The Zebra Wall (3 page)

They were all seated at the kitchen table, fixing bologna-and-cheese sandwiches. It was June. The windows were open and the summer breeze swept through the room, making the curtains billow. Aunt Irene had brought out Mrs. Vorlob's cookie cutters from the pantry. “You can make darling sandwiches with these, girls,” she said. “Watch.” Aunt Irene cut like a machine. She slapped cheese hearts and stars on bologna, and bologna rabbits and flowers on slices of cheese. Bernice, Carla, Dot, and Effie were thrilled. They cut out more shapes and decorated their sandwiches with ketchup, mustard, and pickle relish. Eating became a game and they enjoyed themselves.

Adine made herself a regular sandwich. She was in no mood to have fun. Her sisters' laughter annoyed her. After all, their mother was in the hospital. Maybe having a baby right then. And she wasn't due for a month. Adine took tiny bites. She peevishly played with her crusts. She scowled at Deedee.

Deedee was slumped across Aunt Irene's shoulders, her tail coiled around Aunt Irene's neck. Adine itched just looking at her. She wasn't allergic, but she could have been, Deedee affected her so. When Adine thought no one was watching, she stuck her tongue out at Deedee. Deedee bared her teeth, then chattered, her rhinestone collar gleaming.

“Adine, you don't have to be so quiet,” Aunt Irene said, holding up a thin strip of bologna, which Deedee devoured instantly. “Neither Deedee nor I bite.”

Adine's face grew hot. “I know,” she whispered uneasily. She wasn't sure about Deedee, though.

Effie giggled. “
I
bite!” she shouted. She began chomping loudly on her sandwich to prove her point. She kicked her feet and her high chair hopped.

Aunt Irene ate greedily. Three sandwiches. While she chewed, her arms circled her plate like a frame around a painting, guarding her lunch. And then, when they were putting the food away and cleaning off the table, she rolled up a piece of bologna and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Dad says we can't have lunch meat without bread,” Adine said quietly and carefully. “It's wasteful.”

Aunt Irene swallowed hard. “The damage is done, sweetie,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She burped and excused herself. “Girls,” she told Bernice, Carla, Dot, and Effie, “go brush your teeth. I want a few minutes with Adine.” When they were alone, Aunt Irene asked Adine, “What is it with us? Whenever I see you it's like starting all over again. Hurry up and warm up to me. Even if it's just a teensy bit.”

Adine broke into tears and started walking away. Aunt Irene swung around and grabbed Adine, pressing her close to her ample bosom.

“There, there,” Aunt Irene said. “I'm so sorry, sweetie. Is it your crazy aunt who's upset you, or is it your mother?”

Adine nodded. She
was
thinking about her mother. But she was also thinking about Cornflake Balls and the May Day cake.

“Now, don't worry about your mother. Next to me, she's the toughest person I know. And when it comes to babies, Helen Vorlob's
the
expert.” Aunt Irene reached under the cuff of her sleeve and pulled out a tissue. “Here, sweetie—clean it out,” she said. She whisked Adine's hair away from her eyes. “While we wait for your dad to call, let's go finish that wall for your mother. If we work hard, we can take a break at four o'clock to watch ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.'” She smiled broadly. “What do you say?”

“Okay,” Adine squeaked.

Aunt Irene brushed some crumbs off her Felix the Cat sweatshirt and led the way to the nursery, her feet clomping like anvils. Deedee was at her heels. And Adine was close behind.

“Organization is the key,” Aunt Irene repeated again and again, as she lined a row of Styrofoam cups along the
F
wall. The cups were filled with the different shades of paint that she had just mixed. The colors looked beautiful, inviting. Adine was tempted to stick her fingers into every cup. But she didn't dare, with Aunt Irene around.

Carla was so eager to begin, she grabbed for the cup containing light purple paint. “Let's start!” she shrieked.

Aunt Irene slid the paint out of her reach. “Patience is a virtue,” she said.

“Okay, Auntie,” Carla said, backing away.

“Patience is a choo-choo,” Dot began singing in her shrill little voice. “Choo-choo. Choo-choo.”

Adine only hoped that Aunt Irene wouldn't light one of her brown cigarettes and do
her
impersonation of a train. Dot's was bad enough.

