They raced through the park, and found Julie’s classmates hard at work weeding. She went to Sister Rita, who put her arms around her and held her close.
“I’ve got to get to Vincent de Paul,” Alex said, uncertain whether he was telling the nun or Julie or if either of them cared. He went back to Central Park West, then walked south to the school, arriving there just before lunchtime.
But Father Mulrooney stopped him on the way to the cafeteria. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Morales?” he asked.
“It’s lunchtime,” Alex said. “Oh, do you mean the cut? I’ll take care of that when I get home. Right now I just want to eat.”
“I’m sure you do,” Father Mulrooney said. “But you haven’t handed in your sheets for the past two days. What makes you think you’re entitled to lunch?”
“Maybe I’m not entitled,” Alex said. “But I’m hungry and I need to eat.”
“You know the rules,” Father Mulrooney said. “No work, no food. If you’re that hungry, go home and eat there. Don’t bother to return on Tuesday unless you have done your visiting and have the signed sheet to prove it. Now go, Mr. Morales, and spend the holiday weekend contemplating the virtues of obedience.”
Alex longed to pick up the priest and throw him across the hallway. He felt the other kids staring at him, almost willing him to do so.
“Go,” Father Mulrooney said.
Alex stood still for a moment. If he did anything but leave, he’d be kicked out of Vincent de Paul. Forget college, which most likely no longer existed. Forget graduating, which had lost any meaning. No Vincent de Paul meant no lunch five days a week. No lunch five days a week meant certain starvation.
“Excuse me, Father,” Alex said, and did as he was told.
Saturday, July 2
“I’m calling Bri,” Alex declared. “The hell with the rules.”
Julie stared at him like he was a stranger. Maybe it was the cut on his cheek, he thought. It made him look like a pirate.
He picked up the phone only to find it was dead. That figured. But it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. So for the rest of the day, at fifteen-minute intervals, he picked up the phone to see if it was working.
At four-fifteen, he got a dial tone. He pressed the numbers carefully, and was rewarded by the sound of a ringing telephone on the other end.
“Notburga Farms.”
“Hello, this is Alex Morales,” Alex said. “My sister Briana Morales is staying with you.”
“Yes,” the woman on the other end said. Alex pictured a nun like Sister Rita, warm and caring.
“Today’s Bri’s birthday,” Alex said. “My sister Julie and I are calling to wish her a happy birthday.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “But none of the girls are allowed calls from their families for another week. You’ll receive a schedule in the mail telling you when you may call.”
“But it’s her birthday!” Alex protested. “We won’t stay on long. Just wish her a happy birthday and hang up, I promise.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “But the rules are for the good of all the girls. We can’t make any exceptions.”
Alex heard the click as he was hung up on. Julie looked at him.
“She wouldn’t let me talk to her,” he said. “¡Maldita monja!”
Julie’s jaw dropped. Then she giggled.
Alex was too angry to laugh. He could hear Father Mulrooney telling him to contemplate the virtues of obedience. He raised his hand to smack Julie into silence, then realized what he was about to do and stormed out of the apartment, not stopping until he reached Eighty-fourth and Columbus, where, standing in front of Morse, he screamed curses at the empty building.
Sunday, July 3
At Mass Father Franco instructed the parishioners to boil all their drinking water. Cases of cholera had begun to appear in the city.
“That includes the water you use for brushing your teeth,” he reminded them. “And whenever you’re going outside don’t forget to put on insect repellent to ward off West Nile virus.”
“Sister Rita always has us put on insect repellent before we go to the garden,” Julie said somewhat smugly. “That’s the rule.”
“Good,” Alex said, too hungry and too angry to care.
Tuesday, July 5
Alex returned to school with the ten signatures proving he’d made his morning calls. It had been a long, miserable weekend, not improved any with Monday being the Fourth of July.
There was very little food left. If he didn’t get any on Friday at Morse, he had two choices: either to go without eating all weekend or without supper the following week. Otherwise, there’d be no food for Julie.
He never should have made that vow to Bri. He should have let Uncle Jimmy take Julie. He had little chance of surviving with her around, and if he died, what would become of her anyway?
But he was stuck with her, at least until he could find someplace that would take her in. Maybe the sisters at Holy Angels knew of something. If he could talk to one of them without Julie finding out, he would ask.
He took the list of signatures to Father Mulrooney’s office. “Here they are, Father,” he said.
Father Mulrooney barely looked at them. “Very well,” he said. “I trust you spent the weekend in contemplation, Mr. Morales.”
“I thought about a lot of things,” Alex replied, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “Including the virtue of compassion.”
“Do you feel I showed insufficient compassion?” Father Mulrooney asked.
To hell with him and his damn eyebrows, Alex thought. “Yes, Father, that’s exactly what I felt,” he replied.
“And what’s so special about you that you deserve compassion?” Father Mulrooney said. “You have shelter. You have food. You have family and friends. I’m supposed to feel pity for you because of a cut cheek?”
