The Big Shuffle (16 page)

It seems as if the minute I've finished giving Lillian and the twins lunch and put them down for naps, the rest of the gang is coming off the bus and soon it will be dinnertime. How does the day go by so fast?

After the younger kids have their snack, I take Teddy aside and spare him none of the details of my meeting with JCMD, and how his brothers and sisters are going to end up in different foster homes and it will be his fault. “You'd better shape up, mister.”

He simply shrugs as if there are worse things in the world than our family being broken apart. I swear, I almost punch him. I call Eric at school and leave him a message saying, “You'd better read Teddy the riot act as soon as possible because he's cutting school and getting us
all
into big trouble.”

By the time dinner is made and served, the last plate is in the dishwasher, and the twins have had their final feed, I'm not only bushed, but have a serious case of bottle fatigue. When I go to put clean sweaters in Francie and Lillian's room, I find all the kids huddled around Uncle Lenny as he's about to start a story. Deciding to relax for just a moment, I climb onto the bed next to where Darlene is curled up with Lillian and the kitten. The rest have elbows balanced on crossed legs with their chins resting on the palms of their hands, eyes fixed on Uncle Lenny. I wonder if he's going to read from a seafaring adventure such as Robert Louis Stevenson's
Treasure Island.
I mean, he must be telling some great stories for the whole gang, including Teddy, to give up Connect Four and video games.

Uncle Lenny sits on the floor with his back against the closet door and shows the kids a trick in which he cuts a piece of rope and then magically restores it. He performs another by tying a
knot that keeps switching places along a length of rope. There's a coin that Uncle Lenny claims is a Spanish doubloon, which he makes disappear and then pulls out of Francie's ear, much to her delight. Finally he glances at his big silver pocket watch and says it's just about bedtime. The kids all start yelling, “No, no, tell us a story!”

Uncle Lenny gives a wonderful look of fake surprise and says, “A story? I told you that I don't know any stories.”

“Yes, yes, you do!” they all shout back. And from the way everyone seems to know their lines so well, I surmise that this scene has been acted out before.

“Oh, well, I suppose I could tell you about something that
actually
happened.” By the way he hesitates it's clear that he's only considering the idea.

“Yes, yes!” The crowd goes wild.

“Tell the one about the wicked witch of Tweety,” says Francie.

“I think you mean Tahiti.” Uncle Lenny winks at me.

“Yeah,” says Davy, “the witch with the tits likes a basset hound's ears.”

The kids all giggle and put their hands up to their mouths. Standards are definitely dropping.

Everyone settles in while Uncle Lenny furrows his brow and appears to dredge his memory. Finally he lowers his voice so that we all lean in just a little closer and begins, “Well, now, I was in Burma not too long after they gained independence from the British. We sailed into the port of Rangoon with a cargo ship that was supposed to take on a load of teak wood. It was during the wet season and so you had to watch out for snakes.”

Uncle Lenny pauses for a second, and I look around to see all the kids wide-eyed and spellbound.

“Yes, indeed, there were lots of big tricky snakes to watch out for,” continues Uncle Lenny. “Especially the Burmese python,
which can grow to be more than twenty feet long and weigh over two hundred pounds. They're quiet fellows and good climbers. Excellent swimmers, too. Only if those serpents don't eat regularly they can get awfully cranky. But a python is a constrictor, which means it doesn't always slide over and start chomping on its prey.”

Uncle Lenny uses his big hands to show us how a snake's mouth clamps down on a person and just narrowly misses Davy, making him jump.

“No, the python wraps its body around you and constricts until you can't breathe and your eyeballs pop out.” Uncle Lenny demonstrates by squeezing his neck with his hands and all the kids inhale deeply as if they're also losing their breath.

“Do they eat
people?”
asks a fascinated Teddy.

“If they're hungry, they eat anything that has a heartbeat— a lion, a deer, even a harmless little pussycat.”

Darlene shudders and hugs Kitty closer to her chest.

