Read The Goats Online

Authors: Brock Cole

The Goats (7 page)

In the afternoon there would be an excursion to the Corraine Caverns. They should be ready to board the buses at one o‘clock sharp. Mrs. Higgins would stay behind to hold the hands of those who didn't make the buses. They should bring sweaters and jackets and wear sturdy shoes. No clogs or heels. It had been a long day, and lights-out was at ten o'clock. Until then they could do what they wanted. Keep it decent. And no, he wasn't going to tell them where the lake was until morning.
When Mr. Carlson had sat down, some of the kids got up and began to collect the empty lunch boxes in big plastic bags. Others began to push the tables back against the walls. Someone turned on a large portable radio, and a boy in a windbreaker and a big felt hat began to sketch a few steps of a private break dance off in a corner.
Lydia came over to their table carrying a cup of cocoa. “What's this Corraine Cavern excursion? I'm not sure I want to mess with that.”
“You'd love it, Lydia,” said Pardoe. “It's a big black hole in the ground. People are always getting lost down there. They never find most of them.”
“Don't give me that. Why would anyone want to go down a hole? Even subways give me the willies.”
“It's probably interesting,” said Tiwanda. “I was in Mammoth Cave once. Mammoth Cave in Kentucky? They had interesting stuff there. Fish with no eyes and underground lakes and stuff. They had these stalagmites that looked like fried eggs and some like a pipe organ. They played music and had a light show. It was real educational.”
“Mammoth Cave is where they found these mummies of people who got lost.”
“Shut up, Pardoe. There ain't no mummies in there. That's in the pyramids. In Egypt.”
“No, man, it's true. There's something about the air in there. These people dies, but they don't rot. They just sort of dry up.”
“I was in a cave once,” said the boy suddenly. He was sitting up very straight like a little kid and looking at them. The girl noticed that he hadn't eaten much of his chicken. She couldn't understand that, because she was starved.
“What cave was that?” asked Tiwanda.
“I don't remember the name. It's in Greece. It's really old.”
“Was it scary?” asked Lydia. “Because if it's scary, I don't want to hear about it.”
“No, it wasn't scary. It was kind of—I don't know—weird.” He laughed nervously. “There was this god that used to live there.”
“God? In a cave?” Tiwanda was scandalized.
“Not God god. But this special sort of god.”
“Like the Romans and stuff?”
“Yes. This was a Greek god. People used to worship him. They built this altar out in front of the cave, and they would sacrifice goats and stuff.”
“What do you mean? Kill them?”
“Yes. And then they'd cut up the bodies and burn parts of them. This was all in the olden days,” he said to Lydia, who was making faces.
“Why'd you go up there? What were you doing in Greece?” asked Pardoe. He sounded insulted, angry, but the boy didn't seem to notice.
“My dad knew all about this cave, but he had never seen it. So we decided to walk up there one day. It was really hard to find, because we just had this old map from a book, and it wasn't right. We had to walk miles and miles, and it was really hot. I thought we were going to die before we got there.”
“What was it like?” Lydia asked. “Did it have blind fish?”
“No, it wasn't anything like that. It was like a mouth. And it got really big inside. Like the inside of an airport terminal. Only it was dark at the back. There weren't any lights.”
“Did you see your special god?” asked Pardoe. He twisted his mouth up to show that he thought it was all a joke.
The boy picked up a chicken leg and looked at it. Then he put it down again.
“I don't know. Maybe.”
Everyone was quiet for a minute.
“Well, what did you see, man?” asked Calvin.
“I'm not sure. I was feeling pretty weird, you know, with the sun and everything. My dad was trying to read these inscriptions on the wall near the mouth of the cave, and I thought I would walk back and see if I could find the end. I had this flashlight and everything, but it didn't work very well, because it had these lousy Greek batteries. Anyway, I was walking back and back and it was getting darker and darker, and I thought I saw something move.” He had been holding his hands up to talk with, and now he held them still, just above his shoulders. He was smiling a little.
“Oh, man!” said Lydia. “I thought you said this wasn't scary!”
