Nothing to Fear (8 page)

Mickey scowled. "Okay," he said, "in the morning then, but don't get any ideas about chickening out." He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

Maggie and Kitty were right inside the front door when I walked in. They were scrubbing the floors like they usually do on Friday nights. My face got all hot when I saw them.

"Well, well," said Maggie, "if it isn't the rat fink."

"Knock it off, Maggie," I told her. "You don't know how it is."

"Oh yeah? Why don't you tell me then?"

"Some other time."

"Hey. What happened to your face?"

"I fell."

"Yeah, I bet. Watch your dirty feet, huh? We just scrubbed those stairs. Why don't you take your shoes off?"

"Ah, go cook a radish." I bounded up the stairs
two at a time and looked back down when I got to the landing. Maggie and Kitty had already forgotten about me and were back to their usual gabbing and giggling. They sure beat that Tom Sawyer fella for making work look like fun.

I watched them for a minute. Mickey was right. Maggie sure doesn't look like one of the guys anymore. I sighed. Why do things have to change? It makes life so complicated.

Mama wasn't ironing when I walked in. All the linens were neatly folded and stacked, ready for me to deliver in the morning. Maureen was playing in the tub, and Mama was sitting at the table, writing a letter.

"Who're you writing to?" I asked her.

"Yer daddy," she said, without looking up.

"You've heard from him already!"

"No," said Mama, "but I'm writin' just the same."

"Where you gonna send it?"

"Wherever he is, if he stays put long enough. If not, I'll just be savin' it 'til he's home again."

That didn't make a lot of sense to me.

"What do you want to do that for?" I asked.

"Because I don't want him to be missin' anything while he's gone. Besides, it gives me comfort, Danny, to talk with him this way."

I nodded. "Tell him 'hi' for me," I said.

Mama smiled and looked up.

"Oh, Mother o' God," she said, "what've ya done to yer face?"

"It's nothing, Ma. Just a few scratches is all."

She got up out of her chair and came over and turned my face to the light.

"Aw, Danny," she said, "what happened?"

"Nothin', Ma. I fell, that's all."

"On yer face?"

"Yeah, on my face."

"Give me yer hands."

Reluctantly I put my hands into hers. She turned them over and looked at the palms.

"It's full of the blarney you are," she said, then she sighed. "Are you gonna tell me the truth now?"

I stared at the floor.

Mama dropped my hands and shook her head angrily.

"Stubborn," she said, "stubborn like a mule. It's a mold of yer father you are."

I grinned at her. "I guess I could do worse then, huh?"

Mama snorted. "Aye, and I can see you've got his smooth Garvey tongue as well. Come over here then and see if you can talk yer way out of
this
" She pushed the curtains under the sink aside and pulled out a brown bottle.

"Oh no, Ma, not the peroxide," I said. "Not on your life." I hopped around her and went over to the
tub and kissed Maureen on the top of her damp little head.

"Da," she said, holding her soppy wet arms up to me. I was about to grab her towel when I felt Ma's firm grip on my ear.

"Ouch, Ma. Cut that out."

"Never you mind," she said, steering me over to the sink.

"C'mon, Ma. Please?"

"Close yer eyes and tilt yer head to the side."

"But..."

There was another sharp tug on my ear.

"All right, all right." I gritted my teeth and waited. "Yee-ouch!" The medicine felt like a wire brush dragging across my raw skin. I pulled away, but Ma pulled me right back and went at it again.

"Sweet Jesus, Ma," I shouted. "Talk about being killed by the cure!"

"There," she said finally, handing me a towel. "That'll give ya something to think about next time yer tempted to go brawlin'. And don't let me catch ya takin' our Lord's name in vain again, or I'll wash out yer mouth as well."

She would, too. Ma may be little, but she's feisty. Maureen was staring at us with her mouth hanging open and her eyes bugged out. I guess she must've thought Ma was killing me or something. I took the towel and went over and scooped her out of the tub.

"Da's okay," I told her, "don't you worry." She was rosy red and steamy inside the towel. I rubbed
her dry, tickling her as I did and making her giggle. I pinned up her diaper, then slipped her into the nightgown and booties Ma had laid out for her. She looked like a cherub with her pink cheeks and little damp ringlets. I flew her around in the air and made her giggle some more. I caught a glimpse of Ma as I spun around. All the anger was gone from her eyes.

