Turtle in Paradise (3 page)

“Hey, Pork Chop,” Beans says.

“Who’s she?” the boy asks, looking at me.

“Aw, just some freeloading cousin from New Jersey,” Beans says.

“Pork Chop?” I say.

Kermit shrugs. “Pork Chop and Beans. They just go together.”

Across the street, a wiry-looking older man with slicked-back graying hair walks out the front door of a house not much bigger than this one.

“Well, if it ain’t the Diaper Gang,” the man drawls.

“Hi, Jelly!” Buddy says. “You want to play marbles with me?”

“Sorry, Buddy,” Jelly says, and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a beat-up-looking letter. He holds it out to Beans. I recognize the flowery handwriting at once. It’s the letter from Mama.

“Mr. Gardner delivered it to me by mistake. Been delivering mail for twenty years now and he still can’t keep the Currys straight,” he says. He looks at me. “Got yourself a new member, I see.”

Beans thumbs at me. “You mean her? She’s not in the gang. No girls allowed.”

“You’ve got a club called the Diaper Gang?” I say. “What do you do? Change diapers?”

All the boys turn to look at me as if I’m dumb as a post.

“Course we change diapers,” Beans says. “That’s why we’re called the Diaper Gang.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

Kermit explains. “We watch babies. Bad ones.”

“Bad babies?”

“The crying kind,” Pork Chop says.

“You get paid?” I ask.

“In candy,” Beans says.

“And we got rules,” Pork Chop says with authority.

“Oooh! Oooh!” Buddy says. “I know the rules!” He squishes up his face, thinking hard. “Uh, uh, uh, uh, let me see. Number one is, it’s, uh, um, I think it’s, uh—”

Beans cuts him off. “First rule of the Diaper Gang is you gotta know the rules, Buddy.”

“But I’m only four!” Buddy cries in frustration. “My head can’t hold that many things!”

“What are the rules?” I ask.

Kermit ticks them off. “No girls allowed. Keep your rag clean. Always duck. And never tell anyone the secret formula.”

“You got a secret formula?” I ask.

Kermit says, “For diaper rash.”

“Cures it like
that,”
Pork Chop says, snapping his fingers.

“You know how many mothers on this island want our secret formula?” Beans asks.

All three boys answer in unison:
“Every last one.”

Jelly scratches at his chin, where there’s a raw red patch of skin. “You think your formula will work on this? Nicked myself shaving.”

“Works on everything, Jelly,” Beans says. “But it’ll cost you.”

“I’m good for it, Beans.”

“Cash only.”

“But I’m your cousin!” Jelly says.

“Who ain’t on this island?” Beans says, setting his cap low over his eyes. “Sorry, Jelly. Business is business.”

“You’re pretty hard for an eleven-year-old, Beans,” Jelly says, shaking his head.

“Gotta be hard to handle bad babies,” Beans says.

“You ever take care of good babies?” I ask.

“Ain’t no such thing,” he declares.

Kermit grins. “That’s why we’re always in business.”

Lots of folks go to bed hungry these days. I’ve heard of men fighting over scraps in garbage cans and about that lady who taught her kids to steal milk.

Because Mama works in rich folks’ homes, we’ve had it better than most. But after looking at what Aunt Minnie sets in front of me for breakfast, I start thinking that going hungry might not be that bad after all.

I stare at my plate. There’s a piece of thick toast with something green and slimy smeared on top of it.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Alligator pear on Cuban bread.” Aunt Minnie purses her lips. “I don’t cater to fussy children.”

I pick it up and take a bite. It tastes a lot better than it looks.

“I read the letter from your mother. She says she’s planning on marrying this Archie fella.” Aunt Minnie raises an eyebrow. “He planning on marrying her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s he do?” Aunt Minnie asks.

“He’s a salesman,” I say.

“Is he nice? Is he good to her?”

“He bought me these shoes.”

Aunt Minnie crosses her arms. “I spent my whole childhood taking care of Sadiebelle, and here I am taking care of you now. I sure hope you have more sense than her.”

I’m not sure how I feel about her saying Mama doesn’t have sense, so I change the subject. “May I have a glass of milk, please?” I ask, and she says, “Help yourself.”

I get a glass down off a shelf and open the icebox. A scary, insectlike creature with a pointy tail scuttles out, waving mean little claws, and I jump back. Termite starts barking but keeps his distance.

“Scorpion, Ma!” Beans says.

