“Now you know what I mean,” Mark said dryly. He pushed his glasses back on his nose.
“What?”
“About the kids’ rule ‘No friends,’” he said. “It’s hard to explain the feeling, you just feel it.”
“I feel it,” I mumbled.
Stacy burst into the room. “I’m going home!” she screeched.
The room fell into silence. Some of the girls gathered around her. After she spoke to them, she came over to Mark and me.
“I’ll think about you,” she said. Her eyes sparkled. She looked beautiful.
“I’ll think about you, too,” I said.
“If you ever get to Elmhurst…” She broke off.
I nodded my head.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “‘Bye,” she said.
“‘Bye.”
“‘Bye, Mark.”
“‘Bye, Stacy.”
She slipped out the playroom door. I looked for a long moment at the closed door. My hand was covering my cheek and the kiss.
“‘Bye,” I said to no one.
“Come on,” Mark said. He tugged at my arm. “It’s better to forget about her as soon as possible.” He spoke like a wise old man who had experienced these things so many times before that you just had to listen to him. He nodded his head. “It’s better.”
It took me quite a few days to forget about Stacy. Well, not exactly forget about her, but at least be able to get through the day without thinking about her too much or longing that much more for home.
One morning Mark woke me. “Get up!” he said. He was excited about something.
“What’s up?”
“I gotta show you something.” He ran off into the bathroom.
I got out of bed and followed him. I was still very sleepy. I walked with my eyes a little open and a little closed.
“Well?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned. “You’ll see.”
He looked around and then reached into his laundry bag. He pulled out his bear, Brownie.
“He escaped!”
“Shhhh.” He put his finger to his lips.
“He escaped,” I whispered.
“Last night,” he said quietly. “He somehow got stuck under my pillow. They didn’t collect him.”
“Wow! That’s terrific!”
“Shhh.”
“That’s terrific,” I whispered.
I spent the rest of the day planning Doggie’s escape. Night finally came. I anxiously waited on line for Doggie. Sister Clair came in.
“Sister Clair!” I shouted. I slapped my hand over my mouth. I was so surprised to see her, I had forgotten the rule of silence.
“That’s all right, Jennings,” she said. She put out her hand for me to come to her.
I ran from my place in line. I reached her and threw my arms around her waist. She leaned down and kissed the top of my head.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“I was on retreat.”
“What’s retreat?”
“That’s where sisters go to pray.”
“Oh. That don’t sound like much fun.”
“Well, it’s fun for me.” She smiled.
She turned and unlocked the cabinet. She opened it and handed out the animals. She handed me Doggie.
I tucked him under my arm. As I passed Mark’s bed, I winked, and he winked back. I placed Doggie down on the bed and climbed in after him. We slid beneath the covers.
“I got a plan,” I said.
He was anxious to know what it was, so I told him. He was as excited about it as I was. In case things didn’t go very well, I gave him an extra kiss and a hug. I tucked him under my pillow and I lay back. Sister Clair came over to me.
“And how have you been?” she asked.
“All right, Sister.”
“I heard you had a bad experience.”
“I did?”
“At the Carpenters’.”
“Oh, yeah. It was awful.” I made a face.
“Sister Margaret isn’t going to send any more children there. Listen, Jennings.” She brushed the hair off my forehead. “I want to say good-bye to you.”
“Good-bye!” I sat up. “Where’re you going?”
“I’ve been reassigned. I’m going to teach at a girls’ school in Queens.”
“In Queens? Oh, gosh!” I fell back on my pillow.
“Now, don’t be sad,” she said. “You promised to be a good soldier for me.”
“Oh, gosh. But I’ll miss you, Sister.”
“I know. I’ll miss you, too,” she said. “I’ll pray every day for you. All right?”
“Well…it’s not as good as seeing you.”
“No.” She laughed. “It’s not as good as seeing me. But it’s the best I can do.”
“Oh, all right. If it’s the best you can do.” I sat back up and put my arms around her. I hugged her.
She hugged me back and then placed me back down on the pillow. She brought the blanket up to my chin.
“Where’s Doggie?”
“Doggie?”
“Yes, Doggie. Remember the brown-and-white fuzzy thing you sleep with every night?”
“Oh, that Doggie!”
“Yes, that one.” She laughed. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s around.”
“Around where?”
I lifted my pillow and took him out.
“What’s he doing under there?”
“He was just sleeping.”
She smiled. “You know, Jennings, if Doggie were under your pillow when I collect them later, I might miss him.”
“Really?”
“Really! Maybe you ought to keep him tucked under your chin where he belongs,” she said. She put him alongside me under the blanket.
“Sister, why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Cage the animals at night?”
“Well…” She looked up and out through the barred window before answering me. “We don’t want to, Jennings, but we have to. You see, the animals that are given to us we have to take care of. If we didn’t cage them up in one place, we might lose them, they might get hurt or damaged. It’s not the best thing, but it’s the only way we have to take care of them.”
