9781988256184-epub2 Page 7

  She likes to wait at the door until I get out of the bathroom. By that time, Ray’s hitting the sack and Nell-mom and Gary Daddy-o are pulling out the foldout couch in the living room. As soon as the bathroom door opens, Solange jumps onto my bed and waits for me, with greeny-yellow eyes wide and her tail standing straight in the air.

  I have to make sure my hair is spread out on the pillow so she can sleep on it. First she kneads my hair with her claws like she’s making bread or something. Then she goes around and around in a circle for a while and finally plunks herself down, purring. If I get up for any reason, like to get a glass of water, she has to do the whole thing over before she settles down again.

  Bang, buzz, clitter-clatter. Noises ricochet upward, making me jump. I can live without seeing my family, even Sophie, Gordy, Sky, and Blu. But how do you live without your cat?

  I dreamed I was Egypt

  The whole Pyramid

  With the head of a lion

  Like my cat Solange

  In a movie in Hollywood . . .

  I’m trying to remember the poem I wrote about her. It was the last poem I wrote before all this started—before I went to bed Friday. It had something about movie stars and dancing and wanting to be like them.

  I wanted to sing

  But I was a Pyramid

  In the open Egypt air

  Eyeless, speechless tomb

  With all these movie stars dancing around me

  And then Solange jumped down from the window

  With a mouth as wide as summer

  Yawning like the Goddess she wants to be

  Someone’s car screeches to a stop on the street and someone else gets out of another car, screaming. There is no Egypt here. I close my eyes tight and dig my nails into my neck, trying to distract myself. I’m going to have to stop thinking about all this and figure out what I can use instead of a pillow. Because the way things are going, it could be a long, long time before I get one. Even longer before I get to see my own.

  11

  Organizadora

  I’M IN FRONT of Blue Skies when I look down the street and see a man wearing a tunic with some kind of cloth draped over his shoulder. He’s turned his back but I can see he has no hair and I know it’s Gandhi. I start running and am about to catch up to him when someone grabs me around the wrist and says, “Hold it, little robber girl.”

  It’s Tina, only she’s really, really cold. Ice-cold. Someone else is calling my name, and when I turn around I see Gordy in a white lab coat. He’s pointing at a chart, trying frantically to show me something. But then Nell-mom walks by, and Gary Daddy-o follows her, but she’s totally ignoring him and won’t even look his way. I try to call out to her but Gordy is pulling my sleeve and when I tell him to stop he points to the numbers on his chart, saying, “They just don’t add up right.” And I say, “So what?” But he says, “If the numbers don’t add up, you can’t go home.”

  I look at the chart but it seems like gibberish. When I ask Gordy to explain it, he shakes his head and turns away. By that time Nell-mom and Gary Daddy-o have disappeared and I’m alone. I look frantically up and down Charles Street. Then I look up and the sign says Jay Street. And I know I’m lost.

  The next thing I know someone’s shaking me. I look up to see Manuela.

  “Shhh.” She puts her finger over my mouth. It’s really cold in here, but the window next to my bed is closed, and Judy and Harriet are sound asleep. Manuela motions for me to follow her but when I lean over to reach for my shoes she shakes her head no.

  “Only socks,” she whispers as I sit up, shivering. I get out of bed and tiptoe behind her into the bathroom. It’s almost as big as my bedroom at home, with chipped tile floors and a line of sinks and showers. There’s a night-light on so you can see your way around, and I make a beeline for the sink.

  I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten in a while but I’m dying of thirst and swallow handfuls of water from the tap for, like, ten minutes straight. This whole fasting thing must be giving me hallucinations because the water tastes incredible—like it’s coming from a spring in the mountains instead of a rusty old faucet in a children’s home.

  Why do they call it a children’s home anyway? It’s a home for adults with children stuck in it. There’s not a teddy bear in sight, let alone dolls or books or toys or anything you’d want in your house.

  By the time I’m done slurping, Manuela is pulling open the shower curtain and pointing toward the drain. Just above it is something that looks like someone drew a square on the side of the wall. Manuela squats down, pushing on it—but nothing happens. Then she looks up at me. “Come.”

  “What?”

  She puts my hand on the square, closing her fingers over mine. Manuela’s hand pushes against mine softly and then together, we push at the square. This time it opens, and I can see what looks like a big silver pipe going who knows where.

  I look up at her and shake my head. I’m not going into any more tunnels; I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime. But Manuela is already squeezing herself into the darkness behind the opening and doesn’t stop when she sees me shaking my head.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers softly. “Come on.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “It is crawl space to the main floor.”

  “Can’t we use the staircase?”

  “We do not want Rose to hear. Hurry!”

  “But—”

  “What is wrong?” Manuela asks.

  I want to tell her I’m claustrophobic, but I’m not sure she’d understand—and it feels kind of dumb when she’s so cool about all this.

  “Ruby,” she whispers.

  “Yeah,” I whisper back.

  “Go in feet first and put back to the wall,” she says softly. “Use, how you say . . . this foot to feel for the bottom.”