Aunt Minnie picks up a rolling pin from the counter and brings it down hard on the scorpion.

Kermit looks at me. “They like to hide in dark places.”

“Like shoes,” Aunt Minnie says pointedly, staring at my feet.

“I know,” I say. “Mama warned me to shake them out before I put them on.”

“She must remember the time
she
didn’t shake hers out,” Aunt Minnie says. She takes a dustpan and sweeps up the dead scorpion, and then walks out of the room.

“What’s an alligator pear, anyhow?” I ask.

“Are all kids from New Jersey as dumb as you?” Beans asks.

“That’s an alligator pear,” Kermit says, pointing to a bowl of avocados.

“That’s an avocado,” I say. One of the rich ladies we worked for liked them in her salad.

“What does this Archie sell, anyway?” Beans asks.

“Encyclopedias,” I say.

“Encyclopedias? To who?”

“Dumb kids like you, who don’t know what an avocado is,” I say.

The front door slams open, and Pork Chop comes walking down the hall into the kitchen.

“Ready, pal?” Pork Chop asks.

“Ready,” Beans replies, smoothing back his hair and slapping his cap on. Kermit stands up.

“Can I come?” Buddy asks.

“Course you can’t come, Buddy,” says Beans.

Aunt Minnie walks back into the kitchen and groans at the overflowing basket of clothes in the corner. “Take Buddy with you. Turtle, too. I don’t want children underfoot. I need to finish all this laundry today or Mrs. Cardillo won’t pay me.”

Beans frowns.

“Hot dog!” Buddy says.

Outside, the heat hits me like a slap in the face. Kermit disappears around the side of the house and returns a moment later with a load of old quilts, then piles them in the wagon.

We start walking down the sleepy lane. Kermit pulls the wagon and Buddy dawdles, stopping every few minutes to pick up stones.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“We got Pudding today,” Kermit says.

We stop by a small house that has a tree with blooming red flowers in front of it. The sound of a baby crying rings out an open window. Beans knocks on the door. It opens and I see the source of the racket: a bald, fat, red-faced baby being held by his tired mother.

“Morning, Mrs. Lowe,” Beans says.

“Oh, Beans,” the woman says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone!”

“How’s he doing?” Beans asks.

“I swear he didn’t sleep more than five minutes last night! He’s teething real bad.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Lowe. We’ll take care of him,” Beans says.

“I just fed him,” she says, and then practically tosses the crying baby into Beans’s hands. She gives Pork Chop a small stack of cloth diapers and goes back inside.

Beans sticks the baby in the wagon on top of the quilts, and we start moving again. The baby’s crying his head off like he’s being tortured.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Beans says. “Pudding’s the worst baby we’ve ever had.”

“It’s his mother’s fault,” Pork Chop explains. “She spoils him. Picks him up every time he cries.”

“You gotta let a baby be,” Kermit says.

“That’s why we don’t let girls in the gang,” Beans says. “Girls always want to pick up babies.”

“Not me,” I say. I don’t like babies. They’re like Shirley Temple: everyone thinks they’re cute, but the
fact is they’re annoying. All they do is cry and make messy diapers.

Pudding is crying furiously, kicking his little feet.

“Time to wrap him up, fellas,” Beans announces with authority.

If the Diaper Gang were an army, then Beans would be the general, and Pork Chop his lieutenant. Which means all the grunt work is left for poor Kermit.

“Blanket!” Pork Chop orders, and Kermit lays a thin blanket on the ground.

“Baby!” he says, and Kermit hands him Pudding.

Pork Chop proceeds to roll the baby up like a little sausage. He tucks the blanket tight around him, muffling his cries. We’ve barely walked a few steps when the baby abruptly stops crying, screwing his eyes shut against the sun. He’s fast asleep.

“Works every time,” Beans says in a satisfied voice.

“Can he breathe?” I ask.

“Ain’t lost a baby yet.”

“Why’s he called Pudding?”

“Mrs. Lowe thought she was getting fat from
eating too much banana pudding, but it turned out it was a baby,” Kermit explains.

A white-haired old man comes running down the street. He looks around and then darts down an alleyway. A moment later, a lady comes walking toward us fast. She’s got a streak of flour on her cheek as if she was baking and got interrupted.

“He went that way, Mrs. Alvarez,” Beans says, pointing.

