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Santoro, LawrenceFrom Puggy to Larry: Poetry from "GatheringLight."Midwest Philosophy of Education Society.92

31r.; Paper presented at the Midwest Philosophy ofEducation Society (Chicago, IL, November 14,1992).

Midwest Philosophy of Education Society, 5006 WestGrace Street, Chicago, IL 60641-3450 ($10).Speeches/Conference Papers (150) ReportsDescriptive (141) Creative Works(Literature,Drama,Fine Arts) (030)

MFO1 /PCO2 Plus Postage.

*Childhood Attitudes; *Cognitive Development;Creative Writing; Developmental Stages; EducationalDevelopment; *Educational Philosophy; *Parent ChildRelationship; *Poetry; *Preadolescents

IDENTIFIERS *Childhood Experiences; Egan (Kieran)

ABSTRACT

This paper contains a poetry reading presented to ameeting on poetic narrative and educational development. Thepresentation was based on the theory that the field of philosophy ofeducation should include the realm of the possible as created andpopulated by the imagination, and often portrayed by works of art.The poems consist of attempts to represent childhood experiences froma child's point of view. They are poetic representations of aphenomenology of preadolescent cognitive development. Through theseries of eight poems, the child (Fuggy) becomes the little boy(Larry) by becoming able to distinguish self from other and advancingfrom a mythic to a romantic stage of development. LI warning isincluded to the effect that the attempt to impose such adultterminology on this poetry may be destructive of the poet's wcrk.Also included is a work in progress, a piece of prose that beginsfrom an adult point of view when a morning brings back memories oflong ago and childhood games. The poems are narrated by either Puggythe child, Larry the boy, or the poet as an adult. Each narratorcould be identified as one of Kieran Egan's four stages ofeducational development. The mythic stage is identified with Puggyand encompasses the ages 4 through 10. The romantic stage isidentified with Larry and ages 9 through 15. The philosophic state isrepresented by the poet and ages 14 through 20. The final ironicstage is ages 19 and over. (DK)

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Reproductions supplied by EDRS are the best that can be madefrom the original document.

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FROM PUGGY TO LARRY

Poetry From Gatherin LighL

by

Lawrence Santoro

3313 N. Clark St.Chicago, IL 60657-1603

(312) 327-9377

U.S. DIEAINTISENT OF EDUCATIONOffc of Educational Rosaarch and Irsprosamant

EDUCATIONAL RESOURCES INFORMATIONCENTER (ERIC)

his document has basin naproduced as*wad from Ins parson or organuation

originating rtID Minor changss have

Dian mad* to improve

reproduction Quality

Points ot stew of opfnionastatrd in this dotu.

m.nt do not oseessanly repro-sent Official

OEM posdfon or policy

"PERMISSION TO REPRODUCE THIS

MATERIAL HAS BEEN GRANTED BY

CI 1. r k

TO THE EDUCATIONAL RESOURCES

INFORMATION CENTER (ERIC)."

2

TABLE OF CONTENTS "From Puggy to Larry."

Programs Sixth Concurrent Session #1, MidwestPhilosophy of Education Society, 14 November 1992 P3

Proposal to the Program Committee, 29 July 1992 p4

BABY TALK P5

NANNA P7

THAT NAME P9

FACTS OF LIFE p10

MAGICS P15

IN THE ATTIC P17

DANCER p19

THE MAIN THING p20

Appendix: WORK IN PROGRESS (1965) p25

3

Program: Midwest Philosophy of Education Society:Sixth Concurrent Session #1: Loyola University Chicago,Marquette Center 30, 10 - 10:45 a.m., 14 November 1992.

"FROM PUr,GY TO LARRY": POETRY FROM CIATHERINC LIC1HT.A poetry reading by Lawrence Santoro.

Mr. Santoro is a published poet, a teacher of creative writing,and a director of educational theatre. He is employed bythe Chicago Headline Club as Director of their famousGridiron Show.

I. Introduction: Poetic Narrative and Educational Development,by Michael A. Oliker, Midwest PES.

II. Poetry Reading.

1. Baby Talk. Narrator: "Author."2. Hanna. N: "Puggy"3. That Name. N, "Author"4. Facts of Life. N: Author / Larry / Puggy.5. Magics. N: "PuggY"6. In the Attic. N: "Larry."7. Dancer. N: "Larry"8. The Main Thing. N: Puy / Larry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Appendix I: Kieran Egan's Four Stages of Educational Development.A. Mythic Stage: Ares 4-10 (Fuggy?)B. Romantic Stage: Ages 9-15 (Larry?)C. Philosophic State: Ages 14-20 (Author?)D. Ironic Stage: Ages 19+ (Is this possible?)

Appendix II: Bibliography.. -

Egan, Kieran. Educational Development. New York: Oxford UP, 1979.. "Teaching as Story-telling: A Non-mechanistic Approach toPlanning Teaching." Journal of Curriculum Studies 17(October - December 1985): 397-406.

. "Towards a Theory of Educational Development." EducationalPiA.lomiTheor 11 (November 1979): 17-36.

Nyberg, David and Kieran Egan. "Toward an Educational Theory."Chap. in The Erosion of Education. New York: TeachersCollege Press, 1981.

Santoro, Lawrence P. "Work in Progress." Essence (Kutztown,Pennsylvania) 6, no. 2 (May 1965): 26-31.

Taube, Myron. "Why Every Teacher Should Be an Actor."The CEA Critic 22 (November 1960): 8-9.

29 July 19924

To: Program Committee, Midwest Philosophy of Education SocietyFrom: Michael A. Oliker, Member, Executive CommitteeSubject: Proposal for Poetry Reading by Lawrence Santoro

In his brief presentation to MPES in 1990, Harry S. Broudysuggested that "philosophy of education could claim as itsterritory the realm of the possible as created and populatedby the imagination, and often portrayed by works of art . . . .

William Russell's paper at the 1991 meeting on "Poetry forPhilosophers of Education" was a step in the direction suggestedby Broudy. With this in mind, I contacted Mr. Santcro -- anactor, director, and poet who has done many public readings herein Chicago -- and asked him to consider submitting a proposalfor a poetry reading at the 1992 meeting of MPES. I believe thatmany of his poems would be of interest to MPES members becausethey consist of attempts to represent childhood experiencesfrom a child's point of view. To use some rather technicaljargon, I would describe these poems as poetic representations ofa phenomenology of pre-adolescent cognitive development. Thechild Puggy becomes the little boy Larry by becoming able todistinguish self from other and advancing from a Mythic to aRomantic stage of development. (Of course this is to impose anadult terminology that may be destructive of Santoro's work.)

Mr. Santoro majored in philosophy at Albright College inReading, Pennsylvania and completed a degree in theatre atTemple University. He did graduate work in theatre at Villanova.Santoro has directed theatrical productions at the elementary,secondary, and college levels and was an actor, writer, anddirector for a syndicated TV series. Currently, he is theatrecolumnist for a group of neighborhood newspapers in Chicagoand is director of the Chicago Headline Club's annual GridironShow.

The proposed presentation could be squeezed into a 50-60 minutesession. Santoro would like to read for 20-25 minutes. I would offera brief commentary (8-10 minutes) as a basis for discussion. Thisshould leave 15-20 minks for discussion.

ADDRESSES:Lawrence Santoro, 3313 N. Clark St., Chicago, IL 60657.

Phone: (312) 327-9377.Michael A. Oliker, 5006 W. Grace St., Chicago, IL 60641.

Phone: (312) 202-9280.

5

BABY TALK

SOON THE WORLD IS MAGIC PLACED.

WHEN HUNGER'S FILLED,AND COLD DISSOLVES TO WARM DOWN 'ROUND YOUR TUMMY,

WHEN HARD DEFLATES TO SOFTAND SHINY BRIGHT BECOMES A MUTED PASTEL MURMUR;

THEN THE MAGICS START...AND THE WORLD BEGINS TO HAVE AN ORDERAND STRETCHES, CONNECTED, OUT FOREVER.

THE ONLY LAW THAT WORLD WILL HAVE IS MAGIC, THEN.

YOU WILL SEE SUCH WONDROUS THINGS THAT TICKLE YOU FOREXPLICATION...

YOU'LL WONDER WHY...THAT MAN IN KILT AND TARTAN SASH STANDS UPONYOUR CORNER IN THE SUN

AND PIPES HIS WHEEZING SCREAM-BAG

AND FOR HIS MUSIC, THERE, BITES AND DRIBBLES DOWN HIS CHIN,A RIPE TOMATO OFFERED HIM, STREAMING JUICE AND SEEDS AND GRINS.

YOU'LL WONDER WHY THE STAIRWAY CREAKS BELOWWHEN YOU'RE ALONE, ABOVE

OR THE PHONE RINGS ONCE A NIGHT THEN WAITS -- UNTIL TOMORROWNIGHT.

YOU'LL WONDER WHAT THEY DO IN THERE -- THE DRY OLD WOMEN IN THECORNER HOUSE ALL BUSHY-DARK AND SHADOW-CURTAINED.

WHERE THE GRASS IS LONG AND WEEDY AND EATS FOREVER THE ROLLINGBALL, THE ILL-TOSSED TOY;

WHAT THEY DO WITH TWIGGY FINGERS WHEN THEY PART THE DRAPES LIKEDUSTY BREEZE WITHINAND PARCHMENT EYES LEAN OUT TO GRAB YOUR SOUL RUNNING PAST TOWARMER NEIGHBORS...

REMEMBER THE TERRORS, THEY ARE HOLY.KEEP THEM CLOSE TO HAND, IN MIND.

