Everyone below looked up, even Dark Mouth. Oyster said, “Dark Mouth wanted the Map destroyed because he didn’t want anyone to be able to leave him. He wanted everything to stay just as it was when his father was alive.” Oyster stared directly at Dark Mouth now. He said, “You didn’t hate your father. You loved him. You wanted to keep his flowers just the way he’d left them, forever. You’re afraid that if the Map exists, Perths and Doggers and everyone will find a way to leave you. And you don’t want to be alone!”
Everyone was stunned by this notion. They blinked their eyes and gawked at Dark Mouth.
“Of course not!” Dark Mouth shouted. “I had my own reasons!” Dark Mouth got even angrier and began swinging his large, unwieldy arms at the crowd. As Oyster tried to scramble back down the bone-flower he saw a white clump fly off of Dark Mouth’s arm. The crowd ran screaming. Then another bit fell off and another clump broke free and hit Vince Vance in the back. He fell to the ground as if he’d been shot.
Dark Mouth seemed as if he was coming apart. His outside coating was breaking up, and he didn’t seem massive and weighty at all. He appeared airy, as if he were nothing more than a big balloon.
Oyster spotted Leatherbelly down below, who was completely ignoring Dark Mouth’s antics. He looked tired and hungry. He probably hadn’t eaten in ages; he had the exhausted look of a dog who’d been shoved through ductwork and battled Goggles. When a clump landed at Leatherbelly’s paws, he sniffed it and then ate it. He looked quite pleased.
The crowd stood still as Dark Mouth bounced and bipped around overhead.
“What’s happening?” Vince Vance shouted. “Dark Mouth! Speak to me!”
“He’s coming undone,” Hopps said.
It was at this moment that Leatherbelly decided to take an enormous bite. He was waddling along Dark Mouth’s wobbly base. He sank his teeth into something taut, and there was a loud pop followed by a hiss of air. The large white creature deflated like a balloon. It roiled and listed from side to side. It had spiny, jointed innards that, as the beast deflated, poked through the sugar-coated material, like broken metal bones. Finally it writhed and fell in on itself until there was just a large, flattened, sugar-crusted sack.
“Dark Mouth is gone!” Oyster shouted.
A cheer sprang up. Everyone jumped and shouted for joy. Oyster looked at the nuns, whooping it up, their veils a-billow. He looked at Sister Mary Many Pockets, whose heart was pure bliss, and then at his parents, who beamed at him. But it was all so much, he felt overcome. The unlit wick of the Torch overhead was still smoking. He watched the thin plume rise into the air and disappear.
CHAPTER 23
A BROKEN PORTAL
Of course there was joy and mad hoot-hooting and loud rah-rahing in the streets of Boneland—a noise as loud and excited as that of fifty Happy Fig Days rolled into one. Doggers, Wingers, Perths, even most of the Goggles—who, as it turned out, didn’t particularly care for all of the hostility—danced and yawped together. And the nuns joined in too, kicking it up as if at a silver jubilee.
Oyster, however, missed it. He was exhausted. When they’d finally gotten back to Ringet’s apartment, he collapsed into a deep sleep. He dreamed fitfully—and oddly enough, of only two things: a shop filled with maps and the Mapkeeper with her oxygen tank on wheels. He was in her shop trying to apologize for stealing his map, trying to explain all that had happened. He was trying to tell her that he’d had trouble but that it had worked out okay in the end. She wasn’t listening, however. She was busy setting up shop. “I have no time for chatter! So many children, so many Worlds to chart!” And then Oyster looked out of the window, and it wasn’t Baltimore. It was Boneland, except that it was no longer polluted with sugar. It looked like spring. The Mapkeeper appeared at his side. “There is more to the story, Oyster. You know only a tiny sliver. More work for a hero to do.” The dream kept playing itself out, over and over.
Oyster woke only to eat and then smile at Sister Mary Many Pockets and his parents, who took turns at his bedside. And then he would sleep again. Eshma visited often with specially brewed teas. She said that his weariness was quite normal. He’d regain his strength in a few days.
