Nothing to Fear (5 page)

I guess I somehow managed to fall asleep that way, because the next thing I knew I felt this thump in my side and I looked up and saw Pa standing over me with a surprised look on his face.

"Danny, what're you doin' on the floor, lad?"

I blinked and rubbed my eyes. I wasn't too sure myself, to tell the truth. I had this vague feeling, though, that something was wrong. Then I remembered.

I looked at Pa. He had on his overcoat, his wool cap, and the scarf Ma had made him last Christmas.

"You're leavin', Pa," I said. I meant it to sound like a question, but it came out like a statement, flat and hopeless.

Pa's eyes were sorrowful. He held a hand out to me.

"You were listenin' last night," he said.

I nodded and took his hand, and he pulled me slowly to my feet. Boy, was I stiff and sore. Now I know what Mrs. Mahoney upstairs means when she complains about her rheumatism.

"Yer shiverin'," said Pa. He led me over to the bed, sat me down, and wrapped my blanket around me.

"What d'ya mean, sleeping on the floor like that?" he scolded. "You'll catch your death—"

"You're going away, Pa," I said again.

Pa sighed and put his arm around my shoulders.

"I got to, Danny. I got to find work."

I remembered all the times when I was small and I would have a nightmare and cry out in the dark, and the next thing I knew, Pa would be by my side. "It's okay, Danny," he would always say. "I'm here." And it was okay, because he was.

"I don't want you to go," I said.

"I don't want to go either, Danny. But I got to." He clapped me on the knee. "Get yerself dressed and you can walk with me a ways."

I put my head down. "Okay," I whispered.

Maureen woke up and yelled and Pa went to get her. I dressed quickly and followed them out into the kitchen. Ma was very quiet. Her eyes were puffy.

"Danny'll be walkin' with me a ways," Pa told her.

"Not 'til he's had some breakfast, he won't."

"Aw, Ma."

"Yer Ma's right," said Pa. "A lad needs his breakfast. There's time."

There wasn't
much
time, if I was going to do my shoe shining and still make it to school. I wolfed down my oatmeal in about three gulps, then I jumped up and grabbed my cap. "I'm ready," I said, my mouth still full.

Pa got up and turned to face Mama. "Well," he said.

"Well," said Mama in return.

Pa kissed Maureen and handed her to me, then he pulled Mama into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips. When the kiss was over they looked into each other's eyes.

"Smile for me," said Pa.

Ma's chin quivered, and her eyes were watery, but she managed to curl the corners of her mouth up just a little.

"That's my girl," said Pa, playfully pulling at her chin. "You just keep smilin', and I'll be back before ya know I'm gone."

He picked up the little sack of belongings Ma had put together for him and motioned me to come. "And don't forget yer shoeshine box," he told me. "Yer ma's countin' on that money."

I handed Maureen back to Ma and picked up my box.

"Not too far now," Mama warned. "I don't want you to be late fer school."

"I won't," I promised.

Pa pulled the door open and a furrow creased Mama's brow. "Daniel," she called suddenly.

Pa turned back to look at her. "Aye?"

Ma leaned forward a moment, her mouth open as if to speak, then she shrank back and shook her head.

"Just ... God be with you."

"And with you, love," said Pa, winking and throwing her a kiss.

It was a dreary day, not raining yet, but gray and threatening. We walked to the corner and looked back. Two heads were pressed against our front-room window, one small, one larger. Pa raised his hand and threw another kiss, then we turned up 107th.

The city was quiet. The pushcarts weren't even out yet, and a cop was just making his way up the street, rousting the sleeping bums out of doorways and alleys.

The window in Mr. Weissman's store was shiny and new again like nothing had ever happened. Pa walked by without a sideways glance.

Saying I'm sorry to Pa has always been hard for me. It's a lot easier with Ma somehow. With Pa the words just seem to stick in my throat. The business of last night was still unfinished between us, though, and I couldn't let him leave that way.

"Pa?" I said, my voice cracking a little as I hurried to keep up with him.

Pa didn't answer. His mind seemed somewhere else.

"Pa," I said again, a little louder.

"Huh? Oh, aye, Danny, what is it, lad?"

"I ... uh ... I'm real sorry about last night."