WHEN NIGHT IS FILLED WITH GLIMMER GLAMOUR,

AND THE SHADOWS BREATHE WHERE THE ALLEY BENDS DOWN INTO ETERNITY

AND THE BRANCHES TAP THE WINDOWPANE

AND THE STAIRS ARE DARK AT TOP

6

AND THE HALLWAY CREAKS DOWN THERE;

WHEN THE CLOSET FILLS WITH MONSTERS

AND THAT DEAD SPACE BETWEEN THE BED AND WALL BESEEMSA CAVE OF DREAD-SCALED AND SPINY FEASTING-BEASTS;

WHEN STORIES, BOOKS AND NIGHT-TOLD TALESBECOME THE WORLD AND WALK IN YOU THROUGH STREETS YOU'LL WALK,FOREVER...

REMEMBER: TIME IS NOT A RIVER BUT A PUDDLE, RATHERWHICH GROWS DOWN AND DEEPER AS YOU GET LONGER

AND THEY'RE THERE, BELOW;YOUR SHADOW BROTHER TERRORS...

HOLD THEM, KEEP THEM HOLY,

THEY, SADLY, DO NOT LAST FOREVER

BUT HOLD THE MAGIC IN YOUR HEAD.

IT WILL BE YOUR MIND, YOUR SOULAND BEST FRIEND, LATER.

WHEN THE COLD RETURNS AND ALL THE WITCHES, DEAD.

LATER, I NOTICED THE

FRAME OF METAL, CURLSENCLOSING THAT WOMAN,

7

NANNA

PICTURE ON THE MANTLE IN MY PARENT'S HOUSE.

AND CARTOUCHES,THAT LADY IN WHITE.

THAT LONG WHITE FEMALE LINE AGAINST HER TAPESTRY OF STAGS ANDHOUNDS.

I KNEW IT WAS NANNA BUT HAD NEVER SEEN HER BEFORE LIKE THIS.

POP-POP HAD BEEN CUT FROM THE PICTUREHAD LEFT HER LONG AND ALONE, HER HAND DRIFTED OFF AT THE FINGER-TIPS WHERE HE ONCE SAT SOME 40 YEARS GONE.

I KNEW IT WAS NANNA BUT IT WAS NOT THE NANNA I KNEW.

THAT OLD WOMAN, THINNED BY LIFE, DRIED FROM WHITE TO ASH;

THAT OLD WOMAN, ICICLE-HARD, THUMP ON THE BOTTOM AND OFF TO THEPRICKLY CHAIRTO WAIT THE TICK-TOCK STICKLY HOUR TIL DADDY RETURNS TO DEAL WITHME.

THIS NANNA WAS WHITE AND SOFT AND GLOWED IN SILVER NITRATE HAZEOF DUST AND YEARS,OF DUST AND YEARS BEFORE MY BIRTH.

THIS WAS NOT THE NANNA WHO DIED IN MY HAND,HER FINGER TWIGS WRAITHED AROUND MY PLUMPING KNUCKLES,HER HANDS SOBBING SLOWLY UNTO SILENCE.

SUNDAY MORNING. DOWNSTAIRS, POP-POP IN THE KITCHEN. GABRIELHEATER ON THE RADIO.I, DRESSED FOR CHURCH BUT NOT READY FOR IT.

"COME, PUGGY. DON'T DAWDLE. TAKE MY HAND AND STOP ACTING LIKE ANI DONOWHAT. GOODNESS!"

THEN DOWN TWO STEPS.PUMPING MY HAND. "OH, OH, OH, LARRY! I CAN'T SEE. CAN'T HEAR."TWITCHING, WRITHING. WORDS SLIDING INTO NOISES, NOISES GOINGFUNNY IN THE THROAT.TWITCH. WRITHE. BANG, BANG, THE HEAD AGAINST THE WALL.

FUNNY, NANNA. NANNA BEING FUNNY. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE.NANNA WAS FUNNY.

I RAN TO POP-POP AND GABRIEL HEATER TO TELL: NANNA IS FUNNY,FINALLY FUNNY.

NOW MANNA WAS NEVER FUNNY. NOT NANNA.NANNA OF THE DAINTY DISHES, OF DOILIES DELICATE.

8

NOT AT CARSONIA PARK WHERE THE ROLLER COASTER ROLLED WITHOUT ME.

"GOODNESS! ON THAT THING! I HEAR A MAN LOST HIS HEAD IN THE AIRUP THERE WHERE HE STOOD TO SHOW OFF."SHEARED BY THE "DON'T STAND" SIGN.

BUT NANNA WAS BEING FUNNY NOW!

OF COURSE, BY THEN, MY PARENTS HAD HEARD THE BEATING ON THESTAIRSAND THE FUNNY OLD WOMAN, MY MOTHER'S MOTHER, BEING FUNNYFOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER SON'S LIFE.

POP-POP OUT OF THE KITCHEN THROUGH THE HOUSE AND UP THE STAIRS.ALL OF US MEETING THERE TWO STEPS FROM THE TOPTO WATCH MANNA'S FUNNY.

I SAW MY POP-POP'S FACE. ONLY THAT, HIS NOSE AND JOWLS AND EYES."YOU STOP THAT, NOW. YOU STOP THAT, HEAR!"

FUNNY NANNA.

DOCTOR KOTZEN CAME AND WENT. NANNA STAYED.LAID IN THE CENTER OF HER BED. HER BED WITH POP-POP.SHE SLEPT. MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY.

WATCHED HER BREATHE.THEN STOP.

AND, WORRIED ABOUT LAUGHING AT THE VIEWING, I BIT MY CHEEKS HARDINSIDE MY MOUTH...BUT DID LAUGH A LITTLE.

EVEN THOUGH I HAD KILLED HER, I COULD STILL FEAR LAUGHTER.

POP-POP SAID, "NANNA WAS DYING AND YOU WAS LAUGHING,"POP-POP SAID.

GOODNESS! NANNA WOULD HAVE SAID. GOODNESS.

BUT NOT THAT BEAUTY ON THE MANTLE, THAT WHITE, ELEGANT SILVERLINE OF A WOMAN WHO SMILED FROM FORTY YEARS GONE AT THE SNOWYPENNSYLVANIA MOUNTAINS OVER MY SHOULDER.

NOT THAT WOMAN. HER WORD WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN GOODNESS.

I COULD LOVE HER, THAT WOMAN ON THE MANTLE. HONEST TO GOD, I

COULD.

AND I COULD FORGIVE HER FOR BEING FUNNY NANNA WHOM I KILLEDONE SUNDAY ON OUR STAIRS WITH MY LAUGHTER.

9

THAT NAME

DEEP DOWN IN THERE, I'M STILL MY FAMILY'S NAMETHING: PUGGY;

THOUGH I NEVER UNDERSTOOD THE WHY OF IT

OR WHAT IT MEANT, I'M PUGGY, STILL...

AT THE CALL OF OTHERS, OLDER, WISER, STRONGER THAN I CAN EVER BE

IN SOUL, IN MIND, IN TIME IN FACT...

I AM PUGGY, THEN AND NOW.

THE KID IN SAILOR SUIT

WHO RUNS IN SCRATCHY BLACK AND FLARING WHITE

AMONG PENDORA'S TREES IN FLICKER-SHADES OF GRAY,

AND STANDS ON TEETER FEET BESIDE THE WATERFALL

AND YEARNS TO DIVE ON IN AND DOWN AND THROUGH THE FOAM

TO SWIM AWAY, THE WATER'S WAY...

FLOWING UNDERGROUND...

BUT STOPS AND TURNS AND WAVES AND SMILES AT SOMEONE UP AHEAD.

AND WAITS.

THEN, SNATCHED ON UP BY MOTHER'S ARMS,

IS SAVED.

10FACTS OF LIFE

AFTER LOVE AND THE LONG GIGGLE - MAKING, SHRIVEL-TICKLE OUT OF HER;

AFTER HOLDING,OUR SEPARATE BEAUTIES SALTED WITH THE TASTE OF MEMORY,

AND THE SLOW EXFOLIATION OF OUR SKINS,BREASTS AND THIGHS, BELLIES AND BUSHES, PEELING BACK,UNTWINING;

AFTER LIPS AND TONGUE HAD CLEANED AND DRIED AND TIDIED HER;HER PARTS AND PLACES;

AFTER,AND WHILE THE PUNGENCY OF OUR SLIPPERY LAST TWO HOURS CRUSTED,DELICIOUS ON MY FACE;

AFTER,WHILE MY FINGERS, COMBING,

UNFOLDED HER PARTING LIPS IN AN ECHO, REMEMBERING...

REMEMBERING AFTER.

REMEMBERING THE LAST WORDS MY MOTHER GAVE, SENDING ME OFFTO 16TH AND HAAK...

PUSHING ME,SNUFFLING, SHUFFLINGTHROUGH THE BROWNSTONE ARCH INTO THE REST OF MY LIFE...

BEFORE LETTING GO, A LITTLE BIT, FOREVER...

REMEMBERING MY MOTHER'S LAST SUGGESTION,

TUCKING, WETTING BACK THE COWLICK TUFT,TURNING ME ROUND AND ROUND AT THE WHIRLWIND BORDER

WHERE OUR STREET DELINED THE PLAYLOT PIPES AND CHAINS,ITS BILLION BRUSHBURNS WAITING

POTENTIAL, NOW, IN SLICK BLACK AND BUBBLY ASPHALT REDOLENCEIN SEPTEMBER SUMMER REMNANT HOT AND BRIGHT.

REMEMBERING OUR FINAL LANGUAGE LESSON. THIS:

IF YOU HAVE TO GOSAY NUMBER ONE OR NUMBER TWO.NUMBER ONE IS TO TINKLENUMBER TWO IS TO MAKE YOUR UGLIES.THEY WON'T KNOW THOSE WORDS. OUR WORDS.THOSE WORDS ARE OURS.

11REMEMBER: NUMBER ONE IS TO TINKLENUMBER TWO IS TO MAKE YOUR UGLIES.YOU REMEMBER?