Sister Mary Many Pockets let his parents have their time. She tried not to hover. She ate peanuts and sat at Ringet’s table and tried to mend the Map. From her many pockets, she pulled out glue, tape—duct and Scotch and mailing varieties—plus a needle and thread. Sister Helen Quick Fingers tried to knit it together too.
Nothing worked.
Eshma had given it the once-over. “Broken portal,” she said. “It might not heal.” She went on to explain that it was hard to say if it was the wild commotion of the thirteen desperate nuns or if it was the violent rupture when they left the Map or if it was the evil presence of Dark Mouth, or a combination…. But the fact was this: The Slippery Map was broken.
Hopps and Ringet huddled nearby. They pretended to be sorry about the broken map, but they weren’t convincing.
“So sorry you have to stay,” Ringet told Oyster.
Hopps was more blunt. “Oyster could just live here with us.”
Sister Mary Many Pockets would smile in just such a way that they knew what she meant.
“Sure we’d love to have you visit as often as possible!” Ringet said.
“And yes, yes, we know,” Hopps grumbled. “You all need to be back in your own home.”
But, of course, it wasn’t clear how they would get home, much less back again for a visit, if the Map couldn’t be repaired.
Oli and Marge stopped by with their son. Oyster was sleeping, so they left huge bags of assorted figs.
Ippy and Drusser stopped in too.
Drusser didn’t want to get too close, afraid he might wake him. “I knew from the first time I met him that he would save us all,” he whispered.
Ippy usually lingered. She liked to spend time with Oyster’s parents. They liked to tell stories about the good old days. Ippy listened and asked questions; sometimes the questions were political, but other times she just wanted to know what her mother liked to wear, what her father liked to sing when he was happy. And Oyster’s parents would do a little duet. Sometimes Ippy talked to Oyster, heart-to-heart. I miss you, Oyster. Wake up soon. Get better quickly.
When Oyster did finally wake up, fully wide-eyed one night, he said, “Sing that song again, the one about the moon and the girl you love so much.”
His parents were there, Sister Mary Many Pockets, Hopps, and Ringet too. Ippy had fallen asleep at the foot of the bed. She was snoring lightly. Eshma was preparing a roots potion to cure Ringet’s lock leg. The apartment smelled of dirt and mint.
“Oyster,” Hopps said. “You’re up!”
Ippy startled awake. “Oyster? You’re awake?”
“Ippy!” Oyster said. “You missed me?”
She smiled and nodded. “Like a hole in the head,” she said.
“I’ll make some tea!” Ringet said, calling to Eshma. “He’s up! He’s up!”
Oyster’s mother said, “Hello, Oyster.”
Oyster’s father said, “Listen. Do you hear them outside, rejoicing? It’s for you. Thank you for saving all of us.” They were sitting on the edge of the bed. His mother was holding his hand. Hers felt soft and warm. Sister Mary Many Pockets was standing near the door, as if she was unsure whether to stay or go.
Her heart spoke softly. It said, This might be private. It might not include me.
“You know Hopps and Ringet and Ippy, here,” Oyster said to his parents, “but do you know Sister Mary Many Pockets?”
They all nodded.
“You’ve been asleep for days, Oyster,” Hopps explained.
“Have I?”
“Yes,” Hopps said.
“We’re all okay now,” Oyster’s mother said. She cupped his face in her hand.
Oyster couldn’t help himself. He leaned into it. “I’m so happy here,” he said.
And Sister Mary Many Pockets nodded. She understoo
d. She took a small step backward.
“But I want to go home, too,” Oyster said. “I miss home.”
Oyster’s mother smiled. “Of course, Oyster,” she said. “We wouldn’t keep you from your home.”
“Can you have two homes?” his father asked.
“Can you have three?” Hopps added.
Sister Mary Many Pockets was all choked up. Her face blushed sweetly. She crossed her arms and shook her head. Oyster R. Motel, her heart was saying, I love you so.
The nuns were back from the celebrations. They were humming and swaying, their faces pink and exhausted. When they saw that Oyster was awake, they rushed him with hugs. Some wept, others laughed. Some did both at the same time.
Sister Mary Many Pockets hadn’t yet explained to the nuns that the Map was truly broken. She didn’t want to alarm them. But now that Oyster was up, they assumed that it was time to leave. They scribbled good-byes to Hopps and Ringet, Oyster’s parents and Ippy. They scribbled, Thank you for your gracious hosting.
