The War with Grandpa (11 page)

I ran upstairs and got to my class just as Mr. Pangalos, my homeroom teacher, was calling the roll. I was so out of breath that when he called my name I could barely say “Here,” Steve looked across at me and asked why I was so late.

“You wouldn't believe it if I told you,” I said.

We were eating lunch at our usual table in the lunchroom. Wait a minute, that's not exactly right. Billy and Steve were eating lunch. I was
begging
lunch.

I got half an apple from Steve. Billy had a liverwurst sandwich, which he said he hated, so he gave me half of it. I hated it too. We both ate the bread and left the liverwurst. Steve said he would give me half of his milk to drink.“The second half,” he said. Luckily, a nice kid named Nathaniel Robbins gave me a peanut butter cookie.

I had told the boys about my terrible morning and they laughed like crazy.“Stealing your shoelaces,” Steve said, “that was a masterstroke.”

“It was a rotten trick,” I said.

“I like how he put each book in a different
suitcase,” Billy said, and he began laughing again.

“Wait a minute,” I said,“whose side are you on anyway?” I took a sip of the second half of Steve's milk, which was warm and hateful. One sip was enough.

We walked outside to the schoolyard and sat down on the steps in the sun.

“You're going to get your grandpa back for this,” Steve said.

“Indubitably,” I said, which was one of Steve's words.

“Not something simple, I hope,” said Steve. “I think this calls for massive retaliation.”

“It won't be something simple,” I said.

“You've got to really get him this time,” Billy said.

“Get him how?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Billy said. “Paint his hair maybe?”

I wasn't even listening to Billy. Because I had already decided what I would do. It was something I had thought about doing before this, but it seemed too awful. But after what Grandpa had done to me, it seemed all right now.

“Look, guys,” I said. “I know what I'm going
to do. It's terrible and I probably shouldn't do it. But I'm going to. And I'll tell you one other thing. If it doesn't work, I'm going to surrender.”

“You can't!” Billy said.

“Oh, yes, I can,” I said. “I'll learn to live in my stupid room. I won't like it, but I'll do it. Or else Grandpa will get me back in a more terrible way I don't even want to think about.”

“You're chicken,” Billy said.

“And you're right,” I said. “I think I figured something out. War isn't such fun after all.”

The first thing I had to do was make Grandpa worry. I couldn't forget how nervous—make that terrified—I was while waiting for Grandpa to drop the other shoe. Now I'd give him back some of his own medicine.

I kept saying things to him like“How are you, Grandpa?” And he'd say fine. And then I'd say, “Just wait.”

I also developed this little weird laugh:
“Heh-heh-heh.”
It sounded nutty even to me. So when I'd pass him on the stairs I'd turn around, look at him, and give him my
“heh-heh-heh.”

I don't know if it had any effect or not. But it made me feel good.

I waited through all of that week he'd made me almost late for school. I didn't want it to be a school day when I got my revenge. I wanted to be home so I could see everything that was going to happen.

On Friday night, as I'd done once before, I set my alarm for the middle of the night. Sneaking down the dark, spooky stairs was a lot easier this time. The house was quiet, but I was even quieter.

The doorknob on the door turned in my hand. I sneaked in on tippy-toes. The thing I was stealing was in a glass of water on Grandpa's night table. I took the glass of water and backed slowly out of the room. Grandpa was sleeping calm and peacefully. Not even snoring. I closed the door and made it upstairs very easily.

I dumped the glass of water in the sink and let what was in the glass fall softly into my hand. I didn't want to hurt them. I took a whole bunch of face tissues from the box and wrapped them up nicely. They made a small, soft package.

I had already figured out my hiding spot. There's a large garment bag in the closet of one of the attic rooms. The kind that opens with a zipper down the side of it. Mom keeps some of Dad's old suits and a few of her dresses in it. I slid open the zipper and found a pocket in one of Dad's jackets, then put the package inside. Then I scooted back to my room, jumped into bed, and pulled the covers up.

Safe and sound. I'd done it. Now I'd have
to settle back and get some sleep. Because there sure was going to be a lot of excitement in the morning.

Grandpa was going to be very, very angry when he woke up. And I couldn't blame him. It's really a disgusting trick to steal somebody's false teeth.

I couldn't believe I had slept peacefully through the rest of the night. But there was the time on my clock-radio: 8:30 in the morning. I lay back in my bed and tried to listen to the house. There were stirrings from someplace downstairs. Mom was probably up by now. Saturday was her supermarket day. She usually took Dad along to help her, and Jenny and me if we wanted to go.

