The One Safe Place (5 page)

Devin looked away, toward a group of three or four girls who were sitting together with their heads very close and their arms around each other. Farther away two boys scuffled. Right in front of him five more boys formed a circle, squatting with their pale, bony knees toward the center, playing some game with pebbles. One by one they shook their pebbles and threw them down. They didn’t look at each other or even talk. When they had thrown their pebbles they picked them up and waited until it was their turn again. In the center of the circle there was a small pile of food. A slice of bread or two, a wedge of cheese, and a small, greasy patty that looked like it had been carried in somebody’s pocket for a while.

Devin nudged Kit.

“What are they doing?”

She shrugged, not interested. “It’s a game. They put food in the middle and whoever wins gets all the food.”

“Have you ever played?”

She shook her head. Her whole body seemed tense.

“I don’t play,” she muttered. “I don’t play with anyone. I’m better off alone.”

The rain beat against the walls of the gym and darkened the interior. In the dim light, the children’s faces gleamed pale. A smell of boredom and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the air.

“I hate it here,” Kit whispered. “I can’t breathe. I wish the rain would stop.”

Devin looked up suddenly. The tall boy, the one who kept making the flame, was staring straight at him. For a second their eyes met and then the boy looked away.

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Kit said. “He’s here sometimes. Gets enough to eat, by the look of him.”

There was a sudden commotion among the group playing for food. A boy with sunken eyes and a ragged coat was trying to join the game. He had an apple in his hand and was pushing it forward. The apple was tiny and wrinkled, barely enough for a single bite.

“Butt out, Pesk,” one of the gamers said. “I’ve seen nuts bigger than that.”

“Unless they’re your nuts,” somebody else said and there was a burst of laughter.

The boy’s eyes were fixed on the pile of food in the center. “I can play,” he said. “I got something for the middle. That means I can play.”

“Ah, let him,” somebody cried.

Pesk squatted down and joined the circle. His knees were the boniest of the whole group, and Devin couldn’t help noticing how hollow his chest was. When the pebbles came to him, he shook them for a long time.

“Come on, Pesk!”

The pebbles fell.

“Too bad, Pesk! You lose!”

Devin looked away, not wanting to see any more.

The long afternoon passed. A few more children arrived. Some played quietly or talked or broke into petty fights, but mostly they just sat while the rain beat endlessly and the dim light grew even dimmer. At last it was completely dark.

When she was sure she couldn’t be seen any longer, Kit rummaged in her bag and pulled out a roll. She divided it and pressed one half into Devin’s hand.

“It has raisins!” she whispered in his ear.

Someone in the middle of the gym lit an oil lantern. By its flickering light, Devin could see the shapes of kids settling down for the night, arranging themselves under thin blankets, their bodies curled up on the floor. He ate quickly and lay down himself, his cheek resting on his hand, his eyes wide.

There was a boy lying next to him, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. It was Pesk.

Devin didn’t say anything. The shadows made Pesk’s eyes look even more sunken, like the dark holes in a skull. They stared at each other silently.

“D’you think it’s true, what they say?” Pesk whispered at last.

“About what?”

“That there’s a Home where they take you in? And alls you got to do is find it?”

“I don’t know,” Devin said.

“I think it’s true. I heard they feed you alls the time and you never . . . you never . . .” His voice trailed off. “They got new clothes there too. And so many toys you can play for just about forever.”

“Shut up, Pesk!” somebody called out. “We’re trying to sleep, here.”

Pesk’s mouth closed instantly, but his huge eyes never left Devin’s face.

“Alls you got to do is find it,” he whispered very quietly, as if talking to himself. He turned over, wrapped his arms around himself, and said no more.

Devin lay awake for a long time, listening to the rain. His hand crept to the hem of his pants where his grandmother’s locket lay hidden. Inside were pictures of his grandparents when they were very young, taken not long after they’d first met. His grandmother had round cheeks and a smile that seemed to light up everything.

“She wasn’t the prettiest girl I ever saw,” his grandfather had told Devin, “but she was the loveliest.”

Devin fingered the locket in the dark. It was solid gold and heavy, an oval shape, as clean and kind as an egg. He dozed briefly and woke before dawn, and while it was still dark he slipped the locket into one of the pockets of Pesk’s ragged coat.

The morning brought an end to the rain. Through the grimy windows of the gym, the sky was hard and blue again. In a little while, the heat would dry the earth, turning it to dust once more. Now that the rain had stopped, the gym was loud with the chatter of children waking up and getting ready to leave. Kit was already itching to get away.

“We got lucky,” she said. “We could have been here for days . . .”

Out on the street, the sudden glare made them blink and squint.

“We should look for food,” Devin said.

“I want to get back to the roof,” Kit said. “I want to set up my stuff.”

“I’ll go for food. It’s my turn.”

