The Same Stuff as Stars (6 page)

Bernie was staring at her. “What's the matter, Angel?”

“Nothing.” She gave the bear a pat and put it down beside her on the bed, which was covered with a worn quilt, torn along most of its patches. Pulling off her sweaty jacket, she laid it on the bed beyond Grizzle. She'd have to find out where to put their stuff, but that would have to wait. Now she sat as still as she could, trying in vain to make the murmur of voices from the kitchen below into words. Bernie was quiet, too. Too quiet. She turned to see him neatly picking at a loose patch on the quilt. He had it free on three sides before she caught him.

“Don't!” she cried. “You'll tear it up!”

“It's already tore up.”

“Not so bad as it will be if you keep monkeying with it.” She patted at his hand to make him stop.

“Quit it! You're always hitting me. Always. Always. Always.”

“I never hit you, Bernie, you know that. Here.” She handed him Grizzle. “Want a story?”

“What kind of story?” He stuck his thumb in his mouth and began picking at the blue plush on the bear.

She wanted to tell him not to, that Grizzle was her bear, not his to pick bald, but she controlled herself. A
story.
The only story she could think of at the moment was Hansel and Grizzle; no, Gretel. Hansel and Gretel.

“Once upon a time,” she began, remembering as she went along that the evil mother made the father take the children deep into the woods, where they met a witch. She prayed her mother would call up the stairs and interrupt. Soon.

“So the children had to spend the night in the woods.”

Bernie pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Were they scared?”

“Well, sure, but Hansel was very brave.”

“That was the brother, right?”

“The
big
brother. He didn't suck his thumb. He was too brave, and besides, all these angels came and watched over them so none of the wild animals could eat them up.”

“I'm hungry.”

She hurried on. “In the morning they began to try to find their way home.”

“I want to go home, Angel. I don't like it here.”

“We hardly got here, Bernie. You might like it after a while. When you're used to it.”

“I won't never get used to it. Never. Never. Never.”

“You're always saying ‘never,' Bernie. How do you know? This might be the best place we've ever lived.”

“It'll be the worst. I know.” He got up and went over to the small window in the eaves. He was quiet for a while. Then she could see his little body tensing up. “Angel,” he whispered. “There's a robber out there.”

“Oh, Bernie, you know there's not!”

“Come here and see if you don't believe me.”

She got up and went over to the window. “Where?” she asked.

He pointed to the left. There was a dark figure moving toward the corner of the house. “See? I told you,” he said. “Now do you believe me?”

She put her arm around his shoulders. They were both shivering.

 

 

SIX

You better call the police,” said Bernie.

A picture flashed through Angel's head. It was night. Angel was suddenly awake, her heart pounding.
Bang Bang Bang.
Someone was banging on the front door.
Police! Open up!
When no one opened the door that night, they crashed it in and took Daddy away. “No,” she said, “not the police, Bernie.”

“You got to. See that gun?” The figure had something in his hands, something huge, like the biggest gun Angel had ever seen outside a war movie on TV. A bazooka—that's what they called them.

“Angel. What if he's coming to kill us dead?”

She tightened her grip around his shoulders. “Of course he's not, silly.” She couldn't stand to see him so afraid. “It's nothing, I'm sure. But if you like, I'll just go down and tell Mama, okay?”

“Don't leave me up here by myself!”

“Okay, but you got to be quiet. Let me do the talking. Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.” He didn't object when she took his hand.

As they sidled down the narrow staircase, the voices from the kitchen grew louder. Verna's voice came through clearly. “Just for a few days, I swear,” she was saying. “No more than a week.”

Angel froze on the next-to-bottom step. She strained to make out the words of the reply, but they were muffled and impossible to understand.

“I got a little cash,” Verna said next. “Enough to cover food for the week.”

What does Verna mean about a week? She told us this was our new home.

Mumble. Mumble.

“Well, I can't be responsible for Wayne. You raised him. I didn't.” Verna's voice was shrill as a crow squawk.

