“WHAT ARE WE going to put on his feet?” Aunt Lily asked. “He can’t go barefoot.” She started giggling.
Aunt Sarah laughed too. “He looked like a drowned rat when he came in.”
I wasn’t going back.
My clothes were still damp, but they were warm. The sock I’d walked on all day was more hole than sock. They gave me Aunt Lily’s galoshes to wear instead of shoes. She said it didn’t matter if her feet got wet.
The galoshes were too big, but Aunt Sarah tied them around my ankles with string. Mrs. Cohen lent me her oilcloth tablecloth for a raincoat. I wrapped it around myself and held the carving safe underneath.
At the bottom of the stairs, Aunt Lily took my hand. As soon as we got outside, I yanked free and ran.
Aunt Sarah hollered, “Dave! Get back here! Catch that boy! Get him!”
Aunt Lily yelled, “Dave, don’t go!” And then, “Be careful.”
The aunts were too slow to catch me and nobody else tried. The streets were less crowded than usual because of the weather, but they were still crowded. It had gotten colder, and it was starting to snow.
When I was sure they weren’t behind me, I took the oilcloth off. If Aunt Lily and Aunt Sarah reported me, the police wouldn’t have any trouble finding a boy wearing a plaid tablecloth. Instead, I wrapped the oilcloth around the carving and carried it under my arm.
Where could I go? Uncle Milt and Aunt Fanny lived only two blocks away, but Aunt Fanny was always sick.
I circled around to our old building on Ludlow Street. It was about nine o’clock. Ike, the produce peddler, was still hawking his fruit. The peddler Ida used to buy soap from was there too. A light was on in our front room. I wondered who lived there now.
Papa, I thought, what should I do?
I remembered what Gideon had said right before he left, that I’d be all right. That I was always all right. Well, I wasn’t all right now.
The appetizing store was open and so was the candy store. Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Goldfarb knew me, and Mr. Schwartz was nice. He might give me a pickle. But he wouldn’t invite me to live with him.
I started walking again, not knowing where I was going.
A woman stuck her head out of a window and hollered for her son, David. My name, not my mama. Her David hollered back, “Five more minutes. Please, Mama.”
Papa, what should I do? Nobody wants me.
I sneezed. If I was dry, if I wasn’t so cold, if I had somewhere to stay tonight, I could plan. I could think of something.
Then I remembered that Solly lived on Stanton Street. He didn’t want me either, but I was sure he wouldn’t take me back to Mr. Doom tonight. I turned around and started toward Stanton Street.
Stanton was long. I didn’t know the number, and Solly might not be home. I’d never find him.
And then I had an idea.
I stood in the middle of the street—no cars were coming—and I waited for a quiet second—a somewhat quiet second. Then I hollered as loud as I could, “Tell for you your fortune?”
Nothing happened. Peddlers went on yelling. People went on bargaining, calling to each other. No Solly. And no one asked me for a fortune.
Farther down the block I tried again, and nothing happened again. I kept going. On each block I yelled once at each end. And on each block everyone ignored me. On Allen Street I waited for the train to rumble by before I hollered. Nothing. I might as well not have waited.
I kept going.
“Tell for you your fortune?” Stanton Street ran out in three more blocks.
“Tell for you your fortune?” Stanton Street ran out in two more blocks.
Stanton Street ran out. I turned back to try again. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Or anywhere else to go.
I was heading toward Pitt Street when I thought I heard “Boychik!” I whirled around. I didn’t see Solly anywhere. A peddler called out, “Hot chestnuts!” I must have imagined it. I started walking again. But then I heard a parrot squawk, “Tell for you your fortune?” I turned and started back.
Then I saw Solly’s head sticking out a second-story window. “Boychik! Is that you?”
“Yes!”
“Come on up. No. Better, I’ll come down and get you.” His head vanished.
I waited on the sidewalk, shivering.
“Come in. Come in.” Solly, in a yellow bathrobe, held the building door open.
I followed him upstairs.
“Mazel tov. Welcome home!” Bandit squawked.