She was in the kitchen now. I heard the sound of the pot cabinet under the stove slamming shut. She was probably beginning to prepare our Saturday morning breakfast of French toast or pancakes. I heard the water running in my parents’ bathroom on the second floor. That meant Dad was up and washing.

Then I heard what I'd been listening for. Uneven footsteps sounded on the stairs as Grandpa came limping up to see me. I waited.

There was a knock on the door.“Come on in, Grandpa,” I called out. The door opened and Grandpa was there. He had one hand covering his mouth, but his eyes looked awfully angry. He came into the room sideways, his face turned toward the window and away from me.“Ma feef air miffing,” he said.

I stared at him. “What?”

“Ma feef,” he said. “You ot ma feef, ont you?”

I got up out of bed. As I did that, Grandpa turned his back on me.“Ont ook at me!” he said.

It sounded like he was talking pig Latin or some kind of weird language.

“I don't understand you,” I said.

“Ma feef
shouted Grandpa. “Iff me ack ma feef, oo ittle mobber.”

Suddenly the dawn came up in my brain. That's the way Grandpa spoke without his teeth. Amazing. And weird.“You're asking me to give your teeth back to you, right?” I said.

Grandpa nodded his head, his hand still covering his mouth.

“Well,” I said, “you have to do something first.”

“Om on, Fete, ma feef. I meed ma feef.”

I translated that in my head. “You need your
teeth, right? Everybody needs teeth. But we're fighting a war here, remember?”

“Oh, Feter,” he said, “ont be at way. Flease!”

“Nope,” I said, “war is war. Surrender right now or I'll never ever give back your teeth. I mean it.”

Grandpa turned his face toward me then. And there was such a sad look in his eyes, it almost made me want to cry. Without his teeth his mouth looked all pushed in and wrinkled. He looked so old and helpless.

Just seeing him standing there like that, a person I loved as much as anyone in the whole wide world, I felt about as low as a worm's bellybutton.

I can't explain what happened next. All I can do is tell what I did.

I ran down the hall to the closet where I'd hidden his teeth. Then I came back in a minute and handed them over, still wrapped so neat in those soft paper tissues. Grandpa took them and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I heard the water running in the sink. Then he came out with his teeth back in his mouth, looking like my grandpa again.

We stared at each other, not saying anything.

I turned away from him and looked out the window. Across the street Mr. Taub was mowing his lawn.“The war is over,” I said. “I hope you'll forgive me for what I did. And if it makes you feel any better, I'm so ashamed of myself, I could curl up in a ball and just disappear.”

“Oh, Peter,” Grandpa said, sighing.

“Maybe this is how wars get started and just go on and on,” I said. “Your enemy does something bad to you, so you do something worse to him. Then he gets you back and you get him back and the whole thing gets bigger and bigger and meaner and meaner and in the end someone drops a bomb. Isn't that the way it happens?”

“Something like that,” Grandpa said.

“Well,” I said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken your teeth.”

“It's my fault too,” Grandpa said. “Don't take it all on yourself, Petey.”

“I started it,” I said.

“And I let you,” said Grandpa. “I'm the grown-up here. I should have known better. But you know what? I enjoyed it. It was kinda fun. And I think I needed something to get over my sadness.”

Grandpa came up behind me as I looked out the window. I felt his big hands on my shoulders, then his arms grabbed me and hugged me
to his chest.“All of us got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “Your parents took your room away and shut you up, Pete. That was mistake number one. Just because you shut someone up, it doesn't mean his hurt has gone away. There should have been a family conference, or something like that including me, and we could have figured out where I was to stay. That causes a lot of wars, too, Pete—not talking.”

“I'll get used to living up here,” I said.

“I'm real sorry I took your room away,” Grandpa said.

“But I'm not sorry you came to live with us,” I said.

Grandpa hugged me a little tight at that and kissed the top of my head.“You're a real sweet kid,” he said, “but a hard guy to fight a war against.”

“I still lost,” I said.

“Yes,” said Grandpa, “but only by the skin of my teeth.”

After breakfast that day Mom, Dad, and Jenny went off to the supermarket. I chose to stay home with Grandpa. He was sitting in the kitchen, having his third cup of coffee. He looked like he was thinking hard.“You know,” he said, “there has got to be another way for me to live here without taking your room away. Let's think on it, Petey.”