The Leap Year Boy

by Marc Simon

  “We have to take it buh…back,” Benjamin said.

  “What?”

  “It’s stuh…stealing.”

  “Shut up. Hey, look at this.”

  Arthur undid the photo compartment. There was a school identification card with the principal’s name and address, 1214 Hazlett Street, which was about two miles away from Mellon. There also were two photographs. The first was an older woman in a long dark dress puffed out with petticoats, and standing next to her was a man with a black suit and a white clerical collar. On the back, in blurred handwriting it said, “To our beloved son.” The other photo showed a tall, slim man in his 30s, with dark hair slicked back, dressed in tennis whites and holding a racket slung over his shoulder. The inscription on the back read, “To my dear Dar, from you know who.” The other item was a laundry claim ticket from Hong’s Laundry and Cleaners.

  “Arthur, we can’t keep it.”

  Arthur said, “Are you crazy?” He told him he was nothing but a big chicken, cluck cluck cluck, and besides, finders keepers, loser weepers, and that they really didn’t steal it at all, Alex stole it, he pick-pocketed it, and what could they do to Alex, he was too little and he didn’t know any better, and he didn’t even go to school so they couldn’t throw him out.

  Benjamin countered that it still wasn’t right, and that if Arthur wouldn’t tell what had happened, he would, at which point Arthur put him in a combination headlock/chokehold until Benjamin turned beet red. He promised his younger brother a multitude of additional, more painful consequences if he didn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. “Three dollars and eighty-seven cents, dummy. We could get Pirates tickets, and ice cream and peanuts. You want to give it back? Don’t be a stupid baby.” He turned to Alex. “Did you like the fair, Alex?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know how to take Principal Darwimple’s wallet?”

  “Just like Coco,” Alex said. He made a quick, grabbing motion.

  “What’s he talking about, Benjamin?”

  “He means the monkey.”

  “Oh yeah, like Coco. Say listen, Alex. Do you think you can do it again, like Coco? It’ll be like a game you play. You like games, right?”

  “I like to play checkers.”

  “Yeah, I like checkers, too. But this is a different game. Do you know what that game is called?”

  Alex said, “What?”

  “It’s called Five Fingers.”

  “Come on, Arthur.”

  “Just shut your trap. Tomorrow is Saturday. No school. We’ll go to East Liberty and play Five Fingers.”

  Alex said, “With Farmer Dar?”

  Arthur laughed. “No, he won’t be there, but it’ll be fun, you’ll see.” Arthur stuck his index finger into Benjamin’s chest. “You’re coming, too.”

  Alex began to hop up and down. “I want to play checkers.”

  “You heard him, Benjamin. Set up the board.”

  “But all he does is throw the pieces on the floor.”

  “I said, set it up.”

  Arthur shoved the money under the felt lining of a box where they kept their school papers. With huge satisfaction he watched Alex’s long arms snatch checker pieces. Saturday was going to be a big day.

  Chapter 9

  Abe smoked in the family’s lone armchair, content to read The Daily Dispatch until his mother-in-law put dinner on the table, not feeling guilty for not helping since he’d offered and she’d told him he’d only mess things up. Alex climbed on his lap and begged him to read his favorite comic strip, Pickles Neary, to him, but unfortunately for both Alex and Abe, Pickle’s strip appeared only in the Sunday edition, so Abe had to amuse his son by reading an account of a rooming house fire in Hazelwood that took the lives of seven women. It occurred to him after the second paragraph that perhaps it was a bit inappropriate to read a story about death and disaster to a three-year-old whose mother was seriously ill, which reminded him that he needed to check on her. He left Alex standing on the floor above the newspaper he spread out in front of him.

  “Daddy,” Alex called, pointing to a column in the newsprint, “what’s investigation?”

  Abe started to answer, but then he stopped. Had Alex really read that? That children’s book was one thing, but the newspaper? That was for adults. Little did Abe know that The Daily Dispatch was purposely written to be easily comprehended by the average fourth-grader.

