The H-Bomb and the Jesus Rock (11 page)

She turned off the faucet. She looked suspicious. “What is it.”

I held up my finger for her to wait a second and called out over my shoulder, “Okay, Ralph. You can bring it in now.”

“Toby, what’s going on? Who’s Ralph? What is he bringing in?”

“You’re gonna like this, Mom, a lot, I promise, okay? This is really special.”

Ralph and Lou came walking in carefully, Ralph holding the rock up over his head, a nice effect.

“Mom, these are the Cavaletto children.”

But as soon as she saw the rock, this thing with dirt all over it, she got panicky. That’s how she gets about dirt, she gets panicky. “What
is
that? What
is
that?”

“Mom, listen, okay?”

“Get that out of my—”

“Will ya
listen?
” The whole thing could end right here and I’d be back on the porch again, under that blank blue sky. “Please?” I had my hands together like praying, like begging. “Just listen?”

She gave a sigh, meaning go ahead.

I said, “Ralph, could you step a little closer? You can take your arms down.”

He stepped forward holding the head in front of him, staring at Mom for all he was worth.

“Lou, you too. Stand next to your brother.”

She didn’t even hear. She was in a trance, standing there gaping away. Ralph said, “Lou,” and she went and stood next to him, never taking her eyes off Mom.

All right. All set. Here we go.

“Mom?” I said. “These two kids, these...two little children here, were in the vacant lot this morning looking for empty bottles, empty two-cent pop bottles, so they could buy themselves a little piece of candy—not even a candy
bar
,
just a little red-hot, or maybe one of those...whaddaya call ‘em, they’re round, made of caramel, powdered sugar in the center...”

“Toby, why have you brought a rock into my kitchen?”

“I’m getting there, Mom.”

Ralph

Bull’s-eyes, that’s what they’re called.

I didn’t say it, though. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t speak, even if I wanted. She was the biggest thing I ever saw, even on TV, bigger than Haystacks Calhoun. He’s a wrestler. Ever see him? Well, she was bigger. But I quit staring. I didn’t want her to get insulted. I wanted her to like us, so she’d give us some money to get started on our plan.

Takes money to make money.

Very first thing I’m buying, a brand new baseball glove. I don’t know what make or model, but a new one. I don’t want to use Dad’s anymore, ever. Not after this morning.

Lou will probably join the Brownies I’ll bet. You have to pay for the uniform and dues and they couldn’t come up with it. She’s been whining about it ever since.

She was still staring at Fatso’s mom. I got her to stand next to me but she went on staring. I gave her a tap in the ankle with the side of my foot to make her stop, or at least close her mouth.

Lou

When I saw his mom I peed a squirt.

Fatso’s like a giant pig but she was like a hippo or a mountain or a house.

Ralph called me over and I went and stood next to him. I wanted to hold his hand but he was still holding the Jesus rock. Then he kicked me in the ankle, I don’t know why. I was going to kick him back but I didn’t want her to get mad.

She was like a bakery truck or a whale.

I was praying inside,
Jesus Mary and Joseph, Jesus Mary and Joseph...

She kept breathing in and breathing out.

Toby

“
So
, there they were, Mom, wandering around the vacant lot, looking for empty bottles, saying little prayers, then all of a sudden Lou, this little girl right here, saw this
thing
in the weeds. Didn’t know what it was. Looked like a rock, an ordinary rock. But then. She looked closer. And Mom? Look what she saw.”

Ralph was standing next to me with the head and I pointed out the things Lou saw: “There’s the hair. See? Along there? And there? All wavy? And look at the eyes, Ma. See ‘em? They see
you
. And the nose, right along here, mouth underneath—looks like he could talk, doesn’t he? Wonder what he’d say.
Pray for peace
, something like that. And look at this, all this, that’s a beard, a nice bushy beard. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking:
Looks like a face, big deal.
But see this? Across here? Crown of thorns, Ma.
And?
Look at these.” I touched the little bumps running down the cheeks. “Know what
these
are, don’t you? Tear drops.” I gave her a sad look. “Crying for our sins.”

