Pin

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Maralyn Meyers is a pretty girl. I know a lot of boys like her.”

  “I know;” Pin said. He was smiling for sure now. “I think too many boys like her or she likes too many boys.”

  “You mean, she has the Need a lot?”

  “Oh, a lot. But she’s going to have to forget about the Need for a while. She has a broken ovary.”

  “I know all about ovaries,” I said with some pride. “The doctor explained it all to Ursula and me.”

  “I know,” Pin said. Just then my father reentered.

  “Leon, what are you doing here now? I want you to wait outside or in the lobby.”

  “I was in the bathroom and I came out to talk to Pin.”

  “Well, forget about talking to Pin. I’ve got two more people to see yet.”

  “OK,”

  “Besides,” he said looking from Pin to me suspiciously, “I’ve told you before. I don’t like you coming in here to talk to Pin.”

  “You talk to him,” I said quickly. I said the same thing to him the last time he warned me about it.

  “That’s only out of habit, years of habit. For me it’s one thing. The patients get a kick out of it. It relaxes them and it helps with the children who come in here, but with you …”

  “It relaxes me too,” I said sullenly. “If it’s all right for you, it’s all right for me,” I said again. I shot a glance at Pin. He was diplomatically quiet at these times, but I thought he was amused by my courage and quick mind. Not many people could stand up to my father, especially not my mother. All he’d have to do is glare at her and she’d shut up.

  “I haven’t the time to discuss it now,” he said, turning me by the shoulder and heading me toward the door. I snapped my head to the right quickly.

  “So long, Pin,” I said deliberately. My father’s fingers tightened around the back of my neck. He surprised me with the pain.

  “Wait outside,” he shouted.

  I don’t know why my father was so sensitive about my relationship with Pin, unless he was jealous of it. That might explain it. Now, in the beginning, he used to think Ursula’s relationship with Pin was cute. She’d sit on Pin’s lap and cuddle up to him, placing his right hand on her knees and his left on her shoulder. Once father found her asleep in Pin’s lap like that. Occasionally he would threaten her at the dinner table and tell her if she didn’t eat her vegetables, he would tell Pin not to ever talk to her again. He never told her it was silly to visit with Pin. He even came home on her birthday once with two gifts—one he said came from him, and the other he said came from Pin. Finally I asked him about it.

  We were alone in the car, coming back from the office. He was his usual quiet self, thinking his thousand thoughts, as my mother used to say. Sometimes he’d pass a whole day without saying more than a few words to her. I looked in Rosenblatt’s Department Store window and saw a naked manikin being dressed in a new outfit.

  “How come you don’t mind Ursula’s talking to Pin, but you mind me?”

  “Ursula’s just a little girl. Little girls are always playing with dolls, talking to them and treating them like real people. They feed them, they clothe them, they sing to them. That’s what it means to be a little girl.”

  “I know lots of boys who play with dolls,” I said quickly, and I kept opening and closing my left hand. The fingers always got numb when my father, and, later, my mother, threatened my relationship with Pin. One time when my father bawled me out about it, I sat perfectly still, taking on Pin’s posture and Pin’s expression. I held my head just as stiffly and I didn’t say a word to him, even when he asked me questions. After he left me, I remained that way for at least fifteen minutes, and when I did loosen up, it took almost an hour for me to get my hands warm again. My Uncle Hymie always said I was a stubborn child. Maybe that explains it. I don’t like to think too much about it.

  My father didn’t like my analogy to little boys who played with dolls. “You’re not a little boy,” he said, “you’re a little man.” Sometimes I think he wanted me to skip childhood completely. Instead of giving me comic books, he gave me Compton’s Picture Encyclopedia. Instead of giving me children’s records, he brought home an album of beginner’s French.

