Unhooking the Moon (16 page)

A crowd soon gathered.

‘She's been kicked out of so many schools,' said Tommy. ‘Schools for wayward children at that!'

‘That's because I never got any sleep!' said the Rat appealing to the crowd. ‘He had me working in a sweatshop!'

‘We needed the money to pay your psychiatrist.'

‘You needed it to pay off your bookies! And I won't even mention his drink problem!'

When the crowd grew larger I got nervous! ‘Let's go,' I said, but she ignored me.

‘I had to drink! You were driving me insane! All that lying and stealing and setting fire to your pet poodle! Poor Pier, he never knew what cooked him!'

The Rat wiped away an imaginary tear. ‘He sold my sister's medicine when she was dying of leukaemia!'

The crowd gasped.

‘I had to do it, to buy food!'

‘You did it to buy drugs!' retorted the Rat. ‘And he never paid the drug dealers and now they're hunting us down! I could be killed at any minute.'

People began to jostle for a better place.

‘She was responsible for her mother's death!' said Tommy addressing the crowd.

‘That was him! He kicked her when she was pregnant!' screamed the Rat.

A few angry jeers came from the crowd. Tommy crouched as if cowering from a blow. ‘You kicked her as well!' he shouted.

All eyes fell on the Rat.

‘I missed! It was you I was trying to kick! To stop you from strangling her because she was having your brother's baby!'

Tommy froze with stage fright. He looked at the angry faces around him and then back at the Rat. ‘You're a goddamn liar!' he shouted.

‘I might be a goddamn liar, Tommy Mattolla! But I'm a better goddamn liar than you'll ever be!' And with that she took a bow.

The crowd cheered and clapped. Shock turned to surprise on the hustler's face and, taking the Rat's hand, he bowed alongside her.

The Rat opened her arms. ‘Are you not entertained?' she shouted.

As the applause grew, Tommy pulled a hat from nowhere and worked the crowd. I couldn't believe it. People pushed into one another to put money in that hat. Then someone threw the Rat a rose and she came over all starry-eyed. Her first Broadway performance had been a success.

All of a sudden Tommy wasn't there and two cops
were heading towards us! Me and the Rat merged with the crowd and then we ran for the bikes. ‘Let's ride,' said the Rat and we sprinted away.

My eyes felt heavy when we reached the gap in the park wall. But they opened wide as we entered the park. We rode down the dark paths and pulled up by the lawn. Then getting off our bikes we stood there in silence. We looked around us: scanning the trees and the lawns, and looking deep into the dark shadows. We couldn't see anyone, not unless they were hiding. ‘Come on,' I whispered. We ran across the lawn, pushing our bikes, and fought our way through the bushes. I switched on my flashlight as soon as we were through and, keeping it low, I searched the den. I was dreading that some strange homeless person had taken our place. But there was no one there, thank God.

The Rat dumped her bike, took off her sneakers, and slid into her sleeping bag. ‘This is great!'

I lay down next to her. And there we were with nothing but bushes separating us from murderers, robbers and goddamn paedophiles, and the Rat thought it was great.

‘And it's been a great day as well,' she whispered.
‘We're in New York and we've seen lots of great stuff, and we've made another friend. I bet Tommy knows a lot of people. We'll have to ask him if he knows Uncle Jerome.'

‘We won't see him again,' I said looking around at the bushes.

‘Of course we will. We're partners. He's not getting away from us … Turn the flashlight off, Bob, or I'll never get to sleep.'

I switched off the light and lay there. I was so jumpy. There were strange shapes in the shadows and the slightest sound made me sit up. It was only when the Rat started snoring I kind of relaxed. I put my hands behind my head and looked at the moon. Next thing I know my eyes closed and our first day in New York City had come to an end. And boy was I exhausted.

In my dreams I was in Times Square and there was someone singing. Then I woke to the Rat singing in the sunshine, ‘
I recall Central Park in Fall
—'

‘Shush, you'll give us away.'

‘Give us away to who?'

I looked around me. We were camouflaged by the trees and bushes. Even when I stood up I could only see the top of the Fifth Avenue apartment blocks.

