The Curse of the Blue Figurine (7 page)

Johnny liked the idea. His little visit to the professor turned into a long and enjoyable—and filling—stay. When he went home that evening, he felt that maybe the professor was right after all. The whole business was just his imagination working overtime.

A month passed. Windy March turned into sloppy wet April, and—much to Gramma's annoyance—the spiders came back to 23 Fillmore Street. On the other hand the spooky feelings and dreams that had been bothering Johnny went away. And one evening, when he was down at the library, Johnny picked up the new April issue of
Hobbies
and saw that his question had been answered. This was the answer:

We have consulted antique dealers in the city of Cairo, Illinois, and we have discovered that mummy-shaped souvenir figures were sold in that city late in the nineteenth century. They were made in three colors, gold, blue, and red, and they were manufactured by Mound City Novelties of St. Louis, Missouri. We are informed that such an object, in good condition, would be worth about $25 today.

Johnny closed the magazine and shook his head. Twenty-five dollars! Phooey. So much for his wonderful dream of getting rich in a hurry. But at least now he knew that the figurine was not some mysterious talis
man from ancient Egypt. It was what the professor had said it was. Johnny felt very relieved, and once again he scolded himself for letting his imagination work overtime.

Toward the end of April St. Michael's School had its yearly paper drive. At St. Michael's it was turned into a big contest, the east side of the school against the west side. Sister Electa made up a song set to the music of "The Sidewalks of New York," and all the kids sang it in class:

East Side, West Side, 

Which is going to win? 

We're looking for the paper 

In cellar, barn, and bin, 

Boys and girls together 

Working one and all, 

Bringing loads of paper 

From the sidewalks of our town!

Every day for three days the students of St. Michael's School were let out of class in the afternoon so they could go hunt for wastepaper. They went everywhere looking for it. Some kids went from house to house. Others—the cleverer ones—had aunts and uncles who had been saving newspapers for them all year. Now they gleefully lugged the bales in, tied up nice and neat. For the kids it was like a holiday. And it was a contest too— each side was fighting hard to win.

On the last day of the paper drive Johnny and a lot of other kids were over at the Parish Hall, working hard. The Parish Hall was a long red brick building that stood just to the west of the school. This was where the Friday-night bingo games were held. At paper drive time all the folding chairs and tables were stacked over on one side of the hall, and the bundles of tied newspapers lay in big heaps. Kids swarmed everywhere, and everybody was supposed to have something to do: Some kids tied loose paper into bundles, others counted the bundles, and still others helped unload paper from the flatbed trucks that backed up to the open freight door. Everybody worked, and everybody seemed to enjoy working. It was such a treat to be doing something besides school-work for a change!

On into the late afternoon Johnny toiled. He got paper cuts and twine burns on his fingers, and his shirt was soaked with sweat, but it didn't matter. He was working to help the east side of St. Michael's School win. Johnny was weary but happy. At last he felt like he belonged at St. Michael's School.

Around three thirty the Parish Hall began to empty out. Kids started to go home in ones and twos and threes. Johnny was still busy tying bundles. Then he heard somebody cough over his head. He looked up and saw that it was Sister Correda. Sister Correda was the first-and second-grade teacher. She was nice, but she was kind of scatterbrained. She was always forgetting where she left things.

"Uh... John?" she said in her hesitant way. Sister Correda always acted apologetic when she was about to ask a favor of somebody.

"Yes, Sister?"

"Would you please go over to the school and get my watch for me? I must have left it on the desk in my classroom."

"Sure, Sister. I'll be right back."

Johnny went out the door into the afternoon sunlight. He crossed a corner of the playground and climbed the concrete steps that led to the back door of the school. Now he was inside again, in the cool gloom of the building, which always smelled of varnish and chalk dust and library paste. Johnny went straight to the first-grade room. He opened the door and peered inside. There on the teacher's desk lay Sister Correda's watch. It was a silver-plated pocket watch, with a long braided piece of leather attached to it. And standing next to the desk with his hand reaching out toward the watch was Eddie Tompke.

