The Kind One (32 page)

I let her in, then limped over to the sofa. She watched me ease myself down like an old man.

“Mr. Dulwich said you’d been in some kind of accident, but you were going to be fine and I shouldn’t ask you about it.”

“He’s a smart fella, Mr. Dulwich. You should always listen to him.”

Sophie perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap.

“So what did you want to tell me?”

She looked away, toward the door, like somebody had suddenly arrived there. Her eyes filled up with tears.

“Sophie? What’s the matter?”

“My mom’s sending me away. To some kind of reform school.”

“You’re kidding. When?”

“Next week.”

“But—how come? When did all this happen?”

“My mom lost her job at the department store. She said it was because her boss didn’t like her, but I think it was because she was drinking. She drinks all the time now. Anyway, Jerry’s been coming around again. He’s got some kind of job now, selling carpet cleaner or something. And one night, they thought I was asleep, but I could hear them talking. And she was trying to talk him into coming back, but he said he wouldn’t as long as she had that little brat living with her. Me—I’m the brat. And she said don’t worry, they’ve got places for crazy kids like her, kids that try to burn down houses.

“Then a few days later a policeman came to see me, and he had a man and woman with him. Mr. McNamara and Miss Hazeltine. Mr. McNamara seemed kind of like a preacher, he was dressed in black and he was really old and he wore glasses. Miss Hazeltine was younger and kind of fat, but she wore glasses too. They said they were from the Sonoma State Home in Eldridge. They said they’d come to see me because they’d heard I was a troubled little girl and they thought they could help me. I said I wasn’t a troubled little girl, and they asked me then why did I set fire to the house, and I said I didn’t. Then they gave me a written test with a lot of crazy questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, like, how many boys have you kissed, and have you ever dreamed you went to school in your underwear, and if you were an animal, what kind of animal would you like to be, and why? I wrote I’d like to be a bat, ’cause if I was a bat I’d be blind, and I wouldn’t be able to take this dumb test.

“I don’t know whether I passed the test or not. All I know is Mr. McNamara called my mother yesterday and said they’d be coming back on Monday. To take me to Eldridge.”

She sniffled, and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

“I’ve seen lots of movies about reform schools. They make you wear dopey uniforms and they feed you something called ‘gruel’ and they make you stand out in the rain for punishment. You should’ve just let me run away.”

“Oh, it might not be so bad,” I said without much conviction.

“I’ll probably never see you again.”

“You’ll see me again. I’ll come visit. Dulwich and I both will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Then I tapped the tip of her nose with my finger and said: “Did you know you have exactly eleven freckles?”

The droopy corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, and then we heard: “I’m gonna have to put you on a leash, honey!”

Lois Gubler barged through the door, looking awfully happy for ten o’clock in the morning. Her platinum-blonde hair looked as stiff and dry as straw. She didn’t seem to be wearing any underwear under her sloppy dress; I could see her nipples, along with some sort of yellow substance dripping down the front.

“I made us some breakfast. French toast. Your favorite!”

“So that’s why you got egg all over you,” said Sophie.

“Where?” she said, then she saw the yolk and laughed. “Oops! Betty Crocker I ain’t! Come on, Sophie. It’s gonna get cold.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But I made it just the way you like it.”

“She said she’s not hungry,” I said.

Lois turned her unsteady attention on me and my red silk pajamas.

“Nice peejays,” she sneered. “So you living here now?”

“He had an accident,” said Sophie, “and Mr. Dulwich is taking care of him.”

“What kinda accident?”

“None of your business,” I said.

“You know, Jerry always thought there was something funny about Mr. Dulwich. Maybe there’s something funny about you too. I’ve got a good mind to call the cops. They got laws against guys like you.”

“They oughta have laws against mothers like
you.
”

“Yeah? What do you mean by that?”

“A mother oughta raise her kid—not ship her off someplace just so she can shack up with a bum like Jerry.”

Lois was looming over us now, her different scents billowing over us like a cloud: booze and perfume, tobacco and B.O.

