Interstate (16 page)

They're still beside him. He took his mind off them a minute but there they are, probably never left. Doesn't look to see if the guy's staring or anything, just sees the front of their car even with his. Looks for a trooper car. Been looking on and off since he first felt those guys were menacing him and if one's around he'll pull over if it's on this side but first try to get their license plate number for he wants the cops to go after them or when this is over, even if the plate's probably stolen or the car is for all he knows. But to get it he has to get behind them so he slows down, they slow down, maybe figuring what he wants to do, probably not. Oh yes, they know, they're old pros at all this stuff, he doesn't know anything about it or not much. But if a cop's across the road in the median what'll he do then? Car's got him blocked. Honk, that's what, honk like hell and open his window and wave and yell and slow down and stop on the shoulder and then back up on it if he's by that time far away from the cop or if he's near to get out fast and scream and wave for the cop, but get their plate number or as much of it as he can and the state. Hasn't looked at them in a while now, feels weak at the wheel, for his kids not him, and wants to keep his eyes on the road and also on the front of their car in case he thinks they're going to bump or ram his, turns around quickly to the kids to see if they're all right and once through the rearview to and that time doesn't see either of them. When a car or truck passes on the left in the speed lane he honks and honks but not once does the driver or passengers look at him when they're near, though the guy goes between facing front with a blank look as if innocent as hell or looking at him with a concerned one and once even saying or mouthing “Anything wrong?” but a couple of passengers do look when they're way past and in one car two young boys in back point and he thinks look alarmed at him. He wants to roll down the window and yell out “Help, stay near, help” while he continues honking, but by then they're way out of hearing range and he's also afraid of taking his hand off the wheel to roll down the window with the car next to him so close. Looks at the passenger window when no other cars are around and they've moved left a couple of feet and the guy's just staring at him with his fist holding up his chin as if he's studying his face hard and then he smiles almost politely and nicely and with his finger beckons to him. But to what, get his car even closer? Guy wants to say something to him? He crazy? And what's with the smile after all they've done and those hideous looks before? “Girls, you all right?” “Yes, we're all right, Daddy,” Margo says. “We're playing by ourselves, why?” and he says “Nothing, everything's fine. Still buckled up, though, right?” and she says “Sure, us both. Why's that same car still there?” and he says “Oh, nothing, they like our company I suppose or my good looks,” guy smiling pleasantly at him, and she says “They gay?” and he says “Only kidding, honey, I know nothing about them.” Then looks at the man again and he's beckoning with his finger but with this peculiar expression now, as if “Come into my dark chamber” or something, and moves the rearview around and sees both kids are busy with what they're doing with their eyes down and he looks at the man and he has that same peculiar expression but even more sinister or demonish, and turns front: this guy means trouble, they do, they're not letting up, they're sticking to him, slowing and speeding with him, getting their car even closer. Or maybe the guy's just a joker, that's all, driver the joker's friend, in on the joke and both just having fun playing with him, and any accident that happens to the jokee or whatever you want to call him that goes along with the fun they couldn't give a hoot about. A car passes in the speed lane and he honks and honks and it goes even faster while he keeps his hand on the horn, guy looking front again, an angel. “Hey, you bastard,” he wants to yell, “hey, stop, slow down, look over here,” and open the window to yell it and wave but doesn't want to cause any thoughts that might upset the kids. Maybe what these guys want is to get him all the way into the slow lane and then force him off the shoulder into something, a ditch, or over it and down some hill, but why? Kicks. Kicks. Now they're in part of his lane and he has to move to the extreme right of it almost to the lane line. Doesn't want to get in the slow lane because then some more muscling by them and he's on the shoulder and whatever's there. Car behind him on the right honks, he hadn't seen it, driver probably thinking he's switching lanes without signaling, and he honks and honks and the driver looks at him as she passes and he points to his left and mouths “They're crazy, killers, they're nuts, maniacs, I need help, get help,” and leans back so she can see through the front side windows and he doesn't look at