An acclaimed playwright's first work for children...A gentle and thoroughly original animal story
Young Jonathan finds a small, frightened squirrel on the road and brings it home tucked inside his sneaker. But the squirrel named Mr. Wellington is weak and listless, and fearful of the unfamiliar surroundings. Told from alternating perspectives--Jonathan's and Mr. Wellington's--this beautifully written story, enhanced with pen-and-ink wash illustrations, has all the markings of an enduring classic animal tale.
An acclaimed playwright's first work for children...A gentle and thoroughly original animal story
Young Jonathan finds a small, frightened squirrel on the road and brings it home tucked inside his sneaker. But the squirrel named Mr. Wellington is weak and listless, and fearful of the unfamiliar surroundings. Told from alternating perspectives--Jonathan's and Mr. Wellington's--this beautifully written story, enhanced with pen-and-ink wash illustrations, has all the markings of an enduring classic animal tale.
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Overview
An acclaimed playwright's first work for children...A gentle and thoroughly original animal story
Young Jonathan finds a small, frightened squirrel on the road and brings it home tucked inside his sneaker. But the squirrel named Mr. Wellington is weak and listless, and fearful of the unfamiliar surroundings. Told from alternating perspectives--Jonathan's and Mr. Wellington's--this beautifully written story, enhanced with pen-and-ink wash illustrations, has all the markings of an enduring classic animal tale.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781429998222 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Roaring Brook Press |
| Publication date: | 04/27/2009 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 96 |
| File size: | 882 KB |
| Age Range: | 6 - 10 Years |
About the Author
DAVID RABE is a Tony-Award winning playwright and screenwriter. He lives in Lakeville, Connecticut.
ROBERT ANDREW PARKER is a fine artist, printmaker, and award-winning illustrator. He lives in West Cornwall, Connecticut.
Robert Andrew Parker who knew Jackson Pollock as a young man, is a fine artist and printmaker whose work often appears in publications such as The New Yorker. The illustrator of the Modern Library's edition of Stendhal's The Charterhouse of Parma, his numerous children's books include Grandfather Tang's Story, Sleds on Boston Common, and Cold Feet, winner of the 2002 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award.
Read an Excerpt
Mr. Wellington
By David Rabe, Robert Andrew Parker
Holtzbrinck Publishing
Copyright © 2009 David RabeAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-9822-2
CHAPTER 1
Mystery. And the dark of night coming down all around him. And the squirrel didn't know where he was. The cold was getting deep inside him, and no matter where he looked he saw nothing familiar. Trees, yes. And grass. And more trees. And dirt. And fallen branches, and bark and more trees and more grass. But none that were his tree. The one where his home was. Where he lived with his mother and his brothers and sisters. Where he'd been playing roughly with his brother. Feeling strong. As strong as anything in the world. Pushing, tugging, nipping, even when his mother told them both to stop. She was going to go out and forage for acorns, as she always did. Didn't they want their acorns?
He wanted acorns but he didn't want to stop playing, because he could beat his brother and he knew it and his brother had nipped him, and he wanted to get even and get in an extra nip. The last nip. And so when his mother's big gray tail sailed from sight as she scampered over the edge of their nest and off down, down, down, he just couldn't quite stop wanting to fight. To play. So he'd turned around and eyed his brother with a look that was like a little bite, and then made a crooked face. When that hadn't been enough to get the wrestling going again, he'd hopped over and delivered a poke and a nip and fled. But he fled too quickly and not exactly straight off down the branch as planned, but too much to the side and too fast and too steep, so that his front feet barely found bark, and he was unable to hang on and keep from flipping out into the air. Into nothing to grab or claw or climb except a leaf or two that simply blew away and did nothing to stop or slow him. And everything around him raced past in a long and longer blur of green and brown and blue until the biggest bump of his life took all his breath away and with it all the color everywhere other than black.
And when he woke up he screamed right away for his mother, but she didn't come. He screamed for his brothers and sisters, but they didn't scream back. His mother always had come when he screamed like that. Once he'd gone running down a branch with her and when he looked and she was gone, he screamed and she came right to him. But not this time. It scared him to scream and hear the scream, and it scared him that she didn't come. He'd run then, even though his head hurt and he felt a little strange. He ran to find her because she had to be nearby. He didn't know when that had been, but it seemed long, long ago. He saw trees that looked like his tree, but when he tried to climb them they weren't his tree and he knew it. He went under bushes and through brushes and every now and then he screamed to call her, but she didn't come. And every now and then he just screamed.
