“Watch it,” Peter snapped, rubbing his neck. “That hurt!”
“Oh, poor baby,” I teased.
“Come on, come on,” said Eddie. “Just show them the paper.”
I pulled out the Daily Worker and held it up so they could read the masthead. Their eyes went wide.
“All right,” Luke said. “Now that is pretty cool!”
“A real commie newspaper!” Peter exclaimed.
“Where’d you get it?” Luke asked.
But before I could answer, Sister Ann started walking toward us. I quickly rolled up the paper and stuck it in my back pocket.
She frowned when she reached us. “What are you boys doing?”
“Nothing,” said Eddie.
“Just deciding who’s going to be it,” I added.
“Then I suggest you go run and play,” she said sternly. “We will be reviewing fractions this afternoon and you will need to sit very still.”
I nodded.
She walked off.
“Tag again?” scoffed Luke.
“Electric-chair tag,” I said.
Peter nodded in approval. “I’ll be Mr. Rosenberg,” he said. “Luke can be Ethel.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg were convicted of spying for the Soviets. Just last June they were executed at Sing Sing prison. I’d seen pictures of them in the paper, walking to the electric chair. Mary Lou said it had given her nightmares for a week. I’d thought it was kind of exciting.
“I don’t want to be Ethel again,” Luke protested. “Why can’t I be Julius?”
“Better run, you two,” I said. “Almost time for your execution.”
They ran. Luke was fast, but we finally caught up with Peter by the horses that divided the street in half. Eddie grabbed one arm and I held the other. Peter flailed wildly between us, yelling, “I don’t want to go to the chair.” The “chair” was over by the elm tree. We started to drag him toward it.
Tommy!
I glanced up. There was no one there, but I swore I’d heard Mary Lou, clear as day. I knew what she’d say.
You cut that out right now! Sister Ann is going to see you in a second. Didn’t she say last week that the next person she caught playing electric-chair tag was going to get a call home?
She had. And the last thing I needed was a call home. So I dropped Peter’s arm.
Eddie gave me a puzzled look. “What’s going on?”
Peter took advantage of the moment to twist out of his grasp. “Giving up already?”
“No,” I said. “I just decided I want to play kick ball instead.”
We played kick ball a lot at school, because of Luke and his arm. But I didn’t usually change my mind right in the middle of a game. I’m sure they would have protested if it hadn’t been for my sister.
“Okay,” Eddie said finally. “Let me go get a ball.”
As he went off to find a ball, I could feel someone watching me. I turned and realized it was Little Skinny, Mr. McKenzie’s son. He wore the same clothes as the rest of us—white shirt, dark pants, plain tie—but his were a size too small and he was built like his father, making him look like an overstuffed sausage. Worst of all was the scar on his face. Shaped like a saucer that has shattered, but not yet fallen apart, it was red and raised and covered his left cheek and half of his nose. It made my skin crawl.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He stared at the ground.
I’d become the freak now. The one with the burned sister. It made me angry. I knew just how to make him feel uncomfortable.
“Hey, Little Skinny,” I called, making my voice as friendly as possible. “You’re the one!”
He looked up, confused. “The one what?”
“The one who is going to come play kick ball with us.”
He shook his head.
“Aw, come on,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”
“No, thanks.”
Eddie had returned with the ball. I caught his eye and he nodded, understanding my signal. We ran over to Little Skinny and grabbed his arms, trying to pull him into the game.
Little Skinny froze like a big round turtle, as if he were trying to pull himself into his shell. Peter and Luke started laughing hysterically.
“I don’t want to play,” Little Skinny moaned.
Tommy!
I let go suddenly.
Little Skinny jerked away from Eddie. He looked like he was about to cry.
Sister Ann was heading toward us again. “Are you all right, Samuel?” she asked.
“Fine,” he muttered, and ran off.
Sister Ann looked confused for a moment. I thought she was about to ask what had happened, so I figured I’d better cut her off. “May I help you with something, Sister?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sister Ann, turning her attention back to Eddie and me. “I thought perhaps you boys might do me a favor.”
“Of course, Sister,” Eddie said.
“We are almost out of chalk. I was hoping you two would run to the store and fetch me some more.”
She smiled. A wide, fake smile that made her pickle nose wiggle. She was only asking me because of my sister. I hated her pity. Still, you didn’t say no to a nun.
“Sure,” I said. “We’d be happy to.”
Sister Ann nodded and pressed a coin into Eddie’s hand. And we set off to McKenzie’s Grocery and Sundry Store.
7
THE YO-YOS
Main Street in Downers Grove was only a few blocks long. There was a hardware store, a drugstore, a bakery, Toon Funeral Home and Mr. McKenzie’s store. A new, bigger supermarket had recently opened across town on Ogden, but Mom still preferred McKenzie’s because it was so close to everything else.
Mr. McKenzie was outside opening a box when Eddie and I arrived. He was sweating and had his sleeves rolled up. I could see some sort of a tattoo on his left forearm. Even though there was a razor cut on his chin, he already looked like he needed another shave.
“Tommy!” he exclaimed, as if we were great friends.
“Hello,” I said.
