The Children (11 page)

She hesitated. The street was empty, warm, deserted; it promised no amusement, and what harm could come to her if she went into the hall with Ollie? It wasn't like the cellar.

They went into the hall, slowly, and once inside Marie shrank apprehensively against Ollie. Here it was dark again, with the flickering flame of the gas jet. Why did she go into the darkness, when she had hated it so?

“Whaddya 'fraid of?” Ollie wanted to know.

“It's so dark here.”

“Well, I'm here.”

“Yeah.”

They sat down in the darkness under the steep, wooden, carpeted stairs, and Ollie put his arm around her. She shrank away, but it seemed to her that the darkness reached out from the other side to grasp her. Then Ollie's hand crept under her dress. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't; she couldn't make any sound at all, and she trembled with fear. Then she attempted to think her fear into anticipation and thrill. Ollie's hand crept farther up beneath her skirt.

“Don',” she whispered.

“Why?”

“I dunno—jus' don'.”

“Why?”

“Well—yer hurtin' me.”

“I ain'.”

“Yuh are.”

His hand crept between her warm legs, clamping the flesh and pinching it. Her body became gooseflesh all over, and she trembled violently. She tried to think of her mother, and could only think about how sick she was getting. She closed her eyes, opened them; but all around her was darkness and nothing else. She thought of how it was out on the street, all warm sunlight and warm stone.

“Lemme go,” she whispered.

“Geesus,” Ollie said, “whaddya 'fraid of? I ain' gonna hurtcha, Marie. Hones, tuh God, I ain'. Look, I'm takin' my hand away. Dere.”

“Less go back in duh street,” she whimpered.

“Geesus, whatsa matter witcha, anyway?”

“Nuttin'.”

“Well, stay here, den.”

Marie heard a noise, and her terror increased tenfold. She shrank against Ollie, shrank away from him then, and with a great, enfolding grasp, the blackness reached out for her. She thought of hell and devils and punishment, and she thought of her mother, whimpering now.

“Aw, stop cryin'.”

“Awright.”

“Geesus, I never saw sucha baby.”

“Awright.”

A hand was creeping under her dress again, pinching the flesh that was now hard with pimples. Stifling a scream, she grasped Ollie's arm.

“Don'.”

“Geesus, I ain' doin' nuttin'!”

“Y'are.”

“I ain'—so help me God. Look—dere's my hands.”

But under her dress the hand still caressed her. If it wasn't Ollie, what was it? Dumb with fear, she tried to move, but could not. And then, in front of her, Kipleg burst out laughing.

“Yuh dumb basted!” Ollie yelled.

“Whaddya fraid of, Marie?”

“Geesus, yer dumb as hell. Watcha wanna spoil duh whole thing fer?”

“Aw, screw.”

But now Marie was sobbing violently, thrusting her fists into her mouth, shaking her head back and forth. Actually, she was in a state of hysteria, and Ollie and Kipleg, half laughing, half frightened, fled.

But Marie sat there in the dark, sobbing. Now, perhaps, the creatures of darkness were reaching out for heir; let them reach then, let them have her. She sat there, and cried.

How long she sat there, crying, she didn't know; but when the shame had passed, the fear returned. Like a small, frightened animal, she crept but of the dark into the sunshine. And there, on the stoop, was Ishky.

T
HE SUN
and the light and the day are the time for love. They are the time for dreams and fancies and happiness; and isn't it strange that I, Ishky, am returning to all that? I sit here on the stoop, not too much on my mind, dreaming.

How is it with dreams? How is it with gardens? If there is a magic garden, and not in one place, then surely it is in another. So if I go off with Marie, isn't it quite possible that together we will find that garden? Not ash heaps, but a real garden, with flowers that smell—

And I turn around, and there is Marie, looking at me.

“Marie!”

I look at her, and I am sure that my eyes and my face are filled with love. All the love that is inside of Ishky is written there. (Marie, look at me! Do you see the great love that fills my heart?)

But there is an expression upon her face that I have never seen before, and she is trembling all over. I don't know why.

