She takes one step down and pauses, nearly getting us barreled over by the other people who know you can’t stop on the subway stairs. “Where are we going?” She goes to lift her sunglasses, and I stop her.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s a secret,” I reply, sounding way too sinister.
“Oh.” She sighs.
She seems disappointed, but she lets me lead her down the stairs and through the subway station to the platform. I can see it’s hard for her not to put her arms out in front like she’s feeling her way in the dark, and I have to keep reminding her to act normal.
Down here, she’s almost blind and the way I’m leading her around, I think people think she is blind. It works brilliantly. She won’t be able to find her way back here if she tried.
When we get on the car, people make way for her. An elderly man offers her his seat, which she refuses. She holds onto my arm nervously, her eyes down now, suddenly shy and unsure of herself.
I lean down and whisper close to her ear, “Have you ever been on the subway before?”
Nora shakes her head and replies in a dreamy voice, “Once. And it was wonderful.” She sips her drink and gazes at the racing lights out the window, a sad smile on her lips.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Just glare at the people who stare at the two of us, their minds collapsing over the idea of someone like me, and someone like her, standing together. She seems oblivious, but then she can’t see much.
***
She is completely blind once she’s in our tunnel, tripping and falling, her hands out in front of her.
“This reminds me of…” she loudly starts.
“Shh!” I snap.
She starts whispering. “…a trust exercise we did at school. You know where you fall backward with your eyes closed and someone has to catch you?”
She’s waiting for me to respond, to say, ‘oh yes, I remember that’. But of course I don’t. My schooling was limited and directed toward patriotism and how not to snare the sewing machines. “Um yeah, my school didn’t do that…”
The light from the door ahead warms her face, her bottom lip folded under her top teeth.
We stop and her hands touch the beat-up wood, her fingers running down the length of the plank in front of her. “Oh.”
Yeah, oh.
“You can take off your glasses now if you like,” I say as I knock, smiling as I realize she probably could have taken them off as soon as we entered the tunnel. She startles and removes them just as Krow opens the door. His eyes grow round and dark as seven-inch records when he sees her and he just stands in the doorway gawking, his lanky arm blocking our path.
She blinks, the glasses poised at her chest, and then Kelpie slams into my legs and squeezes them together so tightly I nearly lose my balance.
“You’re back.” He gazes around my legs, peering into the dark tunnel. “Where’s Kin?” he asks softly.
I pat his blond head and say, “He’s not with me, Kelpie.” My eyes connect with Krow’s and he nods solemnly.
Nora is a statue, a porcelain doll in a window except I can almost hear her heart beating. She smiles at Krow, says, “Excuse me,” and tries to walk forward.
“Scuse yerself,” he growls and looks to me for reassurance.
“Let her in, Krow. She’s err, staying with us for a few days.”
He drops his hand but not his angry stare as she passes through the doorway.
She takes strong, un-timid steps into my home. My head tilts, curious, as I find myself wanting to know why and wanting to know more.
36. THE LOST BOYS AND ME
NORA
The scent of soap mixed with the dirt it cleans dominates the air. It’s earthy water slipping between chunks of gravel. Cool, heavy air flows past my face in waves.
It’s not dirty in here. It’s some sort of organized chaos with clothes, shoes, and bedding grouped together in small piles.
No, it’s not dirty. I raise an eyebrow… It’s not exactly clean either.
“What’s her name?” a young boy shouts, looking at me with his head flipped back like I’m a beanstalk climbing to the sky.
Kettle strides past me toward the back of this beautiful hollow, his boots barely making a sound on the solid stone floor, and throws his satchel to the ground. My ears are tuned to floorboard creaks, soft, threatening footsteps. Everything about this place is different to my home. Rich, golden light bounces off Kettle’s back, his dark head turns just slightly, and he throws my name over his shoulder in a regrettable tone. “Her name is Nora.”
The little boy frowns at me, hands on hips. “That’s not right. What’s her King name?”
Kettle sits down on a pillowy bed, made on two pallets, and glances sideways at us both. “She’s not a King, Kelpie.” It seems like an insult.
