Dave at Night (10 page)

Chapter 20

I
N THE MORNING
I asked Harvey how he'd known I'd left.

“We watch out for each other, buddy,” he said, which wasn't an answer.

Mike said he had heard me leave. “I knew Mr. Meltzer would check on you,” he said while pulling on his earlobe. “So I woke Eli, and he told Harvey to take your place.”

“I'm the right height,” Harvey said.

I thanked them. Harvey could have been dragged to Mr. Doom along with me.

“Any time,” Harvey said.

“Where'd you go?” Mike asked.

“Just to the basement.” I told them about it. When I got to the part about the woman in the lobby, none of them thought she was dumping the kid.

“It could have been for his own good,” Harvey said.

“Yeah,” Eli said. “We don't know why she brought him.”

“Probably he was bad,” Harvey said.

How bad could he be? He wasn't more than three.

“Or maybe she was sick,” Alfie said.

She was dumping him. Nothing was wrong with her.

“Or he was sick,” Fred said. “And she knew we had a nurse.”

“This is the last place to go if you're sick,” Jeff, his twin, said. “You'd freeze to death.”

Nobody said anything for a minute.

“If you go outside again,” Mike said, “could you bring back some food?”

There'd be food at Irma Lee's party. I told them about it, and said I didn't know how I could go with the prefects watching me so closely. Harvey said he'd pretend to be me again if I got out.

“I'll cough till Mr. Meltzer comes and takes me to the nurse,” Alfie said.

“Can you cough whenever you want to?” I asked. Maybe it wasn't consumption.

“Usually I cough because I have to.” He smiled. “But I guess I could just do it, buddy.”

But Alfie wasn't able to help me. He had a real coughing fit during supper, and Mr. Meltzer took him to the nurse and didn't bring him back. Then, while we were getting ready for bed, Mr. Meltzer started packing Alfie's clothes and schoolbooks into his suitcase.

“Alfie died,” Mike said. He was yanking on his pajama bottoms, which were twisted and backwards.

Mr. Meltzer didn't say anything. Finally Eli asked, “What happened to Alfie?”

“They're sending him to another place. Fresh air, wholesome diet. He'll come back when he's better.”

“
If
he's better,” Harvey said.

“He'll die,” Mike said, too soft for anybody but me to hear.

“Where is he?” Eli said. “We want to say good-bye.”

“You can't. He's outside, in the doctor's car.”

Eli put his pajama top on quickly. “We're going to tell him good-bye.”

We all rushed to finish putting on our pajamas. I was ready, so I helped Mike get his pajama legs straightened out.

Forty boys—all of us elevens—marched through the HHB, followed by Mr. Meltzer, who yelled at us to go back to our room. We passed a couple of other prefects, who just stared.

As we walked, Mike kept saying that Alfie might not die if he was somewhere else, somewhere better than the HHB. I didn't know. My friend Morty had died of consumption, but some people got well.

The doctor's Model T was parked outside the gate. Alfie was going to get a lot of fresh air on the way to the fresh air place, because the buggy didn't have a top. He was in the backseat, and the nurse was tucking a blanket around him. When he saw us, he poked an arm out of the blanket to wave. He didn't look any worse than usual, and he wasn't even coughing. I wished we could grab him and bring him back upstairs. How did we know they were really taking him to a place that could make him better? Places like that had to be expensive, and I didn't think anybody would spend much on an orphan.

“The doctor says they have horseback riding upstate, where I'm going. But I may not—” He started coughing.

The nurse closed the door, and the car drove away. Alfie waved and coughed while we yelled good-bye and hollered that he was getting a good deal, that those horses better watch out, and that he should get fat and bring food back for the rest of us.

Later, in bed, I thought about Papa and Alfie mixed up together. I thought about how people seemed to vanish when they died. It felt as though Papa had disappeared, even though I saw him go into the ground. And now Alfie had vanished, even though he hadn't died. Not yet, anyway. Alfie was a whole, like me, and nobody ever came to see him on Visiting Day either. He didn't have any brothers or sisters to miss him if he died, not even a deserting rat of a brother. Well, we'd miss him. His buddies would miss him.

Then I got mad at myself for thinking of him as already dead when he'd probably be back in a few weeks with roses in his cheeks.

I rolled over and tried to fall asleep. I felt so tired, like my bones were turning to icy jelly. If Papa's carving had been sitting on the floor five feet away from my bed I wouldn't have been able to stand up and get it.

