The Secret of Zoom (26 page)

One hundred orphan hands went up instantly.

Lenny spread out his hands. “You see, Mrs. Lisowsky? These children
love
to sing for their Happy Orphan Daddy!”

There was a murmur among the orphans. Something squeaked loudly.

Christina looked over at Danny. Was that his rubber cow?

“Who made that noise?” Lenny's face darkened. “I'd better not hear that again, or—”

“My
dear
children, I'm delighted to meet you all!” Mrs. Lisowsky peered about her. “I only wish I could see you better. Young man, would you look one more time for my glasses, please? I'm sure they're in the car somewhere.”

Lenny turned. “You don't need glasses to hear, do you?” He toyed with something in his shirt pocket.

“Well, no . . . but I love to see their happy faces. Now,” she said firmly, “let's hear them sing.”

The tuning fork was struck; Mrs. Lisowsky gave her instructions. The children's voices were raised, one by one, in short vocal exercises that had been familiar to Christina since age seven. The music teacher was half blind without her glasses, Christina knew, but still her palms grew moist as she waited her turn.

But the pale blue, rheumy eyes passed over Christina's dirty face and chopped-off hair without recognition.

Christina sang the notes a half pitch flat, with a few a quarter tone sharp for variety. Mrs. Lisowsky tilted her head alertly, looking puzzled.

“What?” said Lenny. “That sounded off, to me.”

“Yes . . . ,” said the music teacher thoughtfully.

They moved on. Christina relaxed.

“Why do we need to have them sing all those notes?” said Lenny Loompski, impatience clear in his voice. “Just one is enough to see if they can sing on pitch, right?”

“Yes, pitch is important,” said Mrs. Lisowsky, “but so is timbre, and intonation, and breathing—”

“All I'm interested in is pitch.”

“But I am interested in listening to a choir. Which is what you asked me to do, correct?”

Lenny pulled something shiny out of his pocket, and dropped it. “Yeah. Right.” He ground the object under his heel. Christina heard a crunch.

Mrs. Lisowsky moved slowly on down the line, striking the tuning fork for each orphan. “Now, you said I should identify children with perfect pitch. But you really don't need that for a choir; the children will have a piano to follow. What you want is merely accurate pitch.”

“I want to know which ones are the best singers,” said Lenny bluntly. “I want a kid who can listen to a tuning fork in one room, and then go into another room and sing the same note. I can't have the tuning fork in the second room—it would be too, uh, explosive. Wrong overtones, you see. We have the same problem underground.”

The music teacher cocked her head. “I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“It doesn't matter. Just tell me the best singer.”

The child in front of Christina shifted slightly, and suddenly Christina could see the thing that Lenny had dropped. It was a pair of glasses, now crushed and broken.

Her lips tightened. Naturally Lenny wouldn't want Mrs. Lisowsky to see the orphans clearly. She might see how dirty, and thin, and neglected they were.

Mrs. Lisowsky paused suddenly, clapping her slender hands. “Now, here is a very sweet voice, and really quite accurate pitch!”

Christina looked over. The tiny woman had stopped in front of Danny and was looking up at the tall boy in delight.

Lenny scowled. “
That
one? Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. I know voices, my dear Mr. Loompski. And it's always possible that he has perfect pitch; do you know your notes, dear? Can you sing me an E-flat?”

Danny looked worried. “I only know A . . . B . . . C,” he said.

“Well, no matter.” She turned to Lenny. “This voice clearly has the best pitch, and with a very lovely quality, too!”

Lenny Loompski peered at the number on Danny's shirt,
and wrote something on a yellow pad. “All right. And the next best voice?”

There was another loud squeak. Lenny Loompski snapped upright.

“Bubby,” said Danny, blue-eyed and smiling. “Bubby has a very good voice.” He squeezed the cow a third time.

“Bubby, eh?” Lenny's thick lips curled into a terrifying smile. He bent back Danny's wrist and plucked the cow out of his hand. “I think Bubby wants to go for a
ride
!” He tossed the cow into the garbage truck's hopper. It landed with a squeak.

Danny gave an inarticulate cry and started forward.

“Close the ram panel, Barney!” called Lenny. He grabbed Danny by both arms. “Now listen up, boy. We'll open the panel in the morning, and you can climb in and play with your little toy. And then”—he paused and gave a tremendous wink over Danny's head at the guards—“you can go for a nice, long ride with Bubby. Won't that be nice?”

Barney climbed into the cab and pushed a button. The rear panel grated down into a closed position with a clank. But it didn't stop there. The hydraulic hoses kept up their long, slow whooshing, and the panel bent at its middle hinge, scraped along the curved bottom of the hopper, and scooped up and back, pushing what had been in the hopper into the main holding tank for garbage.

The ram panel straightened, slid back, and stopped in the open position. The hopper was empty.

Lenny's eyes narrowed. “Hey, you dumb guard! I said
close
, not scoop!”

Barney tumbled out, tripping over his feet. “Gee, I'm sorry, boss.”

“
Green
to close,
brown
to scoop,
red
to—well, you
know
what red's for. Get it straight, or you won't be my driver.”

“Yes, boss. Won't do it again, boss. I must have mis-heard you.”

Lenny bent over, looking under the ram panel to the dark narrow opening above and behind the hopper. “Bye-bye, Bubby!” He grinned back at Danny, his teeth gleaming. “But don't worry—
you'll
still go for a ride in the morning.”

Danny's eyes filled with silent tears. His arms hung at his sides.

Mrs. Lisowsky cleared her throat. “Now, Mr. Loompski, I'm not sure what this is all about, but I have to teach a music class in town. So before I go, I want to hear all the voices together. Is there a song that everyone knows?”

