Blubber

  “Or they could call the Carol Agency,” Kenny told me.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the biggest baby-sitting organization in the world. It’s in Los Angeles. They have eight hundred registered baby-sitters working for them.”

  “Why would Mom call a California agency when we live in Pennsylvania?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Kenny Brenner … your facts are driving me up the wall!” I went to my room. If Grandma comes I’m moving to Tracy’s for three weeks. Grandma makes me so nervous I get diarrhea just from being around her. One time, when my mother couldn’t find anyone else to watch us, Grandma moved in for a week. And she wouldn’t let me or Kenny do any of the things we always do, like ride bicycles or roller skate, because she thought we’d get hurt. Another thing that got me really sore was the way Grandma made me wear a hat and mittens when it was positively roasting out.

  I sat down at my desk and opened the letter from the stamp company. It said:

  Dear Friend,

  What’s wrong? We have noticed that your last few purchases from our approvals have averaged less than 35 cents a selection. We certainly do not want to waste your time by submitting selections of stamps that have such little interest to you.

  So let’s hear from you. Tell us what type of selections would interest you. Please use the reverse side of this note for your suggestions.

  Sincerely,

  The Superior Stamp Co.

  I turned the letter over and wrote my reply.

  Dear Superior Stamp Company,

  If you got 50 cents allowance a week you’d have trouble ordering a lot of stamps too. Besides, you are not the only stamp company I deal with. You are not even my favorite. Half the stamps you send don’t go in my Master Global Album. So you are lucky to get any business from me.

  Unsincerely,

  Jill Brenner

  The second my mother and father got home I asked, “Is Grandma coming when Mrs. Sandmeier goes to Switzerland?”

  Mom wriggled out of her coat.

  “And how come you didn’t tell us Mrs. Sandmeier’s taking a vacation?” I followed Mom into her bedroom.

  “Because she wanted to tell you herself,” my mother said. “Nothing was definite until yesterday. Please, Jill … I’d like to take my shower and then we’ll talk about it … okay?”

  I nodded and waited on Mom’s bed. When the water stopped running I stood outside the bathroom and asked, “Is Grandma coming … yes or no?”

  My mother opened the bathroom door. She had a towel wrapped around her middle and was brushing her hair. “No … I don’t think she’s up to spending three weeks with us.”

  I looked away and smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Then who is?” I asked.

  “Who is what?”

  “Who’s going to take care of us?”

  “Great Maudie.”

  “Great Maudie!” I couldn’t believe it. Great Maudie is Grandma’s sister but they are complete opposites. They haven’t talked to each other in ten years, ever since Great Maudie moved in with her friend, Alfred. “She’s really coming?”

  “Uh huh. I spoke to her this morning.”

  “Is Alfred coming too?” He is a very good magician. He has this one trick where he cuts a grapefruit open and there’s a dollar bill inside it.

  “Alfred can’t get away from work so Great Maudie will come without him.”

  “What will Grandma think?”

  “Well …” Mom said, “I don’t see why she has to find out. She’s in Pittsburg and Great Maudie is in New York. Hand me my robe, please …”

  I went to Mom’s closet and pulled down her favorite robe. It’s pink and there’s a hole in one sleeve. I gave it to her, then went into the living room.

  Kenny and my father were playing chess. “Did you hear who’s coming?” I asked. “Great Maudie.”

  Kenny nodded and moved his bishop.

  I stood over my father’s chair. “I thought she’s supposed to be crazy,” I said, while I scratched his back. My father just loves to have his back scratched.

  “Not crazy …” he said, “just different … mmm … that feels good.”

  “Because my nails are growing!” I showed him. “See … they’re almost past the tips of my fingers.”

  Tracy called later. “No news is good news,” she said. “Mr. Machinist didn’t show up.”

  “And if he hasn’t found out who we are by now we’re safe,” I told her.

  “I think you might be right,” Tracy said.

  And then both of us added, “I hope,” at the same time.