“A Burmese python doesn't know from people—you're dinner just like a rabbit, rat, or goat. In fact, the locals always had to be careful to make sure the pythons didn't get in the cribs of the babies. They especially like small children.”

Lillian squirms.

“So the day after we docked in Rangoon most of the crew went ashore, except for a few down below sleeping off the wine, women, and song from the night before. I'm on the aft deck leaning over and working on the lines when I suddenly feel something bite into my leg and guess that it's probably a wharf rat. Looking down I see those diamond marks on that long bright yellow body—not the golden yellow of the sun, mind you, but the greenish yellow of the slick boogers you blow out when you have a cold.”

“Yucky!”says Darlene.

“And I see those two flat black eyes like piss holes in the snow.”

Davy giggles while Francie gasps, because Mom would definitely consider this to be “bad language.” And Uncle Lenny would be branded as a “potty mouth.”

“When I go to pry open his jaws, he starts wrapping that eighteen-foot body around my chest. And do you know what I said?”

“Great Caesar's ghost!” the kids shout in unison.

“Exactly!” Uncle Lenny smiles at them for making such a good guess. “So I grab a nearby machete that I've been using on some rope and hold it up against my chest with the blade pointed outward.” Uncle Lenny demonstrates by taking a comb from his back pocket.

“Now I wait as the snake keeps coiling itself around me. I know that if I can only keep the blade from slipping to the side, when the devil is finished he's going to try and suffocate me by squeezing as hard as he can. Sure enough, that big old snake starts constricting and the blade cuts him in two and he falls right off me!”

Uncle Lenny pops the comb forward and the kids jump as if they can feel the blade.

“Two days later I sold him to be made into ladies’ shoes in Japan.”

It's hard to tell if Uncle Lenny is the most fearless entrepreneur in the world, a nutcase, or totally full of shit.

“Okay, crew, bedtime!” announces Uncle Lenny. “Let's do our group grace.”

Mom and Dad used to run a police action around eight o'clock every evening to make sure the Lord's Prayer was being said, and so I assume Uncle Lenny is keeping up the tradition. The kids dutifully bow their heads and along with Uncle Lenny recite in unison:

“Aye-aye,” booms Uncle Lenny instead of the more traditional “Amen.”

The kids raise their heads.

“Any special intentions?” he asks the assembled crowd.

Davy volunteers, “God bless Mommy in the hospital and Daddy in heaven and all my brothers and sisters except for Francie, who stole some of my soldiers.”

“Did not!” shouts Francie and pounces on him.

“Okay, off to your cabins before I send names to those Bar-bary pirates I told you about!”

The kids miraculously scatter. I can only imagine what
that
story is about.

O
N SUNDAY MORNING WHEN I GO TO CALL THE KIDS FOR BREAKFAST
, they're not in their rooms. Or anywhere else in the house.

Only Teddy is here, quietly reading a book on the couch.

Frantically I ask him, “Where are Darlene, Davy, and Francie?”

Without looking up from his reading Teddy says, “Outside waiting for the bus. They were bugging me, and so I told them it's a school day.”

“That's it, Teddy. Eric and I talked about it and you're grounded except for school. And you'd better go to school or we're
all
going to be in a lot of trouble! I don't know who was driving you to see Mom after lunch, but there's going to be a guy stationed in the parking lot keeping an eye out for you from now on.”

“You
didn't go to school,” he says.

“That was different.”

Teddy stares straight at me, and it's clear to both of us that I'm losing this battle. Evil Dr. Collier's words echo in my mind and sound as if they've been put through a synthesizer. “What qualifies
you
to take care of so many children?” And the obvious answer is
nothing.

Every time there's a knock at the door I'm afraid it's social services coming to scatter all the kids to the winds like in some made-for-TV movie.

Only it's just the usual procession—Bernard with some food, Al to check and see if the house is falling apart, Officer Rich to make sure we're not being staked out by burglars, the occasional churchwoman with a casserole, and Herb to organize the bills.

“You are, what we'd call in a poker game,
down to the felt,”
announces Herb on this particular morning.