And then I remembered Irma Lee's party. I had forgotten about it in the commotion over Alfie. Well, I couldn't go. I couldn't get out with Mr. Meltzer on duty, and I didn't feel like trying. I was sorry I couldn't tell her why I couldn't come. But I wasn't sorry I couldn't go. The last thing I wanted was a party.

The lump in my throat was the size of an orange. I wished I could cry, but I couldn't. It was too cold to cry anyway. My tears would freeze. I stared down at the tiled floor. I hated everything. Mike was making a racket in the next bed, and I hated him for being so noisy. I hated Danny for snoring. I hated Alfie for leaving. I hated Papa for dying. I hated myself for being an orphan, for being cold, for not being able to fall asleep.

The next thing I knew, somebody was shaking me awake. I opened my eyes. It was Mr. Meltzer.

I was terrified. There'd been a telegram. Gideon was dead. I could tell from the breathing around me that my buddies were awake. Mike was unusually still.

“What?” I whispered.

“Get dressed.”

I was right. It was a telegram.

I had trouble getting my knickers on. Finally I was dressed. I followed Mr. Meltzer out.

Solly and Bandit were in the hall.

“Tell for you your fortune?” the parrot squawked.

Chapter 21

S
OLLY EXPLAINED AS
we walked toward Convent Avenue. It was cold out, just like it was in. But I was warm because Mr. Meltzer had given me somebody's winter coat and somebody's cap to wear.

The air was crisp and fresh. I wanted to run or skip, but Solly didn't walk very fast. He said he had told Mr. Meltzer he was my grandpa. “I said your cousin had just gotten married, and they wanted you at the party. I could see I had to shmeer him, so I slipped him a dollar. The nebbish almost kissed me. From him I could have gotten you out for a quarter.”

A dollar! I walked along, thinking about it. He'd spent a lot on me at the rent party too, paying for me to get in and giving me a dollar at the end. “How did you find me?” I asked, trying to understand.

“You think I can't learn what an HHB is, boychik?”

The parrot squawked, “Boychik!”

Solly was the nicest grown-up I'd run into in a long time. He knew how much I wanted to go to Irma Lee's party, so, when I didn't show up where we were supposed to meet, he came and got me. “Thanks,” I said and repeated, “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.”

It was swell, being out and not having to worry about getting caught. Mr. Meltzer would be waiting for us at five-thirty. Solly said it was twelve-thirty now, so we had hours.

“Do you have any real grandchildren?” Maybe I reminded him of a dead son or grandson.

“My son, the alrightnik, has three little alrightniks. A girl and two boys. One boy wants to be a banker. The other boy wants to own a factory. My granddaughter, Heloise—what kind of a name is Heloise?—wants a pearl necklace for her birthday. Nine years old, and she wants pearls.”

They didn't sound like kids who'd help their grandpa be a gonif. “I'm going to run away from the HHB,” I announced.

“Tonight? I promised that nebbish—”

“Not tonight. After I do something.”

We were going around Saint Nicholas Park. That was the name of the park I'd gone through before, when I went to the rent party. Solly was afraid he'd trip and fall if we walked through it.

I took a deep breath. “Could I stay with you after I run away?”

“You think this is a good idea, bubeleh?”

“I could help you. I could groan. You said—”

“You
could
help me. I'm an old man. I could use a little help. But they'd never let me adopt you. An old—”

“You wouldn't have—”

“An old man without a job. They wouldn't believe that being a gonif is full-time work.”

“You wouldn't have to adopt me.”

“So? How would you go to school? They'd—”

“I wouldn't have to go—”

“What if you got sick and I had to take you—”

“I'm healthy. I wouldn't get—”

“What if
I
got sick? Nu?”

I stopped arguing. He didn't want me, and he had a million excuses for it. Just like my relatives. I took it back, about him being so nice. He probably had a reason for coming for me, which I'd figure out sooner or later. Well, it didn't matter about staying with him. I'd find a place whether he helped or not.

“Slow down a little, boychik. My legs are a lot older than yours.”

I waited, tapping my foot. He was shuffling along so slowly that by the time we got to the party, we'd have to leave again. Cars honked far away, but these streets were silent. A few parked cars, no swanky ones.

Everything woke up, though, once we crossed under the el at Eighth Avenue. People were in the streets, most of them colored. Lots of cars, lots of honking. We turned onto Seventh Avenue. Most of the stores were still open. We passed a pharmacy and a shoe store. A pair of Florsheim shoes in the window cost eight dollars and eighty-five cents. Ida would have screamed highway robbery. She wouldn't have paid more than six.

