Man in the Moon (3 page)

I woke up later that night, my body wet from sweat and my shorties sticking to me all over. I went into the kitchen for a drink of water. The house was still except for the creaking of the linoleum under my feet. I opened the icebox, letting the light pour out and the coolness wash over me. The water pitcher felt dewy and cold, and I drank right from it.

After closing the icebox door, I thought about Mr. Lunas, just on the other side of the wall, sleeping on the couch. I should have hurried on out of there, back to my bed, but I couldn’t help wanting another peek at that strange-looking fellow. As skinny as he was, I figured our couch just might swallow him up. Without making a sound . . . without taking a breath . . . without even blinking . . . I peeped around the kitchen door into the living room.

It was dark and still; not even a shadow was visible. But I could see the sheet folded up on the end of the couch, and the pillow still fluffed and untouched. Mr. Lunas wasn’t there.

I started having creepy notions that he was lurking right behind me, just like the Booger Man, but I glanced over my shoulder and that put my mind at ease. Now, where had that old skeleton gone?

I crossed to the living room window and looked out, thinking I might see him on the front porch, petting Buddy or something. I saw him all right, but it was the darnedest sight in the world. Mr. Lunas lay flat on his back on the ground, arms stretched out at his sides, legs sprawled open. Buddy lay next to him, breathing peacefully.

At first I thought Mr. Lunas must be dead, his eyes staring up at the sky, frozen and still. I was one clock-tick away from screaming my lungs out. Then I saw his hand move. He reached over and petted Buddy, and Buddy scootched in closer to him.

Those eyes. Those lifeless eyes were drinking in something from above. I squatted down to try to see what was up there that was so fascinating. All I saw was the moon, slim and trim as a toenail. I rushed out of there and got back to bed in a hurry. Sweat or no sweat, I covered up tight, my mind as tangled as a cobweb.

All sorts of notions ran through my brain. Why would a man stay up at night, looking plumb dead, yet happy at the same time? Mama says there’s no such thing as monsters, but I’m not so sure. I should have checked to see if he had fangs. Could Mr. Lunas be a vampire?

Phase Three—First Quarter

I
t turns out, Mr. Lunas wasn’t a vampire at all. I saw him walking around in the daylight, eating everything he could get his hands on. Mama said Daddy needed to find a job fast, just to support that old man’s appetite. He could really put it away!

I decided to avoid him. I still hadn’t gotten over him laying out on the ground at night, staring off into the sky like some lunatic. I took to propping a chair under my doorknob before bed, just in case he wasn’t in his right mind. I sure didn’t want him getting in.

It was easy to stay out of his way for the next few days. He spent the whole weekend following Daddy around. They drove off in the Chevy a lot, and late at night they sat behind the chicken coop, drinking beer. Of course they waited until Mama was asleep. She didn’t allow alcohol around the house, so Daddy had to sneak it whenever he could.

He’d put off looking for a job for nearly a week and couldn’t put it off anymore. He was gone when I went in for breakfast. Only Mama and Mr. Lunas sat at the kitchen table. Ricky was still in his room, snoozing.

“So what do you see in that teacup, Adele?” Mr. Lunas asked, his breakfast plate clean as a whistle.

Mama raised her eyebrows, but not her eyes. “James needs work. Ricky needs an operation. I need rest.” She didn’t say anything about me.
So what else is new?

Mr. Lunas gave off one of his glowing grins. “Do you really need tea leaves to tell you that?”

“You asked me what I saw in the cup, not what it tells me.”

Mr. Lunas crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “What does it
tell
you?”

Mama’s face grew dark and somber. “That something big is going to happen. Something we can’t avoid. It tells me that my family will be turned upside down and cattiwhompus. It’s big, Mr. Lunas. Real big—like the seven plagues in the Bible.” Mama caught me staring and shushed up real fast.

