Dad carries Laurie back up to Mom, swinging her back and forth as he goes, so she gets “tickle tummy” and laughs. I remember how that used to feel. Dad knows that when Laurie sucks her fingers she’s usually tired, so he puts her on a towel and wraps a blanket around her. The sun is bright and it isn’t cold but it’s not the kind of sun you would get sunburnt by. I never heard of anybody getting sunburnt in October, but I never knew anybody who ever went to the shore in October, either.
I can’t believe all the other kids are actually in school with that awful smell of floor wax, chalk, pencil wood, nuns, and damp wool. The back closets in those classrooms have sliding doors. Inside they smell of wet clothes and galoshes that are stored in there all winter long. It even smells that way at the beginning of a year before it gets cold and wet. That smell stays on in there right through the summer.
I do my homework mostly to be in the front of our class, away from those closets. The nuns sit the boys on the door side and girls by the window. The ones with the best report cards sit up front, except for John McGee and Joe Guerney, who always have to sit up front even though they get the worst report cards because they’re so bad and dumb, too.
I wonder if anybody ever told them they have devils inside them?
In second grade, Sister Bernadette used to punish us by making us go in those back closets, and she’d close the sliding doors. I got shut in there once for making a paper airplane that I didn’t even throw, and I vomited all over everything. That’s the kind of smell it is.
I think these thoughts about school and squat in the sand watching the ocean licking our castle. Then I remember the other kids aren’t in school anyway; it’s Saturday.
I decide not to do anything to help the Cannibal Castle, not even fix it up when parts get washed over. I watch the front wall with the guard posts fall into the front moat and then the bottom of the keep gets washed out and the tower falls in. The sides of the moat begin collapsing, and then one giant wave comes up and goes over the whole works, splashing around and sliding back, leaving the castle as if it were a real castle and a thousand years old, ruined, washed over by sand and desert winds. I don’t know why I enjoy watching things get ruined like that; it’s almost like burning cats’ tails. Maybe I do have some devil in me after all.
When I go back up to the family, Mom’s sitting looking out at the ocean. Dad’s on his stomach on a towel.
I put Cannibal down in her box and she doesn’t come out; she has her eyes closed. I guess all that wave fighting and castle exploring wore her out. In her box, I put a small piece of liver I brought with me. Even the smell of that doesn’t wake her up. I think Mom is beginning to like Cannibal because she smiles while I’m trying to feed her.
“Are you having a good time, Dickie? Isn’t the ocean beautiful? I’ve never been to the shore when it wasn’t hot, muggy, and too crowded. Now I can sit right out here in the sun without worrying about getting freckles.”
I walk around in back of her, and, as I’m going past Dad, he reaches out and grabs me by one of my feet.
“O.K., come on, Buster, let’s you and me wrestle. I’ll show you some of my old Jim Landon wrestling holds; you’ll be the terror of the block when we get back.”
I’m scared at first. I can never remember wrestling with Dad; in fact I’ve hardly ever wrestled with anybody. I hate that stuff at school and most of the other kids leave me alone. If you’re either bigger than everybody or smaller, then you need to fight all the time, but if you’re just in the middle, like me, sort of skinny and ordinary-sized, you don’t have much trouble. You only have to stay away from certain kids who like to hurt.
Now, Dad’s up on his knees. He still has a hold on my leg.
He lets me go and spreads his arms out like a bear coming toward me, still on his knees.
“O.K. now, Dickie, see if you can take me down. See if you can pin me.”
“I can’t, Daddy. You’re too strong.”
“Come on, try. I won’t hurt you and we’ll have fun.”
I put my arms out like Dad and try working my way behind him, but he keeps turning and keeping his eyes on me. I’m glad I’m not one of those company goons trying to fight with him. Finally, I just dash straight in and try putting a headlock on. He has his arms around my chest but he’s only holding me, not squeezing. I struggle to hold his neck under my arms and tighten my hold; that’s what the kids at school always do, then throw you on the ground over their hip; Joe Guerney did it to me once.
