Don't You Know There's a War On? (3 page)

FIGURING IT WAS SAFE
, I let go of the rope and I took a deep breath, which was a mistake because I gagged on the garbage stink. But with the dumbwaiter staying put, I sat back. I had to think over what I'd heard.

Miss Gossim was being fired
.

Now, don't get me wrong, grown-ups did tons of stuff I didn't understand. And, sure, they were them and I was us. But see, I couldn't figure any way how Miss Gossim could have done something that deserved being fired. Just the idea made me feeble. And as for Lomister saying us kids wouldn't care, that made me furious.

The best I could figure was like this: Lots of radio or
movie bad guys fell in love with pretty ladies. When the ladies refused to marry them, the bad guys did something bad to them. Which is why they were bad. But then these good guys came and saved the women and treated them right. Which was why there were good guys. Like me.

And with thousands of guys being drafted into the army and a whole lot of them being killed, good guys like me were getting scarce. The way I figured it, in a few years I'd probably be older. Then I'd marry her.

And the thing was, wasn't the whole war supposed to be about being a free country? Didn't Miss Gossim have the right to do what she wanted?

So sitting there, I made up my mind. It was up to me to do something to make sure Miss Gossim stayed around.

Only thing was, I had to get to school first.

Working the dumbwaiter ropes, I lowered myself down. I squirmed out of the box into the basement. My books and lunch box were where I had left them, right at the bottom of the coal chute. I was just about to climb out when that outside steel door flapped open.

I jumped back. First thing I saw, it was raining hard. Really coming down. Then a voice shouted, “Hey, Rediger! Door's open. Chute's set. Let the coal rip.”

Next second motors whirring, gears grinding. Jeepers creepers! A coal truck was dumping coal.

Sure enough, coal chunks came roaring down the chute in a cloud of thick black dust. Then the steel door banged shut and I heard the trunk grind away.

Me? I was spitting and choking. I mean, I was covered with coal dust thick as a fried doughnut with fudge frosting. Worse, when the dust settled, all I could see was this huge pile of coal blocking my way out. Under it was my lunch box and schoolbooks.

I didn't have no choice. I picked up the shovel and started digging.

OKAY, WHILE THAT
was going on with me, over at P.S. 8, up in Class Five-B, the school day was getting started.

Now, my fifth-grade classroom had these windows on the street side, windows so big you needed a ten-foot pole to open them. Under the windows was a small bookcase with textbooks. The wardrobe—with its four connected, sliding
doors—took up the full length of another wall. That was where we hung our coats and left boots and lunches. The third wall had examples of good penmanship and a map of the world where tiny American flags were stuck.

At the front of the room was the blackboard and an American flag—regular size—hanging from a short pole. The flag was next to pictures of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and President Roosevelt. Nearby was a round clock. Its red minute hand always moved in jerks.

Miss Gossim's wood desk was up front and center of the class, covered by this big green inkblotter and a globe. Textbooks were lined up at the desk's front edge. Also, a small glass bottle, which always had a yellow flower sticking out of it, glowing like a bit of sun.

Also, two wooden chairs, one behind her desk, one to the side.

Right in front of Miss Gossim's desk were the kids' desks. Six rows of six desks. Thirty-six of them. Made of wood and cast iron, bolted to the floor. Each one had a hinged wooden seat fixed to the desk behind it. Every desk was grooved on top for pens and pencils. This top lifted up so you could put away books and papers. Had a little glass inkwell too.

Now, like I already told you, I wasn't there, but that day must of started—like every day—with Miss Gossim at the blackboard, putting up the day's date, which, that day, was
March 22, 1943
. On the other side of the blackboard was a list headed
TODAY
'
S MONITORS
.

