Turtle in Paradise (2 page)

It turns out that getting to Key West is nearly as impossible as getting to Peppermint Bay. There’s no road between some of the keys, which are little islands, so we have to wait on a ferry to take the car and us over. It’s hours late because of the tide.

“This is ridiculous,” Mr. Edgit grouses. “I don’t owe Archie a penny more after this trip.”

When we finally pull into Key West, there’s not a bonbon in sight. Truth is, the place looks like a broken chair that’s been left out in the sun to rot. The houses are small and narrow, lined up close together, and most of them haven’t been painted in a long time. There’s trash piled everywhere. It’s so hot and humid it hurts to breathe.

“What a dump,” Mr. Edgit says.

But it’s the green peeping out everywhere that catches my eye—between the houses, in the yards and alleyways. Twining vines, strange umbrella-type
trees with bright orangey-red blossoms, bushes with pink flowers, and palm trees. Like Mother Nature is trying to pretty up the place. She has a long way to go, though.

We drive around looking for Curry Lane, which is where Aunt Minnie lives, but Mr. Edgit’s about as good at following directions as Hair Today is at growing hair. Finally, we park next to a little alley so that Mr. Edgit can study the hand-drawn map Mama gave him.

“I just don’t understand where this Curry Lane is,” Mr. Edgit says, scratching his bald head.

I wish Archie was here. He never gets lost. And he’s been just about everywhere. We’ll sit with a big map and he’ll point out all the places he’s been.

“See Chicago? Folks are smart there. And they like to look good, too. Sold a crate of hair pomade in one day,” he’ll say, or “That little town in North Dakota? Stingiest place I’ve ever been. Folks there wouldn’t buy a button if their pants were falling down.”

A barefoot boy with big ears is looking furtively down the alley. He’s wearing overalls with no shirt underneath.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Edgit calls out the window. “Can you tell me where Curry Lane is?”

“You’re looking at it,” the boy says, pointing down the muddy alley.

“That’s
Curry Lane?” I ask, and the boy nods.

“Which one’s the Curry place?” Mr. Edgit asks.

“They’re all Currys, mister,” the boy says. “It’s Curry Lane.”

Mr. Edgit gets out of the car and grabs my suitcase. “Come on, Turtle,” he says. “At least we’re in the right place.”

I pick up Smokey and follow him down the lane. Mr. Edgit stops in front of a house that’s so small you could probably sneeze from one side to the other. There’s a boy who looks my age rocking lazily on a porch swing, his feet resting on a sleeping dog. In front of the house is a beat-up child’s wooden wagon. Somebody’s painted on the side of it:

“Excuse me, son,” Mr. Edgit calls to the boy.

“What are you selling, mister?” the boy asks, flexing grimy bare feet. He’s wearing one of those newspaper-boy caps set low on his forehead.

Mr. Edgit brightens. “Well, since you asked, I do happen to have some Hair Today back in my automobile.”

The dog lifts its head and growls low in his throat. It’s the funniest-looking dog I’ve ever seen, like someone crossed a dachshund with a German shepherd. It’s all tiny body with a big head.

“What’s it do?” the boy asks.

“Makes your hair grow,” Mr. Edgit says, pointing to his head. “It’s guaranteed to work in one month or your money back.”

The boy snorts. “Guess
you
ain’t a satisfied customer.”

The dog leaps up, barking like mad. Smokey looks at him, like she can’t be bothered. She’s never been very scared of dogs, just kids.

“Beans! What’s going on out there?” a voice shouts from inside the house.

A heartbeat later, the screen door slams open and a woman in a faded striped dress is standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. She looks like an older version of Mama, except her face is tanner and her hair’s pulled back in a flyaway bun.

“Hush, Termite,” she orders the dog, who stops barking with a whine. Then she turns to Mr. Edgit. “Who are you?”

“He’s just some salesman, Ma,” the boy says.

“I’m looking for Minerva Curry,” Mr. Edgit says.

“I’m Minnie Curry,” she says, her eyes widening when she sees me. “Why, if you aren’t the spitting image of my sister, Sadiebelle!”

Folks have always told me that I look like Mama. My hair’s brown, same as hers, but it’s cut short in a bob with bangs, like a soup bowl turned upside down. Mama keeps hers long as a good dream, because that’s the way Archie likes it.

Our eyes are different, though. I think the color of a person’s eyes says a lot about them. Mama has soft blue eyes, and all she sees is kittens and roses. My eyes are gray as soot, and I see things for what they are. The mean boy on the porch has green eyes. Probably from all the snot in his nose.

