THE LAST BOY

by ROBERT H. LIEBERMAN

  “Huh? Who?” Molly fumbled with the coffee maker, popping in a filter.

  “My men.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Hey, what time is it, anyhow?” Molly answered her own question, checking the clock. “Cripes. It already nine!” She picked up the phone while scooping coffee.

  “Hey, make enough for the both of us.”

  “Larry,” she said,“I meant to call you last night, but—”

  “My God,” exclaimed Larry.“I heard. The papers and news services are full of it. It's extraordinary. I mean, incredible. Wonderful! What happened to him? Where was he?”

  She looked over at Danny leaning over his pile of books, his naked little butt in the air. “Hey, how about getting some clothes on.”

  “Huh?” said Larry.

  “I meant Danny,” she laughed. “Look, I really can’t go into details now.”

  “Sure. I understand. Just curious.”

  “Look, I won’t be in today.”

  “Well, of course not!”

  “Let me call you when—”

  “Whenever. I’m sure it's crazy on your end. Just one piece of advice. Don’t sign anything. Don’t agree to anything—”

  “What?”

  “Without having a lawyer or an agent. Danny's story might be worth big bucks.” His other line was ringing. “Hey, we’ll talk later. Just don’t do anything without talking to me first.”

  “We’ve got an appointment, remember?” said Tripoli as soon as she hung up.

  “Oh…”

  He fixed her with his bright green eyes.“And there's no weaseling out of it.”

  “Weaseling!” said Danny and laughed. He obviously liked the word.“Weaseling,” he kept saying as Molly took him back into the bedroom.“Trip said weaseling. Isn’t that funny!”

  “Hilarious. Now go brush your teeth. And use the toothpaste.”

  “You mean with that minty stuff?”

  A few minutes later, Tripoli could hear the shower pelting the sides of the metal stall and Danny came out dressed, his hair combed, looking a lot cleaner than the day before. He plunked himself into the middle of the pile of books.

  Tripoli poured himself some coffee and then ambled over to where Danny sat.“Hey, whatta you got there?”

  Danny looked up.“A book,” he said.

  Tripoli sat down next to the boy and put his arm around him. Danny snuggled in close.

  “Hmmm, seems to me like kind of heavy stuff,” remarked Tripoli, looking closer. It was one of Molly's old textbooks, a psych book, and it was open to a section on nonverbal communication. “Can you read some of the words for me?” he inquired curiously.

  “I could try,” said Danny, looking up with his big doe eyes.

  “Well just try this,” said Tripoli, pointing to a paragraph.

  “Okay, let me see,” said Danny. Pulling the heavy volume closer, Danny began haltingly to sound out the words, his fingers following the text. “All of us…communicate non-verb-ally as well as verbally.” He turned to look back at Tripoli, a proud smile on his face.

  “Wow that's terrific!”Tripoli said. “I’m impressed. Keep going.”

  Danny read on. Sometimes he stumbled or mispronounced a word, “If irritated, we may—may t-t-tense our bodies or…or press our lips together. With a gaze, aver- averted glance or stare we comm- communicate inti-mecy—no, missy, sub-mission, or dom-dom- dom-”

  “Dominance,”Tripoli prompted.

  “Yeah, dominance.”

  “That's wonderful,”Tripoli said.

  Molly, her hair still wet from the shower, had quietly slipped into the room, and stood watching, her jaw slack with surprise. “Holy moly,” she muttered.

  Danny smiled eagerly again.“I can read more—if you want.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,”Tripoli said.“Let's give you the real test.”

  “Okay,” piped Danny, anxious to play along. “Give me the test. I like tests!”

  “All right then. Just what does all that mean?” He knew that children could be taught to read at an early age, just how early he wasn’t sure, nor how much, but the true question was the degree of their comprehension

  “Well,” Danny began,“I think it means something like…you can speak to people without using words.”

  Tripoli was speechless. He looked over to Molly who shook her head in amazement.

