Nothing to Fear (16 page)

Mrs. Riley cleared her throat. "Thank you for the oranges, John," she said. "Good-bye/'

Maggie's father made no move to leave. He took another step into the room. "I thought maybe..."

"Good-bye, John," Mrs. Riley repeated.

Maggie's father looked around the table. "Kitty," he said, "why don't you talk to yer ma?"

Mrs. Riley abruptly stood up. "Don't do this, John," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't ruin their Christmas."

Mr. Riley stared at her for a long moment, breathing loudly and swaying ever so slightly on his feet. At last he lowered his head, turned away, and shuffled silently out the door.

Mrs. Riley slumped down onto her chair and put her face into her hands. Kitty got up and went over to comfort her. I looked at Mama.

"I'll go see about Maggie," I said.

She nodded.

I walked through to Rileys' front room. It was rainy and dark, and Maggie's figure stood silhouetted against the window. She had pulled the thin curtain aside, but she let it fall as I came up behind her. In the gray light I could see tears shining on her cheek. Dimly, through the curtain, I saw Mr. Riley weave his way up the street and disappear into the 107th Street tunnel. Maggie's gaze followed him.

I swallowed hard, searching for something to say. "You want to talk about it?" I asked at last.

Maggie shook her head. "There's nothing to say."

I shoved my hands into my pockets and stood there, looking around awkwardly. Maggie didn't move. "You ... uh, want me to leave?" I asked.

"No." Maggie turned and looked at me. Her eyes were wet and shining. "He used to hold me," she said, so softly I could hardly hear. "Ma was always busy with babies, but Pa used to hold me." Her bottom lip quivered and fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I reached out and pulled her into my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder and sobbed. She must have been hurting bad to cry like that. Maggie doesn't cry easy. I felt a tenderness toward her that I'd never felt before.

After a while, her sobs died away, but she seemed content to stay with her head resting on my shoulder, and I was content to let her. It felt good to hold her, warm and close. She smelled like soap and fresh air, and her hair was soft against my cheek. I realized suddenly that we were standing shoulder to shoulder. I was as tall as she was now. When had that happened? Ma must be right. I
was
growing like a weed.

When at last she pulled away, Maggie kissed me lightly on the cheek, and I felt my face get hot and red.

"Thanks, Danny," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For being here."

Christmas vacation passed with never a word from Pa, and each day the weight in my chest grew heavier. Ma and I would surprise each other repeatedly at the front-room window, and we'd make lame excuses about what we were watching for, neither of us wanting to let on how worried we are. Mama is growing pale again, and I know the weight in her chest must be taking its toll, too.

Yesterday was New Year's Day and Ma wanted to take the tree down. But I wouldn't let her. We had worked so hard to pick it out; I couldn't bear to think that Pa wouldn't see it at all. When I left for school this morning, I made her promise that she wouldn't touch it. When I came home, it was gone.

"But you promised!" I yelled.

"What choice did I have?" Mama argued. "You wouldn't have left for school otherwise."

"You still broke your promise."

"And would you rather your father came home to find the whole buildin' burnt to the ground?"

"I don't care," I shouted. "I don't care!"

My eyes fell on the still wrapped box of chocolates sitting on the coffee table. I picked it up and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, splitting open and spilling chocolates all over the floor.

"Danny!" Mama shouted. "That'll be enough. You go straight to your room and..."

I never heard the rest. I ran out into the hall, slammed the door behind me, and bolted down the stairs and out into the street.

It was snowing. It had been all day. The first snowstorm of the season. Normally I would have been as excited as a little kid, but now it was just something else in my way. I kicked at it angrily as I scuffed along, going nowhere, anywhere, just going.

I found myself in Central Park. All around me kids were playing—laughing, shouting, having snowball fights, sliding down hills on hunks of cardboard. A snowball bounced off my back and I heard Mickey's voice shouting for me to join in, but I just kept going.