the guy but figures he's doing what he did when the speeding car passed, facing front angelically, learned it sitting in church or school for when he did some lousy thing someone else got blamed for, and she scrunches up her face to a “Huh?” and shakes her head she doesn't get it and he points and mouths “Those men, those men,” and slits his throat with his finger several times and she signals left and cuts in front of him while he's honking like mad and more signaling to get in front of the men and then the speed lane, maybe because she's afraid of him, maybe she even gives the men a look she is when she's on the other side of them and the three cars are even. “What's wrong, Daddy?” Margo says and he says “Why, my honking?” stopping now and Julie says “Why were you?” and he says “That stupid woman—that driver there, I mean, on the other side of the car next to us—well, now she's away—but cutting in front of me without signaling, she could've killed us. All right, she wasn't that close, but it's the wrong thing to do,” and Julie says “Why, she should warn you, how?” and he says “Lights, not lights but these signals,” flicking the directionals up and down—the emergency lights, he thinks, turning them on—“but let's forget it, it upsets me but I'm okay,” hoping that just with the emergency lights and his honking whenever he sees a truck or car, they'll drive away. Guy back to staring sinisterly at him. No other cars around, sees in the rearview and side mirrors. Nothing in front but that woman who's got to be doing eighty now. He speeds up but so does the car alongside, slows to sixty and they slow, looks at them and they're both laughing, looking at each other and him and back and forth like that and laughing and he thinks What's so fucking funny? and mouths to the guy “What's so funny?” and the guy points to him and he thinks Me, huh, me, huh?—I'd like to shove your fucking laughs and smiles and teeth right down your dirty throats, you fucking idiots, get lost, get lost, and mouths “I'm going to tell the police, do you hear me? the police,” and guy raises his shoulders
so-o-o?
and he slows down some more, thinks he might pull into the slow lane, looks at the right sideview, no car there anywhere, guys' car slows down and driver honks and he looks and the guy opens his window and motions for him to open his and he thinks What? and the guy mouths or says “Open your window, open it,” and again motions with his hand to and now his face isn't so bad, as if he only wants to tell him something like his door's open, wheel's low, and he says “What?” and Julie says “What, Dada?” and he says “Not talking to you,” and to the man “What?” and the guy smiles nicely and drops his hand below the window and still smiling at him shouts “You…dumb…prick,” and hand comes up but with a gun in it and points it at him. “Holy shit,” he yells, “holy God, kids, duck, get below,” and to the man “Don't, don't,” and to the kids “There's a guy with a gun in that car, duck, duck,” and speeds and they speed and looks in the rearview and kids are shouting “What, Daddy, what gun?” Margo, Julie, both, and he says “Get below, the floor, on the floor,
floor
!” and swivels around, kids still on the seat, looking bewildered, scared, looks front and steering with his right hand, left reaches around his seat and gropes till it touches Margo's ankle and grabs it and jerks it down and shouts “Unbuckle, get on the floor, both of you,” jerking her leg down now, “maniacs in the next car, fucking maniacs, they'll kill us,” and they start screaming and he yells “Stop it, screaming, get down,” and looks at the guys' car, he's too close to it and clamps both hands to the wheel and without signaling or looking pulls into the slow lane and they into the lane he left, and yells “You hear me), down, I'm saying, are you?—Margo!” and she says yes and he yells “Julie?” and Margo says yes and several cars in the speed lanes now and he slows down and honks and the guys' car slows and honks and he speeds up and they do, honking, blocking him from any car's view and he shouts “Oh no, what're we going to do? keep down, down,” and they're screaming and he thinks Think, come on, what should you do? oh my poor children, and they're shouting “Daddy” and some other things, maybe not words but they sound like them, “mudder foam, doll bait, pip feed, call a thong, radiator so,” and looks right, shoulder seems fine to go on, thinks maybe with all the cars around the guy's gun's gone, looks, barrel of it on the window bottom and aimed at him, only the tip of it but enough to blow him to shit, same crazy two-faced face and the guy saying or mouthing “Hi, how ya doing, great day, wouldn't you say?” driver busting a gut at all this and pounding the dashboard while he steers with his left hand and then no hands when he rips his hat off and whacks it against the wheel, still plenty of room on the shoulder and he drives onto it, try not to stop too suddenly and if the guys stop in front of him, go in reverse fast as you