  He watched Alex’s eyes scan the page. It sure looked as if he was reading. But no, he must just be repeating a word he’d read to him. “Hold on a minute, son. I have to go investigate your mother.” He shook his head at his attempt at humor as he climbed the stairs with a tray of food. He wished he were taking it up to Delia after they’d made love.

  *

  Whether it was the heavy congestion in her throat or the stale air in the room, Irene felt that if she didn’t open a window she would suffocate. She swung her legs to the side of the bed and put one foot down on the floor, then the other, and pushed herself to her feet. She opened the curtains and undid the lock on top of the window sash. Down below, in the fading light, she could make out toys scattered in the yard. Irene felt a sliver of hope, for at least she had gotten to her feet on her own without falling, which was more than she had been able to accomplish the day before. She tried to raise the window, and it took all of her strength to lift it three inches. The cool air felt lush on her hands, alive with its dampness.

  The door opened. Abe entered with a mug of tea, two slices of buttered toast, a hard-boiled egg on a tray and an admonishment. “Irene, what you doing, woman? You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

  She said in a low, labored voice, “I couldn’t breathe hardly.”

  “You should’ve asked me, I would’ve opened it for you.”

  It would have taken too much energy to explain she was too tired to call him, so she let it go. A low cough stirred from deep in her lungs, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “You shouldn’t stay here too long.” She motioned to her night table. “Put the tray over here.”

  Abe took away the tray of uneaten food he’d left her the night before and set down the fresh one. “Geez, Irene, you gotta try to eat something. You gotta have strength to fight this thing.”

  You fight it, she thought. You’re good at fighting. She grasped the windowsill to keep from falling. “Is my mother here?”

  “She’s getting dinner ready.”

  The room was still except for the wheezing of her breath. They stood twelve feet apart, and they thought, this is what we have to say to each other after one year of courtship, ten years of marriage, two boys, two miscarriages and then a strange little miracle child who is here for some purpose we don’t understand. “How are my sons?”

  “They’re fine. Just fine. They went to the school fair today. They took Alex.”

  “What?”

  “They rode him over there in the wagon. He’s fine. He said he saw a monkey.”

  The room began to reel around in her head. She clutched the bedpost to keep from falling. “But he’s too little.”

  “Come on, Irene,” Abe said, “nothing happened. His brothers look out for him, you know.”

  “Please,” she begged, “please bring him home.”

  Abe sighed. “But he is home.”

  “He is? Oh yes, you said he is.” She walked back to the bed. “I better lie down now.”

  Abe started for the door. “Well, call me if you need anything.”

  Irene stared at him. “Abe.”

  “What is it?”

  “Could you come over here?” She held out her hand. “Did you ever love me?”

  Abe looked out the window. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Did you?”

  He glanced down at his feet, then back into her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you I did? Remember that time in your room when your mother was away, how much I told you that you were the only one for me?”

  “Yes. Was that love?”

>   “And what about the day we were married?”

  “You’re supposed to say it when you get married.”

  “Come on, Irene. There’ve been plenty other times, too.”

  If she had pressed him, he might have had trouble coming up with another example. But instead, she said, “Say it now. I don’t even care if you mean it.” She adjusted the pillow behind her head.

  He mumbled into his chest, “I love you.”

  “I wonder.”

  Abe turned red. “I do.”

  “Sure you do, don’t be upset, I don’t want you to get angry. I couldn’t take it right now.” She took a sip of tepid water. “Bring Alex up to me, will you?”

  “But you don’t want him to catch The Dip.”

  She slumped back into bed. “I don’t know why, but I don’t think he can.”

  Ida’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Soup’s on!”

  Abe turned toward the door, the call a reprieve. “I’ll bring him up after dinner, all right?”

  “Please.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Abe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for saying it.” Fight it, she thought. Fight it for your sons. She forced a slice of egg and some tea down her throat before she gave herself up to the loopy feeling in her head.

