Nothing to Fear

by Jackie French Koller

  "Look what we got here," said Harry. "Gee, if it ain't the neighborhood rat fink." He gave my head a rough shove and my face scraped painfully along the wall.

  "What do you want, Harry?" I asked when I could breathe again.

  "What do we want?" Harry's face appeared in front of mine and he smiled a hateful smile. "Let's start with an 'I'm sorry.'" He twisted my arm behind me.

  Use your head when you're in trouble, Pa always said. There's a time to be tough and a time to be smart. This was a time to be smart.

  "Sorry," I mumbled.

  "Louder," shouted Harry, twisting harder.

  "Sorry," I shouted.

  "I don't think he sounds sorry enough, do you, Frank?"

  "Nah," said Frank.

  "I think he needs to be taught a lesson," said Harry. "Get down on your knees, fink."

  He shoved me down, my face scraping against the wall again. The skin was raw now and the wet feel of the bricks told me I was bleeding.

  Harry and Frank leaned over me, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a knife blade sliding open and snapping into place. My insides turned to ice and every hair on my body stood up. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Then, all of a sudden, they let me go and stepped back. I turned my head cautiously, afraid of what might happen next. What I saw made my breath come out in a whoosh of relief. It wasn't Harry and Frank who had the knife, but Mickey Crowley, who stood spread-legged, blocking the entrance to the alley.

  "Mickey," I said, "am I glad to see you."

  Harry and Frank glared at him. "This ain't none of your affair, Crowley," said Harry. "Why don't you just butt out?"

  "I wouldn't expect you to know this, Harry," said Mickey, "never having had any yourself. But Danny's a friend of mine, and friends stick together."

  Mickey moved forward, raising the knife, and Harry and Frank retreated farther back into the alley. Mickey clapped a hand on my shoulder.

  "You okay?"

  I got shakily to my feet. "Yeah, fine."

  Mickey put a hand under my chin and turned my face toward the light from the street.

  "Now, would you look at that," he said. "That ain't nice. That ain't nice at all. I think I'm gonna have to spill some Sullivan blood to make up for it."

  Harry and Frank shrank back into the shadows. Frank started to whimper and Harry socked him in the stomach. "Shut up," he whispered hoarsely. "Shut up or I'll kill you myself." Poor Frank, I thought, born two minutes after his brother and living in his shadow ever since.

  "Let 'em go," I told Mickey.

  "Oh, I'll let 'em go. I just want to see them bleed a little first."

  "Let 'em go now, Mick."

  Mickey looked at me and frowned. "You're no fun at all, you know that?" he said, but he lowered the knife and stepped aside. "Go on, get out of here," he told Frank and Harry. "But if I was you I'd stick close to home from now on."

  Frank ran like a scared rabbit, but Harry walked by slow and deliberate. The guy has guts, I have to give him that. When he got to the entrance of the alley, he turned back and stared at us. "Nobody tells Harry Sullivan where he can and can't go," he said. "I'll be back." Then he disappeared.

  Me and Mickey burst out laughing. I grabbed the knife out of his hand.

  "Where the heck did you get this?" I asked.

  "Pa took it off some guys last night."

  Mickey's father is a night watchman.

  "Yeah?" I said. "Well, he'll use it to skin you alive if he finds out you've got it."

  "Aw, he won't know. I'll put it back in his drawer before he gets home. Came in handy, though, didn't it?"

  I started laughing again. "I'm gonna spill me some Sullivan blood," I mimicked. "You been watching too many movies, Mickey. Poor Frank probably peed his pants."

  "Ah, he deserves it."

  "Nah, Frank ain't bad. He just never learned to think, that's all. Harry's been telling him what to do all his life. Harry probably kicked him in the gut the minute he was born and said, 'Cry, stupid.'"

  Mickey laughed. "Yeah, you're probably right." He folded the knife and put it away and we started walking home. He took another look at my face under the streetlamp.

  "Ain't bad," he said. "Just tore up some. You were too pretty anyway."

  I gave him a kick.

  "Hey listen," he said. "I been waitin' for you. I wanted to talk to you about something."

  "Yeah? What?"

