Looking back I would say that those first interactions with Spot were so innocent somehow. Within a week I felt comfortable enough to talk a bit more with him, and it was not long before he would join Papa and me in discussing the news, even if only for a few minutes. We spent the summer of 1898 like that; Papa particularly enjoyed conversing with Spot as I tended Maus. It was obvious from the start that he really liked Spot, and Spot really liked him. They would talk a lot about the more political articles.
I was impressed; it seemed Spot actually read the entire paper. I worked up the nerve to ask him about his reading one day.
"I have to be able to sell the pape, so it helps if I know what's in it," he chuckled. I smiled shyly back.
"That makes sense, but isn't it enough to just read the headlines?" I asked.
"Sure," he explained. "Lots of the guys do it that way, especially the younger ones who don't read too good yet. But sometimes yer stuck with some time on yer hands and a few unsold papes to pass it. I started reading the articles, and I found I was able to sell better. I also found I learned more. So now I read the whole thing."
"The whole thing? How do you find the time?" I asked, surprised. Papa and I usually read the highlights together on our bench, and then we would read the rest at home.
"I taught myself how to read really fast," he said, shrugging.
"How fast?"
"At least twice as fast as most educated adults. I dunno how I do it; I just do," he shrugged again. I was impressed.
"Do you read other things?" I asked, and he winked at me.
"Nah. Newsies ain't got time for reading," he said, but somehow I didn't believe him. I was too shy to say it, though.
After that day Spot started pointing us to some of the articles he thought would interest us each day. For me it was anything that had to do with animals; he'd noticed I was a sucker for the horse and for animals in general. For Papa it was anything to do with the law, courts, or politics. Both of us loved some of the opinions, and we were fascinated by anything with travel or any mention of our native Germany. Spot typically sat with us for a short while, then headed off to sell his remaining papers while Papa and I read and discussed the articles. I would care for Maus some more while Spot returned and chatted with Papa. The afternoons outside were pleasant, even when the weather wasn't. These afternoons were an especially welcome break when Mama began to get sick.
At first it was just a shortness of breath. Mama had never been particularly physical. Being shy like me and uncomfortable with the English language, she tended to stay indoors. We mostly noticed it when we would be laughing around the dinner table. She would gasp for breath or sometimes clutch her left arm. By August the work around the house was becoming too much for her. I gradually took over more and more of the household chores. Mama would tell stories from her bed as I worked, and we grew closer than ever. I loved the fairy tales, even if they were a bit grim, that she told. We would recite poetry together, and we dreamed of the day we would own a house on the edge of town and a dog. I loved the time with Mama. I would still go out to bring Papa a meal each day, but increasingly I was the one doing the cooking as well as the delivering. Papa was coming home earlier to spend time with Mama, but I was busier and busier with the demands of the household. I was also taking on more of Mama's seamstress work, though I did not do it as well as she did.
By early September things were pretty bad. One evening when I was particularly tired, Mama turned to me.
"Katja," she said, her voice weak. "I know that you so rarely get out anymore. You have not seen your friends from school in weeks. This cannot go on. They cannot feel that you are neglecting the friendship." Trust Mama to worry about treating people right when she was seriously ill. Kindness and human goodness were always paramount in the Fischer household. "Why don't you take tomorrow to call on Hazel? She was always a sweet girl."
"Yes, Mama. Are you sure you'll be alright?" I asked, not wanting to appear too pleased. I had missed my friends.
"I think I can manage one day. You have made enough soup to last a week, and the house is clean. There is no more sewing to be done, as I have had no new clients in the last weeks. Please, enjoy yourself and give your friend my regards," she responded with a smile.
So there I was—headed to see my friend Hazel. It occurred to me that I had not been out in some time. Autumn was in full swing; it was still hot though. I headed down the road to Hazel's building when a noise caught my attention. A small boy of perhaps six was running down the road, two larger boys in hot pursuit. He was zigzagging past the people on the street when he ran full tilt into a teenager. This freckle-faced redhead was huge, and the little boy went sprawling.
"Red!" he shrieked as he looked at the bigger boy. The redhead looked down at the little one, then picked him up gently.
"Where's the danger, Roller?" he asked, his voice carrying a hard edge. The little boy pointed toward his two pursuers without a word, and Red addressed them directly. "And just what are you doing?" His voice was strong enough to stop me in my tracks.
The two aggressors, who looked to be about thirteen, both looked at the bigger boy nervously, then glanced at each other. Their confidence seemed to grow in that look, and they looked defiantly back at Red. "Nothing that concerns you. This rat was wandering around our neighborhood for no good reason, and we was just gonna show him why he should stay away."
Roller looked up at his rescuer with a fearful face. "I was jus' done sellin' and was coming back to the docks when dey chased me. I wasn't even doin' nothing wrong! I'se just sellin!" He looked at Red with wide eyes. Red ruffled his hair.
"You want to prevent Roller from working your neighborhood?" Red smiled wolfishly as the two boys drew to either side of him, obviously bent on attacking. "You can fight me. I might enjoy the chance to show pups like you how to treat a kid tryin' ta make a living. Of course, if you do that I will have to report it, and then you could take it up with Spot yourselves. Or you could walk away."
I jumped at the mention of Spot's name. My friend Spot? Of course, selling—the redhead and the younger boy must be newspaper boys. But why take it up with Spot? He didn't sell here. I smiled as the two bullies blanched and backed away. I couldn't blame them. That redhead was more than scary! I wondered vaguely if Spot knew or lived near the bullies that he could exert such influence on them that they would "take up" young Roller's situation with him. Shrugging, I resolved to ask him about it that afternoon and continued on to Hazel's house. I sincerely hoped those bullies would be punished by their mothers!