Dave at Night

  “What was Papa doing here?”

  “He forgot his hat.”

  “Where was Mr. Meltzer?” I asked.

  “I didn’t see him when I ran out of the office, but he was there a minute or so after Joey’s father came. He took us to the infirmary and then he left.”

  We were quiet for a minute, thinking about Mr. Doom.

  “He shouldn’t be in charge of a zoo,” Danny said, “much less us.”

  “Here,” Eli said. He handed Jeff his share of the Visiting Day treats. “You didn’t get any dinner.”

  “We should tell the police,” Mike said.

  “Who’d believe a bunch of halfs and wholes?” Harvey said.

  “I hate him,” Mike said. “I’d like to punch him. I’d like to punch his nose in.”

  I sat down next to Jeff.

  “We have a roof over us,” Eli said. “We aren’t starving. It could be worse.”

  “Our families feel better because we’re here,” Joey said.

  Yeah. Ida felt a lot better. I stretched out and got under my blanket. Jeff started to get up, but I told him he could stay.

  “I wish he could be one of us for a day,” Harvey said, “and see what it’s like.”

  “If he was one of us,” Jeff said while chewing, “Fred and I would beat the living daylights out of him. We’d break both his arms.”

  I closed my eyes. I pushed the key under my pillow and covered it with my hand. Around me everybody was still talking. It was nice, aside from the topic. Cozy. I was going to miss them.

  Later, I woke up because I needed to use the toilet again. I took the key with me. The chair at the end of the hall was still empty. I wondered where the prefects had their poker game.

  In the hall light I looked at the key, which was small and made of brass. The metal disk on the key ring had writing on it. “To Mordecai Bloom,” it said. “A beneficent leader of boys and men.” I didn’t know what beneficent meant, but unless it meant lousy, rotten, and paskudnyak, it was way off base. The other side said, “HHB Board of Directors.”

  Back in our room, I fell asleep holding the key. When the wake-up bell rang, my hand was cramped and the key was still in it.

  After I got dressed, I put the key in one pocket and the drawing of Irma Lee folded up small in the other. I wanted to show the drawing to Mr. Hillinger so he could tell me how to do faces better.

  Fred came in with his arm in a cast. Everybody went to him, wanting to know how he was. He said he was okay and wiggled his fingers at the end of the cast. He started to tell us what had happened, and he was annoyed that Jeff had beaten him to it.

  I walked to breakfast with the twins, Mike, Harvey, and Eli. “At breakfast,” I said, “call me ‘wizard’ and act scared of me.” I wanted to try out my idea to stop the food stealing.

  “Why should I?” Harvey said.

  “Dave has a good reason,” Mike said, scratching his ear. “He has something up his sleeve.”

  “Okay, Harvey,” I said. “Call Eli ‘wizard,’ and act scared of him. I will too.” That would be better, since I was leaving, and the wizard had to be here if this was going to work. Eli would make a fine gonif. He’d fool Moe because he always seemed so serious and honest.

  “Just make sure the bullies notice, especially Moe.” I told them my idea. They all liked it, even Harvey. Breakfast would set the stage. We’d get ready during morning recess, and at lunch we’d do it.

  In the dining hall, I sat next to Eli, and a minute later Moe squeezed between us. When he kissed his rabbit’s foot, I stuck my head around him and yelled, “Wizard, does that really do any good?”

  Eli shook his head. “If it was a black rabbit, he’d have something. But a white rabbit’s foot only carries germs.”

  “Huh? How does he know?” Moe asked.

  “He knows,” I said.

  From across the table, Fred waved his cast. “See this?”

  The ladies started carrying the coffins out of the kitchen. Everybody knew about Fred’s broken arm. Everybody always knew when Mr. Doom beat somebody.

  Jeff held his unbroken arms up. “And see this? Not a scratch.”

  “So what?” asked Moe.

  “He cast a spell to protect me,” Jeff said.

  “I didn’t have time to do Fred,” Eli said.

  The coffin reached us. Moe started on my food while keeping an eye on Eli. When Eli reached Moe’s way for the water pitcher, Moe drew back a little.