  I do what Manuela tells me, backing into the square hole, little by little. I can’t believe Judy and Harriet haven’t woken up by now, but no one’s stopping us. “We better not get stuck somewhere,” I whisper, knowing Manuela’s too far away by now to hear. I lower myself slowly until I feel my toe connecting with something solid. Another inch or two and I’m in.

  Whatever I’m standing on doesn’t feel very wide. There’s a metal bar next to me and I grab hold, trying to see in the near-total darkness.

  “Come, Ruby,” Manuela says in a normal voice. She takes my hand and we inch forward. “Don’t look down. Stay behind me,” she cautions. “It is tight.”

  Great. I don’t just get a dark tunnel, I get a narrow one. I can hear the sound of water far below us. “What is that?”

  “I don’t know,” Manuela says. “Maybe sewer.”

  The bar disappears and I have to walk into the dark without anything to hold on to except Manuela’s hand. “Just a little more,” she whispers. We walk like crabs, creeping sideways for what seems like forever. I think about rats, spiders, and centipedes behind and around us. On muggy summer nights, the creepy-crawlies come out of our sink and race across the wall and floor. I used to scream when I saw them, and Ray would make fun of me. I’m too old to scream now. But if a rat was by my foot here, what would I do?

  Suddenly Manuela lets go of my hand and kneels, stretching her arm out in front of her. A patch of light appears as Manuela pushes open a trapdoor. We crawl into something that appears to be a coat closet, and then Manuela slides out and I follow her onto a rug in front of a bookcase. I can feel myself shivering as I move.

  This must be the living room. It looks much nicer than the ones upstairs. There’s a chandelier over an upholstered chair and end table, and a sofa that reminds me of the Sheboygan couch pictures.

  Manuela raises herself to a sitting position on the rug. “Stay down,” she whispers. “And . . . shhh. Like mouse.”

  “I know,” I whisper back. “But you know what
I’m thinking?”

  Manuela looks at me, hooking her arms around her knees.

  “They’re all asleep and it’s—just you and me.”

  “So?”

  “So why don’t we leave, Manuela? Run out and get on the subway.”

  She smirks. “They have alarm, Ruby. We never make it out of here.”

  “They’re going to have to catch me.”

  “They will.”

  “No.”

  “Well, that is what I like,” says Manuela. “Tú are brave and not afraid to try things. But there is another way and it comes from what tú are telling me. What is this ‘hunger strike’?”

  I start talking about my conversation with Gregory Corso, but as soon as I say the word Gandhi, Manuela sits up. “I know him!” she says aloud.

  “Shhh!”

  “Excuse me,” Manuela whispers. “I am sorry. But I know all about Gandhi because he teaches people . . . organizadora—”

  “Organ—what?”

  “It is a protest so they change people’s mind. To bring people together, we must—”

  “Organize!” I say, and now it’s Manuela’s turn to shush me.

  “Exactly!” she whispers. “There is a man in our Spanish community—he is like Gandhi for us here in America. His name is Cesar Chavez, and he is trying to help the workers.”

  “What does he do?” I ask.

  “Now, he is just talking and listening,” she says, “so he can learn. One day he will lead all of us in a protest. But for now he is just . . . to start.”

  “Start what?”

  “Someday he will lead the people. Chavez tries to help the ones who come from Mexico—”

  “Is that where you’re from?” I ask.

  “I was born there but then we come here. Mi padre was in a strike too, not hunger, but at work—so they take him to jail.”

  “Your padre?”

  “Papa.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mama didn’t have enough food for me so they put me here,” Manuela says. “She is try to get Papa out of jail.”

  “What about the other girls? Are they both orphans?”

  “Nobody here is orphan,” says Manuela. We are all here for . . . trouble. Some kind of trouble at home.”

  “What about Harriet?”

  “She lives with aunt and uncle, but I think they are crazy—”

  “That makes sense.”

  “And Judy’s mother has many children and lives with her sister. So they drop her off here for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Two months, maybe longer. She is two months so far.”

  So it’s not a home. It’s a way station.

  “And who’s that director guy Sinningson? What’s he like?”

  “He does not come here a lot. But when he does, he can be—how to say. He is rude and unkind. We call him Mr. Sin.”

  A door creaks upstairs and Manuela grabs my arm. We listen, holding our breath in the darkness. Someone pads out to the landing and then we hear the bathroom door close. My heart is beating so loud, it sounds like a radio, and I know Manuela can hear it.

  I count to sixty, then sixty-five. The toilet flushes and Manuela rushes back into the coat closet, pulling me in with her. I try to make myself still, like Yogi does when he meditates. As the sound of water fills the pipes behind the wall, someone upstairs turns on the faucet and the whole wall starts to groan. It’s so loud I think the house will fall down.

  Manuela takes my hand as we wait, barely breathing. Finally, the sink is turned off and the groaning stops. The door creaks open again and I put my hand to my mouth. Manuela shrinks back as the footsteps grow louder, then stop. If it’s Rose, she’ll come down, I think, but she doesn’t, and after a while her footsteps grow softer and finally fade.