can, and in back, the reverse, go front and then try to shoot across the road without getting clipped and onto the median if one's there, looks and one's there, and then tear north and if they chase him, well, later, if it happens, later but now stop, does, too suddenly, kids pitched into his seat and he's thrown forward and back, guys go on but then the crazy sticks his arm all the way out with the gun and with his face behind it seems to be taking aim at them, and he yells “Kids, down, stay down,” and dives to the seat and there's gunshots, windshield shatters but doesn't break, screams in back just before or just when the shots are fired and then, which one? just Margo screaming. “Julie,” he yells, “Julie, you okay? Margo, you too? They're gone but both you stay down till I look.” Nothing from Julie. “Margo, tell me if you're all right.” But the men, and lifts his head just enough to see their car's not in front, and turns around, they might've, but they couldn't've, but they might've gone on the median and around and then from behind and on the shoulder in back, and lifts his head above the seat but they're not there and unbuckles and jumps up on the seat and looks down and Margo's screaming and he yells “Shush, tell me, come on, are you all right?” and she says “Just my knees hurt from bumping the seat, but I think so,” and he says “You think you're otherwise okay?” quickly looking through all but the passenger-side windows to see that the men didn't come back and she says yes, rubbing her knees, and he says “Julie,” looking at her, on her side, no look back, “Julie, what about Julie?” and reaches down, can't reach her, that eye's closed and he thinks maybe she's unconscious, just her head hurt from hitting the seat, it's facing in that direction for that to happen, but otherwise okay, a cut and concussion but nothing else much, and Margo shrieks and says “Daddy, there's blood,” Julie doesn't stir, and he says “Yours?” and she says “I don't think so, it doesn't seem like I'm bleeding,” and he says “Check, check,” and she feels herself all around and says “I'm sure I'm not, not even my knees, they don't feel wet,” and he leans over some more and stretches down to Julie, doesn't want to move her but has to to find out, should he get out of the car and go in the door where she is and do it that way? no, do it now, touches her but almost falls over and gets on the passenger seat and reaches down and lifts her up by an armpit till he can grab under both arms and lift her up straight, her legs stay on the floor, head flops around before settling, she doesn't seem to be breathing, there's blood on her neck and chin and coming through her sweater, and holding her around the back with one hand, unbuttons the top of her sweater and then her shirt and pulls down her undershirt soaked with blood, all the time saying “Oh no, oh no,” and thinking I know what it is, I don't want to know what it is, and screams when he sees blood running out of a bullet hole.

H
appens during the drive back home. He's with the kids on the main highway south, his wife's with her folks for a couple of days in New York. He said goodbye to her about three hours earlier. Last saw her at the front door. They'd all gone to the city to visit her folks and do some things there. While she went with a friend to a matinee one day, for lunch and a long talk with another friend and then alone to some bookstores and an acupuncture session the next day, he took the kids to several museums: Natural History, the Modern, Met. He also wanted to take them to the Frick, which he hadn't been to in years and the kids had never seen—he thought they'd like the courtyard pool with the lily pads in it, he thinks, and also the Limoges—they had at the Walters in Baltimore—and he wanted to sit on the couch with them across from the Rembrandt self-portrait in that long room and talk about how the face, expression and body bulk always reminded him of his father. He used to go there a lot just to look at it, no other painting, or maybe the two Vermeers in one of the front hallways, how could he just go past those? so something else to show the kids they might like, sit on the same couch and jot down whatever came to mind about him and some of the incidents between them and sketch and draw the painting, usually in different colored ballpoint, and sometimes the painting and the huge vase of flowers or leaves on the table between him and it, though he wasn't an artist. What happened to those drawings and notes he doesn't know. But they said too many museums in two days so choose any three of the four so long as one was the Natural History. They also wanted to go to the Central Park merry-go-round and zoo and F.A.O. Schwarz after all the museums, “have a day on the town just for kids, hamburger restaurant for lunch but not a fast-food—stuff like that,” Margo said. He said they went to Schwarz's—“it sounds funny calling it that, but anyway, the last time, and the zoo and merry-go-round the two times before