Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane - Kate DiCamillo [20]
“And then, someday, I will reap the return on my investment in you. All in good time. All in good time. In the doll business, we have a saying: there is real time and there is doll time. You, my fine friend, have entered doll time.”
AND SO EDWARD TULANE WAS mended, put together again, cleaned and polished, dressed in an elegant suit and placed on a high shelf for display. From this shelf, Edward could see the whole shop: Lucius Clarke’s workbench and the windows to the outside world and the door that the customers used to enter and leave. From this shelf, Edward saw Bryce open the door one day and stand in the threshold, the silver harmonica in his left hand flashing brilliantly in the sunlight flooding in through the windows.
“Young sir,” said Lucius, “I am afraid that we made a deal.”
“Can’t I see him?” asked Bryce. He wiped his hand across his nose and the gesture filled Edward with a terrible feeling of love and loss. “I just want to look at him.”
Lucius Clarke sighed. “You may look,” he said. “You may look and then you must go and not come back. I cannot have you in my shop every day mooning over what you have lost.”
“Yes sir,” said Bryce.
Lucius sighed again. He got up from his workbench and went to Edward’s shelf and picked him up and held him so that Bryce could see him.
“Hey, Jangles,” said Bryce. “You look good. The last time I seen you, you looked terrible, your head was busted in and —”
“He is put together again,” said Lucius, “as I promised you he would be.”
Bryce nodded. He wiped his hand across his nose.
“Can I hold him?” he asked.
“No,” said Lucius.
Bryce nodded again.
“Tell him goodbye,” said Lucius Clarke. “He is repaired. He has been saved. Now you must tell him goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” said Bryce.
Don’t go, thought Edward. I won’t be able to bear it if you go.
“And now you must leave,” said Lucius Clarke.
“Yes, sir,” said Bryce. But he stood without moving, looking at Edward.
“Go,” said Lucius Clarke, “go.”
Please, thought Edward, don’t.
Bryce turned. He walked through the door of the doll mender’s shop. The door closed. The bell tinkled.
And Edward was alone.
TECHNICALLY, OF COURSE, HE WAS not alone. Lucius Clarke’s shop was filled with dolls — lady dolls and baby dolls, dolls with eyes that opened and closed and dolls with painted-on eyes, dolls dressed as queens and dolls wearing sailor suits.
Edward had never cared for dolls. He found them annoying and self-centered, twittery and vain. This opinion was immediately reinforced by his first shelf-mate, a china doll with green glass eyes and red lips and dark brown hair. She was wearing a green satin dress that fell to her knees.
“What are you?” she said in a high-pitched voice when Edward was placed on the shelf next to her.
“I am a rabbit,” said Edward.
The doll let out a small squeak. “You’re in the wrong place,” she said. “This is a shop for dolls. Not rabbits.”
Edward said nothing.
“Shoo,” said the doll.
“I would love to shoo,” said Edward, “but it is obvious that I cannot.”
After a long silence, the doll said, “I hope you don’t think that anyone is going to buy you.”
Again, Edward said nothing.
“The people who come in here want dolls, not rabbits. They want baby dolls or elegant dolls such as myself, dolls with pretty dresses, dolls with eyes that open and close.”
“I have no interest in being purchased,” said Edward.
The doll gasped. “You don’t want somebody to buy you?” she said. “You don’t want to be owned by a little girl who loves you?”
Sarah Ruth! Abilene! Their names went through Edward’s head like the notes of a sad, sweet song.
“I have already been loved,” said Edward. “I have been loved by a girl named Abilene. I have been loved by a fisherman and his wife and a hobo and his dog. I have been loved by a boy who played