“You’re a block of ice. Sit down.” Solly pointed to a kitchen chair. “I’ll be right back.” He went into the front room and came back with a blanket. “Get undressed and wrap yourself in this.”
I put the oilcloth with the carving down on the table and took off my wet clothes. Then I wrapped myself in the blanket and looked around. From here I could see into the front room. Along one wall were stacks of brown cardboard boxes. Then, in front of the boxes were stacks of newspapers. Pushed against the wall across from the kitchen was a piano. Books were piled on the floor under the keyboard and on top of the bench. I didn’t see how anybody could play it. On top of the piano were framed photographs and Solly’s hat.
Solly was at the stove, looking for matches. I picked up the oilcloth with the carving inside and went into the front room to see the photographs. With the blanket wrapped around me, I felt like an Indian chief. A cold, shivering one.
The biggest picture was of a woman with frizzy hair, a long nose, and a lopsided smile. I liked the smile. She wasn’t just smiling at the camera, she was smiling because something was funny. A minute ago she had been laughing her head off and she was still smiling when the photographer took the picture. Next to it was a picture of a boy on a pony.
Papa once had our pictures taken like that. I’d kicked my pony, hoping he’d gallop.
“How about some chicken soup?”
“Okay.” I went back to the kitchen.
Solly put a light under a pot and then sat down at the table. “So why are you telling fortunes on Stanton Street?”
I didn’t want to talk about how I’d messed everything up. “I changed my mind about staying at the HHB. I ran away for good.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“You ran away with a tablecloth?” He pointed to it in my lap.
“It’s not a tablecloth. I mean, it is, but it has something in it.” I didn’t show him.
He went to the stove to ladle out my soup. “Let it cool a minute.” He sat down across from me. “Nu? So what are your plans?”
I shrugged. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Certainly. I’ll set you up in front of the stove. You’ll sleep like a baby.”
At least he was better than Aunt Sarah and Aunt Lily.
“More soup?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He brought it to me and sat down again. He was silent for a minute, and then he snapped his fingers.
Bandit squawked, “Oy vay! Gevalt!”
Solly said, “That paskudnyak did something, no?”
I shrugged again, looking down at his linoleum. I looked up. He was watching me, concentrating on me. His expression was more serious than usual, almost completely serious. He was worried about me.
I decided to tell him what had happened. It couldn’t hurt. I had nothing to lose. I unfolded the oilcloth so Solly could see the carving.
He reached for it, then stopped. “May I?” I nodded, and he picked it up. He studied it and ran his fingers over the wood. “This is a work of art, Daveleh.”
Now why did that make me cry? He says the carving is a work of art, which I knew already, and I start crying my head off. “My papa made it,” I managed to get out. And then I felt worse. For some reason I felt like Papa died yesterday instead of almost two months ago.
“Oy vay! Oy gevalt!” Bandit squawked.
I finally caught my breath. “Mr. Doom—the paskudnyak—stole it from me.” And I told him the whole story—about my things in the suitcase, about the beating and taking Mr. Doom’s glasses, about getting the key to the cabinet, about the twins being beaten up too. I even told him about Mr. Doom’s speech before he beat me up and before he beat the twins up.
He said “Oy vay” once or twice, but mostly he listened. When I told what happened today, it didn’t sound like I loused up so much. It sounded more like I got unlucky with the maid being late and Mr. Doom being early.
“So that’s why I tried to find you,” I finished. “To stay somewhere tonight.”
“I knew that stinker was a paskudnyak. Your soup is cold. I’ll get you more hot.” He went to the stove. “You want to live there because of your buddies?” He went into the next room, probably his bedroom.
“Uh-huh. And the art teacher is going to give me special lessons.”
He came back with a jacket and pants and got dressed. “The alrightniks could fix the superintendent,” he said, “but they’d meddle and make something else worse, and I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. I have a better idea since you told me the paskudnyak is interested in high society.” He got his hat from the piano and started for the door. “I’ll be back soon. No, wait.” He took a plate and silverware off the shelf over the stove. “When you finish the soup there’s chicken in the pot. Help yourself. Bandit will keep you company.” He left.