Sister Mary Many Pockets held up her hands, wrote her note, and handed it to Oyster to read. He needed to know too.
Oyster read, The Slippery Map is broken. I can’t fix it. He looked at Eshma Weegrit.
She shrugged. “It’s true! Nothing I can do either.”
He stopped there and looked up at Sister Mary Many Pockets. “Are you sure?”
Sister Mary Many Pockets nodded yes.
The nuns harumphed and coughed and generally fidgeted.
“If only we had another map,” Eshma said. “If only…”
And that’s when Oyster thought of it. He snapped his fingers. “Ringet,” he said. “I have a Map of my own!”
Ringet winced, obviously remembering Oyster’s sad little Map.
Hopps shook his head. “Oyster, c’mon now. I don’t really think—”
“Get it out of the soup can!” Oyster said. “I’ve been imagining! I really have! I have let my imagination loose.”
Ringet walked to the shelf and pulled on the oversized soup can. It had surprising weight, and Ringet caught it awkwardly in his skinny arms. “My, my,” he said, passing the can to Oyster.
Oyster looked inside. His Map was full and fat. It filled the oversized soup can so tightly that it was hard to wedge it out. But he finally did. He rolled it on the bed and there it was: the house he’d imagined with his parents, the backyard with the swing set, the garden, the clothesline. On one side of the Map there was the Gulf of Wind and Darkness, which led to Boneland and what was now called the Breathing River of Nunly Snores. There was a large section on the underground field with all of the eye and fire holes of Dragons marked clearly Evil Fishback Field—and the Dragons were red. Dark Mouth’s prison, the Torch, drawn with exact detail, including the shiny silver hook. On the other side, Oyster saw the nunnery and the Dragon Palace and the chair where the boy with leg braces sat and the library of Johns Hopkins and Dr. Fromler’s Dentistry and, not far off, the Mapkeeper’s shop.
“It’s all here!” Oyster said. “Look at all of the details!” He looked at the Mapkeeper’s shop again. It reminded him of his dream. He sat up on his knees and looked out of Ringet’s window. Outside, the sugar-snow was gone, and it looked like spring, just like in his dream. Blue Iglits, no longer confined to hidden indoor locations like Ringet’s apartment, now darted through the air. Oyster glanced back at his Map. He found Ringet’s apartment and put a finger on it.
“What is it?” Hopps asked.
He drew a line across the street and found, on the other side, another version of the Mapkeeper’s shop. Oyster looked out the window again, and there it was. A shop—no sign on the door except one that read: GOING OUT OF BUSINESS. He saw a figure move past the glass front of the shop and then to the front door. There she was—locking up with a key, rolling her oxygen tank. Oyster waved.
“Who is it?” Oyster’s parents asked.
“Someone you know too, I think,” Oyster said.
But the Mapkeeper kept on strolling, and by the time Oyster’s parents looked across the street, she was gone.
“Who?” his father asked.
“I don’t see anyone,” his mother said.
Oyster slid down. The Mapkeeper knew more than she’d let on. She was a player in all of this. Oyster wasn’t sure how. There was a story here and he would want to know it, all of it. Now that his parents were here, there would be time to hear as much as they had to tell.
“Never mind,” he said. “There’s time for that later.” He pointed to the Map. “This is a house for you,” he said to his parents. “It’s halfway between the nunnery and here. See it? There’s a garden and a swing set. And I can spend some of my time there with you, like a regular family. Ippy can come and play there with me. Ringet and Hopps can come for dinner.”
His parents nodded.
“We’d like that,” his mother said.
“Very much,” his father added.
“And then I can come here sometimes.” He pointed to Ringet’s apartment.
“Yes, yes!” Ringet and Hopps said happily. “Rah-rah and hoot-hoot!”
“And here’s the nunnery, where I’ll stay with Sister Mary Many Pockets and the nuns,” he said, and then he paused and looked at them. “I’m not listless and dull. I’m not even nunlike. I’m just a regular boy. But, well, is that okay with you all?” he asked.
The nuns all smiled and nodded vigorously, especially Sister Mary Many Pockets, whose heart cheered, It was always okay for you to be yourself!