“Oh, I get the picture. Sophie’s been giving you an earful. But she probably didn’t tell you this is all for her own good. See, my daughter’s got this problem. I mean, besides being a firebug. She’s boy-crazy. Just can’t control herself. She’s always shaking her skinny little fanny in the faces of my fellers. But probably I ain’t telling you nothing you don’t already know. No telling what you two have been up to. But this new place she’s going, they’re gonna take care of all that. She won’t be acting like a little whore no more ’cause they won’t put up with it.”

Sophie stood up indignantly. “I hate you!
You’re
the whore!”

Lois slapped her. She lifted her arm to slap her again, but I lunged up off the sofa and grabbed her by the wrist. She spit in my face.

I felt the warm sticky wetness oozing down.

“If you weren’t a girl, I’d deck you.”

“And if you weren’t a crummy little cripple, I’d be
scared
of ya!”

Sophie had had enough. She ran out the door. Lois stumbled after her, yelling: “Sophie Gubler, you come back here! You run away again, I’ll call the cops!”

I went in the bathroom to wash off my face. Needed to wash it several times before I was satisfied.

   “SOME OF THESE state places can be pretty bad,” I said.

“Unfortunately,” said Dulwich, “I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Except, as you promised, visit her. Write her. Remain her friend.”

I’d slept most of the day; now I was having dinner with Dulwich. Spaghetti and tomato sauce, broccoli, French bread, and plonk.

“This is great,” I said. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook.”

“Spaghetti’s easy. But thank you. I do enjoy cooking, I admit.”

Tinker Bell walked over to the table. The veterinarian had given her some medicine to put on her battle wounds and said she ought to be fine. Now she meowed up at us.

“There’s nothing here you’d like, old girl. Sorry.”

“How come you’ve never been married, Dulwich?”

“Oh, I’m a confirmed bachelor, Danny. I’ve discovered that romance roils my soul intolerably.”

“Maybe I oughta be a confirmed bachelor,” I said gloomily.

“So let’s talk about this.”

“About what?”

“About what on earth you plan to do?”

I pushed at a strand of spaghetti with a tine of my fork.

“I plan to live a long, happy life. And to pass away peacefully in my sleep in the year 1999.”

“Do you have any interest in what I think?”

“Sure.”

“You’re a decent young man who has fallen into a nest of vipers. Your position’s becoming increasingly untenable. I’ve grown quite fond of you, Danny, and for selfish reasons, I would hate to see you leave. But I do think it would be for the best.”

“Not without Darla.”

“Then take her with you.”

“But Bud’ll hunt us down. And those other guys, Schnitter and them—they said they’d hunt me down too if I took off. Guys like that, they never give up.”

“Oh, that’s just a lot of rot. That’s what they
want
you to think. In reality, they’re just stupid, brutal thugs who aren’t half as smart as you.
They’re
the dull-witted hounds.
You’re
the sly, quick fox.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“No. I think it will be desperately difficult. And I think you have no choice.”

It was dusk. Outside, we could hear a noisy cawing of crows. Every day about this time, dozens of them would pass overhead, in a hurry to find a place to roost before night fell.

“‘Crows make wing to the rooky wood,’” said Dulwich.

   BY THE NEXT morning, I was peeing yellow again, and I felt well enough to go back to my own bungalow. I took a long hot bath, then inspected myself in the mirror. It was fascinating to look at the blue and black imprints of Otay’s pigskinned knuckles that covered my torso, front and back. Then I got dressed, went out in the living room, and called Wendell Nuffer.

I told him I was trying to find out some information about a reform school: the Sonoma State Home in Eldridge.

“I believe I’ve heard of it, Danny, but that’s all. Why are you interested?”

“There’s this little girl I know, she’s a neighbor of mine. She’s being sent there.”

“For what reason?”

“Her mother’s a bitch and wants to get rid of her. Anyway, she’s a good kid, and I’m concerned about her.”

“Tell you what. I’ll make some calls, find out what I can, and call you back.”

“Thanks, Mr. Nuffer. I appreciate it.”

“Always glad to do whatever I can for a friend, my boy.”

Nuffer was acting as happy as if I’d called him up to tell him he’d just won a million dollar jackpot.

“Sounds like you’re in a good mood,” I said.

Nuffer laughed. “I’m in the best of all moods in the best of all possible worlds.”