The little boy seems unsatisfied with this answer and he grabs my hand, dragging me further into the vast room. My feet trip over golden bricks, framing tiny beds, each hedged in with a small box or case, sweet personal belongings waterfalling over the edges. Each bed is different in color and shape, and I understand that each space is someone’s bedroom. I carefully tread between these private spaces until I’m facing Kettle. He looks up at me with tired eyes and I try unsuccessfully not to gasp at the beauty of them, the unusualness of dark blue eyes in a Japanese face.
“Why isn’t she a King? Is it coz she’s a girl? Keeper was a girl. Girls can be Kings,” Kelpie says in one strained breath, blowing his blond curls from his eyes.
The lanky one that wouldn’t let me pass lurks near the door, talking to three other teenage boys in low whispers.
“She’s not a King because she’s not staying. She’s a visitor… a guest.” He’s starting to untie his shoes, unbutton his collar, and I’m still staring at him.
I avert my eyes, sweeping over the grand arches and the green tiles instead. This place is a lot to take in.
Kelpie accepts this answer, although he pulls me down to his level and whispers, his voice scratchy and tinny, “If you stay, you get a new name. You should stay.”
I smile and then my face rearranges to a frown. I miss Frankie. Kettle stands suddenly and pulls a curtain between us with a swish. “Kelpie, why don’t you show her around while I get cleaned up?”
Kelpie tugs on my arm and begins to lead me away. A rustle and a clatter behind the curtain makes us stop, and Kettle laughs strangely. “I forgot about these. Um… wait,” he says, parting the curtain just a little. I catch a glimpse of his shirtless torso, and it makes me very uncomfortable. I’m so embarrassed that I gulp. He thrusts a handful of boxes into my hands, and I think he’s smirking a little at my awkwardness. “Here. Can you hand these out to the boys for me?”
I look down at my palms to see five toothbrushes of various colors and two boxes of toothpaste. I raise an eyebrow and my eyes to catch his face, but he’s already pulled the curtain closed again.
I feel like I’ve stumbled into a play, a commercial where five ratty-looking boys get educated on dental hygiene. I tighten my hold on the toothbrushes and on Kelpie and let him lead me around Kettle’s home.
***
“And this is where I sleep,” Kelpie announces, pointing down at a large crate with one side cut out. It’s filled with blankets and about four small, flowery pillows. They look familiar. I lean down and pick one up, examining it.
Kettle’s voice startles me as he comes from behind and says, “Found them in the dumpster outside the toy store. Doll’s bedding…” He studies my expression for a moment, his lips pressed together like he’s trying to read me. “We scavenge but we don’t steal.”
I start to say, “I never thought…” but then I decide not to finish, turning to Kelpie. “Well that’s very resourceful.” Truth is, I assumed he stole. I shouldn’t have… but I did.
Kelpie beams up at me and then runs off to join the other boys, clutching the toothbrushes. They lift their heads and accept him into their circle, one ruffli
ng his hair as they snatch up the brushes. A larger boy chomps his teeth loudly and says, “Thanks Kettle. Gotta keep my breath minty fresh for the ladies.”
The others chuckle.
I stand right in the center of this arched home, my hands behind my back, just admiring the beauty of it. I don’t want to move lest it dissolves into a pile of sand like a mirage. I gaze up at the black, iron lights, and they fill me with an unfamiliar feeling. Hope. I bite back a grin.
This place is amazing.
Kettle breaks the silence. “So this is it. Home sweet home.” He shifts awkwardly and scratches the back of his head.
I want to say a lot of things and with too much enthusiasm. I rein my thoughts in and manage to say, “It’s incredible.”
He tips his chin, and I think I catch a smile. Under the light, I can finally see him clearly, especially now that his face is wiped of dirt and his cap isn’t pulled over his eyes. He’s very different. He doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever met before. If he’s handsome, I’m not sure I can tell, having little to compare him to, but I know I like seeing him. I feel my lips curving like a half moon, and I quickly stare at the ground.