“Who is this?” he asked, referring to Eddie.
“I’m Eddie Sullivan, sir,” Eddie said. “Nice to meet you.”
Mr. McKenzie shook his hand eagerly. “You boys go to school with my Sam.”
“Who?” asked Eddie.
“Sam,” I said, nudging him. “You know, the new boy.”
“Oh,” Eddie said. “The one with the scar.”
“Yes,” Mr. McKenzie said. “It happened in the war. There was an air raid and we’d made it to the shelter. We thought we were safe.” He stared off into the distance. “But a bomb caused a water heater to explode and it scalded his face.”
Eddie and I looked at each other. We didn’t know what to say.
“But enough talk of sad things,” Mr. McKenzie said, shaking his head as if that would shake off the bad memories. “Look what I got in today!” He gestured to the box.
Eddie and I peeked inside. There were rows and rows of yo-yos. They looked like huge Life Savers, red and green, yellow and blue, pressed up in a roll together, just like the candy. They were so bright and shiny. Like happiness on a string.
I winked at Eddie. He nodded. We were going to steal them.
Don’t do it, I heard Mary Lou tell me.
I ignored her.
“Only twenty-five cents each,” Mr. McKenzie said.
I looked at Eddie again. We had a whole technique. One person distracts and charms. The other takes something.
No!
Shut up, Mary Lou, I said. After all that’s happened, I deserve a treat!
And she was quiet.
“Yo-yos are great,” I said. “But actually we need some chalk.”
“If you have some, please
,” Eddie added.
Mr. McKenzie nodded. “Of course, of course. Come on in.”
Eddie followed him. I scuffed my shoe in the dirt, like I’d just noticed there was something on it. As Eddie passed me, he whispered softly, “Hi-Yo, Silver!” That was the signal.
As soon as they were gone, I reached into the box and picked up a yo-yo. A blue one. Like a ripe plum. I stuck it in my pocket.
It was too easy.
I could hear Eddie and Mr. McKenzie talking in the shop. No one had seen me. My pulse beat faster, like it always did when we nicked something. I picked up a yellow one, slipped it into my other pocket. Just like picking a lemon. One for me and one for Eddie.
They came back then, and Mr. McKenzie gave me a funny look. For a moment, I thought he had seen me steal the yo-yos. They felt huge in my pockets, large as eggs and heavy as rocks. We’d always taken little things from Mr. O’Malley, the previous store owner, gum and matches and things like that. He’d never caught us, not once. ’Course he was old and half-blind, but that wasn’t why. I knew the trick of stealing things. You’ve got to be bold.
I smiled at Mr. McKenzie and held his gaze. “Thanks for your help, sir.”
Mr. McKenzie smiled back. “Nice to see you both,” he said, and went back to unpacking the yo-yos. My breath caught in my throat. Would he notice that two were missing? No, he didn’t say a word.
Eddie waited until we were halfway back to school before he elbowed me in the ribs. “All right, Tommy. What’d you get?”
I pulled out the blue yo-yo and handed it to him.
“Cool!” Eddie breathed. “You’re the best.”
I felt great that we’d pulled one over on a grown-up, and even ended up with loot. When we reached the playground, I pulled out the yellow yo-yo, and skinned the cat and rocked the baby, and the third and fourth graders gathered around, oohing and aahing like I was a hero. But the whole time, I could feel someone watching me. I looked around.
Sister Ann was walking toward me. “You’re back already?”
“Yeah,” I said, uncertain. Should I hide the yo-yo, or pretend like I already had it? “The new guy doesn’t like to chat like old O’Malley.”
Eddie handed her the chalk. She took it with a nod and walked away, then stopped and turned back.
“Nice yo-yos,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Got them for my birthday.”
“That’s right. Happy birthday, Tommy.” She smiled as she walked off.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d gotten away with it. Again.
But a few minutes later when Sister Ann rang the bell that signaled recess was over, Little Skinny caught my eye. I realized that he could tell his father that Eddie and I had come back to school with yo-yos. Of course, he probably wouldn’t. Why would it even come up? But I didn’t sound very convincing, even to myself.
After school, as I got off the bus and started walking toward our house, my stomach knotted up again. I thought about riding my bike over to Eddie’s. Sometimes I did that. But honestly, I wanted to know if there was any news about Mary Lou. As I stood on our stoop gathering my courage, Boots ran up to me. I scratched behind his ears and tried to imagine I was as brave as Gary Cooper before he goes to face the villains in the final shoot-out. Finally, as Boots bounded off to chase a squirrel, I took a deep breath and I pulled the front door open.
“Mom,” I called, “I’m home!”
There was no answer. Of course, there wasn’t any crying either, so that was a good sign. I walked into the living room and took off my tie. “Have you heard anything about Mary—”
Someone cleared her throat and I looked up.
Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a navy-blue dress with white trim. She held a red yo-yo in her hands. “I stopped by Mr. McKenzie’s store this afternoon,” she said. The small, jeweled body rolled up and down the string like a drop of blood.
