The Children (12 page)

“Listen, Ishky,” Ollie says to me, when we are back on the block, “from now on, yer in duh gang.”

“Yeah,” Kipleg says.

“We ain' goin' tuh snitch.”

“Yeah.”

But all I want now is to get away from them, and I am glad when they leave me alone on my stoop. Out of all grand dreams, nothing is left—nothing.

I am Ishky—but I have nothing now.

I sit in a bundle on my stoop, my head in my hands, and I hardly notice how it is down at the bottom of the block, where the sun is beginning to lower, where all the houses are taking on a rosy glow. Evening is coming.

Someone sits down next to me. Glancing sidewise, I see that it is Thomas Edison. He has some sorrow of his own, and I don't mind him sitting next to me. It seems to me again, that there is some sort of a bond between us.

Warm stone—and warm night air. As the day passes, I am alone, full of wonder and doubt. What are you anyway, Ishky?

Dreams will not come back—

See how the sun sets—

TWENTY

E
VENING COMES, AND THE SUN FADES. FROM WHERE I
sit, from the edge of the house, a long shadow creeps out into the street; and I know that soon it will be dark.

Everyone has gone except Thomas Edison, and he sits next to me in silence, his large head drooping forward. He doesn't speak to me, and I don't speak to him; I don't want to speak. I only want to sink into my misery, as deep as I can.

And then, my mother puts her head out of the window. “Ishky!”

Why doesn't she leave me alone? Why must I bring my misery upstairs to her?

“Ishky!”

“Awright.”

“Right avay!”

“Awright.”

Why am I afraid to go upstairs? Maybe I am afraid to leave Thomas Edison, but I don't know why that should be so.

From the shadows of the shoe repair place across the street, a small shadow detached itself, hesitated, and then moved over the gutter toward Ishky. Ishky watched it, with large sad brown eyes.

“Hey, Ishky!”

“Hullo, Shomake.”

“Hullo.”

Shomake sat down between Ishky and Thomas Edison. First he tightened the laces on his shoes. Then he stared straight ahead of him.

“Ishky?”

“Yeah?”

“Yuh still saw at me?”

“Naw—I ain' saw. I wasn't never saw atcha, Shomake.”

“I thought yuh was.”

“Naw—”

They sat in silence again, three small figures, hunched over, wise and young and old as the world. They sat, while the sun sank behind the houses, to bring evening again. The heat was passing. From either end of the block, cool breezes stole. Voices, one by one, broke into, the night, but the small figures paid no attention.

“Duh fiddle's gone,” Shomake said finally.

Ishky looked at him. Thomas Edison said, “Whyya cryin', Shomake?”

“I ain'.”

“Geesus,” Ishky whispered.

Shomake got to his feet. He looked at Ishky and then he looked at Thomas Edison, and then he stared down at his feet.

“Well …” he began.

“Listen, Shomake,” Ishky said eagerly, “we gotta gang, Ollie an' Kipleg an' me. If y'wanna, yuh c'n git intuh it. I'll fix it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure—an' dat'll be a lotta fun.”

“Yeah?” Sure.

“Awright.” He turned hesitantly, and it seemed to Ishky then that he was afraid to go back to the store. Very slowly, Shomake walked to the curb.

“Well—so long, Ishky—”

“So long, Shomake.”

“Seeya tumarra.”

“Yeah.”

“S'long.”

“So long.”

Shomake faded into the night, strange Shomake—

“Hey, Ishky,” Thomas Edison said.

“Yeah?”

“C'n I git intuh duh gang?”

“Yeah—I guess.”

“Geesus—”

They sat a while longer. A yellow cat came up to them, mewing, and it leaped into Thomas Edison's arms. He held it close to him, stroking it, whispering to it. Then he dropped it to the sidewalk, and it darted away.

“Well …”

Ishky turned around to look at Thomas Edison, who was standing now, his head drooping forward farther than ever.

“Goin' home?”

“Yeah.”

“Well—s'long.”

“So long.”

A
ND
I
AM
alone again now. My mother calls, “Ishky! Ishky! Ishky! Come opstes!”

“Awright!”

If she knew, she would leave me alone. I have done an awful thing, and I don't know why. Oh, if there were some reason, any reason, it would not be the way it is. But there is no reason. I took the fiddle, and I destroyed it.

If there is a God in heaven, what will he do to me? Or is this only the beginning? What is happening to me, Ishky?

I want to cry, the way Shomake was crying, but I can't. No, I can't cry.

I get up, and go into the hall. How dark—and dreary—and gloomy. Am I afraid of a dark hall now? Step by step, I go up. When I open the door, my mother folds her arms around me.

But no rest in that.

TWENTY-ONE

M
ORNING COMES, AND ALL THINGS ARE FORGOTTEN—AT
least for the time. I stretch, yawn, and wonder about the day, about yesterday. All things happened yesterday, the gang, the garden, and the fiddle. Then I turn over, burying my face in the covers. Why must the fiddle come back to me? I want to forget, but what will Shomake say to me?

“Ishky—Ishky!”

Out of bed. I pull my clothes on, glancing anxiously about the room. Small and dirty, but through the window, the sun is shining in. So that makes up for other things.

I guess that I am a fool. Otherwise would I have destroyed Shomake's fiddle? And now, this morning, I want to find Shomake. I don't know what I want to say to him, but I want to talk to him, and maybe that will make it better.

