“So often when war happens,” she said, “many children lose their families and their homes. These children have no place to go and no one to care for them.”
As she spoke about the children, I thought back to the Home of the Angels and Mark. I knew what she was talking about. I wanted to tell Sister you didn’t need a war to find children like that, there were a whole bunch of them somewhere in Brooklyn.
“Now, children,” she was saying as my mind returned to the room, “as you all know, I am a Maryknoll Sister. I have been trained to help and care for children in all parts of the world, especially where there are no sisters, or where there is trouble. In a few days I am leaving for South Korea to try to help with the little children who need me.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I stared at Sister Ann Charles. Some of the kids began to cry. I was in shock. She looked directly at me as she spoke. I think she knew my heart was breaking, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
“Would you pray for me and all those homeless children?” she asked. She never took her eyes from me.
I could barely see her through the blur in my eyes. I was losing Sister Ann Charles.
I hugged her good-bye, as did all the other kids. She held me for a long time.
“Jennings,” she whispered, “please don’t be too angry with me. I’ll always love you and pray for you.”
The pain I felt the day I left Doggie at the home and had to go alone to the Carpenters’ returned to my throat. I pressed it as hard as I could, but it stayed. I believed I was crying on the inside. I believed the tears were running down my throat.
On Friday, June 23, 1950, I looked back from the doorway of the second-grade classroom at my friend and never saw her again.
George passed all his exams at Cardinal Hayes High School and would be a sophomore next year. Walter graduated with honors and won a scholarship to St. Regis High School. Larry and I were left back.
Now that Sister Ann Charles was gone, I hated the idea of not going on with the others to the third grade. I felt stupid and alone. Larry and I palled around together almost all the time. We never spoke about it, but we both felt the same way, dumb.
Every day Larry and I went up to St. James Park to play. We stayed until we heard the church bells at six. Then we started for home. Mom wanted us in about six for supper, and the bells were our alarm clock.
One particular day Larry and I came in from the park to find a nun in our kitchen.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Hello,” she said. “Who are you?”
“Uh…I’m Larry and that’s Jennings. Who are you?”
“I’m Sister Mercedes. I’m here to take care of your mother.”
“Mom! What’s wrong with Mom?” Larry asked.
“Quiet now or you’ll wake her.”
“What’s wrong with Mom?” I whispered.
“She’s ill, very ill.”
“Oh, boy!” Larry said. “Here we go again.” He stomped off down the hall.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked again.
“I don’t know, but for one thing, she doesn’t eat enough. She gives all the food to you kids. She goes for days without eating. That’s no good.”
I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know Mom didn’t eat. It’s true I hardly ever saw her eat, but I thought she ate at work or someplace. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure!” she snapped.
“Uh…do you think she’ll, uh…have to go someplace to rest?”
“I don’t know. The doctor will be here soon. Now, get along with you and wash up for dinner. And don’t make a mess!”
“Oh, gosh!” I followed Larry into the back bedroom.
He had all his things scattered all over the bed, his bottle-cap collection, his baseball cards, most of his comics, and his bugle.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m packing! I’m not going to be surprised like I was last time. I’m gonna be ready.”
“Ready? Ready for what?”
“You know. You know as well as I do.”
I did know. But I didn’t want to think about it.
“But Mom promised!” I said.
“Yeah, well…she promised me a bike for every birthday I can remember. I never got one.”
“Oh, gosh!” I said. I fell back on the bed in the only empty spot Larry left for falling back on. I pulled Doggie from the side of the bed and hugged him.
Two days later Larry left. George and Walter had already gone to stay with one of Mom’s brothers. They didn’t want any of the little kids who would cause them any trouble, so they didn’t want Gene or Larry or me. Gene went to a neighbor’s.
I watched Larry leave with a strange lady. He cried as he tucked his bugle under his arm. He pushed his glasses back on his nose the way Mark used to do. We said good-bye.
A short time later a man came for me. He had gray hair and a leathery sort of face. He was wearing a brown sweater and a hat. He took my laundry bag and put it into the backseat of his car. He put Doggie and me in the front. We drove off.
I sat quietly. As much as I missed Mark and wanted to see him again, I was mixed up about my feelings of going away again. I wondered if Mark got any taller or fatter. I wondered if Butch was still the toughest kid there. I asked the man how Mark was, but he didn’t know. He said he was only a driver and didn’t know any of the kids.
We pulled up in front of a large white house with a green screened-in porch.
“Here we are,” he said.
“But…but…this isn’t the Home of the Angels?”
“No,” he said, “this is St. Teresa’s.”
My heart sank. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I hadn’t ever thought I might be going to some other home.
I cradled Doggie in my arms and got out of the car. A numbness came over me as I climbed the rickety front steps of this strange new place. I was frightened.
6
The driver left Doggie and me on the porch side of the screen door. I watched him leave. I regripped my laundry bag and slung it over my shoulder. I pushed open the heavy front door.
