The Pinballs (5 page)

The twins didn't look like themselves. They had gotten thinner. They hardly made wrinkles in the covers.

“Hi,” Thomas J said.

“Thomas J, is that you?”

“Yes'm.” He had been afraid they wouldn't know him. Sometimes at home they had forgotten him. He would go in for supper, and there would only be two places set at the kitchen table. “Why, Thomas J,” one of them would cry, “we forgot all about you. Get yourself a plate.”

“I'm here for a visit,” he added.

“Sister, it's Thomas J.”

“I see him.”

There was a silence. Then both twins reached out their hands to him. He could never remember holding their hands before, and it made him feel strange. He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Mason.

“Have you been back to the house?” one of the twins asked.

“Not since I left.”

“What?”

He turned back to the twins. “
Not since I left
.”

“Don't let things go down.”

“
Nome
.”

“The peas are just coming in.”

“Yes'm.”

“You got to can the peas, Thomas J. You've seen us do it enough to know how.”

“I don't remember, though. I don't even know where the jars are at.”

“We'll stop by on the way home and check on the peas,” Mr. Mason said.

“Get Papa's gold watch,” one of the twins—Jefferson—said. “You know where it is.”

“Yes'm.”

“If people know it's there, they'll break in and steal it. Might have already.”

“Yes'm.”

“And the gold coins—there's three of them—you know where they're at.”

“Under the mattress.”

“Under
my
mattress,” Jefferson said.

There was a silence. Jefferson closed her eyes. Thomas J cleared his throat. “How are your hips?” he asked.

“They operated on us. Put pins in.”

“Oh.”

Now both of them closed their eyes. Thomas J took one step forward. He still held their hands.

Suddenly he wanted to ask about that morning, long ago, when he had come tottering up the road. He felt as if this might be his last chance. He had asked them for details before, but all they had said was “You just come up the drive, that's all to tell.”

“But what did I have on?”

“Oh, let's see. What was it, Sister?”

“A diaper and a shirt.”

“Do you still have them—the diaper and the shirt?” At the time he had thought there might be a clue there—a laundry mark or a name.

“No, we used them for dusting, but I do remember there was a dog's picture on the shirt.”

“A dog?”

“Because I've seen him on TV. What is his name, Sister? You know who I'm talking about.”

“Lassie?”

“No, a cartoon dog. I'll think of it in a minute. He's white with—”

“But did you go out to the road and look for cars?” he had asked, interrupting.

“Sister did.”

“Did she see anybody?”

“No.”

“An accident or something?”

“There wasn't a soul in sight.”

Later, one night when he was watching a Halloween special on TV, one of the twins had cried, “
That's
the dog. That's the dog that was on your shirt when we found you.” It was Snoopy.

The twins were asleep now. Their hands slipped from Thomas J's. Thomas J took a step backward and bumped into Mr. Mason.

“Well, we might as well go, Thomas J,” he said.

“All right.”

At the foot of Jefferson's bed, even though he knew they couldn't hear him, he said, “I hope your hips get better.”

It gave
Thomas J a sad feeling to go in the Bensons' house. It seemed emptier than a house without any furniture.

He got the watch and the three coins, wrapped them in a handkerchief and put them in his pocket. Then, without looking at Mr. Mason he said, “I want to see how the peas are.”

He went to the back door, but he didn't even have to step outside to see the garden was ruined. There had been no rain in three weeks, and the leaves on the plants were yellow. The vines were shriveled and dead. There were no tomatoes.

He and Mr. Mason looked over the sad scene. Mr. Mason said, “When you write the Bensons, I wouldn't mention the garden. It isn't likely they're going to see it this year anyway.”

“I won't.” He paused. “I couldn't.”

When they were in the car and almost to the main road, Thomas J turned and looked back. “Wait just a minute,” he said. Mr. Mason stopped the car.

“Anything wrong?”

“No.”

Thomas J felt like this was the last time he would ever see this house. He wanted to imagine himself walking up the drive in a shirt and diaper. Lost. Abandoned. Dirty. Tear streaked probably—being left behind had to make a baby cry.

He tried to imagine the twins waiting on the porch, arms outstretched, then hurrying down the steps to hug him in his dirty shirt and diaper.

He couldn't get a picture of it. “Let's go,” he said.

They were halfway home when they remembered about the Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Harvey was on the front porch waiting for them. When he saw them get out of the car without the red-striped boxes, he felt like crying. He rolled himself back to his room and sat staring out the side window. There was nothing to see there but an uncut field.

“What's wrong with
you
?” Carlie asked from the door. “Is the sight of me in my new halter too much for you?”

“Leave me alone.”

“What if I don't want to?”

“Leave me alone!”

Carlie took two steps into the room. “I can't,” she said. “I get curious about what's bugging people.” She sat down on the bottom bunk. “That's because I'm going to be a nurse when I grow up and treat mentals.”

“I'm not a mental.”

“Huh, that's what they all say.”

“Will you get out of here?”

Carlie stretched out on the bed, her chin resting on her hands. “Tell me what's wrong and I'll decide whether you're a mental or not. Pretend I'm a nurse with a long beard. Tell me all.”

Through clenched teeth Harvey said, “If you must know, what's wrong is that I wanted some Kentucky Fried Chicken and I'm not going to get any.”