  11

  “I just can’t believe my class

  would do such a thing.”

  School isn’t as boring as it used to be. Wendy and Caroline made copies of their How To Have Fun With Blubber list and on Monday morning they passed them out.

  We made Linda say, I am Blubber, the smelly whale of class 206. We made her say it before she could use the toilet in the Girls’ Room, before she could get a drink at the fountain, before she ate her lunch and before she got on the bus to go home. It was easy to get her to do it. I think she would have done anything we said. There are some people who just make you want to see how far you can go.

  Two days later she was saying I am Blubber, the smelly whale of class 206 without anyone forcing her to. She said it before she got a drink at the fountain, before she went to the toilet, before she got on and off the bus, and during lunch, she said it before she started eating.

  “Very good,” Wendy told her. “For that you get a reward. You get to kiss Bruce Bonaventura.”

  Bruce wasn’t all that willing to get kissed, which is why Robby and Irwin had to chase him around the room and then hold him down while Wendy and Caroline dragged Linda over to him.

  Bruce said, “If she touches my lips I’ll spit at her … so help me, I will!”

  So we had to settle for Linda kissing Bruce on the cheek. If you ask me she enjoyed it.

  On Thursday we made Linda show the boys her underpants. She wasn’t anxious to do that so Caroline had to hold her hands behind her back while Wendy lifted her skirt.

  Irwin found some names for Linda in the Random House Dictionary, which Mrs. Minish keeps in the corner on its own table. He’s really good at looking things up. He can tell you exactly on what page certain words are found. We called Linda “flubsy,” “carnivore” and “bestial.” I didn’t recognize any of them, but they all sounded good.

  On Friday, Wendy brought a small piece of chocolate to school, wrapped in gold foil. It came from a box of Barricini’s somebody had brought her mother. Wendy showed it to Linda after lunch. “My father had to go all the way to New York for this chocolate-covered ant.”

  All of us gathered around Linda’s desk. Wendy unwrapped the chocolate. She held it close to Linda’s face. “You’re going to eat this ant, Blubber.”

  “No I’m not … and you can’t make me,” Linda said.

  “Want to bet?” Wendy asked.

  “I could get sick and die and then you’d be in big trouble.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Wendy told her.

  Linda mashed her lips together and moved her head from side to side, all the time making noises that sounded like she was smothering to death.

  Wendy handed me the candy. Then she said, “Grab her hands, Caroline.”

  It’s good that Caroline’s so strong because Linda was really wiggling around. Once Caroline had Linda’s hands behind her back Wendy pinched Linda’s nose which made her open her mouth. As soon as she did I shoved in the chocolate.

  “Now chew and swallow!” Wendy told her, putting one hand over Linda’s mouth so she couldn’t spit anything out.

  Linda kept her eyes shut and we could see her chewing, then swallowing the candy. Wendy let go of her then and sang, “Blubber ate an ant … Blubber ate an ant …”

  We all joined in, making a circle around Linda. Even Rochelle, who usually doesn’t pay any
attention to the rest of us, was enjoying the show.

  But after a minute Linda turned this awful greenish color, gave a big burp, then puked all over her desk and the floor. Wendy ran down the hall for Mrs. Horvath.

  When Mrs. Horvath saw the mess she told the boys to get the custodian.

  By then Linda was crying. “They made me eat an ant.”

  “Try to stay calm,” Mrs. Horvath told her. “I’ll take you down to the nurse’s office.”

  If you throw up in school you automatically get sent home for the rest of the day. So Linda didn’t come back to class that afternoon. Instead, Mr. Nichols came to see us.

  “We seem to have a little problem, Mrs. Minish,” he said, pretending he was talking just to her but looking at all of us. “Linda Fischer said your class made her eat a chocolate-covered ant. In fact she claims they forced it down her throat, causing her to vomit.”

  “Well … this comes as a surprise to me, Mr. Nichols,” Mrs. Minish said. “I just can’t believe my class would do such a thing.”