The room smelled musty and old. I stood in the middle of the dark front hall and listened to the door creak as it closed behind me. There were no other sounds. There were three doors off the hall, and a twisting staircase. Halfway up the carpeted stairs was a small round window that let in a long stream of sunlight. It ended at my feet. I was afraid to move any farther. I heard a squeak from the stairs. Someone was coming down.
“Jennings Burch?” a cold and distant voice asked as the figure reached the window and stopped.
I couldn’t speak.
“Are you Jennings Burch?” she asked. There was annoyance in her voice as she started down the last section of steps.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, Sister!” she snapped. “Follow me.”
She brushed past me and pushed open one of the three doors. I followed her.
“What do you have there?” she asked from over her shoulder.
“Well, I got a laundry bag with some things—”
“I don’t mean the bag.”
“Oh! This is Doggie. He’s my friend.” I held him up to her back.
“What do you intend to do with it?”
“Uh…nothing. He’s just my friend. That’s all.”
She quickened her pace through the maze of hallways. I quickened mine. She stopped and opened the door to a dormitory. We went in.
The room looked familiar. There were two rows of metal beds, one on each side of the room. A small chest separated each of them. At the far end was a bathroom. The light wasn’t on, but I could see the tiles in the dark shadows. The windows were large and barred.
She led me to bed number seventeen and pointed to the cabinet alongside of it. “Put that thing in there and leave it there!” she ordered. “Under no circumstances are you to sleep with it. Do you understand me?�
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I fought back the tears as I placed my little friend in this wooden chamber.
“Do you understand?” she shouted.
I jumped. I nodded my head to show I understood.
She slapped me hard across the face. “When I speak, I expect to be answered.”
“Yes, Sister,” I cried.
“Yes, what?”
“I understand,” I said. I held my stinging face and wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve.
Sister Frances, at the Home of the Angels, was nice compared to this sister. She was tall and thin. Her face was bright red, with a vein that ran up from her temple to her forehead. I was sure the headpiece surrounding her face was the cause of her redness. She talked with her teeth clenched tightly together. She frightened me.
She led me from the dormitory to a playroom, pushed me through the door, and closed it behind me. The room was empty. I sat near the door on one of the many small wooden chairs scattered all around the room. The feeling of wanting to cry was overwhelming, but I fought it off. I swallowed hard and forced my eyes wide open.
The room was large and bright. There were two patched-up screen doors that could open out onto a grassless yard. Every so often a swirl of wind would lift a small puff of dust off the yard and carry it away.
There were four long tables, two on each side of the room. The shelves along each wall were filled with games and playthings. The floor was wooden and well worn. I heard a strange sound coming from the hallway. It was low at first, but then it grew louder. I couldn’t figure out what it was. It kept getting louder and louder. It pulsated like a heartbeat. Suddenly I knew what it was. It was the thunderous steps of all the kids marching down the hallway. The door opened and the kids began to file in. The uniform line turned to chaos. Most of them ran for the screen doors, throwing them open. They dashed out into the grassless yard, raising whole clouds of dust. A few kids took games from the shelves to play with on the tables. I stayed where I was. I hadn’t been noticed and I was glad. I stayed in the safety of the chair for the entire afternoon. I tried to figure out who might be number sixteen. Naturally, I picked the kid with the biggest and the funniest-looking ears.
The sun began to dip down below some of the trees on the far side of the play yard.
“All right, children, dinnertime!” a nun called out. She slapped her hands together.
I couldn’t believe my ears: she actually sounded nice. This one was a fat roly-poly nun with bright red cheeks and a sweet smile.
As the kids started forming lines, I approached her.
“Sister?” I spoke with caution.
“Yes,” she said. She smiled.
“Uh…I’m new here, Sister. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”
“Well, we’ll take care of that. What’s your number?”
“Seventeen.”
“Stevie! You’re number sixteen, aren’t you?” she asked one of the boys on line.
“Yes, Sister Ann Catherine.”
“There, son. Stand behind Stevie,” she told me. “And, Stevie!” She recalled the boy. “Would you see that this boy is okay?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jennings.”
“What’s your first name?”
“That is my first name, Sister.”
“All right, Jennings, enjoy your dinner.”
Gosh! She sure sounded nice. I stood behind Stevie. He didn’t have big funny ears. In fact, his ears were kind of normal. He was about a half foot taller than me, and skinny. He had dirty-blond hair that stuck straight up, sort of like a brush. Sister Ann Catherine clapped her hands together for the second time, and the line started moving. It crossed my mind to tell her about the little clicker, but then I thought better of it. I really hated that little clicker.
The dining-room tables were laid out in long rows. There were about a dozen kids at each table, boys on one side of the room and girls on the other.
I played with a boiled frankfurter and some stiff waxlike beans. By the looks on the faces of the other kids and the unfinished food in front of them, it was obvious that everyone shared a dislike for the tasteless supper. My eyes met those of the boy across from me. He had red hair that stuck up like a rooster and two large front teeth. He smiled. I smiled back. He quickly lost his smile and looked in both directions for the whereabouts of the nuns. When he realized he was safe, he smiled again. His actions told me the rules were the same, here, no smiling in the dining room.
