“You tell me once you like that song,” Jiro said.
Of course, I was too old for “Puff” now, besides which it was just about the most depressing song ever written. But . . . manners, manners, manners! I forced a grateful smile and thanked him and placed the baseball cap on my head.
Jiro looked at me expectantly, and when I didn’t say more, he nodded. He reminded me of one of those nearsighted Japanese men with cameras who moved in clusters throughout Chicago tourist attractions. But he was different from those men. They belonged somewhere. He didn’t seem to belong anywhere on this planet. Somehow he managed to have a Southern accent and a Japanese accent at the same time. He’d lived in Benton Springs, Arkansas, for the past decade, selling gum to local stores. He called his product Gum-Bo.
He seemed sober for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Ah, you told me you sing ‘Puff the Dragon’ in fourth grade.” He cleared his throat. “In traditional Japan divorce, someone get custody, you don’t see kids anymore again. Different in America.”
“You and Mom never married, so you never got divorced,” I said sulkily.
“Yes. Yes. We have it annulled.”
“You mean you got married?”
“Yes, in Las Vegas, for two days. Then she stop drinking and want annulment.”
They were married? It reminded me of the time I caught a fish, and it went over the boat and got off the hook and fell back in the water, all in about thirty seconds. But mostly what I had on my mind was my new predicament. I decided to try pleading honestly. “The thing is,” I said, “since the doctors say she’s going to get better, why can’t we all just stay in Chicago?” I pressed my lips together to keep from crying. I didn’t want to cry in front of Maddie. It would only upset her more.
He nodded his head several times in a row. “I suppose against law,” he said. “No adult in your apartment. And, ahhh, I suppose plastic surgery cost many money. I suppose your mother may run out of money.” He looked around and turned to Maddie and said, “Not sure what Bronson-san look like. He supposed to be here.”
“You don’t have to call him san,” I said.
“Ah, Mr. Bronson.”
“You don’t have to call him ‘mister.’”
“He’s not here!” Maddie exclaimed. “I can go home with you! Hooray!” She grabbed my hand again and held tight.
I looked around and didn’t see Mr. Bronson. I said hopefully to my father, “Can she come with us?”
He gazed at the nearly deserted airport and frowned. “Can’t leave her here.”
Maddie looked so hopeful, it just about slayed me. I said, “Maybe we should just go home. Maddie can stay with us.”
Then Jiro pointed over my head. “Ah, that must be him.” I turned and saw Mr. Bronson.
Maddie pinched my arm hard. “Please let me come with you!” she whispered. She grasped Jiro’s hand. “Please?”
Mr. Bronson marched toward us and said, “Hello, Madeline. It’s good to see you.” His chin had a huge scab on it, who knew why. He leaned over for a fast hug, after which he stuck out his hand to Jiro. He gave Jiro’s hand one hard shake, then stuck his hand out to me.
“Hello, sir,” I said.
“Good manners,” he said approvingly.
He looked at Maddie. “Ready?” he said.
“We have to get our luggage,” Maddie said. She grabbed my hand and squeezed.
“How do you ask?” Mr. Bronson said.
“Please,” Maddie said. She turned to me desperately. “Can you come spend the night with me?”
“She doesn’t live close enough,” Mr. Bronson said briskly. “I’d have to drive all the way back up to northern Arkansas.” He beckoned to Maddie. “Come!” He said it as if she were a dog or a servant.
The three of us followed, Maddie and I locking eyes for a moment.
Our bags were the last two on the conveyor belt. Maddie grabbed the bag I’d packed for her. After bidding us a polite good-bye, Mr. Bronson snapped, “Madeline, come!” He started to stride off when he suddenly turned.
He shook his head sadly at me. “Walk with better posture.” To Jiro, he said, “You understand what we’re doing with these girls, right? It’s our job to get them in shape for the future. If you have any questions, you can give me a call.” He paused before continuing. “Helen never understood that we have to train them for the future. It won’t be all fun and games. They’re going to get hurt, like anyone does. We need to prepare them for that.”