Mr. Lunas chuckled and pointed down into the cup. “I wouldn’t put much stock in what those tea leaves say, Adele.” Then he pointed to his heart. “This is what you need to be listening to.” He scooted away from the table and went out the back door.

Mama shook her head. “What I didn’t tell him was that the first plague would probably be famine. If that old coot keeps eating like he does, the rest of us are going to starve to death.”

Ricky dragged into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and scratching himself. “Mr. Lunas is getting fat,” he said, looking toward the back door.

“I wonder why!” Mama said, throwing her hands in the air. “Sit down and I’ll see if he left anything for you to eat.” She took the last honey muffin from the baking tin and handed it to Ricky with a bottle of white syrup. “Grab a plate,” she said, nodding toward me.

I did. She put the muffin on it and handed it to Ricky.
I sure hope Mr. Lunas is getting fat,
I thought, looking down at my toothpick legs and knotty knees.
’Cause he should get something good out of eating
my
breakfast.
Just then Mama pulled another tin of muffins out of the oven.

“I hid ’em,” she said, smiling at me.

Ricky mashed up his muffin with a fork and poured on a river of syrup. It looked like something that’d already been chewed and spit out. “Can I go outside today?”

Mama stopped for a minute, like she was considering it. “I think it’s just too hot out there. It ain’t ten o’clock yet and I bet you could already fry an egg on the sidewalk.”

“If we did, Mr. Lunas would just eat it,” I said.

Ricky laughed so hard muffin mush leaked out of his mouth.

“Stay inside today,” Mama said. “It’s too hot for both of you.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that. Unless, of course, Mr. Lunas decided to spend the day inside.

Ricky and I did stay in. We hid in our cave most of the day. It’s not a real cave. Just the narrow space under the piano. We played cards, and dinosaurs, and I Spy, and a bunch of other silly games that we made up ourselves—like sitting on the piano pedals to see if our butts could hold both of them down at once. After three tries, I almost did it, but I ended up with a sore heinie instead. We finally crawled out at three o’clock to watch afternoon cartoons.

We were sprawled on the living room floor when Mr. Lunas came in and sat on the couch. As he was getting fatter, his smile was getting fuller. “You kids been having a good day?”

I wanted to keep watching cartoons and not say anything. Pretend like we didn’t hear him. But Ricky rolled over and grinned. “Mr. Lunas! Are you going to watch cartoons with us?”

“Sure,” he said, crossing his legs.

I didn’t say a word. Instead I got up slowly, deciding I’d skip cartoons and sneak off to my room. As I passed by the couch, Mr. Lunas reached out and grabbed my arm. I froze on the spot, my guts turning upside down.

“You know, Janine,” he said, “you don’t have to be afraid. I won’t bite you.”

I sort of had the feeling that he really wouldn’t, but I still couldn’t get that vision out of my head: Him laying on the ground with that crazy look in his eyes, staring up at the sky. But why? Could Mr. Lunas have been a hobo who just liked sleeping outside? Or maybe it was too durned hot for him to sleep inside. Mama and Daddy sleep on the porch, and that’s kinda like outside. He must’ve had some good reason.

It took a lot of doing, but I forced myself to smile at him. “I’m just going to go help Mama shell peas.”

Darn!
Those words just shot out of my mouth without me thinking about them first. Now I was really mad at myself. But I kept my word and spent the afternoon shelling peas.

That night we sat under a half-moon, Daddy whistling and Mama fanning herself with a magazine. Ricky rolled a toy car around in the dirt, making zooming noises under his breath, while I got lost in a daydream about when I grow up to be a movie star. I could see myself on that big drive-in screen, while Cheryl and Debbie sat in a car watching me perform.

Mr. Lunas sat in the lawn chair with his head tilted back, Buddy at his feet. He told Mama he was working a kink out of his neck, but I knew better. His gaze was fixed on that velvet sky. The stars filled it like spilled diamonds, and although only half of the moon was showing, I could see the shadow of the other half, waiting its turn to shine.