Next to it she had numbered out the day's schedule. Number one was “Math test.” See, that stuff stayed on the board all day. Which is how come I can tell you that morning went something like this:

A few minutes after the second bell clanged, the classroom door flung open. Thirty-five kids came tumbling in like gangbusters and raced for the wardrobe, then headed to their desks. Seats dropped, desktops lifted, books got
shoved away. Then everybody sat with their feet straight, knees together, hands on top of their desks. Some were dressed pretty good. A lot weren't. The girls wore skirts. The guys had ties.

By the way, if you didn't wear a tie, most teachers stuck a paper—that said
TIE
on it—on your shirt with a pin. But Miss Gossim had a bunch of real ties for poor kids so they wouldn't get in trouble with Lomister. Like I said, she was a peach.

Anyway, after she took attendance, Miss Gossim said, “I am so glad to see you! I just know we're going to have a fine week. So, once again, good morning, children!”

This time all the kids came back in one ragged voice, “Good morning, Miss Gossim!”

She looked up and down the rows. “I'm so happy none of you are gumdrops,” she said, “afraid of melting in the rain. We'll make our own sunny day. But, first things first. Hands out!”

The kids stuck their hands out palms down, over desks. Miss Gossim marched up and down the aisles looking for filth. As she went by, kids flipped their hands over so the other side could be seen.

“Always good, Denny,” she said. “Billy Leider, you
need to do a better job beneath your nails.

“Excellent,” she said when she checked all hands. “Now remember, tomorrow is head-lice examination day. Emily, are you listening? But let's start our day with the Pledge of Allegiance.” She turned toward the monitor list.

“Denny, it's your turn to lead us in the pledge. As we all know, Denny's father is with our troops in North Africa. So we know how important this is for him.”

Denny went up to the front of the class and in his high-pitched voice said, “Please stand for the pledge.”

Seats rattled as kids came to attention. Hands over hearts, they chanted,

Then the kids dropped down into their desks.

“Betty Wu, you're ink monitor today,” Miss Gossim said. “While you attend to that, I'll hand out the paper for our Monday math test.”

This Betty Wu had just come to America from China.
You could tell. I mean, she was really polite, always wanting to do the right thing.

Betty went to the back of the room, where she got the glass ink bottle with a steel spout on the top. Holding the bottle carefully, she went around the classroom filling each desk's inkwell. As she did, Miss Gossim passed out sheets of lined paper.

The kids took out their pens.

“We'll start with multiplication,” Miss Gossim said.

“Problem one.”

Suddenly the classroom door swung open. It was me, so soaked with black water I was a walking waterfall, leaving black floods all over the floor.

EVERYBODY STARED
at me. But I just stood there, dripping.

“Howie,” a startled Miss Gossim said, “is that you?”

“Yes, Miss Gossim.”

“What happened?”

I looked at her, hardly knowing what to say. I mean, I knew what was going to happen to her before she did.

“Don't you think we should clean you up?” she asked.

“Suppose,” I said.

Miss Gossim turned to the class. “I'll need a class monitor.”

The hands shot up again. “Me! Me! Miss Gossim, me!”

“Miriam Aresenik,” she said. “You can drill everyone in the twelve times tables.”

This Miriam—she was tall with red hair in tight braids—came up to the front of the class.

“Now Howie,” said Miss Gossim, “leave your lunch box and books here.”

Side by side—Miss Gossim keeping her distance—we walked along the hallway until we got to a closet, where she opened the door. The little room was full of mops, brooms, and brushes as well as this big zinc sink. Reaching in, Miss Gossim got some old rags and began to pat me down, starting with my face. As she worked on me, she knelt. I could smell her perfume. And I could see her eyes close up. They were really pretty.

“You were covered with black water when you walked in,” she said. “As if you just crawled out of a wet coal mine.
Now, Howie,” she asked kindly, “what
did
you do to become so filthy?”

I kept thinking about how she was going to be fired. “Wh . . . at?” I said.

“I said you looked as though you just crawled out of a mine. What happened?”

“I . . . I fell into a coal pile.”

“Weren't you looking where you were going?” she asked. I think she was trying to keep from laughing.

“I guess not,” I said, not knowing how to explain.