She stepped closer. She had her mouth open and her eyes bugging out.

I kept from laughing.

“Oh...my...God,” she goes. Then real slow, like in a trance, she made the sign of the cross.

“Would you like to hold it, Ma? Ralph, let her hold it. Go ahead.”

He handed it over like an altar boy.

She stood there holding it with her yellow rubber gloves, eye to eye, jelly arms all a-quiver. I was just praying she didn’t drop the stupid thing and chip it.

“How did...where did...”

“I told you, Mom. These children found it.”

She looked at Ralph and Lou, finally really looked at them there, all meek and mild, in their headwear.

I said to her, “Remember the story of the children of Fatima? The little shepherd kids Mary appeared to? Remember?”

She nodded, slow.

“Well, Mom?” I said. “I’d like you to meet Ralph and his sister Lou,” presenting them with my arm: “The Children of the Vacant Lot.”

Lou

I was embarrassed the way she was looking at me and Ralph. She had her head to one side and a little shiny teardrop was sliding down her big fat face. That’s how much we reminded her of the children of Fatima, it made her cry. I was embarrassed and put my head down. I stuck my hand on my hip so she could tell better.

Toby

“Children,” Mom said to us, all gooey now, “do you know...what this
is?
”

“We sure do, Mom. Isn’t it something?”

“It’s a sign,” she said.

“That’s right.” I nodded my head.

Whatever.

“A sign we’re going to be all right,” she said. “They’re not going to destroy us. Our Lord won’t let that happen.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “That’s what
we
were saying. And y’know? We were thinking.
Everyone
should have a chance to see this. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? Let everybody see this?”

She nodded, staring at the head, not listening very good.

“So, you know what I was thinking, Ma? What
we
were thinking? Me and the, you know, the children here?”

“We should pray now,” she said.

“Exactly. That’s what we were thinking. We should pray. First things first.”

We could talk later on, after she came down a little.

Walter Cronkite

This is the point at which we are concerned there might be shooting among the ships at sea, the possibility that invasion might have to be undertaken to assure that those bases are eliminated...

Ralph

I started feeling horrible, like Judas.

Judas felt so bad he ran off and hanged himself. I wasn’t going to hang myself but I felt horrible, the way Fatso’s mom was carrying on, all weepy and believing, calling the rock a sign from God—like me and
Lou
were saying, before I went over to Fatso’s side. And now we were going to trick her into giving us money to make money off of it. She wasn’t real smart, you could tell. We were going to trick her easy.

She told us we should all pray now and took us down a hallway, slow, like a procession.

Walking along I thought, Okay,
so
, this is the part in the story where the boy feels horrible and prays for forgiveness:
“Forgive me, Lord,” he prayed. “I doubted the rock. I listened to Fatso. He tempted me with money. I’m sorry. I feel horrible, I really do...”

Toby

Mom led us into the den, carrying the holy head out in front of her, walking slow and religious—her, then me, then Ralph, then Lou.

She told me to take the lamp off the little table and set it down on the floor, which I did, moving in a religious way. Then she told us all to kneel down, and we did that, Lou on my left, Ralph on my right.

Lou was trembling all over like she was freezing.

Then Mom stood facing us with a stupid little dreamy smile, holding up the rock in her rubber gloves like the priest holds up the chalice for everyone to bow their heads to, so I bowed my head, and Ralph and Lou bowed theirs. Then I raised my head and so did they.

Sheep.

Then, real slow, Mom turned around and started to set the sacred rock on the little table, on the little doily, the little clean white doily. She was bending over, slowly lowering it—but then she stopped. She stayed there like that, her gigantic rear end in our faces.

I knew what she was thinking:

This rock is awful dirty...

But it’s from Our Lord...

But it’s still awful dirty...

She turned around and told us in a quiet voice to wait right there. Then she started back down the hallway with the rock, still moving slow and religious.

Ralph elbowed me. “Where’s she going?”

“Don’t be poking me, boy.”

“Where’s she
going?
”

“Kitchen.”

