Don't You Know There's a War On? (10 page)

DENNY WAS WAITING
for me on the school steps.

“What happened?” he asked.

I didn't want to talk. But Denny pushed. “You going to tell me?”

“About what?”

“Who do you think? Miss Gossim.”

I gave him a look. The guy was my bestest friend. And he was upset like everyone else. So what could I do? I told him what happened in the classroom, that's what.

“Where's the petition?” he said.

“My pocket. She gave it back to me. Made me promise I wouldn't give it to Lomister.”

“That stinks,” he said. “My old man is in North Africa, but she can't have a kid.”

We headed up Hicks Street toward home, stopping only to check headlines.

“Going to the movies tomorrow?” I asked after a while. “Chapter Seven of
Junior G-Men of the Air
.”

“I s'pose. . . .”

We went on some more. Then he said, “Hear anything from your dad?”

“Yeah. He's coming home. Be back home by Easter.”

“Lucky stiff.”

“All he has to do is get by the U-boat wolf packs.”

“He will.”

“He's traveling out of convoy.”

Denny didn't say nothing to that. So I said, “What's with your pop?”

“The Allies are closing in. It's a pincer movement. They'll get Rommel soon. When they finally get him, my dad'll write. A lot.”

I looked at him. I was wondering if he really believed that. Because all of a sudden, the whole world seemed scary. I mean, what would happen if his dad got killed? Or if my pop did? Or if my mom didn't put in a rivet right? And what about Miss Gossim's husband? Or her? And holy smoke, what was going to happen to me?

“Hey, Denny,” I said.

“What?”

“It's okay you didn't tell me that stuff you knew about Miss Gossim. I mean, we're still best friends, right?”

“Sure,” he said. But after another block he stopped. “There's one other thing I never told you.”

“What?”

“It's Miss Gossim's first name. It's Rolanda. Bet you didn't know that. Since we're best friends, I thought you'd want to know.”

I looked at him. “Thanks,” I said. “It's a good name.”

We stopped in front of his store. “I got to make some deliveries,” he said. “See you at the movies tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like the one and only sad sack. “See you.”

WHEN I GOT HOME
, Gloria was sitting on our front stoop with her girlfriend, Heddy. They were working on their paper-doll collection, trying on different costumes. You know, sometimes fancy dance dresses, sometimes WAC uniforms. “Where you been?” she asked, not even looking up.

“I was kept after school,” I let slip.

She lifted her face for that. “Ooooo! Mom's going to be mad at you. How come?”

“None of your beeswax.”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

I went up to the apartment. In the kitchen I drank a glass of Ovaltine. Then I read through the petition a few times. I kept thinking how good it was. What a low-down dirty rotten shame we couldn't give it to Lomister. But I had promised. I couldn't get Miss Gossim mad at me again. Not on her last day.

Feeling bad, I went to my bedroom. Out from under my bed I dragged my orange-crate boxes. One was for my comic-book collection. The other had all my toys. I took out this model airplane I'd made. A P-38. My favorite fighter. Smitty's plane.

Lying on my bed, I put the plane through maneuvers. Complete with sound effects. I was thinking, I'm Smitty, and I'm strafing Lomister. I'm hitting him so hard he was begging for help. Him and his rules!

Doing that war stuff got me thinking about my pop again, wondering where he was. Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. That got me to wishing all over again that he wasn't traveling out of convoy. Gave me the willies
whenever I thought about it. What was the point of his coming back for Easter if he was only going to get himself sunk dead?

Next second I was seeing all these Nazi wolf-pack submarines prowling the ocean. Waiting for him. I even saw a torpedo slicing through the water like an angry shark. Nothing but teeth. I scared myself so bad I put the model away.

Back in the kitchen I listened to my favorite radio shows. First,
Jack Armstrong
, then
Superman
, finally
Sky King
. Least, in those shows, everything worked out okay.

I was halfway through
Sky King
. Sky and Penny, who were the characters on the show, had just trapped this Japanese spy (who had a huge bomb) in the boiler room of a cannon factory, when my sister came in. Her friend Heddy had gone home.

She stood by the door, staring at me.

“What you looking at?” I asked her.

“You.”

“Why?”

“You look sick,” she said.

I sighed. “I am sick.”

“What kind of sick?”

“Sick in the head.”

“How come?”

So I said, “You'd be sick if your favorite teacher got fired.”

“Miss Gossim got fired?”

“Yup.”

I got up and stormed down to my room, slamming the door behind me. Then I flung myself on my bed and pushed my face into the pillow.

