The Same Stuff as Stars (12 page)

She forced a smile at a still belligerent Bernie. “See how friendly they are?” He shrugged. For a minute Angel just stood there barely inside the door, looking around at the shelves of books. It was much tinier than the school library in Burlington, but no use comparing. It was a library. It had books. “You want a book about trucks, Bernie? They probably got a book about trucks.” She headed for a sign hanging from the ceiling that said
CHILDREN'S.

“No. I hate books about trucks.”

“You don't and you know it.”

“I do, too. You don't know what I like and what I don't like.”

The argument ended abruptly at the sight of a strange, bent-over figure emerging from the curtained doorway in the back wall. “Hello,” she said, the curve of her back forcing her to twist her face sideways to look at them as she spoke. Bernie shrank against Angel. She put her arm around his shoulder, willing him to keep his mouth shut.

“I haven't met you before,” the woman said. “Are you on vacation here?”

Angel shook her head. “We're visiting our grandma, Miz Morgan, up the road.”

“Well, my goodness. I haven't seen Erma Morgan in a hundred years. How is she?”

Surely the woman was teasing about the hundred years. “Fine,” said Angel.

“She's more than a hundred years old,” Bernie whispered, his eyes wide with shock.

“No, no.” The woman laughed a cackly laugh. “I just mean I haven't seen her in a long time. I used to know her back when we were both schoolgirls.” She laughed again. “Wa-a-a-y back in the olden days when it was my grandmother, the one I was named after, who ran the library.” She rubbed her hands on the apron she was wearing. How did she dress herself in the morning? Angel wondered and tried to picture the little woman pulling clothes over her head and bent back and fastening things. “Now, what can I help you with today?” She may have asked the question more than once while Angel was staring.

Angel's face felt like it was on fire. “I'm a—Grandma thought we might do some cooking while I'm here. And I can't seem to do anything without a book.” She laughed apologetically. “So I wonder if you have any cookbooks a kid like me could understand.”

“Hmm,” said the woman, and she started shuffling toward a shelf to her right. She walked at such an angle that her head got to the place before her feet did.

“What's the matter with her?” Bernie was whispering so loudly that the woman must have heard. If so, she pretended she hadn't.

“Keep your stupid mouth shut for once, Bernie,” Angel said in his ear.

The woman turned her whole body around to face them. “Could you give me a hand here, uh—I'm sorry, I didn't get your names—”

“Angel. Angel Morgan. And he's Bernie.”

“I'm glad to meet you, Angel, Bernie.” She gave a funny little shake of her head in their direction. “Everyone calls me Miss Liza. Now, Angel, if you'd be so kind...” Angel left Bernie still standing a few steps from the door and hurried over. Close to the deformed body of the librarian, Angel felt like a giant. Like a giant on the outside, anyway. On the inside she was feeling, well, as though she wanted to reach out her hand and touch the strange little woman's wrinkled cheek.
She knows how it feels to have everyone staring at her and whispering behind her back, but it hasn't made her mean. It hasn't even made her pull into a shell.

“I have some tongs here somewhere, but why don't you just reach up”—the librarian waved her crooked arm toward the top shelf—“and see if you can find what you're looking for.” She swiveled her head from one side to the other. “There's a stool around here, I know.”

Angel located the stool and climbed up to survey the shelf. There were at least a half-dozen cookbooks. She looked at the titles carefully.
Cooking Made Easy.
That should do it. She pulled it out. It must have been bought by the librarian's grandmother. The pages were almost yellow. There were no pictures, and the print was teeny. She put it back. One by one she examined all the books. She could feel Bernie's fear from across the room. “I'm sorry to be so slow....It's just—”

“No, no,” Miss Liza said. “Take all the time you need. Meanwhile—Bernie, is it? Would you like to see some books?”

Angel waited for Bernie's “No,” but it didn't come. He was probably still frozen witless. “Go on, Bernie.” She turned from the cookbooks. “Get yourself something to look at. I'm going to be a while.”

“How about if I read you a story?” the little old lady asked. “What kind of story would you like?”