  "Well ... uh..." Mickey suddenly seemed to lose his voice.

  "What?" I said again.

  "Well ... what do you say we take Kitty and Maggie to the movies tomorrow?"

  I stopped and stared at him. "Take them to the movies? What do you mean, take them to the movies?"

  "You know, like on a date."

  "A date! You mean us pay?"

  "Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

  "Are you nuts? You must be nuts."

  "Why? Would you tell me that? Why am I nuts?"

  "Because I'm not paying for any girl to go see no movie. If they want to see a movie they can pay their own way, just like the rest of us."

  "You know they ain't got no money with all them kids and the way their pa is."

  "Yeah, well that's not my problem. In case you haven't noticed, my name ain't Rockefeller, either."

  "Look, Danny, I'll pay for all of us."

  "Oh sure. What'd you do, rob a bank?"

  "Naw, I just got it, that's all."

  I stared at him. "You didn't steal it, did you? I promised my pa I wouldn't have nothin' more to do with stealing."

  "No, I didn't steal it. If you have to know, my grandmother gave me a dollar when she came to visit last weekend."

  "A whole dollar?"

  "Yeah, a whole dollar."

  "Whew! I didn't know you had rich relatives, Mickey. I'm impressed."

  "Aw, shut up. Do you wanna go or not?"

  "I don't know. I still think you're crazy. Do you know what you can buy with a dollar? You could go to the movies ten times, or you could buy twenty Baby Ruths, or fifty Hooton Bars, or..."

  "Will you shut up? I think I know what I can buy."

  "Then why don't you?"

  "'Cause I'm not a kid anymore."

  "Oh, whoa.... So what are you, a man?"

  "More of a man than you'll ever be."

  "Aaagh!" I grabbed my throat, choking and sputtering like I was gonna die laughing.

  Mickey socked me in the shoulder. "Grow up, will you?" he said. "Are you going or not?"

  "No way."

  "Okay," said Mickey. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to bring this up, but the way I see it, you owe me one."

  I stopped laughing. He had me there.

  "All right then," I said. "Have it your way. But I'll tell you something. They're never gonna say yes. Maggie Riley will fall down laughing when we ask her."

  Mickey grinned. "We'll see," he said. "We'll just see."

  We had reached my stoop by then. "See you in the morning," I said.

  "Wait a minute," said Mickey. "When are we gonna ask them?"

  I turned to look at him. "Not now, you thick mick. Bad enough I gotta do it in the first place. I'm sure not gonna do it with a face full of blood."

  Mickey scowled. "Okay," he said, "in the morning then, but don't get any ideas about chickening out." He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

  Maggie and Kitty were right inside the front door when I walked in. They were scrubbing the floors like they usually do on Friday nights. My face got all hot when I saw them.

  "Well, well," said Maggie, "if it isn't the rat fink."

  "Knock it off, Maggie," I told her. "You don't know how it is."

  "Oh yeah? Why don't you tell me then?"

  "Some other time."

  "Hey. What happened to your face?"

  "I fell."

  "Yeah, I bet. Watch your dirty feet, huh? We just scrubbed those stairs. Why don't you take your shoes off?"

  "Ah, go cook a radish." I bounded up the stairs tw
o at a time and looked back down when I got to the landing. Maggie and Kitty had already forgotten about me and were back to their usual gabbing and giggling. They sure beat that Tom Sawyer fella for making work look like fun.

  I watched them for a minute. Mickey was right. Maggie sure doesn't look like one of the guys anymore. I sighed. Why do things have to change? It makes life so complicated.

  THIRTEEN

  Mama wasn't ironing when I walked in. All the linens were neatly folded and stacked, ready for me to deliver in the morning. Maureen was playing in the tub, and Mama was sitting at the table, writing a letter.

  "Who're you writing to?" I asked her.

  "Yer daddy," she said, without looking up.

  "You've heard from him already!"

  "No," said Mama, "but I'm writin' just the same."

  "Where you gonna send it?"

  "Wherever he is, if he stays put long enough. If not, I'll just be savin' it 'til he's home again."

  That didn't make a lot of sense to me.

