I and Sproggy (7 page)

He and Adam shook hands. Adam thought he should've known Charlie wasn't the kind of guy who stayed sore. People who stayed sore a long time weren't as nice as those who made up with no hard feelings. It was something to remember, he told himself. He was glad to be friends with Charlie again. He wasn't sure about the demon, though. He himself had a tendency to stay mad. He'd better get to work on that.

“Me and my wife Millie are signing up for our night courses,” Charlie said. “I'm taking art history, modern literature”—he ticked off on his fingers—“and French. When I get so's I can parlez-vous like a native, I'm taking Millie out to a fancy French restaurant and ordering from that menu like I been doing it all my life. Now Millie, she's taking math—she's the checkbook balancer in our house—and play writing. If you hit it right, there's a lot of money in playwriting, Millie says. We start school next week.”

Adam sat down on the steps and watched while Charlie swooshed his mop around.

“I just finished a very interesting story in a magazine,” he told Charlie. “About some kids who dug up a mess of gold coins worth a fortune, maybe. Those dumb kids took the stuff to the authorities, and they said the coins might be old pirates' loot. Think of that. Pirates' loot.”

Charlie's face grew still the way it did when he listened hard. He pushed his mop around slower and slower until it and he came to a standstill.

“Then you know what happened?” Adam said.

Charlie shook his head, waiting.

“They told them the gold was so old it must've been buried hundreds of years ago, and therefore”—Adam paused dramatically—“therefore the whole lot belonged to the state. Probably if they'd been new coins they would have said they belonged to the city or something. You can't win. You absolutely can't win. Those guys could be instant millionaires, and they don't even get one lousy gold coin as a souvenir. I understand they got a letter from the police chief complimenting them on their honesty. Boy, if it'd been me, I would've sued.”

Charlie thought a minute. “If it'd been me,” he said dreamily, “I woulda taken the money and run. To the South Seas. Me and Millie always wanted to go to the islands, go snorkeling, eat some flying fish, wear a couple of grass skirts, all like that. In my next life, or if I should by chance win the lottery, that's what me and Millie are going to do. Lie in the sun, take a little nourishment, rest our bones.”

“Sounds boring,” Adam said.

“Wait'll you're my age, you won't think so,” Charlie said. “You get a different perspective on life as you approach your sunset years. Not that I'm getting close, you understand,” he added hastily. “I got a few good years left. Actually, I'm in my prime right now.”

“What's your prime?” Adam asked.

After a moment's consideration Charlie said, “It's whatever age you happen to be at the moment. You're in your prime; me and Millie, we're in ours and expect to remain there for many years to come. Once you pass thirty,” he said, “you realize you're not immortal.” Charlie started to push his mop around again. “The longer you live,” he told Adam, “the more you realize that the bread you cast upon the waters comes home to roost. If you get my meaning. If you're nice to your step-sis now when she needs it, someday she'll do you a good turn. One good turn deserves another. And you'll feel good inside, Adam. That's important. You got to treat each day like it was your last. You wake up in the morning with all your buttons, your heart still going, able to put one foot in front of the other, count your blessings. You're able to do a good deed, enjoy life, you're still among the living, you're ahead of the game. That's my philosophy.”

“My philosophy is,” Adam began, not sure of what he was going to say next, “my philosophy is …”

He stared intently at a point just over Charlie's head, trying to look as if his brain were working overtime, as if he were thinking deep thoughts. He had perfected this last year while in fifth grade. He felt it did a great deal to stop his teacher from calling on him to recite because she didn't want to interrupt a great mind at work. But his teacher had been around awhile. She was no dummy. Sometimes she let him get away with his act, sometimes not.

“I haven't got all day,” Charlie said. “What's your philosophy?”

“It's that … my philosophy is,” Adam said, gaining speed, sure now of what he was going to say, “that kindness counts. I think I might become an humanitarian.”

“Sounds good,” Charlie said. “What is it?”

