PeeWee and Plush Read Free Page B

in the same direction.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked Lexi. In my weeks in the park, I had learned a lot. But there was still so much I didn’t know. I’d seen Sunday crowds before, but I’d never seen this many people so late in the day.
    â€œThere’s an activity tonight over on the Great Lawn,” Lexi reported. “I don’t know what it is but all these people carrying so many blankets and bags can only mean one thing: garbage. We’ll certainly have a wonderful feast when they all go home.”
    â€œBut what can we eat now?” asked Plush. “In the pet shop I could eat pellets whenever I wanted. They might not taste as good as the food here in the park, but they were always available.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Lexi. He ran off and within a minute came back holding a couple of seeds. “
Dig, dig, and you’ll find something big
,” he told us. These seeds weren’t exactly big, but Lexi came back several times with more. They were crunchy like pet shop pellets, but their taste was much more delicious. I looked over at Plush. Her fur was a little disheveled from sleeping in the dirt, but she was still the most beautiful guinea pig in the world.
    Rested and full of food, we sat together talking. Lexi told Plush stories about the park. He told her about how we had become friends and said many fine things about me. She seemed especially impressed when Lexi told her that I was the only animal in the entire park who knew how to read. Onanother day I might have felt embarrassed hearing so much praise, but now I was glad. I needed all the help I could get to regain Plush’s trust and win her affection. And from time to time, I noticed her looking at me with renewed interest.
    The sky was still quite light when we began to hear a sound that was unusual in the park. There was human music playing very loudly nearby.
    â€œOh my heavens!” shrieked Plush, suddenly looking very alert. “That’s the overture to
Tosca
.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked.
    â€œ
Tosca
. It’s an opera by Giacomo Puccini. It’s one of my favorites. I love everything by him:
Tosca, La Bohème, Madama Butterfly
. . . . They’re all so beautiful.”
    Lexi and I looked at each other, puzzled. I’d heard music coming from the boom boxes that some of the people carried in the park, but I’d never heard it so loud and it never sounded like this. Personally, I prefer birdsong to human music.
    â€œMr. Josephi, who owned the pet shop where I used to live, always had the radio on,” Plush explained to us. “He especially loved to listen to opera. I’ve heard many of them in his store.”
    â€œWould you like to
see
the opera?” I asked Plush.
    â€œYou mean we could actually do that?” she asked incredulously.
    â€œIt’s just a short walk from here to the Great Lawn. That’s where the performance must be.”
    And so that’s why we didn’t go to Turtle Pond, and it’s how I got to see my first opera. There were men and women wearing long outfits that looked incredibly uncomfortable to me, singing in voices that were unnaturally loud. Although I could hear them perfectly well, I couldn’t make out a single word. Whenever the singing stopped, the hundreds of people sitting on blankets or folding chairs would break into loud applause. Plush tapped her paws together in delight too.

    â€œWhy can’t I understand them?” I asked Plush.
    â€œThey’re singing in Italian, silly,” she told me.
    â€œDo you understand Italian?” I asked in amazement.
    â€œNo,” she admitted. “You don’t have to understand all the words to enjoy an opera. You can feel the emotion in the music. Imagine! I’m hearing a live performance of
Tosca
here in the park,” Plush said happily. “Who could believe it? I only wish Mr.Josephi were here too. He would