Fifteen

Sarah was relieved to start something new in art class. Very new, she learned. Miss Benedict explained that they were going to paint murals depicting everyday life in the neighborhood. Three students were to work cooperatively on each mural (Miss Benedict bore down on the word “cooperatively”) and were to determine for themselves the subject of the mural. Democratically—another emphasized word.

Isabelle and Charley were in Sarah’s group. Sarah wasn’t sure how it would be to work with Charley. He suggested painting the drunks teetering out of Lucky’s Saloon.

“Charley, be serious,” Isabelle said impatiently.

“He is,” Sarah said. “That’s the trouble.”

“We could paint the kids at the playground…no, that would be too complicated.” Isabelle sighed. She always wanted quick answers.

“What about Giuseppe, the organ grinder,” Sarah asked. “It would be fun to paint the monkey…what’s his name…oh…Marianne. He’s a her!”

“That’s a good idea!” exclaimed Isabelle. “So Sarah, you and I want to paint Giuseppe and Marianne. That makes two votes out of three. Even if Charley still wants his drunks, we have the majority.”

“I’ll just paint a drunk teetering over to give a penny to Marianne,” Charley said agreeably.

“Here.” Sarah handed him the roll of mural paper. “Let’s get it up on the wall so we can start.”

Each group was still engaged in deciding on the subject of their mural when the door swung open and a scowling policeman pushed three teenage boys into the studio.

“Miss Addams said you’d make these losers behave,” he growled. “If they don’t, they’ll end up in detention.” Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

The boys looked trapped, arms hanging long and loose, eyes flicking around the room. One had a very white face and seemed more scared than angry, a knitted red hat cupping his head, a wisp of yellow-white hair hanging in his eyes.

He’s biting his nails, Sarah thought, and felt a shiver of pity.

Miss Benedict looked frailer than ever as she faced them. Charley leaned toward Sarah. “Goldilocks and The Three Bears,” he whispered.

“Gentlemen, please come to the front of the room and introduce yourselves.”

The boys shuffled to the designated spot but none of them said a word.

Miss Benedict’s voice was firm, but not unfriendly. “Your names, please.”

“Tony,” the tallest one answered. His black hair was slicked back and he wore a red bandana around his neck. He would have been handsome if not for his pockmarked skin. A comb jutted out of the back pocket of his tight pants. Sarah expected that he walked with a swagger.

“Lorenzo,” mumbled the short, chinless boy next to him. He, too, had black hair but it hung lank and ragged over his ears. He was wearing a man’s vest and pants that he kept hiking up with nervous, grimy hands.

“I’m Subbie,” said the boy with the red cap. His eyebrows were barely visible, his eyes a washed-out blue.

“We’d like your real name, please,” Miss Benedict said.

“Subbie,” the boy repeated.

“His real name’s Frank.” Tony grinned and his straight white teeth flashed. “But we call him Subbie, you know, for sub-normal. He don’t mind. He likes it.”

“Which name do you prefer—Frank or…” Miss Benedict couldn’t bring herself to say Subbie.

“Subbie,” the boy repeated cheerfully. “It’s my special name…Tony give it to me.”

“Well, Tony, Lorenzo and…Subbie, you didn’t choose to be here, and we didn’t choose to have you, but if you cooperate you’ll find that we’re all ready to welcome you.”

Subbie was the only one to nod.

Miss Benedict explained that the class was just starting to paint murals. She assigned each of the newcomers to one of the three groups. Sarah would have liked to get Tony instead of Subbie but she willingly took on the task of describing the subject of their mural to him.

“We’re going to paint Peanut Park, and the organ grinder, and his monkey.”

“I never seen no monkey,” Subbie said.

“You’ve seen a tree, haven’t you?” Charley asked.

Sarah gave him a sharp nudge.

Subbie looked at the jars of paint and brushes doubtfully. “I never painted before, neither.”

“You can start at the bottom of the mural and paint some grass,” Sarah suggested.

“Sarah should paint the organ grinder,” Isabelle said. “She’s the best at people. And Charley should do the monkey. He’s always monkeying around.”

Charley grinned. “If you painted the monkey it would be a self-portrait.”

“Charley!” Sarah managed to frown. “Miss Benedict said cooperate, not nauseate.”

“I thought she said aggravate,” he countered, then held up his hands. “Sorry.”

Subbie pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, but they slid down again, the wide cuffs covering half of his pale hands with the bitten nails. “That’s no name I ever heard. Peanut Park. Does it have peanuts in it?”

“The peanut peddlers like to meet there,” Charley explained. “They’re always throwing peanuts to Giuseppe’s monkey.”

“I’m going to paint the flowers,” Isabelle said. “Even though there aren’t any.”

“Subbie, you can start painting in this corner. But don’t get too much paint on your brush. Let me show you.”

Subbie watched intently as Sarah dipped her brush in the paint and moved it across the paper in light, even strokes.

“Now you do it.”

Subbie tried, but with such a tight grasp on the brush and such short, jerky strokes that Charley said, “Hey, you’re doing real good, Subbie. Just don’t hold the brush so tight.”

Subbie stuck the tip of a pink tongue between his teeth, and lightened his hold on the brush. He painted a six-inch square with longer strokes.

“Hey, Subbie, that’s good!” Charley gave Subbie a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Subbie beamed. Tongue still between his teeth, he painted a green strip across the entire bottom of the paper, then went to get Tony to show him what he’d done.

“Subbie, you a great grass man!” Tony exclaimed.

“What’d you paint, Tony?”

“I’m the fire painter.” Tony pointed to vicious red flames that ran across the whole length of his group’s mural.

“Tony, you real good, too.”

“Hey, Teach,” Tony called out, “you seen what Subbie and me painted? We both jeen…yu-ses.”

Miss Benedict chose to ignore “Hey, Teach.” She stood in front of the mural of the Great Chicago Fire.

“I done the fire,” Tony said. “Rachel over there is doing the burnt-up houses.”

“It’s a good start, Tony. I suggest you blend a little yellow into some of the flames. What do you think?”

“Yeah, a little yellow, Teach. You’re right.”

“I’m the grass man.” Subbie pointed to the strip of green. Sarah had outlined the organ grinder standing on top of the grass as if it were a green table. Miss Benedict started to say “Subbie,” then faltered. “Do you mind if I call you Frank?”

“No,” Subbie said. “You the Teach.”

Miss Benedict smiled. “Thank you. You’ve done splendidly so far, Frank. Now you have to paint the organ grinder and his monkey standing in the grass, not on top of it. Which means you have to very carefully paint around the monkey’s, and the man’s, legs.” She paused. “Do you think you can do that?”

Subbie bobbed his head vigorously. “Yeah, I don’ grab the brush so hard now. Charley, he helps me.”

Miss Benedict nodded and passed on to Lorenzo’s group.

“Charley, the monkey looks so real,” said Isabelle, “I want to give him a penny.”

“I want to give him five pennies,” Subbie said eagerly.

“You give him five, Isabelle gives him one, and I’ll give four,” Charley said. “How many will that make, Subbie?”

Subbie shook his head, eyes downcast.

“Ten,” Isabelle said softly.

“Ten,” Subbie said. He looked at Charley. “Isabelle helped me, is that all right?”

“Sure, Subbie. No one gets anywhere without help,” Sarah said.

Charley smiled—a bright, direct smile, his beautiful eyes looking straight at her. Her pulse quickened. Could this be? Charley Weinstein making her heart race! She smiled back, praying that her face hadn’t turned pink.