“What for?”

“Wash it off.”

He squinted at me.

“She doesn’t like dirt,” I told him, “okay? I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked off towards the hallway.

Some people it’s impossible to insult, they’re too dumb.

Ralph

The boy would wait. He would kneel here waiting until the giant mother got back...until she came into the room...until she got closer...closer...then he’d get up and grab the rock and run like mad, him and his sidekick, hollering out,
For God, Pope John and the USA!

I liked it.

So that’s what the boy was going to do. They had to get the rock back, it was the next thing in the story, so there wasn’t any choice.

“Give me courage, Lord,” he prayed.

The boy was brave and bold but could use a little help from Jesus, the mother being not only gigantic but also kind of mental, out there washing off a rock. That seemed kind of mental to the boy...

Lou

Fatso’s Mom was acting like at Mass, like the priest. She knew the rock was from Jesus, that’s why she was moving so slow, plus being so fat. But then she left with it. I heard Fatso tell Ralph she was going to wash it off. So that made me think of John the Baptist. She was going to sprinkle the head like John the Baptist baptizing Jesus, because even Jesus had to be baptized, even Him.

I baptize Thee...

So that’s what she was doing out there—you could hear the water running—making the head official, making it Catholic.

Catholic is the only true religion. All the other ones are false. My friend Marcia is a Lutheran. She goes to church but it’s not Mass, it’s not real. Jesus isn’t there. She’s wasting her time. He’s in
our
church. I tried to tell her. Know what she said? The Pope is Satan. She really said that. I told her she was going to Hell. She said at least her father wasn’t a drunk. I punched her in the stomach. She ran in the house screaming her head off. Her mom came out and said I should be chained up.

Fatso was singing quiet to himself, “‘I’m Chiquita Banana and I’m here to say...’”

I snuck a peek at Ralph on Fatso’s other side. I had to lean way back.

Guess what he was doing, he was praying,
hard
. He was kneeling up straight with his eyes shut tight and his hands together perfect, moving his lips.

Ralph was back!

I felt like doing the Twist.

I felt like doing the Mashed Potato.

Toby

I was getting a little worried about the rock, the way the faucet out there kept running. Mom’s pretty tough on dirt.

Meanwhile next to me Ralph was working hard on his role, on his Fatima Lad.

Attaboy.

I checked on the little one. She’d gotten over the shakes, or anyway was only shaking her
butt
now. I didn’t understand this kid.

She noticed me looking and quit bopping around—in fact she turned into a statue, hands together just below the chin, gazing straight ahead. I was thinking, all she needed was a First Communion dress to go with the veil, with some little white socks and shiny black shoes. Have her kneeling in the tent like that, off to the side as you walk in. That would be a nice touch.

I leaned over and whispered I forgave her for twisting my tit. “You were just helping out your big brother. And you know what? I’ll tell you a secret. I wish
I
had a little sister just...like...you. I’m serious.”

I actually
was
kind of serious. I’d clean her up, scrub her down, show her what a knife and fork is for—maybe even let her help me with my cards, you know? Teach her how to organize them, calculate trade value, all that. She could be my little—what’s the word—
apprentice
.

I leaned in closer. “Maybe we’ll order some pizza after this, how’s that sound? Some Damiani’s pizza—with pineapple. You like pineapple on your pizza, Lou? Ever try it?”

Lou

Please, Jesus, get him away from me? His breath smells like pickles, it’s making me woozy. Why is he talking to me like this, calling me “Lou,” wanting to feed me pizza—he doesn’t want to be friends, Lord, does he?

He probably doesn’t have any. How could he? He’s so fat and mean and jolly about it.

But maybe not.

Maybe down deep, under all that blubber...

Toby

“A lot of people think pineapple on a pizza sounds weird,” I whispered, “and I’ll tell you a secret, I did too. But then I tried it. And guess what, it was delicious, it was out of this world. And now? I wouldn’t
dream
of pizza without pineapple, wouldn’t go
near
it. See what I’m saying? Do you see?”