I and Sproggy (5 page)

“The little fella's better off,” Charlie said. “God rest her soul, he's better off. She bossed the daylights out of him. Wouldn't let him put on his galoshes without telling him how. Couldn't call himself his own. A big woman she was, with a sharp tongue.”

But Mr. Early seemed to miss her. Maybe he liked being bossed.

“Just the man I'm looking for,” Mr. Early said, coming in from the street. His white hair grew in little wisps all over his head. He looked like an ancient baby, Adam thought. A very good-natured, very old baby.

“Got a job for you. Pays good money,” he said with a sly wink at Charlie. They both knew Adam's weakness for ready cash. “One dollar per diem.”

Adam didn't know what “per diem” meant, but he liked the sound of “one dollar.” Maybe he'd have to rob a bank, hold someone hostage for that kind of dough. Never mind. He was up to it.

“What's ‘per diem' mean?” he asked.

“It means ‘per day,'” Mr. Early said. “When I was your age, I'd have known what it meant. At least I think I would. You had any Latin or Greek?”

“No,” said Adam, “I'm barely into English.”

“That I believe,” Mr. Early said. “That I believe.”

“What do I have to do?” Adam asked.

“Feed Burton,” Mr. Early said. Adam remembered Burton. He was Mr. Early's parrot, a surly bird of nasty disposition and moldy tail feathers. A bird who imitated everything he heard. “He was a great companion for my Ida,” Mr. Early told Adam. “They watched the soap operas every afternoon. Burton knows all the parts.”

Now that Mrs. Early was no longer around, Mr. Early told Adam, he turned on the soaps just to make Burton feel the old days were back.

Last time Adam had gone to Mr. Early's apartment to sell him some Girl Scout cookies (which Mr. Early had refused, saying Adam didn't look like any danged Girl Scout to him), Burton had screeched from the next room, “Oh, no! Not that kid again!” So naturally Adam didn't have a warm spot in his heart for Burton.

Still, a dollar was a dollar.

“I'm going to visit my sister in Jersey for a few days,” Mr. Early said. “She's my younger sister but everyone takes her for my older sister. She's had a hard life. But not any harder than mine, come to think of it.

“You want to know why I'm so fit?” he asked suddenly.

Adam nodded.

Mr. Early paused. “It's all those innards I eat. Keep me young, they do.”

“Innards?” Adam said.

“Yep. Liver, kidneys, brains, that kind of thing.” Mr. Early smacked his lips. “My sister's a very good cook, but she and my wife never did see eye to eye. Ida was a very positive person,” he said. “Not everyone likes a positive person. But now she's gone, bless her, and so I go to my sister's and she fixes me calf's liver and onions, with a fried banana on top. Or brains in black butter, or kidney stew. Oh, my, I can taste them now.”

So could Adam. He concentrated on the ceiling, humming loudly. He was astounded. He had never heard of such food. Just thinking about the things Mr. Early had described, seeing them in his mind no matter how hard he tried to keep them out, made him feel queasy.

“The animal's innards are the best thing for man to eat,” Mr. Early went on, turning to Charlie and oblivious to Adam's discomfort. “They're chock-full of food value, not to mention vitamins. You take your vitamins now. People going out, spending vast amounts of money on bottles of vitamin pills. Why, if they bought a nice piece of calf's liver, that's all the vitamins they'd need. Not like your hamburgers and your junk food.” He turned back to Adam. “Try innards, young man. If you want to live to be healthy, wealthy, and old, that's the ticket.”

“About Burton,” Adam managed to say. “What do I feed him?”

“He's big on grapes—old grapes. I don't buy the really fresh stuff. He doesn't know the difference. Then there's special seeds he eats at night, seeds I send away for. They're like innards for him, keep him in good shape. He needs fresh water once a day and clean newspapers in his cage every morning. Think you can handle it? Is it a deal?”

“It's a deal.” They shook on it.

“I'll be going Wednesday morning, coming back Saturday, maybe Sunday. I'll give you the key to my apartment. And one more thing,” Mr. Early said, “if it's not too much trouble, could you come up when
All My Children
is on? Turn on the set for him?”

“What's
All My Children
?”