  Good. I might be able to do something for my buddies before I left.

  Chapter 31

  WHEN WE GOT to our classroom after breakfast, Mr. Hillinger was putting a flute on Mr. Cluck’s desk. I wondered what it was for.

  Stacks of notebook-size paper were on our desks. When we sat down, Mr. Hillinger walked around giving us boxes of colored chalk from a big paper bag. “Good morn . . . You’ll have to share the pastels, I’m afr . . . Although it’s not so . . . A limited palette is good. Good disci . . .”

  There were eight sticks of chalk in the box Mike and I were supposed to share. The red chalk was in two pieces, and the blue was a half-inch nubbin.

  “Today we’re going to draw to express . . . to show feeling or a mood. An artist can say he’s angry or . . . You only think you need words . . . It could be any feeling.” He played three long slow notes on the flute. “How does that make you feel, boys?”

  Nobody said anything. I raised my hand. “Sad?”

  “Good, Dave. Anybody feel anything else?”

  Harvey raised his hand. “Definitely lazy.”

  “Good too. Other boys may feel something else. I’ll play . . . Remember what we’ve learned . . . Draw over the whole page. Composition is . . . Listen.” He played more sad music.

  I stared at my stack of paper. I didn’t know how to draw sadness. A face crying? How did you draw tears? Mike had gone to work already, but he was drawing violins.

  And then I knew what to do. I held the purple chalk on its side and covered the page with purple. Mike had the black. I borrowed it and broke it in half. Now we both had black.

  From the right side of the page I drew part of a long rectangle. The rest of it you had to imagine, because it was off the page. I filled the rectangle in so it was solid black. To the left of it I drew a man bent over from carrying his end of the box. You saw him from the side, and I filled him in in black too. Behind him came a woman. One of her feet was in the air, so you could tell she was walking. She was following the man.

  The room was quiet. When had Mr. Hillinger stopped playing? He started a happy song, but I kept drawing the sad one. I drew a boy following the woman. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Another man came after the boy. None of them touched each other. That was important.

  Mr. Hillinger walked through the aisles while he played. He walked by me drawing the first song. I kept going, rushing to catch up with everybody.

  I finished. Seven and a quarter people followed the coffin. You only saw a hand and a leg of the eighth person all the way on the left side of the page. The people weren’t much more than stick figures. But the picture was sad. I had never seen such a sad picture. I had done it, drawn sadness. It felt grand. Sad, but grand.

  I took a new sheet of paper and tried to think what a happy drawing would be, but Mr. Hillinger stopped playing. “Here’s another . . .” He looked at his watch. “We have time for . . . Take a new sheet, Eli. No more music. Here’s a poem to . . . Draw whatever it makes you . . .” He recited:

  “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

  All mimsy were the borogroves,

  And the mome raths outgrabe.”

  He went on. How were we supposed to draw that? It didn’t mean anything. Some of the words meant something, and for a second I thought I understood, but then it was gone. There was a son and some monsters, a “Jubjub bird” and a “frumious Bandersnatch,” which sounded like an animal to sic on Mr. Doom.

  I drew a gree
n lion with big twisty horns coming out of its mane, a red rabbit that was bigger than the lion, and a yellow goat upside down and high on the page. Around the animals I drew shapes that fitted into each other.

  Mr. Hillinger came down our aisle. At my desk he picked up my funeral picture and stared at it for a long time. When he put it down again he said, “Very nice, Dave. Fine.”

  “Mr. Hillinger . . .” I took the drawing of Irma Lee out of my pocket and unfolded it. “I messed up her face. How do you draw faces?” I hated showing it to him. I hated to look at it, with the stupid one eye in the wrong place.

  He studied the drawing. “You like to draw?”

  “Yeah. Yes, sir. I do.”

  He raised his voice for everyone to hear. “Listen, boys. You draw faces just like everything . . . They’re no different. We shouldn’t be frightened by a nose or a mouth . . . Be sure to bring your faces on Friday. You’re going to do por . . .” He handed the messed-up picture back to me without saying anything else. He probably didn’t want to hurt my feelings by talking about it. “Now hold up the drawing you like best,” he told the class. “You should see what your . . . Look at what ideas you all . . .”