“They’re not swords. Make sure you brush twice a day, boys!” he shouts, looking over my shoulder at the boys who are jabbing each other with their freshly unwrapped toothbrushes. Then he stares at me. “They need to be reminded about things like washing and brushing their teeth, you know?”
I nod. I’m pretty lost. I don’t know where to stand, how to stand, what to do. My hands scrunch and un-scrunch at my sides. This is all so very strange to the point where it doesn’t feel real. “Kettle, what is this place?” I ask, looking up at him with eyes that could swallow the world… that want to.
He grins at me and something hurts inside my chest. My fingers creep up and touch my heart to check if it’s still there. “This is where the Kings live!”
***
Kettle leaves again within an hour of bringing me to this place. Before he goes, he turns to the lanky kid. “Krow, show her the ropes. I’m going to the grocery store.”
It all seems so domestic and completely wrong at the same time.
Krow stalks toward me when the door closes. I tuck my hair behind my ear and try to not look terrified. He stops about two feet from me and sweeps his arm around the abandoned tunnel. He points to the beds. “We keep our beds clean ‘n’ neat. We eat over there.” He points to some upturned boxes and a card table that’s had half the vinyl peeled from the top. “Toilet’s over there.” He points to a dark part of the wall near the back that on closer inspection looks like an entrance. “Toilet bowl’s long gone, but the hole in the ground is still hooked into the plumbing. Ya just need to take a bucket of water with ya when you go…” He points to an open maintenance closet on the opposite side of the disused railway tracks, and I suck in a panicked breath, making him smile. “Um… I dunno where you’ll be sleepin’.” He scratches his chin, eyes darting around the room. He does remind me of a crow with his black, intelligent, and suspicious eyes and his jerky movements. He seems ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. “Last of all, we keep outta trouble. No stealin’, and we get food and a place to stay.” He takes another step forward. He’s shorter than me, much thinner too. He runs a hand through his unkempt, greasy hair and snarls at me. “Number one rule is—we keep this place a secret.”
“I promise,” I say, trying to reassure this ferocious little urchin. I’ve made a lot of promises in the last twenty-four hours. “I will keep your secret.” I hold my hand up, doing scout’s honor. He tilts his head and stares at my gesture with curiosity and no understanding.
Some of the other boys begin creeping up inch by inch, trusting me one small breath of air at a time. “Do you want to hear my secret?” I say, whispering and crouching down to Kelpie, who’s already wrapped his sticky hands around my leg.
Krow leans in despite himself. “I s’pose.” He shrugs but I can tell he’s intrigued.
I take a deep breath in, stalling and building suspense, and my voice grows quieter. I’m planning on saying something funny, like I’m the Queen of England or I’m a mermaid, but what slips out in a hushed tone is, “I ran away from home… and I don’t want to go back.” I clasp my hands and look down. They’re scratched and bruised. They’re the reason I can’t lie. “I ran away from a bad man. A bad place.”
A boy with sandy hair like mine but straight as a ruler pats me on the back. “Kettle’ll look after you. Kin too, when he gets back.” Krow elbows him in the ribs.
A tear slips from my eye and lands on the stones. It’s absorbed instantly. Krow stares down at it and then back up at me. A wary smile grows, one cheek lifts, and he seems to accept what I have said. Begrudgingly, he asks, “Wanna play cards til’ Kettle gets back?”
I smile, stand, and straighten my clothes, wiping the moisture from my eyes. “Sure.”
We sit around for an hour or so, and I learn the boy’s names. Krow, Kelpie, Klam, Keg (due to his barrel like shape), and Krop. “So those aren’t your real names, I assume. Why did you change them?” I ask as I flick the cards out to each scratched and smudged hand. They pull up the cards and we all match. It’s sad and comforting.
“New start, new name,” Krow answers.
“Did Kettle and… K…”
“Kin,” Keg finishes.
I nod staring down at my pair of sevens. “Yes, did Kettle and Kin name you?”
This makes them frown, five pairs of narrowed eyes. “No, we named ourselves,” Krop replies.
Krow throws out two of his cards, and I deal him two new ones. “When you join the Kings, you choose a new name, coz down here, no one can own you but you.”