  “It's just like that funny look on your face right now. And my mother's, too. You’re surprised that I can read so well, aren’t you?” And then Danny laughed.

  “Yes. Yes I am,” said Tripoli clearing his throat. “How did you learn this? Where did you learn this?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Danny casually moved his head back and forth. “Just around.”

  “Did he mention anything else last night?” asked Tripoli in a low voice, after Danny got into the car. He closed the door and turned to Molly.

  “Nothing really. Just that you don’t need whole bathtubs of water. You can use a bucket. But you’ve got to make a fire. A fire?”

  “We went through Danny's clothes. Some things we found in his pockets weren’t in the original report. Can you recall what he had when you dropped him off at daycare?”

  “I’m not sure any more. It was so long ago.” Danny was tapping at the closed window and Molly lifted a finger asking him to wait. Then she looked back at Tripoli.“Well, tell me, what’d you find?”

  Tripoli positioned himself with his back to Danny. Blocking his view, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out three plastic evidence bags, handing them to her one at a time.

  “We found some pennies.”

  “He might have had those.” She shook the bag and then stared up into the lightness of Tripoli's green eyes. “He always liked the sound of money jingling in his pockets. Given the state of his mother's finances, you can’t blame him, can you?”

  “Also this string, a yellow piece of Lego, and a stone.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Molly said,“this is his lucky stone. He loved it and always carried it with him. And this is probably a piece of his Lego— looks like it came from this little tow truck he has. And the string?” she turned the bag around to examine it in the light.“I don’t know. I think he had it. Looks like some kite string, maybe. I can’t be sure.”

  “Now, was there anything you can think of, something that might be missing?”

  “Hmmmm.” Molly wrinkled her forehead.

  “Think hard.”

  “He used to carry this damn whistle he found.”

  “What kind?”

  “Like a police whistle—you know with a ball in it. It was plastic. Red and white. He was always going around blowing it, driving everybody crazy. Mrs. Oltz kept warning him that if he took it out once more at Kute Kids she was going to confiscate it.”

  “Did she?”

  “Not that I know of. But…” Molly cut herself off in mid-sentence.

  Tripoli saw that Danny was leaning over the front seat to see what they were doing. Quickly, he took back the bags and stuffed them into his pocket.

  Tripoli drove Molly and Danny into Ithaca. The sun-drenched streets of downtown were filled with people in shorts and tank tops and summer dresses relishing the mild spring day. Parking in front of the old County Jail on Court Street, he led them upstairs to what the Child Protective Services referred to simply as “The Room.” It was an oblong space filled with toys and colorful cushions, and it was equipped with a one-way mirror. The juvenile psychiatrist, a matronly woman of indeterminate age with short-cropped hair and big-hooped earrings, was waiting when they arrived.

  “This is Mrs. Barrie,” said Tripoli.

  “And you must be Danny?” she said brightly, stretching out her hand. The woman had a soft smile, and Tripoli hoped she wouldn’t be condescending.

  “No. Daniel.”

  “Yes, Daniel.”

  Danny shook her hand. Tripoli could tell that he didn’t quite trust her; he wondered i
f she would have better luck than he or Molly had.

  “Why don’t you just call me Joan?” she suggested cozily, putting an arm around him and leading him deeper into the room.

  “Okay,” he said,“Joan.”

  “Would you like to play with some of the nice toys we have here?” she asked.

  Danny looked them over, then shrugged. “Not particularly, Joan,” he said. Tripoli had to suppress a smile.

  “I’ve got some really neat trucks and…” She didn’t go much further. It was apparent that Danny was not going to tolerate being indulged with childish distractions.

  “Can I please go now?” asked Danny, looking beseechingly toward Molly. Then Tripoli.

  “I was thinking that perhaps we could have a little chat,” said the woman.

  “I don’t really like it in here,” said Danny.

  “Maybe your mother and Mr. Tripoli could…” the psychiatrist lifted an eyebrow in Tripoli's direction.

  “Yes, of course,” said Tripoli, taking Molly by the arm.