that. But if you want to go and we're all not too pooped by then, okay—at least it isn't Christmas or Easter seasons at F.A.O.'s with wall-to-wall shoppers but mostly sightseers like us.” Merry-go-round was closed with no sign on it saying why, on a day it was supposed to be open. They went to the zoo, had lunch at its cafeteria because it was convenient and the food looked pretty good, then F.A.O.'s where Julie cried almost the second they got inside when he wouldn't give her money to buy anything. “I thought the understanding we'd agreed to at home was that we'd come only to look, not buy—window-shop, they call it, though in this case outside-in window-shopping—come on, sweetheart, don't make a scene, you're embarrassing me, people are going to think I really did something wrong like beat you and then the police will come and I'll be arrested and you'll have to save up all your next year's allowance to bail me out,” but words weren't working so he tried taking her aside but she pushed his hand off her waist and said “Get off me. And you are doing something wrong. You can't take us here every time and expect us not to buy something; it's unfair,” and Margo said “It is, Daddy.” “All I want is ten dollars for if I see something I like. That's not much.” “Ten dollars? What do you think, I'm made df money? which is what my father used to say whenever I asked him for ten cents for a comic book, and he had much more dough than I. In comparison, he was practically rich, but he knew I shouldn't ask for money when anyone was around, which doesn't apply here since we don't know any of these people, but especially when the agreement beforehand was not to ask for any money at all. But look, I'll give you each, something my father never would have done, two bucks to spend as you please.” “Two dollars is nothing here,” Margo said. “That's what I'm saying—this is a place just to get ideas for things to buy in cheaper toy stores.” “Ten,” Julie said. “I'll pay you back tomorrow.” “With what?” People passing were looking, some smiling or raising their eyebrows as if they knew what he was going through with the kids and he said “Come on, both of you, over here where we can discuss this without the world bonking into us,” and they did. “Now, with what money you going to pay me back?” to Julie. “And I give you ten, I have to give Margo ten—that's twenty dollars and we're not even talking tax, and New York's got something like eight percent now, maybe even nine.” “What about the money Grandma gave Margo and me for summer? That adds to thirty, which is way more than twenty.” “Oh, fifteen plus fifteen; this kid can count; very good. Mommy and I bought you things with that money, and I don't want to argue anymore. I'll give you each three dollars, buy what you want. If it's not enough for whatever you pick out, put a down payment on it, what do I care? I'll also give you enough for the tax, so up to three-fifty apiece, but that's my last offer.” “Ten.” He said “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” and she said “You owe us thirty dollars: Grandma's. You didn't spend it on us. Mommy was holding it and I remember when you didn't have enough and you asked her for it; you bought gas.” “You have five seconds to accept my offer, Julie,” looking at his watch, and she said “I want the money that's mine, or just ten dollars of it.” “Okay, that's it, agreement's over, I'm sorry you have to lose out on this too, Margo, but she won't compromise, so we're going,” and when he took Julie's hand and she pulled it away, he said, which he knew was a threat she wouldn't take seriously, so why'd he make it?—it just came out, he'd done it several times before and she always reacted the same way and after the last time he told himself he'd never do it again—“You don't want to go? Fine, stay, but we're going,” and took Margo's arm and they went through the revolving door. Looked back, she was staring angrily at him and then turned around and headed for the escalator. “That goddamn kid, I'm so goddamn sick of her,” to no one, and to Margo “Stay here,” and she said “Don't hit her,” people going in and out bumped into him or skipped around him and he said “Excuse me, sorry,” and to Margo “What do you mean? When have I ever?” and went back in. Have I ever hit them? he thought. I don't think so. She was at the escalator, her back to him—once, if any time, and not hard, but he forgets when and which one and just a slap on the back of her hand and probably for something important, like she was about to dart into the street or just after she did it or started to and he caught her—pressed a button on a panel beneath a large bear and it started talking, mouth moving, “Hi, I'm Teddy Ruxpin” or something, and gave directions to the Barbie shop. “Up the escalator, turn left, keep going straight till you pass the Talking Tree, then right till you come to the Barbie dolls, they're real pretty and say hi from me, Teddy.” Another button; he said “Julie!” Same intro, then how to get to the