I want to be a King. I want to be a King. I want to not be a Deere.
“So who is this Kin anyway?” I ask casually, pushing a button marked five into the center of the table.
“Kin is Kettle’s brother,” Kelpie answers, cheating as he pops up behind me and looks at my cards.
My eyes flip from my cards to the boys, shuttered, trying to play it cool. “Where is he?”
Krow calls me and then says, “Kin got sick. He don’t live here no more. Least not for now,” as we lay our cards down on the table.
The look he gives me tells me I shouldn’t ask any more questions about Kin. But I have so many others. I want to know how they all came to be here. How on earth does Kettle care for them? It seems impossible, but I’m starting to learn I know nothing of what is possible.
Kettle pushes through the door, arms full of overflowing grocery bags. The boys attack him like hungry seagulls, and I watch him gleefully and responsibly hand out an equal portion of food to each one. When he gets to me, he hands me a sandwich and a drink.
“You should eat,” he grunts, a lick of concern flapping across his eyes.
I take it, realizing I haven’t eaten very much at all in the last twenty-four hours, having only nibbled at the Danish Kettle bought me earlier. “Thank you.”
I devour the food like it’s trying to escape my hands and it hits my empty stomach like a rock, churning and grating against the sides until I feel like I might vomit.
I put both hands out to steady myself, feeling the color draining from my face and collecting in my copper-tasting mouth. I dig my fingers into the stone floor as the world slopes and I feel like I need to hang on or fall out. Kettle’s face appears in my vision, distorted and stretching, and I release my hold on the world. His words cut through to my ears in pieces like they’re being passed through a cheese grater. But I think he says, “You… don’t look… so good,” before I feel myself falling. My head anticipates the cold, hard stones because there’s never been anyone to catch me before, but I land against arms. Arms that scoop me up and pull me away from the others, whose noise sounds like lapping waves and seagulls squawking.
I’m laid down on lumpy pillows and a blanket is pulled over my legs. He leans down and touches my forehead with the back of his hand, sighing with re
lief.
My blinking gets heavier and longer. I fight it for a short second, until all goes black.
Rest.
You’re safe, I think. For once, you might be safe.
***
I wake to hear the snoring and sleeping sounds of five boys squished together. I shiver in the coolness, the sense that it is night reinforced by the lower temperature. I feel better. My headache has gone and my eyes don’t feel glued to my eyelids. I finally slept. For the first time in years, I slept undisturbed by fear, real or imagined. It has done wonders. My mind is fresh and sprinkled with dewdrops.
My fingers search for the blanket and knock two small cardboard boxes at my side. When I lift them up, I see a bright red toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste.
I close my eyes again and smile. Falling back into glorious unconsciousness.
37. UNLOCKED
KETTLE
She’s not what I expected. Not at all. Safe to say, I don’t like that. I wanted to hate her. Blame her, but there’s something in her eyes, in the way she moves and reacts, that makes me think life has given her a raw deal too. As impossible as it may seem, she is… maybe… like me.
Lighting the candle by my bed, I check my wallet. I poke at the handful of coins I have left in my palm and sigh. I haven’t worked in days. I have to go back to the docks.
The clock on the wall reads four in the morning.
I rustle through the bags and find a bagel with seeds on it. I take a large bite, regretting it as it’s so hard to chew. The curtain around my bed sways and I roll my eyes, expecting Kelpie to come slinking in. Instead, it’s the purple fingers of a girl grasping the curtain.
Nora peeks her head in and sort of smiles when she sees me. My mouth is stuffed full of bagel, and I try to chew quickly as she squats down and starts to speak. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers. She sweeps a hand across her forehead and drops her chin, mumbling to the floor. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened back there. I’m usually… I mean… I’m better at…” She blows her hair from her eyes, frustrated by herself. It’s like she’s battling with her conscience, trying to decide what to tell me. Anyone can tell she’s been hurt. But how she was hurt is something I don’t feel I can ask her. “Sorry.”
Nora & Kettle Page 19