“Thank you, Beans,” she says in a weary voice. “Second time this morning it’s happened.” She smiles at me. “You must be Turtle. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I say, and she walks quickly off.

Kermit taps his skull. “Old Mr. Alvarez ain’t right in the head anymore. Poor Mrs. Alvarez spends her life chasing after him.”

“One time he ran naked down Duval Street!” Buddy exclaims. “You should’ve seen it!”

“I don’t think I would’ve wanted to see that,” I say.

An iceman is making his deliveries, and Beans calls out, “You got any spare chips, Mr. Roberts?”

“Sure thing, Beans,” the man says, handing out slivers of ice.

“Don’t forget me!” Buddy says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Buddy,” Mr. Roberts says, giving the little boy a chip, and one to me, too. “You must be Turtle. My, I do believe you’re as pretty as your mother.”

I suck on the ice until all that’s left is a cold memory.

“How come everyone knows who I am?” I ask.

“Conch Telegraph,” Pork Chop says.

“What?”

“Conchs like to talk. Everyone knew you were here five minutes after you showed up yesterday,” Kermit says. “Besides, you’re related to most of them.”

Mama told me that Conchs are what folks in Key West call themselves. A lot of them originally came from the Bahamas, where they fished for conch. When I asked Mama about my Conch relatives, she said her parents had been dead for a long time, but that I had a lot of Conch cousins.

Too bad she didn’t tell me that they were all snotty boys.

Beans leads us to the waterfront. It’s a hive of activity, bustling with boats. There’s a fella selling live flopping fish right on the dock and another one who’s unloading some scary-looking cargo: dead sharks.

Buddy climbs on a railing and stares down at the water.

“I sure do love watching them,” he says, and I look, too.

The biggest turtle imaginable breaks the surface of the water like a lazy cow. Another pops up and then another. There’s a whole crowd of them.

“What are they all doing down there?” I ask.

“It’s the turtle kraals,” Kermit says. “It’s where they keep the sea turtles until they’re butchered.”

“Don’t fall over!” Pork Chop says to me, snapping his teeth. “You’ll end up as supper!”

“Hi, Slow Poke!” Beans calls out to a man working on the deck of a boat.

The man turns. He’s tan, with sunburned patches around his neck and hair the color of caramel. He’s wearing a wide straw hat.

“Hey there, Beans,” he says. “I stopped in at Matecumbe and saw your dad. He said to say hi.”

“Thanks,” Beans says. “I hear you lost your first mate. Why don’t you hire me? You know what a good sailor I am!”

“I know,” Slow Poke says. “But I already hired Ollie. I’ll be sure to keep you in mind for next time.”
The man’s cool gray eyes flick over to me and go still. “Who’s your friend here?”

“That’s Turtle! She’s a cousin!” Buddy says. “And she’s got a cat named Smokey!”

“Turtle, huh?” he says, studying me. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Sadiebelle Gifford, would you?”

“That’s my mama,” I say.

“Really,” Slow Poke says. “Is she here with you?”

“She’s in New Jersey.”

“I see,” he says.

“Say, Slow Poke, you get any loggerheads?” Beans asks.

“Not this time,” he says. “But I did all right.” He waves his thumb at the deck of the boat. It’s piled high with black blobs.

“What’re those?” I ask.

“That’s gold you’re looking at,” Slow Poke says.

“They’re sponges,” Kermit says.

“Sure don’t look like any sponge I’ve ever seen,” I say.

“Gotta clean ’em yet. Then they’ll be fine enough for a lady’s face,” Slow Poke says.

Pudding fusses in the wagon and Beans frowns.
“We gotta keep moving, Slow Poke, or Pudding will wake up. He’s teething bad.”

Slow Poke looks at the baby. “You should try a little whiskey on his gums.”

“We did once,” Beans says. “Didn’t work.”

Slow Poke winks. “Then you didn’t give him enough.”

Kids in the funny pages sure lead thrilling lives. Little Orphan Annie and her dog, Sandy, are always having all sorts of adventures, and then there’s Terry Lee from
Terry and the Pirates
. He sails to the Far East with his pal Pat, looking for a lost gold mine.

There’s nothing thrilling happening on Curry Lane as far as I can tell. And the only thing that’s lost in this house is Buddy’s pants. I can hear Aunt Minnie hollering at the little boy.

“Buddy,” she’s saying, “come on, now. Where did you put those pants?”

“I don’t remember!” he says.

“Put your shirt on, at least,” she says.