When Howard walked inside, he noticed that his mother had set the table with a table cloth instead of place mats and had taken the bread out of its wrapper and put it on a plate.
“Well, la-de-dah, fancy,” he said.
Mrs. Carr wished for the thirty-first time that day that she could develop a severe case of packed wax in her ears. She smiled an arc of a smile that showed no teeth and patted her son on the top of his head. She tapped Howard on his shoulder and, smiling still, moved her clenched fist under his jaw. “Mr. Berkowitz is going to fix the salad tonight, boys. It’s one of his specialties. Caesar salad.”
Howard’s eyes went toward the ceiling. “If it’s anything like that goop that Marilyn makes with raisins and carrots, tell him to forget it.”
Mrs. Carr’s hand cupped Howard’s mouth as she pressed him to her. A muzzle, a muzzle. A jaw strap. Teeth braces locked together. “Caesar salad is what we had that night Mr. Berkowitz took us to the restaurant.” Howard removed his mother’s hand from his mouth.
“And that’s the one that makes Marilyn’s the second worst in the whole world. Because that one was the first worst. The dumb waiter broke a raw egg into it. Remember? Yicch. He brought all the dumb stuff over on a cart, and the egg was in a dish and when he broke it, it wasn’t even cooked.”
Mrs. Carr said, “Sit down, Howard.”
The meal was a success, and Mr. Berkowitz was an appreciative eater. Howard skipped the salad. After dessert Mrs. Carr mentioned that she was planning on flying to New Jersey over Easter recess. She would leave a number for the boys to call if they needed her.
“Why New Jersey?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, what’s there?” Howard added.
“Well, for one thing,” Mrs. Carr began slowly, “that huge crowd of college kids is not there. Why, they’ve already started coming in—crowding the roads and cluttering the beaches. Now, that’s something to think about.” She looked at Howard and Ben and saw that they needed another reason. After all, they were her sons. She wouldn’t have believed such nonsense either. So she cleared her throat and added, “And I would like to meet Mrs. Berkowitz.”
“You know there ain’t no Mrs. Berkowitz; he,” Howard said pointing to Mr. Berkowitz, “ain’t even married.”
“No,” his mother agreed, “but his mother was, and her name happens to be Mrs. Berkowitz.”
“Why would you want to visit some old lady?” Howard asked. He stretched his upper and lower lips so that they folded over his teeth and hid them. Pumping his gums up and down and making all his s’s as wet as spit and bad manners could make them, he said, “Well, s-s-sonnie, how’s-s-s it going down there in the S-s-sunshine S-s-state?”
Charlotte Carr got up from the table, grabbed the back of Howard’s chair, and tipped it forward until its eight-year-old contents spilled. Then she rubbed her hands together and said, “Well, Sheldon, for better or for worse.”
And Howard, who could always guess what was coming on television and who could always tell when the villain had gone one step too far, Howard who always knew his limits said, “Sheldon! Sheldon! That’s your name? Your actual name? What a dumb sissy name. D-U-M sissy name.” And Howard sat on the floor where he had been spilled, and with his hands supporting him and his legs splayed in a wide V, he turned his head around and asked his mother in words that came like bruises, “Are you going to marry him, Ma? Are you?”
Mrs. Carr’s eyes filled with tears; she realized that Howard had known his limits, but he couldn’t stay within them. Howard was upset, loud and upset, and Charlotte Carr knew that she had upset him long before she had tipped his chair over. She said, “Sheldon and I have thought about it, Howie; we were going to decide over this vacation. There are a lot of things to consider.” She looked at Ben, her dear Ben, whose quiet ways had made him a second thought.
Ben was waiting to be noticed. By Mother. By George. But George remained silent, and so did Ben.
His mother asked, “What are you thinking, Ben?”
Such openings Ben usually reserved for George alone, so he substituted, “I was thinking that dumb is spelled D-U-M-B, and that not knowing how to spell it, makes you it.” He looked at Howard.
Sheldon Berkowitz said, “Dumb also means silent, and it’s spelled the same way.”