  I held up the funeral picture. Everybody else held up their happy drawings. Joey’s was of food—a cake, an ice-cream cone, and something that might have been a chicken. Eli had drawn a lake with a sailboat. Mike’s was pink, blue, and orange guess-whats. I liked Harvey’s, which was a smile that filled the whole page. I didn’t tell him, though.

  He had something to say about mine, of course. “You shouldn’t have colored the background purple. There should be trees or houses.”

  “That smile you drew is too big,” Mike said, sticking up for me. “And it’s too—”

  Mr. Cluck came in.

  “Boys,” Mr. Hillinger said, “show Mr. Gluck your . . . Aren’t they hand . . . You must be so proud to . . .”

  Mr. Cluck bustled to the front of the room. Ira and Joey raised their hands to go to the toilet. It was their turn to watch Mr. Doom’s office. I’d forgotten all about it.

  Mr. Hillinger started collecting our blank paper and chalk. “Save your drawings, boys. You can . . . Mr. Gluck, may I borrow Dave for a . . . He can help me . . .” He gestured, and I knew he wanted me to help him get the chalk and the paper.

  Mr. Cluck said, “All right, if he is any help.”

  Mr. Hillinger had gotten almost everything already, but I walked along the desks by the window and picked up the rest.

  “Now if you’ll . . .”

  I put the chalk and paper into the paper bag. Mr. Hillinger picked up the bag. “Would you be so . . .”

  I took the flute and followed him into the hall and out to the lobby, where Ira and Joey were walking quickly, looking like they were on an important errand—except when they saw Mr. Hillinger, who knew they were supposed to be going to the toilet. Ira stopped. Joey slowed down, then grabbed Ira’s arm and tugged him along.

  “Hello, boys.” Mr. Hillinger smiled at them and kept going till we reached the front door.

  “Dave, would you . . . On Thursdays . . . It would mean missing school, just an afternoon. Everyone is talented, but . . .”

  I wouldn’t mind missing the whole week, but what did he mean?

  “A few . . . Such ability . . . I teach a few boys . . . It’s a special . . .”

  I started nodding. If he was saying he had a special drawing class, I wanted to be in it. “Yes,” I said. “For drawing? I’d like to . . .” I sounded as jumbled as he did.

  He smiled broadly. “Wonderf . . . It’s not just . . . We paint too. Oils, watercol . . . You’re very . . .” He took the flute from me. “I’m so glad. You have . . .” He opened the HHB door.

  Finish the sentence, I thought. Finish it! What do I have?

  “. . . a gift.” He left.

  Chapter 32

  A GIFT! I didn’t just like to draw, I didn’t just have the beginnings of an eye, I had a gift! I watched him go down the path to the gate. He had a funny walk. His right shoulder was higher than his left, possibly because of all the stuff he was carrying. I tried to memorize the way he looked from behind. When I got back to our classroom I wanted to draw it.

  I couldn’t wait for Thursday. I couldn’t wait for every Thursday!

  Wait for every Thursday! But I wouldn’t be here every Thursday, not after I got the carving back. I’d miss out on the special class.

  I stopped walking. Didn’t I want to get out of here as soon as I could? Sure I did. But I also wanted to be in that class. And I wanted to go on being with my buddies. But I’d sworn to get the carving and leave. I couldn’t do both, stay and leave. I hated it here. Well, I hated the HHB. My buddies and Mr. Hillinger weren’t the HHB, and I didn’t hate them. I liked them—a lot, a whole lot.

  I started walking again. I had to figure it out.

  Back in class, Mike was drawing violins. Mr. Cluck was babbling. I tried to draw Mr. Hillinger walking away from me. You’d think it would be easy to show he was going the other way, but it kept looking like he was coming toward me. You’d think I could get it right, since I had a gift.

  The bell rang for morning recess. Time to get ready for Moe.

  In the courtyard, Eli explained my idea to all the elevens. Harvey said he’d thought it over and it would never work. Nobody listened to him, and we started rehearsing, all of us except Danny and Louis, who would be watching Mr. Doom’s office during lunch. I concentrated on the rehearsal, but every so often I’d remember what Mr. Hillinger had said, about my having a gift.