“It was my wife's favorite soap opera,” Mr. Early said, looking a little sheepish. “They watched it together, and he misses it. I know it sounds crazy, but if he sees ten, fifteen minutes of
All My Children
every day, he's a new man. The sadder it is, the better he likes it. Makes him know his life isn't all that bad. Not compared to those folks, it isn't. He's like a person, Burton is,” Mr. Early finished proudly:

“I'll come up later so you can show me what to do,” Adam said.

“Good idea. He's very particular,” Mr. Early said. “Wants things just so. Got that from Ida, I expect.”

Twirling his cane, Mr. Early marched into the elevator. When he'd gone, Charlie shook his head in admiration. “He's a great old boy, that's for sure. Don't know how he puts up with that parrot, though. He's a bossy old bird. Takes after …”

“I know,” Adam said. “Ida.”

“We must speak well of the dead,” Charlie said in a pious voice.

“You said it, not me,” Adam said.

The back buzzer sounded, and while Charlie went to answer it, Adam glumly contemplated his lot. He'd promised his father to look out for Sproggy. That was a laugh. She should be looking out for him. She'd picked him up like a feather after she'd knocked him down, and she'd rescued him from a mugger. What would she do next? She's a red-haired Mafioso, he thought. A red-haired Mafioso who plays chess. What's more, he didn't even have an ethnic background. Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed, he decided.

“Three-C,” Charlie said succinctly. “Would you believe it's their TV set this time? ‘You're so clever, Charlie,' she says, ‘you can fix anything.'” He did an imitation of Mrs. 3-C's voice. “What she means is, she don't want to call the serviceman, he charges ten, fifteen dollars just to look at
her
, never mind the TV. You know what I told her?” Charlie chortled. “I told her my wife Millie's religion prevents her from having TV in the house, so I'm not familiar with the workings of a TV set. That really racked her back. She says, ‘What, pray tell, is her religion?' and I had all I could do to keep from exploding.”

“What
is
her religion?”

“Sometimes you got no sense of humor, Adam,” Charlie said. “Sometimes you disappoint me, pal. When does school open?”

“Please.” Adam sighed deeply. “Don't remind me. Next week, that's when.”

“Education is the key,” Charlie intoned. “Look at me. Thirteen when I quit school, and here I am, a handyman. I'm thinking of going to school nights to improve myself. I respect education. An educated man I also respect. Me and my wife Millie are both thinking of going to night school. Next thing you know we'll be big shots. Who knows?”

“There you are, Adam.” A voice pierced Adam's eardrums. “Jolly good.”

Charlie said, “This is the little girl from across the briny, eh what? Cheerio and pleased to meet you. I'm Charlie.”

Sproggy shook Charlie's hand. “How super!” she said.

“No, the super's Mr. Courtney,” Charlie said. “I'm only the handyman.”

“I meant it was super to meet you,” she explained. “In American that means, I think, terrific.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Sure. It's jolly super to meet you, too.” He smiled at Adam. He was certainly getting into the swing of things fast, Adam thought.

“I've got to go,” he said. “I and the boys are having a club meeting.”

“May I come?” Sproggy asked.

“It's a private club,” Adam said. “No outsiders allowed. Plus,” he said, scowling, “no girls. Especially no girls. We made a pact.”

“You are a very old-fashioned chap, I think,” Sproggy said with asperity. “The world has changed. As you Americans would say, ‘Get with it!' Good-bye, Charlie. It was nice to have met you,” Sproggy said. “I shall see you again soon, I hope.”

“Come over any time,” Charlie said. “I'd be pleased to see you. Always got time for a limey,” he said. “No offense.”

“Righto, Yank,” Sproggy said and went on her way.

“You're rude,” Charlie said when she'd gone. “You were very rude, Adam. I'm surprised at you. And disappointed. Why do you want to be so short with her? She meant no harm.”

“My father wants me to take care of her,” Adam said. “Can you see me taking care of her? That's ridiculous.”

“You mean because she's bigger than you or what? Just because she's big doesn't mean she's not timid inside, coming to a strange country, going to a new school, getting used to all the things that are different here. Put yourself in her shoes, kid,” Charlie said.

“They'd be miles too big,” Adam said with a long face. “My father had no business asking me to do that. He had no business.”

“Aha!” Charlie said. “That's it. You don't want to share your father with her. Is that the trouble?”