  He was always trying to get me ahead. I found out he went to the school to request they give me tests to see if I couldn’t be skipped a grade. He thought I scored high enough on the tests, but the principal didn’t. He went to the board of education, but they backed up the principal. Because of that and some other things he did, the teachers treated me like a freak. He didn’t do any of this for Ursula. Ursula was just a normal little girl as far as he was concerned. He let her read nursery rhymes and didn’t think it was necessary for her to get ahead. Any silly thing she did was all right. In fact, she was the one who gave Pin his name, according to my mother, and they found it amusing.

  “The first time the doctor showed her the inside of his office and she met Pin, she baptized him Pinocchio.”

  “I wouldn’t want anybody calling me Pinocchio,” I said. I admit I was a little jealous. If I would have done it, they wouldn’t have thought it amusing. I asked Pin about it once.

  “Don’t you mind Ursula calling you Pinocchio?”

  “Well…”

  “What if I called you Pinocchio?”

  “It is somewhat unusual. I guess it’s the kind of thing a silly little girl would think of.”

  “I’m not going to call you Pinocchio. I’m going to call you Pin.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’ll tell Ursula to call you Pin, too,” I said.

  Of course, Ursula did. She did most anything I told her to do, especially if I said Pin agreed. That was because she was much more dependent on me than I was on her. All I had to do was threaten to ignore her and she’d give in. For the longest time, we only had each other to play with. My father didn’t want anyone in the house when he came home from work. He was adamant about that. There weren’t many kids who really wanted to come to our house anyway. My mother was too discouraging and very obvious about her displeasure if someone was brought home.

  “You’ll have to take off your shoes and leave them by the door there,” she’d say. “Don’t run your hands on the walls like kids are always doing. I don’t need the hours of work to take off the greasy prints. And anything you take out to play with must be put back immediately afterward. I’m not going to go about picking up after you kids.”

  She looked at them with such a wild-eyed rage that most anyone who stepped in our door was eager to get back out. I suppose my father should have paid more attention to her problems. He was so wrapped up in himself and his work, though; he just ignored it. She could be on her hands and knees scrubbing the same spot on the tiles in the entranceway and he’d walk in, hang up his coat, take the paper and sit down in the living room. Once she rubbed the inside of a window so hard she pushed it right out of the frame, splattering glass on the ground outside. A jagged edge cut her arm and he put in a few stitches, treating her just as though she were any patient off the street.

  When I was older, I asked him about her. “Don’t you think there’s something wrong with Mom? I mean the way she cleans, the time she spends boiling the silverware and everything?”

  My father didn’t respond. He turned the page of his magazine as though I hadn’t even spoken. I deliberately stood there in front of him, waiting. I would make him recognize me, make him consider my question. After a while he did look up.

  “Why don’t you ask Pin about it?” he said, looking at the magazine again. I was stunned. I blushed and felt ridiculous. That was cruel, I thought, that was damn cruel. It was my mother, his wife. Didn’t he care?

  I gave up, and I gave up on bringing anyone home with me too. Ursula avoided it for the longest time as well; and when you don’t invite kids to your house, they don’t invite you to theirs. That was why we spent so much time down at my father’s office. It was the only real opportunity we had to meet other kids after school
and on weekends, even though those kids were suffering from colds or the flu or whatever. Ursula did have a girl friend over once, Miriam Cohen, but Miriam’s mother never let her come again.

  Ursula had spent four days whining and crying until my mother gave in and permitted her to invite Miriam over.

  “I want promises. I want things kept clean. I want things picked up. I don’t want anyone here who’s getting a cold or who isn’t clean.”

  “Why don’t we just sterilize her at the door,” I said. My mother slapped me across the face. She rarely struck either of us, so it was quite a shock, even though it only stung for a moment. My mother’s hands were boney and worn looking probably from handling all that detergent. It was like being struck by a skeleton. Ursula thought I ruined it for her, but my mother pulled her hand to herself and turned to Ursula.

  “Remember what I told you,” she said, which was her way of saying, “All right.”