We were marched back to the playroom by the nun with the cold eyes and the popping veins. I took a seat at one of the tables near the doorway and watched. None of the kids went into the yard this time. I think maybe the door was locked. I kept my eyes on Stevie. I wasn’t sure what the next move would be, and I didn’t want to get into any trouble. I figured watching him and doing whatever he did would be the safest thing.
“Look!” one of the kids yelled out. “A firefly!”
Many of the kids went over to the screen doors to look out. I stretched my neck up to try to see over them. I’d never seen a fly on fire before and was anxious to see one. I got up and slowly made my way around the side of the room toward the screen doors. I reached the group of kids with their hands cupped around their eyes and their faces pressed against the door. I tried to see over them.
“Fireflies!” the boy with the roosterlike hair said to me. He was waiting for a spot so he could see them too.
“I never saw a fly on fire,” I said.
“They’re not on fire,” he laughed. “They just light up. That’s all.”
“Didn’t ya ever see a firefly?” Stevie asked. He was standing behind me.
“No,” I answered.
“Hey, move over!” He pushed some of the kids away from the door. “Look!” he said. He pointed to the spot he had just cleared for me.
I stepped up to the screen door and pressed my face against it. I cupped my hands around my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Suddenly I saw them. First a slight glow and then they went dark.
“Wow!” I said. “How do they do that?”
“They got bulbs in their tails,” someone said.
“No dey don’t, stupid,” Stevie said. “Dey got some stuff on dere tails dat glows in the dark. Like dose statues, ya know.”
“Oh, yeah. Those plastic statues. I know. Wow!” I said. I was held captive by the blinking lights.
“What’s ya name?” Stevie asked.
“Jennings,” I said into the screen door.
“What’s ya first name?”
“That is my first name.”
“Dat’s a funny name,” he said. By the way he said it, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. “My name is Stevie.”
I came away from the door and shook his hand. “Yeah, I know. I heard Sister Ann Catherine call you Stevie.”
“Are ya a lifer?” he asked.
“No, a part-timer.”
“Yeah, me too. Are ya tired?”
“Yes.”
“Come on. I’ll take ya to the dorm.”
I followed Stevie. When we reached the dormitory, he went to his cabinet and I went to mine. I reached in for my laundry bag to get my pajamas, but I found Doggie’s nose instead. I crouched on the floor to talk to him.
“Hi, Doggie,” I whispered.
I gave him time to answer.
“I’m sorry you have to be locked up in here.” I kissed him and held his fur to my cheek.
“Don’t let Sister Barbara catch ya wit him,” Stevie said. He was standing behind me.
“Sister Barbara? Is she the one…?”
He twisted up the corners of his mouth and nodded his head yes. I didn’t even have to finish what I was saying; he knew whatever I was going to say was right.
“She’s mean,” he said. “Real mean.” He left for the bathroom, and I followed.
The room looked very much like the one at the Home of the Angels. It had the same kind of numbered hooks an
d the same uncovered toilet bowls.
We washed and brushed. I was at my hook changing when Stevie pulled off his shirt. His back was scarred and torn. Some of the cuts were new; they were still oozing blood. I cringed.
“What happened?”
“Nuttin,” he said. He continued to change in silence.
I didn’t ask again.
The lights were out and the room was quiet. Only a single lamp burned at the far end of the room at the night nun’s desk. No one was there. I tried to adjust my eyes to the darkness of this new place, but I couldn’t. I looked toward the window but saw nothing. The night sky was so dark, and there were no streetlamps outside. I heard someone cough and someone else sniffle. If I couldn’t see, I thought, I’d listen. I heard someone crying.
I heard a sound I had never heard before. It was coming from outside. It was sort of like a whistle, a broken-up whistle. It must be some wild animal. I was frightened.
I sat up and looked around. There was still nothing but the single lamp burning, and no nun. I slipped from my bed to the floor. I opened my cabinet. It squeaked. I scrinched up my face and shut my eyes as I fully opened the door. I removed Doggie, reclosed the door, and got back into bed.
“Hi, Doggie,” I whispered. “If I hid you at the Home of the Angels, I can hide you here.” I kissed him.
I hugged him once or twice before sliding him under my pillow. I lay back and felt his nose. I wasn’t frightened anymore.
Breakfast at St. Teresa’s was an adventure. Each kid was served a metal cup of hot cocoa. It was much too hot to drink, so you had to let it cool. When it did, a thick film covered the top. The idea was to get the film off without spilling the cocoa on the white tablecloth. I watched some of the others, to see how they’d do it. They didn’t. They just let it sit there and didn’t bother to drink it at all. Stevie poked my arm.
“Watch!” he said with his eyes. I watched.
He took the spoon from his prunes and licked it off. Then he held the spoon over the top of the cocoa. He gently lowered it. When he reached the bottom of the cup, he pulled it straight out. The spoon had the film wrapped all around it. He drank the cocoa. I smiled. I slapped my mouth and looked around. I was safe—nobody had seen me smile. I followed Stevie’s silent instructions, and did the same with my spoon. It worked.
They Cage the Animals at Night Page 8
