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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
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reproduction Quality
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m.nt do not oseessanly repro-sent Official
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"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