Cave Under the City (7 page)

From the outside, I looked for our window in the cellar room. It was just a small square hole in the wall. You couldn't even see the chimney hole. We explored through the weeds and the high grass. There were trails crisscrossing through the empty lots. I found a chair with three legs and carried it back. Behind a store by the restaurant we found an open faucet. Bubber put his mouth to it and drank. Then I drank. We played around with the water for a while, piled some rocks near it and made a little pool.

Bubber found wild grapes. The vines were crawling all over. Sour grapes and full of tiny seeds. I put a bunch of grapes in my mouth, ate them, seeds and all.

Bubber stuck out his tongue. “What color is my tongue, Tolley?”

“Green, with white polka dots.”

“Stop it. Your mouth is purple.”

“Let me see your tongue again.”

He stuck it out.

“You need a doctor.”

He spit a seed at me. I spit ten at him. Every time he spit one at me, I spit ten at him. I hate to admit it, but I was enjoying myself.

“Stop it,” he said finally.

“You started it.”

“Who's the baby now, Tolley?”

All day I thought about going back to our apartment. What if my father was there already? But what if McKenzie's man was waiting for us? It was safer in the lots, where we could disappear into the high grass or duck back into the cave.

An old Christmas tree with all the branches lopped off was leaning against an apple tree. I climbed it and shook down a bunch of yellow apples. Bubber watched me bite into one. “You just ate a worm, ugh.”

“You want the other half?”

“Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.” Bubber filled his pockets.

Coming down the tree, I got my brilliant idea.

We carried the Christmas tree back and dropped it down the shaft. Then we climbed down. It made a perfect ladder.

Later it started to rain again, so we stayed inside the cave and ate the rest of the apples.

18

I woke up and lay there, looking up at the window square. Black square. Blackness all around me. How late was it? I listened and didn't hear anything. Was my father home? Was he looking for us? Was he sleeping in the house? It was too quiet. No traffic, no trolley cars, no trains. The newspapers we were sleeping on had slid off. I picked them up and covered Bubber. Then I went out.

There was nobody on the street. The air smelled wet like the ocean. Fog stuck to everything, the lights and the light poles and buildings. Far away I heard engines and foghorns.

A car passed, its lights poking at the fog. I stayed close to buildings. The only sound was the slap of my shoes. I saw the lights of an approaching car and hid till it passed. Then a cat scared me. I kicked at it. I thought it was going to jump on my back.

In our building I checked the mailbox. The light wasn't good and I had to feel around in the box. There was a postcard. I put it in my pocket and went quietly up the stairs.

At our door, I slid the key carefully into the lock, the tumblers fell, the door clicked open. I remembered nights I was supposed to be home early and came in late, sliding in like a snake, praying my parents were asleep. Was my father sitting up in the living room, waiting for me now?

The apartment was empty. A little light came in from the street. The pipes rattled. I tiptoed through both rooms, opened all the closet doors, then shut them again. I even looked under the bed. Then I went into the bathroom and turned on the little light over the sink and read the postcard. It was from my father.

It was a picture postcard. The Capitol on one side. And on the other there was just room for a couple of lines. “Dear Family, Job ended in Baltimore. Looking for work in D.C. I miss my boys and my dear wife. Morris Holtz.”

I turned the postcard over and over again. The picture on one side and three stingy lines on the other. Like every word cost him a dollar. “Looking for work in D.C.…” Where was his address? Where was he staying? Did he have my letter? And my mother's? Where was I going to write him now? How was I going to tell him what had happened?

I saw my scared face in the mirror. I hit my head against the wall, made my brains rattle. I had to think and I couldn't think. What was I going to do? Should we go to my grandmother's? Should we stay here? Should we stay where we were? I didn't want to go out again. I was home, it was warm here and our beds were here, and everything was nice.

I went from one room to the next, from one side of the apartment to the other. On the floor near the door, I saw a piece of paper and picked it up. Notices from the landlord were slipped under our door. I went to the window with it. The paper had an official-looking seal on the top. “Subject: Brothers, Tolman and Robert Holtz.…” I didn't read the rest of it. It was McKenzie again.