  “Neither can I,” Mr. Nichols said. “Nevertheless …”

  I wondered if something like this could go down on your permanent record card and keep you out of college.

  “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, Mr. Nichols,” Mrs. Minish said. “Can anyone tell us what happened?”

  Wendy raised her hand.

  “Yes, Wendy?”

  “I think I can explain,” Wendy said. “You see, Linda’s been on this diet and all she eats is cheese and celery … so naturally I knew better than to offer her a piece of my candy.” Wendy looked at Mrs. Minish.

  “Go on,” Mrs. Minish said.

  “Well … Linda just went crazy. I mean, she wanted my candy in the worst way … so I told her it was a chocolate-covered ant … I thought she wouldn’t want to eat it when she heard that.” Wendy paused and looked around.

  “Yes …” Mr. Nichols said.

  “But Linda didn’t believe me … so I told her how my father goes all the way to New York to get these special chocolate-covered ants that my family loves and that they’re very fattening. But she still didn’t believe me so finally I gave her a piece of my candy and after she ate it I asked her how the ant tasted and that’s when she got sick all over the place.”

  “So it wasn’t an ant?” Mr. Nichols asked.

  “No, it was regular chocolate candy from Barricini’s.”

  “I see.”

  “Linda has a lot of imagination,” Wendy said.

  Only Wendy could sit there telling lies to Mr. Nichols as if he were a regular person instead of the principal of our school.

  “I knew there had to be an explanation,” Mrs. Minish said.

  “Yes … well …” Mr. Nichols began. “Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.”

  “Anytime,” Mrs. Minish told him, as he walked out of the room.

  It was drizzling when me and Tracy stopped for our mail that afternoon. There was nothing for either one of us so we ran home.

  “We’ve got to take the dogs to the vet today,” Tracy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Not tomorrow,” I told her. “We’re going to a bar mitzvah.”

  “Oh … I forgot about that.”

  “See you Sunday.”

  “Right.”

  When my parents got home my father said he’d had a really rough day and would I mind scratching his back for a little while. I told him I’d love to and that my nails would soon be long enough to file. When Mom had finished showering she came into the living room carrying two Bloody Mary’s. She handed one to my father, then flopped onto the sofa. “Jill, would you bring me the mail?”

  “Sure.” I went to the hall table and got it.

  Mom sifted through all the letters and sighed. “Bills and more bills.” Then she picked up a yellow envelope. “I wonder what this is,” she asked, ripping off the tape. When she saw what was inside she said, “Oh God …” Then she cursed a couple of times. My mother’s not shy about cursing. She doesn’t even care if me and Kenny use those words around the house as long as we understand there are some people who don’t approve of them. I think that’s the reason most of the kids I know love to curse. It’s because their parents make a big deal out of those words. With me it’s different. I don’t have to yell and scream them on the school bus every day since I can say them any old time I feel like it.

  “Gordon … look at this …” Mom passed him a letter. I read it over Dad’s shoulder, while I was scratching. It said:

  On Halloween night two youngsters

  put raw, rotten eggs in my mailbox.

  Interfering with mail and its

  delivery is a federal offense. One

  of these youngsters has been

  identified as your child. I

  suggest that you contact me

  immediately.

  William F. Machinist

  I stopped scratching my father. Mom held up a picture. It showed two kids from the back. They were running. One of them had feathers hanging out of her jacket. The other one had a hand on her head to keep her hat from flying off. It was definitely me and Tracy.

  12

  “You really got yourself

  in big trouble.”

  “We only did it because he’s so mean … he hates kids … he won’t even give to Unicef …” I told everyone. It was after dinner and Tracy, her mother and father were sitting with me, Mom and Dad in our living room. Mr. Machinist also sent the picture and note to their house.

  Tracy was crying.

  “You know you did wrong, don’t you, girls?” my father asked.

  Tracy nodded.

  I said, “In one way I know we did wrong, but in another way, he really deserved it.”