“I needed to pick up a few items for supper. He was in quite a tizzy when I arrived. Apparently someone stole two yo-yos—like this one—from his new display this morning.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said automatically, then cursed myself for my stupidity. Nothing says I’ve done it more than denying it before Mom even asked. The yellow yo-yo felt hot as a coal in my pocket.
Mom ignored me. “Mr. McKenzie was quite sure it was one of the public high school boys who’d taken them, until his son came home from St. Joe’s.”
Crap. Little Skinny.
“He said you had two new yo-yos at recess today,” Mom continued. “Just like this one.”
She made the yo-yo fly over toward me, so that it hit me in the chest. “Do you know anything about that?”
I froze, knowing there was no right answer. Finally I shook my head.
It was like a dam broke in my mom then, and all her rage came pouring out.
“Why, Tommy?” she screamed. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Why? I didn’t know why. They were shiny and they were there and it had never been a big deal before. Still, I knew it was wrong. Outlaws steal, not cowboys. So I just shook my head again.
“You embarrassed me!” she yelled, a vein bulging out of her forehead. “You’re going to have to go back and help him on Saturday mornings to make up for it! The two you stole and this one too!”
She kept bouncing the yo-yo, up and down, frantically. My heart beat faster and faster too, in time with the toy. Finally, the string slipped off her finger and the yo-yo went sailing across the room. It hit a vase on a side table. The vase teetered, then crashed to the floor. I winced.
“Psia krew i cholera!” Mom shrieked. Busia had sometimes lapsed into Polish when she was happy or excited. But Mom only spoke Polish when she was really angry. It sent a shiver up my spine.
“Sit down on that couch and stay there until your father gets home!”
That meant a whipping. Dad always gave us one lash for each birthday. This’d be my first time getting twelve. I sat down on the couch and sighed.
“What did you say?” Mom demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Tommy, I heard you!”
“I just sighed!”
The vein on her forehead pulsed. “I changed my mind,” Mom fumed, eyes wild. “I’m not going to wait for Dad. Don’t move!” She stormed out of the room.
I couldn’t help shaking a bit as I waited for her to come back. Stop it, I told myself. You’ve gotten a spanking a million times before. But Mom had never whipped me.
Mom returned with Dad’s spare belt coiled in her hand. It was dark brown leather and a little worn around the edges. “Go into the kitchen,” Mom ordered.
“But—”
“Stand up!” she screamed.
So I did. I walked into the kitchen with Mom following close behind. The afternoon sun shone in through the window over the sink, bouncing off the yellow tiles on the walls.
“Your pants,” Mom prompted.
This was standard procedure for a whipping. I didn’t mind so much with my dad, but it was humiliating pulling down my pants and underwear in front of my mom. I put my hands on the kitchen counter.
The sun was shining in my eyes, blinding me, but I could hear the sound of the leather as it flew through the air.
One. It hurt. The first few hits were always the worst, and I hadn’t braced myself for it. Two, three and four weren’t as bad.
Mom started yelling again, but I didn’t listen to what she was saying. Five, six and seven. The belt whipped through the air. Eight, nine. It made a whistle and then a slap as it hit me. Ten, eleven.
Twelve.
I relaxed.
Then she hit me again.
After three more, I said, “Mom, that was fifteen.”
But she kept hitting me. Mom hit harder than Dad, and I had to bite my tongue not to cry. I glanced back, and
for the first time, I noticed Pinky cowering under the kitchen table, watching with wide eyes.
“Mom!” I cried.
She didn’t stop. Mom kept hitting me, again and again, until finally the belt snapped back and hit her on the chin. She yelped and stopped.
In the quiet, I could feel each individual welt on my buttocks. There were tears on my face, but I wiped them away.
“It’s all right,” I said, pulling up my pants. I had stolen the yo-yos. Mom had to punish me.
The anger ran out of Mom’s face, her cheeks changing from flushed to pale. If she started crying, I didn’t think I could handle it. I had to say something, anything.
“I d-d-deserved it,” I sputtered.
“Yes.” Mom bit her lip. “Yes, you did.” She slowly rolled up the belt and left the room.
“Tommy,” Pinky said, crawling out from under the table once Mom was gone. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
She touched my arm as if she was going to give me a hug.
I jerked away from her.
Pinky began to cry.
I picked her up and let her sob on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Pinky,” I said. “I stole the yo-yos. Mom had to punish me. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. My butt hurt and I wanted to cry too. I’d never seen Mom so out of control before. But I had to hold it together for my sister.
Dad came home early, as Pinky and I were picking up the pieces of the broken vase.
“What happened?” he asked, taking off his overcoat.
I told him about stealing the yo-yos and Mom punishing me. As I talked, he sat down on the couch, as if I was sinking him with my words. “She wouldn’t stop, Dad. She just wouldn’t stop.”
“Oh, Thomas.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t provoke your mother like that!”
“I know it was wrong to take the yo-yos, but I’ve never seen Mom like that.”
He didn’t believe me. “Tommy, she is having a hard time. With Busia dying and the new baby and now Mary Lou . . . we just need to be a little more . . . patient.”
I couldn’t explain it right. If only Mary Lou were here, she’d make him understand. “How is Mary Lou?” I asked.
The Paper Cowboy Page 4