Still no answer from Bernie. “He likes trucks,” Angel called.

“I do not!” said Bernie. “Trucks are stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

“I know just the story for you, Bernie Morgan,” the librarian said.

Soon Angel could hear Miss Liza's voice reading: “‘One day Stanley Q. Stupid had an idea. This was unusual. “Calling all Stupids!” Stanley shouted.'”

“Why are they all stupid?” Bernie asked.

“That's their name,” said Miss Liza. “Mr. Stanley Q. Stupid, his wife, Mrs. Stupid, Buster Stupid, Petunia Stupid, and their wonderful dog called—Can you guess what they call their dog, Bernie?”

“Stupid!”

“No, they call their dog Kitty.”

“Kitty Stupid!” said Bernie, and he laughed right out loud.

Angel snatched the newest-looking of the cookbooks off the shelf and hurried over to hear the story of the Stupids, who tried to slide up the banisters and take baths with no water, for fear they'd wet their clothes. Mrs. Stupid perched a cat on her head instead of a hat, and Mr. Stupid wore his new socks on his ears. When Bernie saw that picture, he shrieked with laughter. And by the time the Stupids ate their mashed-potato sundaes with butterscotch syrup he was almost rolling on the floor.

“It's my guess,” said Miss Liza, “that you like the Stupids. You might want to know that we have more books by Harry Allard and James Marshall.” She got up from the child-sized chair she had been sitting on and found Bernie another book. She twisted her face up toward Angel. “And what kind of book would you like, Angel? In addition to your cookbook?”

“Do you—um—do you have one about stars?” Angel asked.

Miss Liza smiled, looking nothing at all like a witch. “Ah,” she said, almost to herself. “I think we must have a mutual friend.”

That meant the librarian knew the star man. It only seemed right that she should, both of them being so different from ordinary people. Angel longed to ask the librarian about him, but something kept her quiet. What sort of questions were you supposed to ask about a man you only saw on starry nights and who told you so little about himself?

Miss Liza took a small paperback book from a nearby shelf. Angel caught a glimpse of the title:
Know the Stars.
Good. That was what she wanted—to know the stars. The librarian sat down at the desk and printed their names and “Morgan Farm Road” on cards. “You may keep your books for two weeks,” she said.

“We can't come back for two whole weeks?” Bernie cried.

“No, no, you can come anytime you want,” she said, handing him his books, which he clutched to his chest as though afraid she would change her mind about lending them out. “Don't pay any attention to the sign. I'm nearly always here. Just knock hard if the door is locked. It hardly ever is.”

Bernie was so tickled when they left the library that Angel had forgotten about the treat. Bernie hadn't. “I need a Popsicle,” he said when they were in front of the store.

“Me, too,” said Angel.

Walking home, carrying their library books under one arm, licking a Fudgsicle, she didn't even mention to Bernie that his Popsicle was dripping down his shirt front.

“Mashed-potato sundaes!” Bernie exclaimed suddenly.

“With butterscotch syrup!” Angel answered. They both nearly collapsed on the road, they were giggling so hard.

“Grandma! Grandma!” Bernie yelled, racing into the house ahead of Angel. “I got a book all about Stupids. Everybody in the book is stupid.”

“Yeah?” Grandma was in her rocker. “That's all we need around here—more stupidity. Well,” she said to Angel, “I take it she ain't dead yet.”

“Who?”

“Liza Irwin. Who do you think?”

“She's a hundred years old!” Bernie said. “And she's all crooked like her back broke over.”

“Hmmph,” said Grandma, a little smile playing around her lips. “Even uglier than me, huh?”

“But I wasn't scared of her one bit,” Bernie went on. “She's nice.”

The smile deserted Grandma's face. “So I guess now you like her better than you do me, huh? Well, why don't you just go live at her house, then. Go on. See if I care.” Bernie looked stricken. “I didn't mean I wanted to live with her. I just mean I like the Stupids.”

“Then you better stay with me. Being stupid was the only thing I could ever beat that smart little Liza Irwin at.”