Jiro just nodded, and this time Mr. Bronson grasped Maddie by her shoulder and walked away, not turning back. Even Maddie didn’t turn back at first, which surprised me. Then right before they slipped through the main exit, she gave me a quick glance. I waved, but she’d already looked away.
Jiro mumbled, “All your mother think about is training you, but why argue?”
“Are you going to call him like he said you could?”
He smiled slyly, as if we were in cahoots. “No call for help,” he said.
During the drive to Jiro’s, we hardly said a word to each other. But the weird thing was that instead of feeling weird that we weren’t talking, I actually felt comfortable. Toward nightfall I saw the Ozarks spread out before us, clouds hovering below and offering only occasional glimpses of the valleys. A flock of crows flew around the car, surprisingly close. I turned to look at my father, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He finally spoke. “Flight good?” he said.
I’d been nervous on the propeller plane, but I didn’t feel like talking about it. So I just said, “It was kind of ho-hum.”
He nodded and didn’t talk again for an hour. It was strange that it felt normal to be driving and not talking, even though I was used to constant chatter with my sisters. I could see my life was going to be very different for a while. I already missed my sisters, and I knew this was just the beginning.
I pretended to fall asleep after that so I wouldn’t have to talk to my father even if he wanted.
chapter nine
I OPENED MY EYES TO see Jiro leaning into the car and saying, “Shelby? Luggage inside.” I’d fallen asleep while pretending to be asleep! I got out of the car.
My father lived in a small-frame house that in the darkness seemed to be either blue or gray. Several moths flew about the porch light. The front yard didn’t look to have been mowed—ever. Fireflies flashed among the dandelions.
We went inside, and Jiro showed me the room where I would be staying. I guess years ago I’d stayed there, but I didn’t much remember it. I was surprised how homey the house was inside. I had been expecting purple plaid, something my father might wear. Instead there were beautiful plants everywhere. He showed me the towels he put on the chair for me, and a bottle of shampoo he’d gotten me—apple scented. Then he left the room, closing the door gently. All I could think about was how my sisters weren’t there. It felt like I was hallucinating. My sisters were always there. I felt lonelier than I’d ever felt in my whole life. My room was small and full of unfamiliar furniture, unfamiliar shadows, and unfamiliar scents. There were two lamps, a bureau, a bed, a desk, and two sets of golf clubs leaning against a corner. I examined an unframed photograph stuck in the mirror of the bureau. The picture was of me as a toddler at a driving range. I could remember that, actually. Jiro used to be obsessed with golf. I also saw an origami crane, and could remember how I’d sent it to my father for Christmas when I was around Maddie’s age.
We had a quiet dinner of hamburger patties and rice, after which my father sat on the porch. I went to my room and started writing a letter to my sisters.
Dear Marilyn, Lakey, and Maddie,
I’m here. It feels so terrible that you’re not with me. Maybe we can get together for Lakey’s birthday? Or maybe we can get together for all of our birthdays, except hopefully, we won’t be separated that long. Nothing much has happened yet. Maybe nothing ever happens here. Today I saw a caterpillar as thick as my big toe. I’m lonely. I wish you were here. Write back
soon!
Love,
Shelby
I wrote slowly because I liked to use neat penmanship when I wrote. I sat on my bed and raised the shades. Outside was, well, it was nature. I didn’t see any other houses in the darkness. In Chicago, no matter what window I looked out, there would be buildings in view. There was no lock on this bedroom door, so I changed into my pajamas in the closet. I lay in bed and pictured my bedroom at home, which I could see clearly with my eyes closed. I had a really good visual memory, if I say so myself. I was picturing my real home when I fell asleep.
The next morning I woke up with my back and hair wet because of the humidity. There was a knock at my door. A moment of silence. Then the knock came again. “Who’s there?” I said. Jiro peeked into my room.
Of course. Who else would it be? I must have looked pretty hot, because he said, “This nothing. Summer bad in Arkansas. Breakfast time.”
He closed the door.
