Paperboy (8 page)

I s-s-s-s-know about Jason and the s-s-s-s-A … and his gang.

There had been a story in
My Weekly Reader
called “The Golden Fleece” about Jason and the Argonauts who lived a long time ago trying to find a sheep with its wool made out of gold.

Good for you, Young Messenger.

s-s-s-s-Can I ask … was s-s-s-s-Jason real?

If you are asking if the story of Jason and the Argonauts is fiction or nonfiction, I will answer that there is no difference between the two in the world I inhabit. Therefore the question does not have a valid answer.

I felt like I was falling off a cliff and trying to grab for tree limbs or anything to slow me down like cowboys do in television shows.

s-s-s-s-But fiction is a story and s-s-s-s-nonfiction is the s-s-s-s-truth.

And I reply that you are referring merely to the rule of law. I contend that one is likely to find more truth in fiction. A good painting after all is more truthful than a photograph. Remember that, Young Messenger, for all your days.

I kept his words rolling around in my head until I was sure I had everything put away in the right place.

We’ll have plenty of time to explore your queries at a later date but let’s drop our sails for now.

One s-s-s-s-more question s-s-s-s-today. Do you s-s-s-s-know about s-s-s-s-Demosthe-s-s-s-s-nes?

I had wanted to say that name out loud ever since I had read in
My Weekly Reader
about this guy who lived a long time ago and had to put pebbles in his mouth to keep from stuttering.

Mr. Spiro smiled another kind of smile and then his head went back and he laughed a real honest-to-goodness laugh for the first time. It was a loud laugh. Almost like one of Mam’s field whoops that she used to call me from my room.

Yes. But I suggest you not try putting pebbles in your mouth. You might accidentally swallow one.

Too late I wanted to tell him. I had already swallowed two of my shootin’ marbles trying to copy Demosthenes. It might have worked a long time ago but not anymore. At least not with shootin’ marbles.

Mr. Spiro started back into his house.

Thanks for your excellent service and good conversation, my young Candide. We have a date next Friday when we will continue to cultivate our garden.

He closed the door.

I had just finished the first official conversation I had ever had with a grown-up stranger. But Mr. Spiro didn’t feel like a stranger to me anymore. He had said things that would keep me busy thinking all week and then I could come back for more next Friday.

Mr. Spiro had talked about his world. I wanted to know more about what was in it because he knew so much about my world. Bob Feller and Ryne Duren and Mr. Candide.

I needed to remember to ask Mr. Spiro who the Candide guy pitched for.

I was anxious to get to Mrs. Worthington’s house to see if my good luck would hold out. I couldn’t beat two conversations in a single day with two strangers that I liked.

I pulled up on my bike at Mrs. Worthington’s house right on time. I would be able to get the collections over to Rat’s house before dark.

Mr. Worthington’s black car was in the driveway and not the blue Ford that belonged to Greaser Charles. A good thing. I leaned my bike on the edge of the porch and ran up the steps. I heard shouting but I rang the bell anyway. The door jerked open. Mr. Worthington in a long-sleeved white shirt and blue necktie was sweating and red in the face like he had been doing push-ups in PE class.

Whaddya want?

The question surprised me along with the way he said it but I wasn’t going to let anything twist me around. I had a trick I had been
saving. Instead of trying to say
paperboy
I would use the second name of the newspaper that started with a good sound.

Scimitar
.

I liked that word. There was a picture in my dictionary showing the scimitar to be a mean-looking curved sword. When I said the word the air came out of my mouth like the sound a sword would make if you sliced the wind with it.

Come back next week.

He started to close the door.

You owe s-s-s-s-two weeks.

The words came out of my mouth not sounding like my words because it was the first time I ever came close to talking back to a grown-up. And I didn’t even stutter much. My right hand was opening and closing trying to find my scimitar again.

I told you to get lost, kid. I mean it.

The glass in the door rattled when he slammed it.

I didn’t see this coming. I had never talked much to Mr. Worthington but I had seen him around and he had always seemed a nice enough guy. He cut his own yard with one of those push mowers that Ara T charged two dollars to sharpen. I got out the collection book to put a zero for the second time for 1396 Harbert when I heard glass breaking in the house. Then more yelling. It was Mr. Worthington.

Get your drunk ass up to the bathtub.

I’m not drunk … I’m shick of looking at you.

The voice was Mrs. Worthington’s with her whiskey talking.

Every day I come home you’re sot drunk. I’m tired of—

Mrs. Worthington interrupted Mr. Worthington by yelling louder than he was yelling.

You never come home when I need you. How …?

Then something else crashed in the house that sounded like a piece of furniture being smashed. More glass broke and I could hear things rolling around on hardwood floors. More yelling. I backed off the porch and straddled my bike and headed for Rat’s house. Lickety-split.

Mrs. Worthington was in trouble again like that time on the swing but I didn’t have the first clue how to help her. Part of me wanted to go back and ring the doorbell again with my make-believe sword but the stuttering part of me said to ride away. That was the part I usually listened to.

I wished Rat were around to talk about what to do. Rat liked to say that two heads were better than one.

The best I could do was get away from Mrs. Worthington’s as fast as I could. Running away is what I should call it. I pedaled my bike as fast as I could down Harbert. I turned the corner at Melrose and made a car swerve away from me. The driver honked the horn but I didn’t look back. I pedaled until my sides hurt and there was no more air left inside of me.

Rat’s mother came to the door.

How did collecting go tonight?

s-s-s-s-Fine … s-s-s-s-not fine.

Rat’s mother looked at me like she was going to ask another question but she had been around me enough to know to let some of my words fall without picking them up. She knew she would need to do most of the talking.

