7
We stayed home from school the next day, ate crackers and cheese, and listened to the radio. I started to write to my father but stopped, because what if my mother came home today, or tomorrow? What if I wrote and he came all the way home from Baltimore and my mother was home already?
The ice had melted and the hamburger that had been sitting on top of it turned brown. It didn’t smell too good, but I dumped it into a pan and broke an egg on top of it. Bubber had his nose under my elbow. “Get me salt and pepper. Get the bread.”
“The meat is stinky.”
“Get the ketchup.”
“I won’t eat it.”
“This is special. Mother Tolley’s Deluxe Hash.” I stirred the meat grandly with a fork, shook in pepper and salt. My stomach was growling. The pan was too hot and the meat began to smoke. I turned down the fire, then, without thinking, I grabbed the hot handle. I dropped the pan and meat scattered on the floor.
“It’s dirty.”
“Is it my fault!” My fingers stung like fire. I smeared butter on them. “Go ahead,” I yelled, “eat anything you want.”
I ran to the bathroom and stuck my hand under the cold water. There was a white line across the palm. I smeared zinc ointment on it, then wrapped a bandage around it. I saw my face in the mirror. I felt mean and ugly. My hair was falling into my mean, squinty eyes. I was sick of being in charge and taking care of Bubber.
Bubber was still by the stove, standing there like I’d whipped him. He was picking at the meat in the sink. I tasted a piece. It had a nice charred taste, like mickies right out of the fire. I spooned everything together in the pan and put it on the table with bread and ketchup. “Okay, let’s eat.”
Bubber stared at the wall.
“Come on,” I said. “Nobody ever yelled at you before? You don’t take some, I’ll eat it all myself.”
He slapped me. “That tickles,” I said. He punched me a couple of times hard before he sat down to eat.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
He opened his mouth and let me look at the chewed-up meat on his tongue.
For dessert I made chocolate pudding, burned that, too, but Bubber was getting to appreciate my style of cooking. He said it tasted good.
After we ate, I thought about going out. I hadn’t seen my friends all day. I looked down into the courtyard. Then I went into the other room and looked out to the street. Back and forth. I’d go out when Bubber was asleep.
At the table, Bubber was drawing and telling himself Tarzan stories. “Now he jumps in the river. Uh-oh, here comes the alligator. But look how fast Tarzan swims. Nobody can swim as fast as Tarzan!”
“Okay,” I said. “Stop. Time to go to bed.”
“Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash. Tarzan jumps out of the water. I have to do my homework, Tolley.”
“What homework? They don’t give homework in first grade.” He never did anything when my mother was home. Now he wanted to read his book. I had to sit with him and help him sound out the words. Fifteen minutes was enough for me. “Okay, get ready for bed.”
No, first we had to play Lone Ranger and Silver. I was Silver. I got down on my hands and knees and he climbed on me. He dug his knees into my sides. We rode to the other room where Tonto was waiting. Then we had to hit the trail after the bad guys. “Hi-ho, Silver!” And the great white horse went galloping to the toilet.
I finally told him, “You want to see Momma tomorrow, you’ve got to go to bed.”
“Is she coming home?”
“She’d better. One more day of you is all I can stand.”
I said he could sleep in Momma’s bed. I had to get on the bed, too, and we listened to The Shadow on the radio. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? It was a good story. Margo was trapped, but the Shadow rescued her. The Shadow knows.…
Bubber fell asleep listening. He had his feet over me. I was careful getting out of bed. I turned off the radio, carried my shoes to the door and went out.
It was late. There was nobody by the first candy store. Nate was taking in the papers, getting ready to close up. I walked up toward the subway. Most of the stores were shut. The drugstore was open on the next corner. I waited by the delicatessen under the tracks for the next train from downtown. What was I waiting for? I didn’t expect my mother, but I stood there and waited.
When the train came into the station, a handful of people got off. A woman came down the stairs. She was wearing a leopard-skin coat and a matching hat. My mother didn’t have a coat like that, but there was something about her that made me think of my mother. I started toward her—I was happy. But it was just a woman. After that I went home.