As soon as Eddie saw Johnny, he jerked his hand back. Then he grinned nastily.

"Hello, Brown Nose," he said. "You're just in time. I was gonna take this watch over to Sister What's Her Name. Now you can save me a trip."

Johnny stood dead still, staring at Eddie.
I bet you were gonna take the watch over to Sister,
thought Johnny.
I just bet you were.

Eddie glared right back at Johnny. His eyes were mean and hard. " 'Smatter, Brown Nose? Doncha believe me? Think I'm lyin' to ya? Huh?"

Johnny didn't know what to say. He was scared of Eddie, but he stood his ground. He wasn't going to run away. "You're not s'posed to be in here," he said in a strained, nervous voice. "If the sisters find out—"

"Well, the sisters won't find out unless you tell 'em, will they, Brown Nose? C'mon and get the watch. You scared to come and get it?"

Johnny felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. He wanted to turn and run. But he forced himself to walk forward to the desk. Now he was standing face-to-face with Eddie. For a second Johnny thought that he would have to fight Eddie to get the watch. But Eddie pulled his hand back as Johnny approached.

"Brown noses always run errands for the sisters, don't they?" said Eddie in a hateful, crooning voice. "That's how they get their good grades. Everybody ought to know that."

At this something inside Johnny snapped. Eddie was bigger and stronger than he was, but he just had to say something. Johnny looked at Eddie, and their eyes met. "I'm not a brown nose," he said evenly. "I just do my work."

For some reason this remark really seemed to make Eddie angry. Quick as a flash he reached out and grabbed Johnny's hand. With his other hand Eddie picked up 
something that lay on the desk. It was a kid's pair of scissors. Eddie reached out and clamped the scissors around the index finger of Johnny's hand. The finger was caught in the part of the scissors just above the rivet that held the two blades together. Eddie squeezed. It felt awful— it was like being tortured. Johnny bit his lip to keep from yelling. He didn't want to give Eddie the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Eddie kept squeezing. Tears were in Johnny's eyes. Weakly he tried to shove Eddie away. At last Eddie let go. He dropped the scissors on the desk and said, "See you 'round, Brown Nose." Then he turned on his heel and left.

Johnny stood at the desk. He was crying and clutching his injured finger. It burned, it stung. Slowly the hurt began to go away. Johnny took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. Then he put the glasses back on again and picked up the watch. Sister Correda would be wondering why it had taken him so long. He wanted to tell her what had happened, but he knew he wouldn't tell on Eddie. That was for tattle-taling babies, not for him.

Johnny went back to the Parish Hall and gave Sister Correda her watch. As soon as she saw him she knew something had happened. His face was red and streaked with tears, and he was sniffling.

Sister Correda was the flustery type, and she immediately got upset. "Good grief, John!" she exclaimed. "What... what happened to you?"

Johnny had a powerful urge to tell on Eddie, but he resisted. "I... I caught my hand in the door to your room," he said. And as proof he held up his sore and reddened finger.

Sister Correda was properly sympathetic. She took Johnny over to the sisters' house and put Unguentine on his finger. She gave him a glass of milk and a couple of Oreo cookies, and then she told him that he probably ought to quit working and go home. He wouldn't be able to tie up any bundles with his sore finger, and anyway it was about time to call it quits for the day.

"Besides, it looks as if your side has won," said Sister Correda, smiling. "That ought to make you feel good. And thank you for all the work you did. You're a real trouper—you never give up!"

Compliments always made Johnny feel shy. "It was a lotta fun," he said, staring at the tablecloth.