She hesitated. But she was anxious to get back to her roof, to set up her home again and arrange her treasures. “Okay,” she said finally, “But be careful.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He trotted off, a map of the city clear in his head. Before, when he had roamed the city alone, the sights and sounds around him had overwhelmed him with their multitude. But he was ready for them now. As he ran along, making for a particular street with many market stalls, he found himself starting to take pleasure in the rattling, chattering kaleidoscope around him.

At the market he paused, savoring the sensations. On one side, a pyramid of lemons made a rough trilling sound, and on another, he heard the thunder of oranges and carrots arranged in piles below a dusty canopy. A man sweeping the ground with a broom sent a flock of crows wheeling through his mind. Things clicked and sang and flittered over his tongue: the buttons on a coat, an upturned basket, the faces of passersby, the feel of the sidewalk against the soles of his feet.

Devin almost forgot he was supposed to be looking for food. He walked through the market in a kind of daze. By a stall selling pieces of fabric he stopped, his eyes dazzled by all the tangled, tickling colors of the rainbow. He turned around and found himself in front of a long table heaped with loaves of bread. They had been baked not long before, and the smell was heavenly. How golden they were! Devin reached out and touched one, curling his hand against its rounded shape, feeling the thin crust and the warmth of the dough beneath.

A large hand gripped his shoulder so hard that he yelped.

“I’ve got you now, you little thief!” Devin was yanked backward, his cheek pressed against a greasy apron, and then shaken so hard that he almost bit his tongue.

“Right. Under. My. Nose,” the baker grunted, shaking him some more. “You think I’m stupid, do you?”

“I wasn’t stealing it,” Devin cried when he could catch his breath. “I wasn’t stealing!”

The baker’s face flushed scarlet with rage. “Just admiring it, were you? Just fondling it with your grubby little hands?”

Devin was silent.

“I’m sick of you thieving brats,” the man went on. “Every day it’s the same. I have to have eyes in the back of my head. Tried reporting it, but what’s the point? Nothing happens. The police used to do something . . .” He paused and his eyes narrowed. “Now we take matters into our own hands.”

The grip on Devin’s shoulder tightened. “I’m going to take you around to the back,” the baker said, “and give you such a beating you’ll never look at a loaf of bread again.”

Five

“I WASN’T STEALING IT.
I’ve never stolen anything!” Devin cried in desperation.

The baker swung him around violently. “I’m going to teach you. I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

“Let him go,” somebody said.

The baker whirled around, still clutching Devin.

“What was that?”

“I’ll pay for the bread.”

It was the boy from the night before, the tall one with the flame who had stared at Devin. He held out his hand and showed two silver coins.

“He’s my friend. Let him go.”

For a second the baker hesitated, and then he shoved Devin away.

“You got lucky,” the baker told him as he took the money. “Try it again and I’ll have the skin off your back.”

The boy took the loaf of bread and walked away. Devin hurried after him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I wasn’t stealing it, but he didn’t believe me.”

The boy said nothing. His eyes were very pale, a faded blue that looked as if it had been washed a thousand times.

“What’s your name?”

“Roman.”

“Mine’s Devin.”

The boy spun away suddenly and made his way through the crowds. He stopped in the doorway of a deserted storefront.

“Where are you staying?” he asked Devin.

Devin hesitated. Kit had told him not to tell anyone about the roof. “Nowhere, really,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” Roman said. He paused for a long time, staring into Devin’s face.

“I’d like to pay you back for the bread,” Devin said. “Only my money was stolen . . .”

“Never mind about that,” Roman said. “I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I saw you in the gym last night. I watched you. You put something into that kid’s pocket. Something valuable. Something you’ve been holding on to for a while. Why?”

Devin felt his face redden. “I don’t know . . . I felt bad for him. I figured he could buy food with it.”

Roman nodded. “That’s what I thought. There was nothing in it for you. It was just kindness.”

His words were warm, but there was something automatic in the way he spoke them that puzzled Devin.

“Some kids are born kind, but it’s rare,” Roman continued. “Most have to learn it. How do they learn it? By being treated with kindness themselves. I thought the moment I saw you that you must have come from a good home. Did you?”

Devin nodded. “There was me and Granddad, and when I was very little, there was Grandma too.” He thought of his horse. “And animals. A horse and a cow and chickens and we were going to get a sheep . . .”

Roman nodded. “I knew it.” He hesitated, staring at Devin for what seemed like a long time.

“Listen,” he said quickly, as though coming to a decision. “You ever hear rumors about a children’s home, a place where they feed you and keep you safe?”

“The boy—Pesk—was talking about it. But Kit says it’s just a fairy story.”

Roman put a hand on Devin’s shoulder and leaned in close. “What I’m about to say is not a fairy story. It’s the truth. Only you can’t tell anyone about it. There is a home for children and it’s great. They have everything. Playgrounds and a swimming pool and beds with clean white sheets and meals whenever you want and a ton of other stuff I don’t have time to tell you about right now. They take in kids who have no home of their own. I know because I live there myself.”