Lenny puffed out his chest. “Of course! Happy Orphans know lots of songs about me. Go on, pick one to sing for the lady!”

The children turned to one another and conferred in low, dull voices.

“There's that cheer we sang yesterday. That one wasn't too bad.”

“Or Dorset's song. If we
have
to sing.”

“Let's pick a short one, at least.”

Christina looked at Danny's miserable face and felt a burning sensation in her stomach. She was tired, and hungry, and scared—but she was also
mad
. And she didn't intend to sing one note of a song that praised Lenny Loompski.

She reached for Danny's hand. She began to hum.

The children's faces brightened. They joined in, singing the words quietly, and then a little louder. Facing one another, their backs to Lenny Loompski, they held hands and
sang
. Christina's voice soared, exactly on pitch, and her mother's lullaby echoed among the jagged rocks.

The song ended. The children turned, reluctantly. Lenny's face was dark and full of rage.

But Mrs. Lisowsky's mouth was open in astonishment. “Christina Adnoid!” she said. “What are
you
doing up here?”

“W
HERE?
Which one is she?” demanded Lenny Loompski. The veins in his neck stood out like rope, and his voice grated with threat.

“Why, I don't know.” Mrs. Lisowsky stared blindly in his direction. “I thought I heard her voice.”

“Sing, all of you! One by one. Now!” Lenny towered over the front row, spit spraying with every word. His big-knuckled hands worked, kneading the air, and his breath hissed between his teeth.

The terrified orphans squeaked out their notes, one by one. Christina longed to sing out clearly, to let Mrs. Lisowsky know who she was . . . but what could one little old lady do against Lenny and his gang of men? They would certainly make sure she never told anyone what she knew.

Christina made sure to sing even more off-key than before.

Mrs. Lisowsky blinked. “Yes, I can see now that I was wrong.” She turned to Lenny and patted his arm. “I must have been confused when they all sang together. Christina
Adnoid has much better pitch. I can't imagine what I was thinking.”

The dark purple color of Lenny's face faded to a brick red.

Mrs. Lisowsky dithered on, pressing his hand. “Oh, Mr. Loompski, you're so
good
to these orphans. I can just hear in their voices how much they all love you! Why, I even heard you planning a pleasant little ride for the best singer and his favorite toy . . .”

Christina gagged. Was she serious? Could Mrs. Lisowsky really be that clueless?

“And it was so
very
kind of you to ask my advice,” the music teacher went on, “but I
really
should get back. I have a music class, and then I simply
must
knit a new pair of slippers for the church bazaar. But best of luck with your orphan choir; the children's voices are lovely . . . just lovely.”

She wandered off, smiling and talking to herself. “Now, which way is the car? Which one of you nice young men is going to drive me down?”

Torkel sidled up to Lenny. “Do we need to take care of her, boss?”

Lenny's skin had lost its deep red shade, and the veins in his neck were flat once more. “No, let her go. She's just a little old lady, not too much upstairs.”

Christina privately agreed with him, after the nauseating display she had just seen.

“Okay, boss. But I've got some bad news.”

Lenny clasped his hands behind his back, watching as the car carrying Mrs. Lisowsky disappeared down the gravel road. “What's that?”

Torkel whispered in Lenny Loompski's ear.

“Whaaaaat?” Lenny Loompski whirled to face the pickup truck. “How much?”

“About half.”

“Half the food is
gone
?
Who took it?
”

Torkel backed away. “I dunno, boss. Must've been the orphans.”

Lenny Loompski swelled like an inflating balloon. His features grew puffy. He stared without expression at the trembling children.

“I've got a
new
song for you.” His voice cracked with menace. “It's not some fairy tale about mommies who love you, and it's not about stupid shining stars. It's the song we sing in the guardhouse when you're not listening.” And in high falsetto he sang:

Kid, you're mine, don't you forget
Love has never saved you yet!
You're forgotten, lost and lone,
Any chance you had is blown—

The guards, who had been drawing nearer, grinned and sang along to the chorus:

Keep a-workin', harder, faster
Sing for Lenny, HE'S your master!

Lenny's lips stretched over tombstone teeth. “You're nothing but a pack of dirty orphans. Even your
parents
threw you
away. You're worthless, not even good enough to pick up garbage—you ARE garbage!”

 

Christina lay at the far edge of the glowing fire, looking up at the stars. She was weary to the bone, and her heart felt as sore and bruised as her shoulder.

She could still escape. She could leave the camp tonight, when all were sleeping, and get safely away. If she traveled all night, and if she did not fall in the dark and break a leg or lose her way in the forest, she might find someone to help. She might be able to convince the police to let her father go, and come up here before Lenny sent Danny away to . . . where? She didn't know, and once Danny was gone, Lenny Loompski would never tell.

Oh, who was she kidding? She'd never make it in time. She would have to take Danny with her.

Christina shut her eyes. Even that wouldn't be any good. If Danny was gone, Lenny Loompski would just put the next best singer on the truck. Unless she took every single orphan with her tonight, tomorrow one unlucky child would be thrown in the hopper.

And then? And then a long, terrible ride in a garbage truck, and a box of dangerous plastic toys, and a locked, windowless room. And after that—mashing.

Christina sat up. There was no way around it. They would all have to leave tonight.

She checked for guards. Except for the one stationed in the pickup truck—and he didn't show any signs of life—all were in the guardhouse. Lenny's car was gone from the lot
again, and she felt a grim relief. He must have gone back to the orphanage.

Quietly she crept to Dorset's side and tapped her. Dorset's eyes flew open.