“Can I have a go-cart?” Ricky asked, rolling his toy car over Daddy’s worn-out brown shoe.

Daddy held his sides and laughed like Milton Berle had just got pied in the face. “Son, as soon as I strike oil, I’ll get you that go-cart.”

Ricky flipped the toy over and rolled the wheels with his palm. “Can’t we use Green Stamps?”

“No!” Mama said sharply. “We need those Green Stamps for an emergency.”

Daddy winked. “Yeah, like an emergency bedspread or chicken fryer.”

Mama gave him a bitter look.

Mr. Lunas kept staring up, even as he spoke. “Ricky, a go-cart sounds like a fine vehicle.”

“Too fine,” Daddy said. “He might as well ask for a Cadillac.”

Ricky just slumped a little and murmured, “Zoom.” No oomph at all, just “zoom.” It’s a strange word to hear when there’s no meaning attached. Kind of like Ricky was saying it while falling down a well.

Just then a dog howled in the distance and both Buddy and Mr. Lunas perked up.

“I wonder what that crazy old hound’s howling about,” Daddy said, taking a sip of iced tea.

Mr. Lunas tapped on the arm of his chair. “Do you know why dogs bark at the moon?”

No one answered because he was looking at me. I had no choice but to speak up. “No sir, I don’t.”

“Because they’re smarter than people,” he said.

What a bunch of bullcorn! Dogs, smarter than people? Then why don’t dogs go to school or get jobs or drive cars? Why doesn’t Buddy sleep in the house while we sleep in the dirt? Why don’t dogs dip
themselves
in creosote to get rid of fleas? And I swear I’ve never once seen a dog open his own box of Gravy Train. Of course I didn’t say none of that. I simply asked, “How are dogs smarter than people?”

“Over the years, people have complicated their lives,” Mr. Lunas said, looking back up at the stars. “In their quest to better themselves, they’ve forgotten where they came from. How they got here, and why they came at all. They invented ink and paper and pens to keep track, but somewhere in the distant past, they lost all memory. Dogs don’t need history books. They know what’s important. They’re filled with memories of their early existence, from the most vicious wolf to the tamest poodle. They know something people don’t.”

Mama fanned herself harder and rolled her eyes at me. I guess she thought Mr. Lunas was a loony, too.

Daddy stretched. “Well, I may not be as smart as a dog, but I know when mosquitoes are winning a battle with my hide. I’m going in.”

We all gathered ourselves up and walked to the back porch. All except Mr. Lunas. He stretched his legs out in front of him like he was going to camp out in that chair. A breeze blew through, shaking the cornstalks. He closed his eyes and smiled like that sound was a fancy orchestra playing his favorite song. The whole business gave me the chills, even though it must have been eighty-five degrees outside. Mr. Lunas was the oddest fellow I’d ever met.

I didn’t bother propping a chair under my doorknob that night. I sat with the light out, looking through my bedroom window. I could see Mr. Lunas, still leaning back in the chair. Buddy would circle him a few times, put his front paws up on his lap, then go to circling him again, like he wanted his attention or was trying to tell him something. Mr. Lunas never looked down at Buddy. He’d just reach his hand out and rub Buddy’s fur. Buddy would pant and whine a little. He’d nudge at Mr. Lunas, like a puppy wanting to play. I’d never seen Buddy take to someone the way he did this silly-looking old man. Maybe it was because Mr. Lunas thought dogs were smarter than people and Buddy could sense that. Who knows? But I did know one thing for sure. If a dog likes somebody, he can’t be all
that
bad.

My eyes started drooping, so I crawled into bed. The night was too hot for covers. I lay there looking out the window at the fireflies with their little searchlights blinking. A million crickets sang through the pasture. A couple of June bugs bounced into the window screen, and just as I dozed off I heard something that froze my blood again. In the five years we’d owned Buddy, I’d heard him bark, growl, and whimper. But tonight he did something I’ve never heard him do. He howled at the moon.