  "What do you want to do that for?" I asked.

  "Because I don't want him to be missin' anything while he's gone. Besides, it gives me comfort, Danny, to talk with him this way."

  I nodded. "Tell him 'hi' for me," I said.

  Mama smiled and looked up.

  "Oh, Mother o' God," she said, "what've ya done to yer face?"

  "It's nothing, Ma. Just a few scratches is all."

  She got up out of her chair and came over and turned my face to the light.

  "Aw, Danny," she said, "what happened?"

  "Nothin', Ma. I fell, that's all."

  "On yer face?"

  "Yeah, on my face."

  "Give me yer hands."

  Reluctantly I put my hands into hers. She turned them over and looked at the palms.

  "It's full of the blarney you are," she said, then she sighed. "Are you gonna tell me the truth now?"

  I stared at the floor.

  Mama dropped my hands and shook her head angrily.

  "Stubborn," she said, "stubborn like a mule. It's a mold of yer father you are."

  I grinned at her. "I guess I could do worse then, huh?"

  Mama snorted. "Aye, and I can see you've got his smooth Garvey tongue as well. Come over here then and see if you can talk yer way out of this" She pushed the curtains under the sink aside and pulled out a brown bottle.

  "Oh no, Ma, not the peroxide," I said. "Not on your life." I hopped around her and went over to the tub and kissed Maureen on the top of her damp little head.

  "Da," she said, holding her soppy wet arms up to me. I was about to grab her towel when I felt Ma's firm grip on my ear.

  "Ouch, Ma. Cut that out."

  "Never you mind," she said, steering me over to the sink.

  "C'mon, Ma. Please?"

  "Close yer eyes and tilt yer head to the side."

  "But..."

  There was another sharp tug on my ear.

  "All right, all right." I gritted my teeth and waited. "Yee-ouch!" The medicine felt like a wire brush dragging across my raw skin. I pulled away, but Ma pulled me right back and went at it again.

  "Sweet Jesus, Ma," I shouted. "Talk about being killed by the cure!"

  "There," she said finally, handing me a towel. "That'll give ya something to think about next time yer tempted to go brawlin'. And don't let me catch ya takin' our Lord's name in vain again, or I'll wash out yer mouth as well."

  She would, too. Ma may be little, but she's feisty. Maureen was staring at us with her mouth hanging open and her eyes bugged out. I guess she must've thought Ma was killing me or something. I took the towel and went over and scooped her out of the tub.

  "Da's okay," I told her, "don't you worry." She was rosy red and steamy inside the towel. I rubbed her dry, tickling her as I did and making her giggle. I pinned up her diaper, then slipped her into the nightgown and booties Ma had laid out for her. She looked like a cherub with her pink cheeks and little damp ringlets. I flew her around in the air and made her giggle some more. I caught a glimpse of Ma as I spun around. All the anger was gone from her eyes.

  "Aye," she said, nodding with a smile on her lips, "a mold of your father to be sure."

  I laughed, embarrassed, and brought Maureen in for a landing on the kitchen table. "What's for supper?" I asked. "I'm starving."

  Ma's smile faded. "It'll be oatmeal again, I'm afraid."

  I felt bad for asking. Of course it was oatmeal again. Ma had hidden our last three dollars in the sack she'd packed for Pa, so we'd been living on oatmeal and evaporated milk for days.

  "Hey, that's okay. I like oatmeal," I said as cheerfully as I could. "Besides, tomorrow's payday."

  Ma gave me a sheepish look.

  "Ya must think me daft, packin' the whole three dollars like that."

  It made me angry, her thinking that way. "Of course I don't," I told her. "Do you think I could swallow my supper knowing Pa had none? I only wish we'd had more to give."

  Ma nodded and set out the bowls. She took the pot from the back of the stove and scooped out the pasty goo. There was sugar at legist, and the oatmeal was warm and thick enough to fill up the cave in my stomach—for a little while, anyway. We were just finishing up when I noticed the end of a rag mop swishing back and forth outside our window.

  "Mrs. Mahoney wants you, Ma," I said.