“That was kind of scary. I was really scared, actually. I turned around and started running, but I couldn't see the light from the opening of the cave anymore. I didn't even feel like I was in a cave. The darkness just went on and on. All over the world, it felt like.”
“Oh, man. What happened then?” asked Calvin.
“Nothing really.” The boy frowned and looked in
his lunch box. “My dad grabbed me and carried me out of the cave. I must have been yelling or something. We went back later, but we couldn't find anything, but Stephanos—he's a friend of my dad—he said it might have been the god. That some people thought he was still there, but he didn't come out very often because people didn't give him goats anymore.”
“It was probably a rat,” said Pardoe. “Caves have rats. It was a rat god.”
The boy looked at him, but didn't say anything.
“I don't care if it was Santa Claus,” said Lydia. “I'm not going in any cave tomorrow. No way.”
People began to fidget, tapping on the table with their hands and looking around. It was as if he had said something that they didn't want to hear. Something that made them nervous.
The girl didn't like that. She leaned against him so that he could feel the warmth of her shoulder through his shirt.
Someone had turned up the radio, and kids were dancing in the center of the room. Mr. Carlson and Mrs. Higgins were sitting with some other adults at a small table, talking and playing cards.
“Come on, Clyde. Let's you and me dance,” said Lydia.
“No,” he said. “I don't dance very well.” He could feel the girl's weight against him. He was very comfortable. But Lydia wouldn't allow it. She caught his
hands and pulled him away from the table. He liked Lydia, but he was glad when one of the big kids from the bus started dancing with them, too. The big kid matched his steps exactly to Lydia's, so that they moved together in short slight movements. It was pleasant to watch them. After a few minutes the boy sidled away.
He saw the girl sitting alone with Pardoe at the table. He couldn't see Calvin and Tiwanda. Pardoe was smiling, and the girl was looking at the floor, as if she wanted Pardoe to leave her alone.
“Well, if it ain't Clyde. Hello, Clyde.”
The boy nodded once. He didn't know what Pardoe might do, and he understood that he must be careful.
“I was just telling your sister here that it isn't smart to go running around in the woods. People see you. They wonder what you're doing. They might call the cops if they wonder enough. It's better in the city. Nobody cares.”
“We're going to meet her mom on Saturday.”
“Oh yeah. You're going to meet her mom on Saturday.” Pardoe repeated his words as if they were a lesson he had difficulty remembering. He was smiling at the boy, and then his eyes changed so that he was looking through him at the other side of the room.
He turned back to the girl suddenly. “Hey, Bonnie. Look at this.” He fished a brass key on a string out of his shirt. It was moist and shiny from rubbing against his skin.
“It's a key. So?” said the boy.
“That's right, Bonnie. It's a key. But do you know whose key? Ever hear of Art Mobling?”
“Yes. He's on TV,” said the boy. It was strange talking to Pardoe this way, because Pardoe was pretending he wasn't there and that it was the girl who was asking the questions. It made him feel big and in the way, and at the same time transparent.
“This is the key to his place. Wow. You should see it. I bet you never saw anything like it. It's way up in one of those buildings by the lake. It's got windows all over the place, and all the rugs and stuff are white.”
“I don't get it,” said the boy, unable to leave it alone. “Why would he give you his key?”
Pardoe turned red, but smiled at the girl as if she had asked the question he had hoped she would.
“He's a friend of mine. A real good friend. He likes to help kids, and I help him out, too. He gave me this shirt. You like this shirt?” He held up his arm in front of the girl's face, but she turned away.
“He'd help you out, Bonnie. Really. You go to him, tell him you're a friend of mine. I'll let you have the key so he'll know you're okay. He'd take care of you. Real well. You wouldn't have to go slumming around in the woods anymore. No strings really. You be nice to him. He's nice to you. That's what friends are for.”
Pardoe waited for her to say something, but she simply stared at the floor. She didn't seem able to
move. The boy felt as if they were stuck to Pardoe. As if he had been talking to them for hours.
“You like pizza?” Pardoe said brightly. “God, Art and I had this great pizza the last time I was there. Everything on it. Anchovies. You like anchovies?”
“I told you that we were going to meet her mom.”
