Al Capone Does My Shirts (10 page)

Natalie paces back and forth in front of the window, digging at her collarbone with her chin.

My mom stops and looks at me. She seems to be thinking of saying something about this, but changes her mind. “Remember, just treat her like you would a normal sister. This isn’t baby-sitting.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” I say, watching Nat fuss with her clothes like something’s too tight.

“What’s the matter?” I ask Natalie.

“She’s fine,” my mother answers for her. “We’ve been all over. We’ve had a lovely day.” My mom glances quickly at me and then away.

“She looks upset.”

“It’s just hot, that’s all.” My mom rubs her neck.

“She wants her buttons.”

“Well . . . yes . . . ,” my mom admits. “But I’m sure once you take her out, she’ll forget all about it. Mrs. Kelly says it’s just a matter of redirecting her attention.” My mom’s voice isn’t quite so sure as her words are. She and Natalie have clearly had a hard time today.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of mean, taking her buttons away?”

My mom stares at the curtains. “We have to try this. You’ll take good care of her?” she asks, her gloved hand on the door.

“Sure.”

“I’ll be back on the six-thirty,” my mom says.

In my room, I dig through my drawer for my swim trunks.

“Come on, Nat,” I say.

Nat jumps up, motors to her room and shuts the door.

I knock, a hard rap-rap. “Natalie, let’s go!”

She doesn’t open the door.

I knock again, then push it open a crack. She’s standing in her bathing suit.

“Oh, no!” I say. “You can’t wear that!”

The warden was very clear about this. No girls are allowed to wear suits on account of the convicts. But how in the world do I explain this to Natalie? It’s hot and she wants to wear her bathing suit. That’s what we did at home.

“Natalie, you can’t wear that.”

“Hot,” she says.

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t wear your bathing suit. Put on something cool, but not that.”

“HOT!” she shouts.

“Okay, okay, you’re hot, I’m hot too.”

“Moose cool. Moose bathing suit.”

“You’re a girl, Natalie. And it’s . . . it’s, you’ve got, you know, girl parts you have to keep covered up. It’s not like home.” How do I explain this to her?

“Moose cool!” she repeats.

There is no arguing with this.

Back in my room, I put on my corduroys again, which is like deciding to bake each of my legs. I find Nat’s dress and hand it to her. She hands it back. “Moose hot. Natalie cool.” She is almost smiling, her face full of victory. She’s not about to change. She’s not that crazy. I would laugh if it wasn’t so frustrating. I don’t want to miss the cons, because I’m curious, first off. But also because now I have to prove I’m not a goody-goody.

Nat fusses with the straps of her suit. “That doesn’t look comfortable, Nat. Why don’t you put on your blue dress? You always like your blue dress.” I rub her dress against my cheek. “See? Soft.”

I’m just thinking I’m wasting my breath when Natalie starts to take off her suit. I walk out of my room and close the door. “All done, Nat?” I ask when I hear her come out.

When I turn around she’s standing in the living room, totally naked.

I can feel my whole face get red. Even the tips of my ears burn. I don’t want to see my sister naked. “No! You can’t do that!” I run to the front window and yank the drapes closed.

Now she’s in the kitchen, lying on the cool floor. At least this is better. It isn’t so bad from the back.

I think about the time we took Natalie to my cousin Cricket’s wedding. It was boiling that day too, and right in the middle of the ceremony, Natalie took all her clothes off. But she wasn’t so old. It wasn’t like now.

The clock on the mantle is ticking. Three-fifteen. We’re supposed to meet at three-thirty. It takes ten minutes to get to the west stairs on the parade grounds. I have five minutes to get out the door and a crazy naked sister on the floor. How does my mom get her dressed, anyway?

“You can take your buttons outside. But only if you wear your blue dress.” I get the button box from where my mom has hidden it inside the radio cabinet. What else am I supposed to do? I shake the buttons down by her ear and try to pull the dress over her head. She doesn’t take it off.

“You have to wear your underwear too. I won’t look.”

She doesn’t move a muscle. Her bare skin looks so white against the floor.

“Come on, Nat,” I plead.

“Swim,” she says.

“You want to go swimming?”

“Natalie swimming.”