  And then I’d see us elevens in my mind, the way we were standing right now, the expressions on our faces. And I’d imagine a drawing, a gesture drawing of all of us.

  Then I’d be back in the middle of the rehearsal again.

  There were a few tricky moments in the plan, and it might not work, and it might get Moe mad at us, which would make everything worse. But if it succeeded we’d get to eat our entire lousy meals from now on.

  “What about the eights and the nines and the tens?” Mike asked. “Can’t we help them?”

  “They’ll have to think of their own nutty plan,” Harvey said.

  I usually sat next to Mike at lunch, but today Eli was on my right and Mike was across the table next to Jeff. I didn’t want Mike too near me, because Moe was going to pick on somebody, and I didn’t want it to be him.

  Eli and I sat close together, hoping our bullies would sit on the other side of each of us. If one of them sat between us, we’d have to wait till supper to try again.

  Moe came in and sat on my left, and Eli’s bully sat on Eli’s right. So far so good. Moe kissed his rabbit’s foot and picked up his fork. A lady began dishing out the food at our table. She served Moe. He took a bite. She served me. His fork headed my way.

  “Wait!”

  He hesitated for a second. It was enough. I passed my plate to Eli. Eli’s bully was eating Eli’s food. All the elevens were watching Eli and Moe and me, but they were eating at the same time.

  Eli spread his hands over my plate and started humming. I don’t know how he did it, but the hum had an echo. It sounded round and full. He closed his eyes and swayed. The hum rose and fell.

  He wasn’t a bad gonif. He was doing fine.

  He stopped humming and nodded his head three times. “Thank you, oh Phantoms of the Just.” When he said phantoms he hummed the m so it sounded like phantom-m-ms. He returned the plate to me.

  “Now you can eat it,” I told Moe. I folded my hands in my lap. “It’s all yours.”

  Moe stuck his fork in, lifted it.

  I held my breath. It was all over if he ate.

  He stopped an inch from his lips. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “The wizard said I shouldn’t eat it. He said it’s for you.”

  Moe put his fork down and reached around me and grabbed Eli’s shoulder. “Wha—”

  Eli didn’t even look scared. He waved a hand in front of Moe and started hummi
ng again.

  Moe let go. “Stop that.”

  Eli kept humming.

  Mike’s bully reached across the table and started to take my food.

  Moe grabbed the edge of the plate. “Watch yourself.”

  The other bully let go. “I thought you didn’t want it.”

  “You thought wrong.” Moe looked over at Eli, who had stopped humming and was sitting with his head down, swaying. Moe looked around at all of us elevens. Mike moved and caught Moe’s eye. “You. I mean you.” He pushed my plate toward Mike and lifted the fork loaded with my food. “Hungry?”

  We were in trouble.

  Mike shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  “Eat it.” He handed Mike the fork.

  “Don’t eat it!” I yelled.

  “Don’t,” Eli said. “The Phantom-m-ms will be angry.”

  “Eat.” Moe stood up. “Eat.”

  Mike put the food in his mouth, which was what he was supposed to do if this happened. Then he was supposed to fall backwards off the bench and lie still. But when we rehearsed he couldn’t lie still. Nobody in a million years would have believed he had fainted.

  Mike chewed once and swallowed. He started to smile, but the smile froze and he pointed wildly at his throat. His eyeballs rolled back so only the whites showed. Then he fell backwards, but he didn’t lie still. His hands clawed the air. He rolled from side to side. He made choking noises.

  He was the best gonif of us all.

  I looked at Moe. He was clutching his rabbit’s foot with both hands. Boys from nearby tables were gathering around Mike. Then I saw Mike’s bully laugh, not believing any of it. His fork was heading for my plate. If he ate, Moe would know we had tricked him and he’d murder us.

  Jeff also must have seen the bully go for my plate. He leaned on the table as if to see Mike better. When he put his hand on the table, he knocked his water glass into my plate, sending them both flying. The glass broke, and the food slid all over the floor. And Mike’s bully looked very disappointed.