“Tell me about it. I had to write a check to buy batteries.” It reminded me of how Dad was always yelling,
Where do all the batteries I buy go? Do you kids eat them for breakfast? Batteries are expensive. Do you think they just grow on trees?

“You only had to call and I'd have brought over some batteries from the store,” says Herb.

“I appreciate all the help, but you have your own family to support,” I tell him.

There is the sound of pounding feet coming up the basement stairs. Uncle Lenny emerges carrying his sea bag slung over one shoulder and unexpectedly announces that he must set sail. “The spring thaw has begun and I'm running a vessel from New York down to the Caribbean. Gotta love these Wall Street bigwigs—buying expensive yachts that they can't even steer down the Hudson River without help. They'll kill themselves and each other before doing any harm to the fish, that's for darn sure.”

Wow. This is a surprise. I'd started taking Uncle Lenny for granted.

Kids converge from all over the house to give Uncle Lenny big hugs good-bye. Francie explains to the assembled crowd that he has to go back to the North Pole and start preparing for Christmas. This causes Uncle Lenny to let out one of his great
bellows of laughter, which in turn only serves to convince Francie that he is indeed Santa Claus.

“Promise that you'll come back and visit soon,” says little Davy, on the verge of tears.

“Right as rainwater I will,” says Uncle Lenny.

We stand gathered in the driveway as Uncle Lenny loads his bag into the trunk of a taxi. It feels rather like Mary Poppins, or in our case the Ancient Mariner, is taking leave after having finished his work here, much to our dismay. The snow melts to rain in midair as Uncle Lenny addresses the kids by their pirate names one last time and then gives us all a big salute. We shout “Anchors aweigh” as the taxi turns at the corner and disappears into the encroaching fog.

T
HE FOLLOWING WEEK IS THE FIRST TIME THE ROADS ARE DRY
enough for the kids to ride their bicycles to school. This removes some of the pressure of getting ready in the mornings since we no longer have to worry about missing the bus.

After they leave for school on Monday I know that I should visit Mom, but I've just been feeling so tired all of the time. Once the kids have had breakfast and are ready to go, I'm ready for a nap.

At noon, while I attempt to spoon mushed peas into the mouths of the twins, the phone rings. It's one of those ominous rings.

“I'm sorry, but this just won't do.” Dr. Collier's voice is dripping with self-satisfaction. “The parking lot monitor just witnessed Teddy leaving on a bicycle.”

Before I can respond there's a click on the other end. Did the line go dead? Did he hang up on me? And if so, what is that supposed to mean?

In the moment I've been distracted, the twins have somehow managed to smear strained peas all over themselves, their high chairs, and the linoleum.

Bernard opens the door leading to the garage and gaily calls out, “Bonjour,
mon petit
sparrows! How is everything at Chez Palmer?”

A pile of dishes sits in the sink and the counter is littered with the remains of making the lunches. The far wall is covered with a crayon mural by Lillian, which she managed to accomplish in the short period of time it took to change the twins’ diapers this morning. A dried puddle of chocolate syrup decorates the center of the table. The place looks more like a crime scene than a kitchen where seven kids just had breakfast.

“We're not going to win any good housekeeping awards.” I use a spoon to start scraping peas off the twins’ faces. “And a controlled burn isn't out of the question.”

“But it's comfortable—in a sort of post-apocalyptic way.” Bernard moves closer and leans in toward my forehead.
“What
happened with your bangs? Are you trying to channel former First Lady Mamie Eisenhower?”

I put my hands up to cover my forehead. “I trimmed them a little. They were in my eyes.”

My plan had been for Bernard to watch the kids while I got a haircut and visited Mom, but one of the twins is fussy and feverish, and so I've made an appointment at the pediatrician's.

“Instead of seeing Mom I'm going to have to take this guy to the doctor,” I say. “His color isn't very good.”

“Your color isn't very good either—sort of a chartreuse. I suppose a stop at the tanning salon is out of the question.”