The Trouble Begins (21 page)

“What's a child psychologist?” I ask.

Now Vuong laughs. “It's a doctor for kids who are crazy,” he says. “Don't worry, though. I think it costs a lot of money to go to one. You're crazy, Du, but Dad'll never pay for it.” He laughs harder. He knows I'm not crazy.

“It must be there's a
tinh
around here,” I say, looking around.

Now he doesn't know. “What's a
tinh
?” he asks.

“Grandma told me about them. When you open your mouth too much a
tinh
draws out your soul. That's what makes you crazy … so you better keep your mouth shut.”

On December twenty-fourth, the day before Christmas, my mom and dad come home early. They don't have to work on Christmas because nobody works on Christmas. They'll go visit the cousins in Orange for four days. My grandma doesn't feel good enough to go so long away from home. My mom says she'll stay with her but I want to stay and also I have to feed Cat. So Grandma and me stay home. When they all get in our car with their bags and boxes I can see there's hardly enough room for all of them. We wave good-bye.

My grandma says we'll make a Christmas cake. She says it in Vietnamese except for the word
Christmas.
I know she's never made a Christmas cake before but she can cook anything. I look over at the old man's window to see if he's spying on us. His house looks just the same as it does on all the other days. Where are his presents and his tree and his jingle bells? I know where his Christmas tree lights are. They're in the shed in the trunk. I start to worry again. Maybe he just puts his tree up on the last night. He does everything slow. What if he goes in there and finds Cat? Before when he went in she must have stayed hidden in the corner under the shelf but now I hear the kittens meowing and moving around every time I go in there. Soon she won't be able to hide them. Yesterday I was making a little roller coaster out of the metal set. One of the kittens crawled halfway across the floor. What if he finds them and does something to them? Cat would be so sad. So would I. I'll watch him tonight. I know that right now he doesn't have any tree to put any lights on anyway.

Dark already. The phone rings. Nobody calls except to talk to Thuy or Lin or Vuong but I'm bored so I answer.

“I need a Mr. Nguyen,” says a gruff voice. I'm curious.

“Just a minute,” I say. I wait a minute. “Hello,” I say. I make my voice deep.

“Yeah, Nguyen,” says the voice. “Route guy quit a few hours ago. It's gotta be Sunday. Everything delivered before seven a.m. Take it or leave it.” It's the man about delivering the paper. Thuy and Lin and Vuong said no but I'm sure my dad still wants it. He won't be home yet by Sunday. I bet I
could do it. I could get up early and run around with a bunch of papers. It'd be fun.

“I'll take it,” I say in my deep voice. He doesn't say anything for a minute.

“Is this Nguyen?” the guy asks again.

“Yeah,” I say even deeper. “I'll take it.”

“Okay, you got it. Route sheet and papers'll be there about three, three-thirty. Job ends for you if they're not all out by seven. Paper'll be big because of the sales. You know where to reach me if there's a problem. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say. We hang up. I wonder what it's like, how many papers. Where are the houses? It's not until Sunday. I guess I'll go to bed. I could sleep on Vuong's bed tonight but I like the couch.

Ghosts again. No, not ghosts, fire sirens. I heard them in my dream. They sound close. I'll go see what's happening. Where are my shoes?

The fire's close. Down at the end of the alley. Those flames are high! It's the big apartments burning. It's like fireworks! Sparks are blowing all over in the wind. Everybody's out here. People wrapped up in blankets, just out of bed, staring at the fire. This is cool. I'd go up to the top of that fire truck ladder in a second. Spray water down from way up high. Two big firemen drag the hose. I'd go first and they'd give it to me to spray. Millions of sparks fly around up there.

People yell. Something caves in. I'm glad I'm not in there.
The firemen up there are brave, staying even with the smoke and sparks. I'm gonna get closer to see what they're doing.

Sparks everywhere. It's like Tet in the Philippines. If I stretch my neck back and squint my eyes the flames and sparks look crazy. They go in every direction.

The police won't let me get any closer. Everybody inside the police line is rushing around and yelling at each other. I think the people who lived in the apartments are the quiet ones, just staring. A family like us is there, four kids and a mom and dad, huddled up with their arms around each other. They don't have a grandma. It would be hard for her to get out fast. Fires are noisy. Firemen and policemen are yelling into their radios.

More trucks and cars with sirens and an ambulance scream up to the police tape. A bunch of kids give big cheers when there's a crash like the floor breaking through or glass breaking. I'll go around to the other side to get away from them.

Something's burning down the alley. Sparks must have landed there. Somebody's garage?

It's the shed! What about Cat? What about the kittens? Get out of my way, all of you, I've got to get there. I've got to help Cat.

“Cat, Cat, are you out? Come, Cat-Cat. Can you hear me?” She's still in there with the kittens. If I hurry I can get them out the window. I can't let them burn up. My board comes off easy.

There's already fire in here. It's so smoky. I pull my shirt over my mouth and nose. My dad would say, “Stupid Du, don't go in there.” It's hot but there's not as much smoke if I crawl on the floor. My dad would be so mad if he knew I was doing this. My grandma would be worried for Cat too. She would help me. I'll shove the trash can upside down over the burning stuff. Maybe the fire won't spread.