I spread out a blanket and started throwing in things we could use. Clothes, another blanket, candles, cans of food, a pot and a frying pan, and a kitchen knife. I found a box of wooden matches, sugar and salt, and a tin of Dutch cocoa. My father's tools were in the back of the closet. The toolbox was too heavy to carry, but I took a hammer and some nails and the saw he kept on the shelf, oiled and wrapped in newspapers.

Even Bubber's rabbit. Momma had made it for him when he was little. It used to be yellow and furry with two red-button eyes. Now it was mangy, only one eye left, and the insides coming out of the nose. Bubber still slept with it. I threw it in and tied the four corners of the blanket together.

The last thing I did was write a note.

“Dear Pop, Bubber and I are all right. We are not far away. We have a place to sleep and we are waiting for you to come home. Your son, Tolley.”

I put the note in the corner of the picture that hung in the hall. It had an old-time country scene with cows and farm women in long dresses gathering grain. That was where my parents always left notes for each other.

Outside, I threw the bundle over one shoulder and walked that way for a while, and then threw it over the other shoulder. Something sharp dug into my side.
Tolley
… I heard my mother's voice.
What are you doing? You're going to live in a hole in the ground? Where's your common sense?

Was this one of my stupid things? I stopped to get my breath. A dog came at me out of a dark alley. I heard the chain and his nails on the cement. I ran. Farther on, I leaned against a car. My eyes shut.
Tolley
…

Leave me alone, Momma. I just want to be someplace.

A man came out of the fog. I didn't move. I was so tired I didn't care. He could have murdered me and I wouldn't have moved. I was leaning against the car's fender and he walked right by me and didn't say a word.

When I came to the edge of the lot, I threw the bundle over. Then I slid over the side, fell straight down into the bushes, and lay there. I heard a milk wagon pass, heard the steady
clop clop clop
of the horse's hooves. The foggy sky was going soft and gray. A bird on a telephone pole sang. Sang and sang, the same thing, over and over again.
Tolley, what are you doing? … Tolley, what are you doing? … Tolley
…

19

Bubber wasn't in the cellar room. “Bubber?” I couldn't see anything. I felt the bed. I felt under the newspapers. “Bubber.” I could hardly say his name. I struck a match. Then another one. They kept going out. I felt around the cot again. I heard something, the sound of breathing, that dog's breath. Bubber was underneath the bed. He lay in the dirt staring at me.

I lit another match. “What are you doing?” There were cobwebs on his face. “I just went to get our stuff from the house.”

He stared at me. “What do you want?” I said. “I'm here. What did you wake up for, anyway?”

“Is Momma home?”

I pulled him out. “Not yet.”

“Is Poppa home?”

“No!”

His arms fell to his sides and he started to cry. I hated him when he cried. He cried with his eyes shut and his mouth open with drool coming out of it. “What can I do about it? Wipe that drool off your face. Here's your stupid rabbit.”

Bubber held the rabbit on his lap and he was talking to it silently, just moving his lips. He shook the rabbit's head and it talked back to him. I was sure they were talking about me. “What did you say?”

Bubber shook his head. “Rabbit says.”

“What does rabbit say?”

“Tolley's too rough. Tolley tore my ear off.”

“I did not. That rabbit was torn when I got it.”

Bubber put his arm around the rabbit. “Rabbit doesn't like Tolley's loud voice. He says poor Bubber woke up and mean Tolley was gone.”

“Okay, next time I'll wake both you and your rabbit up. Neither of you is that perfect, either. How about all the times I had to look for you?”

“What times?”

“What times! What have you got, a mind or a hole in your head? You're always wandering off. ‘Where's Bubber? Tolley, go find Bubber.' I don't get mad at you and hide under the bed and not talk.”

“You hit me.”

“When?”

“All the time. You yank my arm. You push me.”

“Not that hard.”

“It hurts, you always hurt me.”

“I don't do it on purpose.”

“It hurts!”