“A person who does good in the world,” Adam explained. “A guy who runs around improving the welfare and happiness of mankind. I looked it up in the dictionary. There was a story in the paper last week about a kid who delivered groceries to an old feeble lady in a third-floor walk-up, and she never even gave him a tip. But he kept delivering and being nice to her. Then she died and left him a bundle. A bunch of dough. Because he was kind to her, she said in a note. How do you like that?”

“Sounds like bread cast upon the waters to me,” Charlie said.

“But I wouldn't forget my old friends,” he told Charlie. “No matter how important I became, how many times my picture was on TV, I'd remember all my old buddies. You and Kenny and Steve Skully. And even Sproggy.” He smiled at Charlie, who looked dubious.

“Listen, kid, I wish you nothing but good luck,” Charlie said. “Whatever field you choose, I'll tell folks I knew you when. And it gladdens my heart to hear you include Sproggy in your list of never-to-be-forgotten old buddies. You're a good man, Adam. However, the time has come when the super is going to come around checking on me, and I better say farewell and buckle down.”

Adam sat wrapped in a glow of well-being.

“You'll never guess what happened,” Sproggy said, bursting into the lobby. “We've decided what kind of club to have. Kenny and I and Steve decided, and I came to let you know.”

The glow began to fade, gently, gradually, but fade.

“You're in the club now?” Adam said.

“Oh, yes.” Sproggy smiled. “They told me I might join if I paid my dues.”

“What kind of club did you decide to have?” Adam said after a minute.

“A chess club,” Sproggy announced.

“That lets me out.” Adam's glow had gone completely. “I can't play chess.”

“Oh, none of us is really good at it,” she said. “But we can learn. It's really great fun.”

Adam stood up. “I've got stuff to do,” he said. “There's just one thing. How much dues did Kenny charge you?”

“It's really very reasonable, I think,” Sproggy said. “He said I might join and the dues would be a quarter a week.”

Adam put his hands in his pockets and walked in slow motion to the street and toward the river where he could watch the boats fight their way upstream against insuperable odds.

CHAPTER 11

I don't care, Adam thought. He'd lain awake a long time last night telling himself that. I don't care if they made it into a chess club without even asking me. I don't care if they took in a girl. And I don't even care if the girl is Sproggy. He waited for the traffic light to change. Even if they did take her to the cleaner's and charge her a quarter dues. A quarter for joining a stupid dumb club like that one.

He kicked out furiously at a tree. The numbing pain in his big toe made him fiercely glad. Maybe he'd broken his toe. He'd have to have a big cast on it and wouldn't be able to put on his shoe over the cast and might not even have to go to school next week. The trouble with that was that he was looking forward to the opening of school. The first few days were always exhilarating, seeing old friends, getting used to a new teacher, a new classroom. If only school could always be like the opening days, everything would be fine.

Adam stopped at a produce store with a large display of fruits out on the sidewalk.

“I'm looking for some old grapes,” he told the owner. “For a parrot.”

“You came to the right place,” the man said. His eyes were so tiny that Adam didn't think he could see very much out of them. Apparently he could. He took Adam to the back of the store. “Just what you're looking for,” he said.

“They look very old to me,” Adam said, examining the lot. Even for Burton they looked very beat-up.

“I guarantee their age,” the man said. “I'm practically giving them away. They're a real steal.”

Adam sniffed and made a face. “You're sure they won't poison anyone?” he said. He wouldn't have minded poisoning Burton in the least, but it occurred to him that Mr. Early might.

“Poison? What's poison?” the man said, wringing his hands at the mere suggestion that he might sell poisoned goods. “You think I could stay in business at the same location twenty-three going on twenty-four years if I sold poisoned goods? Think again. They're a little tired is all. You expect perfection at those prices?”

He had a point. Adam bought the grapes. Using the key Mr. Early had given him, he let himself into the empty apartment. Like a seasoned cat burglar, he tiptoed into the kitchen. The refrigerator was first on his list. Mr. Early was a light eater. Nothing inside but a wizened apple and a lemon with part of its skin gone.

“Oh, no! Not that kid again!” Burton hollered as Adam tiptoed through the living room. That blasted bird was a better watch dog than Rosalie by a long shot. Adam thumbed his nose at Burton and continued into the bedroom.

