The Alley (5 page)

Mama made Connie look at the stand-still feet; her raised eyebrows asked the question, "What do you think he is doing in there?"

Connie frowned at Mama. "Say nothing, do nothing, just wait," the frown meant. So they just waited. Everyone else had left the dressing room by now, the Fabadessas, the Arps, everybody. Connie got tired of waiting then. She and Mama and Billy might get locked up here in the dressing room and never get out. So she asked again, "Are you nearly ready, Billy?"

"Almost," said Billy. His towel came hurtling over the door, and after some more waiting, Billy Maloon himself emerged, fully dressed.

"Where's your bathing suit?" Mama asked.

"I have it," answered Billy.

"But where?" asked Mama, bewildered. Billy didn't have it in his hands. He picked up his towel, which was not wet at all, and that was all he had.

"I have it on," said Billy.

"Under your clothes?" Mama asked.

"Yes," said Billy.

"Why, you'll catch cold," said Mama. "You better go in there, take off your clothes and your bathing suit, rub yourself down good, and dress again. We'll wait for you."

"No," said Billy. "It's all right. I won't catch cold. I always do this. It's easier to carry my suit this way."

Connie was afraid Mama would argue—make him; but she didn't. "All right, Billy," she said. "But you must run like sixty not to catch cold. It's below freezing out."

"I will," he said. And they all went out. But Billy Maloon, being the unhurrying type, unlike Hugsy, who always ran, did not run like sixty. He walked.

You never could count on what Billy would do—he was unexpected. One day Connie was outside with all the children. At first Billy was not there. But after a while, he came out of his house and solemnly climbed over his fence. His mother always kept their gate to the Alley padlocked; and Billy always had to climb over his outside heavy, jagged wire fence—cut himself or not—to get out. On this day, although it was a really hot one in early May, hot as certain springtime days can be when you can't bear to go to school any longer—summer was practically here; why did school have to go on and on?—what was Billy wearing? A snowsuit! Imagine the sensation, with everyone else sweltering, and their faces streaked! Katy Starr exclaimed, "Billy! Whatever's the matter with you? What have you got that on for?"

"Because," he said, and you could see he had not put his snowsuit on, on this hot day, as a joke. "Because," he said triumphantly, in the voice of one who knows something, has an inside track that no one else has, "because I heard on the radio that a cold wave is on the way, that there's going to be a sudden, a great drop in the temperature. The cold wave is coming from Minnesota, and—yeah, smarty—they're having snow out there already. May, the month of May, and they're having snow! Snow may fall! That's why I have my snowsuit on. Any objections?"

Everybody jeered. Here it was—one of the hottest days ever—and now this! Then they said, "Phew!" mopped their brows, pretended to faint from the extra heat Billy generated with his snowsuit on, and Katy, the lawmaker, dissolved the game they were playing, a form of tag. "Everyone come into my cellar and sit out the coming storm!"

"Very funny," said Billy. And he and Connie went into her house to play and add to the village on the Chinese rug.

Though sweat was on his brow, Billy played in his snowsuit the entire morning. One thing about Billy was, he never wanted to take off his coat or his sweater, if he had one on, even if it were warm. And he did not like to put something more on than he already had on, if it were cold; he liked to stay the way he was.

Suddenly Katy Starr came into Connie's house. She swung up the stairs—she had not rung the bell—and she said, "Billy, you must not stay cooped up in Connie's house. Your mother wants you to come outside and play with the kids."

Billy Maloon did not answer Katy, and he did not go out.

"I bet she didn't," he said, after about an hour, meaning his mother, "say that at all."

Well, that's the way Katy was. She wanted everyone to be out with her. She made the rules, and she made the laws. All the laws of the Alley were made up by Katy Starr. "Katy's laws," they were called. "Most of Katy's laws are good ones," Connie told Mama. "Very good laws." Everyone thought so, Billy Maloon, as well as Connie, and they abided by them. If only outside-the-Alley people would abide by outside-the-Alley laws as well, the world outside might have been as good as the world inside.