THIS GETS COMPLICATED BUT YOU HAVE TO LEARN SOMETIME

I WAS A QUIET KID. SHELTERED, PERHAPS...BY THE MOUNTAIN IN OUR YARD...

BY THE BOOKS BENEATH MY BED...BY THE OPERA, SATURDAYS...

BY MOTHER, NANNA, POP-POP AND DADDY.

AND IN MY TURN, I SHELTERED THEM FROM WHAT I WAS AND COULDBECOME.

BUT THIS IS THE WAY IT WAS:

THE COLORED GIRL -- BRENDA -- IN OUR CLASS WAS GOING TO HAVE ABABY.

HEAD DOWN, SILENT IN HER SIDE ROW, BACK-OF-THE-ROOM SEATWHILE WE GIGGLED BY HER LAST FEW DAYS WITH US,THEN GONE.

GONE BACK TO THE PLACE WHERE THE ORPHANS LIVED.

ONE BLOCK UP, ONE BLOCK OVER. THE HOME, WE CALLED IT.1010 CENTER AVENUE, MRS. FEINERFROCK CALLED IT.

SIXTH GRADE AND GOING TO HAVE A BABY!

"WHAT," MOTHER ASKED SUDDEN AND SLOW THAT EVENING, AFTER DINNER,DADDY AT THE PAPER, JUST FINGERS AND LEGS ON THE COUCH,

"WHAT...WOULD YOU DO IF SHE SAYS YOU ARE HER BABY'S FATHER?"

OH, GOD! OH, GULP!

GOD GULPING NOT AT FATHERING BRENDA'S BABY...THAT WAS SILLY...

IT WAS MY MOTHER'S SLIDE ACROSS THE FLOOR TOWARD ME, WHICH GOD-ENGULFED ME.

HER PLIE INTO THE SEAT NEXT TO MINEAND HER PURR... "OH, FUGGY. YOU HAVE TO KNOW THE FACTS OF LIFESOMETIME!"

IN FACT I KNEW THEM.

THAT LAST SUMMER --COUSIN FRED, UP FROM CHESTER, FOR THE YEARLY MELD OF FAMILY

; 2

12

KIDS --

OURS -- ME!AND AUNT EDWINA 'N UNCLE JIM'S -- BARBARA, FRED AND GAIL --THE GERMANS...

COUSIN FRED BROKE MY LIFE ONE DAY THAT SUMMERTOLD THE TALE THAT DAY, ON THE WAY FROM THE MATINEE...

HOW DADDY AND MOMMY DID IT --AND WHY!

"YOU KNOW WHERE -- DOWN THERE -- YOU HAVE YOUR THING?WELL, DOWN THERE SHE DOESN'T HkVE THAT. HASN'T GOT IT.

DOWN 'ROUND THE BELLY BUTTON SHE'S GOT NOTHING..."

"SHE?"

"YOUR MOTHER. LESS THAN NOTHING. A HOLE DOWN THERE.AND WHEN YOU'RE IN LOVE YOU PUT IT THERE..."

"IN THERE!"

"AND MOVE AROUND AND BACK AND FORTH AND PRETTY SOONIT FEELS REAL GOOD..."

"IN THAT HOLE DOWN THERE?"

"FEELS SO GOOD THEY SOON BEGIN TO HUG AND KISS."

"THEY DO?"

"THEY DO. AND THEN THEY HAVE A BABY, LATER."

"HAVE A BABY BECAUSE THEY LOVE EACH OTHER?"

"BECAUSE IT FEELS REAL GOrD," HE SAID.HE SAID, "THEY DO IT FOR FUN IS WHY."

FOR FUN!

I AM FOR FUN.I!

FOR ONE PUMP AND STROKE OF FUN.I!

WITH HIS THING, HIS TINKLER THING.AND HER THING, NO THING.I!

I AM.

13

NOW, TINKLER FUN I KNEW.

IT GETS COMPLICATED BUT YOU HAVE TO LEARN SOMETIMETHE SECRET.

SIXTEENTH AND HAAK. KINDERGARTEN. FIRST DAY...NUMBER ONE AND NUMBER TWO DAY...

"NO, UH, LARRY," SHE SAID, "LARRY IS IT? ISN'T IT LARRY?"NOT NOW, LARRY. YOU HAVE TO WAIT 'TIL WE ALL CAN GO."

"DISCIPLINE," SHE SAID THIS LITTLE LADY PERSON,

THIS LEAN YOUNG LITTLE LADY, NOT MY MOTHER, NOT AN AUNT NOR NANNATHIS LADY SUDDENLY SUPREME, WITH POWER, COMPLETE, OVER NUMBER ONEAND NUMBER TWO,

WE'D ALL GO TOGETHER. AT ONE TIME...SHE SAID.

AND THEN, LATER. FOREVER LATER...IN ROWS DOWN THE HALL TO THE PLACE OF BOYS, THE PLACE OF GIRLS.

SIXTEEN BOYS.ALL TOGETHER IN THAT PLACE. THE LAVA-TORY.

EIGHT AT THE TROUGH, THE OTHER EIGHT WAITING, BEHIND.

WATER-SWEATED PIPES DRIPPING...TRICKLING AND,YES,

TINKLING...DOWN THE ZINC-EY SIDES OF WHERE HALF THE BOY-HALFNUMBER ONED TOGETHER, GIGGLING...

EIGHT ALPHABETIZED BOYS, WAITING OUR TIME, BEHIND,

WAITING TO THE LIQUID HISS AND BUBBLE, IN BOUNCING TUMMY PAIN ANDKIDNEY POP.

SIXTEEN BOYS A'GIGGLE, TINKLERS A'HAND, DOING OR WAITING...NUDGING, SPLASHING, SPRAYING...

'TIL ONE, WHO COULD NOT WAIT, NUDGED BETWEEN AND WET HIS NEIGHBOR

AND THE NEIGHBOR WETTED HIM,THEN THEY, THEIR NEIGHBORS BOTH, THEY WETTED...

TIL BACK ROW, WAITING, COULD WAIT NO LONGER AND WADED IN TO THETINKLER PARTY...

WAVING ALOFT OR LOW, FENCING, JOUSTING...BALLISTIC ARCS, TRAJECTORIES, DEAD-EYE SHOTS,

SOAKING SPRINKLES GANGED ON FATTY STEVIE HARTRANFT HOLDING USBACK WITH ACK-ACK BURSTS AND LAUGHS

14

SHOE SOAKS, SOCKS SEEPED THROUGH,PANTS AND SHIRTS...

UNTIL OUR LEAN YOUNG LITTLE LADY, SHE WHO WAS NOT OUR MOTHER,BLEW WIDE THE DOOR AND WONDERED JUST WHAT WE THOUGHT WE DID?

AND MARCHED US, DRIPPING, PAST THE CRISP GIRLS, WAITING.MARCHED US, LAUGHING, PAST THE DRY GIRLS, GIGGLING.

THAT WAS TINKLER FUN.

BUT THIS OTHER THIS.THIS THIS FROM WHERE I CAME!GETS COMPLICATED BUT YOU HAVE TO LEARN SOMETIME!

IT ALL MADE SENSE.

THE NIGHTS LOST IN MY BED, TURNED BY DARKDOWN THE HALL TO MY PARENTS ROOM ON HANDS

OR ON TUMMY, SHRIVLING PAST THE LONG SIDETHE DARK THINGS WAITED...

AND TERROR, CRAWLINGAND KNEES

HALL TO THE ATTIC WHERE

AND IN THEIR STARLIT ROOM, PULLING DOWN THE TENTED SHEETSFELL SAFELY SLEEPING ON THEIR FLOOR, BY THEIR FEET.

THEN THEIR ANGER IN THE MORNINGS, FINDING ME THERE, WONDERING...WONDERING, JUST WHAT DID I THINK I WAS DOING?

QUIET KID. SHELTEREDBY THE MOUNTAIN IN OUR YARD...

PROTECTED BY THE BOOKS BENEATH MY BED...BY THE OPERA, SATURDAYS...

BY MOTHER, NANNA, POP-POP AND DADDY.

THEN...OH, PUGGY! YOU HAVE TO KNOW THE FACTS OF LIFE SOMETIME!

AND I RAN, RAN TO MY ROOM, AND CLOSED ME INAND SHELTERED THEM FROM WHAT I WAS AND COULD BECOME.

TIL I KILLED THEM, ONE BY ONE,THEN, BIT BY BIT,

BECAME THEM, ALL.

15MAGICS

TO LIST THE MAGICS...CLOSE AT RAND WERE:

RUBBER BANDSAND LENGTHS OF CLOTHESLINE ROPE --THE BRAIDED KIND, NOT THE PLASTIC STUFF WHICH,WEATHERED, RUSTY, BROKE

STRING AND WIRE.A CANDLE'S END.

A HANDKERCHIEF OR BETTER YETA THROWN OUT SHEET.

AN OATMEAL TUBE, A WHITE OWL BOX, PRINCE ALBERT TIN

AN ORANGE CRATE, ONE ROLLER SKATE.AN ESSO MAP OF A DISTANT PLACE.

SOME EMPTY SPOOLS. SOME RAILROAD SPIKES.

REAL TOOLS,STRAIGHT NAILS, RIGHT SIZED BOLTS AND UNSTRIPPED SCREWS.

AND TOPSY, BLIND, WHO WALKED REMEMBERED PATTERNS THROUGH AUNTFLORENCE' LABYRINTH OF SLENDER WOODS AND CHATTER CHILL-GLASSCRITTERS

AND NEVER SHIVERED ONE, NOT ONE, TO PIECES ON THE FLOOR.

NOW FURTHER OFF, BUT NEAR:THE NEIGHBORHOOD --ITS SHAPE AND PLACES

HOLES AND COVERS,

THORNS AND TURTLES, WITCHES, WONDERS

THE SPACE BETWEEN US.US WITHIN THE SPACE.

THE SCHOOL, THE YARD, THE NIGHT.

