The Tunnel of Hugsy Goode (11 page)

But the sun, just like it was saying on television, was out good and strong and ought to dry things out. We rolled up our pants like John Ives and the mayor and felt around in the hidey hole with our bare legs. Ooze, nothing but ooze, and the squash vines covered with mud. But in their waterproof sack our supplies were safe and dry. We'd put the big tools like shovels and picks back in our cellars. Now, in the sack, were our small and important things—flashlights, shillelaghs, rope, string, food (a couple of apples, some raisins, some chocolate ... you can stay alive a long time on these), my water canteen Billy Maloon gave me when he went off to college—that's about it besides a few things we had in our pockets.

I heard the sound of gurgling water down below. Water from the big rain must have gotten down there. Might be a river or a canal down there now. And those were things I hadn't drawn in any of my plans.

"Listen, Tornid," I said. "You hear that? You hear that gurgling sound down below? Means there's a river, an underground lost river, lost in our tunnel that is under the Alley, the tunnel of Hugsy Goode. You can hear it, wandering from one office to another, not knowing where to end up at. The lost river of the alley under the Alley."

"Yikes!" said Tornid.

"Yes," I said. "Like all rivers, it has to rise somewhere, and this one has risen in your backyard, in the rain pond there. And it has to flow somewhere, and it has decided to flow through the tunnel under the Alley. And where does it flow to? Where is its emptying-out place? If you have picked up any geography ... I have in spite of the crummy social studies book, Grade Six ... you know that a river has to begin and has to end—empty into something bigger than it, its mouth—maybe a sea or an ocean. Where is this Alley tunnel river's mouth?"

"I dun-
no
-o," said Tornid.

"I'll tell you," I said. "Doesn't have one. Has a beginning, here in the hidey hole, spilling over from that rain pond of yours—we'll name it Lake Fabian. But it has no ending, mouth, or there would be a big lake or something in the neighborhood. That's what makes this river gurgling down there a 'lost' river, just like all the other lost rivers in the world. They don't get to go anywhere, just get themselves lost, winding around underground, this one winding from one tunnel place to another—consult the map. You should be glad this lost river decided to begin in the section of the map marked T.N.F."

Tornid said, "We should have a boat for when we get down there. Wonder what that student did with that rescue boat last night?"

"I'll find out," I said. "I'll ask John Ives. And you're right. We don't know how deep the water is. It may be more like canals down there. Then we'd need gondolas—it may be like an underground Venice."

"It's spooky," said Tornid. "I wish it wasn't there. Before, there was just plain tunnel. Now there's a river lost, or canals..."

"Just makes the excavations even more exciting," I said. "We may have to redraw our plans after we've been down."

"I just wish water hadn't come into it," said Tornid. "I liked the old plans better. Once I went in a boat in the Funny House somewhere and it was dark. And we went into a tunnel. And we came upon skeletons, and I thought they were real. And sometimes the top of the tunnel was so low you had to scrouch down. And I was scared. And sometimes you'd go around another bend and a monster or a big snake would raise its neck and scream and hiss at you. And I was scay-ared."

"You won't be scared in our own tunnel, or of our river, Torny, old boy," I said. "Only just a little bit."

"I dunno," said Tornid. "Get me out of here was what I thought in that other tunnel I was in that had water in it, the only other tunnel I ever been in. So far. And I hope I won't be that scared in ours."

"It's more fun if you don't feel too safe," I said. "They, smoogmen, may be down there, or ... may not be."

"
¿Quién sabe?
" said Tornid.

The sun was getting around to our side where it might help dry out the hidey hole. So we went up in the tree house to wait for the water to seep away. I had some wads of string in my pocket. "Here," I said. "Wind. We'll need string and thread so we can find our way back to
TRATS
if we go by foot and not by raft or boat. We'll need lots of string. You might go over to Mrs. Harrington's. She likes you ... never mind if she kisses you—forget it ... and she has lots of string. She may give you a bunch of it she's picked up and saved through the years. It's why she's so rich, saves this string, and she'd probably like to have it untangled and wound up, and maybe she'd go fifty-fifty with you. She is a hundred and one."

But Tornid didn't want to go.

"You'll never get ahead," I said. But anyway, just then, there was a commotion outside the Alley gate. The moms were about to set off in our little blue bus. "We're going to Job Lots," my mom shouted.

"Don't go away," said Tornid's mom. And she and all the
grils
piled in along with my mom.

Well, that was fair. It was the
grils'
turn. It's not me and Tornid's turn. We stayed in the tree house, waiting for them to go. Then there they went, jabber-jabber, in my mom's little blue bus that we went all the way to Mexico in, lived there for one year, learned
¿Habla usted?
and much more, and came back in. There were five of us kids that went. We came back with one more, Branch, making six, so's we outnumber the Fabians—they only have five.

We didn't wave to them—the Job Lots expeditioners. We turned our backs, looked sullen, spat—I did anyway—as they drove off so they'd see we felt left out and be sorry. But the minute they were out of sight on Larrabee, we slid down the slide, got rid of a bunch of little guys oozing in Lake Fabian (they were from up the Alley)—told them to go dig in the Nagels' yard ... there was gold there—and we flopped down on a sort of dried-out space beside the hidey hole. We listened and we heard it again, the sound of gurgling water, our lost river again, as lost as ever.

But we didn't care. "True explorers take what comes," I said.

"Come what, come may," Tornid said.

So we rolled up our pants and stepped into the hidey hole. Squ-ish! You'd of thought we were on a clamming beach off the state of Connecticut. Our hole was bigger than ever now, thanks to the rain. Rain and raccoon, our two allies so far in the Alley.

I have a large foot. My family all have big feet. My mom says it's the wheat germ she sprinkles on cereal and just about everything else she gets a chance to. Not bad. So I stuck one of my big feet into the hole we'd made and, just like the day before the rain, all I felt was nothing.