stuffed animals, “and when you get there, check out my friends and me, Teddy Ruxpin.” “What do you think you're doing?” Another button: board games. She said “I'm staying in the store till I find something I like. With my money Grandma gave me, which you should give back or it's stealing.” “Stealing, hey? Wait till Christmas and I'll go ho-ho-ho.” “You're not funny.” “I'm not funny? And why do I answer every utterance of yours with a question? But then who's funny, you?” “I'm serious, Daddy.” “And I'm not? Listen, you're not getting any money. I have to be decisive. I shouldn't tell you what I have to be, for you might think I haven't made up my mind and that you can change it—” “I don't know what your word ‘decisive' means.” “So we're leaving, right? My threatening to leave you here before was stupid, since I would never do that, but now I'm serious, so,” which he didn't want to say, it'll only make things worse, and he knew he'd never carry it out, “if you insist on embarrassing not just me but you too, by staying when I'm saying we have to go, then I'll be forced to drag you out of here or lift you up, rather, and carry you out bodily, meaning with my body, on my shoulder if I have to, one way or the other or even something else, under my arm, I'm still strong enough to, so are you coming?” and she said no. “No?” and she said no. Another child pushed a panel button: puppets and magic tricks. A trick, he thought, and said “Who's Teddy Ruxton or Ruxpin—this guy?” and she said “You can see: a bear.” “But from where: television, movies?” and she said “I don't know; you don't let us see them.” “When? I'd let you see a movie or some public TV if it was good.” She just looks at him. “Listen, my sweetheart, isn't this a bad place to discuss all this? Let's all go for a snack, cool off, maybe we'll come back. We can if your attitude's better.” “I don't want to eat and you won't come back even if I acted like an angel.” “How do you know? No, I almost swear I will, if we're still close by and not tired, and same deal, three-fifty apiece to spend here, even four. But that's my last offer and last time I'm offering it. And if you don't leave with me now, and nicely, this will also be the last time you'll ever be allowed in here again so long as I live,” which he knew, he knew, it was the kids' favorite place in New York, which was the point, but a ridiculous dumb threat, one that'd absolutely have no impact, though maybe a combination of all those offers and threats and just that she might be hungry and tired of arguing with him would change her mind or mood. “I don't want three or four; I want my ten dollars you owe me.” This time an adult: Legos. I know how, he thought, and said “My God, where's Margo?” and looked to the front of the store, too many things blocked his view of the doors, said “Wait, I'm going to see,” ran around some people to the doors, Margo was right outside, facing the street, she was fine, nine, very self-sufficient, if anything went wrong she'd come in and stand by the door and look around for him and if she didn't see him she'd stay there till he came, ran back, said “Come on, let's go outside, I didn't see her and I don't want to leave her alone. This is New York.” “So?” “So people steal little children, your age and Margo's, and prettier they are, quicker they go. I don't mean to scare you, and not every day of course and it could happen anywhere and is probably the rare instance when it does, but you don't want to leave your child alone here, smart as Margo and you are.” “You go; she could be inside already and I'll tell her to wait for you here.” “Listen, this is important; no fooling around from you now. And tell you what. Next time we come here—not today, so another day; today's just three-fifty to four dollars if you cooperate—I'll give you each five bucks. And that's not between you either, which is a fair compromise. Altogether, ten.” “You just say that,” and he said “Whatever I said, we got to get outside to find Margo, but I swear by anything that I'll keep my word—ten. Weil tell Margo, so she'll be a witness. But let's get out there, I'm worried,” and took her hand, she jerked it back but followed him to the revolving door. He got in a section first and slowed the door, for other people were entering from the street, so she wouldn't get caught getting inside or have to get out too fast. They stayed at his in-laws' three nights. They couldn't leave for New York till late Saturday afternoon because his kids had swimming lessons that morning and Julie a piano lesson at noon and Margo a painting class at two. They'd only miss one school day for Monday was a special teachers' day off for an education conference, and he took two days off from his job so he could go to New York and his wife worked at her own stuff at home. Margo said “Where were you? I was looking all over” and he said “But you're all right, right, everything okay?” and she said “Sure, why not?” “Well, I looked and didn't see you before and got worried,” and