“Aunt Irene, you'd be good in the army,” Bernice said, giggling. “Daddy even said so.”

Aunt Irene didn't seem thrilled by the comment, but she didn't seem offended by it, either. It occurred to Adine that Aunt Irene
would
be good in the army. Maybe that was why Uncle Gilly had left her and moved to Iowa. If Adine was stuck in a small apartment crammed with Aunt Irene and thousands of cats, she'd take off, too. No doubt about it. Since her divorce, Aunt Irene had been coming over to the Vorlobs' more often and staying later. And now, with such a good excuse—helping out while Mrs. Vorlob was in the hospital and after the new baby arrived—Adine wondered if she'd ever leave.

Aunt Irene finally granted permission, and the painting began in earnest. The sisters were shoulder to shoulder, facing the wall (except for Effie, who was napping in her undersized trundle bed with guardrails, which had been rolled into the nursery). Adine worked quietly, squatting low, using green paint to make spots on the back of a frog near the bottom of the wall. The top part of the mural was completed, so no ladder was needed. Aunt Irene paced back and forth behind them, stroking Deedee and puffing methodically on one of her cigarettes.

“Aren't you going to paint, Auntie?” asked Carla. “You just have to fill in the lines.”

“Yeah,” said Bernice. “It's just like doing a coloring book.”

“My coloring book is almost filled,” Dot told Aunt Irene, airily. “And when I'm
all
done, Mama says I can get a
new
one!”

“The only reason you finish your books so fast is because you color all over the page,” Carla said. Then she turned toward Aunt Irene and whispered ferociously, “She can't stay in the lines at all.”

“Yes, I can!” Dot exclaimed. “I can, too! Too-too-too!” Soon Dot's “too-too-too”s turned into “choo-choo-choo”s, and then she begged Aunt Irene to do her steam-engine impression. “Do it, do it, do it!” she pleaded. “
Please!
”

Aunt Irene obliged. Surprisingly, Effie remained asleep, twisting and turning as if a real train passed in a dream.

Aunt Irene coughed. “Enough for now,” she said. “I usually don't inhale so much,” she explained, coughing some more. She picked up a brush. “Maybe I
will
try painting.”

They painted for nearly an hour. And then, instead of continuing to simply fill in the pre-drawn lines, Aunt Irene painted a black-and-gray cat on the bottom of the mural, right above the baseboard.

Adine was the first to notice it, but Bernice was the first to say something. “Aunt Irene?” she said. “This is our
F
wall. Cat begins with a
C
.”

“Cat is C-A-T,” Carla chimed in.

“Maybe it's supposed to be Deedee!” Dot said.

Carla spelled in the air with her paint-speckled finger. “But Deedee begins with a
D
.”

“All I know,” Adine said, “is that Mom'll be upset.”

Aunt Irene sighed. “Dear nieces—it's a feline. F-E-L-I-N-E. Don't worry, your mother will love it. Trust me.”

“Maybe we should name the baby Feline,” Carla said. “I like it better than Francine.”

Adine groaned. She was still hoping to name the baby Florinda.

“I checked out your list of names,” Aunt Irene said. “I'd vote for Flo. Maybe the baby would grow up to be like Flo on ‘Alice,' the TV show. She's spunky and whippy and independent. She always gets good dates, too. I watch the reruns every night after the news, unless there's a John Wayne movie on.” Aunt Irene laughed. “I wish
I'd
get good dates.”

Adine was glad that Aunt Irene didn't get to vote on the baby's name. She thought Flo was a horrible name. Almost as bad as Adine. When she was old enough, Adine was going to change her name. Change it to Angelique. That way, she'd have a beautiful name and her mother would still have all her children's names correspond with the alphabet. Adine didn't understand her mother's alphabetical naming one bit. It seemed to Adine that if a baby looked like a Veronica or a Gloria or a William, you should just name him or her accordingly and not worry about what letter his or her name began with.

Earlier that summer, at Girl Scout day camp, Adine had to pick a nickname for herself; all the campers had to. She'd chosen Angelique, looking forward to a week of being called the name she secretly loved. But Mrs. Schliesman, the troop leader, made her choose a different nickname. “Let's be creative, Adine. Anyone can be named Angelique. How about something more original? How about Polliwog?” Adine winced, but agreed to it. And so, for an unbearable week, Adine was known as Polliwog. The memory made her shudder.