The voices faded away and I kept on walking, deeper into the park than I've been in years. After a while, up ahead, a bunch of gray shapes loomed dimly through the snow. It looked like some kind of a junkyard, but why would there be a junkyard in Central Park? As I got closer I realized that it must be that Hooverville I'd heard about. I stopped a moment,
remembering Mama's warnings, but then curiosity drew me on.

I walked slowly, trying not to stare at the jungle of makeshift shacks. Some of them were made from wooden packing crates, some just from cardboard. There were a few old army tents, a broken-down milk wagon, some rusted-out cars—just about anything a person could crawl inside of. There were folks scattered around inside and out, mostly men, but a woman here and there. I didn't see any kids. A group of people were huddled around an old metal barrel in which a fire burned. They wore filthy coats and had rags wrapped around their heads and hands. Some had rags on their feet, too. A few of them looked at me curiously as I walked by. Others gave me angry glances. Most didn't look at all, or if they did they just stared with those empty, unseeing eyes that Ma talks about.

I couldn't help wondering as I walked, was Pa standing around a barrel like that somewhere, dirty and ragged? As I reached the outer edge of the settlement I saw something that slowed my steps. Sitting inside an old piano crate was a woman who looked strangely familiar. I stood still for a moment, trying to figure out where I'd seen her before. Then I remembered—Luther White's ma! But no, it couldn't be. Luther's ma was always so neat and proper. This woman was filthy, sprawled on an old mattress, wrapped up in a dirty blanket, her hair stringy with grease. Still, the resemblance was striking.

"Mrs. White?" I ventured.

The woman stared straight ahead, seeming not to hear.

"Mrs. White?" I repeated, louder this time. The head lolled in my direction and a pair of blank eyes met mine briefly, then turned away again.

There was a sudden crashing in the bushes beside me, and I turned just as someone burst out of the woods and ran directly into me. I staggered back a few steps, but kept my balance. The stranger had dropped some bundles in the collision and fell to his knees to pick them up. I stooped to help him, then jerked back. The "bundles" were dead pigeons, their heads dangling limply from their twisted necks.

"Jesus," I whispered, "What the..."

My voice caught in my throat. The face that looked up into mine was Luther White's.

"Luther?" I said.

Luther quickly shoved the pigeons inside his coat and stood up.

"Get lost," he said.

"But Luther, it's me, Danny."

Luther went over and dumped the pigeons inside the piano crate, then he came back and grabbed the front of my jacket.

"I said get lost," he repeated.

I stared at him. "Luther, I just want to help."

The hold on my jacket tightened.

"My name ain't Luther," he said, "and I ain't never seen you before, and if you ain't outta here in five
seconds, ain't nobody ever gonna see you again. Got it?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "I got it."

He let me go, and I stood staring a moment longer into his proud, angry eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I must have been mistaken."

The snow had gotten deeper and it took me a long time to get home. The streetlamps were on by the time I reached our block, and a huge mound of snow, piled high by the plow, stood in front of our stoop. The whole neighborhood was out, playing king of the mountain.

"Hey, Dan," shouted Mickey, "where've you been? Come on up."

"Nah. I got homework."

"Come on," called Maggie, "there won't be any school tomorrow."

A snowball grazed my head, then another hit me square in the mouth. Suddenly king of the mountain sounded like a great idea. I fought my way up the hill, flinging aside everybody in my path. Mickey was at the top. I came up behind him, shoved both my
knees into the backs of his, making them buckle, gave him a sideways push, and down he went.

"King of the mountain," I shouted, beating my chest.

Maggie tackled me around the knees, knocking me off balance, but I grabbed her around the waist as I went down, pulling her with me. We tumbled head over heels until we landed at the bottom, her on her back on the ground, and me on top of her. I grabbed her wrists and pinned them down.

"Say uncle," I said.

Maggie bit her lip and struggled to get free. Maggie would rather die than say uncle. I laughed, secretly liking the feel of her body against mine.

"Say uncle," I yelled again.

A great force suddenly shoved me sideways and a heavy foot came down on my head, grinding my face into the snow. I came up sputtering to see Harry Sullivan scrambling right over me and up the snow mound. I lunged for his leg and missed. Harry let out a whooping laugh and kept going.