“Ishky!”

“Awright, mama.”

I lace my shoes. Even if they are falling to pieces, they will do for another day. Anything will do for today, a day full of sunshine and gladness.

My father has already gone away, but when I come into the kitchen, my mother stands and looks at me. Since I fell off the roof the day before, it seems that my mother cannot see enough of me. There she stands, big, ugly, and smiles at me. Why can't I love my mother as I should?

“Good morning, my heart,” she says to me in Yiddish.

“Hullo.”

“Is my man ready for his breakfast?”

“Yeah—”

“Come, then.”

I bolt my food. Indeed, it seems that I can never be out of the house quickly enough in the morning, when the sun is shining. Before I go, she holds me and kisses me.

“Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah.”

I go down the stairs, through the dim hall, and then I burst out into the street, stopping, suddenly, rolling myself in the warm sun. Nobody on the block; but who would be there this early? So I sit down on the stoop to bask in the sun.

Everything is fresh and clean that early in the morning. Do you know how that is? After I have sat there a while, I begin to feel full of the sun, and I stretch like a cat. I am sleepy again.

I watch Shomake's store. When he comes out, I will call him over, and tell him about the garden. You see, about this garden: if it is not in one place, then it is in another. The garden is somewhere, and even if I don't quite believe that, I will tell it to Shomake.

For Shomake, the night was long and bitter, and often he woke, to stare into the darkness and whimper. Once, his mother woke, and heard him.

“Peace, my child,” she said in her warm Italian.

“I will never play again.”

“Now—what nonsense is that? As sure as I live, I will buy you another fiddle. Am I too poor for that?”

“No, I'll never have another fiddle.”

“Foolish child, sleep.”

And she could hear him tossing and turning and twisting and whimpering.

“Child—child!”

“Yes—I am all right, never fear.”

“Are you trying to cheer your mother now? Only sleep, and tomorrow I will have another fiddle for you.”

“Yes.”

But the night was long, endless, dreary, and out of the darkness figures rose to torment him. Trembling, he crossed himself, drawing the blankets high over his head. Would sleep never come? And when sleep came, it brought dreams. And in his sleep, they took his fiddle from him. As often as he had another fiddle, it vanished.

He saw the gray light creep into the room. “Wonderful light,” he thought. Lying quietly, he saw his father rise, dress, go into the shop. Later, his mother called him.

“Ho, heart of hearts, do you see that the morning has come, after all?”

“Yes.”

“And you see how foolish the fears of the night are. God takes care of the night as well as the day.” Only, in her heart, she knew there was no money to buy him another fiddle.

“Mother—”

“Yes, my dear heart?”

“The new fiddle will be like the old one?”

“Yes, yes, my dear heart.”

“You will buy it for me? You are not deceiving me, mother mine?”

“Deceiving my child?” His mother laughed, and then she bent over the stove to hide her face.

“Fiddles, cost a lot?”

“Now are you one to worry about that—or is it my worry? Since when has my proud son taken it into his head to worry about money matters?”

He looked at her, and he managed to smile. Slowly, the smile spread over his small face, grew then, and presently they were both looking at each other, laughing.

“Eat, my child,” she smiled.

Outside, the sun calls to all. The sun was so beautiful, that for a while he sat in the shadowed shop, just looking at it. Then, hesitantly, he opened the door, stepped outside.

The warm breeze crossed him, bathed him inside of it. Spreading his body, like a newly awakened bird, he walked toward Ishky. He grinned.

“Hey, Ishky!”

“Hey, Shomake!”

Grinning at each other, they came together, and together they walked over to the stoop, sat down. They stretched their legs, leaned back, looked into the sun for an instant, and then blinked their eyes. They were full of healthy animal pleasure. They stretched their arms, yawning.

“Whatta day!”

“Yeah.”

“Hot.”

“Yeah.”

Then they heard someone scream, “Kip!”

Kipleg was making his exit through the window of his house, and with the screams of his mother, the block woke up. Ishky and Shomake stared eagerly.

“Watchim.”

“Yeah.”

Kipleg sprang out onto the fire escape, grabbed the ladder, and swung back and forth, like a monkey. His mother leaned out, screaming curses. Then Kipleg dropped to the stoop, to the street, and darted up the block.

“Swine!” his mother screeched after him.

Ishky looked at Shomake, grinned. Their hands crept together. No matter how you took it, life was good.

“Wanna find duh gaden?” Shomake inquired.

“Duh gaden?”

“Yeah.”

Ishky pursed up his lips, considered, and then nodded. “But it ain' back dere,” he, explained, nodding at the house.

“Somere else?”

“Yeah.”

They rose, and they began to walk. Down toward the river, they walked, toward the fields and the open lots.

T
HERE IS
no bitterness in my heart, no bitterness in Shomake's heart. If he knew that I had destroyed his fiddle, would it be any different? I don't know, but I know that I must be good to Shomake.

I will make it up to him. You see, we understand each other. We understand about the garden. Maybe there isn't any garden, and I think that we both know that. But nevertheless we go to find it. I am very close to Shomake now.

But no more music—no more music— Carefully I steer him away from the lot where the remains of his broken fiddle lie. I don't want him to see that. Perhaps if he saw it, I would have to tell him the truth.