  *

  Abe and the boys sat around the table, bowls of pea soup in front of them. He watched Alex dip a toy soldier in his applesauce. “Tell me, Arthur, how was the fair?”

  Arthur looked at Benjamin, whose eyes stayed glued to his bowl. “Fine.”

  “That’s it? Let’s have a little conversation around here.”

  Alex said, “I saw Coco the monkey.”

  “You did, son? Do you like him?”

  “He smelled like poop.”

  Arthur and Benjamin started to laugh.

  “All right, that’s enough, you two.” Ida sat down with her soup. “Arthur, put that spoon down. We haven’t said grace. Who wants to say it?”

  The boys looked at each other.

  Abe felt like he was back at his Uncle Jacob’s dinner table twenty years earlier, where every meal was preceded by his uncle going on and on with his Hebrew prayers, and he wasn’t allowed to touch anything before Jacob finished, no matter how hungry he was, or else he’d get a slap on the back of the hand, which was just another reason why Abe wanted nothing to do with all that religious hooey. He just wanted to sit down and eat his meal. But then, he thought, Ida did cook for us; it wouldn’t be so bad just the one time. “Arthur, go ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Say it. You heard me.”

  “But I don’t know how. Why can’t Benjamin do it?”

  “Me?”

  Ida said, “Well, if none of you heathens is willing to say grace, I suppose I’ll have to do it. Bow your heads.”

  “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts from thy bounty which we are about to receive.”

  Abe said, “Amen. Boys?”

  They mumbled the word.

  Ida said, “Now, was that so hard?”

  Arthur said, “Can we eat now?”

  Alex banged on his high chair tray until everyone looked up. He extended his arm and made the sign of the cross in the air.

  Ida teared up.

  Abe slammed his fist on the table. “Look here, Ida. First you give him that Christ book he’s been coloring. Fine, it keeps him busy. But now he acts as if he’s the Pope of Rome. What the hell have you been teaching him, that’s what I’d like to know.”

  “I didn’t teach him a blessed thing. The little angel has chosen the true church all on his own, haven’t you, sweetheart?”

  Alex burped a splotch of applesauce onto his bib.

  “Well, I don’t like it, not one bit. Alex, you cut that finger waving out, you hear?” For emphasis, Abe made a cross in the air. “None of that Holy Roller stuff no more, see?”

  Alex said, “Peace be with you.”

  Ida said, “And with you.”

  Abe said, “Oh geez.”

  Benjamin, holding his spoon in the air, said, “Can we eat now?”

  Abe dipped his spoon into the soup. “What’s else are we having?”

  “Fish. It’s Friday, what else would it be? You boys like Fin ’n Haddie?”

  *

  Shouts and laughter from the dinner table floated up to the bedroom like familiar friends, and Irene longed for the strength to go downstairs to join in the fun, or to tell her boys to mind their manners, anything to be in touch with the living, but now she felt forgotten, an invalid, worthless. It was dark now, broken only by a faint lamplight eking its way up the staircase and into the hallway outside. She wanted to eat, and her stomach made pinging sounds, but when she put a piece of bread into her mouth it seemed to just stay there until she spit it out in a lump.

  She touched her cheeks and her forehead, and it felt as if the bones were forcing their way to the surface. She laughed quietly, well, at least I won’t have to go on a diet. She ran her hands over her thighs, her stomach, her hips and her breasts. She felt diminished.

  As she was drifting off again she heard a voice from far away. She opened her eyes to see that it was Abe, only six feet away, and Alex, standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Irene, are you awake? Irene?”

  “Momma.”

  His voice was like cool water. “Yes, Alex. I’m here.”

  “I brought him up to see you like you asked.”

  “Thank you. How are you, Alex?”

  “Momma, I rode in the wagon and had sugar cookies and I saw Farmer Dar and Coco the Monkey. He’s brown and has fur and he got a cap on his head and he can jump, and then Arthur and Benjamin won a race.”

  “What? Abe, what is he saying?”