Johnny talked a bit more with Sister Correda, and then he set out for home. At first as he walked along he felt good. His finger wasn't hurting much anymore. And he was very, very proud that his side had won the paper drive. But slowly the good feeling began to die away, and black anger took its place. Who did Eddie think he was, anyway? And what had he, Johnny, ever done to him? Nothing. Nothing except get good grades in school. And for this Eddie hated him. Well, right now Johnny was hating him back. He wanted to strangle Eddie, he wanted to murder him. In his mind's eye he saw himself pushing Eddie in front of cars, or beating 
him bloody in a boxing match. By the time Johnny got home, he was fairly tingling with hatred of Eddie.

Straight in the front door Johnny marched. Straight in the door and up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door of his room and threw the bolt. And then he did a very strange thing. He went to the closet, opened the door, and knelt down. Carefully he removed the sweat shirts and blankets and copies of
Boys' Life
that were piled on top of the black book. He opened the cover and took out the blue figurine. Then he clenched the thing tight in his hands and yelled at the top of his voice, "
I hope he breaks his goddam neck!"

Johnny was silent. His face felt flushed, and he was breathing hard, and his heart was going like a triphammer. He felt scared. Scared of himself, scared of his anger, scared of what he had just said. And why was he holding the figurine? He had no idea why—no idea in the world.

With trembling hands Johnny put the figurine back in the book. He closed the worn, dog-eared cover, and he was about to start piling blankets on when he heard a knock at the door. Hastily Johnny threw stuff on top of the book. He got up and closed the closet door. Then he went to the door of his room and opened it. There stood Gramma. Her arms were folded, and she looked mad.

"John Dixon," she said severely, "I would like to know who gave you the right to come tearin' in here the way you did just now. When I heard your door slam, I 
thought the house was comin' down on top o' me! What's the matter with you, anyway?"

Johnny looked remorseful and stared at the floor. "Aw, I got in a fight with Eddie Tompke," he muttered. "He hurt my finger, and I got real mad. That's all."

Gramma looked a little less grim when she heard about Johnny's finger. "I know those Tompkes," she said, nodding meaningfully. "They're a mean bunch, all of 'em. Old Jack Tompke, he belonged to the Ku Klux Klan. Did you know that?"

Johnny said no, he didn't know that.

"Well, he did. Could I have a look at your finger?"

Johnny held out his hand. Gramma winced and made a
tsk-tsk
sound. "How'd he do
that
to you?" she asked.

"He caught it in a pair of scissors."

Gramma made more clucking sounds and shook her head. "Well, like I said, they're a mean bunch. Come on downstairs, and I'll put some witch hazel on that. It'll make it feel better."

So Johnny went downstairs with Gramma, and for the second time that afternoon he got his finger doctored. As Gramma fussed over him she went on about the Tompkes and their relations, the Tadmans and the Sweets and the Schemanskes. Gramma was like that. She had lived in Duston Heights all her life, and she knew everything about everybody. Usually this kind of thing bored Johnny, but right now he was happy that Gramma had the Tompkes to think about. It would make her forget about this door-slamming.

Later Johnny did some KP work in the kitchen for Gramma. He set the table for dinner, and he washed the celery, and he peeled some potatoes. But as he worked shapeless dark fears came crowding into his mind. Had he done something awful by grabbing the figurine and saying what he had said? If the professor knew about his fears, he would laugh and say that Johnny was letting his imagination run hog-wild. And it was certainly true that the figurine was just a souvenir and nothing more. The stories about Father Baart were just stories—that was also true, beyond doubt.

All the same Johnny was worried.

The next morning after breakfast Johnny went off to school as usual. At St. Michael's the school day always started with Mass in the church at eight. On this particular morning, as Johnny saw the great gloomy brick church looming up before him he felt a tightening in his gut. There was something he wanted to know—or rather there was something he was afraid of finding out. Up the worn steps and into the church he went. He paused in the vestibule to dip his fingers in the holy water font and make the sign of the cross. Then he pushed open the inner doors and walked down the aisle. The seventh graders always sat in the third and fourth pews back from the front, on the left side of the main aisle. When 
Johnny reached the end of his pew, he genuflected and then started in.