AND FURTHER YET:THE MOUNTAIN, OUR HORIZON.

THE RIVER COMING IN FROM WHEN? AND GOING OUT WHERE?

THE ROADS ADVANCING THROUGH, AROUND US.

THE RAILWAY YARDS AND LINES ASSEMBLING IN THE TOWN,DIVERGING OUT FOREVER.

16

THE PLANES WHICH FLEW SO HIGH ABOVE AS TO BE BEYOND A WISH.

AND THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT IN THE ECHO TOWN BELOW.

MORE DISTANT YET WEREJUNGLES, NATIVES;CARAVANS AND DESERTS;

DISTANT '...EMPLES, ANGRY GODS.

THE TUMBLING TUMMULT OF THE WATERS' FALLOUT WEST, UP NORTH ORFAR AWAY IN AFRICA.

CANYONS, VELDT, SAVANAH,STEPPE AND TUNDRA.

TALLER THAN OUR LIVES, THE TREESIN FAR-OFF FORESTS, DEEPER THAN OUR DEATHS.

AND BEYOND:THE FROrDS AND FERNS AND TRILOBITES.BRONTOSAUR, TRICERATOP;

THE MOON AND MARSFAR ANTARES AND

THE PAST. THE FUTURE. AND A PLAN

WERE MAGICS, ALL, AND OURS.

17

IN THE ATTIC

ANOTHER PICTURE I REMEMBERED,REMEMBER STILL...

MOTHER THERE, ALONE. A CHILD, OH FIVE OR SIX. STANDING BY ASTOOL, A PIANO STOOL.

PLEATED GRAY, A MIST BEHIND HERAND A POTTED FERN BESIDE. HER NAME WAS FERN, YOU SEE.

AND HER. ALONE. STANDING, STARING THROUGH THE PICTURE, UP AHEAD.YEARS AHEAD, AT ME.

AND HER, ALONE, ABOUT TO CRY, TO BREAK, BUT STILL A SMILE ON TOP.BUT THAT WAS HER. OF COURSE.

"WHY DO YOU LOOK SO SAD?" I ASKED.

"I DIDN'T KNOW," SHE SAID. "I THOUGHT THAT WHEN YOU HAD A PICTURE

TAKENTHAT YOU WOULD BE NO MORE. THAT AFTER THAT, I WOULDN'T BE!"

NOW, THE MUSEUM OF MY PARENT'S LIVESHELD NO EXHIBIT OF MY FATHER'S DAYS ALONE.

OUR ATTIC WAS A RECORD OF MY MOTHER'S LIFE AND BRINGING UP,PHOTOGRAPHS AND BROWNING BOOKS WITH FADING WAXY ORANGE SCRAWLS,

AND WOOLY, MOTHBALL-PUNGENT CLOTHING...HER KILTS AND WIGS AND STIFFLY RUSTLING SKIRTS FROM BALLET CLASSAND OTHER DANCES.

A CERTIFICATE OF PENMANSHIP.

AND PICTURED BACK, HER PARENT'S, THEIRS.THEIR BROTHERS, SIST"RS, AUNTS AND COUSINS BACK AND BACK ON BACK;

POP-POP'S TROPHIES, URNS, MEMORIALS;NANNA'S TATTING, SHAWLS AND DUST-LACE THINGS...

ALL PILED AND PACKED IN PAINTED BRASS-BOUND TRUNKS OF SPLINTERINGWOODLINED WITH YELLOWED PAPER -- POLKA-BLUE BUT FADED DOTS --

WHICH WE PLUNDERED NOW AND THEN FOR HOLIDAYS OR COSTUME TIMES OFYEAROR AT OTHER TIMES, FOR FUN,

TO BANGLE OUT IN RAUCOUS BEADS AND MARBLE PEARLS ON DRYINGSTRING,A CROWN OR SAVAGE CHARM...

BUT OF MY FATHER, NOTHING.

18

THINGS OP THEIRS, YES; THEIR TOGETHER THINGS.OLD CLOTHES AND HATS NOW CHARMING, DUMB OR CRUNCHED AND FLAKINGDECADES BACK.

AND PICTURES, THERE, FROM "ON THE ROAD" -- THEY SAID,FROM WHEN THEY DANCED FROM TOWN TO TOWN ALL DOWN THE COAST, ANDBACK

"WHEN YOU RAN AWAY." POP-POP LAUGHED, "TO JOIN THE CIRCUS."AND LAUGHED AGAIN.

WHERE SHE MET MY FATHER. THEN MARRIED HIM.THOSE THINGS, YES.

PICTURES OF MY MOTHER-SWAN REACHING UP ON TOES,HER HELMET HAIR IN MOLDED CURLS, REACHING ON BEYOND THE PICTURE'SEDGEFROM A BOOK-TO-BE CALLED, "FERN" SHE SAID. A BOOK WHICH NEVERWAS.

OR THEM ON SOUTHERN BEACHES OR FURTHER SOUTH IN FLORIDA,A PYRAMID OF PERFECT FORM, OF BODIES PERFECT TO THE SUN AND SAND.

MOTHER, FATHER, OTHERS, FRIENDS...THOSE SPOKEN OF THE TIMES I HID MY EARS AND WOULD NOT HEAR OFBEING "ON THE ROAD" IN DANCE...

BUT OF MY FATHER, HIS LIFE BEFORE,A NOTHING, THERE, TO SEE OR HOLD.

OF HIS CHILDHOOD...NOTHING. HIS PARENTS -- NOW BOTH DEAD WHOM IHARDLY KNEW -- NOTHING. OF HIS BROTHERS, SISTERS...NOT A THING.

NOR AUNTS AND UNCLES, THOSE OLD SMALL PEOPLEGLIMPSED THERE AND THEN IN CHURCH, AT FUNERALS, MOSTLY,

THE DISTANT ONES ACROSS THE ROOM IN TEARS, NODDING TO SOME SORROWI COULD NOT FEEL, IN BLACK AND WAILING WRINKLED SKIN

AND HUSKING, VOICED THE NAME OF HE OR SHE NOW GOING, GONE.ROUNDING IT WITH ANOTHER TONGUE, ANOTHER SPEECH...SOMETHING I WOULD NEVER SPEAK.

NOT EVER. NEVER SPEAK NOR KNOW...

OF THESE, THE MUSEUM OF MY PARENTS HOUSE HAD NOT ONE ARTIFACTOR TOUCH.

NOTHING OF MY FATHER'S LIFE ALONE. NOT A THING AT ALL

I WONDERED WHY...

19

DANCER

MY MOTHER WROTE MY SHAME ON THE FLOOR WITH HER TOES.

THE GUYS WERE AROUND

PLAYING.

TAKING APART MY TRAINS

WHEN MOTHER CAME IN FLOWING.

FLOATING.

DRIFTING LIKE A FINGERTIP ACROSS MY LIPS.

OH MY GOD!

OH, JE-SUS CHRIST!

IN PIROUETTES!

20

THE MAIN THING

"THIS IS THE MAIN THING," IS WT!!!T POP-POP SAID, LAST,LOOKING AT ME,

HE, A-DWINDLE IN THE SHEETS, TUBED TO THE BED BELOW; THE LONGCHAIN LAMP DUSTING DOWN FROM CEILINGSPLASTER BROWN, AND PAINTED SAINTS AROUND.

EYES, BRUSHBURNED HOLES IN HIS FACE, THINNER, NOW THAN WHEN ILOOKED LAST, THAT FACE.

WHILE NUNS AND NURSES SLUMBERED PASTBLACK AND WHITE IN THE HALLS BEYOND, WHERE I WAITED,WAITING TO LISTEN AT LAST.

WHERE ALL THE WOMEN GATHERED ROUND, MY MOTHER, HIS DAUGHTER, HISOTHER DAUGHTERS, MY AUNTS, WATCHING HIM.

WAITING. WAITING FOR HIM TO GO.

EYES CLUTCHING ONE ANOTHER, HANDS TOUCHING, HOLDING HIMOR NUDGING FURTHER TOWARD HIS GOING OUT...

GOING OUT LIKE A BALLOON ON A HEADBOARD, GOING OUT LIKE A FINGER'CROSS THE CHEEK.

GOING OUT LIKE DUSK, GOING OUT LONG LAST.

"THIS IS THE MAIN THING," IS WHAT POP-POP SAID AT ME.

WHILE

HANDS -- ALL KNUCKLES, NOW -- WAVED INWARD TOWARD HIMSELFAND OUT.

WHAT IS THE MAIN THING?

WHAT?

WELL, THERE WAS CARSONIA PARK...

THROUGH THE SMILING CLOWN MOUTH

IN THE MORNING, IN THE EVENING...

WATER SLAPPING THE WOODEN DRUM, THE BOAT.EVENRUDE PUTTER IN THAT DRY ROT HOLE

AIN'T WE GOT. FUN?

POP-POPING OUT, THAT WOODEN HOLE SHOVING THE BLACK NIGHT WATERASIDE, POP-POP AND I.

21

ON SHORE, BUMPING BACKWARD, THE MIDWAY BRIGHTS, STEEL HISS ANDSHRIEK OF THE ROLLER COASTER,

MACHINERY DRAWN AND SKETCHED BY LIGHTS.

BULLET TUMBLING, DRAGGING IT'S FLAME BEHIND, CATCHING ITSELF INTHE CIRCLE, SNIFFING ITS TAIL.

DRIFTING BACK, THE WOMEN ON THE SHORE, HOPEFUL IN THE EVENING.THANK GOODNESS, THIS WAS THE LAST THING, THIS DAY. THANKGOODNESS.

WAVING THEIR HANDS AT US SETTING MANFULLY FORTH ON CARSONIA LAKE.

PUGGY, HE SAID AT LAST, IN OUR HOLE IN THE WATER. NOW, PUGGY.YOU REMEMBER THIS SOMETIME.