I looked out my window and was shocked to see that just twenty or so feet from the house, the land suddenly sloped down—it looked almost like a cliff. And there was a goat in the yard. He met eyes with me and continued to chew on what looked like a stuffed animal. His ears stuck up and his feet looked as if they were wearing black booties.
In the distance the sun was rising over the valley. I could just make out a river. I remembered something Jiro had said or written me about a gloomy river. I wondered whether the river in view was the one he meant, though it didn’t look gloomy. A couple of crows seemed to be watching me with interest from a tree.
I got dressed and wandered into the kitchen, where I was greeted with five boxes of cereal, a carton of milk, and half a grapefruit.
“What kind you like?” Jiro asked.
“Anything is fine, thank you,” I said, reaching for some cornflakes.
He stood watching while I ate my cereal, finally sitting down when I was almost finished. “You need school clothes?” he said.
“It’s July,” I answered.
“I mean for September.”
That was the entire summer away. I didn’t plan to stay here that long. “I won’t be here in September.”
“I think . . .” He nodded sadly.
I said stiffly, “Maybe we should wait and see?” I wished he would go to work so I could be alone to sulk.
He pushed up his glasses. “I work today. My number on refrigerator.” He got up and started to leave.
“Oh.” I stood up also. Though I’d just wished he would leave, now I was disappointed—or scared, or something—that I would be spending the day alone.
“Nearby if emergency,” he said, smiling.
“I’m fine,” I said.
He left, and I sat in his kitchen. I considered combing my hair and cleaning up a bit, but instead, I walked through his small house, stopping in his study.
Jiro’s study was cramped and full of gum paraphernalia: stationery and wrappers and actual gum. I also found the telephone, apparently the only one in the house. I couldn’t imagine how he lived in a house with just one telephone.
I hoped Jiro wouldn’t mind if I made a long-distance call. I had memorized Maddie’s new number and decided to call her. I felt tingly and excited as I dialed, but when Mr. Bronson picked up the phone, the tingles faded.
Instead of hello, Mr. Bronson said, “Harvey Bronson.”
Instead of hi, I said, “It’s Shelby, sir.” Rats. I hadn’t meant to call him “sir.” But it was a habit. We were always careful with him, because our mother had told us that he thought he knew everything and people like that hated to lose face.
“Yes, Shelby, what can I do for you?”
“May I speak to Maddie?”
“She’s busy. Does your father know you’re making a long-distance call?”
“Yes, he gave me permission before he left for work,” I lied. My heart pounded from the lie. Unlike Marilyn, who could lie shockingly easily, I got flustered when I lied, unless I was lying to make somebody feel better, which was a white lie, which didn’t count and which I told pretty regularly. It was like Mr. Bronson could see through my lie because he had special powers like Pierre. “My father says it’s fine. He gave me permission,” I said again.
I could feel Mr. Bronson’s temperature rising—I could tell that he could tell that I’d lied. “One moment. Madeline?”
It turned out that she’d been standing right there and immediately began chattering into the phone. “I knew it was you the phone didn’t ring this morning and I knew the first time it rang it would be you I’ve been up a long time we get up when it’s still dark because Mr. Bronson says it’s good for you.” She called her father “Mr. Bronson.” “When are you going to visit me are we going back to Chicago?”
“We’re not going back to Chicago yet. I just called to say hi and see how you were.” There was such a long silence that I said, “Hello?”
“We’re not going back yet?”
“No, but hopefully, we’ll all be back before the end of summer. I don’t want to go to school here.”
“I miss you!”
“I miss you too, Maddie.”
Suddenly, Mr. Bronson was on the line. “In the absence of my being able to personally verify permission from your father, I must insist that we hang up now.” The phone clicked, and he was gone.
I sat at my desk and started my second letter to my sisters. We had assumed that at times we’d have as many as a dozen letters circulating among ourselves. The problem was that though we’d all agreed to write chain letters, I also wanted to write a special letter to Maddie. So I broke our agreement almost immediately.