There was a knock on the door. I didn't answer. Another knock.

“What do you want?”

“Talk to you.”

“Go away!”

“Don't have to.”

“Why?”

“It's my room too.”

“Find your own room.”

“Can't.”

“Why?”

“There's a housing shortage.”

Gloria opened the door and sat down across the way from me on her bed. After a while she said, “Tell me
about Miss Gossim.”

“Don't want to.”

“Please.”

“Why should I?”

“I'm your sister.”

“So what?”

“Because if Pop got killed and if Mom died, I'd be your whole family. Then I'd
have
to know all your secrets. That's what a family is, related secrets.”

“That's just soap operas.”

“Howie,” she screamed, “tell me!”

Well the thing is, I told her. Not about the dumbwaiter and sneaking into the house, just about Lomister going to Mrs. Wolch. And I didn't say nothing about going to Miss Gossim's apartment either. Just what was happening to her. As I was talking, Gloria just sat there, staring at me, not saying a word.

When I was done, I said, “Anyway, that's why I feel sick.”

At first she didn't say nothing. Then she said, “Howie . . .”

“What?”

“In soap operas they always figure out how to do things.”

“Go take a flying hike.”

She sniffed. “Well, if I were you, I know just what I'd do.”

I couldn't believe it. There she was: She just heard the whole thing. Right off, she's telling me what to do. I didn't say nothing. I just lay there, really annoyed.

“Don't you want to know what to do?” she asked.

“No.”

“You just don't want to know because I'm your kid sister.”

“Buzz off.”

“But I figured it all out.”

“Did not.”

“I did!”

“Okay, smarty-pants, what?”

“If I'm smart,” she pouted, “it's because I'm like a smart sandwich. You and Mom are the bread. I'm the in-between.”

“That's so stupid.”

“It's true!”

“Prove it.”

“You told Miss Gossim you wouldn't give that petition to Dr. Lomister. Right?”

I rolled over, my back to her. “Right.”

“And people should always keep their promise. But did she tell you anything about Lomister's
boss
?”

“Boss?”

“You know, that Mrs. Wolch you were talking about.”

“What about her?”

“Howie, in the soap operas people always go behind other people's backs. So if Dr. Lomister went behind Miss Gossim's back to that lady and said she should fire Miss Gossim, then you should go behind his back to that same lady and ask her to keep Miss Gossim. You know, give that lady that petition.”

I let her idea sink in. The more it sank, the better I liked it. I swung around to face Gloria. “But Monday's Miss Gossim's last day.”

“Then you better go see that Mrs. Wolch right away.”

I shook my head. “I couldn't do it. I'd be too scared. Anyway, with petitions, it only works if you get tons of people.”

“Get the kids from your class to go with you,” she said.

“Great! I don't even know where they live, mostly.”

Neither of us said anything for a bit. But that's when I had
my
idea. “Hey,” I cried, “the kids' movie tomorrow
morning. My whole class goes. I could get them to go after that.”

“See,” she said, and made a fist. “We can do it.”

“All right, here's my plan,” I said. “I'll go to the movies, and get the kids—lots of them—and bring them to Mrs. Wolch's house. What do you think?”

“Ta-da-de-da-taaaa!”

“What's that mean?”

“On soap operas, when something important happens, they do organ music.”

“Only one thing,” I added.

“What?”

“Don't tell Mom.”

“How come?”

“She's got enough to worry about.”

Gloria gave me a look. “Maybe, maybe not.”

I STARTED MAKING DINNER
. Wasn't much. A can of spaghetti with sauce. Except I put some chunks of Spam in
it to make it better.

My mom got home. First thing, she looked at the kitchen table, checking for a letter from my pop. Only there wasn't any.

“Maybe,” I said, “he's almost home.”

She gave me a sad face, but all she said was “Sorry I'm late. How you kids doing?” She was tired.

“You know what happened?” Gloria said right off. “Howie had to stay in after school.”

I shot my sister this dirty look. First she wants to be my friend, then she tries to turn me in. A stool pigeon.

“Howard Bellington Crispers,” my mom said, “what happened now?”

“Can I tell you after dinner?”

“Be a pleasure,” she said, which proved she was pretty worn-out.

Gloria served us dinner. While Mom ate, she showed us an alarm clock the Navy Yard gave out to all the workers.

“Why'd they do that?” I asked.

“They're supposed to help people get up and to work on time. It'll boost production.”

“You're never late,” Gloria said.

“Some people are.”