NOW, I'D HAD A BAD DAY.

THE WOMEN! MOTHER, NANNA, THE PORTLY AUNTS -- IDA AND EDWINA!

WHAT'S THE POINT OF CARSONIA PARK? TO COME AND LOOK OR BEWHIZZING SCARED TO BUMPY DEATH!

I DIDN'T ASK. I KNEW, OF COURSE: THE FEARS.THE FEARS OF COURSE!

OF FALLING LIKE A MEAT BALLOON,AND GROUND LIKE BURGER IN THE RUSTY COGS,

OR OVERSHOT, IN AN ARC...ALOFT FOREVER OR DWINDLING OFFWHILE MOTHER SHRIEKED AND POINTED

WHILE THE PORTLY AUNTS HUGGED SO LONG AND TIGHT THEY FRIEDTOGETHER IN THE SAWDUST SAND.

WHILE NANNA CLICKED AND SHOOK HER HEAD, I TOLD HIM SO...Y TOLD HIM THIS WOULD HAPPEN.

THAT WAS THE POINT OF CARSONIA PARK.

NOW THIS IS WHAT I'D DONE!

MY WEIGHT WAS GUESSED. CORRECTLY. AND MY AGE, ONE YEAR OFF. TOOYOUNG.

I'D TOSSED -- AND MISSED -- THREE WOODEN RINGS,AT THE NECKS OF GREEN-GLASS BOTTLES.

I'D BEEN TAKEN -- TAKEN -- ON THE CAROUSEL.BEEN SAT, AND BELTED, HUGGED AND NURTURED.

PADDED BETWEEN IDA AND EDWINA UPON A BENCH. THE SWAN I THINK.WHILE EVERYWHERE THE BRASS AND WOODEN HORSES PUMPED

22

ALL OTHERS, LEANING OUT AND DOWN AT THE SWIRLY WORLD

'TIL NANNA, MOTHER, POP-POP, ALL, BUTTERED AND BLED TOGETHER INTHE RING-A-LING THUNDER CLASH AND BRASH OF CALLIOPE STEAM ANDSYMBOLS.

NO ROLLER COASTER. NO BULLET. NO BUMP CARS.

ALMOST...ALMOST...THE OLD MILL HOUSE OF HORRORS.

UNTIL, MOTHER, LISTENING AT THE CREAKS AND MOANS, THE SLAP POCKWATER AS THE BOATS CAME BUMPING OUT,

'TIL MOTHER, SQUINTING AT THE SOUNDS BENEATH THE ROUND BASS THRUMOF MILLWHEEL CREAK AND GROAN, THE SHRIEKS OF KIDS, OF LOVERS

UNTIL MOTHER, LAST, BELOW IT ALL. DETECTED THERE THE VOICE OFRATS.

"PUGGY," HE SAID IN OUR WOODEN HOLE IN THE WATER. "PUGGY, YOU'LLREMEMBER THIS SOMETIME.

"THE HANDS WILL HOLD YOU BACK. THE BONY FINGERS, FLESH, THE FLESHOF WOMEN'S HANDS. CARSONIA PARK'S FOR YOU, NOT THEM.NOT FOR THE BONY HANDS."

AND THERE, AT HIS LAST, I REMEMBERED IT.

THIS IS THE MAIN THING. WHAT?

WELL, HIS STORIES, THEY WOULD BE GONE FOREVER?FOREVER, IF I DID NOT TELL THEM; GONE?

HIS DAYS, THOSE HORSE AND BUGGY DAYS WHEN HE AND ABNER ANDISRAEL, HIS BROTHERS, WHEN HE AND THEY PLAYED HALLOWE'EN

AND TOOK TO PIECES THEIR NEIGHBOR'S CART AND CARRIED IT ABOVE TOTHE STABLE ROOF,

REASSEMBLED IT THERE FOR MORNING.THAT?

WELL, THERE WAS THAT CHRISTMAS...

FEASTS AND PRESENTS.UNCLES AND AUNTS AND COUSINS MOUSING FORTH TO OUR HOUSE.

HIS HOUSE -- OURS!ROUND WITH SMELLS CF ROASTING BIRD AND CRANBERRY SAUCE,

BULGED WITH ONIONS IN WHITE WHEAT AND BUTTER GRAVY.

POP-POP, THERE, THE FOUNDER OF THE FEAST, DWINDLED BY HIS FAMILY,

23

IN HIS HOUSE, OUR HOUSE,

POP -POP SIFTED AMONG US, THERE, AND SHOWED US ALL HIS GIFTS,AFRAID THAT WE HAD MISSED -- NOT NOTICED THEM...

THE WINE NO ONE WOULD DRINK,

THE BOOKS I ALREADY HADAND, OF COURSE, HAD READ BY THEN.

AND THE WHISPERS IN THE KITCHEN

THE WHISPERS OF THE WOMEN, MY MOTHER, HER SISTERS SHAKING HEADS,AND CLICKING KITCHEN TONGUES.

"HE'LL BE OFF TO HER, TONIGHT. HE WILL!"

SHAKING HEADS, CLICKING TONGUES...

"I REMEMBER MOTHER WEEPING AS HE DROPPED A DOLLAR IN HER LAP,PASSING."

SHAKING HEADS, CLICKING TONGUES.YES.

AND WHEN HE PASSED FROM THE HOUSE -- AS PREDICTED IN THE KITCHEN-- NO ONE NOTICED.

BUT NOW, THIS, THIS WAS THE MAIN THING, THIS.

THIS IS THE MAN, I TOLD MYSELF, WAS CUT FROM HIS WEDDING PICTURETHE MAIN THING? THAT?

FACE AND SKIN HISSING IN TOWARD BONE BENEATH,THE BONE BENEATH YEARNING TO PEEL OUTWARD INTO THE ROOM,INTO THE PAST FOREVER.

EYES BULGING.EYES BULGING WHICH READ TO ME SEATED ON HIS LAP,

SEATED ON HIS LAP ON THE GLIDER ON OUR PORCH

AND I, OH, THREE OR FOUR, EYED HIS FINGER FLOW THE PAGE, THEWORDS,

AND DREAMED HIS FINGER BIRTHED THE WORLDS WHICH DAWNED ALIVEBEHIND MY EYES...BELFRY ARCHES, MUFFLED OARS; MIDDLESEXES, VILLAGE AND FARMS.

"THIS IS THE MAIN THING," 'OP-POP SAID, AT LAST. TO ME.WHO HAD KILLED HIS WIFE, MY NANNA, OH, YEARS AGO, NOW.

"THIS IS THE MAIN THING," POP-POP SAID, LAST AS THE WOMEN WAITEDFOR HIM TO GO.

Li

24

NO. THIS IS THE MAIN THING. WAVING LIKE A FLAME IN BREATH.

THEN GONE.

TAKE POP -POP'S HAND SOMEONE SAID, GO ON.

NO I SAID. NO. AND WENT.

WO

RK

IN P

RO

GR

ES

SIN

N: T

he M

owin

g is

on

exce

rpt,

end

the

begi

nnin

g, a

a n

tsxc

hle

nge.

pie

ce. S

pace

ret

trkh

eel u

s ho

rn p

rintin

g It

Olt

nost

elpi

ast

eppe

d as

hor

n si

shrt

ing

entir

ely.

.d.

Just

bef

ore

dayb

reak

Ila

y m

y he

ad o

n m

ypi

' sw

and

my

boot

ed fe

et o

re c

old

at th

e bo

ttom

of th

e so

fa, a

nd a

ll th

e fin

e yo

ung

ladi

es a

re b

ack

in th

eir

beds

for

thei

r m

orni

ngs,

and

the

win

e ha

stu

rned

to v

ineg

ar o

n m

y br

eath

and

in m

y gl

ass

and

in m

y m

outh

and

in m

y st

omac

h, a

nd, i

fI

coul

d se

e it

at th

is ti

me,

in m

y m

ind

as w

ellju

stbe

fore

nig

ht-b

reak

ing

day

I tur

n of

f the

ligh

t and

lay

my

head

dow

n. T

he r

oom

, ten

feet

by

ten,

Isda

rk, a

nd I

supp

ose

that

I am

fina

lly a

lone

.B

ut o

nce

agai

n th

e ni

ght d

oes

not e

nd w

ith th

elig

ht. T

hrou

gh th

e gr

een

curt

aine

d w

indo

w in

the

corn

er o

f my

bed

the

red

dim

s up

and

mov

essl

owly

dow

n th

e sh

elve

s of

boo

ks a

nd p

aper

s on

the

wal

l acr

oss

the

room

. Dow

n th

e w

all I

t goe

sle

avin

g th

e m

ud r

ed a

nd g

reen

pho

spho

resc

ence

glow

ing

brig

hter

and

brig

hter

on

Wai

t Whi

tman

and

The

Infe

rnal

Mac

hine

and

The

Tab

let,

ofS

umer

and

The

Prim

er o

f Fer

mat

Log

ic. A

nd s

ud-

denl

y it

is a

noth

er m

orni

ng in

ano

ther

roo

m. A

ndth

ere,

glo

win

g re

d in

that

mor

ning

's s

un, i

s T

erry

Fle

ishe

rt a

nd o

ur o

wn

smal

l war

.

"It m

ust b

e su

mm

er,"

I th

ink,

"If

it w

os w

inte

rw

e w

ould

be

goin

g to

sch

ool,

and

we'

re n

ot, s

o it

mus

t be

sum

mer

." It

was

sum

mer

; I w

asn'

t goi

ngto

Fift

h an

d S

prin

g th

at d

ay, a

nd m

y lig

ht s

hort

paja

mas

wer

e w

et w

ith th

e sw

eat o

f our

hou

sew

hich

was

not

air

cond

ition

ed a

nd w

hich

was

on

Fou

rth

Str

eet.