“Any way you spell it, that meaning will never apply to Howard McHune Carr,” Charlotte smiled.
“Is McHune your middle name, Howie?” Mr. Berkowitz asked.
“Yeah, it’s an old family name on my father’s side. I hate it. As soon as I get old enough to have a moustache, I’m going to change it to Ferrari.”
“Ferrari, like the sports car?”
“Yeah. Howard Ferrari Carr. That’s got class.”
“And that may be the only way you’ll ever own a Ferrari car,” said Mr. Berkowitz, laughing.
They all laughed. Ben, too. Even though no one noticed at first.
Ben lay awake. His mother and Mr. Berkowitz probably had their minds made up already. They would get married. It would be all right having Mr. Berkowitz around all of the time. Maybe he would eventually come to treat Ben the same way that he treated Howard. Ben didn’t know if Mr. Berkowitz acted cautious with him because he was shy outside the classroom or because he knew about Dr. Herrold. Ben wished he didn’t have to visit his father. He had never liked pineapple glazed ham for Easter, and at Marilyn’s you not only got it but you had to make a fuss over how pretty it looked. Marilyn’s parents would be there, fussing over Frederica and treating him as if he were recovering from jungle rot. Everyone except Freddie would be interested in his progress, wanting to know but not wanting to ask. He would make them ask. He wouldn’t volunteer one piece of information.
And he wouldn’t write to William, either. George didn’t have to tell him that William and Cheryl weren’t working on research in the lab. They didn’t care any more about scientific progress than Frederica cared about psychological progress. William must have cared earlier in the year, though. Going to the trouble to get all that stuff from the drugstore. Methyl alcohol. Ergot.
Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Ergot.
Ergot who?
Ergot sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence.
He waited to hear if George would moan at that pun. George didn’t.
If he didn’t have to worry about people thinking that he was crazy, he’d get up right then and look up ergot. He couldn’t remember the formula.
Good grief! He didn’t have to worry. No one could see him. He could get up and look it up in his chemistry book.
And so Ben did.
But he didn’t find it.
Ergot is not a chemical to be studied in any elementary organic chemistry course. Ben went to the encyclopedia, and there in Volume 8: Edward to Extract, he found what he needed to know. He did not have to read beyond the very beginning to know what he had to do. He ran to his brother’s room and woke him.
“That was the shortest night I’ve ever had,” Howard complained.
“It’s not over. C’mon get up. I need your help.”
“If the night ain’t finished, my help will have to wait until it is.”
“It can’t. Come. Get dressed. Don’t wake Mother.”
“I’m up,” Howard said as he turned over.
Ben shook him. “You’re still horizontal.” Ben began flicking the light on and off. On and off.
“How can I find my way out of bed with those lights blinking on and off like a dumb railroad crossing.” Howard did get up; Ben handed his brother his pants.
“Just put your clothes on over your pajamas. I’ll tell you what it’s all about in the car.”
“I can’t fit my pants over my pajamas,” Howard said as he did exactly that. He paused as he was pulling them up. He frowned to himself and zipped. He slipped on his shoes and frowned again. He tied one shoe, frowned, tied the other and scratched his head. Then he said, “You said that you’ll tell me in the car?”
“Ye
ah. C’mon now,” Ben urged.
“And you also said, ‘Don’t wake Mother’?”
“Yeah. C’mon now.”
“Ben, do you mind telling me who is going to drive the car? Like do you mind telling me?”
“Shshshsh. We are. C’mon now. We’ve got to hurry.”
“We are? You are and me are?”
“Yeah. C’mon now. I need your help. I’ll work the pedals, and you’ll sit on my lap and steer. I can’t do everything. You know more about cars than I do.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Astra,” Ben answered.
“Do you mind, I mean do you mind telling me why we are going to Astra?”
“I’ll tell you in the car. C’mon already, How.”
How c’moned.
They quietly left the house taking with them the keys that were in the bowl on the dining room table and leaving open Volume 8 of the Encyclopedia Britannica where in the right hand column was the entry that had sent them into the night.