  I wipe my face, which is dripping with sweat. Manuela opens the trapdoor, lowering her feet so she can jump in if she has to. She leans in close and whispers in my ear: “So, what tú are thinking? Can I join this hunger strike?”

  “I don’t even know if I can do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re asking me that because you haven’t tried.”

  “Papa did it once, and I try with him for a day,” Manuela says. “It’s hard but I can do it.”

  “I doubt Judy and Harriet will.”

  “That is okay.”

  I rub the spot on my head where Harriet pulled my hair. It’s starting to feel sore and I wish I had some ice or something. Ray always says you have to put ice on a bruise within the first twenty-four hours, and I can almost hear him saying it now. But I don’t even know where the stupid freezer is.

  “Ruby?” Manuela whispers.

  I stop rubbing my head; I’m in for a bump no matter what I do. I know Manuela is looking at me, and once I agree to a hunger strike, I’ll have to go through with it.

  “If we do it, we have to have water,” I say.

  “Did Gandhi?”

  “I don’t care,” I say. “Without water you die.”

  “All right, Ruby,” says Manuela. “Tú are good organizadora—”

  “If that means organizer, I’m not,” I say.

  “Still, I think so.” Manuela squeezes my hand, and I can tell she thinks it’s all settled. But I’m still not sure.

  “It will be okay, Ruby,” she says, and I look into her eyes, which I can see are shining, even in the dark. I think of how Harriet went after her and how she didn’t cry or say anything, even though it must have hurt. She may have been here awhile now and she’s looking to me to help her—which is pretty funny, considering how much I need help.

  “Manuela—”

  “Tú are not having to make decision now.”

  “I’ll do it,” I hear myself say.

  “Oh, Ruby!”

  What am I doing? And who does this chick Manuela think I am?

  “Tú are so good,” she says, and for some weird reason, I start to feel excited, like I did when I was talking to Corso at Les and Bo’s.

  “De nada,” I say—the only Spanish words I know. They mean “it’s nothing,” and as soon as I say them, I wish I hadn’t. Because when you think about it, which I don’t really want to do—that’s what Manuela and I are looking at. A whole lot of nothing—for what could be a long, long time.

  12

  School

  Children’s Home Association

  2679 Jay Street

  Brooklyn, New York

  April 8, 1958

  42 Bedford Street

  New York, N.Y.

  Dear Sophie,

  I know you’re reading this and thinking, where is she? I’m writing you because Nell-mom is probably mad at me and I’m not sure when Gary Daddy-o will be home or if Ray had to leave, too.

  There’s some stuff I can say and stuff I can’t, but the main thing is, I was brought here by a social worker and have to stay by law. My teacher here, Mrs. Brandt, says today is letter-writing day, but just so you know, SHE mails the letters.

  The main thing I’m worried about is Solange. I’m not sure if anyone’s going to take care of her, so can you? Just keep her until I get home is all I ask. Or at least go over and feed her?

  I want to get out of here as soon as possible but I can only do that if my mom and dad get married. I think they have to do it in City Hall or someplace like that. So here’s what I need you to do: tell YOUR mom to keep bugging N. and G.D-o. They need to get hitched as soon as possible or I’ll have to start learning math. And I may never be able to see Solange again. Or you.

  Oh, one more thing. There’s a guy named Gregory Corso, you know, the poet? He’s got a poem of mine in his notebook and hangs out at Chumley’s. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you when I get out. But meanwhile, can you get word to him or someone at Ch
umley’s that I’m here? And while you’re at it, you might as well tell Gordy, Sky, Blu, and everyone else we know. They’ve got to allow visitors and I’d really appreciate it if you’d come.

  I have a couple ideas on how to get home but they may not work, so remember to tell Nell-mom and Gary Daddy-o what I told you. It has to be now since my golden birthday will be here REALLY SOON and AS YOU KNOW, whatever you do on your golden birthday is like a preview of the rest of your life (!!!) So I can NOT be here for any reason on that day!

  I wouldn’t be writing unless it was URGENT.

  Love,

  Ruby

  P.S. If you find Corso, tell him I’m going ahead with that plan we talked about and he needs to tell the papers. He’ll know what you mean.

  P.P.S. Don’t forget Solange—she could STARVE unless you take care of her.

  I frown, looking at the letter. Should I tell Sophie what Nell-mom said about getting married? Why did she say they can’t? She was probably just upset and didn’t mean anything by it. I know most Beats think marriage is kind of old-fashioned, but this is an emergency.

  This is all your father’s fault. Can’t be bothered with us. That isn’t true, so why did she say it? I shake my head and put the pencil down. I’m not going to worry about it now. I have enough to worry about.

  I fold up the letter and Mrs. Brandt says she’ll mail it for me. I can tell she’s been reading over my shoulder even though she’s pretending not to. But Manuela says it’s illegal to tamper with people’s letters, so I think they have to send it no matter what.

  I was hoping we wouldn’t do numbers yet but they want to start on them right away. At Sky’s we mostly ran the cash register and I knew times tables and some division. But here they’re working on all kinds of things like decimals, fractions, and some really weird shapes like rhombuses and isosceles.