Forced Journey

by Rosemary Zibart

  “New boy!” the teacher called loudly and gestured for him to come forward.

  Unsure what was happening, Werner paused and pointed to himself. “Me, sir?”

  Mr. Pendergrast nodded. “Yes, you, come to the front right now.”

  Werner walked up slowly, little hairs rising on the back of his neck. The other fourth graders stared but didn’t dare giggle.

  Once he stood in front of Mr. Pendergrast, the teacher gazed down at his class list. “I see your name here,” he said very loudly and clearly. “It’s Werner Berlinger.” The teacher gave him a sharp look.

  “Yes, s-sir,” Werner stammered.

  “Werner,” Mr. Pendergrast repeated slowly. The way he said it, the word sounded peculiar. A few students at the back of the room tittered and nudged one another. “What do you think, class? Does Werner sound like an American name?” The teacher’s mouth curled into a sneer beneath his bristly grey mustache.

  Before Werner had a chance to reply, however, Mr. Pendergrast answered his own question. “I don’t think so. I don’t think Werner is an American name.”

  The boy frowned. “What is an American name, sir?” he asked politely.

  “You ask me what is an American name?” Mr. Pendergrast’s eyes widened as if he’d just been asked the stupidest question in the world. Then he turned to the class. “You all know what are American names, don’t you?”

  Werner glanced around the room; every student’s face appeared frozen. Not one raised his hand.

  Mr. Pendergrast seemed disappointed. “Then I suppose I must tell you myself.” He spoke very deliberately, listing each name. “James as in James Monroe is an American name. John as in John Adams is an American name; Paul as in Paul Revere, Alexander as in Alexander Hamilton and Andrew as in Andrew Jackson. These are all good American names.”

  His voice grew louder and his eyes narrowed. “Werner is not an American name. There has never been a president or any great American named Werner.” The corners of Mr. Pendergrast’s mouth turned up in a grim smile. “And there never will be one. Don’t you agree, class?”

  Werner looked around again. All the students in the class were dumbly nodding their heads like marionettes on a string. He walked back to his desk and sat down. Above anything, he wanted to be a good American. Did he have the wrong name? Should he change his name?

  Walking home after school with Sam, he asked, “Is Sam an American name?”

  His friend shrugged. “I dunno for sure. But I think there wuz a president or some kind of famous American named Sam.”

  That night, Werner slouched around doing the chores, barely speaking to Esther.

  “What’s the matter, dearie?”

  He looked at Esther without answering. He knew Mr. Pendergrast would hate the name Esther. American ladies were named Mary or Martha or Abigail or Alice; they were not named Esther. As for her being crippled, the teacher had already told the class about polio.

  “Polio was brought to America by foreigners, immigrants,” he had announced. “They infected the water in our swimming pools and lakes. Now it’s dangerous to go in the water.”

  Mr. Pendergrast had stared directly at Werner. “This horrid foreign disease has struck down our own American president, Franklin Roosevelt. He was a wealthy man, too, from one of the best families in this country.” He had shaken his head as if the germs had made a big mistake. Then he glanced around the room, eyeing every student as if one of them might be responsible for Mr. Roosevelt’s illness.

  Werner had also looked around the room. What seemed odd to him was that not one student in Mr. Pendergrast’s classroom was named James or John. The boys in the class had names like Reuben, Victor, José, and Himmel. The girls were Tanya, Sadie and Hannah. He figured that’s why Mr. Pendergrast appeared so unhappy. He didn’t have one genuinely American child in his class.

  Though he clearly didn’t like Werner, Mr. Pendergrast kept him in his fourth grade as long as possible. Even when the boy knew more than any other student.

  “He keeps you in his class because he likes to torture you,” said Sam.

  “Torture? What does that mean?” Werner asked.

  “Don’t you remember the movie King Kong?” Sam explained. The two boys occasionally slipped into the exit of movie theaters when there was a really terrific film playing like King Kong or Tarzan. “That huge gorilla gets picked on so much, he goes crazy and starts killing people.”