“You don’t understand at all,” Alex said. “I have shelter for as long as no one thinks about it. Once they do, once they realize my father is gone, they can throw us out. I have food only if I get lunch here. We’re down to almost nothing at home, and I have to make sure my kid sister eats. She is my family right now, because my parents are both gone and my older brother is in the Marines somewhere and I sent my other sister to live at a convent with strangers. My cheek was cut because I got caught in a food riot, with my kid sister, and we ended up with no food anyway. I’m not asking you to pity me. I pity me enough for the two of us. But when one of your students asks you for food, you shouldn’t say no and feel righteous about it. That’s not what Christ would have done, and you know it.”
“These are the worst of times,” Father Mulrooney replied. “Rules are needed even more now. Without them there is anarchy.”
Alex thought about the riot, about the baby, about the man he had trampled on. “Sometimes the rules don’t work,” he said. “Sometimes the rules cause the anarchy.”
“I believe you were on the debating team,” Father Mulrooney said.
“Yes, Father,” Alex said.
Father Mulrooney nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll think about what you just said.”
“Thank you, Father,” Alex said. “I’ll think about what you said as well.”
He walked out of the office to find Kevin Daley standing there. “I like your style,” Kevin said.
“Thank you,” Alex said. “I like it, too.”
Wednesday, July 6
Kevin ran over to Alex as he was about to leave to get Julie. “I have something for you,” he said, handing Alex a brown paper bag.
Alex peeked inside the bag and saw a canned ham.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Don’t worry,” Kevin said. “No one’ll notice it’s gone.”
“I can’t pay you for this,” Alex said, handing the bag back.
“I’m not asking for anything,” Kevin said. “You’re doing me the favor. I can’t stand the stuff.”
Alex couldn’t be
gin to guess how many meals he and Julie could make from the ham. “Thank you,” he said. “My sister and I… Well, I really appreciate it.”
"De nada,” Kevin said with a grin, and Alex grinned back.
Thursday, July 7
Alex left Julie in the apartment and went up to check out the four vacant apartments for which he had keys. It took a fair amount of searching, but in 11F, he located a travel alarm clock. At some point he’d go through things more thoroughly, but this was all he wanted right then.
He set the alarm for 5:00 am to make sure he had enough time to get ready. Curfew ended at 6:00 in the morning. He didn’t know how rigidly it was being enforced, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances. Julie wouldn’t survive if he ended up in jail or shot for curfew violation.
He knew he wouldn’t sleep well anyway, since he’d be worried the alarm wouldn’t go off. It would take a while before he trusted it. But it was the best he could come up with in a world with unreliable electricity. And knowing he’d done the best he could made him feel more positive about how things would go on Friday.
Friday, July 8
The clock worked. Alex dressed and left a note for Julie, explaining he was going to the food line and that she was to stay in the apartment until he got back. He was pretty sure she would. She’d gotten better about doing what she was told. Then again, he wasn’t telling her what to do as much.
He left the apartment at 6:00 on the dot, and ran down the few blocks to Eighty-fourth and Columbus. When he got there, the line had already curved around Amsterdam, but it was nowhere near as long as it had been the week before. Alex wondered if it would get that way later, or if people had given up. It didn’t matter to him, just as long as he got there early-enough to get the bag of food. Two would be better, but after last week he wasn’t going to risk Julie’s life. One bag of food, he hoped, would be enough for the two of them for the weekend and for suppers for Julie for the week, if not for him. That didn’t matter too much. He was getting used to being hungry. There were worse things.
The line began shuffling forward around nine-thirty. It felt good to see progress so quickly. By ten-fifteen Alex was inside the school, and twenty minutes later he had his large plastic bag of food to take home. Smooth and easy, he thought as he checked out the contents. A box of powdered milk. Two bottles of water. A can of spinach, two cans of green beans, a box of rice and another of instant mashed potatoes. A can of chicken and another of kidney beans. A jar of pickled beets and a can of fruit salad. Pretty much the same stuff he’d been getting for lunch. Enough for him to have something to eat over the weekend and for light suppers for Julie all week. She was getting creative with stretching their food, so maybe she’d get a couple of extra meals out of it for him.
He walked west rapidly, to get away from the crowd of people still waiting, and made it home without incident. He showed Julie what he’d gotten, then walked her to Central Park. On his way to Vincent de Paul he made his stops.
“See,” Father Mulrooney said as Alex handed him his sheet. “I knew you could do it all.”
Alex wasn’t sure, but he thought Father Mulrooney actually smiled. Alex risked it, and smiled back.
Kevin was waiting for him in the cafeteria. “Where were you this morning?” he asked.
“On the food line,” Alex said.
“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” Kevin said. “One bag per customer, right?”
“Right,” Alex said, savoring his lunch of rice and beans.
“How about if I join you next week?” Kevin said. “You could have my bag. My family doesn’t need it.”
“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “We have to get there as close to six as possible, then stand on line for four hours or so. And it can be dangerous. Riots. Shootings. It isn’t fun.”
“Fun’s overrated,” Kevin said. “Or hadn’t you noticed.”
Alex grinned. “I don’t remember what fun feels like,” he said. “So it’s hard to tell. But we’d be very grateful for the extra bag next week.”