  Molly started to stiffen, but Tripoli held on tight and escorted her toward the door. “Don’t worry, Honey,” Molly called over her shoulder.“I’ll be right outside waiting for you.”

  Danny looked apprehensive. He kept staring at the door after it was closed.

  “Now,” Mrs. Barrie said when they were alone and she had Danny settled on the floor beside her on puffy cushions. “I understand that you were away from your Mommy for quite a while.”

  Danny turned from the closed door and stared at her. Then, slowly, he gazed around the room. At the doll house. The puzzles. The low table with a big box of crayons on it.

  “Did you do some traveling? Did you go far away?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes were still scanning the brightly lit space. There were two dolls sitting on a shelf, a boy doll and a girl doll, each with prominent sexual organs. He stared at them. Then at the woman.

  Mrs. Barrie waited.

  Danny began to hum to himself. It was a strange-sounding melody, the woman noted. In fact, to her ear it seemed hardly melodic. Just a series of atonal, disconnected notes. His voice was high, reedy, almost flute-like.

  “When a young man disappears, grownups can’t help but wonder where he went,” she continued, still trying to engage him.

  Danny stopped humming and sighed impatiently, still avoiding her gaze.

  Tripoli and Molly sat behind the one-way mirror, leaning forward and watching. Beside them stood a young man dressed in black jeans and a sweater, panning with a video camera and taping Danny's every move. As the psychiatrist spoke, her voice issued through the overhead speaker thin and distant.

  Danny got up and moved around the room. The woman continued to let time pass. He walked a full circle and then came back to where she sat on the cushion and looked down at her.

  “Are we finished?” he asked quietly.

  “Not quite,” she smiled.

  “I don’t like the questions you want to ask me,” he said pointedly, hands perched on his hips.

  “Well, maybe I could ask some questions that you’d like?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said in his high little voice.“How long do I have to be here, anyway?”

  “Just a little while.”

  “What does ‘a little while’ mean?”

  “Let's say an hour.”

  “That's too long,” said Danny. There was now not a hint of humor in his voice.

  Mrs. Barrie laughed good-naturedly.

  “A half hour,” he said. He kept staring at the mirror.

  “Okay. A half hour,” she agreed.“That sounds fair.”

  Danny wanted to know exactly what time it was and precisely what time this meeting would be over.

  “Do you know what a half hour is?”

  “Yes. Thirty minutes.”

  “Good!” said Mrs. Barrie. “Come, sit down,” she urged, patting a neighboring cushion. “Please.”

  Danny finally slumped down next to her.

  “Well, now that we’re alone like this, just the two of us, I thought it would be nice if we could talk. Talk honestly. Openly.”

  “But we’re not alone,” said Danny, looking her hard in the eye.

  “Why do you say that?” inquired the woman.

  “Because my mother and her policeman friend, Mr. Trip, are behind that mirror,” he said, pointing directly at them.“And so's that man with the machine.”

  The woman spun around to face the mirror. All she could make out were the reflections of herself and the boy.

  Molly could see that she was flabbergasted. She kept staring at them through the mirror, her face flushed. Molly wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment at being caught or just plain shock.

  Tripoli said not a word, just sat nodding to himself, his hands folded in his lap.

  “Why do you think that?” asked Mrs. Barrie, finally regaining her composure.

  “I can see them,” Danny said with a shrug.“Please, can I go out? I don’t like it in here. There’re no windows and…and it's smelly!”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like chemicals.”

  “Chemicals?” she echoed.

  “Yes!”

  “So you would rather be outdoors?”

  “Yes,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

  “Like where?”

  “Like in the air,” said Danny.

  “Do you mean just out in the street or in the country?”

  “Yes,” he answered smiling with his faint lisp. “The country. I like that.”

  “You were living on a farm, then?”

  “In the forest,” he corrected.

  “Where in the forest?”

  He shrugged.

  “With a man?”

  Danny nodded. He stared at the mirror and seemed to be looking right through it.