"Aye," she said, nodding with a smile on her lips, "a mold of your father to be sure."

I laughed, embarrassed, and brought Maureen in for a landing on the kitchen table. "What's for supper?" I asked. "I'm starving."

Ma's smile faded. "It'll be oatmeal again, I'm afraid."

I felt bad for asking. Of course it was oatmeal again. Ma had hidden our last three dollars in the sack she'd packed for Pa, so we'd been living on oatmeal and evaporated milk for days.

"Hey, that's okay. I like oatmeal," I said as cheerfully as I could. "Besides, tomorrow's payday."

Ma gave me a sheepish look.

"Ya must think me daft, packin' the whole three dollars like that."

It made me angry, her thinking that way. "Of course I don't," I told her. "Do you think I could swallow my supper knowing Pa had none? I only wish we'd had more to give."

Ma nodded and set out the bowls. She took the pot from the back of the stove and scooped out the pasty goo. There was sugar at legist, and the oatmeal
was warm and thick enough to fill up the cave in my stomach—for a little while, anyway. We were just finishing up when I noticed the end of a rag mop swishing back and forth outside our window.

"Mrs. Mahoney wants you, Ma," I said.

Mrs. Mahoney is the widow who lives upstairs. The thump, thump, thump, of her wooden leg overhead is as much a part of our lives as the rumble of the elevated train across the street.

Mama went over, raised the window, and stuck her head out.

"Aye, Rose?" she yelled.

"Come up for a cuppa tea," Mrs. Mahoney yelled back.

Mama smiled. She looked at me. "Do ya think you could tuck Maureen in?" she asked.

"Sure, Ma. Go ahead."

"I'll just be a minute, Rose," Mama called out the window again.

Mrs. Mahoney's kitchen is the gathering spot for all the women in the building. It's supposed to be a secret that the "tea" she serves in real china cups is actually homemade wine. But us kids all know, and we giggle behind our hands when our mothers come back downstairs smiling a bit too widely.

Wine and beer are illegal to buy, because of Prohibition. That's why lots of folks make their own. I guess that's not illegal, as long as they don't try to sell it. Besides, the cops are too busy chasing after all the big-time gangsters and bootleggers to worry
much about ordinary people like Mrs. Mahoney. Pa says there's an awful lot of hoodlums getting rich off Prohibition, and the sooner it ends the better.

Mama scurried around cleaning up the supper dishes, then she pulled off her apron and straightened the pins in her hair.

"Sure ya don't mind now?" she asked me.

"Not a bit, Ma."

"Don't be forgettin' yer bath then."

"Aw, Ma."

"Do as yer told now." She kissed Maureen goodnight and paused in the doorway. "I'll put the radio on for you," she said, flicking the knob. Kate Smith's voice filled the room. Ma stood still and listened, her gaze far away. When the song ended she shook her head in admiration. "Sure an' that girl can sing," she said.

"Not as good as you, Ma," I told her. "You could've been a singer on the radio."

Ma threw her head back and laughed—a laugh so full of music it sounded like someone running their hand down the keyboard of a piano.

"Aye," she said, "and I could've been the queen of England, too, if I'da married me the king."

I could still hear her laughing to herself as she climbed the stairs. I put the water on to boil for my bath while I tucked Maureen in, then I filled the tub.

I sure hate taking a bath. Not that I'm a slob or anything. It's just that our tub is right in the middle of the kitchen, and even though I pull the shades down and lock the door, I still feel naked to the world.
Once, a couple of years ago, Maggie walked right in while I was sitting there—nothing between her and me but a bar of soap. She never lets me forget it, either. I've grown up some since then, if you know what I mean. A bar of soap wouldn't be too much help anymore. We got a chain lock on the kitchen door now, but I still panic every time I hear footsteps in the hall.

I climbed in and went about my business as quickly as I could. "Amos 'n' Andy" came on the radio and had me laughin' in no time. They are the funniest guys. All of a sudden, in the middle of a laugh, this knock came on the door.

"Danny?" It was Maggie's voice. I sank down in the water.

"Danny? Want to come over and play Monopoly?"

I didn't answer. I wasn't about to let on that I was in the tub.

"Danny, I know you're in there. I heard you laughin'." Then there was a giggle. "Why aren't you answering?"