‘Did you sleep well, Bob?'

‘Sure, but I'll sleep a lot better when we're in Sexy Sandra's hostel.'

‘I think we're better off here, Bob. It's rent free and there's a lot of strange types hang around them hostels. So shall we stay here, Bob? What do you think?'

She was trying to manipulate me and I'd only just
woken up. ‘We'll see. But for now I need breakfast.'

The Rat jumped up. ‘Great, And then we'll knock on all these apartment blocks until Uncle Jerome comes down and claims us.'

We put our sleeping bags in their holders, tied them to our rucksacks, and hung them on a low branch. Then, leaving our bikes at the den, we scurried across the lawn to the path.

There were dozens of joggers out and most of them were girls. I had never woken up to so many girls. And they were all wearing stuff that was stretchy and tight. New York has some pretty girls. One of them jogged towards me with everything bouncing.

‘Good morning,' she said.

‘Hi!' I said. I liked her straight away! Then I turned to look at her from behind. When I looked back the Rat had her arms folded.

‘Our dear dead dad is not yet cold in his grave and you've turned into a pervert!'

I could see this ‘not yet cold in his grave' line was going to be a constant weapon with the Rat. I was going to tell her to mind her own business. But her screwed-up face looked kind of sad and so I didn't. ‘It's OK to look.'

‘No it's not. You have to wait until you're sixteen.'

‘No, you don't.'

‘You do, you're my brother!'

I put my hand on her shoulder and walked her out of the park. She kept her arms folded until I told her I'd pay for breakfast. You could always get back in the Rat's good books by paying for things.

We walked down Fifth Avenue until we found a street vendor selling coffee and doughnuts. The Rat ordered in Spanish and taking our breakfast to a bench we ate while watching the New York squirrels scurry around us. And then, as if it had only just dawned on me, I asked: ‘Who taught you Spanish? They don't teach it at Luxton.'

‘Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez gave me some tapes. I put them on when I slept, and after a couple of months I could speak Spanish. The hardest thing is to get your hearing in tune. But once you've learned the words to a dozen Spanish songs, you're good to go.'

‘I think I might want to learn Spanish someday.'

‘She's too old for you, Bob, and she always will be.'

‘But do you think she likes me?'

‘Of course she likes you. You're my brother.'

When we had finished we put our trash in the garbage and headed to the first apartment block at the beginning of the park. And there I approached the
doorman. ‘Does Jerome DeBillier live here?'

He looked straight ahead like a Mountie on guard duty. ‘We're not allowed to give out information about our tenants.'

‘Can't you give us a clue?' asked the Rat.

‘I'm afraid not.'

We moved away so he couldn't hear us. ‘You think we should bribe him, like they do in the movies?'

The Rat scoffed. ‘I'm not giving my money to a doorman.'

We walked to the next building. ‘Does Jerome DeBillier live here?' I asked.

The doorman, who was dressed like he was in the twenties, frowned as he thought. ‘I know that name. But he doesn't live in this building. Is he a relative?'

He had such a high-pitched Irish accent I almost laughed.

‘He's our uncle,' said the Rat. She had a big smile on her face. I could see she wanted to laugh too.

‘Go see Connor in the next building over, he'll know. Tell him Sean sent you.'

We thanked him and walked away, laughing as we went. He was a nice guy. You couldn't help but like him. But Connor, a short stocky Irishman, said he'd never heard of Uncle Jerome. Then he went back to
arguing with some movers over the damage that, he said, they'd caused to one of the building's doors. ‘Ask Patrick on the next building over,' he said. ‘He might know.'

Patrick shook his head, ‘You can take it from me that Jerome DeBillier does not live within a block of this building. Because if he did I'd know about it, and I don't. But you kids have a grand day!'

I walked up Fifth Avenue with the Rat walking behind me.

‘My name is Marie Claire and I'm from County Mayo. Oh to kiss the Blarney Stone!'

I stopped abruptly and she bumped into my chest. ‘Will you stop speaking in that irritating Irish accent?'

She looked up at me. ‘To be sure!'

She did stop, but she switched to rapping instead. I could see it was going to be a long day.