The minute I came off the street and into the courtyard, I heard Bubber crying. He was standing in front of the open window, bawling like a cat. “Momma … Momma … Momma …”
I called up to him. “Shhh!” I didn’t want the whole house to hear. “I’m here, shhh. Shut up.” I ran up the stairs, fell and banged my knee. Then I had to fumble around for my key because he didn’t have the brains to open the door.
“What’s the matter with you?” I said, when I finally got in. “What are you broadcasting for? You want everyone to know what a baby you are?” That’s what he looked like, a pouty, sticky-eyed baby. “I only went down for a second. I came back, didn’t I? What did you wake up for? I heard you all the way out in the street. What are you afraid of? I left the light on.”
He burped. It smelled like burned meat.
“I have a right to go downstairs. I don’t have to be with you every second. Clam up, will you?” I mixed Ovaltine with water. There was no milk in the house. It tasted terrible and I spilled it down the drain.
Later, I lay in bed. The light came in from the street. Somebody had a radio on. I heard a woman shouting and I thought of my mother, and my grandmother all by herself. Tomorrow, if my mother wasn’t here I was going to go to the hospital. My mother would tell me what to do. Come home, I’d say. You can stay in bed, Momma, and give the orders. I’ll cook, do the shopping. I’ll take care of Bubber, too. Tonight’s not a good example, Momma.
I pulled the blankets over my ears. The last thing I remembered was thinking about breakfast. I’d make oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar.
8
Bubber woke me in the morning. He was sitting on my back singing. “O beautiful for spacious pies, forever waves of rain.”
“Off!” I humped up with my feet, then dug my head under the pillow.
“For purple mountains magic ski, above the fruited plates. Amer-i-ca, Amer-i-ca …”
We were going to the hospital today.
“Amer-i-ca, Amer-i-ca, God shed his grapes on me.”
I got up and checked the door. No milk. Yesterday was the day we were supposed to pay. There were two bottles of milk and a pint of cream in front of the Chrissmans’ door. I went back inside and made oatmeal. Bubber picked out the raisins, then ate a couple of spoonfuls. He wanted butter and milk with his cereal. “That’s all you’re going to get until we see Momma and get some money.” He went to his room and came back with four Indian-head pennies.
I found a quarter in the lining of my mother’s pocketbook. I went through my father’s pants. All I found was lint, but in the handkerchief pocket of his good jacket I found a dollar bill. “Look at this,” I said, “a dollar bill!” It was like magic finding it. Great feeling.
We didn’t leave the house till the kids had gone to school. There was a man singing in the courtyard, his hat on the sidewalk. I wrapped a penny in newspaper and aimed for the hat. It landed in the bushes, but he found it. Musicians come into the courts all the time, playing for pennies.
We tiptoed down the stairs, but instead of going out on the Barker Avenue side, we went out through the cellar. It was dark and smelled garbagey. A cat leaped out of a can. Bubber held my arm until we came out on the park side.
We walked to Fordham Hospital through the park and the Botanical Gardens. The Gardens’ gate was
chained shut on our side, but I knew a way in by the pond. Once we were inside, nobody stopped us. A crow hee-hawed and Bubber hee-hawed back.
The hospital was a long red brick building with a lot of skinny windows framed in white. Which window was my mother’s? Maybe she’d call down to me, the way she did at home.
There were people going in and out of the hospital. Nobody paid any attention to us. Inside, next to the entrance, was a little newsstand. I’d never been in a hospital before, except when I was born, which I didn’t remember. The only other time was when I had my tonsils out. All I remembered about that was how my throat burned and I cried for ice cream.
“What’s that?” Bubber said, pointing.
“Don’t point. Just look. That’s a Jesus Christ.”
“Why’s he like that? Is he sick?” Bubber made his arms like the Christ.
I glanced at the man behind the news counter. He had white eyes. He was blind. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing Bubber along.