she.said “I don't see how. I was standing here all the time, watching the crowds passing. So many people. I even saw a fight between two men. A policeman broke it up. I think I got a good idea for an art project from it.” “What of?” he wanted to say but she said “You were so long, Daddy, I thought you were lost,” and he said “Me, in my old city? But what would you have done if I hadn't come in another fifteen minutes?” and she said “Stay here and wait and then go in to look from around the bottom of the escalator and finally call Mommy.” “How do you know the number?” and she said “I'd ask for Grandpa's name from Information and give the street.” “You know how to get Information?” and she said “Four-one-one, or I'd go to the store's office for help. They'd give it, wouldn't they, if I told them I was all alone?” “Sure. Probably happens all the time. I didn't think of it. Besides, maybe they have a public address system for lost children. They have to, so why not use it for fathers? They probably even have a special pickup area for lost parents and kids. But what if a man came up to you before you went into the store, or a woman, and said—you know, nice voice and face and nicely dressed—‘Young lady, your father's suddenly not well—'” “I'd ask what your name is, for this is a creepy person who's doing
something bad, right?” and he said “Okay, then he knows my name, for some reason, or he tricks it out of you—kidnappers can be clever—but he said, or she does, that I was suddenly stricken with something—he even knows my birth-date and what I do in life and was wearing today, so he's convincing. And to be even more convincing, there could be a man and woman working together, pretending they're a sweet married couple. But that I had a heart attack, or stroke, whatever story, and was taken to a hospital and that I asked them to take you there to me, what would you do?” and she said “But your story's crazy. You were inside; how can you get out without me seeing you or some kind of crowd around you or the ambulance?” and he said “I cabbed to the hospital, felt I had to get there fast, and there's a back entrance to the store on Madison,” and she said “Your story's still all wrong. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Daddy, but you couldn't have been heart-attacked and taken to a hospital or gone there alone by cab in so short a time.” “Not true. We're talking of twenty minutes. I could be on my way to the hospital while this man's talking to you. But before I went out that back entrance I told this man, and I wouldn't have done any of that, of course. I'm also as healthy as a horse, so I'm not about to get any heart attacks or strokes. But if I was too sick to get you, in actual life, because of a sudden stomach flu, for instance, which knocked me cold and kept me on the ground groaning for half an hour or in your store office where some store people took me, then I'd in some way communicate to these people to send a guard outside to get you, and also to keep Julie safely beside me. But this is the man's lying story to you I'm telling you, not mine, so what would you do?” “What you told me to lots of times in things like this, so why are you asking?” and he said “Let's say for Julie's sake. I haven't really talked about it with her yet and when I was in the store and didn't see her for a minute I started thinking of it for her.” “I know what to do,” Julie said. “I remember you told Margo once. I say to the man ‘Let me'—no, ‘Let a policeman take me to the hospital for my father.' Then when I get one I say ‘Let me speak to my mother,' but I wouldn't know how to call her in New York.” “In the store's office, dummy,” Margo said. “You can't expect her to know that,” he said. “But close, Julie, very good—and why are you talking to her like that?” to Margo. “What'd she do to deserve it?—But you'd go to a guard, if you couldn't find a real policeman—someone in a uniform in the store, or you'd just ask a salesperson to get you one. Salesperson: someone who sells the stuff behind the counter. And sometimes the guards have plain clothes, no uniforms, to catch, let's say, the shoplifters better, but the salespeople would know who they are. But if they didn't, for the plainclothes guards are probably also there to stop the salespeople from stealing, then they could make a call for one in uniform. And you'd tell this guard that you're alone, your sister and daddy are suddenly gone and some man's said your father's been taken to the hospital and he asked this man to take you there and your parents have always warned you against strangers taking you anyplace, and you want to speak to your mommy. They'd find her eventually. They could do this from the office. Actually, you don't want to go with the guard—a real policeman's okay—but not a guard, plainclothes or not, to the office alone either. Sometimes these businesses aren't careful about who they get as guards, so these guys can be crazies too. If it's a woman guard, uniformed or not, I'm sure she's