The Planet of Junior Brown (18 page)

Junior sat down, slowly turning to face his monster whenever the thing took a turn around the room.

“I never thought I'd see him so crazy,” Buddy said, as Mr. Pool came to sit again beside him. “Junior always was strange but I was used to it.” All at once Buddy had cupped his hands close to his face, like he was going to sneeze. But he was sobbing, his shoulders heaving and shaking.

Mr. Pool held onto Buddy's arms. The boy's crying ended as abruptly as it had begun.

“It's a sad time,” Mr. Pool told him, patting him, “a sad, sad time.”

Then Buddy was talking. At last he was telling Mr. Pool all he could about who he was. “You see,” Buddy was saying, “it's not just these planets here that we made, that you have now in the box. You see, there are planets all over this city. I am Tomorrow Billy. Tomorrow Billy! There are Billys all over this town!”

Buddy talked on. He told Mr. Pool about the beginning and the first Tomorrow Billy he had known when he was still a child. He told Mr. Pool about today, about his planet in the broken-down basement of a worn-out tenement house. He told of Nightman and of Franklin. He said to Mr. Pool all he had held back for as long as he could remember.

Through Buddy's confused and disconnected sentences, Mr. Pool pieced together the boy's story. By the time Buddy finished, Mr. Pool was sitting with his mouth open, his eyes bright with excitement. He understood what Buddy had been telling him but he couldn't quite let himself believe.

“Can it be true?” Mr. Pool said, searching Buddy's face. “Can something like this … really be true?”

“You come with me and you'll see whether I'm lying,” Buddy told him.

“Oh, I don't mean to say you lie,” Mr. Pool said. “I mean, I know you wouldn't lie. It's just that I never dreamed …”

“… You come with me,” Buddy said again. “We can take Junior. He can come live on my planet. Nobody'd ever find him.”

“He'd freeze to death,” Mr. Pool said absently, still searching Buddy's face.

“The point is,” Buddy said, “I can do it, I can take care of him but I need your help. I can't do it by myself. I need supplies, someone on the outside. Not to feed us or anything, but just to be there in case of emergency. We've never had no one in case one of us is sick or hurt bad.”

“… have all the help you want,” Mr. Pool said. He still couldn't quite grasp what Buddy had told him. Buddy could see that in Mr. Pool's eyes.

“You come with me,” Buddy told him. “The only thing is, I don't know how I'll ever get Junior down my ladder, let alone that monster he sees …”

Mr. Pool smiled suddenly. The image of the thing Junior had with him, that unseen relative, going down a rope ladder was suddenly absurdly and diabolically funny. It brought Mr. Pool to his senses. Everything Buddy had told him came together in that one picture of a thing unseen going down in darkness to a place unknown.

“I have all kind of gear equipment in my car,” Mr. Pool said, “I can fix up a hoist and winch in no time.”

“Strong enough to carry Junior?” Buddy asked him.

“Strong enough to lift most any busted thing,” Mr. Pool said. Then, pausing, “How much do you suppose a monster weighs?”

Buddy threw back his head and laughed. “Very … heavily …” he managed to say, and he laughed and laughed.

Mr. Pool held onto Buddy until Buddy had some control over his hysterical laughing.

“Didn't think I was going to stop,” Buddy said finally.

“Too much has happened to you, and too fast,” Mr. Pool told him. “Look, I'll get this box in my car; then I'll come back and we'll all go to … what do you call it again?”

“My planet,” Buddy told him, “the planet of Tomorrow Billy.”

The pride Mr. Pool felt looking at Buddy was more than he could ever say. He smiled warmly and then went about his work. Gently he placed the last planet, the planet of Junior Brown, in the carton with the rest of the solar system. The great brown planet was eclipsed, boxed in, gone as though it had never been. Mr. Pool turned the carton on its end and taped it closed. He heaved it up on his shoulder and carried it, coffinlike, out of the room.

When Mr. Pool returned, he and Buddy carried cartons of food out to the car, squeezing them in the trunk with the maintenance equipment. They took the unopened containers of Chinese food which they could reheat later on. They took Junior's suitcase. Standing on the sidewalk, Junior waited for them to finish. The night was black and bitter cold but clear. City sounds echoed hugely.