“But if somebody loved one of them,” I asked, “wouldn’t it be a good idea to let them have one? To keep, I mean?”
“Yes, it would be. But not everyone would love them and take care of them as you would. I wish I could give them all away tomorrow.” She looked at me. There were tears in her eyes. “But I can’t. My heart would break if I saw just one of those animals lying by the wayside uncared for, unloved. No, Jennings. It’s better if we keep them together.” She kissed my forehad and left.
I hugged Doggie and thought about what Sister Clair had said. I knew I couldn’t take Doggie now. I knew he’d understand. “Doggie,” I whispered, “if I ever do take you, I promise I’ll take good care of you and love you.”
I awoke to the sound of a thud. I popped my head out from the covers to see what had made the noise. The sun was just starting to come up over the building across the courtyard, so I knew it was too early to get up. The thud was the boy in the next bed. He had fallen out. He was just getting to his feet and rubbing his head when I thought of Doggie. He was gone! I looked at the other sleeping kids; their animals were gone too. I pulled the cover back over me and snuggled to my pillow. Suddenly I sat up and lifted my pillow. There was Doggie, looking up at me. A note was attached to him. I took it off and read it:
Dear Jennings,
When I said praying for you was the best I could do, I was wrong. Let Doggie out once in a while for air. Most of all, be good to him. Our kind of animals need lots of love.
Forever in my prayers,
Sister Clair
I hugged Doggie and put him under my pillow.
Each morning Mark and I put our friends in our laundry bags. At night we took them to bed. We shared a secret that somehow made us a little d
ifferent from the other kids. It made us a little closer.
The weather was getting very cold. Most of the kids stayed in the dayroom. Sister Frances told us it was Wednesday, the twenty-first of December, and Christ’s birthday was just four days away. She gave us some paper and paste and scissors to make some cutouts for the blackboard. Mark was making a snowflake, while I was making an angel. I was telling Mark how Christmas was on the outside.
“Whatcha doing?” Butch asked.
“Making cutouts,” I said.
“That’s kid stuff.”
“Yeah, we know,” Mark said, “we’re kids.”
“Whatcha wanna go and make that junk for?”
“It’s not junk! It’s angels and snowflakes, for Christmas.”
“It’s junk!”
“You sound like Scrooge,” I said.
“Who?”
“Ebenezer Scrooge. You know, Scrooge, from the story.”
“No. Who’s he?”
“He’s the guy who hated Christmas. Didn’t you ever hear of him?”
Butch shook his head no. So did Mark.
“Well, last year a sister from my school told us a story…. Let’s see. I can’t think of the name of it…. Uh. ‘A Christmas Carol,’” I remembered. “It was all about this guy who hated Christmas.”
“Will you tell us the story?” Mark asked.
“Yeah! Will ya?” Butch sat down.
“Sure. Sure, I will.”
I told the story the best I could. As I talked, more and more kids began to gather around. Some of those who knew the story helped me in the parts I got stuck on. But the story went along very well. Soon every kid in the room was sitting on the floor or in chairs or on the tables, listening to the story. Their wide eyes bulged at the parts of the different ghosts. When the story was finished, everyone drifted off. Mark and I returned to our cutouts. Butch joined us.
We talked about Christmas at the home. They told me the nuns sing a lot and put the baby Jesus in his manger.
“Do we get a Christmas tree?” I asked.
“No. No tree. The sisters don’t like trees, I guess,” Mark said.
“Do we get presents?”
Both Mark and Butch shook their heads no.
“Well, that’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t always get a present on the outside either. My mom didn’t always have enough money for presents.”
“I never got a present,” Mark said.
“Never?”
Mark shook his head. “Some lifers got presents. When they were little, if they were out during Christmas, they got some. Did you ever get a present, Butch?”
“Yeah. I got one a long time ago, when I was real little.”
“What was it?”
“Oh. It wasn’t anything special.”
“What?”
“It was a…uh…a panda bear.”
“Oh, yeah!” Mark said. “Where is it? What happened to it?”
“Oh, it’s gone. The lady who gived it to me took it back. She said she’d save it for me if’n I ever went back.”
“Jennings,” a nun called me from the doorway.
A cold chill ran all over me. I looked at both Butch and Mark.
“Jennings Burch!” she called again.
Oh, gosh, not another Carpenters’. I put down my angel and got to my feet. I approached the nun. She took me from the room.
“Am I being lent out?” I asked.
“I don’t know, son. I was only told to fetch you.”
“Oh, gosh. I don’t want to go away again. I want to stay here.” I felt the stinging in my nose.
She opened the office door and there was Mom.
“Mom!” I cried.
I ran into her open arms. She kissed and hugged me. I cried uncontrollably.
“Shhhh, dear. I’m here now, I’m here now.”
I couldn’t talk. I tried, but I couldn’t. I leaned into her and cried. She smelled like Mom. It was really Mom.
“Where were you?” I yelled at her through my tears. I clenched my fist and hit her.
“Don’t hit your mother!” Sister Margaret snapped.