But Dad’s neck is so thick, his head so hard; I pull tight and he falls over backward, not the way I was pulling at all. I fall on top of him.
“O.K., now, Dickie, see if you can put a half nelson on me. Put your arm over my shoulder like this and under my neck, then grab my other shoulder hard.”
He shows me with his hands but my arms aren’t long enough. I can’t hold on to his hairy shoulder.
“O.K., now jack me up. Put your hand under my leg in the crotch like this and use your knee to lift me up onto my shoulders. That way you can pin me easy.”
I try but I can hardly reach down that far and keep my arm around his neck, also I feel funny about putting my hand under his crotch. I never knew wrestling was that way. Dad arches up on his head and his feet as I’m lying across trying to pin him with my half nelson and crotch hold.
“See, Dickie, I’m bridging now. It’s a way for me to keep my back off the ground so you can’t pin me. See?”
I didn’t know anybody could do what he’s doing. All his weight and mine, too, across his body, is on his neck. I push down but he really is like a bridge.
“Now watch, Dickie. Just hold on, I won’t hurt you.”
Slowly he turns, twisting on his head and holding on to my arm so he comes out on top of me. He puts a half nelson on me lightly and lifts me up by the backside so my neck is bent on the sand. I don’t know whether to cry or not. He isn’t hurting me but it’s awful to realize how much stronger and bigger he is than I am, how terribly he could really hurt if he ever wanted to. I know I’ll never grow up to be the way he is. He lets loose of me some.
“Now try to bridge, Dickie. Push your head down hard as you can, and get your back off the ground. That’s it.”
I know I’m not really doing it. He’s mostly lifting me but I get the feeling. The trouble is, my neck is about as big around as his arm, the bottom part of his arm. I could never really hold myself up. I know I’m not very strong compared to my father. In fact, I know I’m not strong at all, but I never knew how much difference there really is. This is supposed to be fun but it’s more scary than anything. I know Dad isn’t going to hurt me but I’m scared inside.
“O.K., Dickie, see if you can turn and break my hold now. Just twist suddenly, see if you can catch me by surprise.”
I put all my strength in it and turn away from him. I get on my stomach but I know he let me do it. Just that effort has taken all the wind out of me. Dad’s hovering over my body like a police dog standing over some kind of little poodle dog.
“Now we’ll get in the wrestler’s position. I’m going to hold your arm like this.”
He’s kneeling beside me and holds my left arm, just where the muscle should be, with his big left hand. He has his other arm over my back. We’re both on our knees.
“Now see if you can get away from me, or get on top of me. I’ll give you a hint. Hook my arm that’s over your back with your arm then roll away from me, holding tight on to that arm and my hand under you, right here. You’ll have all the leverage on your side.”
He shows me what he means at the same time. I know if I do it he’s going to fall on top of me and crush me into the sand, but I want to do what he says; a part of me likes wrestling with him, playing this kind of puppy-dog play. I roll and Dad goes over me onto his back in the sand. He lies there smiling up at me.
“See, it worked. See how easy it is if you know how? It’s like carpentry, all a question of getting the right leverage. Now get me in that half n
elson and the crotch hold again; see if you can pin me.”
I really grab hold this time and lean my chin on his chest to help hold him down. He pretends to twist this way and that, starting to bridge and then falling back. Finally he just lies there.
“O.K., Buster, you pinned me. I give up.”
I climb onto his chest and sit on him. I look over at Cannibal; she’s awake and watching. I thump my hands on my chest and give a Tarzan yell. Dad lifts me up by putting his hands on my sides and holds me up in the air over his head.
“Straighten out your feet, Dickie. See if you can arch your back.”
I try but it’s hard and he lets me down on the sand beside him. Laurel’s awake and jumps on Daddy’s chest.
“He didn’t really beat you, did he, Daddy? You just let him.”
“Oh yeah? You want to wrestle with your old daddy, too?”
Laurel tries to hold Dad’s arms down by pushing on his muscles and holding his hands. He pretends she’s really pinning him. I go and pick up Cannibal; she gives me a little soft bite on the finger and I wish we could live here on the beach at Wildwood forever.
