Chapter 10
It was a
Sunday afternoon and I was sitting on the front stoop of the lodging house. The
leaves on the sparce trees were turning wonderful shades of gold, orange and
flaming red, my first fall in my life. Ireland .
"Heh, Irish
you just bout match those damn trees now." Voodoo had commented on one of the
days I went selling with her. We all had laughed, even Dash, who rarely laughed
at anything.
There was a
chill in the air on this Sunday, but the chill was warmed by the screaming
shouts of all the boys down in the street, where they were putting on their
weekly baseball game. I had started coming to them last week, and really
enjoyed it. I had never seen a baseball game before coming to New York, I
hadn't even heard of it until recently when my friends started talking about a
game with the Harlem newsies. They had asked if I wanted to play, but
considering I can't throw farther than a few feet in front of me, they asked me
to exit the game. I like it much better sitting on the sidelines anyway.
Brick, a
boy about 14 with dark red hair like mine, was up at bat, chattering at the
pitcher, Dash, to stop daydreaming about the fat lady in the apartment next to
the house, and throw the ball. A ball was hit, more shouting was heard as
Kicks, the youngest newsie at 6, went off to retrieve the ball from the gutter.
"Come on
Kicks! Get the ball heah! Hurray! He's roundin second! KICKS!" A boy I didn't
recognize shouted impatiently after the little boy with the blond mop on his
head. He came running back, a grin on his face, and threw it as hard as he
could to Spot who had to run towards the ball when it just landed and came to a
dead stop. Brick made it to home plate and his team was given another point.
Strike and I were in charge of the score and I made a mark with the chalk we
had found in the basement of the house on the stone stairs.
"Shas,
who's winnin?" Brick called, loud enough for everyone to hear him. He was
bragging because he knew his team was winning 6-3.
"You are,
Brick." He held up his hands, fell to his knees and did some kind of victory
dance.
"Get yer ass
up Brick. It's only the fifth inning, we can come back." Spot yelled from the
outfield. He hated show offs, and Brick could easily get on his nerves I found
out. Brick got up but put on a pout and went to sit on the sidewalk with the
rest of his team while Flash stepped up to bat.
"So why
aren't you playing Strike?" I figured I might as well try conversation with our
leader since we were both sitting on the stairs.
He
shrugged. "I dunno. I'se not very good."
"Have you
tried?"
"Once." A
few minutes of silence on our part was shared as we watched the Flash dance
around first base. Flash was a good dancer, I had challenged him to a dance
competition the other night at the house, and he impressed me with his step. I
wasn't that good at dancing, not as good as most, but I knew some Irish steps
which my mother had tried to teach me. I'm pretty stubborn, as she says, and I
didn't really want to learn anymore. Which is true, I didn't want to do
anything I didn't have to, and dancing wasn't something that was critical for
my life. Now everything's changed, and I'm trying to get rid of that mind set.
"A few
years ago I got caught in a jam." Strike spoke up, almost in a whisper so that
the others couldn't hear. "You'se gotta tell no one, and I know you won't, so
that's why I'se telling you." I nodded, Strike was a very secretive person, and
wouldn't really talk about anything personal to anyone. He most talked to
Voodoo, but rarely to me. I found this to be a landmark occasion so I was sure
to listen. "You'se proved yerself to be a pretty trustworthy people, but you'se
got a mouth from heah to the Bronx. So no woids. None." I nodded in agreement
again.
"My lips
are sealed."
"Alright,
they bettah be." He looked around at the baseball game, and the crowd gathering
alongside the sidewalk. A ball was hit to the 'outfield,' as they called it,
and the crowd cheered. Joker had hit that ball and was marching around the
bases. He had scored a homerun and so I marked it down. "So a few years ago I
got in a little jam. It was before I was leadah heah, Clatch was the leadah
then, and I was new. A few of the boys didn't like me, so one day after I was
done sellin, they approached me. Basically cornahed me in an alley and beat the
shit out of me. Gave me a real good soakin. Broke my arm, dislocated my collah
bone, gave me a welt on my head the size of a baseball and broke a few toes.
Dey came at me wid clubs and big metal things from the factory. I had ta learn
real quick to defend myself and I developed a pretty tough image of myself. It
worked, I nevah was messed with again, except for a few times wheah someone
wanted to duel, but I'se got a pretty rough rep."
I laughed,
I knew it wasn't funny but it was true. "You scared me half to death the first
time I met you on the docks. You definitely have that rough appearance to you.
You and Spot both. Both of you look like you could beat the shit out of someone
without even blinking twice." He smirked at that.
"Conlon
will make a good leadah. He learned from me to be mean and rough to people. And
you'se done pretty well yourself. I admire people who can stick up for
themselves and you'se doin real good. Dash can give people problems, it seems
especially you, but you're takin it well. But watch your mouth. It can get you
into trouble." He warned, looking dead serious. But of course he always looked
serious. 'Joking is for a clown, and if you want to be a clown, Joker, than go
join the fuckin circus.' He once told Joker after one foul joke after another.
"I've been
a gossiper my whole life. I can't help it."
"Well try.