But now it was night and dark and the cold was getting inside him where the fear already was, and he was hungry, so very hungry. He found an acorn but he couldn't get it open with his tiny teeth. They were too little and the acorn was too hard, and he was so tired and sick. He wanted to sleep but couldn't because he was scared that something bad would happen if he slept out in the dark away from his brothers and sisters, and out in the open anything could see him and sneak up and ...
Warm, he thought. Warm. I want to be warm, and I want to eat and I want to ... He just stopped and sat. The spot he had come upon was somehow warmer than where he'd been, though it didn't have any grass or weeds, and it was hard. There was dust on it and pebbles, and it was hard, though it was warmer than anything else, so he sat there even when the roaring noise came and daylight seemed to pour over him. He just didn't care or understand, but at least he was warm. And then a strange force came and sort of nudged him, and the force was warmer than the spot he'd been on even though the force was moving him off the spot. The next thing he felt was tree bark under his little claws, but he couldn't climb and it wasn't his tree. How was this happening? The way he was being pushed around and moved and picked up and set down ... Then the warmth went away and the squirrel hung there, knowing it was useless to go up this strange tree because his mother wasn't up there, and his brothers and sisters weren't up there. But the warmth came back and carried him down to the dirt and grass, where it set him down and left him and then came back and pushed at him as if to shove him into the dark forest, where bad things waited and where it was cold and the dirt and grass were cold, and as the warmth left again, he screamed. It wasn't his mother, but it was warm, and he screamed and when it came back this time, he grabbed it with both front paws and both back paws, and he put his little claws into the warmth as much as he could and he hung on. He chattered to make his point, hoping his noise would explain that he couldn't let go. He wouldn't let go. The warmth was warm and he was cold. He had to hang on with every little muscle he had. And then the warmth changed somehow. It opened. It let him in like a hole in a tree, or a nest, and he crawled in and curled his tail up around him, and the warmth was like sunshine in the middle of the night, and he went to sleep. Hungry and thirsty and scared still, he slept.
CHAPTER 2When the headlight on his bicycle lit up the squirrel in the middle of the road, Jonathan turned to go around it, but as he rode past, he noticed that the squirrel didn't move. He pedaled a few more strokes, and then started to worry that a car might come along and run over the little animal. It was strange the way it was just sitting there and not moving. He circled back and aimed his headlight and saw that the squirrel was a baby. Just sitting there on that road with the sun down and the light all but gone. Jonathan was on his way home from the lake, where he'd gone to take photographs for a school project, and was hungry and a little late for dinner. But then, he knew that dinner wasn't all that organized because his mom and dad were away for the weekend, and it was just Jonathan and his older brother who was home for a few days from college.
After watching the squirrel for a second, Jonathan decided that maybe he should just try to move it off the road. Wheeling his bike to take advantage of the headlight, he approached the squirrel. Its head was bowed over like it was staring at the ground, and it looked sad or worried or scared or something not very good. Where were the other squirrels? Didn't it have a family? He pushed at it carefully, nudging it off the dusty pavement, over the few scattered pebbles and onto the grass. At least it should be off the road. The squirrel just let itself be moved and it didn't fight back or try to bite or resist, and Jonathan started to worry that it might be hurt or sick. How long had it been out here alone like this? he wondered. What would happen to it? There were dogs around, and he had even seen foxes darting across this road. Maybe he should put the squirrel in a tree, he thought, and he very carefully reached and lifted the little body so tiny and frail and soft, which just kind of melted into his fingers. He lifted it up to a nearby tree and placed it against the trunk maybe five feet up in the air and the squirrel grabbed hold with its little claws. Jonathan thought, Good. He'll climb up and go to the top and do what squirrels do at night. Whatever that was. He didn't really know. He guessed they had nests or maybe hollow places in the tree where they —
He stopped thinking about it because the little squirrel hadn't moved. It was just hanging there on the side of the tree, looking like it might fall off at any second. He moved his bike closer so the light would let him see clearly, and it looked like its little legs were shaking. Fearing the squirrel would fall, Jonathan picked it off the tree, and put it down in the grass. He had to get home. He looked down at the tiny little body in the grass and thought that maybe he should at least get it deeper into the weeds and trees along the road before he left, so he put his toe against the squirrel and gently shoved the squirrel a few inches and then a foot and the squirrel sort of skidded and hopped once and then stopped. Jonathan pulled his foot away and turned to walk back to his bike on the road and the squirrel screamed. It was a sad, lost little high-pitched scream, and when Jonathan stepped back toward it, the squirrel grabbed hold of his sneaker with all four feet and claws and hung on. Now he didn't know what to do, and when he lifted his foot as if to shake the squirrel loose, the little animal rose with his foot, clinging to his sneaker. It took him a minute for Jonathan to realize he couldn't walk like this or ride his bike with this squirrel holding on to his sneaker, so he bent and untied the laces and slid the sneaker off his foot. The cold of the ground came right into his foot then, through his sock and into his skin, and as he felt the cold from the ground, the squirrel scrambled sideways and up onto the top of his sneaker and then plunged inside. It went in headfirst right where his foot had been, and it curled there on its side like it had gone into a cave, and its tail, like a little flag or blanket, fell over it.