“And right now that’s where I’d like to be: in my own bed in the nunnery surrounded by snores.”
Everyone agreed that the plan sounded just right.
“We have a responsibility to put things in order here,” his father said. “Then we’ll come to visit you in the house you imagined for us, the one with the swing set, the garden, and the clothesline.”
“It won’t take long. We’ll visit soon! We love you so!”
Oyster nodded. “You’re the ones who started all of this,” he said. “I guess you should make sure it’s all set right.”
The good-byes were sad and cheery, both. They’d all found one another. That was worth celebrating, and now that they had Oyster’s Map to pass through, they would see one another again soon. They hugged each other for a good long time.
Hopps and Ringet put their fingers to the sides of their noses. Oyster returned the gesture.
Oyster used the bucket charm on his necklace to open his Map right to the convent’s broom closet. Ringet’s apartment filled with breezes. The nuns stepped into the Map, one by one, and disappeared. Oyster was second to last. He waved wildly.
They all waved back, quite teary-eyed: Eshma, Ippy, his mother and father, Ringet, and Hopps. Oyster stepped into the hole, a rush of wind lifted his hair, and he was gone.
This left only Sister Mary Many Pockets.
Oyster’s mother said, “You can step into the Map and hold on to its poles at the same time.”
His father went on, “Therefore bringing the Map with you through the Gulf of Wind and Darkness so you’ll have it on the other side.”
She nodded. Yes, yes, she understood.
And then Oyster’s parents both hugged her. They whispered, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
But Sister Mary Many Pockets only smiled and shook her head. Thank you, she mouthed. Thank you.
And then Sister Mary Many Pockets stepped into the Map while gripping its poles. Her skirt billowed. Her veil flew up. She gave a bow and then, with a nearly electric snap, the nun and the Map were gone.
EPILOGUE
Dear Reader,
Well, there you have it. Odd, I know. Odd but true.
The nun who told me this story in the middle of a snowy night in Baltimore was Sister Mary Many Pockets—but, of course, you’ve guessed that by now. (I forget sometimes how perceptive you are.)
She wrote down this story for me on slips of paper, but not in these words. She gave me a summary
of the story, and I held on to those little slips of paper for dear life.
When she finished and we were sitting quietly in the nunnery kitchen, I thought, Bode—for that’s what I call myself when I’m giving myself the straight-talk—you might very well have a great book on these little scraps of paper. You might just prove to all those other writers that you are not a fraud!
Sister Mary Many Pockets called a cab for me, and while we waited she decided that she still had one thing to show me. She ushered me up the nunnery stairs to the hall of bedrooms. It was as noisy as the Breathing River, certainly. She turned into Oyster’s room. It was different from how she’d described it earlier. It now had bunk beds. Oyster, however, was sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor. He was a little sweaty in his heavy blankets, but rosy. And a small girl—a miniature version of a girl, a young Perth, in fact, with an impish face and freckles—was sleeping on the bottom bunk. It was Ippy, of course. And on the top bunk was a boy with black hair: the owner’s son from the Dragon Palace. And since there were no leg braces or crutches, and since he was on the top bunk, I have to assume that Eshma cured him.
At the foot of Oyster’s sleeping bag was a slim dachshund stretched out in all of his glory. I suppose he refused to go back to Mrs. Fishback—maybe he even gave her one of the growls she’d taught him long before.
Sister Mary Many Pockets handed me a note that said, A sleepover. Best friends.
She then led me back to the main door. The cab was waiting at the curb. I said, “Thank you for the notes.” I was still holding them tightly to my chest.
She looked at me and tilted her head, and that’s when I heard her say something to me. It went something like: Will you write this story down?
I nodded. “Yes, yes,” I said. “I promise.”
And then her heart—what else could it have been?—said, You don’t need those notes, N. E. Bode. You have the story lodged within you. It’s yours now to tell.
I nodded, a little surprised and shaken. I thanked her again and shuffled off the stoop. I walked to the cab, but before I opened the door, I looked back at Sister Mary Many Pockets. Her chubby hands folded together at her chest as if at that very moment she was saying a prayer for me, Bode with his bundle of notes.