ERGOT, a fungal disease of grasses, especially rye, that induces the transformation of the grain into enlarged, hard, beanlike structures that constitute the drug ergot, used in obstetrics. Poisoning may occur from eating ergot in flour. Ergot is the source of the powerful synthetic hallucinogen d-lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD-25.
The cubes of sugar, the electric heater were not being used to make coffee at all. The electric heater would be used to reflux the ergot, and the sugar cubes would be pellets to contain the product. William and Cheryl didn’t use the methyl alcohol to substitute for ethyl because they were drinking the ethyl alcohol as Ben had at first suspected. Of course William could say that alcohol had nothing to do with Cheryl’s problem. Nothing directly to do with it. Methyl alcohol was used to manufacture LSD. Merely that! And Cheryl had merely, merrily sampled their product. Ben got the shudders when he thought of it.
Once Howard was in the car, he was in command, and he stopped nagging altogether. Getting the car started and going took all of his concentration. Ben sat behind the wheel, and Howard sat on Ben. Ben didn’t know what to do, and Howard who did, couldn’t reach.
“I’ll turn the key, and you press the gas. The gas pedal, Ben.” They tried once and then twice and then Howard lost patience. “You do when I do, Ben.”
He turned around as far as he could and breathed into his brother’s face. He squirmed back so that he could face the windshield; he wiggled so that he could find someplace to dangle his legs comfortably. He squirmed again, and a voice came from within his brother, Ben, “Why don’t you keep your face to the front and ride your bottom a bit higher and then maybe …”
“George!” Ben yelled. “You’re back. You’re back, George. Gosh, I’ve missed you.”
“What do you mean back?”
“You mean you knew all along about William and didn’t want to tell me?”
George answered, “If you had been any slower, I would have had to speak up. You know that you’re not going to be a minute too soon. They’re counting on getting the stuff from the lab and selling it to the college crowd. Probably charge five dollars per sugar cube.”
“They sure don’t need the money. Why do you think they’re doing it, George?”
“They don’t want to sell LSD as much as they want to buy their way into the next thing there is—the college crowd. They have no identity, Ben, so they work hard at being different from their group. They don’t realize that they’re just trying to fit into another group. The crowd may be different, but they’re not.”
Howard interrupted, “Ben, if you want to get this car going, you’ve got to cooperate.” Howard turned the key in the ignition again. Ben pressed the gas pedal and clutch, Howard shifted into reverse, and everything worked. There passed out of the Carr driveway, the strangest sight that has ever been seen since the musicians of Bremen scared away the robbers; for there sat Ben on the seat of the car, pushing pedals to the commands of Howard who was sitting on his lap, and between requests to brake it and whoa it, there was one voice saying “got ya” and a deeper one complaining, “You know he stole that stuff. That ergot and that methyl alcohol.”
“Now, George, give William the benefit of the doubt.”
“Ben, there can be no doubt. Can you imagine any drugstore owner selling that stuff to a kid?”
“I’ve got to drive now, George,” Ben said.
Howard said, “Yeah, George. You can leave the driving to us.”
The car with its tiered driver took all the back roads on the way to Astra. They avoided traffic, cops, and any possible chance that they might have had to put the car into reverse. Thankfully, the school parking lot was empty. Ben hoped that William had had no chance to remove everything from the lab. He hoped that William had been too busy getting Cheryl home. That very evening the college crowd was beginning to assemble on the beaches. He hoped that William had delayed opening for business.
Ben and Howard walked across the parched lawn. The grass in Florida is thick bladed and surprisingly noisy when it is dry. Like tufted paper.
Ben said, “Shshsh.”
George whispered, “Do you want this operation done delicately, or do you want it done?”
Ben answered, “Both.”
There was no reason for them to try entering through the door that Ben always went through. No reason except habit and hope. But the school was locked. They had to break a pane of a window to unlock it before entering. The windows were low to the ground and climbing in was easy, too. Ben knew the lab so well that he led Howard directly to the lockers that needed emptying, and that they did. Quickly. Quietly. Completely. There was no time to sort and assemble. The unused portions would be returned in their original containers as soon as possible. It took them only two trips each.