  Miriam came on a Saturday morning. Her father drove her over. I was sitting in my room looking out the window when she got out of the car. Miriam was a tall, thin girl with dark brown hair cut short. Her mouth drooped a little at the corners, giving her an habitually sad expression. I think she was an unhappy girl anyway. She was all legs and had a tiny pouch of a belly that sagged and protruded when she wore those tight-fitting slacks girls were wearing. Her complexion was a sickly looking white. I diagnosed her as anemic, but Pin didn’t think it was necessarily true.

  Some of the girls in Ursula’s class, including Ursula, had already started developing breasts, but one look at Miriam Cohen would tell you that this girl was going to be a late bloomer. I knew why Ursula liked her. It was because no one else paid any attention to her and she was grateful for Ursula’s attention. If Ursula didn’t sit with her in the cafeteria during lunch, no one did.

  As soon as Miriam entered the house, my mother was at the door warning both of them to stay in Ursula’s room and be sure not to disturb anything in any of the other rooms. She told them that if they wanted to, they could come down for cookies and milk in about an hour. I was surprised at that because she hated it when Ursula and I ate cookies. We’d drop too many crumbs about. I used to eat cookies over the sink and then run the water to wash the sides down with a sponge.

  Actually, my mother’s cleaning energy was a phenomenon. She was such a thin, fragile-looking woman. She surely burned a day’s calories merely worrying about the house. The furniture was kept spotlessly clean because she kept plastic covers draped over the chairs and the couches most of the day. I hated sitting on them. We rarely ate in the dining room. She claimed that was for special occasions. My father didn’t seem to mind. I often wondered how they ever made love. Pin said she washed his prick down with Spic and Span. It was one of the funniest things Pin ever said.

  Ursula and I spent about ninety percent of our indoor time in our rooms. We each had a small color television set to keep us contained and out of the rest of the house. Mother had a schedule. On Mondays she would come up and clean Ursula’s room and Ursula would have to spend her time in mine. On Tuesdays she cleaned my room and I spent my time in Ursula’s. It always took me a day or two to get used to moving around in my own room after my mother left it.

  Miriam and Ursula were sent right upstairs to her room. I went back into mine and sat by the adjoining door listening to their conversation. They talked low about boys in school and their teachers. They talked for a long time. It was like they had first met each other or something. Neither of them could wait to get her thoughts out to the other. Sometimes they talked at the same time. Eventually Ursula introduced the Need as a topic of conversation. I was expecting her to do that. From the way Miriam listened and responded, it was evident that she hadn’t much information about it. She kept asking Ursula questions and Ursula answered them like a little sex education instructor or something. She took on the pedantic, correct tone of voice that father often had. Their voices got lower and lower, and after a while, I didn’t hear a thing. I thought for a moment that they had gone down for cookies and milk, so I went out and quietly made my way to the kitchen. But my mother was alone in there, polishing silverware. I quickly made my way back up to my room and listened at the door again. There was hardly a sound. I knew they wouldn’t have the nerve to go anywhere else in the house.

  Slowly and very carefully, I turned the knob of the door. I must have spent ten minutes turning it. When I felt it would open, I moved it back by fractions of an inch until there was just a slight crack of an opening there. Then I sprawled out on the floor and peeked through it. At first I saw nothing; just an empty room. Then I saw both of them, lying naked on the bed. They were just lying there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. I watched them like that for the longest time. Then I saw Miriam turn toward Ursula and sort of shrug her shoulders.

  “I don’t feel anything,” she said. “Are you sure this works?” Ursula had a smile on her face and looked a little flushed. She put her finger to her lips to indicate that Miriam should be silent and then she took Miriam’s hand and placed it right between Miriam’s legs. There was very little hair there and it looked as white as chalk. Ursula kept her hand on Miriam’s and she began moving Miriam’s hand in small, circular rubbing motions.