  “What did the man look like? Was he old? Young?”

  Danny didn’t respond.

  “Did he maybe have a mustache?”

  “He had a beard. A big one. It was all white.” He answered, still staring at the mirror.

  “Oh, that's very interesting. And what did you do with him— the man?”

  “Nothing special. Just talked a lot. And things.”

  “And did he touch you?”

  Danny looked annoyed. He glanced at the naked dolls, then looked straight back at her.“Not the way you think.” His unwavering stare unnerved the woman.

  “And did you live in a house?”

  “Sort of,” he said, getting more and more restless.

  “Come over here, Danny,” She led him to the small table, opened a box of crayons and spread them out. Then she gave Danny a big sheet of paper.

  “Can you draw for me a picture of the man and his house?” she asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “I think that would be very, very interesting,” she said, and held out a bunch of crayons.“Now what color should we start with?”

  Danny looked at her somewhat incredulously.“I can do this,” he said, then went to work. He drew intently, picking crayons of different colors.

  Molly and Tripoli stood up to get a better look.

  Danny was drawing what appeared to be some kind of hut. It was made with sticks and branches, its roof thatched. Not a bad job for a five-year-old, thought Tripoli. There were animals around it, what looked like goats and sheep, and there were trees and steep hills in the background. The scene was flooded with long, golden rays from a somewhat out-sized sun. A man stood near the hut, holding hands with what was clearly a little boy. He held a walking staff in his free hand, and his hair and beard and mustache were silver. The boy's hair was the same yellow as the sun.

  “Okay,” said Danny, handing Joan Barrie the picture and getting to his feet.“Can I please get out of this place now?”

  “I just wanted to ask you a few more—”

  “The time is up. You promised. And I don’t want to talk anymore,” said Danny.“I need to get out. Plea
se!”

  The psychiatrist slowly got up, turned to the mirror with a shrug, and led Danny back to his mother.

  “How about a few straight answers, huh?” said Tripoli when they got back to his car. He had placed Danny in the front seat next to him with Molly in the back. The radio was turned down, crackling in the background.

  “Sweetie,” Molly implored, leaning forward, “Couldn’t you just tell Trip and me where you’ve been?”

  “I did. I made the picture for you.” Danny turned to Tripoli.

  “I know you didn’t like that lady.”

  “No, she was okay. Just a little silly is all.” He grinned.

  “Listen, Smiley,”Tripoli warned, “I like you a lot. You’re a swell kid. The picture was beautiful. But you’re not going to squirm out of this. Not that easily.”

  “We don’t want to nag you,” said Molly. Tripoli and his dogged insistence was making her edgy.“But—”

  “I want to get out of this car! I hate these smelly machines!” Without warning, Danny suddenly lunged for the door handle.

  Moving fast, Tripoli caught his hand before he could pop open the door.

  “Owww!”

  “Trip!” shouted Molly.

  “Hey, you want him to run out into traffic?” he turned and looked harshly at her, then back at Danny.“Okay, what do you say we cut the baloney, and you start telling me and your mother the truth?” Tripoli hung onto the boy's thin wrist. “I think your mother especially deserves some honest answers. For half a year she's been so worried about you she hasn’t been able to get a decent night's sleep.”

  “Come on, take it easy, Trip,” warned Molly, nervously.

  Tripoli silenced her with a raised eyebrow.“We’re doing this my way now,” he said.“No more pampering. Now we get some straight answers.”The people from the State Police lab had taken fibers from the carpet in Kute Kids and would be over at Molly's in the afternoon pulling samples from the trailer. Forensics in Albany would subtract them out from what they found on Danny's clothes, and then they’d have something substantive. Old man. A hut. The boy was opening up. But he seemed to do it only when pushed.

  “You promised me, Mother,” said Danny, struggling to turn around and catch sight of her above the high back.“that we’d go for a hike, and—”

  “You can go for the biggest hike in the world,” said Tripoli.“You can go all the way to Katmandu. But first you’re going to help me a little, okay?”