Bernie punched Angel in the ribs. “Go on, Angel. You got to tell her.”

“I can't, Bernie. I think they're having a fi—important discussion.”

“Then I'll tell her.”

She tried to stop him, but he was too quick for her. He jerked loose, darted around her, and raced into the kitchen, waving his arms. “Mama! Mama!” he cried. “There's a man out there with a big gun and he's going to kill us all dead!”

Verna spun around, her mouth still open for whatever she had planned to say next, obviously furious at being interrupted. “What's the matter with you, Bernie? What are you doing down here?” She looked over his head to Angel, still standing in the doorway. “What do you mean coming down here when I told you to stay upstairs?”

“I told you already, Mama,” Bernie cried. “There's a man out there with a big gun!”

“I never heard such fool talk in my life. Get back up those stairs this minute!”

Bernie made a dash for the rocker. “She won't never believe me,” he said to the old woman. “I did see him. I did. I did.”

Grandma stuck a hand out of the blankets and put it on Bernie's head. “Calm down, boy. That was probably just Santy Claus out there with some big old toy.”

“Santa Claus? Really?” Bernie turned to look at Angel, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. For a minute he was caught up in the idea, but then he turned back to the rocker. “How could it be Santa Claus? It ain't even Christmas.”

“You never know about old Santy Claus. Maybe he's just scouting you out—seeing where you got yourself off to. He's got to keep track of all the kiddies, you know.”

“Yeah. He's got to know where I moved to, right?”

“You got it, boy.”

“I guess he'd be mad if he knew we was spying on him.”

“You got that right. Santy Claus is like some of the rest of us.” She turned to look at Verna. “He don't want nobody poking into his private business.”

Angel didn't know what to do. The old woman was as crazy as Bernie. “He really did see someone, Mama,” she said.

“I don't care what he thinks he saw. I want you kids to stop your nonsense and get up those stairs before I take a belt—”

“I'm hungry.” Bernie was leaning against the rocker, looking into the old face, his voice sweet as pure maple syrup.

“Don't you ever feed these children, Verna?”

“'Course I feed them.”

“Not supper,” Bernie said. “And I still ain't had my milk shake.”

The old woman slowly unwrapped her blankets and began to hoist herself out of the chair, looking as though she might just snap into pieces from the effort. “I don't know what I got. I wasn't expecting—”

Verna gave another of her fake laughs. “Oh, Grandma, forget it. He always says he's hungry. It don't mean nothing. He's just trying to get attention.” She glared at Bernie, daring him to contradict her. But Bernie wasn't paying any attention. He was staring at the old woman, who was lifting her body bone by bone from the rocker.

“Angel and me can help, can't we, Angel?” he said anxiously.

Angel's eyes darted back and forth between Verna and Grandma. She didn't know how to answer. Bernie, meantime, had taken Grandma's hand and was leading her over to the refrigerator. It was small and square and had coils on the top, as ancient as its owner. The old woman opened the door. No light came on. She stuck in her head. Bernie shoved his small one in beside hers.

“Not much in there,” he said. “But you wasn't expecting us, was you?”

“If someone would have give me a call, I could have sent to the store,” Grandma said.

“Oh, I'll go to the store,” Verna said impatiently.

“No, you won't.”

Verna opened her mouth to argue.

“It's closed.” Grandma took a dish out of the fridge and shut the door. “Angel, whyn't you look in that cabinet over there? See if they's beans or anything.”

“I don't like beans,” Bernie said.

“I thought you said you was hungry. If you ain't hungry, no sense bothering.”

Angel shook her head toward Bernie before going to the cabinet and opening the door. There were two shelves packed with cans. Cans of pork and beans crowding each other like people pushing to be first in a store sale. Toward the end of the top shelf, the beans turned into peaches. She took out a can of beans. “Want me to heat this up?” she asked, keeping an eye on Verna, who was still puffy with anger.

“That'd be nice. The hot plate is down this ways.” She waved a hand at it. “I don't want to light the stove for a can of beans. Waste of good firewood.”