“Why are those stores open in the middle of the night?” I asked before I remembered I was mad.

“Drugstores-shmugstores, shoe stores–shmoo stores—they all sell the same merchandise.
Especially
at night.”

They were selling liquor! I laughed to myself. My friend Ben and I used to play Cops and Bootleggers. But our games never had anything to do with shoe stores or drugstores.

Between 131st and 132nd Streets a knot of dressed-up white people stood under an awning, waiting to enter a building with a yellow door, a nightclub or speakeasy, most likely. We had to step off the curb to get around them.

A few steps beyond the awning, I heard someone calling Solly.

“Hey, fortune-teller. Hey, Solly. Wait up.”

It was Martin, the trumpet player from the rent party. He said he was playing at a club called the Exclusive, and then he was going to a rent party on 142nd Street.

“Catch you later, Solly?”

“Not tonight. Tonight we're mingling at Odelia Packer's.”

Martin whistled. “You're going to work the crowd at Odelia's?”

Solly shook his head. “Tonight the boychik and I are members of the leisure class.”

That
was the reason he got me out of the HHB. So he could go to the party. He knew that Irma Lee had only invited him because she wanted me to come. He wanted to meet rich people he could sell fortunes to.

Solly went on. “Don't I look like a member of the leisure class?” He stood still.

He wasn't wearing an overcoat. He had on the same baggy black suit as last time, the same beat-up gray hat, the same wrinkled white shirt, and a different ugly tie. No, wait. There was a wilted daisy in his lapel. He looked more bedraggled than ever.

Martin laughed. “You look like the bee's knees.” He laughed harder. “The butterfly's boots. Man, you look like the elephant's eyebrows.”

“Thank you.” Solly started walking again, finally.

Martin left us at 133rd Street. I started worrying that Irma Lee might not remember me. “I think we should go to that rent party,” I said. “Don't you need the money?”

“Money-shmoney. Tonight is a night you'll tell your grandchildren about. Maybe your real grandchildren, or maybe a grandchild you find on the street, swiping dollar bills.”

I didn't swipe the dollar. It had fallen out a window. I wasn't like him. I hadn't tricked the money out of people's wallets.

He continued. “All the big shots go to Odelia's if they can. Once even the prince of Sweden couldn't get in.” Solly chuckled. “But Odelia sent a bottle of champagne out to him to drink on the street.”

Prince-shmince. The sultan of Turkey once gave my papa a medal.

We turned onto 134th Street. The street was clogged with cars. A Cadillac, a Packard, a Doble—a steam-powered car!, a Lincoln, and two—two!—Pierce-Arrows!

Irma Lee's house was built of reddish stone. It was three stories tall, and I wondered if it all belonged to Mrs. Packer. Above the four long windows on the first floor were smaller ones made of stained glass. A green- and-white-striped awning hung over the double wooden doors, and a flight of stone steps went from the doors down to the sidewalk, which was crowded with colored people and white people all dressed up, holding glasses and plates of food. A maid, a white lady in a black dress with a white ruffly apron, walked through the crowd, carrying a silver tray with tiny pies on it.

“Tell for you your fortune?” Bandit squawked.

People turned to look at us and then turned away again. A tall colored lady came toward us.

“Solly! You can't get away from me now.”

“Dora, the meshuggeneh!”

Meshuggeneh
means a crazy person. But Solly was smiling.

Dora reached into the pocket of the loose jacket she wore over a very short dress. She pulled out a tape measure and started measuring Solly's head. He let her. The parrot flapped its wings.

“Watch out, Bandit,” she said, laughing, “or I'll do your head next.”

“He's a smart bird,” Solly said.

“Very interesting.” She pulled a notebook out of her pocket and wrote Solly's measurements in it. “Your head is especially wide and flat.”

“Nu? This is important?”

“It could be. Can I do the boy?”

“So ask him.”

She turned to me. “May I?”

“Okay.”

But she didn't start measuring. “I'm Dora. Are you a writer?”

I shook my head.

“Thank heavens. Another writer, and the gravity at this party would sink us all twenty feet under.”

“I'm an artist,” I said. “I do gesture and line drawings.”

She groaned. “That's almost as bad. Let's see if you have an artist's head.” She started measuring.

“Pardon me.”

Dora took the tape measure off my head and turned.

It was the maid. “Are you Mr. Dave?” she asked.

Nobody ever called me mister before. “I guess so.”

“And you're Mr. Solly?”

“And this is Mr. Bandit.”

“Come with me. Miss Irma Lee has been expecting you.”