“How come?”

“My Violet has come back to me. It’s been eleven magical days now. She told me she’d only been with Loy Hanley a short time when she realized she’d made a dreadful mistake. That it was me that she loved. When she told Hanley she was leaving him, he wept, he pleaded, he begged her to stay. All to no avail. But don’t think I was just a pushover when she came back, my boy, oh no! I was hard as stone. Cold as ice. But gradually I melted in the warmth of her obvious repentance and affection.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Mr. Nuffer, but—are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, the last time things didn’t work out so great.”

“Time will tell, time will tell. But think of it this way. I’m sure you’ve had the bittersweet experience of seeing some unbearably beautiful girl in a crowd, and watching her for a few moments, and knowing you’re never going to see her again. But I
am
going to see that girl again, Danny! In a little less than three hours, I’ll be in her adorable arms again! No joy matches that! It’s
worth
risking everything for!”

After I hung up with Nuffer, I called Bud’s house. Anatoly picked up. I asked to speak to Darla.

“She is resting now, Danny. Probably better not to disturb her.”

I heard somebody in the background say: “Hey, is that Danny?,” then suddenly I found myself on the phone with Bud.

“Hi ya, kid! How’s things?”

“I’m fine. I was just calling to see how Darla was doing.”

“Well, that’s real thoughtful of you, Danny. She’s been kinda down in the dumps, but she’ll be okay. It’s funny, I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You and me, we need to get together. We gotta make some plans. Wait a minute. Maybe you ain’t heard the news.”

“What news?”

“Fay Wray went on the lam. They dropped the fucking charges. I beat the bastards!”

“Gee, that’s great, Bud.”

“I’m gonna be busy all day, but why don’t you come over tonight. Maybe around eight o’clock.”

   My cretinous shadows, the Kornblum brothers, were manning the front gate.

“What do you want, kid?” said either Freddie or Mousie; I wasn’t sure which was which.

“It’s okay,” said the other one, Mousie or Freddie. “The boss is suspecting him.”

I assumed he meant
ex
pecting. I headed up the driveway. Several powerful floodlamps had been installed since I was last here at night, and the grounds were awash in harsh light. I parked and got out. Anatoly in his red velvet vest was standing in front of the house, staring toward the swimming pool.

Bo Spiller and Willie the Coon were there, laughing and clowning around. Bo had his shotgun. He pointed it at the seagull, then yelled: “BLAM!” The gull squawked and flapped at the end of its tether, as Bo and Willie yukked it up.

Anatoly’s lips curled in contempt.

“Muzjiki,”
he said.

“What’s that mean?”

“Peasants.” He looked at me, and sighed. “This job is not any good anymore. I think I am leaving soon. I take the bird and go. To Papeete, maybe.”

“Would you tell me something, Anatoly? What happened to your fingers? Did you really get them shot off in the Russian Revolution?”

He nodded.

“How did it happen?”

“It was cavalry charge. Across open field. The Bolsheviks were waiting for us in the trees. I was holding sword, I was waving it like this,” and he circled his three-fingered hand over his head. “I feel very happy at that moment, Danny. I feel like I am Cossack. I feel like I am
Bog.
God! But the Bolsheviks have machine guns. They shoot sword out of my hand, shoot my fingers away. Shoot my horse. My poor horse. Horses no good against machine guns.

“He is waiting for you, Danny. In billiard room.”

He and Dick were playing eight ball. Dick was lining up a shot, a cigarette with an inch of ash hanging from his lips. Bud was puffing on a cigar. His face lit up when he saw me.

“Hey, Danny! How’s it going? Want a drink? You take over for Dick. Dick, get outa here. Give Danny your stick. Scotch all right?”

“Sure.”

“Beat his ass, kid,” said Dick as he handed me his stick and sauntered toward the door.

Bud brought over a glass of scotch. He had one too. “Here’s mud in your eye,” he said, and we both took a drink.

I eyed the table. There were five stripes left and three solids.

“What am I?”

“Stripes.”

I decided to knock the nine in the side, which ought to set me up for the fourteen in the corner. But as I leaned over the table, pain ripped through my ribs. I sucked in my breath and winced.