Harriet the Spy

by Louise Fitzhugh

“‘There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.”’ Ole Golly said this steadily and sedately, then leaned back in her chair with a satisfied look at Sport. Sport looked completely blank. “Henry James,” said Ole Golly, “1843–1916. From Portrait of a Lady.”

“Try everything, Sport, at least once.”

“Listen to this,” Ole Golly said and got that quote look on her face: “‘Love all God’s creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.”’

Ole Golly looked at Harriet in as gentle a way as she could considering the fact that her face looked like it was cut out of oak.

“Everything in the world, everything, everything. I will be a spy and know everything.” “It won’t do you a bit of good to know everything if you don’t do anything with it.

“Drink your milk,” said Mrs. Welsch. Harriet always waited until her mother said this, no matter how thirsty she was. It made her feel comfortable to have her mother remind her.

Janie came slowly toward them, her eyes apparently focused on a tree across the street in the park. She looked odd walking that way, her head turned completely to the right like a soldier on parade. Both Sport and Harriet knew she did this because she was shy and didn’t want to see anyone, so they didn’t mention it.

OLE GOLLY SAYS THERE IS AS MANY WAYS TO LIVE AS THERE ARE PEOPLE ON THE EARTH AND I SHOULDN’T GO ROUND WITH BLINDERS BUT SHOULD SEE EVERY WAY I CAN. THEN I’LL KNOW WHAT WAY I WANT TO LIVE AND NOT JUST LIVE LIKE MY FAMILY.

I THINK MISS ELSON IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE YOU DON’T BOTHER TO THINK ABOUT TWICE.

It was time for her cake and milk. Every day at three-forty she had cake and milk. Harriet loved doing everything every day in the same way.

Ole Golly told me if I was going to be a writer I better write down everything, so I’m a spy that writes down everything.”

“What do you do, child? Listen at doors?” “Yes,” said Harriet.

Ole Golly says find out everything you can cause life is hard enough even if you know a lot.”

‘We would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified.”’

Harriet stood up. “I do not go out to PLAY, I go out to WORK!” and in as dignified a way as possible she walked from the room and up the steps from the kitchen. Then she began to run, and running furiously,

“Well,” Mrs. Plumber was saying decisively into the telephone, “I have discovered the secret of life.” Wow, thought Harriet. “My dear, it’s very simple, you just take to your bed. You just refuse to leave it for anything or anybody.”

“Oh, yes, darling, I know. I know you can’t run away from life, I agree with you. I loathe people that do that. But you see, I’m not. While I’m lying here I’m actually working because, you see, and this is the divine part, I’m deciding on a profession!” You must be a hundred and two, thought Harriet; you better get going.

IT’S JUST WHAT OLE GOLLY SAYS. RICH PEOPLE ARE BORING. SHE SAYS WHEN PEOPLE DON’T DO ANYTHING THEY DON’T THINK ANYTHING, AND WHEN THEY DON’T THINK ANYTHING THERE’S NOTHING TO THINK ABOUT THEM.

“Writers don’t care what they eat. They just care what you think of them.

Sport almost collapsed at the sink. “Are you kidding? You know I want to be a ball player. And if I’m not a good ball player, I’ll tell you something, I’m going to be a C.P.A.”

“I hate money,” Harriet said. “Well, you’d jolly well like it if you didn’t have any,” Sport said arrogantly. Harriet considered this. It was true. She’d never had to think about it.

ARE RICH PEOPLE EVER GOING TO GROW UP TO BE WRITERS OR ARE WRITERS ALL LIKE MR. ROCQUE WITH NO MONEY? MY FATHER IS ALWAYS SAYING STARVINGARTIST OR STARVINGWRITER. MAYBE I BETTER REDUCE.

WHAT IS TOO OLD TO HAVE FUN? YOU CAN’T BE TOO OLD TO SPY EXCEPT IF YOU WERE FIFTY YOU MIGHT FALL OFF A FIRE ESCAPE, BUT YOU COULD SPY AROUND ON THE GROUND A LOT.

WHEN I LOOK AT HIM I COULD EAT A THOUSAND TOMATO SANDWICHES.

“Your father has a very high-pressure job, that’s all.” “What’s a high-pressure job?” “It means he’s not allowed to do exactly what he wants with the job, and what he is allowed to do he isn’t given enough time to do it in.”