  Mrs. Mahoney is the widow who lives upstairs. The thump, thump, thump, of her wooden leg overhead is as much a part of our lives as the rumble of the elevated train across the street.

  Mama went over, raised the window, and stuck her head out.

  "Aye, Rose?" she yelled.

  "Come up for a cuppa tea," Mrs. Mahoney yelled back.

  Mama smiled. She looked at me. "Do ya think you could tuck Maureen in?" she asked.

  "Sure, Ma. Go ahead."

  "I'll just be a minute, Rose," Mama called out the window again.

  Mrs. Mahoney's kitchen is the gathering spot for all the women in the building. It's supposed to be a secret that the "tea" she serves in real china cups is actually homemade wine. But us kids all know, and we giggle behind our hands when our mothers come back downstairs smiling a bit too widely.

  Wine and beer are illegal to buy, because of Prohibition. That's why lots of folks make their own. I guess that's not illegal, as long as they don't try to sell it. Besides, the cops are too busy chasing after all the big-time gangsters and bootleggers to worry much about ordinary people like Mrs. Mahoney. Pa says there's an awful lot of hoodlums getting rich off Prohibition, and the sooner it ends the better.

  Mama scurried around cleaning up the supper dishes, then she pulled off her apron and straightened the pins in her hair.

  "Sure ya don't mind now?" she asked me.

  "Not a bit, Ma."

  "Don't be forgettin' yer bath then."

  "Aw, Ma."

  "Do as yer told now." She kissed Maureen goodnight and paused in the doorway. "I'll put the radio on for you," she said, flicking the knob. Kate Smith's voice filled the room. Ma stood still and listened, her gaze far away. When the song ended she shook her head in admiration. "Sure an' that girl can sing," she said.

  "Not as good as you, Ma," I told her. "You could've been a singer on the radio."

  Ma threw her head back and laughed—a laugh so full of music it sounded like someone running their hand down the keyboard of a piano.

  "Aye," she said, "and I could've been the queen of England, too, if I'da married me the king."

  I could still hear her laughing to herself as she climbed the stairs. I put the water on to boil for my bath while I tucked Maureen in, then I filled the tub.

  I sure hate taking a bath. Not that I'm a slob or anything. It's just that our tub is right in the middle of the kitchen, and even though I pull the shades down and lock the door, I still feel naked to the world. Once, a couple of years ago, Maggie walked right in while I was sitting there—nothing between her and me but a bar of soap. She never lets me forget it, either. I've grown up
some since then, if you know what I mean. A bar of soap wouldn't be too much help anymore. We got a chain lock on the kitchen door now, but I still panic every time I hear footsteps in the hall.

  I climbed in and went about my business as quickly as I could. "Amos 'n' Andy" came on the radio and had me laughin' in no time. They are the funniest guys. All of a sudden, in the middle of a laugh, this knock came on the door.

  "Danny?" It was Maggie's voice. I sank down in the water.

  "Danny? Want to come over and play Monopoly?"

  I didn't answer. I wasn't about to let on that I was in the tub.

  "Danny, I know you're in there. I heard you laughin'." Then there was a giggle. "Why aren't you answering?"

  The next think I knew, I heard her key turning in the lock. The door opened a crack and then the chain stopped it. "D-a-n-n-y," came Maggie's singsongy voice. "Are you in the tub?"

  I swallowed hard and stayed as still as death. The tub was out of the line of view of the crack, but still, Maggie Riley's eyes were staring into the very room that I was stark naked in. I never realized before that you could sweat underwater.

  FOURTEEN

  Saturday, October 22, 1932

  Saturday morning is usually slow shining shoes, but today was the worst. I stood out there next to Ike's newsstand for a solid hour and all I made was one lousy nickel. I think Ike must've felt sorry for me, 'cause just as I was packing up he asked me for a shine.

  "Ah, you don't need one," I told him.

  "Sure I do. Got a date with my girl tonight. Gotta look spiffy." He gave me a wink.

  I didn't really believe him, but I wasn't about to argue too hard. After all, a nickel's a nickel, and they are gettin' harder and harder to come by.

  I handed both nickels to Ma when I got home. "That's all I got," I apologized.