I don't want any of my newsies to get in shit around heah. And not in any of
the othah burroughs neither. Harlem's a tough bunch, and we'se always have
problems with them mishearin things. I mean it, no talking shit about Dash, or
about anything. You could get Dash killed, or yerself for that matter. Dash
could put up a good fight, but you'se a smallfry and wouldn't last a round wid
them. Dey're big boys, you'se be careful." We sat in silence after that,
soaking in what he just said, and watching the teams fight back and forth over
bad calls. Cheat was the umpire, and well as his name suggests, he's a cheat
and I wasn't surprised to find out he was accused of calling Dash out when he
was perfectly safe. I don't know why Cheat was put in charge of umpiring the
game, but he managed to weasel his way in.
It was
resolved and Dash was put back on first base. Dash's team had caught up with
Brick's and Dash was the breaking run.
"If he gets
this run, they win the game."
"How do you
know when they're going to win?" I asked him.
"It's the
tenth inning right now, there's only 9 innings but you can't end the game tied.
So if Dash goes home, the game is won."
The crowd
was larger now, I noticed. Dozens of kids watched eagerly, and men and women
alike were perched on the fire escapes. It was like the Brooklyn Dodgers were
making a special appearance in the streets of New York, but it was just a bunch
of street kids playing a bit of a game of ball. Spot was up to bat and their was
electricity in the air watching him. With the crack of the bat he drove the
ball down the street sending Needles running full speed down the road. Dash
went sprinting around the bases and got to home. A cheer rose, and shuddered
off the buildings. Strike made the final mark and we clapped.
"Dash is a
real nice boy once you get past his layers. He may not be nice to you, but
he'll stick up for ya if you ever get in a jam. Don't let him get to ya, that's
all he wants is someone to pick on, and the next new girl or boy, he'll be on
their case too." Strike said his final words, and stood up and walked into the
house. "Good game." I heard him say as he lit up his cigarette and left the
scene.
I began to
respect Strike more after that conversation, I guess you can't judge people
before you get to know them, and why they're like they are.
****
"Hey Irish,
someone's heah to see you." Voodoo called from downstairs. I was up on the roof
stargazing with Luna and Flash. By now I was used to being called Shasta, or
Irish. Before it would take the newsies quite a bit of time to get my attention
but now it came as second nature to respond to those nicknames. I climbed in
through the window and down through the bunk room. When I reached the lobby I
saw Jack standing in the middle, looking scared through. He was shaking and his
eyes pleaded with me to get him out of here.
"Jack, what
is it?" I knelt down to his level.
"Papa's
real sick, Mommy needs you to come home." He said in spurts and looked
anxiously towards the door. How he could have found me was beyond my knowledge.
Strike was watching me from across the room, as was Dash. They had questioning
looks in their eyes about the strange small boy in front of me.
"Alright,
lets go. Hey Voodoo! I have to go back home for something, tell everyone I say
bye!" I grabbed Jack's hand and walked quickly towards Poplar Street.
When I
walked into the apartment I could tell something was wrong. Pa wasn't sick, but
drunk, and he had made a big mess of things. The beds were strewn all along the
floor in a misshapen pile and books were tossed off of their place on the
mantle. I didn't see any of the children in the house, probably because Mother
had sent them out to a friends or neighbors. I could hear Pa yelling from
behind a closed door, screaming profanities. Mother was in the kitchen with a
cup of tea, looking about 25 years older, her hair flying about her head in
disarray like someone had taken their hand and shuffled it through her hair.
Jude was sitting in her high chair, silent with a scared look on her face.
Francis was sitting next to Mother's chair and I wondered what in the world
could have happened.
Mother
looked up when I entered, her tired eyes had been crying and were red around
the edges.
"What
happened? Did Pa hurt anyone?" Jack was behind me, casting fearful glances at
the closed door behind us which was locked. Mother held the key.
"No, he
didn't hurt anyone. I sent all the children to the Jackson's upstairs except
for these two. Pa scared them half to death he did. I managed to get him locked
in the sitting room, but I sent for you just in case I couldn't get in there."
She paused for a second, and then drew in a shaky breath and let it out again.
"He came home half an hour ago very drunk, and he started just destroying
everything. Picked Siobhan right up and I thought he was going to throw her out
a window or something. Poor lass, scared off her buttons.
"I sent the
kids away, but he was furious. He was the worst I've ever seen him. I can take
the gambling, ANYTHING but not him being like this! I never would have dreamed
my husband could turn into a scary monster as he has gotten with this drink.
What is it with American ale? Does it make the men all violent and the likes?"
She shook her head and rested it in her hand. "I don't know what to do Brenn.
Sorry for breaking up your little party." I didn't know what to say, I had seen
Pa the other day, but I couldn't imagine that it would get as bad as he'd get
violent. But from the pounds and yellings from the next room, I knew it had
gotten much worse.
"I can't
keep sending my babies to some other mother to take care of. She'll get
suspicious that not everything is right here. That their father is a bloody
alcoholic!" She started to cry. I wish I could have helped her, but I was
afraid that it would just make her worse. So I just stood there, watching the
scene in front of me. I hated my Father more than anything at that point. How
could he be so thoughtless? Our money was low, I had to give all my earnings to
mother and Pa wasted most of his on liquor.
A drunk man
always gets sober but the damage he does on a family will always remain.