She stood up. “Now what do you want to do?” she asked. “Do you want to go home and fetch some dry clothes? Or come to class? It's still raining. Perhaps you'd rather sit by the radiator and dry off.”

“I want to stay,” I said, afraid she'd be gone and I'd never see her again.

“Good for you!” she said.

Side by side—closer this time—we went down the hall, heading for class.

I was still dripping, but I was trying to find a way to warn her about what was going to happen. “Miss . . . Miss Gossim,” I said a few times.

“Yes, Howie?”

I couldn't get it out. “Thanks for . . . rescuing me,” I said.

“You're quite welcome, Howie.”

“I know.”

Just as we reached the classroom door, she stopped. “Howie, I wish you'd tell me what happened.”

“I'm all right,” I got out.

She opened the classroom door and we walked in. The kids stared at us.

“Class, I'm afraid Howie got a little wet,” Miss Gossim said with a smile. “He needs to sit near the radiator to dry off.”

She took up the chair by her desk and carried it to the back of the room.

Grinning, I sat down by the radiator. It was hot and soothing.

Miss Gossim went back to the front of the room. “All right, class,” she said. “We were just starting the math test. Howie, now that you're here, I think we should start again. But it might be best if you took the test back there.”

My heart sank. I hadn't missed the math test after all.

“Denny, please take your friend paper and pen.”

As Denny handed me the paper, his peepers, behind his glasses, were asking me all these questions about what was
going on.

“Denny,” Miss Gossim called. “Return to your seat, please.”

Looking back at me over his shoulder, Denny did like he was told.

“All right, class,” Miss Gossim said, “what is five times eight?”

I scribbled 64.

WHEN THE MATH
test was done, Miss Gossim gave us a stretch time. In the scramble Denny came over.

“What's your story, morning glory?” he said. “How come you didn't meet me going to school?”

“My shoelace broke.”

“Horsefeathers,” he said. “How'd you get so wet and dirty?”

“Back to seats, please!” Miss Gossim called from the front of the room. “We have a very busy morning.”

“I'll tell you during recess,” I said.

“Let's take out our geography books,” Miss Gossim said. “We were on page forty-two. Argentina. The land of silver.”

I started for my desk.

“Howie, are you dry?” Miss Gossim called across the room.

I said, “My shorts is damp.”

The class laughed. So did Miss Gossim.

“Well,” she said with a big smile, “get your geography book, but stay near the heat.”

BY TEN-THIRTY
snack time I was still by the radiator, pretty well dried out except for my shoes. They were still a little squashy.

About then Miss Gossim checked the clock, set down her copy of our reader, and said, “Class, you may put your books away and fetch your snacks.” Then, all of a sudden, she said, “Oh! I completely forgot!”

We looked at her.

She went to the map of the world, which was on the side
wall. “We forgot to learn what's happening with our war families,” she said.

So, like she did every couple of days, she went round the class, asking each kid what their family was doing for the war.

Billy Wiggins said his father had gone into basic training in South Carolina.

“The Old South,” Miss Gossim said, and stuck a little paper American flag on the map.

Margaret Hillers said she thought her father was in England.

“That's Merry Old England,” Miss Gossim said with a laugh. “Then we have to move him there, don't we?” She shifted one of the little map flags from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and put it on the spot marked England.

She went through the whole class that way.

Now, there were kids who didn't have family in the service. Or overseas. Didn't matter. Miss Gossim made out like everyone was doing
something
. For instance, when Ronnie Estes said his mother was working at this office helping servicemen find missing families, Miss Gossim said that was
very
important and put a flag right on Brooklyn.

“Oh, my,” she said, when she'd got an answer from everyone in the room, “this war is so hard on so many.” Then she just stood there, staring at the map, as if
she
had family in the war. But the next moment she gave us that great smile of hers and dismissed us for morning snack.

Shoving our books away, we made a rush to the wardrobe. Before I got anywhere, Denny got me.