I fell back into Mom and cried harder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Shhhh, Jennings. Don’t cry anymore.” She hugged me and kissed my forehead. “Come on, now. Stop crying,” she said.
After a few minutes, to calm myself I asked, “Mom, can we take Mark home with us?”
“Mark? Who’s Mark?”
“Don’t be foolish, Jennings,” Sister Margaret said. “Go now, and get your things.”
“Mark is my friend. He lives here. Can we take him home, can we?”
“What will his mother say?”
“He don’t got no mother. He’s a lifer. An orphan. Can we take him?”
“Jennings, I’m sorry. I just can’t take—”
“Certainly she can’t!” Sister Margaret stood up. She was mad. “Now, that’s enough of that! Go and get your things!” She pointed toward the door. “Now!”
“But—”
“No buts. Now!”
“Oh, gosh!” I whined. I left the office.
I went into the dormitory and packed up all my things, including Doggie. I left through the rear door for the dayroom.
Mark and Butch were still at the table working on their cutouts. I approached them.
Butch looked up and saw me first. “Are you going?” he asked.
“Yes!” I said.
“Home?” Mark asked.
I nodded my head yes.
Butch crumpled up the cutout he was making and pushed himself away from the table. “‘Bye,” he said quietly. He walked over to the glass doors and pushed them open.
“‘Bye,” I whispered.
I turned over the angel I was making. I wrote on the back of it. “To my friend, Mark. From Jennings and Doggie.” He stopped working on his snowflake and took it. As he looked down at it, a single tear splashed off the back of his hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I’ll miss you, Mark.”
I offered him my hand and he took it. He never took his eyes off his present. He just reached across his body toward his shoulder and met my hand. He shook my hand and then pushed his glasses back on his nose.
I walked over to the dayroom door and opened it.
“Wait!” he cried out. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!” He rushed at me and grabbed my arm.
I threw my arms around him.
He cried into my shoulder. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
He shook so hard I could hardly hold him. The hundred-year-old nun came over to us and took Mark from me. He buried his face against her and cried. I slipped through the dayroom door for home.
5
I crossed my legs on the shiny wicker-covered subway seat and leaned heavily into Mom’s arm. I held Doggie under my chin and thought of Mark. He couldn’t know it hurt as much to leave someone there as it did to be left.
“Mom?” I shouted over the clatter of the train noises.
“Yes?”
“Why did you leave me there? Why didn’t you come back for me?”
“I couldn’t, dear. I was sick.”
“Did you throw up and everything?”
“No,” she said, “it wasn’t that kind of sickness.”
“What kind was it?”
“Well, it was a different kind.”
“Sister Clair said you were at a rest home, resting. Were you tired, Mom?”
“Yes, dear, I was. I was very tired.”
“Were you tired of me?”
“No.” She hugged me. “I wasn’t tired of you. I was tired of trying to do too many things at once. Can you understand that?”
“Uh-hum. Sister Clair said you were worried about Jerome and things like that.”
Mom didn’t say anything. She just kept looking out the side window into the blackness of the tunnel.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
�
�You’re not tired anymore, are you?”
“No, dear, I’m not tired anymore. I promise I won’t leave you again.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, dear, I promise.”
I leaned into her. “Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Did everybody stay at a home like me?”
“No. Only you and Larry were in homes.”
“What about Walter and George?”
“They stayed with a nice family through the church.”
“They stayed in a church?”
“No.” She laughed. “The church made arrangements for them to stay with a nice family. They’ll be home tomorrow.”
“And Larry? Will he be home tomorrow, too?”
“He’s home already. He’s minding Gene.”
“Oh, great! I really miss him.”
We changed trains at Fourteenth Street. Mom bought me a Little Lulu comic book and a Sky Bar. I loved Sky Bars—they’re like having a box of those fancy chocolates all in one little row. Each section tastes better than the last.
I read my comic book to Doggie and shared my Sky Bar with him. Mom read a magazine.
I found myself drifting off, thinking about Mark. I wondered if he had ever read a comic book. There were none at the home. I wondered if he ever rode in a subway or an automobile. I guess he never had a Sky Bar either.
“Is Jerome ever going to come home and go to the movies with me?”
“I don’t know, dear. I hope so.”
“When you visit him next time, can I go?”
“No, I’m afraid not. They don’t allow children under twelve to visit hospitals.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I think they’re afraid you might get germs and get sick.”
“And if you’re over twelve, you can’t get germs?”
“Not as easily as you can when you’re under twelve. Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said. “Let’s just keep on praying for him. All right?”
“All right,” I said.
We came up from the subway at 188th Street and the Grand Concourse. My first glimpse of the only world I had ever known until three very long months ago was the Loew’s Paradise Theater. The Great Lover, with Bob Hope and Rhonda Fleming, was on the marquee.
We began our two-block walk down 188th Street for home. I couldn’t believe how small everything had gotten. The cobblestone road seemed so much narrower now than I had remembered.
They Cage the Animals at Night Page 6