The phone rang and Adine instantly forgot about day camp. Everyone jumped. Deedee, who had been in the crib batting at the fawn mobile, suddenly leapt out and darted through the doorway toward the ringing.

Aunt Irene answered. “Hello?”

The girls gathered around her. Adine's entire body was shaking, her heart racing.

“Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . ,” Aunt Irene said. “You're kidding? . . . And Helen? . . . You're sure? . . .
Positive?
. . . Thank goodness! . . . Oh, good. . . . Well, it could be worse. . . . I'll be waiting, Roland. . . . Yes, the girls are fine. . . . I'll tell them. . . . Oh, and Roland, I didn't think you had it in you,” she joked in closing.

“Well, girls,” Aunt Irene said solemnly, holding the receiver against her chest. “There's good news, bad news, and a surprise. The good news is that there's a new Vorlob baby and that your mother's doing fine. Absolutely fine.”

Adine sighed in relief.

Aunt Irene hung up the phone and continued. “The bad news is that the baby was, of course, a bit premature—just a button of a thing. Four pounds and six ounces. But your father says everything will be okay. The baby's got some of
my
blood, so I'm sure it's a fighter.” Aunt Irene cleared her throat and paused. An impressive pause. She got dramatic with her hands. “
And
, the surprise is . . . the baby's a
boy!
”

Adine, Bernice, Carla, and Dot could barely believe it. A
boy
. They didn't know what to think. What do you do with a baby brother? Instinctively, they began screaming and hopping and hugging. Effie, still hazy from her nap, padded into the kitchen and slowly joined in the joyful ruckus. They held hands and circled around Aunt Irene as if she were a maypole.

“We have to celebrate,” said Aunt Irene. “I'll treat you to McDonald's for dinner.”

A boy, thought Adine. A real, live baby boy!

Adine had a difficult time sleeping. Partially due to the excitement about her new brother. Partially due to Aunt Irene's continuous snoring. Partially due to Deedee, who periodically charged around the room as if her tail were on fire. And partially because Adine had to sleep on a thin, scratchy cot, while Aunt Irene dreamed in Adine's spongy bed.

The darkness was velvety, and Adine pawed at the air as if it could be touched. What a day it had been, she thought, drawing a skinny little baby in the blackness with her finger. Babies weren't out of the ordinary in the Vorlob house. Baby girls, that is. A baby boy was another story.

Adine had grown used to the usual baby preparations—redecorating the nursery furniture, painting the mural, the list of names. It was kind of like getting ready for Christmas; there were a number of things to do, but it basically stayed the same, time after time. But now things were different. Adine had a brother. A
brother
. Would his name begin with an
F
? Or would her parents want to start all over with an
A
because he was the first boy? If that's what they decided to do, they'd have to repaint the mural.

Deedee pounced on Adine's stomach, then zipped off toward the closet. Adine sat up in the cot. “Stupid cat,” she whispered. More than anything, Adine wanted to make sure that the baby was healthy. Her mother, too. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Her worrying was what was really keeping her awake. Tears sneaked out of the corners of her eyes.

I wonder if something's wrong with me? Adine asked herself. None of her sisters seemed upset about the baby. And even Effie seemed to be getting along fine without Mrs. Vorlob. Adine heard Deedee kneading the throw rug, her claws pulling on the threads and snapping them. Deedee's lucky, Adine thought. It must be easy to be a cat. They've nothing to worry about.

Adine carefully rose from the cot and groped through the darkness toward the bedroom door. She tripped over something—maybe a shoe—and quietly caught herself from falling by grabbing onto her dresser. With arms outstretched, she found the wall and slowly followed it to the doorframe. She tiptoed to her parents' room.

Adine glanced out the wide hall window on her way and checked the night sky. It was clear. The stars were like diamonds scattered across an expanse of black velour. “Good,” she whispered. There was one thing Adine disliked as much as her name and Aunt Irene. Storms. In fact, she was afraid of them. Especially the kind that sprang up unannounced after everyone was asleep. They paralyzed her with their thunder and lightning and wind. She knew she was too old to fear them, but how can you help the way you feel at the bottom of your stomach? A summer storm is the last thing I need tonight, Adine thought, as she gingerly opened the door to her parents' room.