“You still cooking on the woodstove, Grandma? I can't believe it.”

“Some of us ain't got the money to go out and buy us a fancy propane range.”

Angel stood by the counter with the can in her hand. Should she rummage around in the drawers and cabinets to find a can opener and a saucepan, or should she ask?

“The drawer by the sink, girl, if you're looking for the opener. Bernie, get down on your knees and find your sister a pan. No, not that door—the next one. That's it. Yeah, that one will do.”

The can opener was not like the one on the wall at the apartment. While she was still trying to figure it out, Verna came over and took the can and the opener out of her hands. “I'll do it.” She sighed. “Can you believe this woman?” she muttered. “Here.” She handed Angel the opened can, the jagged lid still hanging on by a narrow spit of metal.

Angel poured the beans into the pot and switched on the hot plate. “Spoon?” she asked the old woman quietly, trying not to get Verna more upset.

“That drawer in front of your belly has the spoons,” Grandma said.

Angel nodded and tried to smile a thank-you before she turned her full attention to heating the beans, stirring them constantly with the old pitted metal spoon. She was terrified she might let them burn and cause even more unhappiness.

Neither Verna nor Grandma ate any beans. At first, Bernie just ate the dish of peaches Grandma had gotten out of the fridge, but after Angel kicked him, he took a bite of beans, squirreling them in his cheeks as he always did with food he didn't like.

“Chew,” Angel commanded under her breath.

“They'll probably poison me,” he muttered back. “Chew, Bernie, or else!” She repeated, keeping her voice too low for the women to hear. Grandma had eased her body back down in the rocker, wrapped herself in the blankets, and was rocking away with her eyes half shut. Verna was pacing around, opening cabinet doors and drawers and humphing and grunting.

“Okay,” she said suddenly. “Bedtime! Up you go!”

“Bernie hasn't eaten his beans yet.”

“Well, he's had plenty of time to. I don't think Mr. Bernie was as hungry as he let on to be.”

“I wanted a milk shake.”

“Well, I wanted to win the Tri-State Lottery. Go on. I'll get the bags. I said
go on.
Angel, take your brother upstairs. Now!”

Angel jumped to her feet. “C'mon, Bernie. You heard Mama.”

His eyes were hard as little BB gun pellets, but he got up and followed Angel up the stairs, stamping his feet on every step to let Verna know what he was thinking of her.

“Stop it, Bernie. You'll upset your great-grandma. We promised to be nice so she'd let us live here.”

“Was that
really
Santa Claus out there?” he asked.

“Of course not. Don't be silly.”

“Then I don't want to live here.”

“I don't think we get to choose, Bernie. I think it's all decided.”

Before long, Verna appeared at the door with sheets in her arms. “Angel, help Bernie get on his PJs. The bathroom is off the kitchen, so you better go now and get it over with for the night.” Bernie was sitting on the side of his bed with his back to her. “What's the matter, Bernie?”

He didn't answer. She walked around and sat down beside him. “I said...” Her voice was suddenly gentle. “I said, What's the matter?” She brushed the hair out of his face.

“I don't like it here,” he said. “There ain't no Santa Claus and I hate beans. I want to go home.”

“You're just going to have to be brave, okay? You'll get used to it. You'll like the country. There's lots to do in the country.”

“What?”

“Well...” she paused as though trying hard to think of something. “Well, you can play outside all you want. There's no traffic or strangers or—”

“There is, too, strangers. We saw him out the window.”

She made a high-pitched sound like a TV laugh track. “You got the best imagination. I swear.”

“That Grandma woman lied. She said it was Santa Claus.”

“Well, maybe it was Santa Claus. I been wrong before, God knows.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “You be a big brave man for Mama, hear? And stay out of trouble, okay?” She stood up abruptly, her I-mean-business self again. “All right now, Bernie, hop off the bed. Here, Angel, give me a hand with these sheets.”

Bernie dragged Grizzle off the bed by one ear and stood against the wall, sucking his thumb and fingering the bear's ear while Angel and Mama made both beds.