  “We’ve always tried to teach Tracy right from wrong,” Mrs. Wu said. “We’ve always trusted her.”

  That made Tracy cry even harder. “I don’t want to go to jail.”

  I brought her a box of tissues. “You won’t let us go to jail, will you, Dad?” I asked.

  “Nobody’s going to jail,” he said. “But you will have to face the consequences.”

  Mom and Dr. and Mrs. Wu nodded in agreement.

  “We’d better call Mr. Machinist,” Dr. Wu said, “and see what he has in mind.”

  My father went to the phone. I couldn’t figure out anything from his end of the conversation. Mr. Machinist must have been doing most of the talking.

  “What did he say?” my mother asked when Dad hung up.

  “He said he’ll talk to the police unless the girls admit what they did and show him that they’re sorry.”

  “Show him that we’re sorry … how?” I asked.

  “He’s already cleaned out his mailbox,” my father said, “… it’s too late for that. But he’s got a yard full of leaves that have to be raked up and bagged.”

  With all the trees in Hidden Valley Mr. Machinist must have millions of leaves, I thought—maybe even billions.

  “When?” my mother asked.

  “He wanted them to come tomorrow but I explained that we’re busy so we settled on Sunday,” Dad said.

  “Sunday!” I shouted. “That’s my only free day this week. Do you think that’s fair?”

  “I think so,” Mom said. “After all, he could have called the police first.”

  “I think it’s fair too,” Mrs. Wu said.

  “And …” my father added, “maybe this way you’ll both learn that it’s not up to you to decide who deserves what in this world.”

  After Tracy and her parents were gone, I went upstairs to get ready for bed. Kenny was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. When he finished spitting he said, “I heard the whole thing. You really got yourself in big trouble.”

  “Mind your own business,” I told him. “And wipe that blob of toothpaste off the counter.”

  Kenny ran his towel along the countertop. “I hope you like raking up leaves. If you’d stayed home like me you wouldn’t be in this mess.
”

  “Oh … shut up, you dumb ass, before I bash your face in!”

  I heard him laughing all the way to his room.

  When I got into bed I thought about who had identified us. It must have been Blubber! She threatened to get me and she did.

  13

  “You can’t go around

  scratching all day.”

  We were late starting out for the bar mitzvah because of Kenny. He didn’t want to wear a tie and jacket. “If I can’t go in play clothes then I’ll just stay home!” he said.

  My father doesn’t yell often, but when he does you can hear him as far as Tracy’s house, maybe even farther. Afterwards he is hoarse for days and has to drink tea with honey. Kenny got the message and put on his new tie and jacket, complaining the whole time that he couldn’t swallow and might even choke to death.

  I was ready long before anyone else and while they were rushing around I was in the kitchen, making myself a peanut butter sandwich, just in case I didn’t like the bar mitzvah lunch. I wrapped it in silver foil and put it in my shoulder bag.

  By the time we got to the temple in New Jersey it was after eleven. There was no place to park so Dad dropped us off in front while he drove around the block.

  The temple sat on top of a hill and as we climbed the steps leading to it Mom said, “Listen, Jill … you can’t go around scratching all day. It doesn’t look nice.”

  “I can’t help it,” I said. “You’re the one who picked out this itchy dress.”

  “It’s too late to do anything about that now. Try and keep your mind on something else.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, but as soon as Mom looked away I gave myself a quick scratch.

  “We just climbed up thirty-seven steps” Kenny announced, when we reached the top.

  Only Kenny would think of counting!

  “Whew …” Mom said. “No wonder I’m winded.” She pushed the door open and we walked inside.

  I looked all around. “Wow … this is some big place.”

  “It certainly is,” Mom said. “It’s enormous.”

  “Yeah … but it’s not the biggest synagogue in the world,” Kenny told us. “The biggest synagogue in the world is in New York. It’s on Fifth Avenue and it’s called Temple Emanu-El. It holds six thousand people.”