Dear Maddie,
I really miss you uhthegespthegecuhthegiallthegy. (Especially!) There’s a goat in the backyard and crows all over the place. And insects everywhere. It’s really like living in the wild. I mean, I never lived in the wild, but I think it would be like this. The goat is really cute. I wonder if it belongs to Jiro. I’ll ask him about it and then write you a new letter to tell you what he says. Is everything okay with you?
Love,
Shelby
Then, feeling guilty, I wrote another letter to all of my sisters. I stamped two envelopes and took my letters out for the mailman. Mostly what I did the rest of that first morning was watch TV. During a TV break, I did manage to put on a straw hat I found and stepped out to greet the goat, who was chewing on a stuffed panda bear. The bear, or maybe it was the goat, smelled of urine. When I knelt down to pet the goat, he dropped the bear, grabbed my hat, and galloped off with it. I tried to chase him, but he started to scurry down the hillside—it wasn’t a cliff after all. He trotted halfway down before plopping to the ground and contentedly chewing the hat. I hoped it wasn’t a special hat of Jiro’s.
Then music suddenly filled the air. I ran to the front yard and saw a van slowly driving down the road, ICE CREAM painted on the side. I waved the van down and bought some strawberry ice cream and returned out back to watch the goat. He’d abandoned what was left of the hat and was lying in the yard licking himself like a cat. I would have to tell Maddie more about the goat next time we talked. The goat looked directly at me from across the yard. Either I was losing my mind or he was smiling. “Hi, goat,” I said. He walked up and nudged my face. He was awfully cute. Maddie would love him, I thought. Poor Maddie. This all stunk. It stunk for my mom. It stunk for me and Lakey and Marilyn. But it really stunk for Maddie. I wondered what she was doing. I hoped Mr. Bronson’s yard was nice to sit in, if he even had a yard. Then I felt annoyed with him. Leave it to him to not even have a yard.
I wasn’t sitting in a yard exactly. There were no fences, and the grass was overgrown. The wind blew on my face. It was so peaceful, I closed my eyes. I had to admit that this was one beautiful hunk of land that Jiro owned, if he even owned it. Being here wouldn’t be half bad if my sisters were nearby.
Inside the house I found a lot of books and took one about Arkansas out back to read. It seems Arkansas became the twenty-fifth state
in 1836. Famous Arkansawans, or whatever they were called, included General MacArthur and Johnny Cash.
When Jiro returned from work, we quietly ate sandwiches together for dinner. When we finished, he said, “Cooler outside.”
So I followed him to the front porch. I guessed he wanted to talk about something. To keep out the cicadas, gnats, crickets, moths, mosquitoes, and big black floor bugs, the porch was screened in. We sat, and sat, and sat. Cicadas darted about, pinging and ponging off invisible walls. Maybe Jiro didn’t want to talk about anything after all. But were we just going to sit there? Finally, I asked, “Are we going to play cards or something?”
“Cards?” He stood up, looking perturbed. “I don’t know if I have.”
“Oh. Never mind.”
He sat again. A couple of hours passed, literally. I admit it was relaxing watching the sun set over the fields. And even the screaming crickets, which originally had seemed spooky to me, now seemed cool. But I couldn’t stand just sitting and not even talking. With us girls, there was always talking until we went to sleep, and even then Maddie talked in her sleep. Once when she was mumbling in bed, I said, “Maddie, what are you dreaming about?” She answered, “Bugs!” I said, “Oh, it’s a nightmare?” And she exclaimed, “Bugs are our friends!”
“So what happened in Pakistan?” I asked.
Jiro knew immediately what I meant. “My partner say must be citizen of Pakistan to put name on business. He say give him money, and he run my gum business and give me huge profit. So we put business in his name, and he steal my money.”
Even though my father and I weren’t close, it made me mad that somebody would take advantage of the way he trusted people. “Why did you believe him?” I asked.
“I know him six year.”
“My mother says sometimes a contract is a bad thing, but sometimes it’s a good thing.”
“Ah. Ah. Very true.”
He sat quietly again, and I thought I might have upset him. I decided not to say more, but after a while I couldn’t stand the silence again.