The Trouble Begins (7 page)

This time when I feel the car stopping I wake myself up. We are home. “Hurry up, lazy boy,” my dad says as he rushes ahead of me into the house. Inside, when I look at the clock, I know school has already started. I grab my backpack before I head for the door.

My mom comes out of the bedroom like she just woke up. My grandma comes from the kitchen. “Where have you been with him?” my mom asks. She sounds worried.

“I heard about a better car for us from Van. I wanted to
get it fast so I took Du.” He took me so he could drive in the diamond lane. He needs two people to drive there. “He's a lazy boy. He just sleeps,” adds my dad scornfully. My mom and grandma both talk at once. My mom tells him how I sewed as good as anyone with all of us working until two in the morning. She tells him I made money. My dad was gone when we went to sew so he didn't even know I went with her. Her voice is high and loud.

He stands quiet for a few moments before he starts to laugh. “So not such a lazy boy,” he laughs. “I'll drive you to school.” I've never been driven to school. “I'll tell your teacher why you're late.”

“He eats first.” Now it is my grandma's turn with her soft voice. She gives me rice and vegetables. I eat fast standing up.

My dad mutters “lazy boy” and laughs some more when he drives me to school. But I know he is laughing at himself, not me.

He walks with me to my class. Mrs. Dorfman looks up when we are standing in the door. Her mouth is tight like she ate a lemon. “Yes?” she says. The class is quiet because they want to hear what's happening.

“Du late. He has work to do for his family. Important work.” I don't know the right English but I know how he says it is not right. I look down. I wait for the snickers of laughter. I clench my fist. “School is important,” he says. “Du not late again.” He walks across the class to Mrs. Dorfman's desk. I look up. He is smiling. He does not bow. He holds out his hand like an American. She struggles quickly
out of her chair to shake his hand. She is smiling. The class is quiet. In one minute they know they can't laugh at my dad. There is something important about him even with his bad English. Mrs. Dorfman doesn't say “Go to the office.” She smiles and nods politely as he leaves. “Du, we're on page twenty-two in spelling,” she says kindly. I sit down. I'm still tired but I'm happy. I'm a kid who does important stuff for his family.

The next morning I ask my mom if I can sew again. She looks quickly over at my grandma. “You were very good, Du. You learned so quickly and you kept up with everybody,” she answers. “But you are too young. It is better for you to do your schoolwork.” My grandma smiles a little smile at the stove.

There are ghosts in America too. I'm trying to sleep but I can hear them outside in the dark, moaning and yowling. My grandma tells me stories about ghosts in Vietnam but Thuy and Lin and Vuong laugh. They say there aren't any ghosts in America. The reading teacher read a story about a ghost at school. In the picture it looked like a little kid with a sheet on and big eyes and it didn't do anything bad but it was a ghost. The kind that are outside making all that noise sound more like the ones in Vietnam. The ghosts there come for revenge because something bad happened when
they died. I can't sleep. I wonder if anyone else can hear them. I wonder if they ever come inside.

That's a car door slamming. The ghosts stop moaning. It's very quiet. Footsteps on the front porch stairs. For a moment I'm scared. Stupid me. My mom is coming home from work. “Hi,” I say when she opens the door.

“Why are you awake?” she grumbles like she's mad but I know she isn't. She doesn't sleep so good either. Sometimes we meet each other walking around the house in the dark. Thuy says she's thinking about her family left behind in Vietnam. I'm just thinking about all kinds of stuff.

“Do you hear anything?” I ask. I don't want to say ghosts because I don't want her to know I'm afraid. I think she believes in ghosts too, at least in Vietnam. She sits on the end of the couch. She holds my foot through the blanket while we listen.

“There,” I whisper. The moaning has started again. I feel her hand grip tighter. We scarcely breathe, listening.

She shakes my foot. I hear a smile in her voice. “It's just cats,” she whispers. “There's a cat outside with some boyfriends.” I laugh but very quietly.

“I've seen the cat on the wall,” I say. “She's big and gray and from the way they're yowling she's got a lot of big loud boyfriends.” I laugh at myself for being afraid of cats. That's what the darkness does to me sometimes.

Slowly my mom gets to her feet. Ever since I went sewing with her I can feel myself how tired she is. “You go to sleep now,” she says.

“You go to sleep too,” I whisper. I lie awake for a little while listening to the wild sad sound of the cats.

I hate school. Veronica waves her hand around to remind Mrs. Dorfman it's time for my superdumb reading group in Room 10. When I get up to leave I step on Veronica's toe because her foot's sticking out in the aisle. “Ouch!” she yells as though it really hurt. Mrs. Dorfman gives us both a mean look. When I get to Room 10 we read a story about some ants who yell “Hooray!” because they're going on a picnic. I used to squash ants too. I wonder if they yelled “Ouch!” when I squashed them. The teacher puts a big white paper up on her easel. “Who can tell us something they know about ants?” she asks, and smiles. I don't say anything. I think about that old man. My dad saw the hole in my pants this morning and the black oily stains on them and he was mad.