Pardoe turned slowly to look at him. He was still smiling. “You know something, Clyde? You keep flapping that big lip of yours, and I'm not even talking to you. I'm going to get annoyed in a minute. I might have to slap you around a little. Okay?”
The boy felt himself start to tremble. He might even cry. When people said things like that to him, something inside that held his arms and legs together went slack. Pardoe saw it happening, because he was watching.
“Creep,” he said. “Come on, Bonnie. Let's go somewhere where we can be alone.”
He stood up and tried to pull the girl up, too. He wasn't looking at the boy, because he had decided he didn't matter anymore.
The boy kicked him hard in the side of the knee.
Pardoe made a loud ugly sound and fell down on the floor.
The boy stared at him. He was astounded. He hadn't thought he could hurt Pardoe. He hadn't even expected him to fall down. He thought now Pardoe would jump up like a hero on television and start punching him.
Pardoe stayed on the floor. He was lying on his side and feeling for his knee with one hand. He suddenly looked small and fragile. His face crinkled up like tissue paper, squeezing thick tears out of his eyes.
People were getting in the way, so that it was hard for the boy to see. They kept shoving him behind them, away from Pardoe. He tried to push his way to the front, but someone was holding him back.
“Okay! Okay! Break it up. What's going on?” Mr. Carlson pushed his way through the crowd, using both hands. He wasn't like Mr. Wells. He wasn't afraid to touch people. He grabbed them and threw them aside when they wouldn't move.
“Pardoe fell down,” someone said.
“Don't give me that. What happened, Pardoe? Who started this?”
Through a screen of arms and legs the boy could see that Pardoe was trying to sit up. He was no longer crying, but his tears had made red acid marks on his face.
“I fell down,” he said. “I've got a trick knee.”
Mr. Carlson looked around at Calvin, Tiwanda, and the others. He didn't find anything in their silent faces. They were careful not to look at the boy.
“Okay,” said Mr. Carlson in a tired voice. “Party's over. Lights-out in fifteen minutes.”
THE BOY let Calvin and his friends hustle him away. He wanted to find the girl and simply leave, running somewhere. But she was gone when he looked for her, and he wasn't able to resist Calvin, who pulled him through the door and out into the night.
He wondered what they were going to do to him. He thought they would probably beat him up because he had kicked Pardoe when he wasn't looking. That was a cowardly thing to do, he knew. That's one of the reasons he was a goat, because he did things like that. Calvin and the others hadn't known he was a goat, but now they would.
He felt bad about hurting Pardoe, too. When Pardoe had been lying on the floor and crying, he hadn't
looked tough anymore. He had looked like a little kid. That had been such a surprise. The boy could hardly believe it.
In the cabin Calvin threw himself on one of the bunks. He was holding his stomach and laughing.
“Oh, man,” he said. “We've got a kung fu expert here. Did you see Pardoe go down? Bang!”
“What's so funny? That ain't funny.” It was a stocky kid named Mason. He slouched over to the door so the boy couldn't make a break for it.
“What's the matter with you, Mason?” Calvin asked.
“The little creep. He popped Pardoe from behind. When he wasn't looking.”
Calvin hadn't seen that, thought the boy. Now he wouldn't laugh anymore.
But Calvin was still smiling. “So who says Pardoe has to be looking?”
Mason licked his lips and looked at the others. “It ain't fair,” he said stubbornly.
“Oh, man, don't give me that knights-and-armor stuff. You been watching too much TV. Pardoe starts messing with a bandit, he might get hurt. He ought to know better.”
“What do you mean, a bandit?”
“A bandit, man! They got their own rules!”
The boy didn't understand. Neither did Mason.
“What rules? What are you talking about?” he asked.
Calvin sat up and motioned everyone to come close. “Listen, children, I'm going to tell you the first bandit
rule.” He held up a long, straight finger. “If you see you're going to get popped in a fair fight, don't fight fair.” He lay back on the bunk, his arms behind his head. “It's like society, don't you see? They got all these rules that everybody's supposed to play by. But sometimes you see that those rules are going to cut you up. That makes you a bandit. You're a smart bandit when you know you don't have to play that game no more.”