  She did this for quite a while, but Miriam didn’t seem to have any response. Ursula was getting impatient with her. Finally Ursula took her hand off and put it on herself. Miriam just lay there watching Ursula work herself up. I thought the expression on Miriam’s face was very funny, but I held in any laughter. Then Ursula had Miriam turn over on her stomach, her hands under her and between her legs. Ursula moved Miriam up and down on her own hands by pushing slowly and firmly on her naked ass. They did this for quite a while too. Ursula looked like she was getting angrier and angrier. Finally, I could take it no longer myself.

  I opened the door further and slipped into the bedroom. I was halfway up to the bed, crawling, when Ursula saw me. I put my hand up to indicate that she shouldn’t say anything and she didn’t. I knew she would cooperate. She just sat there looking down at me while Miriam continued working on herself. When I got to the bed, I took Ursula’s hand off of Miriam’s ass and did it myself. I helped her along the way Ursula had been doing. At least two minutes must have gone by before Ursula couldn’t hold in her laughter any longer. When she did laugh, Miriam turned and sat up.

  The moment she saw me, she screamed and covered her nipples with her hands. I fell back on the floor and rolled around, laughing hysterically, while Miriam rushed around the room gathering her clothes. She was sobbing at this point, so I got up and went back into my own room. A little while later, I heard Miriam and Ursula leave and go downstairs. And then, not long after that, Miriam’s father came back up the hill and picked her up. My mother didn’t know what had happened and she didn’t care. She was grateful that Miriam was leaving, I guess. After she was gone, Ursula came up to my room.

  “You’re a bastard,” she said. “You did that just because I had a friend over and you didn’t.”

  “You played along.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said walking to the window. There was a moment of silence between us. Ursula couldn’t stay angry at me long. “Leon, why do you suppose the Need isn’t so great in Miriam?”

  “I don’t know. Ask the doctor. He’ll be glad to tell you all about it.”

  “He’ll start asking me all kinds of questions if I do.”

  “So ask Pin,” I said. She turned around fast and stared at me for a moment.

  “Do you still ask Pin a lot of things, Leon?”

  “Why?”

  “I just wondered. I heard the doctor and mother talking about you and Pin. They don’t like the way you talk about him all the time.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “They blamed each other.”

  “For what?”

  “For letting it go on, between Pin and us. I don’t think we’ll be able to talk about Pin in front of them anymore, L
eon.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “We’ll keep him to ourselves, huh?” There was some new excitement in her eyes. She walked over and sat on my bed. “I mean, we won’t ever mention his name in front of them anymore, OK?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “I think Pin is a very lonely person,” she said. Her tone of voice indicated she wanted to play one of those create-your-own-world games. I wasn’t in the mood, and besides, Pin wasn’t a toy. “I think he wishes he could live here with us. What do you think?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think he does.”

  “Miriam Cohen isn’t half as pretty as I am, is she, Leon? Not half as pretty.” She looked at herself in my dresser mirror and stroked her hair. I thought about what she had said about keeping Pin a secret. The idea made my heart beat faster. I was afraid, afraid of … losing him.

  It made my fingers numb again. Ursula saw me opening and closing them.

  “What’s the matter with your hand?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. She reached out and took my hands into hers. I looked into her smiling face and the numbness seemed to go away.

  Chapter 3

  URSULA WAS FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN FATHER performed the abortion. I knew she was having sex with boys. She told me all about it. That was an effect father had on us, I guess. We were both very matter-of-fact with each other about things other brothers and sisters kept very private and personal. We got into the habit of sitting together in the dark of our rooms, after a night out with someone, and discussing it. If I went out, she would be waiting up for me in my room. And if she went out, I was either waiting in her room, or in my own with the adjoining door wide open.

  One particular night she came in about a quarter to eleven. She was permitted to stay out until midnight and most always she stayed out right to twelve, so I was surprised to hear her walking up the stairs. The light went on in her room and I walked in rather than wait for her to come to me this time. She was standing in front of the dresser mirror, combing her hair harshly with a metal comb. I watched her for a while. She was obviously very agitated.