  Werner nodded; he was afraid he might become as desperate as King Kong. He spoke to Mrs. McIntosh. At first, she told him to be patient. “It’s possible to learn from every sort of person, every kind of teacher.” But finally she helped move him to the fifth grade. He felt sorry for all the kids who were stuck in Mr. Pendergrast’s class for the rest of the year.

  He still spent every lunch hour with Mrs. McIntosh. Sometimes they worked on math or English or social studies. Sometimes they just talked.

  “Imagine the most wonderful place you’ve ever seen. There are thousands of trees, acres and acres of grass, several ponds, a zoo and a lake.” That’s how Mrs. McIntosh described Central Park to Werner. She and Mr. McIntosh and his eighty-year-old mother visited there every Sunday afternoon.

  Living so far downtown, Werner and Sam had never thought of going to Central Park. They could get there on the subway but it was a big trip. In fact, Werner wouldn’t ever have thought of going except for Julius. He wanted to make his turtle happy.

  On a warm Saturday afternoon in early April, Werner had carried Julius downstairs to the street. He figured the turtle would enjoy the fine weather out of his crate. As soon as he put Julius on the pavement, the little critter stuck out his head and looked around. He had only two tiny holes for a nose, but he could smell garbage. Apple cores, chewing gum, orange peels, candy wrappers; whatever was littering the pavement. He darted after everything he could find.

  In a few minutes, a crowd of kids had gathered around him. To Julius, it must have seemed like a wall of feet. He stopped sniffing, tucked himself back inside his shell, and didn’t come out again that day. As Werner carried his crate back to the apartment, he told Sam, “Julius needs grass.”

  “Grass?” said Sam. “Where we gonna find grass for Julius?”

  Werner answered quickly, “I know where there’s a sea of grass.”

  Sam’s eyes rolled. “A sea of grass? Are you kidding? You gotta go all the way to New Jersey to find a sea of grass.”

  That’s when Werner suggested the two of them make a trip to Central Park. They’d have to go on a Saturday when the grocery store was closed. Werner worked every other day, carefully putting away every penny he earned for the day when Father and Bettina arrived. Now he had something else to look forward to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When the day arrived for their excursion uptown, Werner woke early and glanced over. Esther was still asleep. A soft smile played on her lips, her graying hair spread out on the pillow like a veil. He opened the window and stuck out his hand to check the weather. The air was mild, not too cool or too warm. Above he could see a stripe of blue sky. The sunshine already seemed bright enough to chase any clouds away.

  Werner lifted Julius out of his crate and stuck him in a brown paper bag. “Today’s your big day, little fella.”

  “You gonna be gone for a while, Werner?” called Esther, her eyelids fluttering as she awoke.

  He tucked the bag under his light jacket. “Yeah, for a few hours. You want some tea? I can fix you some real quick.”

  Esther smiled. “Don’t worry, I can already tell I’m gonna have a good day. I’ll be out of bed soon and around the apartment on my own. You go ahead, Werner. I know you’re planning some fun. Take off, enjoy yourself.”

  Ten minutes later he joined Sam on the street, and the two headed for the nearest subway station. They followed the crowd down the stairs to the platform. Soon the trai
n rumbled into the station, screeching loudly as it stopped. The two boys leapt onto the subway car. Jostled by the crowd, Werner gripped the paper bag with Julius close to his chest.

  The subway tore down a long dark tunnel, going so fast it was hard to see anything outside the windows. Werner tried to read the signs on stations whizzing past. Finally Sam elbowed him. “Here’s where we get off.”

  Dozens of people tumbled off the train at 59th Street. They all seemed to know where they were going and everyone was in a hurry. Sam and Werner headed toward the EXIT and rushed up the stairs. Central Park was straight ahead.

  Stepping into the sunlight outside the subway station, Werner stopped short. Was he still in New York City? Nothing he saw resembled anything he’d seen before. The buildings, the cars, even the people seemed taller and grander. Every car spinning by was a shiny limousine or a bright new taxi. And there were lots of taxicabs, hundreds. Like a person who lived here could hail a cab anytime he or she wished.