“Clothes cost money!” he shouted. He doesn't even know about my shirt in the trash and my smelly shoes.

“Du, I'm sure you know something about ants,” says the teacher. “Can you tell us?”

“They kill chickens,” I answer.

The teacher says just what I knew she'd say. “Oh, Du, I don't think that's true.” I know it's true because it happened to some chickens in the Philippines. Big red ants swarmed all over them and killed them but she doesn't even know about that.

When I get back to class Mrs. Dorfman has been talking too much. I can tell by the way everybody looks up fast when I open the door as though they hope they're going to be rescued. Anthony has his big mouth open in a yawn. I'm glad I didn't have to sit through it. “Writing Assignment: Write four paragraphs about a favorite pet” is written on the board.

“If you don't have a pet,” says Mrs. Dorfman, looking at me, “write about an imaginary pet or a pet you'd like to have.” But American kids have pets and I'm going to have a pet too. I'm going to catch that gray cat.

I need just the right box for my cat trap. Down here by the market is where they have the best ones. Strong ones that canned stuff comes in. I have to duck. There are two kids from school. If they see me here they'll call me a trash picker. Here's a great box with double cardboard. No cat could get out of it.

Now I've got wood for the trigger I have to carve. I have to make it very smooth with just the right curve or it won't work. When she goes in to get the food her weight will pull on the trigger just enough to move the prop stick and make the door fall down. I'll glue on a piece of brick to make it fall harder and make it stay shut. A cat can't move a brick. I'll put it together in the yard where the old man can see me from his window. He'll worry about what I'm doing. I saw guys carving triggers like this in the Philippines but they
were catching monkeys and lizards. Lizards are dumb but monkeys are smarter than cats so I think this trap will work. I need some bait that a cat will really love.

“I'm gonna take this fish head, okay?” My grandma nods.

“What do you want that stinky thing for?” Lin always has to know what I'm doing so she can say I shouldn't do it.

“I'm gonna make a sandwich,” I answer.

“You can't make a sandwich out of that. It's got eyes and bones—”

“Hush, Lin,” interrupts my grandma. She smiles and puts her hand on Lin's arm. I take the fish head outside. I balance the lid of the box on the stick with the trigger curved around it. It falls easily, which is good, until I balance it just right. I put it way in the back of the yard so the old man can't see. He might let my cat go just to be mean. He might even kill it.

I go inside and watch the trap from the back window. Nothing happens. I'm getting bored so I catch a fly in my fist to put in a spiderweb but then I let it go. The fly's happy to be free. When I look up that old man is carrying a little blue bowl across his yard to the shed. He puts it down on the ground and goes slow like a turtle back inside. I run out and look over the side fence. It's fish from a can. He's been watching the whole time. He's trying to stop me from catching that cat. Well, any cat would rather have a fresh fish head than fish from a can. I'll catch her.

It's getting light out. I'll go out quick and check my trap. When I catch the cat I'll find something else for her to eat and shut her up someplace where no one will find her.

It's still pretty dark out here and the grass is wet.

The trap door is down! I caught her! I caught her in one day. I'll have to be careful she doesn't get away when I lift the box. I'll hold the lid tight and turn it over carefully so I don't hurt her.

That cat smells. She smells like a skunk.

Ugh, I caught a skunk. It's not very big and it's all curled up in there. I know my mom and dad won't let me keep it. They won't even let me keep a cat.

Maybe the old man would like a pet. He gave me smelly shoes so maybe he'd like a smelly skunk. I could put it down the chimney but then it might get stuck in there or get hurt. I'll put it in the mailbox. I'll put up the little flag. He'll reach his hand in there and,
whoosh,
he'll smell worse than my shoes ever did. I think I can do it without getting sprayed.

I'll grab it out of the box in a towel and keep its tail down so it can't spray. I'll stuff it backward into the mailbox and I'll run.

Okay, little skunk. Don't be afraid. I'm just gonna wrap you up nice in this towel.

Hey, don't try to get away. I'm not gonna hurt you. Keep your tail down.

Poor little skunk, you're shaking. You're scared I'm going to kill you. You've got a cute face. I bet you miss your family. I wonder if that old man will kill you. He probably will.

I can't do that to you, little skunk. I won't. Stop shaking. I'll take you someplace safe. Did you get caught in my trap and lose your family? I'll take you to the place where they knocked the old house down. You'll find a hole to hide in and I've seen worms there after a rain. You can eat them. There are lots of garbage cans too. You don't smell so bad. I don't think so, anyway.

Okay, this is the place. I'll put you down near a hole and I'll run. I know you're still scared enough to spray me. I hope you find your family. I hope I see you again.