Angel wanted to say something, but what?
Don't be so down on yourself, Grandma. You're really smart!
Or
C'mon,
Grandma, Bernie and me think you're just fine.
While she stood there, not knowing what to say or do, Bernie went over to the rocker and put his arm around the thin shoulders. “Don't worry, Grandma. Angel and me likes you the best, and we always will. Always. Always. Always.” He had his anxious little face right up in her old wrinkled one. “Okay?”

“Hmmph,” she said.

A shrill sound pierced the quiet, making Angel jump. Another shriek. Another. The phone. The phone was ringing. She ran to snatch it off the hook. “Hello?”

“Would you accept a collect call from Wayne Morgan?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sure,” Angel said. She'd give Grandma the rest of her taxi money. She needed to talk to Daddy. She really did.

 

 

TWELVE

Daddy? Hi, it's me, Angel.” She was keeping her voice low, so as not to get Grandma upset.

“What's the matter, baby?” Wayne's voice sounded pinched, like Bernie's when he was scared. “I tried to call you back soon's I got your message, but whoever answered wouldn't take the call.”

“I don't want to worry you, Daddy. Me and Bernie are okay, but we're not in Burlington anymore.” Angel sneaked a glance at Grandma. Bernie was showing her the Stupids book and poking her, trying to make her laugh at the pictures. Angel cupped her hand around the mouthpiece. “We're at your grandma's house.”

“You're where? At
Grandma's?
Well, where the hell's Verna?”

“That's what I'm calling about, Daddy. Remember when we came to see you? Well, she brought us here that day. Then she left, and she hasn't come back.”

“Well, where's she at, then? Did you call the apartment?”

“The phone's been disconnected.”

She could hear him curse under his breath. “Jeez—just dumped you kids there with that old witch and took off?”

“I don't think she meant to—”

Grandma looked up from the book. “Who's on the phone?”

“It's Daddy.” That “not on your stuffed cabbage” look began to creep onto Grandma's face, so Angel hurried on. “I'll pay for the call, promise.”

Grandma muttered something, but she didn't say “Hang up,” so Angel turned back to the phone. “I thought you ought to know where me and Bernie moved to.”

“I don't understand what's got into her. I told her there's a good chance I might get put on an outside work crew, and she just takes off. I swear I could kill that girl!”

“No, no, Daddy. Don't blame Verna. She's been under a lot of stress.” Angel tried to go around the corner, but the phone cord was too short. It kept her smack in the doorway.

“She's
been under a lotta stress! She should trying sitting in the stir for a few years if she thinks she knows anything about stress. Judas Priest!”

“I guess you don't know where she's at, then?”

“I wish I did, baby doll, I just wish I did. I'd get the law after her faster than you could say ‘child neglect.'”

“Oh, Daddy, please. Don't tell anyone she's gone. They'd send Welfare out here and take us away.”

“Well, how are you kids going to stay with that old bat? She near ran me crazy when I was a kid, and that was years ago. You can't tell me she's improved none with age. You and Bernie'd be better off if Welfare did come and get you.”

“No, we
wouldn't.”
Why had she been so bent on talking to Wayne? “No, we
wouldn't.
Don't you see, Daddy, they'd separate us, and who would take care of Bernie then?”

“I swear. Verna must be out of her cotton-picking head—dumping
my
son and
my
daughter on the very woman I hate the most in the frigging world. I get in the least little trouble, and my own grandma throws me
and
my whole family out of her stinking trailer. She's probably the one sicced the cops on me, the old witch. I know she's the one turned my daddy in and run my mama off. I swear I'm calling Welfare.”

“Daddy.
Daddy!
Don't call anybody. Please. We're okay, really we are. Besides, I can take care of Bernie. He's behaving himself real good right now. Okay? Don't worry about us, okay?” The frantic whispering was making her throat raw. “Okay? You just take care of yourself. Bernie and me will be
fine.
I promise. Bye, now.” She hung up the phone, hoarse and wet with perspiration. That would teach her to use up all her money to make a stupid longdistance call.

Angel turned from the phone to see that Grandma was directing her full attention at her. “So?” the old woman said.

“He doesn't know where Verna is, either.”