Pa nodded and his brows came together. "I know ya are, Danny, but promise me you'll steer clear o' them Sullivan boys while I'm gone."

"What do you mean, Pa?" I asked, pretending I didn't know what he was talking about.

"Enough with the games, Danny," said Pa. "We both know what I'm talkin' about. I'll be countin' on you to look after things while I'm gone. It's a man's job, and I need to know I can trust you with it."

My chest swelled up some at that. "Don't you worry," I told him. "I'll take care of everything. I'll make you real proud of me. I promise."

Pa smiled and clapped me on the back.

"Sure an' I know you will, lad."

We reached Fifth Avenue and Pa stopped. "You'd better get back now, Danny. See if you can pick up a few cents fer your ma before school."

I looked down at the sidewalk. It seemed like the day was suddenly growing darker.

"How long do you think it'll be, Pa?" I asked.

"Whatever it takes. I won't come home without a job."

I looked up. "You'll be coming home for Thanksgiving, at least?"

"I'll try my best," was all he said.

"Where will you go?"

"Don't know that either. I'll just be walkin' and askin', followin' up leads 'til I find somethin' Might catch a train here and there if need be."

"Be careful, Pa."

"Don't you worry 'bout me, Danny."

Pa grabbed me around the shoulders and pulled me to his chest. I clung to him desperately for that moment, fighting back tears. I wanted to cry like a baby and beg him not to go, but I knew I had to put such thoughts behind me now. When he let me go I sniffed back the tears and stood tall and straight.

"Take care of our girls, Danny," he said.

"I will, Pa."

"Good-bye, lad."

"Good-bye, Pa."

He turned and walked up Fifth and I watched him until he crossed over and disappeared from view, heading west on 110th.

A big raindrop spattered down and made a dark spot on the sidewalk, then another, and another.

Oh, Pa,
I thought.
You didn't even take an umbrella.

Most days I don't mind shining shoes in the morning. I like to see the city waking up, the milk wagon making its rounds, the merchants opening their stores and sweeping their sidewalks, the horses coming through the tunnels from the stables on the other side, pulling the fruit and vegetable wagons. I was in a play at school last year, and that's what it reminds me of, being backstage before the curtain goes up.

Today, though, everything seemed dark and lonely. The rain was cold, and a wind came up and drove it into my face like icy needles. It was too wet to set up at my usual spot near Ike's newsstand, so I ducked inside the nearest subway entrance and set up there.

"Shoeshine, mister? Shoeshine?" I called out as the men began to filter in. Most of them ignored me, shuffling by with their heads tucked down inside their collars. Finally, one of them turned aside.

"How much?" he asked.

"Five cents," I told him.

He shook his head and started to walk away.

"Three cents?" I said hurriedly.

He paused and seemed to mull it over and over, like it was the biggest decision of his life. "How about two cents?" he offered.

I shrugged. "Okay."

The man put his foot up on the box and I did the best I could. The shoe was so worn it was hard to bring up a shine. Then he put the other foot up. I stared at it.

"Hey, mister," I said. "Do you know you got two different color shoes on?"

The man told me to shush and looked around sharply like he was embarrassed that someone might have heard.

"Of course I know it," he grumbled under his breath. "Just put some black polish on the brown one and try to make it look like the other. I got a job interview downtown."

"Yes, sir," I said. I gobbed black polish all over the shoe and rubbed it in as hard as I could. It worked pretty good. As long as the guy didn't cross his legs under anybody's nose, I guessed he might get away with it. It really wasn't such a big deal anyway. You see men wearing all kinds of mixed-up things these days—jackets that don't match their pants, suits that are too big or too small, patches all over everything.

"Thanks," he told me, handing me my two cents.

I nodded. "Good luck with your interview."

"Thanks. I'll need it. I gotta beat out about a hundred other guys."

"Whew," I said. "What's the job?"

"Shoe salesman."

I laughed. "Tell 'em you'll be your own first customer," I said.

He laughed, too. "Not bad, kid," he said. "I just might."

He hurried off and I watched the door for some other likely customers. At last a couple of spiffy-looking drugstore cowboys walked in, all decked out in their raccoon coats and slouch hats.