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. If you wear your blue dress and your underwear, I’ll take you swimming.” I have no idea where I can take her swimming, but I’ll worry about that later.

“Swim?”

“Blue dress, underwear. Swim later.” I try to talk in her language.

“Moose double . . . ,” she says.

“Double what?”

“Double swear.”

I laugh. “Yeah, okay. I double swear.”

Miraculously, she puts on her dress, her underwear, her socks and shoes, and we’re out the door. Three-twenty-five. If we walk fast, we’ll make it. But every time I turn around, Nat’s stopped to rub her toe on the pavement. Then we have to count the birds. I try to get her to count
and
walk, but apparently this is impossible in Natalie-World.

I don’t know what time it is when we walk across the parade grounds to the west stairwell. No one is there, but we can’t be that late. I run down the stairs, leaving more and more distance between Nat and me. Then I hear them. I’m about to shout “Wait up” when Piper says, “Come on, Annie, I’ve lived around prisons my whole life, but I’ve never been inside the cell house. All we ever do is watch the cons walk up. Big deal. Don’t you ever wonder what it’s like in there? We got the biggest gangster in the whole world here. Don’t you want to shake hands with Al Capone?”

The laundry plan isn’t even finished and Piper’s already hatching another? I can’t believe her. I strain my ears, but I can’t hear what Annie says back. Annie’s voice is soft and sweet. Piper’s is loud and scratchy.

“Al Capone . . . ,” Piper says, and then I hear a stumbling sound behind me. It’s Natalie. She’s on her feet, but a bush is whapping back and forth like she just tripped over it.

“You okay?” I ask.

“What’s that?” Annie says.

And then suddenly Annie and Piper appear. Piper makes a gravelly sound with her throat. “What’s she doing here?” Piper asks.

I try to change the subject. “Where are Theresa and Jimmy?”

“Didn’t you hear? Mrs. Mattaman had a baby boy. Named him Rocky,” Annie says. She wipes the sweat off her forehead. “They have a bunch of relatives over to see the new baby, and Theresa and Jimmy have to entertain their cousins.”

Piper looks from me to Natalie and back again. “Can’t your mom watch her?” she asks.

“She teaches piano lessons.”

“How often?”

“Every day,” I mutter, glancing back at Natalie, who is using her dress to fan herself. We all get a good look at her ruffled underwear. Thank goodness she put it on.

“She better not do that when the cons are around,” Annie says.

“They can’t actually see us, right?” I ask.

“Right,” Piper says. “C’mon, they’ll be up soon.” The path is narrower here, so we go single file. Piper, then me, then Annie, then Nat.

I’ve never walked over here and suddenly it seems like a bad idea. I’m wondering if maybe I should turn around when I see a huge chain-link fence that blocks our path. The fence is maybe twelve or fourteen feet high with three strands of barbed wire run across the top. It goes up the hill, where it connects to the rec yard wall, and down the hill as far as I can see. Maybe even to the water, though I can’t tell from here.

In the distance on the other side of the fence, I see the steps that lead up to the recreation yard. High up in the corner of the rec yard is a guard tower no bigger than a one-man ticket booth. I imagine there’s a guard with a Browning automatic training his sights on the convicts, watching to make sure they don’t pull any funny business.

“That where they go up?” I ask.

Piper doesn’t answer. She’s fiddling with the lock, a key in her hand. A big drop of sweat drips down my face. More drops follow and my legs go stiff. “You have the key?” My voice croaks.

Piper takes one look at me and snorts. “Of course.”

“You can’t see ’em very well unless you go close. We do this all the time,” Annie says. Her voice is kind.

“But can’t the convicts see you?”

“Nope. Not where we stand,” Piper says. “But we gotta get in position before they come up the stairs. That’s the important thing.”

“You go ahead. I’ll stay here.” I try to make my voice strong and clear. “I can’t take Natalie, you know, up there.”

“Natalie . . . like she has anything to do with it. Chicken.
Bwahk, bwahk, bwahk.
” Piper clucks, flapping her arms. “C’mon, Annie.” She spits in the bushes. “We’re late.”

I watch them until they disappear behind a bush.

“Would you get a load of that guy?” I hear Piper say.