“They didn't get the chicken?” Carlie cried, sitting up. She was disappointed too. She liked bought food much better than home cooked. “I was really looking forward to that chicken.”

“Not like me.”

“Now we'll probably have hamburgers,” Carlie said, “and they won't be Big Macs either, you can bet on that. They'll be
cooked
.”

“Carlie,” Mrs. Mason called, “give me a hand, will you? We're going to grill some hamburgers in the backyard. It'll be like a picnic.”

“See, what'd I tell you?” Carlie said. “I'll probably get grease all over my new halter and I really worked on this thing too. You saw me.” At the door she turned and said, “I've judged your case, Harvey.” She grinned. “You aren't a mental.”

“Thank you,” Harvey said.

After the picnic Carlie wanted to cheer Harvey and Thomas J up so she said, “I wish I had somebody to take my picture.”

Nobody answered. Thomas J sat without looking up. In his pocket was the Bensons' father's watch and the three gold coins. He had never felt a heavier burden. Harvey didn't look up either. His hamburger had tasted like sawdust. He wanted chicken more than ever.

“They're having a Sonny and Cher look-alike contest,” Carlie went on, “and I want to enter.”

“You don't look like Cher,” Harvey said.

“I know. I'm gonna be Sonny!”

She waited. There was no reaction. “Oh, you guys,” she said in a disgusted voice, “what do I have to do to cheer you up?”

“Go in the house,” Harvey said.

She spun around and looked at him. She grinned. “You know, Harvey, maybe there's hope for you after all.”

“What's the
list for today?” Carlie asked, sitting down on the back steps.

“Oh, it's a list about disappointments.”

“Not another one. That's what all your lists are about.”

“I have never done this list before. It's called ‘Gifts I Got That I Didn't Want,'” Harvey said. “You know, like I was expecting one thing and got something else.”

“That's the story of my life,” Carlie said. “I expected a floating opal three years in a row and you don't see it hanging around my neck, do you?” There was a pause and then Carlie said, “What bad gifts did you get?”

“Well, they weren't exactly
bad
—some people would have been pleased with them—but when my mom lived with us, she'd promised me a puppy for my tenth birthday.” He paused. “I really wanted that puppy.” He paused again. “My mom and me would look through the newspaper at night and read ads together, you know, like ‘Cocker spaniels, wormed and ready to go.' It was the happiest time of my life. I wanted every dog I read about. I couldn't wait for the paper to come at night. I'd sit out on the front steps and wait for it.”

“So?” Carlie said.

Harvey looked down at his legs. “So my mom left home right before my birthday. She left on the sixth and my birthday was the seventeenth.”

“I thought only fathers left home,” Carlie said. “I lost two that way—wish it was three.”

“And after that,” Harvey went on, “my dad wouldn't get me a dog no matter what. It was a matter of principle. He got me a—well, it was sort of an electronic football game. You had to turn knobs to keep the other team from scoring.”

“Is that how you broke your legs?” Carlie asked, looking at him sideways. “Turning those knobs?”

Harvey ignored her. “And then that Christmas I decided to get a guinea pig. I really still wanted a puppy but I knew better. And anyway a guinea pig was something else my mom had promised me. She raised guinea pigs when she was little. One time she had twenty-seven of them. She wanted to sell them to make money, but she couldn't bring herself to part with them.”

“Whoo, that tells you something about people, doesn't it? They can't stand to part with stinking guinea pigs, but they throw their kids around like straws,” Carlie said.

Harvey went on. “Anyway, I told my dad I wanted to buy my own Christmas present and he said, ‘Fine with me.' And I went out and got a guinea pig—a big white one—I named him Snowball right there in the store.”

“I know what's coming,” Carlie said.

“And I got a cage, food, everything, and I brought him home, and my dad took one look at him, grabbed him up and carried him off. He said it was a matter of principle. He never would even tell me what he had done with Snowball.”

“Some people.”

“To make up for it he bought me a snooker pool table, but I never played with it.”

“Matter of principle?” Carlie asked. She grinned at him. He didn't answer.

Thomas J cleared his throat. He said, “Every Christmas the twins gave me a present.”

Both Carlie and Harvey turned and looked at Thomas J. Thomas J had never learned the art of talking because the Benson twins didn't say much. Sometimes their entire daily speech was “Water's boiling,” and “Cronkite's on,” and “I'm turning in.” Therefore it was always a surprise to Carlie and Harvey when he joined in the conversation.

“What'd they give you?” Carlie asked.

“Well, one time it was pencils with my name on them.”

“Oh, boo, that's the kind of thing you get for good behavior,” Carlie said.

“How would you know?” Harvey asked.

Carlie grinned to herself. “Go on, Thomas J.”

“Well, one time it was gloves and one time it was a book.
Big Bible Stories for Little People
.”

Thomas J fell silent. He remembered sitting beside one of the twins while she read the stories to him. He could see her gnarled finger holding the place on the page.

His favorite story had been about Baby Moses being sent out in a basket by his real mother to a better home. When he heard that story he always imagined his own mother waiting by the road, hiding in the poplar trees, waiting to see the twins take him in.

He wished he had thought to get the book while he was at the house with Mr. Mason. Suddenly he looked up. “Oh, yes, they also gave me three gold coins.”