“Can I help you boys?” The voice came from behind some palms. A strict-looking woman was sitting at a desk.
“I want to see my mother, Mrs. Holtz.”
She ran her finger down a long list. “Anna Holtz?”
“Yes, that’s my mother.”
“Mine, too,” Bubber said.
“She’s in room 403.”
“Okay, thanks.” I turned Bubber’s head around. He was staring at a legless man in a wheelchair.
“One minute, boys. Wait a minute,” the receptionist called after us. “You can’t go up there.”
Bubber stopped. “Come on,” I whispered.
“You, children, stop right there.”
Ahead, in front of the elevators, a man in a gray uniform looked our way. “Are you boys a little hard of hearing?”
We went back and the woman pointed to a sign above her desk. “Minors under fifteen not admitted to patient floors.”
“I’m sixteen,” I said. I stood up straight.
She took off her glasses and looked at me. “You’re not sixteen. You’re not fifteen. You’re not even close.”
“No, honest, I really am.”
She looked pained. “How old is your brother?”
“He doesn’t have to go up with me.”
“I can so,” Bubber said. “I’m twenty-five.” He held up two fingers on one hand and five on the other.
“And how much older is your big brother?”
He held up five fingers.
“I thought so.” She smiled at Bubber. Grownups always thought Bubber was cute.
“I have to see my mother. It’s serious.”
“Why?”
“Why? She has to come home. There’s nobody at home. We’re locked out. I have to get the key from her.”
“Why aren’t you children in school? Where’s your father?”
“Working. He’s out of town. That’s why I have to talk to her. He left all of a sudden, and he didn’t leave any money.”
The woman tapped a pencil on the desk. Then she picked up a phone. “Hello, is this the pulmonary ward? This is Mary Byrnes at reception. I have two children downstairs who are here to see—” She looked at the card.
“Anna Holtz,” I said.
“Anna Holtz, in room 403. It’s their mother. They’d just be coming up for a minute.”
She listened, then she shook her head and hung up. “Sorry, boys, I can’t let you go up. Your mother is too sick for visitors.”
“I’ve got to see her,” I said. “You have to let me go up there.”
“Wait a minute now, don’t get excited. Maybe I can help you.” She picked up the phone again. “Betty? This is Mary Brynes at reception. I have a problem—two children here who need some assistance. Their mother’s on the fourth floor … pulmonary. Nobody’s home with them.” She listened. “I know, but they came here—all right … yes … yes … okay.” She wrote something down on a slip of paper and handed it to me. It had a name and a room number. “Now you go there and they’ll help you out.” She pointed to a corridor going the opposite way from the elevators. “Follow that hallway till you come to room fifteen. That’s Social Services. They’re going to help you.”
“Can we see my mother, then?”
“You talk to them first. They’ll explain everything. Now, hurry along. They’re expecting you.” She smiled at me. “Don’t worry, they’re going to take good care of you.”
9
“Seven … nine … eleven …” Bubber was reading the door numbers. “Fifteen. This is it, Tolley.”
A gray-haired woman was waiting for us. “The Holtz children? Come right in. I’m Mrs. Winslow.”
She seemed nice—she was soft-looking and smiling. We sat down. There was a railing and a gate and desks on the other side. Bubber started counting the rails while Mrs. Winslow went back to talk to a man sitting at a desk. He had a square, doggy face.
“Tolley.” Bubber nudged me. “I want a drink.”
“Go get it, then. Don’t bother me.” I was watching Mrs. Winslow, waiting for the chance to tell her how important it was for me to talk to my mother. I had to talk to her and find out if she knew where my father was. If he knew Momma was in the hospital …
Mrs. Winslow came back. “Where’s the little boy?”
“He wanted a drink. He’ll be right back.”
“You go in, then. Mr. McKenzie is waiting. I’ll get your brother.” She held the gate open.