“You going to tell me what happened to you now?” he said.

“Sure.”

“So?”

“I was in a coal pile.”

“A
coal
pile?”

“Yeah.”

“Whata' you talking about?” he said.

“I was in someone's house,” I told him, not sure how much I wanted to explain.

“Whose?” Denny asked, like he was on the
Twenty Questions
radio show.

I stalled. “Hey, I need to get my snack.”

I got my stuff from where I'd dropped it up by the door. But when I opened my lunch box, my sandwich and graham-cracker snack—everything was black with coal dust.

I was still staring at my lunch box, trying to decide what to do, when the classroom door opened. It was Mrs. Partridge, the school secretary. She was this big happy woman. Little kids loved her because she hugged them a lot. Big kids hated her because she hugged them a lot too.

Except that time when she came in, she wasn't looking too happy. Seeing her, my heart sank. I knew what was going to happen.

“Hey, secret pact,” I heard Denny say. “You going to tell me what you did?” And he made this mysterious sign we had made up, which was pulling on his right earlobe. It was supposed to mean, “Remember, no secrets.”

I didn't answer. Cracking my knuckles, I was watching Mrs. Partridge go up to Miss Gossim.

The teacher was sipping a cup of hot tea, which she did during snack time. Kept it in a vacuum bottle. But seeing Mrs. Partridge, she stood up. There was this smile on her face. Like I told you, they were friends.

I couldn't hear what Mrs. Partridge said. She spoke too low. But the more she said, the more Miss Gossim's smile faded. A hand went to her heart. She even put her teacup down so quick that tea slopped out.

Clearing her throat, she turned to the class. “Attention,
children,” she called. She was trying to smile and use her bright voice. It didn't work.

“I have to run down to see Dr. Lomister for a moment,” she said. “Please take your snacks to your seats.”

The class did like she told them.

I hung back, not sure where I was supposed to go.

My being there must have caught Miss Gossim's eye. “Howie,” she said, “will you be class monitor? Class, take out your readers, and turn to chapter fourteen. Everyone will take turns reading out loud paragraph by paragraph. Howie—”

She opened the bottom drawer of her desk, took out her purse, and left the room with Mrs. Partridge.

We watched her go.

Now understand, I might have been the only one who knew what was happening, but the other kids were pretty quiet too. They were looking at each other for answers.

In her loud voice, Lucy Amaldi said, “Maybe her brother was killed in the war.”

Wasn't dumb. Three times that year kids in the school had been called to the office because of news like that from home.

Then Denny piped up and said, “She doesn't have a
brother.”

That took me by surprise. I didn't know that. And if Denny knew, how come he hadn't told me? I mean, what about our no-secrets pact?

“Maybe it was her father,” Marcus Sanders said from across the room.

“Her father died a long time ago,” Denny said.

“Or her sister?” someone said.

“She doesn't have a sister,” Denny told us.

“How come you're such an Abercrombie, knowing so much?” Willa DiSouza demanded.

I was thinking, Good question.

Denny said, “I just do.”

The stinker. I was wondering what else he knew. Maybe he knew Miss Gossim's first name too and hadn't told me.

Now, I admit, I could have said what was going on. Only I didn't want to say how come I knew. See, I liked thinking this was something only Miss Gossim and me knew. Understand? Private. Just between us.

Standing in front of her desk, I held up the textbook. “Chapter fourteen,” I said. “We're supposed to read.”

Denny gazed at me. From his look I could tell he knew I knew more than I was saying, and that my being late that
morning had something to do with what I knew. So, staring back, I pulled my right earlobe. Our signal. That way he knew I'd tell him more later. He gave back a pull on his earlobe and turned away.

“Tom Ewing,” I said, trying to sound like a teacher, “start reading.”

The class opened their books. In a singsong voice, Tom began to read:

It wasn't just boring, it was stupid, that kind of stuff for fifth grade. Even so, Tom and Mr. Brown kept right on going.