Mr. Pool and Buddy eased Junior into the back seat of the car. The thing with Junior went in first, for Junior stood aside a moment to let him by. For an instant Buddy thought he felt something brush past him. He quickly got hold of himself.

“Don't you start,” he told himself. “It ain't nothing but the cold air playing tricks.”

Buddy got in the car in the front next to Mr. Pool. The five-foot carton was between them on top of the front seat and extending clear to the rear windows between Junior and the relative with him.

They were safe, once in the car. They all felt the comfort of this new hiding place. Mr. Pool turned on the ignition and the heater. Cold air blew around Buddy's legs but soon the air warmed. Mr. Pool turned on the headlights. They eased out into traffic flowing down Broadway.

“Now this is cool,” Mr. Pool told them. “I like having some traveling companions.”

Buddy grunted. He was not used to automobiles. He couldn't distinguish lights flashing through the windows.

“Never thought I'd be traveling down this street with a whole solar system and a monster besides,” Buddy said.

“This life holds wonders for us all,” Mr. Pool said and then, “how you doing back there, Junior?”

Junior was engrossed in the window lighting on and off, in shading the glass with the moisture of his breath.

“Do you suppose the relative is sitting there just like us, with his legs crossed and his hands folded?” Buddy said.

“How do you know he's got any hands to fold?” Mr. Pool said.

“Junior did say he is this dirty, crusted man.”

“I wonder if he smells very bad,” Mr. Pool said.

“Junior says he's pretty stinking but I can't smell a thing,” Buddy said. Laughter welled up inside him. Buddy gave himself over to it for a moment, shaking soundlessly.

“Easy,” Mr. Pool said, so softly Buddy barely heard him.

“It's not funny, is it?” Buddy said.

“No,” Mr. Pool told him.

They fell silent. In no time they were close to where Buddy wanted to take them. Buddy told Mr. Pool about what they would have to do. They would have to work as quickly as possible in between the two buildings and right by the window where it was always dark.

For Junior, riding in the car with Buddy and Mr. Pool was contentment and as much as he could know and remember at one time. He'd already forgotten whatever it was Miss Peebs' relative had been telling him all this time. That was because the relative never did stop talking for long. Junior didn't much like him or what he had to say. Sometimes Junior forgot the relative was sitting next to him. Then light would come bursting in Junior's head. Junior would see that relative jumping around, getting the car dirty, and he would hear the relative as though his voice were coming through a megaphone.

“
GIMME SOME SKIN. SOME SKIN, JUNIOR BLUEBLAM. MY MAN, MY MAIN MAN
.”

“Shut off,” Junior told him. The relative looked mean. He was going to jump out of the car and run away to Miss Peebs. So Junior smiled at him. The relative liked to have friends most of all. He stayed with Junior.

They reached the street where Buddy had his planet. Mr. Pool took the car around the block so they could come up to the building and park on the same side. He and Buddy unloaded everything in the passageway between the two buildings while Junior waited in the car until they were ready for him.

“If I'm going to fix up a hoist, I'm going to have to use my flashlight,” Mr. Pool told Buddy.

“How come you can't do it in the dark?” Buddy asked him. They were talking as softly as they could; their voices were indistinguishable from sounds of the city. But far below in Buddy's building, their voices had been heard.

“Because I got to make a differential which will give us the right amount of lifting power,” Mr. Pool said to Buddy. “You can put yourself between my light and the street. Hand me those two sheaves.”

Mr. Pool pointed the light so that Buddy could see in the gear box.

“Which are sheaves?” Buddy said.

“The grooved wheels,” Mr. Pool told him. “One is bigger and one is smaller. They are wheels with a rim to guide the rope.”

Buddy found the wheels. “Why is one bigger?” he wanted to know.

“That's the differential,” Mr. Pool told him, his hands working expertly with rope and sheaves. “The diameter of one wheel is greater than the other. You add on this crank with a handle to transmit motion to the larger wheel. Some of the motion of the larger wheel is again transferred to the smaller wheel, which turns faster and adds more lift.”

“I can't see it,” Buddy said.

“You'll be able to see it, the motion,” Mr. Pool said. “You just may not be able to understand the mechanics of it—how far do we have to bring Junior down?” he added.