“I don't care about that,” Adam said in a lofty tone. “He's my father, not hers. She hasn't got a father.”

“Everybody's got a father,” Charlie said. “The smallest fish in the sea, the biggest camel in the desert. You know about the facts of life?” Charlie peered intently at Adam.

“Oh, boy.” Adam sighed. “I'm not up for a lecture on the facts of life, Charlie. My mother filled me in on that stuff a couple of years ago. I'm not sure I buy everything she said, but yeah, I know all about it. We had it in science class, too. But don't tell me my father's her father, because he isn't.”

“I get it,” Charlie said. “Now I get it. Your trouble is you're not used to sharing. You don't know how to share your daddy because you never had to.” Charlie pointed a finger at him. “Being an only child, you had him all to yourself. And your mother, too. Now we got a little outlander moving into the picture, and you're in a snit. I wouldn't have thought it of you, kid.” Charlie shook his head. “I'm disappointed in you, Adam, and that's for good and sure.”

All right. There was just enough truth in what Charlie said to make Adam smart a little from his words. He'd never especially minded being an only child. There were plenty of pluses about it, like being the center of things, not having to share stuff. Kenny, for instance, and Steve Skully, they were always complaining about not being able to have a new bike or a new this or that because there wasn't enough money to go around; the other kids in the family needed something more important. Braces or glasses, dumb stuff like that.

Last time Steve's mother and father had gone out, they'd left his oldest brother in charge. Steve's younger brother, aged eight, had written a list of all the mean things they'd done to him.

“Stuck finger at nose four times,” the list had read. “Said, ‘You little faggot,' five times, hit me on head with
Fortune
magazine twice.” When Steve's father got a load of the list, he'd lowered the boom. No TV for a week, no treats, all privileges cut off.

“If you can't behave more responsibly than that,” Steve's father had told him and his older brother, “you don't deserve any extras.”

And Kenny reported the same stuff. He was always getting into trouble for things he did to his siblings. At least Adam didn't have to cope with that kind of business. And up until now, up until Sproggy had entered his life, Charlie and he had never had an angry word. They'd been friends. They'd admired each other. OK She'd spoiled that.

“So long,” Adam said coolly, tucking in his shirt. “I've gotta go to the park for our meeting. I'll see you, Charlie.”

“Sure.” Charlie squirted cleaner on the window and rubbed it with a cloth as if his whole career depended on getting it clean. “I know how it is. You got friends waiting, you gotta go. Don't keep them waiting, kid. Go along and have a good time.”

“It's not a good-time thing,” Adam said. “It's a club meeting. We have to decide all kinds of things.”

For a minute Charlie left off polishing. He looked hard at Adam. “Right,” he said. “A club is a serious business. I know. I been in clubs. A very serious business they are. Take it easy.”

He turned his back to Adam and went to work again, whistling.

CHAPTER 7

Adam took the long way around to Carl Schurz Park. He walked up First Avenue to Ninetieth Street, then cut across to York and down to Eighty-fourth, lifting his feet high, looking in windows. Then he ran across Eighty-fourth to East End Avenue and up two blocks to the park entrance. Kenny and Steve were sitting on the bench, waiting for him.

“You ever hear of a guy named Dickens?” Kenny asked as Adam sat down, winded.

“Who's he play for?” Adam said.

“The Rangers,” Steve said in his positive way. “I'm pretty sure it's the Rangers.”

“He doesn't play for anyone,” Kenny said. “He writes books.”

“Oh,” the others said. “That.”

“My sister was reading this book he wrote,” Kenny said, “and at the same identical minute she was reading, there was the story on the tube. They were acting out his book on the tube. I couldn't get over it.” Kenny shook his head. “There it was in color and everything. And she was reading that book when she could have seen it on the tube.”

The three boys sat and contemplated the wonder, the strangeness of it all.

“Let's get down to business,” Steve said. He was club president because the club had been his idea. His father was on Wall Street. He got a lot of hot tips on stocks. Steve even had a share of stock his father had given him for his birthday. His mother was a lawyer. Steve often figured out loud that that made him a whiz, a mini-money man, a fifth-grade tycoon. He spent a lot of time banging his gavel and hollering, “Come to order!”