Harriet sat looking around her for a while, at Janie’s back bent attentively over her work, at the sunlight coming in the window—the late afternoon sun which looked sad and pleasant at the same time and which reminded her abruptly of New Year’s Day last year. There hadn’t been anything important about that day. She had just happened to look at the sun in the same way.

The Gregory News was the school paper. There was a page reserved for every grade in the Middle School and every grade in the Upper School. The Lower School were such idiots they didn’t need a page.

LIFE IS A GREAT MYSTERY. IS EVERYBODY A DIFFERENT PERSON WHEN THEY ARE WITH SOMEBODY ELSE?

She could already feel the empty house descending around her ears.

I THINK MAYBE THEY’RE ALL RIGHT WHEN THEY SAY THERE ARE SOME THINGS I WON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT UNTIL I’M OLDER. BUT IF IT MAKES YOU LIKE TO EAT ALL KINDS OF WURST I’M NOT SURE I’M GOING TO LIKE THIS.

Solitude, the safeguard of mediocrity, is to genius the stern friend’!”

“OLE GOLLY”—Harriet stood up. She was really furious—“do you or don’t you feel sorry for people who are alone?” “No,” said Ole Golly, looking up quizzically at Harriet. “No, I don’t.” “Oh,” said Harriet and sat down. “I do.”

“it is one thing to come to this the way I have, to give myself time to think, and another thing to just be this all your life and never want more.

“Life is very strange,” said Ole Golly gently. This was one of her favorite expressions, and hearing it, Harriet felt somehow reassured.

“And so I became a delivery boy. And suddenly life was sweet.” Mr. Waldenstein let out a ringing little laugh, the laugh of a happy child.

“It must have taken a lot of courage,” said Ole Golly, bending over the stove. “No,” said Mr. Waldenstein, “—desperation.”

Mr. Welsch wandered into the library, newspaper in hand. “How about a little quiet now, Harriet?” “Who’s saying anything?” She was, after all, just standing there. “I have the distinct feeling that I can hear you thinking.

“Math is for them that only want to count everything. It’s them that wants to know what they’re counting that matter.”

“Had what?” “Had it. Had it—It’s an expression. It just means tired.” She went down the steps. Harriet wrote in her notebook: HAD IT. THINK ABOUT THAT.

I WONDER IF WHEN YOU DREAM ABOUT SOMEBODY THEY DREAM ABOUT YOU.

Signora Dei Santi revived immediately and started to run up and down the store waving her arms wildly and screaming in Italian. The customers stood around like frozen food.

They finally got him. She leaned over once more to look at his face. She looked a long time. Then she sat down and wrote in her book: I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT FACE AS LONG AS I LIVE. DOES EVERYBODY LOOK THAT WAY WHEN THEY HAVE LOST SOMETHING? I DON’T MEAN LIKE LOSING A FLASHLIGHT. I MEAN DO PEOPLE LOOK LIKE THAT WHEN THEY HAVE LOST?

WHY DON’T THEY SAY WHAT THEY FEEL? OLE GOLLY SAID “ALWAYS SAY EXACTLY WHAT YOU FEEL. PEOPLE ARE HURT MORE BY MISUNDERSTANDING THAN ANYTHING ELSE.” AM I HURT? I DON’T FEEL HURT. I JUST FEEL FUNNY ALL OVER.

IS OLE GOLLY RIGHT? IS IT TERRIBLE TO GET WHAT YOU WANT? I WANT TO BE A WRITER AND I’LL BE FINKED IF I’LL BE UNHAPPY WHEN I AM. SOME PEOPLE JUST DON’T THINK THINGS OUT.

SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS GOING TO HAPPEN. I KNOW IT. EVERY TIME I HAVE A BAD DREAM I FEEL LIKE LEAVING TOWN. THEN I FEEL SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS GOING TO HAPPEN. AND THIS IS THE WORST DREAM I’VE EVER HAD IN MY WHOLE LIFE.

The cook turned her back and Harriet heard her mutter, “Oh, you, you hate everybody.”

She went peacefully to sleep. The next morning the first thing she did when she woke up was to reach for her notebook and scribble furiously: WHEN I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING I WISH I WERE DEAD.

Everything looked very green and holy in that sad light before a rain.

She sat digesting the thought like a Thanksgiving dinner.

Remember that writing is to put love in the world, not to use against your friends. But to yourself you must always tell the truth.