I move over and sit beside Mom. She’s watching Laurel and Dad roll around in the sand.
“Did you have fun, honey?”
“Yeah. Daddy’s really strong, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know he smells like a lion when you wrestle with him. He smells like the lions smell in the zoo.”
Mom looks at me closely; there are almost tears in her eyes. But then she’s looking into the sun going down and her eyes are very sensitive to light.
“Yes, I know, Dickie. Your father is a lion in some ways. Always remember that, no matter what happens.”
Later on, with the bathing suits hanging on the ends of the beds to dry, along with the towels, and after we’ve all taken a shower to get the sand off, I’m playing on the floor with Cannibal and Laurel. I have a marble and I’ll roll it to Laurel, and Cannibal will chase it. Then Laurel’ll get it just before Cannibal catches it and roll it to me. Sometimes Cannibal only stands in the middle and watches it go back and forth and sometimes she’ll strike out with her paw and give the marble a good push. I think she likes playing with us, too.
Mom and Dad are in their bed. They’re talking quietly and sometimes giggling or laughing and they seem really happy. From the way they’re jumping around I think maybe Dad’s teaching Mom how to wrestle, too. Dad gets up on one elbow. He isn’t wearing any shirt but then under the blankets it would be warm. Mom is wearing what she calls a chemise; it’s pink and has shiny material with lace around the bottom. Dad reaches for his wallet on the table beside their bed and opens it.
“How would you kids like to go down on the boardwalk and have a little fun? Here, Dickie. I’ll give you a dollar and you can buy a half pound of salt-water taffy. Get some of the ones with spearmint or cinnamon or peppermint for me and some walnut and honey ones for Mom; the rest you can choose for yourselves.”
He holds out the dollar bill and I take it. It’s a real dollar all right. I don’t think I’ve ever had a whole dollar to spend.
“Whatever’s left you can use to go on a few rides. But be careful not to lose the money or waste it on things you don’t really like. Look around at all the rides before you choose.”
Mom’s up on her elbow, too. One of the straps of her chemise has fallen off her shoulder and she pulls it back up.
“Now, be careful. Don’t talk to any strange people, and stay where all the lights are. And, Laurel, you stay right with Dickie; I don’t want either of you getting lost.”
“Oh, we won’t get lost, Mom. The boardwalk’s right there and if you go the wrong way you walk right into the ocean. Our street is Baltic and I know where this court is and our apartment is number sixteen. How can we get lost?”
Dad lies back on the bed; he runs his hands through Mom’s hair, which is all loose.
“She only wants you to be careful, kids. We’re going to take a little nap, so don’t come back too soon. There are all kinds of things to see.”
Mom’s still sitting up and smiling, wiggling, almost as if Dad’s tickling her.
“But be sure and be back before dark. We’ll eat here, then we’ll all walk down on the boardwalk together this evening before we go to bed. You be good now.”
Mom lets herself back and snuggles down inside the covers. Dad puts his arm across her. Laurel and I put on our sweaters and I decide to take Cannibal with us. Laurel wants me to take Cannibal along, too.
We have no trouble at all going to the boardwalk. There’s one big street we have to cross but there’s a red light and there’s no more traffic than there is on Long Lane. Where we come up on the boardwalk there aren’t many things to see but it’s only about ten streets away where it starts.
First we hunt around for a place to buy salt-water taffy. There are lots of different places but we want to buy the biggest box with the most different flavors for the least money. We finally pick a store. We buy a whole pound and it costs fifty-nine cents. Laurel says she’ll carry it because I’ve got Cannibal.
I’ve opened the top on Cannibal’s box so she can look out. The only danger I have to watch for is dogs. When Cannibal sees a dog, no matter how big it is, she wants to jump out and kill it. Thank goodness we only see two dogs and I see them first so I can close the box before she springs.
There are colored lights everywhere, and even though a couple places are closed down because it isn’t summer any more, some places are still open. There’s a merry-go-round running and it costs ten cents. We both decide that’s something we want to do, so we buy our tickets and go on it. There are only two other people on the whole merry-go-round; they’re a boy and girl, practically grownups.
