24

WE ARE TAKING a shortcut through the park. Ivan Ivanych is walking so fast, nearly running, I can barely keep up with him. Trees, statues, and flower beds flicker past.

“So what about it?” I say into his back.

“About what?” he says, without turning.

“You know. What that redhead said.”

I cut in front of him and haul in reverse, face-to-face.

“You’re taking me there, right? For a tryout?”

“After what just happened? Any one of them could still report us to the police.”

“For what? A soccer tryout?”

“You don’t understand, Arcady. We need to lie low.”

“Why?”

“Never mind why! You’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Like learning to read!”

“I know how to read.”

“You call that reading?” He snorts. “How are you supposed to start school in the fall?”

Here he goes again with his school. As though school kids will treat me any differently from the kids on the soccer turf. But you wait till Fedor Brutko and his Red Army pals see me handling the ball. Then things will be different.

“Come back here this minute!” he yells after me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the Red Army,” I yell back. “For a tryout.”

I run across the grass, not looking back, not once, but when I’m far enough from him, I hide behind a tree and peek around to see what he does about me running. He’s crazy mad. He lifts his briefcase above his head, then slams it into the dirt and kicks it. I take off running again. He sees me and charges after me. I am a quick runner, but he’s working hard, hot on my tail, wheezing. I slow down to let him in close, wait till he tries to grab me then throw him a fake, leaning one way but turning the opposite. He stomps by and, failing to stop, runs full steam into a tree. Bang! Birds explode from the branches, shrieking. I stop and watch him. He hugs the tree for a spell, his eyes popping, then, wobbling and wheeling his arms, crashes flat on his back.

The birds make a couple of rounds, settle back in the tree and hush down. With his nose up and his eyes shut, Ivan Ivanych is sprawled out in the flower bed, arms and legs sticking out in all directions. The sole of his shoe has a hole in it, you can see all the way through to his sock. I wait for him to sit up, but he doesn’t. From where I stand I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

“Ivan Ivanych?” I whisper. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t stir. This is just plain spooky. A big man like that, not moving, and no one is around to help. Careful not to look into his face, I lean over and press my ear against his chest. Is his heart beating?

His heart beats like a drum.

He snags me into a bear hug, hollering in my ear, “I got you!”

I shove him in the chest and scoot away. What a fool. Why scare me like that? I thought he was dead or something.

He sits up and slaps his hand over his mouth to keep from snorting, that crazy way of laughing. “I’m sorry,” he says, though it’s plain he’s not.

I give him a dirty look. “What did you lie to me for?”

“About what?”

“About being a soccer coach.”

“I didn’t lie.” He shrugs. “Not on purpose. It was a misunderstanding.”

“A what?”

“You got the wrong idea and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” He grins. “To those dads … yes … I did stretch the truth a little. Their boys were playing soccer on street corners, and all I did was organize them into a team. What’s the crime in that? I signed up kids where I thought no one knew us, but that didn’t help, did it? You are famous.” He snorts again. “But I’m glad it’s over. Pretending to be a soccer coach was making me nervous. I feel lighter, you know?” He lifts his face up to the tree branches. “Look at those little fellows,” he says. “Not a worry in the world.”

The birds skip from branch to branch and because I’m looking, I miss him sneaking out the whistle he used for the drill. When he blows it, I jump. The birds blast out of the tree.

“Go, fellows!” he cries. “Go!”

The birds soar and dive and spiral against the clear sky in one black smudge. It’s so beautiful. I forget that I am sore with him. Until the birds are gone and the sky is clear again, then I remember. “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know. For fun?” He offers me the whistle. “Want to try?”

I turn away from him, but when he doesn’t say anything for a while, I look back. He sits with his eyes up to the sky, as if turning some important thought in his head.

“I just understood something,” he says. “Want me to tell you?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you anyway,” he says, grinning. “When these grown men chased after their sons around the soccer field, I had a feeling I didn’t expect. Envy maybe. I envied them having fun together. Having fun is normal, right? I thought why couldn’t Arcady and I have fun? Enjoy a normal life together. Can you understand that?”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not stupid.”

“Stupid you’re not.” He grins and stands up. “Ready to go?”

I don’t move. “You want normal?” I say and look him in the eye. “Going to the tryout is normal. And fun. If those kids are going, why can’t I?”

Instead of answering, he begins slapping at his pockets, pulling out scraps of paper with the drills he copied from the soccer manual and shoving them back in until he finds what he’s looking for, his hanky. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “You’re making me nervous again.”

I watch him blow his nose, loud and long.

“Look, Arcady…,” he says, and stuffs his hanky back in his pocket. “You heard what that fellow said. We can’t go to the tryout without a letter from the school district. It’s risky even to ask.”

“I’ll take the risk,” I say.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you what, Arcady, let me think about it.”

I don’t say anything. He shakes his head again, grinning now. “Can’t you nod your head or say something? Like thank you maybe? Or just smile, Arcady? Come to think of it, I’ve never even seen you smile. You smile?”

Of course I smile. He just can’t see it. I smile mentally, on the inside, not with my mouth.