There were a few apartment blocks without a doorman and so we pressed the buzzers and asked the tenants themselves. One guy told us he'd call the cops if we pressed his buzzer again, and so the Rat kept her finger on it to teach him a lesson. Then she pressed another buzzer. ‘Hello,' said a man, who spoke in a kind of gay aristocracy.

‘Do you know Jerome DeBillier?' asked the Rat.

‘Yes, but he doesn't live here.'

The Rat's eyes widened. ‘Where does he live?'

‘I'm not telling you. And do you know why I'm not telling you?'

‘No,' said the Rat.

‘Because you woke me up!'

The Rat kicked the wall and walked away. ‘What a beep! I bet he did know our uncle! And I bet he knows where he lives!' She ran back and pressed his buzzer.

‘Hello.'

‘We're sorry for waking you, now can you please tell us where our—'

‘I'm not telling you a goddamn thing! Now stop ringing my buzzer!'

‘Ah beep you! And I'm glad I woke you up! And get a beeping job!' shouted the Rat.

She spoke French for the next few blocks and then, as if by fate, we found the French Embassy. But they wouldn't even let us inside. The French could be quite snotty at times, and they were especially snotty at the embassy.

We continued all the way up to the Guggenheim Museum. My enthusiasm faded a little as we passed it. But it went completely when we came to the end
of the park. We were back in Harlem by the time we entered our last apartment block.

‘Sorry, son. No one listed under that name,' said an old black security guard.

We walked outside where once again it started to rain. ‘Doesn't it ever stop raining in this city!'

‘I know,' said the Rat. ‘Let's go to the Metropolitan Museum until it stops. We can look at the paintings and get cultured. They might have some Vincents.'

And so that's what we did. We walked all the way back down Fifth Avenue and, giving the girl a dollar donation, we climbed the marble-looking staircase.

The Rat liked paintings. At home she had books with famous paintings in them and she'd sit and look at them for hours. Vincent Van Gogh was her favourite. No surprise there, the man cut off his ear and shot himself in the chest. Why wouldn't he be the Rat's favourite?

She started off by staring up at paintings of baby angels. ‘There should be fat angels and old angels and angels that aren't very good-looking. Otherwise people will think you have to be beautiful to be an angel, and you don't. You only have to be good.'

I followed her around while she stood in front of every single painting in the museum. I liked a lot
of the paintings, especially the seascapes by Monet. I like seascapes. But after an hour or so, my mind couldn't take in any more images. In the end it was just as nice to look at a bare wall.

It was still raining when we stepped outside. And so we sheltered at the top of the steps. Suddenly, the Rat stepped forward.

‘What is it?' I asked.

‘It's Ice!' She ran down the steps and hid behind a group of people. She peered around the side of them. Then she ran to another group and did the same. She was watching a black man walk up Fifth Avenue. He wore a black suit and there was gold around his neck. I couldn't see his face at first because it was blocked by his umbrella. But when he looked towards the museum, I recognized him. It was the Iceman, the Rat's favourite rapper.

She followed him away from the museum using lampposts and cars for cover. I hate to say it, but the Rat had turned into a stalker. I ran down the steps and ran after her. I had to try and stop her from whatever it was she was going to do. I grabbed her by the arm.

‘Let's introduce ourselves!' she said.

‘He won't want to meet us.'

‘Why won't he? I bought his CD.'

I wanted to meet him. I'd never met a celebrity before, not unless you count the Mayor of Winnipeg.

The Rat's eyes widened. ‘We'll invite him for coffee!'

‘I don't think he'll want—'

‘Just think how impressed Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez will be when she finds out you had coffee with the Iceman!'

The Rat was trying to manipulate me. ‘OK, then.'

She sprinted away and stopped in front of him. ‘Hi Ice! I'm Marie Claire DeBillier and that's my brother Bob behind you. We just thought – '

But the Iceman walked past the Rat as though she didn't exist. The Rat looked puzzled and then she ran ahead of him. ‘We don't want to bother you, Ice. We just wanted to say that we're your biggest fans in Canada and we really like you and—'