  Abe sighed and explained again about the fair, and how Alex’s brothers took him and looked after him.

  “But you shouldn’t have let him go, Abe. How could you let him go? He could have been hurt. What’s wrong with you?” The bitterness rose in her throat.

  “Irene, I told you twice now, he’s fine. See?” As if to prove it, Abe lifted Alex and turned him in a circle.

  “Bring him to me.”

  Abe moved two feet closer. “You have to be careful, The Dip could be catching still.”

  “Alex, your mother loves you very much. Can you hear me, Alex?”

  “I hear you, Momma.”

  “Don’t let them hurt him, Abe.”

  “Who? You mean the boys? They would never hurt him.”

  “Don’t let them—” she began, but her cough overwhelmed her. She waved her hand, move him away from me, Abe, move him away, save him from this invisible monster that has me in its claws, that is eating me from the inside out, tearing at my lungs with its jagged teeth and acid tongue, please keep him safe.

  Alex said, “Good night, Momma.”

  *

  Arthur and Benjamin, under orders from their grandmother, had cleared the table, swept the floor and set up the checkerboard. Ida poured hot water from the teakettle over the sink full of dishes.

  Alex twisted in Abe’s arms like a cat that refused to be held until Abe released him. He monkey-dashed across the floor and plopped down next to his brothers.

  Ida rolled her sleeves up to the elbow. Her broad forearms were blotched with liver spots. “How is she, Abe?”

  “The same.” He set Irene’s cold, mostly uneaten dinner on the counter. “She couldn’t talk too much. She had one of those coughing fits.”

  Ida shook soap flakes into the water. “You want to lend us a hand here? I know you’re supposed to be the lord of the manner, but I didn’t hire on to be your Irish scrub lady. I’ll wash, you dry. Here,” she said, offering him an apron, “put it on unless you want to get your shirt soaked. I work fast.”

  The apron strings reached just halfway around his waist. He caught the gawks from his boys. “You three, stick to your checkers,” he sa
id. He thought he heard Alex laugh. “Go ahead, Ida, I’ll be fine with this here towel.”

  Abe dried in silence. He needed Ida at the house to look in on Irene tomorrow afternoon and into the early evening, when he’d be at The Squeaky Wheel for The Wheel’s annual Tournament de Darts, a rollicking good time not to be missed, and besides, he’d promised Davy O’Brien he would bring Alex along to watch him defend his crown.

  “About tomorrow, Ida. I could really use your help here in the afternoon, at least to look in on Irene.”

  “It’s Saturday. You don’t work Saturday. You need to stay home with your wife.”

  “Dad said we’re supposed to watch Alex in the morning, Grandma,” Arthur said. “He said we can take him with us to East Liberty. In the wagon.”

  Benjamin pushed a checker. “Your move, Alex.”

  Abe glanced at his boys. Benjamin lay on one side of the checkerboard. Alex stood on the other, his arms folded across his chest, staring intently at the red and black squares, as if he were a two-foot, two-inch-tall Napoleon planning an invasion of Russia.

  “The boy is with me in the afternoon. See there, Ida,” Abe said, trying to affect some jocularity in his voice, “you can take the morning off. Sleep until eleven.”

  “Don’t talk to me as if I work for you.” She shoved the last dinner plate into his chest.

  “No, it ain’t like that, Ida. I appreciate what you’re doing for us, for me and the boys, and for Irene, too, you can take my word on it. Let’s just see how this goes day by day. Who knows, maybe Irene will be up and around by Sunday, you never know.”

  “Fine.” She untied her apron. “I’m going home now.”

  “You want me to walk you?”

  “I can walk myself.”

  “Benjamin, Arthur. Get up and walk your grandmother home.”

  “I said I’d—oh never mind, get your coats on, boys.” She pulled her scarf over her head. “Alex, come here, my little sweetheart.”

  As she kissed him goodbye, she whispered in his ear that Jesus loves the littlest ones the best, and He’s given you special gifts, too, because He loves you so much, and Grandma loves you the best, too.