“That’s because she
is
Sadie’s daughter!” Mr. Edgit says.

“I’m Turtle,” I say.

“Turtle?” the boy, Beans, says. “What kind of name is that?”

“At least I’m not named after something that gives you gas,” I say.

“Where’s your mother?” Aunt Minnie asks, looking around.

Mr. Edgit answers for me. “In New Jersey. Where else would she be?”

“Who are you?” Aunt Minnie asks.

Mr. Edgit holds out a business card. “I’m Lyle Edgit. You can call me Lyle.”

Beans hoots with laughter. “Idjit? Your name is Idjit? That’s a scream, pal!”

“It’s not
Idjit
, kid,” Mr. Edgit says, his lips tight. “It’s Edgit. Got it?
Edge-it!”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Idjit,” Beans says.

Mr. Edgit frowns at Beans and says to Aunt Minnie, “I’m a friend of Archie’s.”

“Who’s Archie?” Aunt Minnie asks.

I’m starting to get that bad feeling I always get right before one of Mama’s fellas stops coming around and breaks her heart.

“The fella Mama’s dating,” I say.

Aunt Minnie looks at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why are you here without your mother?”

“Didn’t you get her letter?” I ask.

“What letter? Did something happen to her?”

“Say, Mr. Idjit,” Beans says loudly, “you been using that hair tonic on your arms, ’cause it’s sure coming in thick there!”

It’s the final straw for Mr. Edgit. He drops my bag on the porch. The dog leaps back with a startled yelp.

“I’ll leave you to your happy reunion, Turtle,”
Mr. Edgit says with a huff, and marches down the lane to his automobile. He gets in, guns the engine, and screeches away.

“So long, Mr. Idjit!” Beans calls, laughing.

“Mama wrote you a letter,” I say. “She got a new job as a housekeeper, and Mrs. Budnick doesn’t like children.”

“So she sent you to me?”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

She looks shocked. “For how long?”

“Until we can get a place of our own, I guess,” I say. “Or until she gets a new job where I can live with her.”

But Aunt Minnie isn’t listening to me. “This is just like Sadiebelle. She never thinks. As if I don’t have enough already with three kids and a husband who’s never home.” She looks at Smokey. “And you brought a cat?”

“Smokey’s a good mouser,” I say.

“She’s good at being ugly, is what she is,” Beans says.

From inside, a young voice calls: “Ma! I had an accident!”

Aunt Minnie closes her eyes and rubs her forehead.

“Ma!” the voice cries again.

She turns on her heel, walking through the door without a backward glance.

“Beans, help your cousin with her bag,” she calls over her shoulder.

Then it’s just Beans and me and the animals.

“Here,” Beans says with a mean smile, picking up my suitcase. “Let me help you with your bag,
Tortoise.”

He flips it over in one smooth movement, dumping my belongings onto the wooden porch in a heap and sending my paper dolls flying everywhere. Beans walks into the house, the dog running after him, and slams the door so hard it nearly falls off its hinges.

Folks like to feel sorry for orphans, but I think they’ve got it pretty good. Little Orphan Annie gets adopted by Daddy Warbucks, who’s a millionaire. That’s just about as lucky as it gets in my book.

I bet she doesn’t have to worry about being sent to a house that’s tiny and dark and smells like sour milk. Daddy Warbucks probably has a nice big plump sofa for her to sit on, and a Persian rug for her to sink her toes into. Not a wicker couch that’s got a broken leg propped up with a bunch of rags and a worn braided wool rug that looks like something bad got spilled on it.

Aunt Minnie is standing in the kitchen, scrubbing a pair of soiled pants. There’s a big basket in the corner, overflowing with laundry.

“Where should I put my suitcase?” I ask.

She glances at me, a harried look on her face. “The boys will have to share, I suppose. You can stay in Beans’s room. Upstairs and to the left.”

I climb the set of narrow wooden stairs to what looks to be more of an attic than a proper second floor. There are two rooms at the top of the landing. The door to the right one is shut. I open the one on the left and peer inside.

It’s a tiny room, with an odd-looking shuttered window, like a hatch, set deep in the sloping roof. There’s an iron bed and a small chest of drawers. One of the walls is covered with funny pages from newspapers—there’s
Krazy Kat, Terry and the Pirates, Flash Gordon
, and even some of my favorite,
Little Orphan Annie
.

