.
All of the A-babies now want to work every waking moment on their acting techniques. So for the next few days the possums spend as much time as possible performing tense and scary scenes. And for the first time, Appleblossom excels. It turns out that being the easiest to frighten can come in handy.
Once her brothers and sisters see how fun it is to make Appleblossom go numb, they all want to be part of her show. On seven different occasions Appleblossom collapses to the ground, arms stiff to the night sky. She is terrific at fainting and releasing an awful smell, because to her it’s all real.
Mama watches and is very proud. “All of you should observe Appleblossom’s technique. You will see that she is free and bold in her performing choices. She doesn’t hold back. Great acting involves preparation and then an authentic response.”
Angie raises her hand. “Could Appleblossom explain her process? Could she give us pointers?”
Appleblossom’s face grows hot with embarrassment. “I really can’t say how I’m doing it. I keel over because I’m completely in the moment.”
Mama Possum gushes with excitement. “That’s how good you are! Actors find a way to be open to the world! They channel emotion! Keep your eye on your little sister. She’s going places.”
A week later, Mama Possum has a new lesson planned for her babies. After waking them, she feeds the group a good breakfast consisting of eight snails (two in broken shells), three worms (still alive), a variety of seeds purloined from a birdfeeder, and a pile of mushy coffee grounds (good for digestion) trapped in a hardened paper filter. She insists that they take turns and everyone gets part of the prize, and then she makes an announcement.
“There are car paths all around us. I navigate these areas all the time, and tonight you will take the stage and cross. One by one. Alone.”
Appleblossom raises her hand. “What if we don’t think we’re ready yet?”
Mama Possum’s nose twitches. “You’re ready.”
Appleblossom is anxious. “But—”
Mama Possum turns back to the group. “Even if you aren’t ready, act ready. Each of you will take a turn. Stage fright can be overcome. Fake it until you make it, possums.”
Appleblossom can’t stop herself; she whispers to Antonio, “I’m never crossing.”
Mama Possum hears her. “You already have. Many times. But you were in my pouch and didn’t know what was happening. So it’s true to say that you have all done this before.”
Antonio feels it necessary to add: “Yes, but not by ourselves.”
Mama Possum tries to be patient. “I remember the first time I crossed a car path. I was very afraid, but I did it. And you can do it. The most important thing about crossing is timing.”
Amlet tries to be the bravest performer and shouts out, “I will make the first entrance. I’m not afraid of stepping out onto a car path!”
But instead of being pleased, Mama Possum looks angry. “No, Amlet! You must be afraid. And for very, very, very good reason. A car is too large and too powerful for any possum to ever challenge. Playing dead doesn’t work for these monsters. They run right over dead things. They even slam straight into each other!”
Amlet’s nose twitches and his eyes slide off into the distance. His chest isn’t as puffy as before. If he’s acting hurt, he’s doing a good job.
Mama Possum raises her tail and commands: “Form a line.”
Angie shouts with her trademark excitement, “A chorus line?”
Mama Possum shakes her head. “Not this time, Angie.”
Appleblossom moves to the back of the group as they assemble. Antonio takes the place right in front of her. Amlet stays in the front. After a lot of pushing and shoving, they manage to find some kind of order.
Overhead, a full moon suddenly pokes through the clouds. It’s so bright that Appleblossom can see her shadow. And it’s shaking.
Mama Possum glances up at the sky and mutters to herself: “Too much moon.” But a moment later her eyes settle on the wide cement path. No cars can be heard, so Mama heads out into the open. She stops in the middle of the path and then rises up so that she’s balancing on her back legs. “The show must go on! Now one at a time. Look both ways before you cross! Amlet, you want to be first. Take the stage when you are ready!”
Appleblossom is too nervous to watch. So she turns her head and stares up into the night sky.
Amlet doesn’t prepare. He doesn’t center himself. He doesn’t do a single breathing exercise. Or even look both ways. He just starts running. His whole body wiggles as he scrambles out into the wide cement path. He’s halfway across when Appleblossom screams, “NO, AMLET! WATCH OUT!”
All of the babies (except for Amlet) look up to see a shape in the sky. It’s large and has wings and is headed right for Amlet. Angie and Alberta and Ajax and Abdul and Allan and Alphonse and Augusta and Alejandro and Alisa and Atticus dive into the ivy. Antonio and Appleblossom hold hands and run into a drainpipe.
But Amlet, intent on his performance, keeps moving.
The moonlight reveals that the flying attacker’s feet are bony, with hooked sharp ends. Right before they sink into Amlet’s spine, Mama throws herself on top of Amlet
and he slams to the ground. The claws of the villain come down on the back of a full-size possum, not a lightweight baby. Mama lets out a single, awful scream and the flapping maniac lifts his head and releases.
All is not lost.
Chapter 7
They are called owls.
And these night criminals are just one more thing for the A-babies to add to a terrifying list that keeps getting longer and longer. But the good news is that as they get older and bigger, these enemies will no longer be a problem.
Amlet survives the attack, with a bruised nose and sore knees and a permanent crimp in his tail, but the cement path show is closed after the incident and no further performances are scheduled.
Amlet is changed after that night. Appleblossom notices that he becomes a different kind of actor. He never again puffs out his chest and shouts, “To be or not to be!” He’s more of an ensemble player after the owl incident and he stays close to Appleblossom. He is, as he explains, “filled with self-doubt.”
Mama Possum doesn’t complain even once about the wounds on her back. She says that it’s the moon’s fault. Everyone is vulnerable in a spotlight. “So there’s another lesson to be learned: Pay attention to the moon and the stars. The importance of lighting can make or break a performance.”
A week passes and they all do their best to forget about the villains known as owls, and the moon that can be too much of a spotlight. Now Mama Possum doesn’t give much instruction when they follow her up a tree or ride on her back. She’s quiet and her eyes focus into the distance on something they can’t see. She’s there and not there.
Not many nights later, it’s windy with a half-moon when Mama Possum makes an announcement: “Tonight we separate and put on our own shows.”
All the A-possums are alarmed. They are never solo acts; that’s one of the rules of an ensemble company. They stay together no matter what happens. Mama continues: “Tonight I want you to strike out and find your own food. This is no dress rehearsal. I need you to show me how skilled you are!”