“Ah, Piper. Give it a rest,” Annie says.

Natalie and I settle on our side of the fence. I climb the hill to a spot that seems safe.

Nat is still standing up. “Nat, get down,” I tell her.

Natalie’s eyes pass over me, the way an electric fan moves on its course. But to my surprise she gets down. We settle in, huddled together on our bellies in the small space, which gives us good cover and a faraway view of the steps going up. I definitely don’t want to be any closer. For once I’m actually glad Natalie’s with me. Piper would have been ten times pushier if Nat hadn’t been here. And Annie was clearly on my side.

We don’t hear anything but birds chirping, the lap of the water against the shore and the revving of a boat I don’t see. Sound is strange near the water. Sometimes faraway things sound close. And then I hear a dull steady pounding sound. Footsteps. Dozens of them. Then the first head pops into view. A dark gray officer’s hat. And another, then white hats, denim shirts and pants. White hats, denim shirts and pants. I strain to make out faces, but we’re much too far away.

“One of those guys has a big scar down the side of his face. That’s Al Capone,” I whisper to Natalie. I wonder if Piper and Annie are close enough to spot Capone. I wonder if they can see the 85 printed on his back.

The first guard stops at the top of the stairs. He steps aside and lets the prisoners pass one by one through the recreation yard door until only the guard is left. He takes one look down the steps and across to the industry buildings. Why’s he doing that? Doesn’t he already know they’re all inside?

Nat is on her belly behind me, running her hand over the dirt, organizing it in little piles. She doesn’t notice the men. She doesn’t notice anything. She could be anywhere. Anywhere there’s dirt.

 

The next Monday I’m in a really grumpy mood on account of it’s baseball day for everyone except me. I hardly notice putting on my first convict-washed shirt. It’s only after I get it on I even remember. I take the shirt off and inspect it, but I don’t find anything unusual. It’s my shirt and it’s clean and that’s about it.

At breakfast my mom doesn’t say anything about finding extra clothes in our bags. So either my mom hasn’t put the laundry away yet or more likely Piper got them out before my mom saw them. Piper is quite the criminal.

When I get on the boat, there she is with three laundry bags. Then Jimmy and Annie pile on board, thumping their bags down by Piper.

Piper’s on her hands and knees on the deck.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Too many to carry.” She sits on one bag to smash the shirts down so she can add another stack on top. “Unless, of course, you’ll help.”

“How did you get ’em home?” I ask.

“As if you care.”

“I was just wondering,” I say when I notice Mr. Trixle dressed in civilian clothes. Day off, I guess. I sure wish my father would get a day off. But when I asked him about it, he said, “Criminals are criminals every day of the week. They don’t take a day off, so I can’t either.”

“Why you bringing laundry to school?” Mr. Trixle asks without taking his cigarette out of his mouth.

“It’s a science project,” Piper explains. “We’re comparing the weight of dry cloth to the weight of wet cloth.”

“Clever.” Mr. Trixle looks at Annie and Jimmy and me. “But I thought you kids went to different schools.”

“Citywide project,” Piper says. “All the seventh-grade science classes in San Francisco have to do it.”

Mr. Trixle shakes his big head and takes a drag on his cigarette. “You got an answer for everything, don’t you, Piper.” He breathes the smoke out his nose. “Just like your old man.”

Piper nods. “Yes, sir,” she says.

 

When the boat docks at Fort Mason, Piper has the laundry in three fully stuffed bags. This is still too much for her to carry. It’s not like she has dead bodies in there or anything. And I did promise the warden I’d help her. I pick up two bags and carry one under each arm.

Piper smiles at me, like she won. I pretend not to notice.

“Mr. Trixle didn’t believe that story about the science project,” I tell her.

“Didn’t check the bags, did he?”

I shake my head.

“Well, then he couldn’t have been that suspicious.”

When we get to school, I wonder what she’s going to do now. There’s not enough time to give the clothes back before the bell. But apparently Piper already has this figured out. She walks right into the home economics room and unlocks the supply closet. Does this girl have keys to everything?

My plan is to stay away from her. I helped her get the stupid bags in, now I’m done. But at lunch when I see her in the cafeteria with the laundry bags, I find myself drifting over there.