The Indian in the Cupboard Read Online Free Page B

talk. You give Little Bear meat—fire—color—much things.” He scowled fiercely up at Omri. “Good?”
    “Good,” said Omri, and indeed nothing in his life had ever promised better.

Thirty Scalps
    W ithin a few minutes, loud snores—well, not loud, but loud for the Indian—began to come out of the tepee, but Omri, sleepy as he was himself, was not quite ready for bed. He had an experiment to do.
    As he had figured it out so far, the cupboard, or the key, or both together, brought plastic things to life,
or if they were already alive, turned them into plastic
. There were a lot of questions to be answered, though. Did it only work with plastic? Would, say, wooden or metal figures also come to life if shut up in the cupboard? How long did they have to stay in there for the magic to work? Overnight? Or did it happen right away?
    And another thing: What about objects? The Indian’s clothes, his feather, his knife, all had become real. Was thisjust because they were part of the original plastic figure? If he put—well, anything you like, the despised plastic tepee, for instance—into the cupboard and locked the door, would that be real in the morning? And what would happen to a real object if he put that in?
    He decided to make a double trial.
    He stood the plastic Indian tent on the shelf of the cupboard. Beside it he put a Matchbox car. Then he closed the cupboard door. He didn’t lock it. He counted slowly to ten.
    Then he opened the door.
    Nothing had happened.
    He closed the door again, and this time locked it with his great-grandmother’s key. He decided to give it a bit longer this time, and while he was waiting he lay down in bed. He began counting to ten slowly. He got roughly as far as five before he fell asleep.
    He was awakened at dawn by Little Bear bawling at him.
    The Indian was standing outside the felt tepee, on the edge of the table, his hands cupped to his mouth as if shouting across a measureless canyon. As soon as Omri’s eyes opened, the Indian shouted:
    “Day come! Why you still sleep? Time eat—hunt—fight—make pictures!”
    Omri leaped up. He cried, “Wait—” and almost wrenched the cupboard open.
    There on the shelf stood a small tepee made of real leather. Even the stitches on it were real. The poles were twigs, tied together with a strip of hide. The designs were real Indian symbols, put on with bright dyes.
    The car was still a toy car made of metal, no more real than it had ever been.
    “It works,” breathed Omri. And then he caught his breath. “Little Bear!” he shouted. “It works, it works! I can makeany plastic toy I like come alive, come real! It’s real magic, don’t you understand? Magic!”
    The Indian stood calmly with folded arms, evidently disapproving of this display of excitement.
    “So? Magic. The spirits work much magic. No need wake dead with howls.”
    Omri hastily pulled himself together. Never mind the dead, it was his parents he must take care not to wake. He picked up the new tepee and set it down beside the one he had made the night before.
    “Here’s the good one I promised you,” he said.
    Little Bear examined it carefully. “No good,” he said at last.
    “What? Why not?”
    “Good tepee, but no good Iroquois brave. See?” He pointed to the painted symbols. “Not Iroquois signs. Algonquin. Little Bear sleep there, Iroquois spirits angry.”
    “Oh,” said Omri, disappointed.
    “Little Bear like Omri tepee. Need paint. Make strong pictures—Iroquois signs. Please spirits.”
    Omri’s disappointment melted into intense pride. He had made a tepee that satisfied his Indian! “It’s not finished,” he said. “I’ll take it to school and finish it in handicrafts lesson. I’ll take out the pins and sew it up properly. Then when I come home I’ll give you poster paints and you can paint your signs.”
    “I paint. But must have longhouse. Tepee no good for Iroquois.”
    “Just for now?”
    Little Bear scowled. “Yes. But very