  Sam’s eyes were just as wide. Still, he started to saunter across the street with a “What’s the big deal?” expression on his face.

  Halfway across the avenue, however, the two started running like robbers. They couldn’t help themselves. The smell of green lured them like hot bread from a bakery lures a starving man. It was the soft spring green of trees, bushes and grass. The minute their feet hit the park, they paused to look around. They weren’t the only folks eager to enjoy Saturday at Central Park. The paths swarmed with well-dressed people. Some held onto leashes with dogs at the other end. Not skinny, mangy dogs like the ones living downtown; these fat hounds had shiny black noses pointing high in the air.

  Werner kept his feet on the gravel path for a short while. But his whole body yearned to feel earth beneath him. He ran off the path and plopped flat down with his belly on the ground. He spread out his arms and lay his cheek on the cool blades of grass.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Sam grinned and pointed to a sign: “KEEP OFF THE GRASS.”

  Werner lifted his head, then let it drop. “So what?”

  So what if a police officer showed up and told him to move? He wasn’t afraid of cops. Not here in the U.S. Here the cops were fair and honest and helpful. That’s what Esther always said.

  A moment later, however, Werner sat up and opened the paper bag. His eyes brightened as he lifted Julius out of the bag, just imagining the joy ahead for the little creature. The turtle’s head and feet immediately popped out from beneath his shell. Werner carefully put him down in the grass. No sooner did Julius’s tiny paws hit the ground than he was flat-out running.

  Sam laughed. “Jeepers, he’s a racing turtle!”

  Alarmed, Werner jumped up and ran after Julius. He was afraid the turtle would disappear in the bushes. Sure enough, a minute later, the little guy was out of sight. Werner scrambled under the low branches of a bush.

  “Damn, I’m gonna get dirty!” he yelled, but kept crawling. Finally he grabbed Julius and climbed out, gripping the turtle.

  “Gosh, Sam, he nearly got away.” Werner looked worried. “Maybe I should put him back in the bag for a while.”

  Sam scratched his head a moment; a tiny frown appeared between his thick black eyebrows. “That’s what you wanna do, Werner? Keep him in a bag all day?”

  “Of course not,” Werner said. “It’s just we’ll have to watch him real close.”

  Sam glanced around at the big trees, the bushes and the sea of grass.

  “You like being watched real close, Werner?”

  A tightness seized the boy’s chest. “What do you mean, Sam?”

  His friend shrugged. “It just seems like Julius is real suited to this park.”

  Werner stuck out his lower lip a bit. “What of it, Sam? I like the park too.” He glanced around. That was an understatement. He’d only been there ten minutes and already Central Park topped the list of places he liked to be.

  “You’d probably stay here if you could, wouldn’t you?” said Sam.

  Werner shrugged. “I don’t like it that much.”

  “Even if you was a turtle?” Sam eyed him carefully.

  Werner didn’t speak. Not ten feet away, a squirrel sat upright, its bright little eyes staring at them. Overhead the new pale green April leaves trembled in a breeze. A hundred yellow daffodils bloomed in a patch nearby; Werner caught a whiff of their fresh scent.

  No doubt about it, Central Park was fabulous. For boys, for turtles, for any living creatures. An idea slowly formed in Werner’s head like jello taking shape in the icebox. “You think Julius doesn’t want to…” He could barely mouth the words. “You think he doesn’t want to come back with us?”

  Sam looked down and studied the ground. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to because Werner knew what he was thinking. Why would Julius want to live in a smelly old crate when he could live here? In this great green garden of a place?

  Sam was right, entirely right. Still, Werner’s chest felt so tight, it was hard to breathe. Maybe he did feel a little jealous. Every day Julius was going to enjoy flowers, trees, bushes, and other little animals, while soon Sam and Werner would have to head back downtown. They’d have to return to concrete sidewalks, noisy streets, and tight little rooms. Yet Werner knew he couldn’t complain. His life in the United States was free in ways he had never guessed were possible. He was incredibly lucky to be where he was – Julius should be that lucky, too.