“About eighteen, twenty feet,” Buddy said.

Mr. Pool was silent. His hands moved with precision and speed, winding heavy rope around the wheels. He tried not to think. He had no idea what he would find once he set up his hoist at the window. What was down there? Could Buddy be as out of his head as Junior? No. No, the boy had to be telling him the truth. But a planet of homeless children? Mr. Pool tried to keep his mind on his hands.

In fifteen minutes the hoist was ready. “We'll hook it over the windowsill,” Mr. Pool told Buddy. “You'll have to watch that hook. You might even try pressing down on it all the time I'm lowering Junior. If you see that sill about to give up a splinter, you yell out. Now. Go get Junior.”

“All right,” Buddy said, “but first, the window.”

Mr. Pool followed Buddy to the window. He had by this time turned off the flashlight. But Buddy didn't need light. From long practice he found the loose boards in the dark on his first attempt. He uncrossed the boards and leaned them against the building. Next Buddy pulled out in one piece the planks covering the window opening. Then he leaned through the opening as far as he could go without falling, bracing one hand on that foot-wide section of flooring left after the floor had caved in on the basement. He came back out of the window and turned to Mr. Pool.

“There's this little space of floor we've got to knock away if that hoist is going straight down.”

“It's got to go straight down,” Mr. Pool told him.

Buddy leaned back into the window opening. It was black and still below in the basement. He leaned as far in as he could and yelled down, not loud, but with his voice as clear as he could make it. “Tomorrow Billy,” he called. “Stay back, we got to knock out some floor.”

No sound came from below. Buddy thought about the silence. No, they would be there—Franklin and Nightman and whoever else had come up from the bridge. They were just being smart, just staying loose and waiting.

Mr. Pool took up his hatchet and chopped away the floor in front of the windowsill and on each side of the sill as far as he could reach. “That ought to do it,” he said when he had finished.

“Wait,” Buddy said, “stay here.” Buddy squeezed in beside Mr. Pool. “I just had this awful thought,” he said.

“What's that?”

“I thought maybe Junior's too big to fit in this opening; but if both of us can, he can too.”

“It might be tight, but he'll fit,” Mr. Pool said.

Again Buddy peered down into the total darkness below them. “Tomorrow Billy,” he called once more. “Give us some light.” A long moment passed with no movement, nor any sound from the basement.

Mr. Pool felt his own heart seem to slow.

“Tomorrow Billy,” Buddy called. “Nightman Black, Franklin—all my brothers—give me some light.”

Nothing moved down in darkness that Mr. Pool could hear. He thought, Don't let him tell me they've gone. Don't let him do that.

Buddy had heard the smallest sound. He knew all of them were down there but he needed that sound to prove it to Mr. Pool when he knew Mr. Pool hadn't even heard. Yet, Buddy felt himself seem to calm. He had to smile. He waited.

The first glow came from the table against the basement wall, a soft puff of yellow light just strong enough to shadow a clump of dark figures.

Mr. Pool's breathing seemed to stop as the next glow came from close to the center of the room. The candle-glow moved in a tight arc as some boy set the patio candle down beside him. The third light came from the far wall dead center of the first and second glow.

Buddy figured there were at least eight boys down there, counting Franklin and Nightman. “Going to have a full house,” he said softly, casually to Mr. Pool. “I'll go get Junior.” He squeezed out of the window, leaving Mr. Pool staring.

Mr. Pool didn't move from the opening in the short time Buddy was gone. He continued to look down on the scene below. He knew that all of them down there were looking up at him, even though he couldn't see their eyes or any of their features. Mr. Pool simply felt their staring. Knowing he was there, they had no idea who he was. And having no idea about him, they made no move of any kind. That, Mr. Pool had time to think, was discipline.

“I got him,” Buddy said, coming back to the window. “He was sitting there just how we left him and he's got the relative with him too.”

Mr. Pool scooted out of the window opening. He shone his flashlight on the tool box and the hoist equipment on the ground. Placing the light next to the window, he attached a leather sling to the steel hook below the smaller wheel of the hoist. Next he fixed the top hook above the larger wheel to the window frame so that the smaller wheel and sling were below the window frame on the inside.