"Shoeshine, fellas?" I called out. "Regular five cents, on sale—two for a dime."

They looked at each other and laughed and started to walk over when suddenly I heard a shout.

"Hey you, kid!"

A rough-looking character was coming through the doors. He had a shoeshine box slung over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here? This is my territory. Get lost!"

I wasn't about to argue with someone twice my size and as old as my father. Besides, it was almost time for school anyway. I picked up my stuff and made a beeline for the door.

"I see you around here again, I'll break your legs," the tough shouted after me.

Jeez,
I thought,
shining shoes is getting to be dangerous.

Mama had my books all ready for me when I got home. She frowned when she saw my wet hat and coat.

"Rainin' hard?" she asked.

"Yeah. Windy, too."

A shadow darkened her eyes.

"Don't worry, Mama," I said, "he won't melt."

She looked at me and smiled a little.

"No, I s'pose not."

"He'll be back real soon," I said, trying to make myself believe it, as well as her.

She nodded and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Sure an' he will. Off with you now."

I hurried out the door and down the stairs. Mickey Crowley was waiting for me in the front hall. Mickey is fourteen and a head taller than me, but we're both in the same grade 'cause Mickey started school a year late.

"Hi, Danny," he called, looking over my shoulder back up the stairs.

I grinned at him. "Didn't she come down yet?"

Mickey turned red. "Who?"

"Kitty Riley. I know that's who you're looking for."

Mickey gave me a swat on the arm. "Aw, g'wan," he said, "just 'cause you're stuck on Maggie."

"Maggie?" I laughed. "You're full of applesauce, Mickey. Maggie's just like one of the guys."

There was a clamoring overhead and the Rileys came scrambling down the stairs, all except for Dotty and Marion. They're still too little to go to school. Johnny, Alice, Winnie, Florence, and Agnes are still in grammar school, but Kitty and Maggie, who are
twins and the same age as me, go to the girls' junior high up on 111th. Kitty and Maggie are real twins—the kind that look alike, not the other kind, like Frank and Harry Sullivan. When they were little I used to mix them up a lot, but Maggie's taller now, and a little bit prettier, I think. Johnny's the only boy, poor kid. He'll be lucky if he doesn't turn out to be a sissy, living with eight sisters.

Kitty hung back a little when she saw us and gave Mickey a shy smile, but Maggie, as usual, came charging right over.

"Hey, Danny," she shouted. "What'd you do yesterday?"

"What do you mean, what did I do?"

"What did Finnegan nab you for?"

"None of your business."

"Aw c'mon, don't be like that."

I could see she was going to needle me until she got an answer, so I figured I might as well get it over with.

"Well, it wasn't my fault, but somehow a window got broken over at Weissman's and the penny jar got stolen."

Maggie's eyes narrowed. "That's lousy," she snapped. "I had a guess in on those pennies."

"So did I," I snapped. "I told you it wasn't my fault."

Maggie looked skeptical. "What'd your pa do?" she asked.

"He fixed it."

"I mean what'd he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"No kidding?" She sounded disappointed. "He didn't beat you or anything?"

"Nope."

Maggie shook her head like that was the strangest thing she'd ever heard. "Oh well," she said, "gotta go." She grabbed Kitty's hand and pulled her past Mickey.

We followed them out onto the stoop. "You little ones take the umbrella," Maggie told her sisters and brother. "Agnes, you hold it 'cause you're the tallest."

Ten-year-old Agnes took the umbrella and the others huddled around her like a bunch of baby chicks.

"Would you guys walk them through the tunnel?" Maggie asked us. "You know how it is on a rainy day."

She was talking about the 106th Street tunnel that the kids had to go through to get to school. All the tunnels that run under the train tracks over to the other side of Park Avenue are usually full of bums trying to stay dry on a day like today. It was out of our way to go through the tunnel and I was about to say so, when Mickey piped right up and said "Sure!" like she'd offered him a free licorice whip or something. Lately I can't figure him out.

Maggie told him thanks and gave him a big smile. Then she and Kitty opened a couple of sheets of newspaper over their heads and headed off up the avenue. Mickey and I watched them struggling against the wind, their skirts whipping around their knees. Mickey nudged me in the ribs.