Note: Excerpts from Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now! © 1972 by Dr. Seuss
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Running on adrenaline and the endorphins of fifty-five sleepless hours, Al tore along the dirt roads, speeding triumphantly towards home. It was going to be a good weekend. After a few hours in the morning to report on Starbright's new toy and make arrangements to mass-produce the buttons (Why? Because he was the Project Administrator and he said so, that's why!), he was free until Monday.
It was perfect: exactly the gimmick they needed to impress the Committee. The polymer was more or less useless to the government—unless maybe they made it into highway markers or sold the patent at a profit to a toy company. However, it the senators sitting on their backsides in Washington and fretting over the Project's bills wouldn't see it that way for a long time yet. Al wasn't sure if it was nice to treat grown men like five-year-olds, but that was precisely what politicians were like. With abstracts and advanced science they were useless, but give them something tangible and easy to understand (and it didn't hurt if it was also shiny and blue!) and they would fawn over it like so many happy babies. This serendipitous discovery might, if used properly, be exactly what Starbright needed to placate the Senate and buy themselves a few more months' peace and quiet.
Quite aside from that, it was the first triumph of any kind they'd had in months, and Al was determined to relish the euphoria of the moment as long as he possibly could.
There were other reasons, too, that he was looking forward to the next couple of days. Stevie had been off of chemotherapy now for almost two days, and he was bound to start perking up again. Recently, as the life-saving drugs had made him ever more ill, Al had found himself hard pressed to reconcile his all-encompassing hatred of the disease with his instinctive loathing of any therapy, however beneficial, that seemed to morph a happy child into a piteous invalid. It was so hard to watch Stevie suffer, and any respite from the boy's wretchedness brought a proportionate increase in his protector's spirits.
Furthermore, Al thought as the city began to rise like an advancing army on the horizon, he was feeling better than he had in weeks, and it would be a good weekend to have a little fun with the missus.
The trailer park was quiet. All the adults were at work. All the children were at school. Al passed an elderly couple having breakfast on a card table set on their sparse lawn, and thought he saw movement behind the tightly drawn blinds of one of the trailers he had privately labeled as dealerships.
He parked his bike and probed with his foot for the kickstand, then removed his helmet, and then the dusty jacket and chaps. The front door was open, so he only needed to open the screen before he could shuffle into the narrow corridor and wrestle off his boots.
From the living room he could hear a sound that delighted him even more than yesterday's revelation had.
"You can go on skates. You can go on skis. You can go in a hat. But please go. Please!" Sharon read. "I don't care. You can go by bike. You can go on a Zike-Bike if you like. If you like, you can go in an old blue shoe—"
"Mithta Al have blue thoes," Stevie lisped happily.
"That's right!" Sharon laughed. "He does, doesn't he?"
"Yup, yup," the boy said.
"Just go, go, GO! Please do, do, DO!" she continued. "Marvin K. Mooney, I don't care how. Marvin K. Mooney, will you please GO NOW!"
"Go NOW!" the boy repeated.
"You can go on stilts. You can go by fish. What about that, Esteban? Would you like to ride a fish?" she asked.
Stevie giggled. "Nope!" he said. "Not me!"
"No, I wouldn't either," Sharon laughed. "You can go in a Crunk-Car if you wish. If you wish you can go by lion's tail. Or stamp yourself… and go by mail! Marvin K. Mooney! Don't you know the time has come to…"
"Go, go, GO!" Stevie crowed happily.
"Go, go, go, that's right!" cheered Sharon.
Chester, less oblivious to the outside world than the two humans, came trotting into the kitchen to investigate the familiar noises. He let out a yelp of joy, and Al bent swiftly to scoop him into his arms, silencing him with pets before he could alert Sharon to the intruder. "You can go by balloon… or broomstick.. OR! You can go by camel in a bureau drawer! You can go by Bumble-Boat or jet. I don't care HOW you go: ju-ust…"
"GET!" supplied the child. Al wondered how many times they had read this book together, that Stevie had his responses memorized.
"Get yourself a Ga-Zoom!"
Stevie let loose an eager giggle of anticipation. Chester had made his way up to Al's shoulder, his forepaws on his master's collarbone, and he was starting to lick his ear and cheekbone. Al wiggled his eyebrows a little and massaged the dog's back contentedly.
"You can go with a…"
Sharon paused for the child to catch on, and then they both shouted together, "BOOM" Al jumped, surprised by the sheer volume.