The boy still didn't understand very clearly what Calvin was talking about. He didn't think he was really a bandit. But then maybe he wasn't a goat either.
 
Lydia held her pretty arms up to the cabin ceiling so that her golden bracelets slid down over her elbows.
“Oh, man, that Clyde is so bad! Did you see those eyes? Those are bedroom eyes.” She did a little shimmy.
“Shut your mouth, Lydia,” said Tiwanda. “He's Bonnie's. You mess with him, she'll mess with you. Isn't that right, Bonnie?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “Yes, I will.” She was angry and excited. She wanted to hurt someone.
Lydia laughed. “Okay, man. Back off. But if you ever tell him to walk, point him in my direction.”
“You be quiet, Lydia,” said Susie Burns. “He's too little for you.”
“Oh no, he's not. I'll be his sister and his momma.
I'll teach him everything I know. That story about the cave? Did he really go there, Bonnie? Did he really see that special god?”
“I don't know. Yes. I think so.” She couldn't listen. She didn't want to think about that now. Pardoe had frightened her. She hadn't understood clearly what he had wanted, but she had been sickened, as if something sweet and unclean had been forced into her mouth.
She watched Tiwanda take off her dress and put it on a hanger. The black girl hung it up on a nail by the door and then put on a white bathrobe. She looked big and safe.
“Tiwanda,” the girl asked, “what's wrong with Pardoe?”
Tiwanda sighed. “He's got a bad family history. Don't worry about him. He won't mess with you no more.”
“I will kill him.”
Tiwanda looked at the girl. She was sitting stiffly on a bunk, her hands crossed between her knees. Her eyes were very big, and she was staring straight ahead.
“I will kill him,” she said again.
Tiwanda sat down on the bunk and put her arm around the girl, whose thin shoulders were shaking.
“Someday, honey, somebody's going to. Pardoe's been hurt bad. I don't mean when your boy kicked him. I mean before. He's been hurt bad deep down inside. It makes him all queer. That's why Mr. Carlson
lets him come camping with us. He thinks he can fix the hurt.
“Mr. Carlson, he's a good man, and he won't see how bad Pardoe is. But someday somebody's going to see. They're going to say, ‘Oh, man, we hurt this thing so bad, we can't let it live. We got to kill it.' But that don't have to be you, honey. That don't have to be you.”
“Hey. Come off it, Tiwanda. Ain't nobody going to kill that little son,” said Lydia. “Hey, Bonnie, I bet you haven't even got a toothbrush, have you?”
The girl shook her head. She couldn't remember when she had last brushed her teeth. Back at camp, she supposed. That seemed a long time ago.
Lydia was holding out a toothbrush to her. It was new, still in its plastic tube from the store.
“Thank you,” she said automatically. She wondered if Pardoe ever brushed his teeth. They had been a thin gray color, she remembered.
“But what will you use? I mean, I can't take your toothbrush.”
“That's okay. I've got another. See?”
“Why do you have two toothbrushes?” asked Susie, who was listening carefully to everything anyone said.
“Because you're supposed to. You're supposed to use one and let the other dry out. That way it doesn't collect germs.”
“Oh,” said Susie. “Yeah. I forgot that for a minute.”
There was a small room built onto the back of the cabin, with washbasins and toilet stalls. It was a better
camp than the one her mother was spending a fortune to send her to. The girl washed her face and brushed her teeth and then sat down on Tiwanda's bunk and watched the others get ready for bed.
They had nice things, new bathrobes and slippers. They put cream on their faces, and the black girls with cornrows in their hair put on plastic shower caps. They didn't seem to care that you were supposed to rough it when you were camping, so they weren't nearly as grubby as the kids at her camp. It surprised her a little, because she was sure they didn't have as much money. They had enough, she supposed, so that they didn't have to be grubby. They liked things nice.
She began to worry about how she was going to sleep with Tiwanda. The black girl was so big, and she'd never touched a black person's skin. She'd never even slept with anyone since she was little, except the boy, and that was different. She was afraid that there might be some etiquette involved that she wouldn't understand.