The next think I knew, I heard her key turning in the lock. The door opened a crack and then the chain stopped it. "D-a-n-n-y," came Maggie's singsongy voice. "Are you in the tub?"

I swallowed hard and stayed as still as death. The tub was out of the line of view of the crack, but still, Maggie Riley's eyes were staring into the very room that I was stark naked in. I never realized before that you could sweat underwater.

Saturday morning is usually slow shining shoes, but today was the worst. I stood out there next to Ike's newsstand for a solid hour and all I made was one lousy nickel. I think Ike must've felt sorry for me, 'cause just as I was packing up he asked me for a shine.

"Ah, you don't need one," I told him.

"Sure I do. Got a date with my girl tonight. Gotta look spiffy." He gave me a wink.

I didn't really believe him, but I wasn't about to argue too hard. After all, a nickel's a nickel, and they are gettin' harder and harder to come by.

I handed both nickels to Ma when I got home. "That's all I got," I apologized.

Ma looked at the two nickels, then handed them back to me. "You go to the movies," she said.

"I don't need 'em, Ma," I told her. "I'm already going to the movies. Mickey's payin'."

Ma looked at me strangely. "Why?" she asked.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later. I gotta get going."

"Well, you take this anyway," said Ma, pressing the money into my hand. "Buy you and Mickey a Baby Ruth. You deserve it."

"No kidding?"

Mama grinned and tousled my hair. "No kidding. Now off to Miss Emily's, and don't dawdle on the way."

I carried the linens downstairs, loaded them into my wagon, and headed over to Miss Emily's Hotel for Young Women. Sadie let me in the back door. She's the cook—a big colored lady with cheeks that shine like polished mahogany and eyes full of laughter.

"Mawnin', child," she said, giving me a wide, warm smile. "How y'all doin' this day?"

"Just fine, Sadie," I told her. I don't know how she stays so cheerful, working for the likes of Miss Emily. Miss Emily is as bony and cold as Sadie is round and warm.

The kitchen smelled of good things to eat. Beyond the swinging doors I could hear the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation. Sadie went to tell Miss Emily I was there. As I was bringing in the linens, a maid started carrying the finished plates out into the kitchen. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Some of them were hardly touched, still heaped with eggs, pancakes, biscuits, and thick slabs of ham. Just looking at them made my stomach growl and my mouth flood up with water.

Sadie bustled back in and caught me staring at the food.

"Ain't it a shame," she said, shaking her head. "These fine ladies always fussin' over their little bitty waistlines—eat like birds, the lot of 'em." Then she grinned and gave me a wink. "I keep tellin' 'em, a man likes a little flesh on a woman. Ain't that the truth?"

I felt myself blushing. "Yes, ma'am, I suppose so," I said. The next thing I knew, my eyes got pulled back to that food again. Jeez, that cave in my stomach was aching.

Sadie grabbed a big biscuit from one of the plates, split it open, spread it thick with butter, and loaded on two huge slabs of ham.

"Here," she said, holding it out to me. "Ain't no use lettin' good food go to waste."

My fingers itched to reach for it, but I held them still.

"I already had breakfast, thanks."

Sadie turned her head sideways and looked me up and down. "Lawd, child," she said, "don't look to me like you're in need of watchin' your weight." She pushed the biscuit into my hand.

I pushed it back. "Mama don't let me take charity," I said quietly.

"Charity! That what you think this is? That ain't what this is. This is soul savin'."

"Soul savin'?"

"Shore 'nuff. Ain't you ever heard that it's a sin to waste food?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well then. You'd just be savin' the souls of them fine ladies in there if you was to eat this up now, wouldn't you?"

I knew it was all a bunch of baloney, but I just couldn't hold out any longer. I took the biscuit and bit in. I thought for sure I'd died and gone to heaven. I'd never tasted anything so rich and good in my whole life. As hungry as I was, I chewed it slowly, pushing it around my mouth with my tongue, trying to get every last drop of flavor out before I swallowed it down.

Just then Miss Emily walked in. She glanced at me briefly, scowled, and looked away. She went over to Sadie and put a ten-dollar bill in her hand.

"I told you not to be giving handouts to these waifs," she said, not caring that I was standing right there. "It just makes them lazy and shiftless." Then she turned and marched out again without another glance in my direction.