"Marvin, Marvin, Marvin, will you leave this room?" Sharon continued. "Marvin K. Mooney, I don't care HOW! Marvin K Mooney! Will—"
"You pleathe GO NOW!" Stevie exclaimed jubilantly.
"I said…"
"GO!"
"And…"
"GO!"
"I meant. The time had come, so…"
"Marvin WENT!" the boy concluded. Sharon burst into applause and ululations of delight that the child joined in wholeheartedly.
As their celebration began to wind down, Al came around the corner. "That was great!" he enthused, grinning as Stevie clapped his hands and cried out a greeting. "How you doin', sport?" he asked, running the hand not holding the dog over the boy's bald head and sitting down next to him. Stevie gave him a bear hug, not as strong as they once had been, but still firm. It evoked a pang of memory that raised a lump in Al's through. Oh, Trudy, honey…
He glanced up at Sharon, who looked absolutely flabbergasted by his unexpected entrance. "Hey, gorgeous," he said. "Look, about last night…"
Sharon flushed and looked away. "I don't want to talk about last night," she said hastily.
"It's okay," Al said. "I deserved every word of it. I'm sorry. I got distracted, and… Hey!" he said brightly, his eyes catching sight of the button over his breast pocket. He let go of Stevie to fumble with it. "Take a look: we can't figure out how to stop it from doing that. It's great!"
Sharon looked at the glowing blue star traced on the black surface. She did a little double take and grabbed it. "It glows!" she said. "You really did make glowing plastic…"
"Pretty pointless, I know," Al allowed. "But still, I mean, it's pretty neat!"
"I have to… I've got to…" Sharon gestured vaguely. "I'll be back."
She thrust the button back into Al's hand and hastened from the room. The bathroom door slammed urgently. Al started after her, momentarily bewildered.
"Thtar," Stevie said, fingering the trinket and drawing Al's focus elsewhere.
"That's right, buddy," Al said. "Starlight, Starbright. First star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight."
"Mithta Al?" the little boy said softly. "I have a with."
"Yeah?" Al said. "What's your wish?" He expected to hear a wish for health, or for the father the child couldn't remember, or any one of a dozen things that Stevie should have, but couldn't. The answer almost floored him.
"I with for chocolate ithe cream," Stevie said. "Pleathe?"
Al laughed out loud, and Chester barked in response. He reached out an arm to draw the boy into a hug. "Sure, buddy," he said. "Sure. We can get you some ice cream."
Stevie only had two spoonfuls before he pushed the dish away, saying that it didn't taste good and he was sleepy. Al accepted the explanation without question, and agreed that he was sleepy, too. Sharon was still in the bathroom, though what she was doing in there Al couldn't imagine. He helped Stevie change, then peeled off his own sweaty civvies and replacing them with pajamas. Then they settled into the bed with Chester between them. The boy fell asleep first, but Al wasn't far behind.
When he awoke it was to Celestina's gentle and tentative touch. Al looked up, confused and for a moment seeing the long dark hair as belonging to Ruthie. Then he shook his head to clear his vision and grinned. "Three o'clock already?" he asked.
"The door was open," Celestina explained; "so I come in. Señora Calavicci, she is gone to her lesson?"
"I guess so." Al sat up, carefully slipping his arm out from under Stevie's chest. He scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "He seems to be feeling pretty good today," he said. "But tired."
"Sí, yes, he is always tired," the mother said sadly, looking at him. "Señor Calavicci, I am afraid."
"Why?" Al asked gently, taking her arm and guiding her to sit next to him on the mattress.
"I am afraid…" she repeated. "I am afraid I bring trouble to you."
"No, no," Al said. "No, honey, you don't bring trouble. It's no trouble. I'm glad we can help take care of Stevie. He's got to get better. He's just got to."
Celestina shook her head. "No, I—" Then his words struck home and her brow furrowed. "Esteban," she said. "Esteban. Señor, will he die?"
"Not if I can help it!" Al exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that the child in question was fast asleep not three feet away. "Not if I can help it," he repeated, more softly, reaching out to stroke Celestina's face. "We're going to do our best," he promised. "He's doing really well."
She looked at him with debilitating trust in her eyes. Al gripped her hand with such force that one of his joints popped in protest. "Celestina," he said, burying his own doubts in the need to be strong for her. "He's doing really well. We'll get him through this."
The tiniest smile visited her lips. "Sí, Señor. Sí. We get him through this."
"All right," Al said, grinning for her benefit. "Now, what do you say you and I get out into that kitchen and cook up a big communal supper?"
She frowned in puzzlement.
"You and Juan and Stevie should stay for supper," he rephrased. "You and I can cook up one heck of a meal."