“Forget it, will you! From now on, you be the big brother. I resign.” I lay down, pulled a blanket over me. “Big brother Bubber, where are you? I'm hungry. I have to go doo-doo.”

Bubber pushed me. “Stop it.”

“That hurts. You hurt me. You always hurt me.”

“Don't!” Bubber put his hand over my mouth.

“Big Brother Bubber.” I popped my finger in my mouth. “I want some bread and butter. Butter, Bubber, for your baby brudder.”

He pulled the finger out of my mouth. “No sucking, you dope.”

“I'm hungry,” I whined. “Feed me. Feed meee.” I threw myself around. “Tolley's little tummy hurts.”

“I don't say that, you liar.” He whacked me.

“Owwww! Bubber hit me. Bubber hit me. Owwww! Feed me. You're supposed to take care of me.”

He got the can of salmon. “Where's the can opener?”

“No can opener?” I'd forgotten the can opener. I threw the can against the wall. Then I got the hammer and a nail and punctured the top all the way around and pried the lid off. I didn't know how hungry I was till I smelled the fish.

20

A board on a couple of boxes made a combination shelf and bench. Bubber sat right down on it with his rabbit. Our clothes went into the boxes, the pot went on the stove, and the candles on the shelf. I hung my father's hammer and saw on the wall.

I was cleaning out the stove when I heard Bubber say, “Hello.”

I swung around and there was a dog, his sniffy nose in the door. “Where'd you come from? How did that dog get in here?”

“King!” Bubber greeted him.

“Do you know him?”

“Here, King.” The dog backed away. Bubber got the salmon can. “King is hungry. Here, King, here, good boy.” The dog came back and got his nose right into the can, licked it clean. “Do we have some more, Tolley? King wants more salmon.”

“We can't feed dogs.” I nudged the dog. I didn't kick him or anything, just toed him, so he'd get the idea. “Leave. Good dog. Good-bye.” The dog flattened himself. He was rust colored with long straggly hair. “Come on, get out of here,” I said. “You're not getting any more food here.”

“Stay there, King, don't go. Wait for Bubber.”

The dog slunk around me and settled down at Bubber's feet.

“What I want to know is how you got down here,” I said. “You sure didn't climb down the ladder, unless you're part monkey.” The dog blinked his eyes. “This dog knows something.” I lit a candle. “Come on, Tramp, show me how you got down here.”

“Call him King,” Bubber said. “He won't listen if you call him Tramp. Come on, King honey, show us how you got down here.”

The dog was smart. He knew just what we wanted, and he ran back into the darkest part of the cellar. We followed him. Cold air blew across my legs and the candle blew out. King was gone.

Bubber pointed to a break in the foundation, a hole just big enough for a dog to get through. I got a board and knocked out some loose bricks and made the hole big enough so I could slide through. I came out under the back stairs.

Bubber crawled out after me. “It's a secret entrance.” He had his arms around the dog. “King found it. Do you like him now?”

That morning, we found a lot of good stuff for the cave. We found bottles and filled them at the faucet. Then we found an abandoned car that still had its seats. We carried the backseat to the restaurant and dropped it down the dumbwaiter. That was going to be Bubber's new bed. “See,” he said. “King brought us good luck.”

Across the trolley tracks there were some houses and more empty lots. There was a garden in one of the lots. It had a fence around it made out of old doors. Through the cracks, we saw cabbages and pumpkins and an apple tree. One branch was hanging over our side.

Bubber jumped. I threw a stick up and some apples fell off. Good red apples. We started eating as fast as we could. Bubber took a bite, then gave King a bite, then took a bite for himself. I threw King my apple core and he ate that, too. I was knocking down more apples when an old man came running toward us, shouting and cursing.

We ran, crossed the trolley tracks back to our side, and didn't stop running until we were back behind the restaurant. We crouched there with King. One thing about that dog, he was smart enough not to bark.

It was warm there next to the foundation. Later, when it got dark and cold, we went inside. I started a fire in the stove with newspapers and wood we'd collected. I made cocoa with water and sugar. The room warmed up fast. It was sort of smoky, but when I checked outside, the smoke was hidden by the trees.