She looked so sad we just stared at her, knowing something big was bothering her. Sure enough, after a moment she told us about this rumor going around the Yard. A huge ship convoy trying to reach England had been really cut up by the U-boats.

She didn't have to say any more. We knew she was really worried about Pop. Fact, she didn't even want to finish her dinner, not until Gloria said, the way my mom always said when we didn't eat, “Think about the poor starving children in Europe.”

She ate.

WHILE MOM TOOK A BATH
, Gloria and I cleaned up.

Then, a little later, Mom called me into her room. It was the smallest room in the apartment. Smaller even than the one Gloria and I shared. Just a bed, an old dresser, a side table. On the table was this picture she and my dad took when they got married. They were kissing.

Next to that was her new alarm clock.

“Now,” she said, already in her pajamas, “what happened to you at school?”

“Aw, Ma, do I have to—”

“Howie, you don't know how tired I am. Just tell me. I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm your parent, that's why. The only one around.”

“Pop will be home soon. I can wait and tell him.”

“Howie, just let me hear it. It'll be a relief to worry about something stupid.”

“It ain't stupid.”

“Try me.”

So, like I always do, I told. The whole kit and caboodle. About Miss Gossim, her expecting, about her being fired. Except I have to admit, like with Gloria, I didn't tell her
how
I found out. You know, the dumbwaiter. Nothing neither about my visit to Miss Gossim's apartment. But I did tell her about the petition, how I got caught, which is why I had to stay in after school. And, I admit, I also didn't tell her what I was going to do with the petition. I figured, it hadn't happened, so no point in confessing yet. I could do that
later.

It was a good thing she was so tired. She smiled at some of what I said. Looked sad at other times. Mostly she wasn't angry or nothing.

“I did have one other idea,” I added.

“What?”

“Maybe Miss Gossim could stay with us.”

“Your teacher?
Here
?”

“Sure. Gloria and I could take care of her baby in our room. She could share with you. With the housing shortage tons of people share.”

Mom sort of smiled. “Howie, we're so crowded. And what'll happen when your father gets home? We don't have room.”

I almost said, But what if he doesn't come home? But I didn't.

Then she said, “Howie, it's nice you care. But didn't she say she needed to take care of herself?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweetheart, she's a grown woman. She'll manage. Sometimes you have to let things happen. Okay?”

“Was I stupid?”

“No. I like it you tried to help her.” She gave me a good-night
kiss.

I started for the door. Then I stopped. “Mom,” I said, “I'm worried about Pop.”

She said, “Me too.”

“Can't we get him to stay over there, wait for a convoy?”

“Howie,” she said, “see that picture of your father?”

“Yeah.”

“It's the first thing I look at in the morning, the last thing at night. Not much else I can do.”

Her voice got teary. I came back to hug her.

When I did, she said, “You're a good kid.”

“If I'm so good, can I go to the kids' movie show in the morning?”

She sighed. “You pass your math test this week?”

“A D-minus.”

“That passing?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. You can go if you take Gloria with you.”

“Aw, Ma, do I have to?”

“Howie,” she said. “I got to work overtime tomorrow. I don't want her here alone all day.”

“Ma . . .”

“Howie, don't you know there's—”

“Okay, okay!”

She fished out two quarters from her purse. Enough for two movie tickets. “And one more thing.”

“What?”

“Comb your head. It's sticking up.”

In our room Gloria was in bed, reading a Nancy Drew book.

“Hey, blabbermouth,” I said, “you want to go to the kids' movie in the morning?”

She sat up. “Can I?”

“If you go with me.”

“Sure.

“Can I go with you to that Mrs. Wolch too?”

“Just keep your mouth shut.”

“I promise.”

I washed up. In bed I tried to read my Big Little Book, which was
Don Winslow of the Navy
. But I couldn't think about what I was reading. I turned the lights out.

“Howie?” my sister called across in a whisper.

“What?”

“Is Pop going to be all right?”

“Oh, sure. Piece of cake.”

“What kind of cake?”

“Chocolate.”

“How many layers?”

“Four.”

“What's between the layers?”

“More chocolate.”

“Anything else?”

“There's a cherry on top.”

“Okay.”

She sighed, and pretty soon I could tell from her breathing she was asleep. That's the way it was with little kids.

But as I lay there in the dark, I kept thinking about the rumor Mom told us, that big convoy being hit. That and Pop.

It was all so scary, I tried to think of Miss Gossim. But all I could think of was how, after one more school day, she could be gone. For good.