"Where would the Alley be without Katy's laws?" That's what Connie wondered all along. Now, while she and Billy were swinging, they heard Katy's voice, "Everybody come up to the Circle! Meece! We're going to play Meece." She was cruising up and down the Alley saying, "Come on ... Meece!" in her clipped, shrill voice. At Connie's gate she said, "Come on, Billy. We're about to begin."

Billy did not say anything.

"Come on, Connie," said Katy. "Come on," she said. "Join in." She did not wait for an answer. She expected everyone to come. And she had gone swinging up the Alley toward Hugsy's house to get him. You could hear her now from way down the other end of the Alley, near the gate, probably searching for Arnold, too.

Before Katy moved to the Alley, it did not have any laws. Everybody in the Alley did what he or she wanted to do and did not think was he or wasn't he breaking one of Katy's laws. Now they had Katy's laws in the Alley, knew what side to ride their bikes on—what to do and not do.

The Alley was paved with cement; the center part had small squares etched in it—that was where one of the laws said that the little ones must walk when the big ones were riding their bikes. It was called "the middle walk" and was also where the big ones must park their bikes. Another law said that people must ride their bikes on the right-hand side of the Alley and use the middle walk only for passing. This was so none of the little ones, to whom the middle walk ordinarily belonged, would get bumped into.

Katy invented "Free Day" and "Semi-Free Day." On "Free Day" you could ride your bikes anywhere, the middle walk included, and little ones just had to stay out of the way—in their own yards or else walk on the narrow curbing, known as "emergency walk," and cling to the wire fencing. On "Free Day" you could crash into people, have collisions. "Semi-Free Day" meant that you had to obey all laws but that there was no policeman to say "stop" or "go," so you could ride continuously. On days that were just ordinary days, not free or semi-free, there always had to be a policeman directing traffic. This policeman stood in the safety inner zone and said, "Green light," or "Red light." Usually he stood outside the Arps' yard, the one next to Connie's. Being the policeman was a boring job. To make it interesting, the policeman said, "Green light, Red light," very often, especially Ray Arp, when he had the job. "Red light," Ray would say right after he had said, "Green light," and the person would be caught in the middle and get a ticket. Then there would be an argument and possibly a fight, because someone might complain to Ray about having to stop every minute.

"All right," Ray would say in disgust. "You be the cop then, and let me ride your bike." Sometimes Ray would snatch the bike and make the person give him a turn being a rider instead of a cop. People really preferred "Semi-Free Day" to regular bike day, because no one liked the job of being cop for more than two minutes. This job fell to Ray more often than to anyone else, to him or to his sister June, because they did not own bikes. Although they did not have bikes, in their yard they had the best climbing tree in the Alley, known as "Ray's" tree. Ray made everybody ask for permission to climb his tree, the way Connie did to swing in her swing and all the kids did to ride their bikes. "That was fair," thought Connie. Katy said it was fair, too.

When it came to popularity, there was no one, big or little, boy or girl, who could compare with Katy. She would come to a back door and say, "It is I—Katy Starr—the most popular girl in the Alley." But she was nice about it—cute, gay, and bright. She would stick out her chest and beat it to show the comment was meant as a joke. But it was not a joke—it was true. Just look at "the laws" alone! All good, the laws were. Think of "Free Day," "Red light, Green light," the traffic laws. Think of Katy picking up the little ones if they were hurt, comforting them, wiping their noses, drying their tears, getting a Band-Aid or else the mother, taking out splinters, and telling them to be good; think of her telling Anthony Bigelow to get out of the way, not to hurt the tiny ones, not to kick Susie Goode, especially not to kick her on her sore leg, not to kick at all or to throw things. Katy also tried to cure Anthony of bad language. Over and over she told him not to crash into people, making them fall off their bicycles, unless it was "Free Day." Every day was "Free Day" to Anthony Bigelow, and he was the only child in the Alley who did not obey Katy's laws. Sometimes a trial was held in the Circle if a person broke a rule. The jail was in the hidy-hole of Hugsy's back yard. Anthony was banished there often. But he wouldn't even obey that law, and out he'd crawl. Off he'd go bawling to his mother, using bad language, not caring about little Janey, or Notesy, Nicky, or anybody hearing him, not even his little sister, Jilly.