I am

ele

ven

toda

y. Y

es, t

hen

itis

sum

mer

and

nea

r its

end

too.

So

now

all

the

days

mus

t be

used

with

eve

r so

muc

h ca

re, n

ever

was

ted

in s

leep

ing

late

or

read

ing

in b

ooks

with

no p

ictu

res

till n

oon

spel

ls o

ur d

ayT

erry

's a

nd

16

min

eint

o la

te a

ftern

oon,

ear

ly e

veni

ng, b

edtim

e, b

reat

hs o

f day

s.N

ow m

orni

ng Is

on

our

bock

por

ch, d

amp

with

Its g

reen

and

blu

e bi

rd w

akin

g E

reat

h dr

ying

the

dam

p sm

all h

airs

on

the

side

of m

y he

ad. A

ndth

ere,

six

bac

k ya

rds

away

and

acr

oss

the

alle

y Is

Ter

ry, d

ryin

g hi

s ha

ir an

d ey

es o

n hi

s ba

ck p

orch

.O

ur g

ate,

woo

den

fram

ed a

nd w

ire b

odie

d,ne

ver

to b

e op

ened

bec

ause

the

last

tim

e yo

u di

d,yo

u le

t it o

pen

and

the

dog

got o

ut a

nd w

e ha

dto

adv

e al

l the

way

out

to th

e hu

man

e so

ciet

yan

d pi

ck h

im u

p an

d It

cost

us

two

dolla

rs, I

sle

aped

ove

r In

thre

e m

oves

long

pra

ctic

ed: r

ight

foot

on

botto

m, l

eft f

oot o

n to

p, a

nd p

ush

over

with

bot

h ha

nds

and

arm

s. T

hen

that

spl

it se

cond

hang

ing

In m

id a

ir til

lth

e co

ncre

te a

lley

whi

p-cr

acks

the

who

le b

otto

m o

f my

feet

, and

I am

runn

ing

one,

two,

thre

e, fo

ur, f

ive,

six

bac

k ya

rds

up, a

nd th

ere

is T

erry

sta

ndin

g, th

e w

hole

bot

-to

ms

of h

is b

oth

feet

whi

p cr

ocke

d on

the

conc

rete

.

"Tod

ay's

my

birt

hday

," I

said

, "I'm

ele

ven.

"T

hat w

as r

ight

,It

was

Sep

tem

ber

2, 1

953.

Itw

as o

nly

on S

epte

mbe

r 2n

ds th

at I

rem

embe

red

that

Sep

tem

ber

2nd

was

my

birt

hday

. Onc

e, o

na

very

sha

mef

ul n

ight

, whe

n I

join

ed th

e C

ubS

cout

s, I

had

to r

un a

ll th

e w

ay h

ome

to o

sk m

ym

othe

r w

hen

my

birt

hday

was

, bec

ause

Iha

dfo

rgot

ten

and

they

nee

ded

to k

now

bef

ore

they

wou

ld le

t me

be a

Cub

."S

o? B

ob O

tt an

d D

ave

Bro

wn

and

Dav

e M

c-A

llist

er a

nd J

oey

and

Dov

e M

cDer

mot

t and

I ar

ego

ing

to h

ave

a w

ar to

day.

Do

you

wan

t to

play

?""Y

ou g

oing

to b

e in

Kor

ea?"

"I d

on't

know

. Whe

re d

o yo

u th

ink

it ou

ght t

obe

?' Thi

s w

as th

e w

ay a

ll ou

r w

ars

star

ted

on F

ourt

hS

tree

t. T

he r

eal w

ar in

the

real

wor

ld w

as d

e-ci

ded

not b

y us

, but

on

Fou

rth

Str

eet o

ur w

an

wer

e ca

refu

lly s

elec

ted

plas

tic a

nd r

ubbe

r an

dfir

ecra

ckec

l bat

tles

whi

ch la

sted

till

lunc

h an

d th

ento

sup

per

and

then

to b

ed a

nd th

ere

foug

ht ti

llth

e ne

xt d

ay w

hen

all t

he d

ead

chos

e si

des

agai

n."I

don'

t kno

w, w

e fo

ught

Jop

s ye

ster

day.

I

don'

t wan

t to

be a

Jap

aga

in."

Som

ehow

, by

choi

ce a

lway

s, T

erry

and

I, an

d so

met

imes

Bob

Ott,

and

som

etim

es M

issy

and

Tris

sy F

ritz,

wer

eth

e en

emya

lway

s. A

nd a

lway

s if

the

enem

yw

as s

mal

l and

yel

low

and

sla

nt-e

yed,

we

wer

eJa

ps. N

atio

ns m

eant

not

hing

to u

s on

Fou

rth

Str

eet.

"Let

's b

e Je

rrie

s an

d fig

ht in

the

jung

le,"

I sa

id,

and

we

wer

e. I

'Tire

d H

itler

all

the

way

bac

k to

my

yard

, and

"S

chw

ineh

unte

d" o

ver

our

fenc

e an

d"t

ired

to o

ur k

itche

n w

here

mot

her

mad

e m

e ea

tth

e C

heer

ios.

My

mot

her

and

fath

er h

ad g

otte

n m

e, a

mon

gth

e fin

ger

war

min

g an

d ea

r sa

ving

, but

toni

ng a

ndzi

pper

ing

up th

e fr

ont,

wra

ppin

g at

the

chin

, pul

l-in

g ov

er th

e sh

oes

and

dipp

ing

up th

e le

gs w

ithho

t hur

ting

red

side

s of

fing

ers,

use

less

pre

sent

s,a

Mat

e! B

urp

Gun

, a v

ery

usef

ul, n

oisy

, pre

sent

soon

to b

e ta

ken

away

for

firin

git

in o

ld m

anH

oove

r's fo

rbid

den

yard

at h

is fo

rbid

den

win

dow

at h

is y

ello

w-w

rinkl

ed fa

ce. A

nd o

f cou

rse,

I kn

ewof

all

of th

ese

.hin

gs d

ays

befo

re.

"It's

my

bire

rday

," I

said

."D

o yr

:tr.,

wan

t to

wai

t till

dad

dy g

ets

hom

efr

om w

ork

to o

pen

your

pre

sent

s, o

r do

you

wan

tto

ope

n th

em n

ow?"

Thi

s w

as th

e te

st o

f my

grat

itude

for

elev

enye

ars

of F

ourt

h S

tree

t.I c

ould

n't o

pen

them

all,

of

cour

se. D

addy

had

bou

ght t

hem

by

wor

king

for

them

,I

just

live

d th

ere

and

ever

y bi

rthd

ay a

ndC

hris

tmas

they

gav

e m

e pr

esen

ts. B

ut th

e fe

rrie

sne

eded

that

bur

p -g

un.

"Wel

lcou

ldI

open

just

one

of t

hem

now

?""I

ll op

en th

e re

st w

hen

dadd

y ge

ts h

ome.

"

25

Thi

s ki

nd o

f com

prom

ise

usua

lly p

leas

ed m

ym

othe

r an

d si

nce

the

Chr

istm

as b

uyin

g w

as o

nly

a fe

w m

onth

s aw

ay It

ens

ured

goo

d fe

elin

gs a

tP

omer

oy's

whe

n w

e, th

e th

roe

of u

s, w

ent t

o th

esi

xth

floor

toy

depa

rtm

ent.

The

box

es w

ore

hidd

en w

ellin

the

usua

lpl

aces

. Whe

n th

ey w

ere

arra

nged

on

the

livin

g-ro

om fl

oor,

the

Mot

el B

urp

Gun

was

in th

e sm

all

boy

with

non

-des

crip

t pup

py p

layi

ng w

ith a

red

ball

in a

blu

e an

d gr

een

gras

sed

field

wra

pped

pack

age,

Iw

ent f

rom

box

to b

ox p

icki

ng a

ndsh

akin

g ea

ch o

ne, t

hen

caut

ious

ly a

nd s

hyly

pic

ked

the

one

with

my

finge

r."O

pen

it,"

my

mot

her

wou

ld s

mile

from

abo

ve.

And

it w

as th

e gu

n, a

nd I

than

ked

my

mot

her

with

a h

ug a

nd k

iss

and

ron,

"I'l

l"ing

all

the

con-

cret

e an

d w

oode

n ga

ted

and

conc

rete

way

bac

k to

Ter

ry's

yar

d.

C.tM

Whe

n th

e C

heer

ios

and

juic

es o

f ear

ly S

epto

rnbe

r se

cond

mor

ning

wer

e pu

t aw

ay u

ntil

tum

or.

row

, whe

n th

ey m

ust b

e ea

ten

slow

er b

ecau

se it

was

n't y

our

birt

hday

then

,it

was

nea

rly te

no'

cloc

k. W

art o

n F

ourt

h S

tree

t sta

rted

at t

en o

'clo

ck.

"I'll

Hiti

eri"

Isa

id to

Ter

ry w

ho a

lway

s sh

otba

ck w

ith a

n "I

'll"

all o

f his

ow

n w

ith a

n un

beat

-ab

le w

hum

p-w

hack

cra

ckof

the

heel

s of

his

snea

kers

."D

id y

ou c

hoos

e up

yet

? Lo

ok w

hat I

gotl"

"Do

you

have

any

sho

otin

' cra

cker

s fo

r it?

"I

didn

't ha

ve a

ny, a

nd u

sual

ly d

idn'

t bec

ause

pare

nts

neve

r co

uld

quite

rea

lize

that

noi

seth

elo

ud n

oise

of s

hoot

ing

crac

kers

and

sho

uts

and

pain

s of

scu

ffed

knee

s, a

nd r

ollin

g bo

x to

pped

wag

on.ta

nksi

s at

muc

h a

part

of t

he w

ar g

ame

as J

oey

and

Dav

id a

nd D

ave

and

Mis

sy a

nd T

rissy

and

Ter

ry a

nd I

and

the

Mot

el B

urp

Gun

."N

o, I

don'

t hav

e an

y, b

ut th

at's

alri

ght b

ecau

seit

mak

es a

noi

se a

nyw

ay w

hen

you

win

d it

up,"

and

I sho

wed

him

and

it d

id a

nd w

e w

ere

plea

sed

beca

use

now

we

hod

a si

lenc

er a

nd c

ould

kill

in s

ilenc

e.