Mr. McKenzie looked at me, then down at some papers. “Sit down, boy.” He started asking me questions. “Name? Age? Address?” He glanced up each time, then wrote down the answers. “How long at this address? Parents’ names?”
I gave him the wrong address. I didn’t do it on purpose, it just came out that way. It was Irv’s address, which wasn’t too smart, if I was trying to be smart. I don’t know why I lied. There were more questions. How long since my father had last worked? Any prior sickness in the family? How long had we been alone? I didn’t like all these questions. All I wanted to do was talk to my mother. Five minutes, that’s all I needed.
“All right,” he said finally. He put down the pen. “There are two of you, aren’t there?”
“Mrs. Winslow went to get my brother.”
Mr. McKenzie frowned. “He should be here, not roaming the halls.”
“I’ll get him,” I volunteered.
“Stay here. I don’t want to lose you, too.” He stood up, gathered the papers. “Well, let me go find the driver.”
“Are we going up to my mother now?”
He burped and patted his chest. “Let’s take care of you and your brother first.”
Take care of us? Driver? What was he talking about? “When do I get to see my mother?”
“She can’t have visitors. Too sick. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to know you’re at the children’s shelter.
“Thank you, sir.” I was on my feet. “Thanks for helping. Thank you very much, sir.”
He stopped me at the railing. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right. You sit right here.”
I ran my tongue over my lips. I needed a drink. Where was Bubber?
“Say,” he said, “don’t look so upset. We’re going to take good care of you. Good food, a place to sleep.”
You get that in jail, too, I thought.
The minute he went out, I was on my feet. Sweat ran down my sides. The children’s shelter! That was for kids in trouble, kids who didn’t have families. Maybe they’d put Bubber and me in different places. And if he cried at night, they’d hit him to make him stop.
I nudged the door open. Mrs. Winslow was standing there. “The little boy is with Mr. McKenzie. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Bathroom, ma’am. Can I go to the bathroom?” I hopped like I couldn’t control myself.
“Down the corridor to your right, Tolley.”
I disappeared around the corner, down one corridor and up another, looking for Bubber. I didn’t know where I was. I thought I h
eard Bubber crying. My stomach felt all hollowed out. Then I saw them—Mr. McKenzie talking to a man and Bubber standing beside him. The two men started walking toward me. Bubber was behind them.
I hid in an alcove. When they went past me, I grabbed Bubber and we ran for it. Around the corner, past people and wheelchairs and nurses. I pulled Bubber into a little room, just a closet with a sink and mops and buckets.
“Tolley,” Bubber said. He was breathing like a dog again.
“Shh!” I put my hand over his mouth. I peeked out—my legs felt like water. I waited till the hall was clear, then we walked out, straight through the main hall, past the newsstand and the Jesus on the wall, and out the door. Across the street, we hopped a bus going crosstown.
The bus was crowded; we wormed our way right into the middle. Mr. McKenzie would forget about us now. There were so many people in the city. Four million people. Why should they care about a couple of kids? Across from us, a woman sat with her arms folded over packages. Another woman read, her lips moving. A man dozed. So many people. Nobody was looking for us. Nobody was looking at a couple of kids. We passed a billboard that advertised a paint that covered the world, blood-red paint spilling over the globe.
I was going to write to my father as soon as I got home. Come home, Pop, you’ve got to come home. I didn’t know what else to do. The way things were going was wrong. I couldn’t do it myself. Come home, Pop. He could go back when my mother came home or my grandmother was able to take care of us.
10
We got off the bus at Pelham Parkway and walked under the elevated train toward Allerton Avenue. Bubber leaned on me and walked with his eyes closed. His shoes were untied and his stockings had sunk down to his ankles. He opened his eyes when we went by the deli. “I’m hungry.”
We went in. There was sawdust on the floor and rye bread stacked on the counter. The smell was so good it almost knocked me over. I bought a cream soda and two knockwursts that we loaded up with mustard and sauerkraut. We sat down at a little table by the window.
“Is that a lot of money?” Bubber asked.
Cave Under the City Page 3