So that's the way Jonathan walked home then, holding his sneaker in his hands with the squirrel curled up and sleeping inside it, and with every step the cold ground went into his foot, icy and deep, just as it had been working its way inside the little squirrel and making him colder
CHAPTER 3With his head covered up by the curl of his tail, the squirrel felt almost as though he was in the middle of a big jump. He hadn't jumped that he knew of. He'd just grabbed hold and hung on. He was too tired to jump even if he wanted to. But still, there he was, full of all that jumping feeling, like when he was with his brother sometimes and he ran and he wanted to get from one place to another quickly, or if something was in his way, and so he'd tighten all his leg muscles, and then let them go free, jumping light and fast. And that was what he was feeling now, only it was bumpy. He went up and down, and rocked from side to side with the up-and-down way the warmth was moving, and the side-to-side way it was moving. It was the warmth that was making it all happen.
He peeked then, nudging his tail aside so he could see past it, hoping to see something, maybe even the warmth, but there was only dark. And the dark seemed to be bouncing all over the place. High up there were black streaks that made him think of trees and feel sad. He had no idea where he was going. But he wasn't where he should be. He knew that he wasn't in the trees. Past the black streaks that made him think of trees he saw the big round light that his mother and older brother had said was their "friend," warning them to stay in their trees in the night. But he hadn't obeyed. He hadn't disobeyed either. He'd only played when maybe he shouldn't, and he had fallen. Maybe he was still falling.
He pushed his tail over his eyes. He was thirsty, and hungry, too, but mainly now he was tired. He worried about falling asleep, because there might be something he should try to do. He tried to think what it was. Run? Jump? Scratch? Bite?
The warmth was all he had, even though it bounced. Exhausted and lost, he floated into a long, dark tunnel. He could not keep his eyes open. Where was he going? Where? In the strange, dreamy softness, he settled, he slept.
CHAPTER 4When Jonathan walked in the front door, he smelled food cooking. His older brother, Vincent, was frying hamburgers as Jonathan entered the kitchen and said, "I have a baby squirrel."
"What?" said Vincent, sounding almost annoyed. "You're kidding."
Jonathan held up the sneaker, and Vincent took a long look at the squirrel inside. "How did he get in there?"
"He crawled in. He was down by the corner at Hilltop and our street, and he was just sitting in the middle of the road."
The little gray-brown body snuggled as deep in the hollow of the sneaker as it could go. It lay in a kind of self-tied knot, with its tail looped over it like a blanket.
"He's probably hungry, don't you think?" Jonathan asked.
"And thirsty, too, I guess. How long was he out there?"
"I don't know. How would I know?"
Because Jonathan had his hands full holding the sneaker and squirrel, Vincent poured milk into a small bowl and held it out by the sneaker. Jonathan shook the sneaker and the squirrel stirred and reversed itself and peeked over the edge at the milk, but then he sank back.
"He doesn't look so good, does he?"
"Do you think he's hurt or sick?" Jonathan wondered.