“Gratitude’s overrated, too,” Kevin said. “Remember grilled cheese sandwiches?”
Alex nodded.
“Grilled cheese sandwiches were not overrated,” Kevin said. “Neither were Playboy centerfolds. But that’s about it, and I’ve still got the centerfolds.”
“You must be a happy man,” Alex said.
“I am what I am,” Kevin said. “Same as I always was, only with a lot more time on my hands.”
“Thank you,” Alex said, thanking God and Chris Flynn while he was at it, for the peculiar gift of Kevin Daley’s friendship.
Saturday, July 9
“Gin,” Alex said, showing Julie his cards. “You owe me $3,870.12.”
“I’m bored,” Julie said. “What’s happening in the world?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “What difference does it make anyway?”
“You can listen to the radio,” she said. “When you use the earphones, I can’t hear.”
Alex hadn’t turned on the radio since Queens died. He no longer cared what astronomers said, what the president said, what anyone said. All that mattered was food enough for him and Julie to survive another week. “I’ve stopped listening,” he said. “We might need the batteries for something more important.”
“Like what?” Julie asked.
Alex had no answer. “How about chess?” he asked. “I taught Bri how to play. I could teach you.”
“But then you’ll just beat me all the time,” Julie said.
“I’ll sacrifice a castle,” Alex said. “A castle and a bishop and a couple of pawns, at least until you get the hang of it. Come on. It’ll be something new for us to do.”
“Will you get mad if I beat you?” Julie asked.
“No, of course not,” Alex said. He knew he’d have to let Julie win occasionally or else she’d stop playing. And chess would give them both a way to kill time between their half cans of string beans and their half cans of corn.
Chapter 8
Sunday, July 10
He and Julie spotted the man’s body, curled up on the corner of Columbus and Eighty-eighth, at the same time.
“Is he asleep?” Julie asked. “Should we wake him?”
“I think he’s dead,” Alex said before his sister could walk over to check him out. “Leave him alone.”
“Did he die on the street?” she asked. “How? Will anyone move him?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Come on, Julie. We don’t want to be late for Mass.”
Tuesday, July 12
“The air tastes funny,” Julie said as they walked to Central Park that morning. “It looks weird, too.”
“Just cloudy,” Alex said. The sky was a peculiar shade of gray. “Maybe a thunderstorm. What do you girls do if it rains when you’re gardening?”
“I don’t know,” Julie said. “It hasn’t rained yet.”
“Don’t stand under any trees,” Alex said, trying to re-member thunderstorm rules from his Fresh Air Fund summers.
“You really think it’s going to rain?” she asked. “I know the sky’s gray, but it doesn’t look cloudy. It just looks…"She searched for the right word. “It looks dead,” she said. “Like the sun died.”
“That didn’t happen,” Alex said. “If the sun died, we’d be dead. Everybody instantly.” He noticed a corpse lying in front of the dry cleaners, and another by the florist five doors down, rats nibbling on their faces. Alex wanted to cover Julie’s eyes, but he knew he couldn’t protect her forever.
“Do you think it’s like this where Bri is?” Julie asked.
Alex shook his head. “She’s in the country,” he said. “Everything’s green and pretty there. Why? Do you want to live in the country, too?”
“I want to stay with you,” Julie said. “I don’t care as long as we’re together.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Alex said.
“Me neither,” Julie said, linking her arm in his. “We’re okay as long
as the sun stays alive.”
Friday, July 15
“How about those volcanoes,” Kevin said as he and Alex stood on line, halfway down Amsterdam Avenue.
“What volcanoes?” Alex asked, although he knew he didn’t want to hear the answer. He cursed himself for giving
Kevin an opening to tell him what was happening in the rest of the world.
“Volcanoes erupting all over,” Kevin said. “Millions dying.”
Was that all? Alex made the sign of the cross and said a quick silent prayer for the newly dead souls. “Very sad,” he muttered.
Kevin grinned. “That’s what I like about you, Morales,” he said. “Always thinking about others.”
“What?” Alex grumbled. “They found a volcano in Central Park?”
“They might as well have,” Kevin said. “Can you get your mind off of heaven and back on the Upper West Side? Look up and see the ashes.”
“You mean the sky?” Alex asked. “It’s gray. So what.”
“So it’s going to be gray for the rest of our lives,” Kevin replied. “Which’ll probably be over before I ever get laid.”
“Well, we’re talking decades, then,” Alex said. “If you end up the last man on earth, you might stand a chance.”
“With my luck, the last woman on earth’ll be a nun,” Kevin said. “Old, fat, and devout.”
Alex laughed. “The air does taste funny,” he admitted.
“That’s the volcanoes,” Kevin said.
“You’re crazy,” Alex said. “It’s the crematoriums. They’re working overtime now, all those extra bodies around. It’s polluting the air.”
“Great,” Kevin said. “We’re tasting dead body ash?”
Alex tried to decide which was better: dead body ash or volcanic ash. He voted for dead bodies. That way, at least, Bri would be all right.
“You really think it’s volcanoes?” he asked, trying to sound sarcastic.
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