Now children were gathering in the Circle. Some came running, some sauntering, some came in special ways, walking backward, eyes shut, to the Circle.

"I guess everybody'll play," said Billy.

"Yes," Connie said. But she and he went on swinging. They
might
play. Connie watched Katy sorting people out up there, telling each one what part he'd play. "What a girl!"

Connie began to think about the day Katy Starr had moved into the Alley—two and a half years ago. Ten minutes after Katy had moved in, she was right at home. Compare that with Connie's first day here! Connie had spent her first day rocking on Red Horsie—they did not have the jungle gym yet—and Horsie gave Connie courage. But Katy! By the end of her first day, she had learned the names of everyone, had raced up and down the Alley dozens of times, knocked at people's doors, introduced herself, already had become important. The sight of such self-possession awed Connie, and she had gone into her house and, from her dining-room window, watched the new girl—where she went, how she spoke. Connie felt shy. You would have thought Connie was the new girl and Katy the old one.

Then, having caught a glimpse of Connie at her dining-room window, Katy came to Connie's back door, and she said, "I see you have different dining-room windows than we have." That showed how very observing Katy was, for Connie's windows were different. The Ives were among the few families in the Alley who still had the original little panes of stained-glass, turquoise and gold, in the top half of the dining-room windows. Papa washed them himself, not to let the huge window washer press too hard and break them.

Then Katy had gone on to someone else's back door, the Carrolls' perhaps. At home everywhere, everywhere. In one day! Why, it had taken Connie weeks—months—to get used to being here. But—"That was Katy," she thought. Look at her—in no time, roaming up and down the Alley, giving an order here where needed, thinking up laws already. There was never a minute any more when everybody did not have something to do. Before Katy there had been no real life. After Katy, then there was life. Before Katy, Connie had not known that one had to be doing something every minute with somebody, let alone with everybody. But, thank goodness, by the time Katy had moved in, Connie had her jungle gym with its swings; and swinging was doing something, alone or not.

Sometimes Connie thought that she had been happier before Katy Starr had moved into the Alley. But she grew used to her. "She is a great girl," thought Connie. "She is really a very great girl. And her laws are good."

There was Katy now, down in the Circle, having rounded up everybody for the game of Meece. Billy and Connie decided to join in, and they went down to the Circle, too.

"The game will begin," said Katy in her positive voice, "when Hugsy Goode comes. He's eating something." Everybody roared. Hugsy was a great eater; he wasn't the least bit fat though, just hungry—always. Now, here he was, and the game could begin.

Although the game of Meece was invented mainly by Katy Starr, it was Hugsy Goode who was responsible for the idea. One day the tree trimmer was working on Billy Maloon's enormous oak—it was old and getting dry and brittle. Hugsy picked up two huge leafy branches, held them—one on each side of his head—and charged up and down the Alley, saying, "I am a moose." He was a comical spectacle, and after the screams of laughter had subsided, Katy said, "I know what. We'll all be mooses—that's not right—meece—we'll all be meece. Everybody down to the Circle for the game, the brand-new game of Meece."

In this game, there was only one man—MAN, the hunter. All others in the game were meece, and they stood in a group at the edge of the Circle. Between them and MAN was the meece guard, who was supposed to warn the meece if MAN seemed to be about to hunt and prowl. One by one MAN would catch all the little meece, and they then must stand, frozen like statues, in the Circle. The last meece tagged by MAN would be the new hunter in the new game. Hugsy, the original wearer of moose antlers, was a fine meece, and he made a fine and sad death; he had beautiful, large round brown eyes, and they haunted you when he was a dead meece. In the game of Meece, it was no longer necessary to wear the antlers. They were to be imagined instead.