“Marie!”

“Oh—you—”

“Marie!”

Suddenly, screaming with rage, she leaps at me, beats at my face, claws at me, and then runs away, crying bitterly.

Well, I am only Ishky, and if I understand some things, I don't understand everything. I don't understand this. I can only sit on the stoop, looking after her, and wondering.

NINETEEN

Y
OU SEE THE WAY IT IS WITH ME NOW
;
AND HOW AM
I to account for Marie? I watch her run into her house, and then I shake my head. Some things simply are, and that is all there is to it.

Here are Kipleg and Ollie, and I am instantly on the alert when I see them. I will have to hold on to what honor I have won. They will remind me of my mother. So my small head is full of things, of Marie, and of what to say to Kipleg and Ollie.

Together, grinning at some deep secret they held between them, Kipleg and Ollie came swaggering down the block, arm linked in arm. They saw Ishky, and they made for him.

“Hey, sheeney,” Kipleg called good naturedly.

Ollie was still bubbling inside. In the scene with Marie in the hall, there had been deep drama and deeper humor; and for some reason it struck him as woefully funny. He wanted to laugh, outright, to tell Ishky what he had done.

“Hullo,” Ishky nodded.

“Where's yer mamma?”

“I don' need her,” Ishky said indignantly.

“Yeah—”

“Yeah—”

“Yer yella of her.”

“I ain'.”

“You stink, sheeney.”

“Aw, leavim alone,” Ollie said.

“Some gang, wid him in it.”

“I ain' yella,” Ishky said.

“Aincha?”

“Naw.”

“Well, why doncha show it, why doncha?”

“Awright.”

“Why doncha?”

“Awright. Geesus, gimme a chance, willya?”

“C'mon.”

D
ON
'
T ASK
me how the idea came to me. I don't know how it came to me. But put. yourself in my place, with the need of keeping face in front of Ollie and Kipleg. What would you have done? You see, I want you to know how things had been leading up to this, and later to that other thing, of which I will tell presently. But about this. I must explain to you why I did it, if I can explain. The reason is—I had to hold up my face in front of Ollie and Kipleg. Maybe you don't understand that, but that's the reason.

I thought of Shomake's fiddle. I don't know why I thought of Shomake's fiddle all at once instead of anything else; but maybe it was because I could never forget the wonder of it. Even the secret garden was not as splendid as this beautiful fiddle.

And when I thought of it, I began to sweat all over. It's very funny when you sweat like that—and know you are sweating. In little bubbles, the sweat crept out of my skin, and I felt it run down my cheeks.

(Forget, Ishky—and don't tell them! Ollie doesn't know, and Kipleg doesn't know, so why do you have to tell them anything at all about it?)

How hot the sun is! How hot the ground is, under my feet. My eyes dart up and down the block, and I see the stiff, straight walls of the houses, baking under the sun. I am baking like that, and presently I will be cooked—entirely cooked.

Shomake's fiddle—

“Geesus Christ,” Ollie says.

“Awright, awright, yuh jus' wait fer me at duh corner. Jus' wait dere.”

“Whaddya gonna do?” Kipleg wants to know.

“You'll see.”

So I am about to do it. And why? Because I must impress Kipleg and Ollie. But what harm will come to the fiddle?

Over, across the street in Shomake's store, it is dim and quiet. I steal in softly from the sunlight, wondering whether Shomake is there. If he is there, then the whole business is off. The old man sits behind the counter, hammering, and paring leather; he does not even look up. I knew he would not look up, and I steal past him into the dark back room.

Ah, what smells there are in this place of Shomake's, what good Italian smells, what hot, meaty smells! It is quiet, dismal, and from outside, I hear the tap, tap, tap of the hammer. But I haven't forgotten what I came for. I must hurry; back there, Ollie is waiting for me, and Kipleg is waiting.

There, in its case, I see the fiddle. Now I am trembling. I pick it up, hesitate, and then run from the store. But Shomake's father does not even look up, sitting there with his great shaggy gray head bent over his awl.