all right. So when you go with a male guard you also want to go with, and you have to insist on this—not easy for a kid but you got to do it, you say your parents told you you have to—with a salesperson to the office and not alone, and that's where you call Mommy. You'd only have to give there, as Margo said, in New York, your grandfather's name—he's the only Horace Cole in the Manhattan book. And—the phone book, I mean, the directory, and Manhattan being New York, of course—and my name, or Mommy's with the Cole last name, in our phone book where we live, but you know that number.” “Eight-three-five…but do you want me to give the area code too?” Julie said. “No, where we are you don't need the area code when you call home. Oh, this is so complicated. You just don't go with strangers, that's all, the one rule you have to remember in this. One comes and is pretty aggressive in wanting to take you someplace—forceful, won't take no, you see?—yell for a cop. Really, yell, both of you, ‘police, police,' but much louder—I only whispered so the people around us wouldn't wonder—but that's all you say, and also if you're together and a stranger wants you to go with him or her somewhere. Or you see what seems like a nice person passing—certainly someone passing you know is even better. But if not, then a nice person while this awful stranger's trying to convince you to go with him, tell that person—man or woman, just that the person looks nice—the problem with the stranger and have that person get a cop. But stay with that person, don't leave yourself with the stranger. Though don't go with that nice person either-—alone, you know, into a house or car or cab or anyplace in a store except straight to its office where lots of people would probably be and you can call the police and us from. No, forget that, just stick with that nice person till a guard comes, if it's a store, and then you go to the office with the guard and this nice person or a store clerk, but always two people unless the guard's a woman. If it's a lot smaller store than this one with probably not much of an office anywhere, then you have them call Mommy or me and the police from the selling part of it. Of course if it's just that you're lost or we're separated, you don't need the police if you can reach one of us. If it's a street and you're now with the nice person and the threatening stranger goes or even stays, call the police and then me from a phone booth or go into a store to call and tell the nice person or store owner or somebody that we'll pay for whatever the phone costs and any other expenses, though I don't know what those others might be. If there is no nice person but there is a store and you're lost or being threatened, then you go into it and tell them what's the matter, though if you can, make sure it's a nice store. This rule about strangers goes for anyplace, you understand—street, in front of the house, walking home from school, playgrounds, malls, cars stopping and the driver or passenger talking to you; same thing. You just don't go with them, get it? You in fact—look, we're talking about it frankly now—open—and I'm going to go even further than I ever did with Margo. But if you're being dragged or coaxed too hard by a stranger into a car or something like that—basement, house, backyard—and I don't mean to scare you. Chances of anything like this happening are small, slight, small. But you yell—and when I say ‘coaxed too hard' I mean ordered, bullied, or offered things to get in the car, for instance. Bribed—money, gifts, candy, you know—well you yell like hell, kick, put up a tremendous fuss, bite if you have to, the hand, the ear. Fight with your fists and nails. Scratch, punch, even your head—butt them. Believe me, kids can hurt. I know, from when you've hit me by accident. One good kick—a hard one, all your might—in a man's groin—where the penis and testicles are—can knock a man flat on his behind.” The kids laughed. “No, it's true, listen to me, I'm serious. It might sound funny but that's where a man can hurt most. Or poke him right over here in the middle under the rib cage,” and took Julie's finger to show where on him; “that'll knock the air out a moment, but enough time for you to get away. Or punch him in what, well, to illustrate my example—make it more real and remembered—in the balls.” They seemed shocked, then looked at each other and laughed. “It's not a dirty word when you use it that way, as a teaching aid, believe me. And same with a woman too, I think, in hitting them down there, kicking, you know. But we'll have to ask Mommy what her most sensitive spots are that hurt. I heard the breasts. Certainly the eyes are one. Even just one eye, finger in it, deep and hard, but they're the most sensitive for everyone and also probably the most difficult to stick your fingers in because of our own squeamish feelings about eyes. But you do it, you have to. And you don't have to just use your fingers and hands and feet. You see a stick on the ground, a