"Time to get busy," I said. "Before they get back from Job Lots." We got all our things—shillelaghs, flashlights, rope, string, food—out of the sack and prepared for the descent into the tunnel.

This might be
the
day.

We tied one end of my strong rope around Hugsy Goode's peach tree—that he planted from a peach pit—and made sure it was firm. We hopped in the hidey hole and shoved the other end of the rope, knotted to make it heavy, down into the hole. No splash. I pulled it back up. It wasn't wet. Maybe the tunnel river had already gotten itself altogether lost.
¿Quién sabe?
I would soon.

We put our sneakers in the waterproof sack to leave them behind and be dry as possible when we returned—if we did. Tornid has a small regular sort of flashlight. But mine is a big red one my mom bought me once at Job Lots during a friendly period. I clamped it on my belt around my waist so my hands and arms would not have too much to carry. I slung my canteen over my shoulder. I have learned to drink out of the canteen with it slung over my left shoulder, the way I've seen them do in some villages in Mexico, also in movies, and to spit the water out and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

"
Agua,
" I said. "Means water. Remember that, in case it comes up on an'S.A.T. some day."

"There's so much to learn," said Tornid.

"You'll get the hang of it all," I said. "Steve did."

I was going down first. I tied the knotted end of the rope around my waist below the flashlight and let out a couple of feet of rope. I held onto the rope with both hands. "Tornid," I said. "When I jerk the rope, let out some more. And hand me down my shovel, shillelagh, or anything else I ask for. Don't drop anything on my head..."

"Yeah. No," said Tornid.

"Here I go, then. If I never come back, dial 911 ... that's the police. Or call my dad."

"Good-by," said Tornid.

And down I went into the unknown from location
TRATS.

As I lowered myself down the rope, I took in a deep breath of upper Brooklyn smog air, not knowing what to expect below, river ... what.... Tornid and me often practice holding our breaths. I can hold mine for one minute without busting open my lungs. It pays to practice all things. Holding breath to get past
grils,
practicing being blind in the Alley, counting the number of steps from the drain to where the Circle used to be, and to other points—all would come in handy in the darkness beneath me. We were experts in groping and holding breaths.

I clung to the edge of the hole. Stomach to wall, I eased myself down. I let myself down some more. All Tornid could see of me now were my arms, neck, and head.

Tornid laughed. "You look like a puppet," he said.

I blew my breath out and up at him. "Cut that out, cluck," I said. "Want to make me laugh and da-rown laughing?"

"No," he said.

I stayed where I was a minute and felt around with my feet. I swung my left foot around first. I felt nothing behind me. But far to the left, I felt solid wall. I thought it must be the wall separating the tunnel from the cellar. I swung my right foot around. Behind me, it also felt nothing; but to my right my toes felt more of the wall I was leaning against. Must be a wall of the tunnel, I thought.

I signaled to Tornid to let out some more rope. He did. I lowered myself some more. I am a human fly, I thought.

I looked back up. There was Tornid. His face looked large from this eerie angle, halfway down into a—I hope
—the
tunnel. "Can you see me?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "You sound funny."

"It's still me," I said.

From now on my life depended on Tornid. I knew he would not let me down. Or, rather, he
would
let me down. That's what he was supposed to do. A pun. Get it?

I tugged three tugs. He let down some more rope. I kept going down. I had a feeling I was near the bottom and would soon touch. It's my ESP. "Pass me down my shillelagh," I said. I needed it to measure the river with, if there was one. Holding onto the rope with my right hand, pressing my stomach against the crumbly wall to balance myself, I grabbed my shillelagh and it was like a sword.

Tornid looked in. "Hurry up," he said. "Is there a tunnel or isn't there a tunnel? I want to come down, too."

"I am hurrying, cluck," I said. "Do you think it's easy finding tunnels, lost river, or whatever it is I'm finding? Crud."

"Are
they
there?" he asked.

"Who?" I asked, turning my head around suddenly to take
them
—"who"—by surprise.

"I don't know," said Tornid. "Smoogmen..."

"Shut up, ya dumb cluck!" I said. "You want them to hear us?"

The sound of Tornid's voice gave me courage. I knew he would get help come what, come may. So, waving my shillelagh, saying "
Hasta la vista,
" I let go of the rope and dropped. I just decided to drop, that's all.

I landed on solid pavement, not in a river, not even a stream. I took in my first gulp of tunnel air. It tasted like a long-locked-up cellar. I turned my flashlight around so it would shine into wherever I was. I waved my shillelagh to scatter and terrify all beings, visible and nonvisible ... smoogmen or whatever.... I said, "
¿Como está usted y ustedes?
" because a great deal of Spanish is spoken around here, and if the smoogmen were Spanish, they would know I was a friend.

My eyes grew accustomed to where I was. By cracky! I was at the beginning of some sort of narrow passageway. It was tall enough to stand up in, not one of the crawl-through sort such as some I had put in the plans.

"Come on down," I yelled up at Tornid. I needed my pal. I thought I saw eyes up ahead and needed Tornid's good eyes to say yes he saw them or no he didn't. Could be an hallucination ... a tunnel mirage. "Shinny down the rope," I said. "I've untied it from me."

Tornid's skinny bare legs came into sight, then the rest of him. I reached up to help him down, and he was the second boy to set foot in what we suppose is alley tunnel and to leave footprints here, muddy ones from the hidey hole of Hugsy Goode.

"Is
this
the tunnel?" Tornid asked. "It doesn't look like the tunnel in the Funny House where I went that time."

"That's because it's an alley tunnel, cluck!" I said.

"What am I stepping on?" asked Tornid. "It's hard and cold. But it doesn't wiggle."