"Did

you

cho

ose

up y

et?"

"No,

Joe

y an

d D

avid

ore

stil

l eat

ing,

and

Mis

syan

d T

rissy

can

't co

me

out t

oday

. Dav

e M

cAlli

ster

'Ilbe

out

soo

n, I

don'

t kno

w a

bout

the

othe

rs. T

hey'

llbe

out

soo

n th

ough

, I g

uess

."It

was

late

on

one

of th

e la

st s

umm

er m

orni

ngs

of th

at S

epte

mbe

r w

hen

all t

he fi

ne y

oung

men

band

ed to

geth

er in

the

bock

alle

y of

our

hom

es o

nF

ourt

h S

tree

t for

one

of t

he la

st b

attle

s of

that

war

m m

orni

ng w

ind

dyin

g ye

ar.

Yet

, the

tank

was

to b

e us

ed th

at d

ay b

ecau

seso

on th

e ea

rly w

alks

to F

ifth

and

Spr

ing

grad

esc

hool

wou

ld b

egin

, and

our

hai

r w

ould

dry

in th

esm

all,

squa

re, g

reen

-wal

led,

and

bla

ck ta

r flo

ored

wor

ld o

f Mrs

. Fei

nerf

rock

and

her

mul

tiplic

atio

nta

bles

whi

ch y

ou n

ever

will

lear

n, a

nd th

e ta

nk to

ok

28

at le

ast a

n ho

ur to

put

toge

ther

, and

you

cou

ldn'

tdo

that

afte

r sc

hool

bec

ause

you

had

to tr

y, a

t lea

stto

lear

n M

rs. F

eine

rfro

ck's

num

bers

. But

now

we

had

the

time,

and

bot

h si

des

of th

e w

ar h

elpe

ddr

ag th

e sc

uff.m

aroo

n w

agon

from

our

cel

lar,

and

then

to fi

nd th

e M

otor

ola

T.V

. box

with

the

smal

lsq

uare

hol

e on

top

In T

erry

's c

ella

rbei

ng v

ery

care

ful n

ot to

wak

e T

erry

's fa

ther

who

wor

ked

nigh

ts a

nd s

lept

ligh

tly o

n th

e se

cond

floo

r an

dw

ho w

as v

ery

mea

n ea

rly in

our

mor

ning

s th

atw

ere

his

even

ings

. The

n w

e al

l loo

ked

for

rope

.R

ope

was

impo

rtan

t to

us.

It w

as s

omet

hing

whi

ch p

aren

ts u

sed

to b

uild

our

wor

ld. I

t was

ofo

rce

in m

y lif

e be

caus

e it

was

a p

art o

f the

late

afte

rnoo

n, la

te s

umm

er te

nt th

at m

y fa

ther

mad

ein

our

bac

k ya

rd; i

t was

par

t of t

he s

win

g m

yfa

ther

mad

e fo

r m

e w

hen

I was

lust

sev

en a

ndve

ry li

ght,

whi

ch g

ot lo

wer

and

low

er b

efor

e it

brok

e an

d I

roll

fell

to th

e di

rt b

etw

een

the

back

porc

h an

d th

e w

ashl

ine

pole

. The

n I p

icke

d m

ysel

fup

and

foun

d th

e br

oken

end

of t

he r

ope,

whi

chw

as li

mp

and

grey

, and

foun

d th

at it

was

ver

y so

ftan

d flu

ffy, a

nd th

at if

you

pul

led

at it

, sm

all t

ufts

of d

owny

hai

r he

ld, t

hen

cam

e fr

ee, t

hen,

if y

oubl

ew o

n it,

drift

ed h

igh

up to

whe

re th

e bi

rds

wer

e, a

nd w

as g

one.

Thi

s w

as th

e m

agic

touc

h of

rop

e to

us.

Now

,w

hen

we

coul

d fin

d so

me,

and

we

alw

ays

did,

itw

ould

be

used

to h

old

the

hole

-top

ped

box

to th

em

aroo

n w

agon

, and

by

our

hand

s, a

nd o

ur r

ope,

we

mad

e ou

r ta

nk.

The

tank

was

Jer

ry th

at d

ay. S

omet

imes

it w

asJa

p, s

omet

imes

, bec

ause

Iha

d se

en R

ocke

tshi

pX

-M, i

t was

Mar

tian,

but

alw

ays

it w

as T

erry

's a

ndM

ine.

And

alw

ays

it w

as b

uilt

by a

ll of

us

arou

ndth

e on

e In

side

.If

I was

in th

e ta

nk it

was

this

way

: You

sat

inth

e op

en w

agon

and

the

Big

Mot

orol

a T

.V. b

ox w

aspl

aced

ove

r yo

ur h

ead,

and

it g

ot s

udde

nly

very

dark

and

ver

y w

arm

and

the

voic

es o

f Ter

ry a

ndJo

ey a

nd D

avid

and

all

the

othe

r la

te m

orni

ngso

unds

of F

ourt

h S

tree

t's a

lley

got h

ollo

w a

nd d

ista

ns a

nd y

ou w

ere

all o

f a s

udde

n ve

ry a

lone

.T

hen

the

rope

! And

then

the

tyin

g, a

nd e

very

kno

tth

at d

rew

the

rope

tigh

t aro

und

the

box

drew

the

top

dow

n cl

oser

to y

our

head

and

the

side

sfu

rthe

r ou

t till

the

light

from

the

whi

te, p

ebbl

e-du

sted

, kne

e.sc

rapi

ng a

lley

floor

sho

ne u

p th

roug

hth

e sp

ace

betw

een

the

wag

on m

etal

and

rip

ple

side

d ca

rdbo

ard

botto

m o

f the

box

. The

kno

tssq

ueek

ed ti

ght,

and

you

wer

e in

.T

hen

the

choo

sing

that

I co

uldn

't be

par

t of b

e-ca

use

I had

cho

sen

the

tank

-sid

e.T

erry

wou

ld h

ave

been

on

our

side

. Yes

, tha

tw

as th

e w

ay o

f it,

and

prob

ably

Dav

id M

cAlli

ster

,to

o. J

oey

and

Dav

id M

cDor

rnot

, who

wer

e as

in.

sepa

rabl

e as

thei

r na

mes

---t

hey

wer

e al

way

s "J

oey

'n D

avid

"wou

ld p

roba

bly

be o

n th

e ot

her

side

,w

hich

was

alw

ays

calle

d th

e "A

mer

ican

s". T

here

wer

e so

man

y w

ars

on F

ourt

h S

tree

t tha

t the

de.

tails

of t

his

part

icul

ar w

ar a

re lo

st. S

o ar

e th

enu

mbe

rs a

nd n

ames

of t

he fi

ghte

rs o

f our

sid

e.S

o ar

e th

e w

eapo

nsex

cept

for

the

tank

and

Mot

el B

urp

Gun

. So

are

the

exac

t pla

ces

of th

efig

htin

gexc

ept t

hat i

t pro

babl

y ce

nter

ed a

roun

dH

arol

d D

arw

in's

Fou

rth

Str

eet f

acin

g fr

ont y

ard,

and

Old

man

Hoo

ver's

bac

k ya

rd, a

nd T

he T

riple

ts,

who

se n

ames

Iw

ill n

ow p

roba

bly

neve

r kn

ow,

back

yar

d, a

nd C

linto

n N

eew

lg's

yar

d, w

hich

was

next

to o

urs,

or

arou

nd th

e co

rner

of t

he a

lley

whi

ch r

an d

own

to M

adis

on A

venu

e w

hich

ran

in-

to D

ougl

as S

tree

t whi

ch r

an u

phill

, pas

t Mis

sy a

ndT

rissy

's h

ouse

, and

into

Fou

rth

stre

et.

If th

e de

tails

are

forg

otte

n, th

e ru

les

neve

r w

illbe

, bec

ause

the

rule

s w

ere

alw

ays

the

som

e. T

hetw

o ar

mie

s ou

rs w

as u

sual

ly a

bout

ten,

the

"Am

eric

ans"

abo

ut n

ine

or e

ight

, bec

ause

, the

"Am

eric

ans"

had

to fi

g,.1

aga

inst

gre

ater

odd

s,

29

26

whi

ch m

eant

that

they

usu

ally

lost

the

two

arm

ies

wou

ld s

plit

up fo

r te

n m

inut

es, t

hen

hide

, the

nhu

nt e

ach

othe

r do

wno

n F

ourt

h S

tree

t, in

the

back

alle

ys, o

n M

adis

on A

venu

e, in

the

clos

e an

dda

rk w

arm

ed p

assa

ges

betw

een

hous

es, i

nth

ede

licat

ely

kept

and

clo

ths

grab

bing

ros

e ar

ched

law

n of

Old

Man

Hoo

ver,

unt

il on

e ar

my

or th

eot

her

was

kill

ed o

r ca

lled

in fo

r lu

nch

or s

uppe

ror

bed

. Eac

h m

an w

hen

kille

d ha

d to

wai

t ten

min

utes

bef

ore

he c

ould

pla

y ag

ain.