She decided finally that she'd take off her shoes and socks and jeans and sleep in her underwear and T-shirt. She thought that would be all right.
When she pushed down her jeans Tiwanda said, “Hey! Where'd you get underpants like that?” She looked very angry.
The girl froze, bent over with her jeans around her knees. She couldn't understand why Tiwanda was so angry. She was afraid they were going to be mean to her.
“I found them,” she said finally, faintly.
“Yeah, I bet.”
“Come off it, Tiwanda,” said the white girl with the bright lipstick. “I think she looks cute.”
“Yeah, you would.” Tiwanda turned back to the girl. “That's prostitute's underwear. Your mom is going to break a broom on your butt when she sees that. Here.” She rummaged in her suitcase until she found a voluminous pair of white cotton underpants. “You put these on. These too,” she added, pulling out a pair of pajamas. “I'm not sleeping next to you in your skin.”
“I like the underwear,” said Lydia. “That's private. You wear what you want there. But, honey, that T-shirt has got to go.
Milk Bar
? You don't want to advertise. Especially what you ain't got.”
“She's going to cry,” said Susie. She sounded satisfied, as if this was what she had wanted all along.
“Yeah? Well, maybe she's got a few things to cry about. She don't need any help from you.”
The girl didn't know why she felt like crying. She didn't feel nervous and scared anymore. Maybe it was because they were nice to her. Nice to a goat. She'd almost forgotten that she was supposed to be a goat. No, not forgotten. She wouldn't forget, and she wouldn't forgive, either. But it didn't seem important in the same way. It was as if it had all happened to some other, littler kid. She was crying a bit for that kid, too. It wasn't the same as feeling sorry for herself, because she wasn't quite the same person. But she
still felt bad about what had happened to that little kid.
They turned off the light and got into bed. After a few minutes the gray-haired woman put her head in the door.
“Everything all right in here?”
“Yes, Mrs. Higgins. Good night, Mrs. Higgins.”
“Good night.”
“Good night. God bless.”
The girl was squeezed up against the wall. She could feel Tiwanda's shoulder against her own. It was soft and warm. She felt shy, uncomfortable, and safe.
Tiwanda caught her hand and held it. “What's your real name, girl?”
The girl had to think a minute. “Laura. Laura Golden.”
“Laura. That's a pretty name. Your mom pick that out for you?”
“Yes.”
“Laura, I want you to promise me something. Just as soon as you get to town tomorrow, you call your mom. You call her and tell her that she's got to come get you right away. I don't care what you say. Anything that will make her come. You promise me that?”
“Okay.”
“Say, I promise.”
“I promise.”
“Do you have any money?” Tiwanda asked.
“No. Forty-one cents.”
“That's not enough. I'll lend you some. But you pay me back.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Maybe I can sleep now.”
But Tiwanda didn't go to sleep right away. The girl could feel her lying awake, her eyes open, thinking.
“What's your boy's name?” she asked.
“I don't know,” said the girl. It was a surprise to her, but it was the truth. Back on the island she hadn't wanted to know, and then it hadn't seemed to matter. She would have to ask him, if she could remember to.
Tiwanda grunted as if she wasn't surprised.
“You like him a lot, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“He's not going to get you in trouble, is he?”
“No. He takes care of me. We take care of each other. That's why we have to stay together.”
Tiwanda sighed and let her hand go. “Don't I know,” she said. “Don't I know.”
 
The boy woke up while it was still dark. He lay very still on the pallet of extra blankets that Calvin had fixed for him. He was listening. There was no sound but that of the others breathing in their sleep. So it had been just a dream.
He had been dreaming about the cave. In the dream it had not been dark. There had been a light down below him so bright he had not been able to see into it. He had walked through the light and emerged in
a wood. It was not the dark pine forest around the camp. The trees were olive trees. A wind from the sea lifted their leaves, flashing their silver undersides. The sun was bright and warm, and the air smelled of salt, spice, and the faint acrid tang of burning charcoal. Something was moving among the trees. He could see it out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, it slipped away. At first he thought it was the girl, but then he became aware that she was standing next to him, holding his hand.

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