“I must say that you’re using your head more lately, Ben.”
“Thanks, George. I have to warn you, though; if we get caught, I’m blaming it all on you.”
“That’s what I call a real welcome back. Thanks a lot, Ben.”
“Well, let’s hope that it doesn’t happen.”
But it did.
It happened as they were driving back home.
The cop who first saw the Carr’s car was Patrolman Hooper. He never minded having his leave canceled and going on overtime during Easter vacation. Canceling leaves and putting up One Way signs to control the invading armada was part of the Easter tradition in Lawton Beach. In Lawton Beach where a new Easter bonnet usually meant a new swimcap and where the Easter parade took place on the beach instead of on a boulevard and where Easter Bunnies wore bikinis.
Patrolman Hooper was in good spirits as he tacked up One Way signs along San Juan Avenue and the other roads that were parallel to Highway A1A and the ocean. He had just finished putting up one of them and was standing back to see whether the one end flapped too much to withstand the breezes of the sea as well as the sea of autos of the next few days. Highway A1A would be northbound and San Juan Avenue would be southbound for five miles for the next five days. He flagged the driver down by standing in the middle of the road, smiling and waving. The rules had just this minute been changed. He wanted to give the driver a reminder. Nothing more. The car continued its approach. Slowly to be sure, but approaching still. Patrolman Hooper hopped to the side of the road and blew his whistle. Cars usually stopped immediately, but how could Patrolman Hooper know that Howard could see and that Ben could not? The sounds of Patrolman Hooper’s whistle drowned out the sounds of Brake it and clutch it. Whoa, Ben. Brake and clutch. Brake and clutch. There’s a cop, Ben. A cop.
Patrolman Hooper had stopped smiling by the time the car stopped. Patrolman Hooper frowned as he approached the car. Patrolman Hooper opened his mouth in disbelief when he looked inside the car and saw two drivers—one on top of the other—and he heard three voices. Ben, Howard and George all had something to say. George had a lot to say; he knew that he would be blamed.
Patrolman Hooper simply said, “I don’t believe i
t.” And then he repeated what he had just very simply said. “I don’t believe it.” He nodded no and nodded no again and muttered, “This is only number one. This is only the beginning.”
Ben said to Howard, “Don’t you think you ought to shut out the lights and turn off the ignition?”
Howard answered, “I am. I dumb well am.”
George said, “Hurry up, for crying out loud. Hurry so that you can get off of Ben’s lap.”
Patrolman Hooper said, “All right, you guys. Let me see your driver’s license. Licenses. Both of them.”
“You lose,” Howard explained. “We don’t have one.”
Patrolman Hooper hated wise guys. “O.K., you guys. Get outta there, you guys. Give me your names and address.” He wet the tip of his ballpoint pen with his tongue before he wrote. It left a comma of blue on his lower Hp. He shook his head from time to time and finally said, “You mean you guys have the nerve to drive piggyback and not have a license between you.”
George answered, “Officer, you wouldn’t believe what they have between them.”
Patrolman Hooper listened. “You guys got someone in the backseat?”
Howard and Ben together answered no.
“You guys sure?”
“Why don’t you check that backseat?” George suggested.
Patrolman Hooper asked Ben, “You a ventriloquist or something?”
“No, sir, I am not.” Ben had lived in the South long enough to know when to place a good sir.
“How can you talk like that?” the policeman asked.
“I can’t, sir,” Ben answered. “That is George speaking.”
Hooper looked at the names he had taken down and saw HOWARD and BENJAMIN. He read again, the ink on his bottom lip shifting from period to comma as he formed the words, HOWARD CARR and BENJAMIN CARR. “Is George one of you guy’s middle names?” he asked.
George answered, “You might say that I am more of a middle man.”
Ben smiled at Howard. “Yeah, you might say that. It’s good having George back.”
“Back?” Patrolman Hooper asked. “Backseat?” he suggested further.