Mr. Early's closet yielded no valuable camera, no binoculars in a leather case, nothing that a fence downtown would take off Adam's hands at a fat price. The bathroom cabinet was another disappointment. No drugs other than aspirin. He was tempted to dissolve an Alka-Seltzer tablet in a glass of water just to see the bubbles but decided against it. He went into the bedroom, lay down on the floor, and peered underneath the bed. No safe-deposit box hidden there. Nothing but a button and a discarded sock.

So much for his brief career as a cat burglar. He was obviously not destined for a profitable life of crime.

“There you are, Burton baby.” Adam dished out some of the grapes into the parrot's dish. “Eat up. It's on the house.”

Burton stared stonily at the display, his beady black eyes fixed on Adam. Then he turned on his perch so he was facing the wall, his hunched shoulders heaving with hate.

Whistling, Adam went to the kitchen to fetch water. When he returned, there was a large, untidy pile of grapes on the floor.

“You better watch it, you better behave, Burton, or you won't get anything more to eat from me,” Adam warned. “You better be nice.”

The bell rang. If that's her, she's not getting in, Adam thought. He had come to the conclusion that wherever he was, Sproggy would run him to earth.
She is not getting in
.

“Open up in the name of the law!” a voice cried. “I have a search warrant!”

Oh, my gosh. I didn't mean anything. I was only pretending. Adam prepared his speech. I didn't take anything. Search me if you want. I'm clean. He looked through the peephole, expecting the boys in blue. It was terrible, having a guilty conscience. Kenny stood there, Steve behind him. Both were grinning.

“What do you want, creepola?” Adam asked, opening up.

“Nothing. Your mother said you were here. We wanted to case the joint. I never saw a parrot out of a pet store,” Kenny said. “I always wanted to get a close look at their feet.”

“Their feet? What's special about them?”

“He's only got four toes, coming and going,” Kenny said. “I read about them in an encyclopedia.”

They all peered intently at Burton's feet. It didn't seem to bother him. He cast a look at them over his shoulder so black and fierce that Kenny shivered.

“Man,” he said, “I wouldn't want to meet him in an alley on a dark night. Can he talk?”

“When he feels like it,” Adam said. “He threw his dinner on the floor. We'd better pick it up.”

“You're the one that's making the bread from this job,” Steve pointed out. “You pick it up.”

Burton turned and regarded Steve and Kenny in a more friendly fashion.

“Hey, Burton,” Kenny said, “give us a few words. A few words for the listening audience.”

“You pick it up!” Burton shrieked. He was warming up fast. “You pick it up!”

“If I had any Scotch tape, I'd wrap his whole head in it,” Adam said.

“I wouldn't try it,” Steve cautioned. “He looks like he might bite your hand off.”

“And enjoy doing it,” Kenny added.

Burton strutted back and forth on his perch. His proud yellow head was magnificent, his feathers shiny, his insolence enormous. He was clearly enjoying himself.

“My father said parrots live to be about a hundred years old,” Steve said. “They outlive most people. Just think. If you take real good care of this here bird, he'll be alive and kicking when you and me and Kenny are six feet under. It makes you stop and think, doesn't it?”

“Six feet under,” Burton caroled joyously. “Six feet under.”

“Speak for yourself,” Adam said sourly. “I'm planning on sticking around a lot longer than this moldy character.” He wasn't going to mention the club. He figured he'd wait until one of them brought it up.

Kenny studied Burton closely. “I don't know,” he said. “This guy looks like he's good for a long time. It must be boring, though, just sitting there. In the long run, I think human beings have a pretty good deal.” For one moment Kenny forgot to be pessimistic. “I mean, they get to go places, eat out, watch TV, stuff like that.” He ran out of enjoyable things human beings did. “Is there anything to eat in this joint?” he asked.

“Listen,” Adam said sternly, “you just don't go into a strange apartment and help yourself to stuff. I'm being paid to parrot-sit, not to raid the refrigerator. Besides, there's nothing there but an apple and a bald lemon.”