  Once out of the bag, the little turtle zipped off through the grass. The boys watched him go. “Why, he looks like he knows just where he’s going,” exclaimed Sam. “Like he’s been here before.”

  “Maybe he has been here,” said Werner. “Maybe he got lost and that’s how he ended up in our neighborhood.” He watched the turtle disappear, then flicked some grass off his shirt. The tightness in his chest had loosened.

  “Hey, I’ll race you!” he shouted to Sam and took off running. He felt his chest growing bigger as it filled with air. Sam and he chased one another down one path and up another. Unlike the rest of the city which was mostly flat, the park was filled with grassy knolls and rocky summits. Sam scrambled up the slope of a hill, lay flat and rolled back down. “Now you do it, Werner,” he dared.

  “Why not, that looks like fun!” Werner lay down and stretched out full-length. Thick cool grass tickled his neck and face. He turned over and over, going faster and faster down the slope with the blue sky whirling above. For an instant, he felt wild, crazy and free, so free!

  At the bottom of the hill, he lay for a moment, dizzy and happy. Then he stood up, and the two boys laughed and laughed.

  “What should we do next?” he shouted to Sam. His friend shrugged, and the two started running. In a minute they reached the crest of another hill. Looking down they spotted a large oval pool of water, wide and smooth. In the center was a single sail, a white triangle, gliding across the water like it was on a mysterious voyage. For a long moment the boys just stared, then they raced down the hill to the edge of the pool.

  The sailboat belonged to a little boy. He was using a long pole to keep his boat from bumping into others. He guided the little boat back and forth across the water. Several old men in sweaters and caps stood watching. As the boys followed the ship’s little voyage, neither of them noticed the reflection of grey clouds scooting across the pond’s smooth surface.

  A moment later, however, drops of rain began sharply pinging the water and their faces. The child quickly pulled his boat from the water. He and the old men moved away down the path. The rain was falling hard now. People rushed in every direction. Some opened up umbrellas. Everyone was leaving the park in a hurry.

  Sam turned to Werner. “Should we head home?”

  “Leave now?” Werner shook his head. “Not me.”

  Suddenly the sky opened up. Buckets of water dropped on their heads. Their clothes became so wet they could have been swimmin
g in the pond, instead of gazing at it. The sunny warmth gave way to a chill that cut through their clothes. “We better run for it!” Sam shouted.

  The two ducked under the branches of a big oak tree, but its mantle of new leaves didn’t protect them for long. They took off toward a little gazebo with a roof and cowered there a few minutes. But the gazebo was open on all sides and the wind whipped the rain through it. “This isn’t any good.” Werner yelled and began running down a path out of the park.

  Moments later, they stood on the park’s edge, gazing across a wide avenue. The downpour had slowed the traffic. Cabs and limousines crept along the street, honking loudly.

  On the other side of the street, they spied a small crowd of people huddled beneath a fancy awning. The awning covered the entrance to a large, fancy apartment building.

  “Let’s go for it!” Sam shouted, and they crossed the street, dodging between honking taxicabs.

  A tall guy in a grey uniform with gold braid and matching cap marched back and forth in front of the building. Over his head, he held up a large black umbrella.

  As the boys drew near, he yelled at them. “Where do you punks think you’re going?!”

  Sam and Werner swerved like they were heading in another direction. Then they sneaked under the wide awning, sticking close to the building. The guy in uniform was too busy helping people in and out of limousines to notice. The boys pressed together, shivering, but happy to be out of the storm, just as thunder crashed and a bolt of lightening lit the sky in a yellow glow.

  That’s when Werner spied Anika.

  Months and months had passed, so he didn’t recognize her immediately. He watched as a thin, dark-haired girl climbed out of a limousine and walked toward the building. The color of her coat caught his eye. It was purple with a little black fur collar. Though now the coat seemed a bit faded and worn. He looked closer at the girl; it was Anika, all right. Her pale skin, dark eyes and curly hair stood out clearly. Her head was held high with her jaw firmly set.