I have the fiddle case clutched under my arm, and I run up to the corner. Ollie sees me.

“Geesus!” he gasps.

“Geesus,” Kipleg says.

And then we all three run like mad. We run east, down the slope to the river, where there are empty lots and trees. But now I am trembling and shivering. What kind of a fool have I been? What will happen to the fiddle now—?

The three of them, Ollie, Ishky, and Kipleg stopped in an empty lot. They made a circle, crouching with their hands on their knees, and they stared at the fiddle case as it lay on the ground between them.

“I'm gonna open it,” Kipleg said.

“Like hell yuh are. I'm gonna.”

“Lemme,” Ishky pleaded.

“Lay off it.”

“Awright, lemme now.”

“Geesus, yuh dumb sheeney basted!”

Ollie, awing the other two, knelt and opened the case. There inside, rich, warm, shining, and splendid, lay the fiddle. For a moment, all three of them stared fascinated at the rich red-and-brown wood. Then they all grabbed at it.

Ollie had the fiddle, Kipleg the bow. Ishky was struggling with Ollie for the fiddle, when Ollie pushed him in the face, sitting him abruptly upon the ground.

“On yer ass!”

“Lemme play, Ollie,” Kipleg screamed, “lemme play!”

“Me first.”

“Geesus, Ollie, jus' lemme touch it once. I ain' goin' tuh run away wid it.”

“Gimme dat!”

“Geesus, Ollie—”

“Yuh gonna give it t'me?—”

“Awright, awright—”

“Lemme play, willya, Ollie?” Ishky pleaded.

“Gimme a chance, willya?”

Now with fiddle and bow, Ollie struck a pose. He made a mock bow, sweeping his handsome yellow head from side to side. Then he waved the bow through the air, like a wand; then he struck it to the fiddle, the strings screaming like a cat in pain. Making a face, he began to slide the bow back and forth; and then the pained expression upon his face turned to one of deep pleasure.

“Geesus,” Kipleg whispered.

“Dere. Maybe yuh tought I couldn' play on duh thing?”

“Lemme,” Ishky pleaded.

“Awright, awright. But Kipleg comes next.”

“Geesus, who got duh fiddle?”

“Awright—nobody says yuh not gonna play.”

Grinning with delight, Ollie swayed from side to side, forcing sound out of the violin. And then Ishky and Kipleg could stand it no longer. Together, they made a grab at the fiddle; all three rolled over the ground, the fiddle clenched between them. For a moment, there was a mass of squirming, screaming bodies; then, one by one, they detached themselves.

The fiddle lay on the ground, crushed and splintered. The strings were all broken, the sides broken, and there was a great hole where someone had put his foot through the middle of it.

Ishky stared at it, stared and stared at the poor wreckage.

“Now look whatcha done,” Ollie said.

“Boy, yer dumb as hell,” Kipleg exploded. Whatcha wanna do dat fer?”

Ishky shook his head, staring at them dumbly. “But I din'—”

“Yuh did so.”

“We sawim, din' we, Ollie. Geesus, Ishky!”

“No—no—no!”

“Geesus, whaddya so yella about? We ain' gonna snitch onya, are we, Kipleg?”

“Shid, no.”

B
UT WHAT
difference does that make? There, all broken up on the ground, lay the fiddle. But it couldn't be called a fiddle now, broken as it was.

What have I done? What will I say when they find me out? Then I will have to confess that I stole the fiddle, smashed it to pieces.

“But how c'n I bring it back?” I plead.

“Leddit go.”

“Sure. Geesus, Ishky—whaddya fraid of, anyway?”

“Aw—nuttin'.”

There is no use picking it up, for even I know that such a pile of broken wood can never be repaired. I let it lie where it is, and with Ollie and Kipleg I walk back to the block.

They are still laughing and joking between themselves. Well, for them that's all right; they never heard Shomake play on his fiddle. But what will I do? What will I do if Shomake asks me, about it? If he asks me where his fiddle is, what will I say?