We talked to Art last night. He’s having a good time at his grandparents’ and he’s glad you’re taking such good care of his route for him.

I didn’t want to talk to Rat’s mother about the route and especially didn’t want to talk about what a good time Rat was having. He wasn’t here and I was left to sort out a bunch of new feelings by myself. Ara T. Mrs. Worthington. Mr. Spiro. All were taking over my world in their own way. A world that Rat wasn’t a part of because he was living it up on the farm. I gave Rat’s mother the money I had collected.

s-s-s-s-Glad he’s having a s-s-s-s-good time. See you s-s-s-s-n.…

I didn’t feel like trying to finish my sentence because I was disguising what I really wanted to say like Mr. Voltaire had talked about. Rat’s mother helped me out by smiling and closing the door.

When I turned onto my block I saw both of my parents’ cars in the driveway and remembered that my mother had said they weren’t going out Friday night and that the three of us were going to have a late supper at home.

I got off my bike and walked it to the garage. As I eased up the stairs I could hear Mam singing. She sang church songs mostly when there was someone around but I had heard her sing what she called Rounds when she thought she was by herself. I sat down at the top of the stairs to listen.

I went downtown to get my grip

I came back home just a pullin’ the skiff

Just a pullin’ the skiff

I went upstairs to make my bed

I made a mistake and I bumped my head

Just a pullin’ the skiff

Just a pullin’ the skiff

I went downstairs to milk my cow

I made a mistake and I milked that sow

Just a pullin’ the skiff

Just a pullin’ the skiff

Tomorrow tomorrow

Tomorrow never comes

Tomorrow tomorrow

Tomorrow’s in the barn
.

At least Mam was happy enough to sing. I knocked my special knock.

Get on back to the house, Little Man. You know yo’ mammy and pappy’s home. I fried you some chicken for dinner and they’s waiting.

I didn’t feel like trying to say anything. I knocked again. She opened the door.

All right. Get in here quick and tell me about paper collectin’.

Mam had a pile of my father’s new white shirts by her chair. She had been cutting off the top buttons and sewing them back on by putting a little fork in between the button and the shirt. My father paid her extra to do this to all his new shirts because it made them easier to button at the neck. He said nobody could sew on a button like Mam. Not only could she sew better than anybody but she could do it with either hand. She also could iron clothes the same way.

I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to beat around the bush about other than to ask Mam about Mrs. Worthington but I knew she wouldn’t stand for talking about other people’s business.

What do s-s-s-s-people feel like when they’re s-s-s-s-drunk?

Mam stuck her needle and thread in the sleeve of the old checkered shirt she wore over her uniform. She gave me a hard look.

Law me. Why you askin’ such a question?

It wasn’t the kind of conversation Mam liked.

s-s-s-s-Just want to s-s-s-s-know.

I can’t tell you what they feel but I know it puts the devil inside
’em and I know it never did nobody no good. Who you know that gets drunk?

s-s-s-s-Nobody … I see Ara T s-s-s-s-going through all those s-s-s-s-bottles like he’s searching for a s-s-s-s-prize.

I had made the mistake of bringing up Ara T.

How many times do I have to tell you to keeps away from that man? He ain’t found no prize and never will. He has the devil full inside him. We’re not talkin’ about such stuff no more.

I decided it was time to tell Mam that Ara T had my yellow-handle knife. I knew she would be upset but I hated to lie to Mam more than I hated her being mad at me. I knew I would have trouble getting all the words out.

s-s-s-s-I should have s-s-s-s-told you s-s-s-s-I gave my s-s-s-s-knife to Ara T to sharpen and he s-s-s-s-won’t give it s-s-s-s-back. s-s-s-s-Sorry.

I was expecting Mam’s mad look but she just got out of her chair and went to her chest of drawers. She looked in the cracked mirror above the chest with her quiet look. She put her little sewing fork in the top drawer and then sat down in her chair. She pulled her Bible onto her lap.

Don’t be worryin’ ’bout your jackknife. Get on to the house now and eat your fried chicken.

I went to the door. I wished Mam would get mad and say something mean but she knew that showing me how disappointed she was hurt me more than any words she could say.

s-s-s-s-Night, Mam.

Good night, Little Man.

At the supper table I had one piece of chicken and then I asked my parents to be excused. My mother reached over and put her hand on my forehead.

Are you feeling okay? You seem a little hot.

s-s-s-s-I’m fine. s-s-s-s-Tired.

My father wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Is everything working out on the paper route?

Okay. s-s-s-s-But I’ll s-s-s-s-be glad when Rat’s s-s-s-s-back.

I bet you will, son. I know you miss having him around. Anything you want to talk about?

I shook my head. Part of me was wanting to tell my father about my knife and how Ara T was acting and that I had made Mam upset but it was all so jumbled up in my head that there was no way I could start picking through that many words.

In my room I took out Rat’s collection book where I had put the second piece of the dollar from Mr. Spiro. Then I took my billfold out of the desk drawer. The two pieces
—student
and
servant
—were from the same bill because they matched up exactly when I put them together. I tucked them both in my billfold behind my Ryne Duren baseball card.

Mr. Spiro had something in mind besides just a money tip when he started giving me the pieces of a dollar with the words. I couldn’t figure out what the two words had to do with each other but Rat would be home in two weeks and I would have all four pieces of the puzzle by then. I thought about us working on the puzzle together and how much fun that would be.

Going to sleep would have been hard if I started thinking about Rat and all the great dirt-clod fights he was having on the farm with his cousins. I got the pillow from the other twin bed and put it on top of me and put my arms around it. Whenever I started feeling all alone it felt good to have something to hang on to.