"We cook together? In your kitchen?" Celestina asked.
"Sí," Al said. "What do you say?"
"I go and bring things from home," she said, something almost akin to delight in her eyes. "I come straight back."
"All right, then," Al said, straightening the covers over the sleeping boy.
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Sharon returned home half an hour later to find Celestina kneading the dough for flour tortillas, and Al busy chopping vegetables as if the fate of the world depended upon it. She passed through the kitchen with scarcely more than a casual comment and certainly without looking Al in the eyes. After making a visit to her studio to drop off her bag, she went into the bedroom where Stevie lay sleeping. Al spared a moment to wonder what was eating at her, and then returned to his work, which was an excellent distraction from the fatigue that was beginning to encroach dangerously on his consciousness.
By the time Juan returned from the building site, Al was setting the table and Celestina shredding a block of cheese. Sharon and Stevie were still in the bedroom, and Al was willing to bet that the child was still asleep. Chester was prancing around the kitchen, excited by the aromas and the novelty of having two people cooking at the same time! Juan went for a shower, and emerged in a peasant smock and jeans. Celestina kissed his cheek as she moved a platter of homemade tortillas to the table. Her spirits had been rising progressively as she worked, and by now she was almost jubilant.
There was a soft cooing sound, and Al turned to see Stevie standing on the edge of the living room rug, one leg of his spaceship pajamas pushed up around his knee. A little hand rubbed at his eyes and he yawned.
"Hey, sport!" Al exclaimed, reaching out to rub his shoulder. "Did you have a good sleep?"
Stevie nodded. "Thleep," he mumbled.
"How's Sharon?" Al asked. "Is she coming out?"
Stevie shook his head. "Auntie thleepin'," he said. He had such a terrible time with her name that Sharon had told him to call her Auntie instead—something Al couldn't quite get used to. "She thad."
"Sad?" Al asked.
"Yup, real thad," Stevie said. "Cry and cry and cry."
Al frowned. "Are you sure? Auntie Sharon was crying?"
"Yup, yup," Stevie said as he tottered towards his mother. "Dinner?" he asked.
Celestina kissed the crown of his denuded head and began to talk to him quietly. Bewildered by the allegation of tears from his buoyant and happy wife, Al slipped past Juan and made his way to the bedroom.
Sharon was lying with her face buried in his pillow, apparently fast asleep. Al closed the door and drew near the bed, sitting next to her and putting out a hand to touch her back.
She awoke with a gasp and rolled over. He could, indeed, see tear-tracks on her face, emblazoned in her mascara. "Al!" she exclaimed abruptly.
"Hey," he murmured, digging out his handkerchief and wiping away the offending paint. "What's wrong?"
She snatched the cloth from him and went about damage control herself, sitting up and answering with a defiant and defensive voice. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing."
Al moved closer and curled his hand around her hip. She pulled away. "If it were nothing, you wouldn't be crying," he reasoned gently.
"I said it's nothing!" she cried.
"Has something happened?" Al pressed.
She looked at him wildly, something of the look of the cornered animal in her eyes. "Happened?" she cried.
"You've had some bad news about your father, haven't you?" Al asked.
"Oh…" she exhaled. "Oh. Dad. No, no. Nothing's wrong with dad."
"Then what's the matter?" Al asked.
She fell silent, scrubbing at her face with the handkerchief.
"Well?" he prompted.
No reply.
"Please, tell me…"
Still, silence.
Al stiffened. Okay, so she was giving him the cold shoulder. Probably still pissed off about last night. "So don't tell me," he said coldly, getting to his feet. "Supper will be on the table in five minutes."
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It should have been a cheerful meal. Celestina was feeling much better, and Stevie actually managed to eat a tortilla filled with cheese and lettuce. Al tried to keep the conversation going, but Sharon only stared silently at her food, and Juan seemed almost afraid to speak. It made no sense, so Al didn't worry about it. Eventually, the meal was over and the dishes washed, and the child again starting to wilt with weariness. Celestina took him home, and Al went for a shower. When he came out, Juan was settled on the sofa, already asleep, and Sharon was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.
Al slid in beside her. "Come on, doll," he murmured seductively, kissing her neck and curling his arm around her abdomen. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to forget to call."
Sharon jerked free of his grasp. "Just leave me alone!" she cried, turning her back on him. "Go to sleep and leave me alone!"
Long after she lost consciousness, Al lay awake, his weary body aching and his tired mind unable to let go because he was wondering, over and over again, how he had screwed up the marriage this time.