On the outside, the seats are the kind of animals that slide up and down on golden poles; Laurel and I each choose one of those. I have a black horse with red trim and Laurel’s on a giraffe. The man helps Laurel get her feet in the holders but I get mine in O.K. and balance Cannibal while I buckle myself on. The man buckles Laurel in. She’s just behind me.
I open Cannibal’s box a bit so she can stick her nose out and see. I’m afraid she might want to jump out and try killing all the animals on the merry-go-round. But it’s O.K., I don’t think she likes to see the world going around. It makes me a little bit dizzy and I know what’s happening; a little cat like Cannibal might just get sick.
The man really gives us a long ride. There’s nobody else waiting for a turn so he lets us go on and on. He lights a cigarette when he starts the motor and we keep going around all the time he’s smoking that cigarette until he throws it on the ground and stomps it out. I think the other people on the merry-go-round might be friends of his because he keeps talking to them every time they come around. The girl is sitting on an elephant and she has both her legs sticking out off the merry-go-round. Her skirt blows in the wind and she’s wearing white shoes.
I keep looking back at Laurel; she’s smiling and staring all around, turning her head. She’s holding tight on to the strap but lets go sometimes to wave at me. The music is loud and I don’t recognize the tune. I thought it might be the one about the music going round and round whoh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, but it isn’t.
When we get off, we’re both dizzy. I’m thinking also I ought to take Cannibal out of her box and give her a chance to do her business. We find a stairway onto the beach and go down there. The sun is starting to set and the sky’s turning red. Cannibal jumps up and down, spins around as if she has a tail to chase, then moves away from us a little bit and really does her business, both kinds. Laurel won’t look but I don’t mind.
Laurel wants to start home because she’s afraid it’s getting too dark. I talk her into going just a little bit farther, past the pier, then we’ll hurry on back. I figure we have at least half an hour before it’ll be really dark; we’ll give Mom and Dad a chance for a nice long nap.
We go up on the boardwalk again and walk throug
h the center of all the amusements, past Hunt’s Pier, and at the end we see another even bigger merry-go-round. Laurel wants to keep on to see that but then I spot something more interesting.
When I point it out to Laurel she’s as interested as I am. Right there on the boardwalk is a cage with a real lion in it. He’s sitting up looking out at the crowd, his eyes open, following people as they walk along.
Laurel and I go close as we can. I’ve seen lions at the zoo in Philadelphia but never so close as this, and there’s something special about this lion. He seems lonesome, as if he’d like to be friends. He’s like the lion in The Wizard of Oz. When we’re close he’s definitely watching us. One time he opens his mouth and takes a good deep yawn. I never knew a lion’s mouth could open so wide. It’s big enough to take my whole head off in one bite. And the teeth are long, sharp, and more yellow than I thought they’d be. His teeth are almost as yellow as his eyes, and those eyes are really yellow-brown, not green, not like Cannibal’s and Mom’s.
I pull back the top of Cannibal’s box a few inches so she can stick her head out. As soon as she sees that lion she backs into her box so only her nose and eyes and one paw show over the edge. It’s the first time I’ve seen Cannibal afraid of anything; that is, she isn’t willing to jump out and attack; she looks as though she’s thinking it over. She wasn’t afraid of the ocean but this lion is altogether another thing. He sure scares me and he scares Laurel so much she’s pulling on my sleeve to stay away from the cage.
There’s a big sign beside the cage. The top of the sign has lights blinking on and off saying WALL OF DEATH. There are pictures showing a woman on a motorcycle with a lion in a sidecar and they’re hanging sideways, sticking right off a wall. At first, I thought they’d put the picture up wrong but you can see they really are hanging sideways up on the wall. They can’t have glue on the wheels so there must be some kind of track the wheels of the motorcycle fit into to keep it up there. There are yellowed newspaper clippings framed in glass, with pictures of the motorcycles, the people, and the lion. It looks as if they’ve been riding that lion up the side of a wall all over the country. There are also pictures of racing cars.
Pride Page 11