If in

that

tim

eth

e re

st o

f his

arm

y w

as k

illed

or

capt

ured

, the

war

was

ove

r an

d on

e si

de w

as th

e w

inne

r. If

it w

asn'

the

cou

ld fi

ght a

gain

som

etim

es a

lone

until

one

side

or

the

othe

r w

as d

estr

oyed

.It

was

usu

ally

hard

to d

eter

min

e ex

actly

who

was

dea

d w

hen,

beca

use

we

coul

d ne

ver

tell

whe

n yo

uhi

tor

mis

sed

a m

an. S

ince

our

bul

lets

con

sist

ed m

ostly

of

"dow

, dow

, you

're d

ead,

Ter

ry"

or J

oey

'n D

avid

,or

Dav

e, o

r B

ob, a

rgum

ents

alw

ays

brok

e ou

tam

ong

the

fight

ers;

Ter

ry s

wea

ring

that

he

had

shot

Dav

e rig

htin

the

head

. Dav

e ov

erla

ppin

gT

erry

that

he

was

at b

est o

nly

wou

nded

, and

cou

ldke

ep fi

ghtin

g an

d th

at h

e ha

d pr

obab

ly g

otte

nT

erry

bef

ore

he h

ad b

een

shot

any

way

.A

s ou

r da

ys g

ot h

otte

r, o

ur w

ars

grew

old

er a

ndou

r so

unds

bec

ame

mor

e an

d m

ore

and

mor

e th

evo

ices

of s

mal

l wild

hus

hbre

akin

g an

imal

s.A

nd h

ere

my

pare

nts

ask

me

at w

orm

sup

per

nigh

ts. "

Wha

t do

you

do w

ith th

e w

agon

, and

that

big

box?

""T

he ta

nk?

Why

that

's a

tank

.I

just

sit

init,

and

Ter

ry p

ulls

it do

wn

the

alle

y. I'

m in

side

it,an

d th

en h

e le

ts it

go.

and

we

roll

dow

n th

e al

ley

to M

adis

on A

venu

e an

d Jo

ey a

nd D

avid

, and

Bob

Ott,

and

Mis

sy a

nd T

rissy

thro

w s

tone

s at

it, a

ndth

e w

agon

han

dle

drag

s on

the

alle

y an

d at

the

botto

m o

f the

hill

we

turn

ove

r. I

like

the

nois

e of

the

ston

es,"

I so

y, "

it so

unds

rea

l.""W

hat d

o yo

u m

ean,

" th

ey s

ay "

real

?"

"Lik

e a

real

war

," I

say.

"And

then

?" m

y fa

ther

ask

s."T

hen,

I'm

dea

d."

I ans

wer

with

em

barr

assm

ent

beca

use

the

idea

of d

ying

, and

gro

win

g up

, and

shav

ing,

and

kis

sing

, and

dan

cing

, and

mar

ryin

gan

d ha

ving

chi

ldre

n an

d liv

ing

a lif

e ap

art f

rom

Fou

rth

Str

eet,

and

dyin

g aw

ay fr

om h

ere,

em

-ba

rras

ses

me.

Whe

n I w

as a

chi

ld, d

eath

last

ed te

n m

inut

es,

and

whi

le I

was

dea

d in

the

wre

ck o

f the

tank

at

the

botto

m o

f the

alle

y ne

ar M

adis

on A

venu

e,T

erry

and

all

the

othe

r Je

rrie

, of t

hat t

ime

and

ofth

at p

lace

foug

ht o

ur te

e-sh

irted

dirt

y ce

llar

jung

lew

ar fo

r m

e. A

nd w

hen

I was

a c

hild

whe

n te

nm

inut

es h

ad g

one

by w

hen

the

sun

had

gone

hig

hov

er th

e al

ley

off F

ourt

h S

tree

t,I

clim

bed

out o

fth

e ta

nk a

nd w

ent t

o jo

in th

e re

st o

f the

bat

tle.

The

re w

ere

old

wom

en a

nd o

ld m

en, t

oo. T

heol

d w

omen

wor

e lo

ng d

ress

es a

nd li

ved

dark

live

sin

hou

ses

apar

t fro

m th

e ol

d m

en, w

ho w

ore

bagg

ypa

nts

and

colo

red

and

flopp

y fla

nnel

shi

rts.

And

all t

heir

dark

vin

ed a

nd r

ose

stuc

k ba

ck y

aros

wer

e al

way

s pl

aces

whe

re, f

or s

ome

reas

on n

ever

real

ly u

nder

stan

dabl

e to

us,

we

didn

't be

long

."G

o w

here

you

bel

ong.

Who

're y

our

pare

nts;

go u

p an

d pl

ay th

ere,

you

don

't be

long

her

e."

Our

thre

ats

rang

inw

hisp

ered

rhy

mes

afte

rth

eir

thre

ats:

"W

e'll

burn

you

r ho

use,

you

dirt

ygr

ouse

; We'

ll bu

rn it

dow

n, b

urn

it do

wn,

bur

n it

dow

n, th

en g

o to

tow

n, y

ou d

irty

grou

se."

And

then

, our

voi

ces

brea

thin

g so

fter

and

softe

r fr

omou

tsid

e th

e da

rk b

row

n, tu

rnin

g bl

ack,

rut

ting

wire

fenc

es th

at k

ept u

s fr

om b

urni

ng th

e ho

use

of th

edi

rty

grou

se, t

hen

we

wat

ched

the

old

wom

an r

e.ar

rang

e th

e vi

nes

of th

e st

icke

r bu

shes

neve

r be

-in

g, h

erse

lf, s

tuck

bec

ause

she

kne

w w

here

eac

han

d ev

ery

stic

k-po

int h

ad b

een

and

was

now

inex

actly

the

craz

y pa

ttern

they

wer

e in

bef

ore

we

had

foug

ht th

ere.

Thi

n sh

e w

ould

turn

and

look

30

back

and

we

wou

ld s

tand

stil

l and

whi

sper

, now

to o

urse

lves

, stil

l hol

ding

her

gaz

e,bu

rn y

our

hous

e yo

u di

rty

grou

se,"

and

she

wou

ld r

ustle

-hu

sh h

er lo

ng s

kirt

ed s

elf b

ack

Into

the

dark

dry

door

of h

er b

ack

porc

h, a

nd d

ick

was

gon

e fo

r-ev

er-

-unt

il th

e ne

xt ti

me

we

foug

ht th

e sa

me

battl

e in

the

sam

e w

rong

pla

ce.

And

des

pite

old

men

and

old

wom

en w

e co

n-tin

ued

the

gam

e, a

nd th

e no

ises

of T

erry

kill

ing

Joey

and

my

killi

ng D

avid

thou

gh It

was

som

e-tim

es, b

ut n

ot o

ften,

Joe

y ki

lling

Ter

ry o

r D

avid

killi

ng m

edrif

ted

and

rolle

d an

d bo

unce

d do

wn

all t

he li

ght d

ying

day

.T

here

was

Ter

ry a

nd I,

hid

ing,

dirt

y an

d al

one

in th

e da

rk w

arm

cob

web

bed

pass

age

betw

een

two

row

-hou

ses

on F

ourt

h S

tree

t. T

here

we

wai

ted

for

the

enem

y, w

ho w

hisp

er a

nd ti

ptoe

wat

ched

for

vs p

ast t

he p

assa

ge In

whi

ch w

e w

aite

d fo

rth

em. A

nd o

nce

past

us,

we

wou

ld le

ap o

ut a

ndth

e M

atte

l Bur

p-G

un w

ould

spr

ing

clic

k ch

atte

r at

thei

r ba

cksw

e co

uld

shoo

t the

m in

the

bock

sbe

caus

e w

e w

ere

the

enem

yand

they

wer

e de

adfo

r te

n m

inut

es.

If th

e w

reck

age

of th

e ta

nk in

the

alle

y m

arke

dth

e be

ginn

ing

of th

e ba

ttle,

the

mar

k of

the

near

days

end

was

a s

mal

l sha

rp c

hill

whe

n th

e w

etof

our

tee

shirt

s w

ould

sud

dcnl

y st

iffen

and

gro

wha

rd. T

hen

the

light

wou

ld c

ome

dark

er th

roug

hth

e tr

ees

on F

ourt

h S

tree

t, an

d th

e w

hite

con

cret

eal

ley

wou

ld g

rey

and

grow

, its

elf,

dark

ly d

otty

.W

e le

ft th

e w

agon

and

the

box

at th

e bo

ttom

of th

e al

ley

beca

use

that

was

o g

ood

excu

se to

go

out a

gain

afte

r su

pper

. On

the

way

hom

emy

fath

er a

lway

s ca

lled

me

back

from

the

jung

le o

rM

ars

or th

e de

sert

with

a s

ingl

e sl

idin

g w

hist

leno

te fr

om th

e ba

ck p

orch

ther

e w

ere

usua

llybl

ack

shad

owed

bird

s fly

ing

in a

n an

gle

from

Fou

rth

Str

eet,

acro

ss th

e al

ley

and

dow

n to

war

dth

e tr

ees

of M

adis

on A

venu

e.I

thin

k th

ey w

ere

r,

ther

e on

my

elev

enth

birt

hday

.I w

onde

red

wha

tth

ey h

ad d

one

all t

he w

ar lo

ng d

ay a

sI

thre

est

ep le

aped

ove

r th

e ba

ck fe

nce

to o

ur y

ard.

I

won

dere

d."B

e ca

refu

l with

the

fenc

e. D

o yo

u w

ant t

obr

eak

It?"

Ist

ill s

ort o

f won

dere

d."Y

ou b

roke

it d

oing

that

last

wee

k. B

e ca

refu

l

31

27

with

it;

if yo

u do

it a

gain

you

and

I ar

e re

ally

goin

g to

tang

le."

By

then

they

wer

e go

ne.

The

n th

ere

was

the

goin

g in

, and

I gu

ess

I wen

tin

to th

e ho

use

befo

re m

y fa

ther

bec

ause

he

al-

way

s lik

ed to

sta

re m

od a

t me

as I

pass

ed b

y hi

mas

ham

ed fo

r ne

arly

bre

akin

g th

e ga

te n

ow a

ndfo

r br

eaki

ng it

last

wee

k.La

wre

nce

P. S

anto

ro