branch, brick, rock, some stones or even pebbles or sand, you throw it at their face or head or club them with it, the branch or maybe a bat or bottle that was lying around. If you're carrying books, throw that at their faces too. Of course, if you can—meaning you're not being held, you can run away—first thing you do is run, preferably home or to someone you know—a teacher or school parent if it's near your school, the house of a friend of yours on our street. But if nobody or nothing like that's around, then to that person I've mentioned who just looks protecting and nice if you see one. Which means that that person should look like a nice teacher or school parent or crossing guard. This also goes even if the coaxers or strangers who want to do these things to you are neighbors or say they are and they want to take you someplace, but we don't really know them. Even if they live a few doors down and you've seen them but have never really talked to them and you know Mommy and I haven't. Or you have talked to them, just as Mommy and I have. A hello, a hi, a wave or nice talk beyond just greeting talk between you and them and even between them and Mommy and me, which you've seen. And they've acted nice to you up till now but suddenly are acting peculiar or asking you to do peculiar things or just things you know you're not supposed to, like going alone with them to places I've told you not to go, a basement, park, car, garage, someone's home or their own. Now, if you hit these neighbors in defending yourself or trying to get away and it's by chance a mistake, they'll have to understand that it was done because I'd told you to protect yourself this way and that there was a misinterpretation—an error in understanding—just a problem in what they were giving off with their words or actions or looks and what you took in and that perhaps I also might've been too strong in my warnings to you and what to do. Still, you've got to do what I say. This is how things have become today, I'm afraid, I'm almost sure of it. In being extra cautious you might occasionally go too far, but better that way than not going far enough where you didn't defend yourself when you could have and got hurt or didn't do enough to get away. I'm sure Mommy will agree with me on this but we'll ask her. If she doesn't then that's going to cause some conflict because I'm going to insist you do everything you can to protect and defend yourselves against people who might want to hurt you and in fact I'm going to spend a little time with you soon teaching you how. Just kicks and where to hit and stuff but more than I just did. Let's hope, of course, this'll never happen, and chances of it happening have got to be one in a few thousand, a hundred thousand—most people are good and wouldn't touch you—so one in a million, or maybe less. But we also have to hope that a neighbor or anyone doesn't get a heart attack or stroke or fall and break a limb as a result of a blow from one of you, that is if he or she didn't mean anything awful toward you and it was a mistake, on their part or yours, in judgment or perception—how you see things—or whatever. If it wasn't a mistake then truthfully I wouldn't care if they tripped and fell in front of a passing car. I shouldn't say that perhaps, but I think people who do things like that to kids are among the worst and deserve what they get. Okay, maybe that's too harsh, so something also that shouldn't have been said, but in a nutshell, you don't go with anyone anyplace, child or adult, without our permission. And ‘nutshell' meaning ‘in a few words,' so as not to confuse things with more of them and also so you can remember what I'm saying better. Anyone, that is, except really close friends—our very best, like the Kaplitzes, though maybe not with Rick, their oldest boy. Kids that age can suddenly change in ways and act funny. I don't want to go into it or maybe I will but another time, at least to Margo.” “Why not now?” Margo said and he looked at her and Julie said “Why not me?” and he said “Because you're too young, quite truthfully. And of course relatives—but not any long-lost cousins or cousins of cousins you've only seen once—and our next-door neighbors, the Troys. They're obviously very decent people and their boy's much younger than both of you, so if they say we're not home and we've asked them to pick you up at school or meet you in front of the house and that we can't for some reason get to a phone to explain it all to you in the next hour or so and they're to look after you till we get home, you believe them. They'd never lie like that or do anything to you that's not in your best interest and which we wouldn't approve of, I know it. We're lucky to have them as neighbors; some people get nothing close to that. Or even if we haven't told them anything or called and you come home and neither of us is there and the door's locked, which it would be if we were both out, then you go straight to their place and ask them to check around to see where