Shoot! I can't see. My eyes hurt. The roof won't fall in, will it? I hope the roof won't fall in. Where is Cat? “Cat, Cat, are you here?” I gotta hurry. The floor is hot. I'm never gonna tell my dad I did this.

Somebody's outside yelling. That old man. It's his shed. He's yelling and rattling on the door. I know he can't open that lock in the dark. I wish he could. I could get out of here. He's not yelling at me. He's yelling, “Kitty, kitty, kitty.” I wish he could open the door. I'll be stuck if anything falls. Where's Cat? The old man gave up. He's gone away. Kitten! Here, little kitten. I've got you.

“You get out of there, kid. Get out of there right now. Do you hear me?” The old man's back, yelling. He's yelling at me to get out but now I can reach the kittens. Cat's not here. There are only four kittens. “Cat, where are you?” Shoot! The trash can's burning. It smells awful. What if I can't get back to the window? The floor's too hot. Sticky, smelly plastic from the trash can on the floor. Can I get
back? I'll just wrap the kittens in my shirt. “It's okay, kittens. Let me get ahold of you.”

I'm scared. I don't know if I can get back to the window. It was stupid to come in here. It's too hot and I can't breathe.

Oof! Water! Water's spraying across the floor. Water, water, keep coming, keep coming. Let me just get to the window. I can see now from those flames near the roof hole. What if the roof falls? I don't care how hot the floor is. I'm getting out of here. Water, keep coming.

I stick my head out the window. Real air. It's so cold and good. I push my shirt-bag of kittens through. I'm going to get out. I don't want to land on the kittens. Let go with my feet. Fall to the ground. Ow! I'm down. I lost my shoe in there. I'm not dead. My dad's going to be mad about my shoe. Where's Cat?

I breathe deep, deep breaths of air. I'm glad I'm cold with no shirt. I'm wet all over, clothes and skin and hair and feet, one with a shoe and one without. The shirtful of kittens is dripping too. There's the old man. He's on his hands and knees in front of the shed door. His hose is stuck under the door. He's still spraying water in there and yelling.

“I'm out,” I yell back. “I'm out.” We stare at each other in the wild light from the flames. He struggles up from the ground.

“It's gonna fall,” he shouts, waving his arms for me to get back. We both back away. A terrible loud crash and sparks shoot in all directions. The shed roof caves in. I'm shaking. What if I was still in there? I hug my wet shirtful of kittens.

The old man's face looks scary, lit by the sparks and
flames. He stares at his shed. “Is the cat in there?” He nods at my shirt.

“Kittens,” I answer. We both look back at the flaming shed. Only four kittens. Cat must have rescued one. A fire truck with a siren and flashing lights comes roaring down the alley.

I push the wet shirtful of kittens into the old man's hands. I run and vault the fence at the back of my yard. “Stop! Come back!” yells the old man.

Bright flames light the alley. Just what I thought. Cat is lying by the break in the back of the shed. I pick her up. She doesn't move. There is no kitten. The wooden gate in the old man's back wall opens. I make it through with heavy Cat just before the fire engine roars to a stop. I push her into the old man's arms. I run back through the gate.

“Get outa here, kid!” the fireman roars at me above the sound of the truck engine and the rushing water and crackling flames. He's high on his truck. He can't get me. Fire truck lights blind me as I splash through the alley in front of the truck. Cat took her kitten across the alley behind the garbage-can fence. I'm sure of it. “Get outa here!” the fireman yells again.

I jump out of sight behind the cans. My hands feel around in the wet muck of the alley. Something is squishy. I grab it. I run behind the truck. I scramble over my back fence and the side fence back to the old man. He has limp Cat in one arm and the shirtful of kittens in the other. He pushes me hard toward his door with the bag of kittens. “Go, go,” he shouts. Water from the hoses pours into the shed.
More sparks shoot up as the walls cave in. I walk backward, staring, as the firemen pour on more water. I was in there. The old man dumps Cat back in my arms. I hug her but she doesn't move. I hand him the soggy body of the kitten. “Come inside,” he says.

I follow him into his house. It's warm there but I can't stop shaking. Water drips on his kitchen floor. He disappears down the hall. I lean down to Cat. I breathe on her nose. I whisper, “Cat, Cat, your kittens need you.” The old man comes back with a load of stuff. Cat's slits of eyes open. “She's alive,” I whisper.

He nods. “Sure she is,” he says. He throws me a towel. He kneels on the floor to make a bed with a box and more towels. He empties the kittens out of my shirt into it. They mew and cry. All but the last one I found. It's wet and skinny and still. Cat twists out of my arms. I put her with them. She falls over but she licks them. She licks the still one roughly. It doesn't move. I kneel with the old man. We rub Cat and the kittens dry with the towels. He tosses me an old T-shirt. “Don't have any shoes,” he says. I shrug.

The old man clears his throat. “You're very brave,” he says in a louder voice, “very smart to get the cat from the alley. To find the kitten.” I look at him. He's got the same mean look he has when he looks through our window. “You're also pretty darn foolish,” he adds. He's not being mean. He's saying
brave
and
smart
about me.
Foolish
too but that doesn't matter. I shake again thinking of the smoke and the burning floor and the falling roof.