The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

I said, “It is some kind offish, and it lives near the bottom of the ocean. But it’s unlike any other kind offish I have ever seen. I don’t see how it locomotes, or how it breathes.”

“As far as you go, you are correct. It is unfair to expect you to surmise more, because it is, as you say, squashed in there. It is a cuttlefish. The family is Sepiida, the genus is Sepia. It locomotes by pulling water into a cavity in the mantle and squeezing it through a muscular siphon. The mantle also hides the gills. When startled by a predator, it releases a cloud of brownish black ink to obscure its escape. We use the calcified internal shell as an abrasive. Owners of captive birds sometimes give them the shell on which to sharpen their beaks.”

The thing fascinated me. It was a piece of history as well as an oddity. I touched a finger to the cool glass.

I LATER MENTIONED to Harry how interesting I found the bottled beast. Startled, he looked up from the book he was reading and said, “You’ve been in the library?”

“Yes,” I said, and added, “Granddaddy invited me.”

“Oh, well, in that case. Did you notice the ship in a bottle? I think that’s the most interesting thing, although I haven’t had a chance to get a good look at all his things. He got it from the Volunteer Fire Department years ago when he gave them money and bought the pump wagon. I’m hoping he’ll leave it to me in his will.” He looked at me curiously. “You seem to be spending a lot of time with him.”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you and that old man talk about?”

This made me wary. Harry didn’t so much worry me, but what if the younger brothers discovered that Granddaddy was a trove of weird and fascinating facts about Indian fighting, the larger carnivores, hot-air ballooning? I’d never have him to myself again.

“Um, things,” I said and flushed. I hated withholding anything from Harry. He turned back to his book, and I kissed his cheek. He stroked my hair absently. “You’re still my own pet, right?”

“That’s right,” I declared. “I am.”

It didn’t occur to me that others in my family also noticed I spent time with Granddaddy until Jim Bowie said, “How come you play with Granddaddy more than you play with me, Callie?”

“That’s not true, J.B. I play with you lots. And besides, Granddaddy and I aren’t playing. We’re doing Science,” I said, realizing as I spoke how pompous I sounded.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you study the world around you and you try to figure out how it works.”

“Can I do it too?”

“Maybe you can when you get to be my age.”

J.B. thought about this and then said, “I don’t want to. He’s scary, Callie. He hardly ever smiles. And he smells real funny.”

It was true. Granddaddy smelled like wool, tobacco, mothballs, and peppermint. And sometimes whiskey.

J.B. went on, “He’s not very jolly. My friend Freddy has a jolly grampa. And where’s our other grampa? Don’t we get two? Freddy has two, so how come we don’t have two?”

“The other one died before you came along. He caught typhus and then he died.”

“Oh.” He thought about this. “Can we get another one?”

“No, J.B. First he was Mother’s father, and then later he caught typhus and died.” J.B. looked perplexed by the idea that his own mother had once been a child herself.

“Why can’t we get another one?”

“It’s hard to explain, J.B. One day you’ll understand,” I said.

“Okay.” Whenever I told him this, instead of becoming infuriated like Sul Ross, he always accepted it on faith. He put his arms up for a kiss.

“Who’s your favorite sister?” I said.

“You are, Callie Vee.” He giggled.

“Oh, J.B.,” I breathed into his silky hair, overcome by his sweetness.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll play with you more often, okay?” I did mean it when I said it.

“’Kay.”

But I had so much work to do following that singular day when, floating in the river and looking at the sky, I’d been struck by a thunderbolt of understanding about grasshoppers and—really—the world itself. By the time I’d clambered up the riverbank, I had been transformed into an explorer, and the first thing I’d discovered was another member of my own odd species living at the other end of the hall. There was a living treasure under our roof, and none of my brothers could see him.

“ARE YOU COMING, Calpurnia?” Granddaddy called.

“Yessir, coming!” I galloped down the hall into the library with a fishing creel over my shoulder. It was an old wicker one of Granddaddy’s with hardly any fishy smell left. It was full of my Notebook, collecting jars, a cheese sandwich, a corked bottle of lemonade, and a waxed paper twist of pecans.

“I thought we’d use the microscope today,” he said, securing it in its case and nestling it in his haversack. “It’s an old one, but the lenses are nicely ground, and it’s still in good condition. I expect you have newer ones at school.”

A microscope was a rare and valuable thing. We had no microscopes at school. I was willing to bet I was looking at the only one between Austin and San Antonio.

“We don’t have any at school, Granddaddy.”