Al Calavicci struggles with an impossible choice – liberty or loyalty.
BOTH OR NONE – Part Five
For a few minutes, chaos reigned in the office. Uncle Jack stammered awkward denials. The blond woman sat there watching with a thin frown on her lips. Sister Agnes sternly ordered Al to calm down.
"No one is dead, Albert," she said.
"Trudy's not dead, Al, Trudy's fine," Uncle Jack concurred.
Al tried to swallow his sobs, which were now something of a melange of relief and humiliation. Sister pulled out her handkerchief, and gave it to Al. He blew his nose and swallowed a hiccough, looking at Uncle Jack with his watery eyes.
Uncle Jack smiled. Al ventured a half-hearted grin. He liked Uncle Jack, even though he'd taken Trudy to the institution and made him come back here. "Aren't you going to say hello?" Uncle Jack asked.
"H-hello," Al said.
"How've you been?" he asked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.
"All right," murmured Al. "How's Trudy? Have you seen Trudy?"
"Trudy's fine, son. She's happy at the hospital," Uncle Jack said. "The doctors take good care of her. Your pop found a good place."
Al looked at him sceptically. Maybe the doctors took good care of Trudy, he didn't know about that. The nuns took good care of him, made sure he had a warm bed, even if he had to share it, and clothes, and food; he appreciated that after trying to make it on his own for six cold, hungry, miserable days and nights. But he wasn't happy here, and he didn't believe for a minute that Trudy was happy at the institution.
Uncle Jack chuckled. "What're you looking at me like that for, Al?" he asked.
Al glanced sideways at Sister Agnes, but her face was unreadable. He stared back at Uncle Jack, not sure what to think.
"I brought you a present," Uncle Jack said, bringing a red-and-white striped bag out of his jacket pocket. He held it out. Al transferred his focus to it. "Go ahead, take it. Don't you want a present?"
Al took it, holding it gingerly.
"Open it!" Uncle Jack said, smiling enormously.
Al opened the bag. It was full of brightly colored candy. He looked at it, mouth watering. He hadn't had candy since the police had taken him away from Black Magic, and that had been in March. He didn't dare to take one: he didn't think that he was meant to have any right now.
"Aren't you gonna try it?" Uncle Jack asked. Al looked at him. He liked Uncle Jack, but he hadn't seen him since the day of Poppa's funeral. The thought of Poppa made the painful lump rise in his throat again. "What's the matter, son?" Uncle Jack asked. "Why're you looking like that?"
"Oh, honestly!" the blond woman said, rolling her eyes. She frowned at Al. "Are you a rabbit or a boy? Stop staring and thank your uncle!"
Jack smiled. "Al, you remember your Aunt Marion?"
Al nodded warily. "Hello, Auntie Marion," he mumbled. "Thank you, Uncle Jack."
"I hear you've been busy," Uncle Jack said, his voice jolly and friendly but a little strained. "Sister here says you ran off."
Al shrugged. "Maybe I did."
"She says you were gone almost five months, and when the police brought you back they said you had run off with a colored pool shark," Uncle Jack added with uneasy brightness in his tone. "That must have been an adventure."
Al bristled. "Black Magic isn't a shark," he said fiercely. "He's the best pool player in the world! And I didn't run away with him. I ran away all by myself, and then I met him and he said I could come along with him."
"Why'd you run away, Al?" Uncle Jack asked. "Don't they take good care of you here?"
Al wanted to say that they didn't, and make Uncle Jack feel guilty for making him come back here after Poppa died. He wanted to, but it wasn't true. The Sisters took care of him, they just didn't care about him. He wasn't starving or cold, he was just unhappy. And that was probably his own fault, since he couldn't blame other people for his own misfortunes. He shook his head. "I just didn't like it," he said.
"But why?" Uncle Jack asked. "You didn't ever try to run away before."
Al pursed his lips. Grown-ups were so stupid. Of course he hadn't run away before. Poppa had explained that it was only temporary, just until he could make enough money that they could settle down and buy a house. Poppa had asked him to be good, to be patient, and to set an example for Trudy. So he had, and Poppa had kept his promise. He had come back, and he'd got them both out. He'd bought a house. Then he'd gotten sick. Now Al didn't have to keep his promise to Poppa because there was no reason to be good. He was never going to get out of here and he was never going to live in a house.
"Albert, answer your uncle," Aunt Marion said sternly. Al looked at her mutely. He had never liked her much. She was too strict, she didn't like jokes or fun, and she had called Trudy retarded. A moron, he thought she'd said, when Trudy was kicking and screaming and crying in the churchyard next to Poppa's open grave and the adults were all fighting with her, trying to make her understand she would have to go back to the institution.
"Al? Did you have fun with this… pool player?" Uncle Jack asked. He sounded genuinely interested, and Al nodded. Uncle Jack smiled. "He teach you how to play?" Al nodded again. "I've been known to play a little pool myself, you know."
"Yeah?" Al asked.
"Jack!" Aunt Marion hissed, looking scandalized. "That's a fine way to talk to a little boy!"
"He's not little—are you, Al?" Uncle Jack asked.
"I'm eleven and a half," Al said.
"See! Practically a man!" said Uncle Jack. "Say, Al, your aunt Marion and I have been thinking about this for a long time, and we've got something we want to ask you."
"What?" Al asked, instantly back on his guard. Usually adults asked things he didn't want to do.
"Well, you know I've bought Mister Walker's garage?"
"No," Al said. Last he had heard Uncle Jack was working as a mechanic at a garage and junk yard in Jersey.
"Oh." Uncle Jack looked a little taken aback. "Well, I have. It's a good business, and I'm doing really well. But boy, I tell you, I could sure use a smart kid to help me around the shop."
He grinned expectantly. Al didn't know what to think.
"Well?" Uncle Jack said eagerly.
Al looked at him blankly.
"Honestly, Jack,' Aunt Marion muttered. She turned to Al. "Listen, Albert, your uncle and I want to take you out of here. You can live with us, you can go to school, and you can learn the business. We are willing to adopt you, and you will inherit the business when the time comes. But we aren't going to take you unless you promise that you are going to stop making so much trouble. No running away, no stealing, no rudeness. Can you promise that?"
Al couldn't breathe. Did she mean it? He could leave the orphanage and go to live with Uncle Jack?
"How 'bout it, son?" Uncle Jack asked, beaming happily. "I could be your new pop."
Al tried to answer, but his lips moved soundlessly.
"What is wrong with you?" Aunt Marion demanded. "Your uncle is offering to give you a home. Don't you want a home?"
"A home?" Al croaked.
"That's right, son," Uncle Jack said.
"We could be a… a family?" Al whispered. He wanted to believe it, but it couldn't really be true. It just couldn't. It was too wonderful.
"Yes," Uncle Jack said. "A family."
Al looked anxiously at Sister Agnes. He didn't like her, she was strict and bossy and no fun at all, but he knew she wouldn't lie to him, and she wouldn't let anybody else lie to him, either. As he turned to her she did something he had never seen her do. She smiled, nodding.
The bag of sweets fell to the floor as Al threw his arms around Uncle Jack's neck.