"King of the mountain," he shouted when he got to the top.

I scrambled up after him.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Come up and get your face shoved in the snow again."

He kicked out at my face as I neared the top. He wasn't fooling around. The kick probably would've broken my jaw if it'd landed square. As it was I ended up with a stinging blow to the ear. I rolled over and grabbed the foot he'd kicked with, and I twisted.
Harry's heavy body crashed over mine and we rolled together down the hill, him landing on top.

"Now
you
say uncle," he growled, pinning me the same way I'd pinned Maggie.

I struggled against his weight and he brought his knee up and ground it down painfully between my legs.

"Say uncle," he repeated, huffing with exertion. "Or are you gonna call your daddy? Oh, that's right. Your daddy run off, didn't he? I forgot your daddy run off...."

All the anger that had been building inside me for weeks suddenly boiled up and blew. I was punching, biting, kicking, thrashing. The next thing I knew, I was on top and Harry was on the bottom. My hands closed around his neck.

"My pa didn't run off!" I shouted. "You take that back."

Harry gasped and tried to push me off, but my arms were like steel. I could have killed him if I wanted to, and he knew it.

"F-Frank," he gasped. "F-Frank, h-h-help!"

I looked up sharply, ready to take on Frank, too, if I had to. But Frank made no move to help his brother. He was actually smiling, seeming to enjoy the whole thing. Something about that drained all the fire out of me. Harry's own brother hated him.

I let Harry go, and he lay there for a while, rubbing his neck and gasping for breath. Then slowly he got to his feet. I actually felt sorry for him.

"Hey, Harry," I said.

He scowled at me. "What?"

"What do you say we forget all this and start over?" I reached out my hand to shake. Harry looked at my hand, then he looked at the crowd of faces that had gathered around us. Then he spit in my hand and walked away.

I shook my head and wiped my hand off in the snow. Frank still stood beside me. He and I stared at each other a moment, then he stuck his hand out. I took it and smiled. He smiled back, then he looked up the street after Harry and his smile faded.

"I guess I better go," he said.

"You don't have to," I told him.

Frank looked around the circle of faces, then he looked at Harry again.

"I guess I do," he said. "He's my brother."

I nodded. "Well, come around anytime," I told him.

"Thanks," he said, "maybe I will ... sometime," then he shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Harry up the street.

"C'mon," said Mickey, starting up the mountain again.

"Nah," I said, "I'm tired." I sat down on the stoop and watched for a while. I found myself thinking about Luther White and his mother. What had happened to change them so in the past few months? Where was the rest of Luther's family? Where was his pa? Had he run off?

Then it wasn't Luther's pa I was wondering about. It was my own. Could Pa have run off like Harry
said? The Pa I knew wouldn't—but suppose he'd changed, like Luther, or worse, like Luther's ma. How would we ever know? How long could Ma and I go on waiting?

I climbed the stairs with all those questions still spinning around in my head, but when I pushed the door open and saw Ma bent over her writing paper, I knew the answer to the last one at least. We'll go on waiting forever.

I'm not sure when I started thinking about going after Pa, but now that I've started, I can't stop. It's become the most important thing in my life. I'm not sure when I'll go. I'll have to wait until after the baby's born at least, maybe 'til school gets out. I've been listening to "True Detective Mystery" on the radio, trying to study up as much as I can on following clues and tracking people down. I already know my first clue—New London, Connecticut—the place Pa's letter came from. It ought to be easy enough to find someone there who'll recognize Pa's picture and who knows where he's gone. I've begun to spend all my spare time dreaming about how I will find him, about what he'll say when he first lays eyes on me, about how Mama will look when I bring him home again.

Just making my plans, knowing that I will go,
helps to lift the weight from my chest. I wish I could let Mama in on my plans and lighten her burden, too, but I can't. She would never agree to let me go.

Mama's headaches and the swelling in her legs have begun again, just like with Maureen.

A couple of weeks ago when she was ironing, she suddenly put the iron down and staggered over to a chair, holding her head.