Smokey leaps out of my arms and starts sniffing at the floor. When we worked for the Talbots, our room was right next to the pantry. Mama and I would lie in bed in the dark and listen to the rats running around, searching for food. One night I woke up and there was one perched on my pillow, nibbling on my hair. I screamed so loud, Mama thought I was
being murdered. After that, Mama got us Smokey, and she’s slept with me ever since.

“Is that your cat?” a voice asks, and Smokey hisses. A little boy with a tuft of bright blond hair is standing there wearing a short-sleeved shirt and no underpants.

“That’s Smokey,” I say.

“What happened to him?”

“Some boys lit her tail on fire,” I say.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“How’d you guess?”

“You talk funny,” he says, and looks down at my feet. “And you’re wearing shoes.”

A boy with a pair of crooked glasses walks into the room, saying, “Beans, did you take my shooter? If you fed another marble of mine to the seagulls, I’m gonna tell Ma.” He stops his tirade when he sees me.

“Who’re you?” he asks. He seems like he might be nine or maybe ten, but he’s on the thin side, and so he looks younger.

“I’m Turtle.”

“You a relation or a thief?” he asks.

“What’s there to steal?” I say.

“I’m Buddy!” the little boy interjects. “You want to play marbles with me?”

Before I can answer, Aunt Minnie appears. She catches sight of the boy with the glasses and frowns.

“Kermit, you get back in bed right now, do you hear me?” Aunt Minnie says.

“But, Ma—” Kermit whines.

“Doc Parrish said you are supposed to take a nap
every day!”

“But, Ma—”

“Do you want your heart to give out? Do you want to die? Is that what you want?”

“But I’m not tired!” he says.

“I don’t care if you’re tired or not! Now get in that room and go to sleep before I kill you myself!” she shouts.

Kermit marches out, saying, “I’ll take a nap, but I’m still not tired.”

“I don’t have to take a nap anymore!” Buddy declares. “I’m four years old!”

“For Pete’s sake, Buddy, go put on some pants,” Aunt Minnie says in an exasperated voice. “What is the matter with you, child?”

The little boy runs out and Beans storms in, his dog right on his heels. Termite sees Smokey and starts barking. I grab my cat up and hold her out of the way.

“What’s the big idea?” he says. “Why can’t she stay with the little pests?”

“Beans, get Termite out of here,” Aunt Minnie says.

Kermit pokes his head back in. “Beans ain’t sleeping with us, Ma. No way, no how!”

“Get in bed, Kermit!” Aunt Minnie says.

Buddy comes flying back in. He’s got pants on now, but it looks like they’re on backward.

“Why should Termite go?” Beans argues. “He was here first! Make her ugly cat take a hike!”

“Smokey can sleep with me!” Buddy says, and snatches her out of my arms. Smokey hisses in fear, swiping at Buddy’s nose.

“Ow!” the little boy cries, and drops Smokey.

The next thing I know, Termite’s chasing Smokey around the tiny room, barking his head off, and Buddy’s wailing about his nose, and Beans is hollering at Termite to get Smokey, and Kermit is saying there’s no way he’s sharing a room with Beans again, considering what happened last time, and the whole while Aunt Minnie just stands there, her mouth growing tighter and tighter like a rubber band, until finally, she snaps and hollers: “That’s it! You kids get out of this house and take those animals with you before I smack every last one of you!”

And that’s how I find myself sitting on the front porch with Beans, Kermit, Buddy, Smokey, and Termite.

“Don’t come back inside until I say so!” Aunt Minnie shouts. She slams the door after her, muttering, “Honestly, this is what I get for kissing a Curry.”

Smokey darts to safety under the house, and Termite waddles over to the lane looking forlorn.

Kermit is positively beaming at his good fortune. “Well, that’s one way to get out of a nap,” he says.

“Aren’t you a little old for naps?”

I ask. “I had rheumatic fever, and now I’ve got a weak heart,” Kermit says.

“Kermit almost died!” Buddy exclaims.

“Really?” I ask.

“And guess what? He said I could have all his marbles when he was dead,” Buddy says, and then his face falls. “But then he went and lived.”

“Sorry about that, Buddy,” Kermit says.

“That’s okay,” Buddy says. “I’ll get your marbles the next time you die!”

“Won’t be too soon for me,” Beans says.

A boy with black hair and bare feet comes whizzing down the lane on a battered bike. I haven’t seen a pair of shoes on a single kid yet.