"Maybe it's just that squirrels don't like milk. Let's try something else."
He dumped the milk in the sink, then washed the bowl before filling it with water.
"What about nuts? They eat nuts, right?"
"Sure. Of course."
"Do we have any nuts?"
"Walnuts or something, I bet."
Vincent held the little cup of water close to the sneaker and the squirrel edged out, leaning a little and looking like it was thinking over the idea of water.
"I'll bet he's thirsty."
And then the squirrel lunged for the water and Jonathan flinched. After so much stillness the sudden movement was scary, and his hands jumped away from the sneaker, and the squirrel and sneaker both fell to the floor, where they made a loud thump.
As the two boys stared down in shock, the squirrel, looking worried, retreated into the sneaker. And he seemed to dig in even deeper this time.
"I didn't expect him to jump like that," said Jonathan, bending to pick up the sneaker. "I hope I didn't hurt him."
"Maybe we should just let him rest awhile."
"Poor little guy."
"I'll grind up some nuts."
Knowing they had to put him somewhere safe, they decided to get an old dog cage up from the basement and place it in the bathroom attached to the guest room. The cage was made of wire with holes too small for a squirrel to crawl through, not that the little creature was likely to go anywhere since it didn't want to leave the sneaker. The bathroom had a door and there was a door to the guest room and the cage had a door, too. They could all be shut.
Vincent found a bag of walnuts in the pantry and ground them up in a blender. Jonathan put water into an old jar lid so the edge would be low enough for the squirrel to reach over. Vincent put the nuts in a small bowl and then more water in another small bowl. Once the dog cage was in the bathroom, they put everything inside. Then Jonathan knelt and, carefully, set the sneaker with the squirrel on the floor of the cage. Vincent crouched down, and together they looked in at the squirrel huddled under the sweep of its tail, eyes closed, little body puffing up and down with breathing.
"Look at him; he's so sleepy," said Vincent.
"How long do you think he was out there in the dark alone?"
"Probably awhile."
"He must have been so scared. He's so little."
"Maybe he got lost. Or his mom got hit by a car."
"Do you think it could have been out there alone for more than one night?"
"Out in the dark and the cold."
"With things that might eat you."
"Actually, he probably couldn't have survived a whole night. So whatever happened, probably happened today."
"The poor little guy."
"Look how sleepy he is."
"You know what?" said Jonathan. "I have an idea."
"What?"
"I'll be right back." When Jonathan returned, he brought an old cardboard box with one end cut out so that it took on the shape of a cave. Placing it inside the dog cage, he fit it over the water and the nuts, and over the sneaker with the squirrel inside, keeping the open end toward them so they could still look in and see him.
"He seemed to want a hiding place," said Jonathan.
CHAPTER 5The squirrel floated along in a strange, dreamy softness, falling down a long, dark tunnel that he recognized as the one that waited at the end of each day of his life. It came when he could no longer keep his eyes open, and it had come even today. It was sleep.
But suddenly there was bright light everywhere, and he looked around. It was warm and the sights were strange. Big round blurry presences came and went like the wind through the branches or a hole in a tree. There was noise, and some of it was chatter, a little like squirrels talking, but nothing he could understand. He was hungry and dizzy but no longer so cold, and when the soft hole in which he was dozing shook, he stirred and looked out at the blurry spheres that came and went with the sounds, and there was also a circle of something that reminded him of water and he was thirsty but it smelled bad. That was the other thing. The smells were strong and they felt dangerous. Part of him was very worried and felt he should flee, that he was in danger. If he hadn't been so weary, he'd have been terrified. The smells were unknown, and they alarmed him, and then the white was gone and what came floating near was water. It looked like water and smelled like water and he wanted it so he just went out for it, and something happened that reminded him of falling from the tree and losing everything, and it was like little claws running up through him as he went down and landed hard with a thump. Only this time the dark didn't come taking away everything. But he felt scared and he turned and curled back into the warm soft hole that was still there. He went as deep as he could go, as deep and as far, and then he just shut his eyes. He was worn out. So tired he didn't know what to do except sleep. He had to sleep. Just sleep.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Mr. Wellington by David Rabe, Robert Andrew Parker. Copyright © 2009 David Rabe. Excerpted by permission of Holtzbrinck Publishing.
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